Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I love it when children are interested in gardens. Our four year old grandson is crazy for flowers and will gladly go see a rose garden or any botanical garden. As a baby, he loved the trees he could see from his stroller, and his sense of color is passionate. Right now he loves yellow, but before that his color was pink. He has bunches of artificial flowers which he arranges in baskets, in fact, he's rid me of all my fake flowers and many baskets. When we went to the garden two days ago, his mother bought him fake daffodils, and he was in heaven. He names flowers with his own imagination, His mother also bought him a live plant with a purple bloom, which he planted the next day in their side yard. My husband bought the same plant, in hot pink. I planted that in a pot in our back yard, as it is more protected, especially from squirrels digging up pots. All my children, when they were growing up were treated to fantastic gardens, like Buchart Gardens in Victoria, Busch Gardens in Florida, the Tea Garden and botanical garden in San Francisco, and many more. When we traveled abroad we made time for zoos and gardens. One of our favorite gardens was the one outside the Marmottan, in Paris, with it's pony rides and deep lush greens. In spring one time in Paris, we were treated to displays of tulips that dazzled us. Right now I'm pretty joyful about our scatterings of daffodils, snow drops, hyacinth and grape hyacinth, as well as the azaleas and camillias. The earth has so much bounty, and our eyes are treated to beauty wherever we look.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My husband and I had an hour conversation this morning at breakfast about Hitchcock's "Shadow of a Doubt". We've seen it a bunch of times but I admire it more and more. The house where it was filmed is a couple of blocks from our older son's house and that is a kick. But this time we realized that though there is no mention of World War II, this film, made in 1942, is really all about the evil hidden in the ordinary world of ordinary people. Joseph Cotten, one of my favorite actors of mid last century, is astounding as Uncle Charlie, and everyone else is perfectly cast, especially the mother. Each scene is symbolic and an integral part of the action, from the train pulling into the station, big and black with black smoke billowing up, to the train at the next to last scene. Hichcock shows us the tiny turns and twists that can make people embrace their darker natures, and how we block ourselves from unconscious knowledge we may possess. The movie is a perfect jewel for the question: What made ordinary German folk go along with, or turn away from what was happening to their neighbors and friends during the years between the first and second world wars? How is it we let evil fourish, since one man alone could not have murdered so many people without massive cooperation. I think we see now what a struggle it always is between good and evil, and that passivity allows evil to flourish. The film is brilliant, because the struggle is framed as always there, just underneth the surface, and evil is seductive. In the film good triumphs, but it is, as we know, by luck and not likely given the circumstances. Ordinary people. Ordinary lives. The complexities we inhabit.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I'm grateful to my younger son for sending me a surprise this morning. A man arrived with a beautiful teak bench, and when he had placed it in our back yard, he took the tape off a plaque that said it was in memory of our daughter who died last June. When I called my son, he said he knew I was sad because we could not have the memorial service yet, and I had not done anything yet except a big check to the arts program she worked for and loved. I am so touched. I situated the bench so that it faces a small bridge, a filled in pond, and the statue of Tara, the goddess of compassion. It's a peaceful spot, with trees and camillia bushes all around, and bells in the trees. I will sit there and pray for her and think of her vibrancy and courage and love. Then we went to a garden an hour away, with our younger daughter and her two boys, and reveled in the acres of daffodils, every variety you could imagine. Our four year old grandson's favorite flower is yellow, so he was as overjoyed as I. The magnolia trees were blossoming, the tulips were coming up, deep purple hyacinths were everywhere, and blue eyed flowers and purple pansies. The fields of daffodils were almost too much beauty to bear. And I thought of my daughter, and her amazing, beautiful self, still living in her daughter.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I'm so excited! I'm getting my hair trimmed today1 It's been over a year, and I am going to a haircutter who does the deed outside and masked. She asked me to bring photos of me with my hair cut the way I like, but I protested that those always had bangs and were shorter than I now wanted. As she suggested magazines, I thought of a great haircut Diane Keaton sported on the back cover of her book I just finished. She's my age, okay, a lot thinner, beautiful, and no doubt styled to the inth degree, but I like the cut. Hey, right now it's all about risk anyway, isn't it?! I mean, if I'm really lucky I'll look just like her, magically! Well, okay, I'm delusional, but at least I'm enthusiastic. Normally, I hate going to salons for anything: haircut (I try not to see myself in the mirror), manicures (only had two in my life), pedicures (one), facials, massages, any form of grooming. My mother was the opposite, but I didn't get her genes for enjoyment. It all involves mirrors, and I'm a much happier person when I don't see myself in them. Was I traumatized? Possibly, because my first memory as a toddler was staring at myself in a full length mirror in our house in Kansas City, and being furious with my mother who had just cut my hair so I looked like Moe of the Three Stooges. One inch bangs. Who looks good in those?! It's too expensive to go into therapy for haircuts, so I'm just going to buck up and get those split ends guillotined!

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I finished Kendi's "Stamped from the Beginning", and it was a revelation to me. Much of the history I had known it bits and pieces, but the way he puts it together makes the racism in this country make sense. It's easy reading, too, because he divides the history of American into five periods under five individuals: Cotton Mather, Thomas Jefferson, William Lloyd Garrison, WEB Du Bois and Angela Davis. His distinction between not racist and anti-racism is profound as well. I'd read a later book of his before, about how to be anti-racist, which was more personal, and the writing made me want to read this National Book Award winner as well. I can't recommend it enough. Today I am treating myself to 30 minutes alone in my favorite bookstore. I'll be masked, but I know the owners and I'm confident I'll be safe. I want to look at children's books, pick up the new Joe Ide mystery and just see what's out there. I have not gone into a bookstore since covid began. I'm excited!

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I've been seeing a therapist off and on for fifteen years, and I could be embarrassed about not being fixed yet, but I'm not. I began seeing her when my younger daughter was severely ill, and now I go months without seeing her (or right now talking to her on the phone), but then hone back in when my life is rough. She knows my history, and is empathetic and wise. She's seen me through my kids marriages and grandkids births, my brother's death, my older daughter's death and my struggles to follow a Buddhist path. Sometimes I have something I want to work on, and we talk every week, but normally we check in once a month. Right now my grief is bringing up some issues that have been threaded throughout my life, and I wish to be more conscious of them and, as Buddhists say, respond not react. I'm grateful she's been there for me, and gives me direction. She's my age, and has had similar issues with her kids and grandkids in her life, so I know she knows what I'm going through. She's in my corner of my boxing ring, and I can count on her. And the more her voice is in my head, the stronger I feel about my actions. She and my Zen teacher and my Tibetan teacher are my spirit guides. I don't leave home without them.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Today we took a walk then I spent the rest of the morning on two phone calls to friends. I love talking to these two people, and it makes me feel connected. One is 3,000 miles away, and the other a short walk, but covid makes it all the same. At least in two weeks I can walk with my neighborhood friend, and we will both be two weeks out from our second vaccine shot. I also have some pleasant errands to do, including getting a timer for the kitchen, going to a bookstore and having the inside to myself for 30 minutes, and picking out new glasses. There are more blooms outside every day. It's sunny, and even though we'd like rain, I'm just going to enjoy it while it lasts. I can look forward to the Instacart delivery this afternoon as well. Groceries! How fun is that! Friends are beginning to go on trips, and it makes me think I will soon as well. One friend is going to Hawaii, another to Berlin, and by summer, I believe a lot of us will risk it. The world feels like it is opening up again, and it truly is a breath of fresh air.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I feel so much better today after a good night's sleep. My arm is gently sore and I feel back to my old self. My friend had a rough reaction to the second vaccine dose, with high fever and aches, but she is also now good. I can't wait until a ton of people have been vaccinated and the oppression of this pandemic lifts. it helps that spring is here with birds singing and flowers popping up. Our older son, daughter-in-law and grandson are coming to visit shortly, and that pretty much makes our day. It will be easy to sit outside, as it's sunny and warm. I'm allowing myself to think of trips and ventures into stores. Yet this pandemic is cruel: I read this morning that a remarkable woman who survived a concentration camp by sewing dresses for Nazi wives, and after the war struggled in Checkoslovakia and wass finally able to immigrate to the U.S. died of covid. Her son said she'd overcome everything and was so strong they expected her to survive covid. Our lives are not in our control. Best to enjoy each day and welcome what it brings. The gift of life is precious, more so because it is arbitrary. We live for all who don't.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

We watched the first half of the BBC's "Our Mutual Friend" last night. I adore Dickens' novel, and this one especially. The famous British actors distinguish the production (Timothy Spall is one of my favorites in this and anything), and each person is finely deliniated. Dickens' satirical and dark romp about money and the cost to people of capitalizm are fully developed, as in "Little Dorritt" but this time the world is darker and grimmer than the earlier work. Every Dickens book is a mystery, and this is no exception. But his psychology is so deeply perseptive this time. Mr. Hedstone could be right out of the newspapers today, with his stalking, violent and obsessive behavior. Ownership of women is his right, in this patriarchial world, even if the woman Lizzie is revolted by him. She's seen enough of violence living with her father, and she's in a lower class world where there are no protections for women. Bella could be a modern feminist champion, in her determination not to be bought and sold by society. But her luck with her fairy tale ending is just that, and we know it. The men are floundering as well, but it IS their world. Dickens' empathy astounds me every time I read him. I believe what I am witnessing is his LOVE of his characters. And we come to love them as well. Even the villians are understandable, and often they are trapped by poverty and class. Tonight we will see the second half, while our sore arms recover from our vaccine shots. A quiet day and evening, and filled with gratitude for our good fortune in obtaining them early.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My husband and I received our second shot of the vaccine this morning. I'm feeling so grateful. Now I feel hopeful my kids will soon get theirs, and by summer, life will be more normal, if not absolutely so. I am relaxing with our new President in charge. He's clear, understandable and steady. Yesterday there was a new part of one of my news sites on my phone that allowed me to read what was happening in my county, who was eligible right now and who would be next. I could follow every word. Another site had excellent information as well. I'm turning back to the news a bit, now that it isn't dominated by fake facts. And it rained last night and today, which is so good for our poor old drought ridden state. I'm reading Ibram X Kendi's history of the use of the term race in our country, titled "Stamped From the Beginning". It's clear and insightful, and divided into 5 parts: Cotton Mather, Thomas Jefferson, William Lloyd Garrison, WEB Du Bois, and Angela Davis. My older son's mentor in college was Angela Davis, so I'll be reading that part especially eagerly. Right now I'm on Thomas Jefferson, and he was one confused theorist. The truth is his life and leisure was paid for with the labor of his 200 slaves, and he produced his own slaves through his relationship with Sally Hemmings, which began when she was 14 and he was 41 and lasted until his death. Garrison's biography I've already read, as my neighbor wrote a biography of him years ago that was one of the five finalists for the National Book Award. By the way, Kendi's book was the National Book Award winner as well. Riveting reading!

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I just finished Barack Obama's autobiography "Promised Land". It's a big, dense book, but his writing is so good it propelled me right on through it. He seemed pretty candid, as did Michelle Obama in "Becoming", though they are very different books. As he described various events and crises, I remembered them vividly. He certainly conveys the complexity of being President, and the huge number of people involved in all decisions. his first rate mind is showcased. He sounds grateful and appreciative, and he respects the positions of other world leaders. I still can't decide what I think of him. He's mysterious, even as he's appearing to be forthright. I also found that his sympathy for Michelle's situation made my empathy for her the greater. They really are very different people, and yet, they are classically male and female. The home front belonged to her, and his ambitions were allowed free reign. His amiability is genuine, but also his drive to make a lost boy beloved. Michelle gave him the family and roots he'd been sorely missing, and he gave her the push to step outside her box. I feel like that happened with me when I married my first husband. He was another race, another religion, from a place half way around the world. It was scary and amazing, life altering and wrenching. I have more understanding of them both, and on looking back I appreciate "Becoming" more than I did when I read it. Together, they show all the complexity involved in marriage and making lives together.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I talked to a friend in Texas yesterday. Their power is out and they are keeping as warm as they can through their fireplaces and piling on blankets. No phone, TV, Internet, or lights. But she has her cell phone and the burners on their stove are gas and they figured out how to light them with a match. Their swimming pool is frozen solid. They grew up in the south then lived in California their entire working lives, and retired to Florida for a few years, then moved to Texas. Little did they expect a devastating snowstorm. Perhaps this even will help persuade people that climate change is upon us, but since the deniers are not into science or facts, I suppose it is too much to hope for. Here we are wishing we had snow to help our drought, but no such luck. I am thinking and praying for mountain snow at least. In the meantime, we have daffodils, hyacinth and tulips bursting out of the ground and sunny blue skies. We feel out of sync with the rest of the country. Strange days.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I've been having dreams about my daughter who died. This morning I awoke from a dream where I was visiting her and she and her exhusband and daughter and I were walking in the city, looking at shop windows and stalls. She was walking ahead of me and I noticed she was very thin, and very beautiful. My heart soared at her beauty, but I also knew her slenderness was the cancer. We decided to eat dinner at a restaurant, and we sat down and ordered. When our first course arrived, it was a thin, reddish soup, with raw sea creatures in it. The waiter spooned a small live turtle without its shell into my bowl. I knew I could not eat this soup, and was struggling with what to say or do, then I woke up. A tsunami of sadness brought tears to my eyes, and I got up feeling so sad, so sad. I told my husband about the dream and he said the turtle was our daughter. I cannot swallow this loss. But then, I felt better after telling him, and when I went on a walk this morning with my friend, she assured me that my sadness was impossible to avoid. She pointed out flowers along our way, and we stopped repeatedly to admire strange succulents, a school garden with sweetpeas, two small red barked trees with no leaves that were extraordinarily beautiful. We decided to have a cappuchino, and by the time we left each other, I felt much better. There is no way out of sadness except through it.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I spent a lot of time yesterday organizing my books and putting authors in groupings. I found all the Tolstoy, including two copies of War and Peace, all the Dumas, all the Dickens, all the Doestovesky, all the Hardy. I realized I had grouped all my favorite woman authors a long time ago, but I was cavalier with the men. I adored Dumas as a child, and still find him to be great. I adored Dickens' smaller works as a child, like Tale of Two Cities, Christmas Carol and Great Expectations, but rediscovered him as an adult and admire all of his writing now, especially Little Dorrit and Our Mutual Friend. It helps that the BBC has done jewel like productions of the latter two. We began watching the 7 1/2 hours of Little Dorrit last night, and I was surprised to realize Claire Foy is Amy. She is now reknowned, especially as Queen Elizabeth II. We will see Our Mutual Friend next. How did I get my husband to agree? Well, first I watched The Expanse with him, and then I said I was going to watch these two films with or without him. He came around pretty quickly. He's now getting into it, and researches Dickens after we finish. I can't blame the poor guy. He's a molecular biologist. It's a miracle he's read any classics. Plus he has trouble with English accents, or any, so I translate for him. I can see he has fallen in love with the acting and some of the characters. And now we know what to do each night this week!

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My husband told me at breakfast about a dream he'd had last night. After he asked what I thought it was about and I said our dead daughter's name. Then when I looked at my texts, a childhood friend described the posts on that daughter's Facebook page, and how deeply the posts touched her. I am not on Facebook, and my mind started trying to solve how I could look at the page through one of my kids, but then I stopped myself. During her life I respected her privacy about those posts, and it smacks of possessiveness to attempt to intrude upon people who loved her saying what they need to say. I'm not the keeper of her "image". I've always know that much of her life and relationships were a mystery, and I don't want to feel that her death makes her life an open book. It's a private book, except my own memories. I have a treasure trove of these moments of love, conflict, laughter and intimacy. But of course I did not share much of her grown life. I'm going to be grateful that her friends love and miss her as her family does. I hope we can soon have a memorial service, where many of these people can attend, and those who wish to speak what they desire to share have that opportunity. I have no ownership over her life, reputation and impact. I'm a deeply proud mother that her influence was so strong and wide.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My husband and I had a fight last night over a Scrabble game. Objectively speaking, we were both sore losers, although my husband was winning. He had drawn all the letters with high count: the Q, X, Z, and J. I was complaining about the phenomenal luck he has that way, and then he countered by saying I wasn't opening up the board (with what I might have asked) then he put down the word Quaint, which didn't seem he was thwarted too much. He quit, I quit, and he went to bed and I read more in my book, Obama's Promised Land. We both had the maturity level of toddlers, but I see it as the cost of covid. We are bored, grumpy and the nights are long. We'd already watched two episodes of "The Expanse" and I'd watched the last thirty minutes of a Hallmark movie I'd already seen before. We didn't know what to do with ourselves. Oh, well, today is sunny, our grandson is turning one year old, and we're visiting them outside, masked and distanced and having lunch outside. He's a sweetheart, with a grin full of teeth, or chompers, as I call them, and a happy disposition. He will be oblivious to the celebration, but that's fine. He's walking like a robot, and baby talking non-stop. That should cheer us grumps up!

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Last night, after watching two episodes of "The Expanse" (our daughter gave us Season Two a couple of weeks ago and boy does my husband love scify) he went downstairs to play cards by himself, and I trolled the TV offerings and landed on TCM and watched the last half of a Rock Hudson/Doris Day movie. I was lured in by Day's amazing outfits, all pastels and hats and so adorable on her, and then the preposterousness of the plot got me hooked. Hudson is pretty good in these films, and evidently Day showed him the ropes about how to do comedy. Throughout the film a couple of middle aged businessmen keep seeing Hudson with various women looking like he is the new Cassanova, and when, near the end, he comes in the hotel lobby wearing nothing but a mink coat, they exclaim about how they'd never have thought... The big joke is they decide he's gay, and the bigger joke is of course he really was, but nobody knew it. In the absurd end, having gotten drunk and married each other, Day has it annulled, but nine months later Hudson flies back from San Francisco and finds a minister to marry them as she's about to go in the delivery room. Saved by the bell! These movies were my mother's era, but I've seen some of them on TV since, and they are not any different that the Hallmark movies so popular now. Escapism. Logic need not apply. I have a soft spot for Day, especially in "Calamity Jane" and "The Man Who Knew Too Much". She had more skills than she was given credit for, and she had an incredible jazz voice that was silenced by all the pop tunes. She died recently, and after the movie, Mankowitz said she remained friends with Hudson the rest of his life. He credited her with guiding his acting, and I believe it.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Yesterday I had a phone conversation with a friend about George Saunders' new book of essays: A Swim in a Pond in the Rain. It's structured with seven stories by great Russian writers, including Gogol, Turgenev, Chekov, and Tolstoy with accompanying discussion and afterthoughts. For two decades Saunders has taught at Syracuse University, and in his class on Russian short stories, covers several dozen stories, but even from this short selection we can deduce what an amazing teacher he must be. What my friend and I love about his writing, besides his Buddhist bent, is how emotional and immediately felt it is. He engages fully. He also has a great sense of humor, and, dare I say it? Joy. This joy is contageous, and our delight as readers is exponental. The stories chosen are great, but not without some flaws, and we love the flaws as well, for what they reveal about the humanity of the authors. I know Saunders is not everyone's cup of tea. My erudite son quit Lincoln in the Bardon not half way through, and I get it. But for my friend and I, the goofiness and strange goings on in his writing points out his fresh engagement with what he writes. The writing feels immediate. We were teasing ourselves about what a fun evening it would be with just us, George Saunders and Haruki Murakami. Buddhism rules!

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Yesterday I phoned my friend and then when she picked up I laughed, because I had absolutely no news to impart, and my mind was as blank as my calendar. She laughed as well, then then we proceded to chat for over an hour, until my husband opened my door and said he needed me to help him. He was going to try to replace the light bulb in our stairwell, and he wanted me to help him lug it inside and up the stairs and hold it for him as he shakily climbed the ladder and took out the old bulb and replaced it. Now, I'd told him not to do this risky thing, and instead ask our son-in-law to do it. He would have been happy to help. But no, he was a manly man, and he could do it himself except with my help. What's wrong with this logic? Let me count the ways. If he'd fallen on me he'd have killed me. Ditto with the glass fixture. He's at least sixty pounds heavier and my back was facing ten stairs, so I would have fallen all the way down. I told him how stupid it was. I couldn't have held his weight or the latter steady if he'd slipped. Which makes me stupider. Of course, changing the bulb did no good at all. We need an electrician to come out. The fixture, like the house (circa 1909) is a mess. But I helped him march the ladder back to behind the studio, imagining bopping him on the head the whole way. Dear reader, I restrained myself admirably.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I like this new thing where you can see all the commercials during the SuperBowl without watching one minute of football. My husband used to watch the game and call me in if he really liked a commericial, which irritated me. But this morning, as I came downstairs I settled in a chair and checked out this year's ads. I thought the one with Bruce Springsteen was strange, way too selfconsciously selfrighteous, but his heart was in the right place. I loved the M & M ad, and the Budweiser horses, of course, and especially the Bud Light lemonade one which felt like it actually addressed how this year went for most of us. I got a kick out of Wynona Ryder and Timothy Calumet redoing Edward Scissorhands (Cadillac) and a couple more. Now I've seen them without having to read or see the SuperBowl. Satisfying!

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

We have a mushroom growing in our front yard that is an Alice in Wonderland kind of plant. It is bright candy apple red, with white spots, and the first few days it was as round as an apple as well. Now it is higher and the top has flattened out like a pancake. I sent photos to my kids and they looked it up. Of course it is deadly poisonous, and I guess that neon red is a warning sign, but we have no animals to eat it, and even our herd of squirrels know to leave it alone. My friend once found these around her house and gave me three gorgeous photos which I promptly framed and had up in the kitchen for quite a while. Nature is dazzling in it's beauty and danger. Seeing the anteater at the zoo two days ago amazed me, because it was gorgeous and yet ugly, too. It's long snout is like a snakes'. It's as if we are consistently humbled by nature's beauty versus our own ordinariness. We are not the most spectacular species by any stretch of the imagination. The face of the mandrill monkey we saw at the zoo beats any makeup or costume we can concoct. Yet we devalue and belittle our fellow creatures and plants, and more often than not we are the agent of their destruction. Is it jealousy? We'd do better to appreciate what they bring to the world, and honor all life. They gift us with joy and wonder; two things we could all use more of.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

We spent the day in our backyard with our older son, his wife and our 5 year old grandson. It was a warm day, and we took a walk and saw a neighbor's koi fish and to a park where our grandson climbed trees. They had not been down here in over a year, and it feels like life is normalizing a bit now. I had rushed out this morning to buy pizzas to heat up, and ice cream for our grandson. He picked chocolate with strawberries and his mother dutch chocolate. Then I sent them home with a quiche I'd made and chocolate bars from Hawaii with passionfruit flavoring. I settled down to read, then remembered I'd been supposed to pick up a book I'd ordered: Mary Oliver's American Primitive, which my younger son recommended. So out I went, in my mask, and even stopped a minute to pick up shampoo and conditioner in a little shop I've been afraid to go in until now. I felt brave and silly at the same time. I have quite long hair now, and it requires major care, but then, what have I got to do anyhow? All in all, a really pleasant day.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

We went to the zoo today with our daughter and her two little ones. The weather was great and the drive went smoothly. The little boys lasted four hours, which is amazing, considering they are four and almost one. We all loved the anteater, a most amazing, beautiful creature, and the pecunaries, who look like pigs crossed with wolves. We admired the birds, including a great hornbill and scarlet ibises. We ate chicken tenders while a peahen stalked us. We thought the lemurs were wonderful, especially the ring tailed ones and the ones who looked like panda bears. The capped everything off with a zoo train ride, which the guys adored. Four hours and no meltdowns. We were grateful. Now I'm going to read my mystery and flop. I don't know how my daughter does it, but I guess once upon a time I did it too, but I was light years younger then.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My friend and I took a walk this morning and on the way back from our cappuchino, she suggested we see if Trader Joe's had a line and if it didn't we could get daffodils. We had the luck of the Irish with us, and there was no line at all. She offered to go in to buy the flowers, so I didn't have to even enter the store. She came out with six bunches each and she also bought tulips in a pale pink. We were thrilled, and now I have a big vase on my kitchen table, and another on my piano in the living room. It's been many months since I've had any flowers inside, and the joy it brings is outsized. As a child I'd say I loved pansies best, but as a teenager, I traveled with my Methodist Youth Group to Lake Tahoe to ski, and we stayed overnight in the Methodist church on the way. It was near Easter and the sanctuary was flooded with vases of daffodils, and their strong, fresh, unsweet smell. Ever since that trip, I've adored daffodils. The yellow is so vibrant, as well. Another friend who is a design expert once told me that every room should have a dash of yellow in it, and I've never forgotten her advice. The room just snaps to attention with even a pillow or bunch of flowers. I now have a yellow guest bedroom and often pick yellow flowers, that is, I did, before covid. Some of the daffodils in my yard are beginning to peep out, and I look forward to that, in a few weeks. Ah, flowers.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I have a Face time date at four pm with my five year old grandson. I usually cut him off when an hour is up, but he could go on and on. Why? My secret to entertaining him is letting him be the absolute and complete boss of the play. Monday we played maze, with him pretty much wrecking the living room and dining room in his house to create it, and me chiming in with questions here and there. He never follows my suggestions but what do I care? And it's not my house being messed up. Though I want you to know I let my grandkids do the same thing in my house, but right now, with the covid, that's not possible. After we played maze we switched to horse stable. I'd lugged down my granddaughter's wooden toy stable a year ago, as she was too big for it, and it has a pegasus, unicorn and three horses. My grandson was the Boss, and I was the stable hand. Mainly, I asked him "What should I do next boss?" He ran around exerting himself, and I sat comfortably in my chair in my living room. He LOVES being the boss, as in the rest of his life someone is directing him to do something. Grandparents can be like younger siblings and like them, they'll do anything to be included in the play. My grandson would Face Time every day but his kind parents make it once or twice a week. I don't really mind, but I do have other grandchildren that must be attended to as well, and I'm pretty booked up. I may be ancient, but I sure am popular!

Wandering ALong the Path: Right Speech

I'm having one of those day when I dislike being in a pod of just me and my shadow (husband). He didn't sleep well, so was grumpy, then kept interrupting me whatever I was doing, because when he gets anxious he wants to transfer that anxiety over to me. Thank you very much but no thanks. I valiantly attempted to ignore him, but he bothered me upstairs, he bothered me downstairs, he opened the door of my studio when I was finally out of the house. I have never believed in the Kahil Gilbran we two are one thing anyway, and we are pretty different, with different interests. Sometimes that enriches our lives, but right now all the little irritations are flaring up like kindling. I plan on going to the post office to mail packages to the grandkids for Valentine's day. That was supposed to happen this morning, but now it is noon, which is not a good time to go. I ordered four books, just to reward myself for having to put up with him. We actually behave well toward each other and get along considering covid and the isolation. But not today. I need a VACATION. Like that's going to happen. Perhaps wandering the streets this afternoon is a plan. A vacation from my house. I might even pick up printer paper or something really exciting.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I like advice columnists. I read Dear Abby, Dear Amy, and Miss Manners. I loved Cheryl Strayed's "Dear Sugar". It's like the readers are all over the map, but the advisor is sensibly calm, pragmatic and diplomatic. I am attracted to that equanimity. I strive for it in my own life. Sometimes I recognise myself in the wisdom of the advisor, and others I am the crazy person. In real life I abhor confrontation, perhaps because my parents and brother were violatile and argumentative, and I was the mediator. I will give a friend so many chances, excuse their behavior as long as humanly possible, and then try to avoid them rather than admit, well, that I am avoiding them. And really, my record as a confronter is dismal. I never feel better, it doesn't seem to resolve anything, and evidently, I am unable to persuade anyone to my point of view about the issue. I'm a failure at clearing things up. Nevertheless, once in a great while I must do the kind thing and explain my obvious avoidance of another person. This I did in the form of a note to a friend of long standing, with whom I have some fine memories, but who steps all over me when I try to keep our friendship to a once every couple of months thing. I have received no support or wisdom or comfort from this person, though, in the past, I have provided these things to her. I've tried to confront her before about actions that have deeply hurt my feelings, but she gets angry, walks out, then sends a note of apology a couple of months later, with no real understanding of what happened. I'm done. What a sad feeling it is to quit. But friendships run their course and end. It's happened before to me and will happen again. I, myself have been cut off with no explanation, but knowing really, it was not a rational decision but an emotional one. We weigh the pros and cons, and if we feel the relationship is draining with no means of replentishment, we bail. But I'm loyal by nature, and it always upsets me when this happens. Especially as I don't seem to be able to become more skillful at how to end a relationship. I'm not sure reading advice has helped, but it makes clear the enormous challenge sticking up for oneself entails, and that I'm not alone in the mess that is interacting with others.