Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

We drove to one of my favorite gardens today, because I told my husband I wanted a hit of beauty.  Lots of daffodils were blossoming, though the big fields of daffodils are not out yet.  The fruit trees had buds and some magnolia trees were blooming.  There are the traditional yellow daffodils, but also ones with white outer petals and yellow centers, all white daffodils, ones with orange centers, tiny daffodils, every variety you can imagine.  They are in pots arranged by statues or benches, along walkways, and also in the fields between and among the fruit trees.  There were also pansies, and Iperions and azaleas and camelias.  It was cold and I was touched by the bravery of pushing up through the cold hard ground to burst forth in riotous glory in colors of the sun.  Daffodils are my favorite flower, especially growing up in Virginia, but also because when I was a teenager in California, my Methodist Youth Group took a ski trip to Tahoe, and spent the night in a church on the way up and back.  It was near Easter, and the chapel was flooded with daffodils, with their tart scent of spring.  That smell will be with me always. 

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My younger daughter, her husband and their son are headed up to our cabin to enjoy the snow.  I could have gone with them, but frankly, I'd just as soon they sent photos.  I don't like being cold, I don't want to fall on the ice, and hopping like a bunny on the snow is not appealing.  I've gotten to be a wuss.  I arrange my life so there is minimal chance of falling.  I'll stay home and be bored instead.  I do have fond memories but I was younger then.  We lived for seven years in Colorado, where the snow was ubiquitous.  Black ice was common.  Ground blizzards stalled cars.  We would be driving on roads where everyone coasted through stoplights, because applying the brakes was a recipe for ending up in the gully beside the road.  We once had the electricity out for almost four days, and I carried my baby around the house in a snowsuit.  Breaking the ice for the horse was a struggle, and the car heater on the VW van warmed the inside up to -5o from -8.  Some years we had spring, some years the last heavy snow was in May.  Often fall was about two weeks, then the first snowfall and winter descended.  I have no fond memories of our tires being stuck to the ice and having to use hair dryers to free them.  Pipes freeze.  Electric blankets are necessary.  No more lovely postcard winters for me.  Been there, done that.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

We spent yesterday afternoon bailing out the basement.  It was looking pretty good this morning, but now a deluge is upon us again, and the sky is dark and pumping may be in our afternoon forecast.  Meeting with my dear friends last night for our writing group was a balm.  We stayed later to just talk, because we're all feeling the need of extra support for many reasons:  health issues, personal challenges and maybe just the season.  Yes, the days are getting longer, but not fast enough, and we're still in the midst of our winter, not as formidable as the rest of the country, but floods and mudslides and leaks everywhere are jumping out at us, like a nasty jack-in-the-box.  How do I cope?  One way, and what I did yesterday, is reorganize.  I sorted tote bags and put some in the animal shelter box for resale and the rest on a hanger meant as a belt holder.  I gave away every belt, because, well, I don't have a waist anyway so who am I kidding?  Then I took all my textiles from other countries and cleaned out a shelf in the hall closet, refolded them neatly, and viola!  The trunk in the guest bedroom where all of this mess had resided I then hauled downstairs to the living room as a coffee table, and filled it with spillover music sheets that had been dumped in a basket.  Satisfying!  And the "new" coffee table is not sharp, sturdy and hopefully more or less toddler-proof!  Though I'm knocking on wood as I write this.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

A torrent of rain is coming down right now.  Our front steps are the definition of "a river runs through it" and the basement has water.  It's almost as dark as night.  I'm worried about my kids commuting and the trees falling and the apocalypse.  Just kidding about the last.  We kind of already had that in 2016.  I have an excellent mystery to fall back on and sewing to tackle and my writing group is tonight.  We have a pond in the back yard we had to fill in, because our dogs got guiardia and were susceptible to reoccurrence.  My poor husband had built the pond, and a stream that recirculated the water and it was so lovely, with smooth stones in the bottom.  Now it is gravel, but when it rains like this, in ghostly fashion, the water rises over the gravel and for a brief shining moment we have a pond again.  Now that the dogs are gone, why don't we dig it out?  Well, we discovered that rats and squirrels and raccoons loved the water source, and that, coupled with our apple and persimmon trees the backyard made a spa-like environment for the little vermin, so that won't happen.  I'm friendly to all sentient beings, but not to the point of having a bed and breakfast for them.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My friend's husband is having wrist surgery today, and my friend in Texas has hip surgery yesterday.  How did it come to this?  On the other hand, my childhood friend decided against surgery this spring.  She'd had two bouts last summer when her knee gave out, and has had shots since that relieved her enough she thought of the old adage:  If it Ain't Broke, Don't Fix It.  We talked about how the body doesn't just unravel with age; sometimes it quits a while then gets its gumption back and recovers.  When my knee gave out two years ago, I assumed I'd have shots down the line then surgery.  Instead, it slowly, very slowly got better, and now I walk and clump up stairs and am fully mobile.  Yes, when the rain or cold comes I feel it, and sometimes I put that stretchy thing on my knee like a sock.  But I'm careful what shoes I wear, if I hike I take my trusty walking sticks, and I ice it if it feels out of whack.  My knee got a second wind, strange to say.  My friends' surgeries are absolutely necessary but a lot of the time the situation is less black and white.  Prepare to be surprised.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I am getting to know my younger son's mother-in-law better, due to her having a baby shower up in Washington and another shower happening down here hosted by my daughter-in-law's friend.  The mother requested I send photos of my son, and I waded through crumbling photo albums to capture babyhood through college, and it took quite some time.  I sent them overnight, but then Mother Nature hit the area with a blizzard, and the shower was postponed, and yesterday my daughter-in-law requested photos of her husband for her friend to put together a presentation, and I didn't know whether to tell her about her mother's plan or not.  It was supposed to be a secret!  Today I called, got a call back, and her mother has spilled the beans to her daughter so I'm off the hook!  I was exasperated, then realized, well, surprise, surprise, I've actually had some delightful conversations due to the mix-up, and she's nice and friendly and I'm glad she's an in-law.  Somehow we made a silk purse out of a sow's ear!  (Gruesome saying)

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

At the art museum with my friend yesterday, a lovely encounter occurred.  We had seen the Eames exhibit, and my older friend told me she was in Detroit during the late forties and early fifties, when all this modern design was bursting on the scene.  She had been a design major and with a friend began an interior design business in their area of Philadelphia.  She knew all the famous people from that post world war II era.  We entered the cafeteria, ordered and were told it would be a 30 minute wait.  There were no tables.  Finally we saw two men at a table for four and asked if we could join them.  They were gracious and delightful.  We spent the next hour talking with them about design, mid-century modern furniture and then on to a bit about ourselves.  They were a gay couple, living in San Francisco, but owned a condo in Portland, Oregon.  Their place is near my son's and across the river from my daughter's so we chatted about the art museum there, the Japanese Garden, the Chinese Garden and other great spots.  We even talked dogs.  Their pooch Greta was waiting patiently for them in the car in the underground garage.  They were about the age of my older son, and so funny.  I recommended a couple of movies they hadn't seen set in Oakland.  They were enchanted with my 88 year old friend's "I was there" history of the exhibit we'd just seen.  She'd been to the show in 1949 that launched the Eames name into a household one.  The serendipity of it all beguiled me, and my friend and I got the the car grinning ear to ear.