Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Our apple and persimmon trees are spewing out tiny hard fruits that are totally unedible. Eventually, in a month or more, we will see a decent sized fruit in both trees, but only a third or less of the original fruit. I was trying to explain to my daughter and grandson that picking these tiny fruits gives room for an apple to grow to a reasonable size, but of course, I cannot reach any upper branches to do this. I especially love the persimmons, as they are perfect oval shapes and when ripened inside, are sweet and with none of that aftertaste. So every morning I pick up these green pellets and compost them, as there is enough wildlife around here to make trouble for me if food is available. Rats, racoons, opossoms, grey foxes, as well as the ubiquitous squirrels scout for tasty morsels, though from the look of it, not too zealously. This task is mine, as my husband ignores the back yard, but I have a studio out here, so the reminders are automatic. Gardening by pruning, an underrated skill.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I spent a long time this morning playing Little Critters with my grandson. We opened the bin and put all the furniture in the right rooms of the plastic two story critter house with balconies and a front porch. I'd bought it for my granddaughter, but she has outgrown it so I took it for the four year old grandson, but the three year old tried it out today. He loved opening and closing the windows and putting the tiny bedspreads on the beds and playing with the tiny toys. I put clothes on all the kitties, mousies, and a turtle. I set up the kitchen and dining room, which he had no interest in. After an hour, my husband took over and played another many minutes, no doubt fulfilling a long held dream of playing with a dollhouse. Then we went to the rose garden, which is so secret I seldom run into anyone who has been there, but it is in a delightful bowl off a busy street, and has a pool, a long waterfall, and every kind of rose you can imagine. There were very few people, and we easily kept away from them. The wild turkeys didn't appear, as they usually do. They must have been up in the trees as it was noontime. My grandson would pull down his tiny mask to smell certain roses, and recommend which ones we should sniff. The visit was a gentle hit of beauty and tranquillity much needed. I'm grateful for it.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I'm seeing my dermatologist this morning, and being inside anywhere now makes me very nervous. It didn't help that my older son sent me an article detailing asymptomatic Covid 19 cases, and how pretty much we are all doomed. I'll wear a mask, but is a mask enough? Evidently not. This terror we all face is wearing us down. Everyone I've talked to in the last week has said they went out and soon realized they forgot their mask. That is how much we wish this were over. However, I am getting more used to the mask, and if I could just order a really good one in my size, I'd feel better, but all the companies only have size small. I can't get ahead of the curve and order before they run out. I never was any good at that shopping skill and it's really a handicap now. I've just spent 15 minutes trying to order books from my favorite bookstore, only to get to the point of checkout and not be able to complete the transaction. I finally called the store, but didn't have time to go through it all again with her, as I have this derm appointment. I decided to try one more time online, and this time it went through. Crazy! Challenging times indeed, even for the trival stuff!

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I am enjoying a book from one of the Little Libraries in my neighborhood. A mystery, not great, but nicely distracting. I ordered four books online today, but they are going to take two weeks at least. I don't feel like being informed or dazzled by novelistic prose right now. Too challenging for me. I tend to only like reading mysteries, non-fiction, and biography and memoir. I can read poetry as well, and short stories. I have a fat book of Lydia Davis essays, but though if it contained her short stories I'd read it in a heartbeat, essays take too much brain power right now. I really yearn for books by authors I've known and loved in the past, but there are no new books by those people right now, partly because it's summer and generally only beach reads come out. I tried reading a couple of those when I was taking care of my daughter, but they are so predictable and Hallmarky. Same with romances. I get embarassed by them even as I see the formula and know the plot. I tell myself I'm better than that, though I don't know what's better about mysteries. Oh, well, I have a paperback for the next couple of days, so I can entertain myself while social distancing. Ugh.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I'm feeling better this morning, despite the dreary weather and the news, which I make a great effort to avoid. My older two kids' stepmom wrote me from Ireland, and her support has meant a lot to me as I know how much she loved my daughter. As she says, we probably won't be seeing each other for a long time, as we cannot travel, but I feel her love. I know my kids are suffering but don't want to worry me, and we don't talk about the elephant in the room. They must go on with their small children and be positive, and I want the same thing. Change is difficult and everything about living is change. I'll adjust.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Yesterday I had a long telephone conversation with my older daughter's ex boyfriend.  He's a dear guy, and was devastated to learn that she had died.  Their breakup was mutual and friendly, and he's married and has twin girls who are now teens.  We "checked in" about our lives, and he said his wife reminded him he has letters from my daughter in India the year she was traveling around, and that they are beautiful and powerful.  He's going to offer him to my granddaughter's dad, to save for her until and if she is ready.  I loved hearing from him, and yet it was hard to bear.  I want to support those who loved my daughter, but I haven't much to give.  I struggle.  I looked at a stationery catalogue yesterday, to order cards to thank the many people who have sent notes, yet I can't even relook at them.  I'm trying to read "The Mirror and the Light" because my daughter loved the trilogy so much, and yet, though the writing is amazing, it too reminds me of her.  Today was a lovely day spent with my younger daughter and her two boys, and it's such interactions that bring me happiness.  I'm grateful for them and everyone who is talking to me, comforting me, and reminding me how much impact my daughter had in her short life.  She truly lives on.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My husband and I made a frustrating trip to the cabin Friday afternoon, waited around all Saturday for a stove to be delivered, and for the second time the attempt failed.  A week ago they brought up the new stove but it was all dented in, so they took away our old one and this time the delivery guy just didn't try.  He saw a barricade and didn't even call us.  So we drove back home last night, mission not accomplished.  I'd be upset any time, but yesterday I noticed I felt fractured, splintered, and realized I am too raw for these kinds of normal aggravations.  I seem fine, but can't handle ordinary life very well.  
It doesn't help that while I'm grieving for my daughter, my Zen teacher is on hospice and dying, and because of Covid 19 none of us can see her.  It is her daughter who is caring for her, and I know all too well what she is going through.  So maybe the stove is the absence, the deep and abiding absence I am now facing.  I'm not doing too well with it.