the daisy might have thought no one would notice it. that it was past being noticed.
but i was drawn to it as we passed by. nestled in the grasses on the side of the trail, it spoke to me.
“i am not done, though look past my prime.
i am still in the sun, still standing in time.
though shrivelly and dried,
i don’t need to hide;
i know i am beauty and am very alive.”
i was surprised to hear a daisy speaking in rhyme, but not surprised at its expression of beauty, its yearning to be poetic.
i’m finding more and more – in my time in the sun now – that it is the poetry that makes me linger. it is the waning moment in the sun, the flower post-bloom, the cracked plaster, the weathered peel of paint. it is the imperfection that is attractive, the slowing gait, the putting-down of ladders, the simplicity of less.
like the daisy – i don’t know what’s next. i am steeped in the here. biding in the meadow.
but right now daisy’s yellow disc florets are in symphony – in a song to the sun and everyone else under the sky – whether or not anyone chooses to listen. it will continue on and on, weaving through the underbrush and the woods, past the river and up, up floating in clouds. it won’t cease…it is not done.
my song to the sun is gathering up energy. it, too, is not done. though nebulous, i can sense it wakening. though slightly beaten and weathered, i can feel it rising. though slower, i am aware of its resilience. though tentative, i recognize its imperative. the downbeat waits patiently.
this falls into the category of it-doesn’t-take-much-to-amuse-us.
this multi-colored lighted floating orb delights us. six diametral inches of delight. three triple-a’s and a four-hour timed display and our tiny pond is elevated to light show.
they threw out light wands from the giant PRIDE stage. they are styrofoam tubes – with a light element installed on one end. the rainbow can flash, disco-flash, or it can stay lit up. i’m pretty sure they had thousands of them. there were boxes upon boxes eerily lighting up backstage – glowing in anticipation of the toss to an appreciative audience. we all waved the wands in the air to the beat – in exuberant support. it was not just about music. it was about love and acceptance and kindness. elevated.
i got a little lost yesterday while writing a post. i flipped open facebook and just simply scrolled around. i was struck – again, as usual – by what i saw there. it’s always surprising to see the flip-side of fun family photos – the level of hatred, the dedication to anti-whatever, the lack of thoughtfulness, kindness, levelheadedness. so much anger, so much judgement, so much violent rhetoric.
i am the mother of a gay son. i adore him. it does not matter to me whether he loves a man or a woman – i simply want his relationship to be mutually respectful and caring, supportive and affectionate, equal and filled with joy. i also have been extremely fond of each of the young men he has been in relationship with. his boyfriends have all been intelligent, talented, compassionate critical thinkers and his friends are all-embracing bright lights and ridiculously fun to be with.
david wrote a post called “be woke” and i wished i had named my post-of-the-day that day the same. because i don’t understand where it gets you – on this good earth – to stick your head and heart in the meanness zone – or in the sand – and diss on anyone and anything PRIDE. i don’t understand how people – without a thought – will negatively comment on the gender identification or sexual orientation of another – while at the same time write posts with the word “God” in them. i don’t understand how people elevate their own thinking – their own bigotry – to deliberately hurt others. where is the love?
if i thought that the world would be a kinder and fairer place for my beloved son – and for the entire LGBTQIA community – if i carried a rainbow light wand every-where i went or floated a light-changing orb every-single-day, i would do it. i would wave my light wand at each step and float my orb in every waterway. rainbows in the sky would remind every soul to love-love-love. and moonbeams would fill people with light and appreciation of each other.
but – from the stuff i have read, seen and witnessed – i don’t think lightwands or orbs will help. i think some people – and i am downright shocked by who they are – are just dedicated to exclusion. elevated.
and i can’t help but wonder what if…
“there are sun beams and moon beams enough to shine…
this i know, if you want to know
what the world needs now
is love, sweet love
it’s the only thing that there’s just too little of…”
it doesn’t take a lot of hoopla or rigamarole or pomp-and-circumstance or hullabaloo for us. though it works for others, we are not pinky-out-martini-sipping-country-club-types or fancy-car-driving-cruisers or retail-zealots.
we sat yesterday – for the longest time – on our deck – in a perfect-temperature-world-morning with my sweet poppo’s old binoculars, watching the crows tend to their young in the high nest a couple yards over. we were enchanted with this sweet fledgling moving about, hopping on its nest and pushing the envelope of independence.
the day before, there were three turtles on our path. we hiked the long out-and-back trail, not intending to finish it. but the day was glorious and we were alive and we kept going. we stopped at each turtle to photo-shoot and have a little conversation. the message seemed clear…over and over. “patience and endurance”…from the bob marleys of the reptile world. “every little thing is gonna be alright,” they snap when we question them. “ok, ok,” we retort hesitantly. and then they line up another turtle further on down the path to try it again…“eventually,” the turtles think, “these dense people will get it.”
and mostly, we do.
about time – the movie – has an inordinate number of tenderly-wise moments. it is a mash-up of the-best-enjoy-life-lessons. it culminates with a quote from leading character tim who has the ability to travel back in time, “the truth is i now don’t travel back at all, not even for the day. i just try to live every day as if i’ve deliberately come back to this one day, to enjoy it, as if it was the full final day of my extraordinary, ordinary life.”
every time it makes me weep. really, both of us.
because dark chocolate chips (which morph into strawberry bark), turtles, bob marley and tim in about time don’t get it wrong. they clearly all get it right.
yesterday we had lunch on the deck. in our pjs. and it was not saturday. so – voila! – there go the rules! besides…what are the rules AND who makes them???
we were not – unfortunately – in our matchy-matchy red buffalo plaid flannels. it’s too warm for those. but pjs nevertheless. though, i must say, we have seen plenty of people out-and-about in their pj bottoms – i mean, anywhere and everywhere. i have encouraged d to not be so modest about his pj-wearing. we are right in fashion, apparently.
regardless of our hesitation to be pj-forward in all places, there is nothing quite so delicious as breakfast-on-the-deck followed hours later by lunch-on-the-deck…all in our pajamas.
it was a week of weeks and that discounts all the rules. period.
when we sit on the deck – which we so often do – we look out onto our backyard. it is serene most of the time, a sanctuary for us – like a cozy private courtyard.
breck is growing by leaps and bounds. once again, we are surprised by this aspen tree’s response to spring. it is the happiest little aspen, filling out and getting taller. it practices quaking every day in the breezes that come off the lake or come in from the south or west. but sometimes, there are winds that are coming out of the plains states with much more power. and this young resilient aspen bends in its path. it worries us as we watch, wondering if we need to somehow stake this sapling, to help support it. we will likely go ask the good people at schwartz nursery – because they know. in the meanwhile, breck bends to the east when the gales come. we sit on the deck and, from that vantage, see it point to the right, nodding its trunk – “ahead, ahead,” it seems to say.
the almost-monochromatic of this photo appeals to me. there is more than meets the eye – these tones, movement in the background. i stopped to take a picture off-trail. i found the small green meadow strikingly beautiful. and there it was again – the response to the wind – bending, listing. “ahead, ahead.”
the messages come whether or not we notice them. they are all around us, tiny universe sticky-notes that flutter and attempt to attract our attention. we can ignore them if we wish. we can be too busy, too distracted, too engrossed, too stubborn, too riddled with our own schtuff.
or we can look at all the ways we are offered wisdoms. we can listen carefully as the sun rises or sets. we can see the greens in the green, the movement in the steady. we can rustle around in the world – aware of the air we breathe, the sun on the top of our heads, the cottonwood as it passes on the draft.
we can nod our heads in response to the wind – whatever the wind is for us – and whisper, “yes. ahead, ahead.”
thousands upon thousands upon thousands of hearts gathered at PRIDE on milwaukee’s summerfest grounds over the weekend. it was a spectacular festival.
our son performed as a headlining EDM artist on the newly-renovated dance pavilion stage – the city skyline peeking out from the giant dome under which over five thousand people sardined to listen, their hearts invested in this event that freed them to be who they are.
we had backstage passes and that gave us access to be up-front and close to the action. not too far from our son on stage, not too far from dancing furries and acrobats and machines that spewed out fog and confetti, not too far from the fireworks display in the sky. it gave us a place for our hearts to watch our son in his bliss. it gave us a place from which to watch the crowd. they were energized and bouncing up and down and waving styrofoam rainbow light wands. they were alive and free to be.
we went to a street festival the next day. our son performed again. though this time he was on a smaller stage that was a bit rickety, he was no less committed to providing music that was celebratory and drove the beat home. we irresistibly moved to the music and danced in the street and laughed at antics of revelers all around us – till tears came from our eyes.
the two guys walking by looked over at us as we danced. “youngsters!!” one said, “i love it!! giddyup!!” we thanked him and giddied up, laughing, still convinced we were among the oldest people at the event. did i mention spectacular?
every heart at that PRIDE festival this weekend deserves the same thing. the opportunity to be who they are, to love, to express that love, to respect and be respected. everyone hugged everyone. there was no quota. there were no parameters. there was no resistance. there was love of living. there was joy.
“just kickin’ down the cobblestones. lookin’ for fun and feelin’ groovy…”(simon & garfunkel)
it would probably be easier to pick up the phone, call magical scraps in breckenridge, talk to jess and ask her to ship this sweet towel, but i’d much rather drive there, walk down main street, take a time in the oversized adirondack chairs on the sidewalk next to the coffeehouse, devour an ABCLT at breckfast, climb the steps to marigolds, hike up the mountain forest at the north end of town, watch the river go by and the bright sun floating.
then we could wander into magical scraps and admire the artisan handiwork there. and – ultimately – purchase this kitchen towel that we should have purchased when we first saw it. i mean, it’s just a towel. sigh.
i am not an impulse buyer so sometimes, well, things get lost in the shuffle of the decision. lots of times that is easy to correct – run back to the store, pull the website back up, click on purchase. but sometimes, it’s not as easy and the best solution – the most satisfying solution – is to get in the car and drive 1114 miles (and that’s not even our preferred route) to the door of the shop. yes, we are pretty dedicated to those mountains, that air. “life, i love you, all is groovy…”
breck doesn’t have cobblestones – that i have seen anyway – but it is our place to be kickin’ down the road, lookin’ for fun and feelin’ groovy. there are places you feel like you fit and places you feel like you don’t fit. sometimes, places you feel like you don’t fit at all – or even at all-all. those mountains and breck – well – we fit there.
and the daisy turned skyward – cup-full. and as i passed, it reminded me of abundance and plenty.
for the measure of both abundance and plenty is not rigid. it is variable. my plenty is different than yours. and different expectations apply to abundance. it does not serve me well to gauge mine – my plenty, my abundance – by your standards. no, that comparison is not right. there are similarities. there are dissimilarities.
instead, i’ll look at the daisycup. i’ll set my face to the sun. i’ll count the times the dogga runs around the pond. i’ll gaze at the pussywillows on the white bathroom windowsill. i’ll savor the creak of old floors under my bare feet. i’ll tighten the back screen door handle. i’ll watch the house finches dine on grape jelly. i’ll feel his hand wrapped around mine.
we’ll go look for turtles from the bridge. we’ll clink glasses on the deck. we’ll listen to the wind in the chimes. we’ll paint rocks, write words and create big pots of soup. we’ll walk in sync on the sidewalk. we’ll make leftovers and serve them with happy napkins. we’ll relish time with family, with friends. we’ll make plans; we’ll revise plans. we’ll kiss goodnight.
the solid wood door leading to the basement has a permanent arced groove worn into it. it’s where the chain (for the chain door guard) dangles and it has likely dangled there for decades upon decades. it’s been there the entire time i have lived here – so 35 years. likely installed long ago to prevent small children from opening the door and falling on the steep stairs, back and forth it has swung when unlatched, wearing off the paint and into the wood. it would take some serious spackle, some sanding and a few good coats of paint to make this door look like new again. but we won’t be doing that. it’s the patina that matters.
the old back screen door has a similar worn-in arc. that one is from when i installed a hook and eye latch on the door a number of years ago to help prevent our babycat from pushing open the door and exiting the house. because the old door handle doesn’t always completely catch, the hook and eye was a guarantee to keep the door closed. once again, the hook has worn off the paint and worn into the door. it’s not a pristine door, but it tells a story. the patina matters.
our house is like that. one patina after another. it is not new construction – or even relatively new construction. it will be 100 in just four years and i’m already thinking about its centennial birthday party. we are not worried if there is another scratch in the old wood floors or a glitch in the paint or an imperfect ceiling. our house is not unlike us that way.
the old building in breckenridge drew me closer, inviting photograph after photograph of textures, the juxtaposition of wood and metal and brick facades. this copper hinge – in its march through time – in the green oxidation stage – beautiful. though i suspect there might be people who would prefer restoring it back to its original glory, i prefer the mark of the passage of time, the nod to aging, the stories that accompany its transition. the patina counts.
we love to watch hgtv househunters and we love to pick up real estate magazines in distant places. it’s always the old houses that are the most intriguing for us. never the perfectly-perfect new houses with perfectly-perfect paint and perfectly-perfect trappings. it is difficult to visualize us in a house like that. i’m not sure what that says about us.
maybe by appreciating – and truly loving – the old stories, the wear and tear of these old houses – the arcs of time passing by – we’re just sticking up for our own personal patinas.
reverse threading 