i wasn’t sure how it would feel to stay in the car on the ferry. i was leery of the windy, rainy day and how that would play into how rough the crossing could be. i’m not fond of motion-sickness taking over my day, so i was prepared…bonine: check, motion bands: check, ginger chews: check, water: check, salty chips: check, window open: check. i was ready. but still leery.
in the small harbor it was calm, despite the wind. but out there, beyond the jetty…
when people want to impart words of wisdom about motion sickness, they tell you to keep your eyes on the horizon. these words are partially true; keeping your eyes inside the vehicle or plane or boat doesn’t do you any favors. but there’s more to it. and i was worried about out there, beyond the jetty.
we so often stay protected, inside the harbor. predictability and security are seeming keys to our happiness. they are the indicators of serenity. we venture on small protected side trips, curious to see what we might find.
i am guilty of this as well. a homebody in many ways, i love the safety of the familiar harbor, the one near and dear to me. beyond the jetty is unknown, maybe rough waters, maybe difficult to traverse.
but it occurs to me that beyond the jetty it might be calm as well or perhaps more navigable than i thought. serenity doesn’t stay put in the harbor. it comes with us. out there, beyond the jetty.
one of the gifts i received for my 60th birthday this week – an envelope with seed packets of lettuces in it, dirt and manure. on the outside of the envelope of seeds was this:
“to plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow.” (audrey hepburn)
early november. moab, utah. i was standing on the precipice of a vast and deep canyon and was filled with wonder. My Girl encouraged me a bit further out, a bit higher. she was right to push me. the gorge inches away, unforgiving, i didn’t lose my breath until the very edge. but i breathed in so much more. i felt like ME. me, in my old hiking boots and ripped jeans, a couple black layered shirts and a vest, fingerless gloves linda made. ME. the air of the high desert mountains seemed to fill me and, as i stood there, pondering my very existence in this place, i felt renewed. a meeting ground, i could feel all the yesterdays that brought me there and the tomorrows that stretched forward. it is a spiritual place. she was right and i tied my heart to it just as she had predicted. the sun and i were each merely a tiny piece of the enormity. we watched day end and shadows paint the canyon walls until dark filled the void. we laughed uncontrollably. i cried. no matter what, the next day – tomorrow – would come to that place and sun would spackle the walls until it would -again- be light.
THIS will be the next album cover. in some tomorrow time. i wish to bring burning sun and immense canyons into that project. mountains and Spirit and old boots. a bow to yesterday and to tomorrow and the place inbetween. the air in me. i don’t know when or exactly how. i just know i need to somehow make the chance. i need to stand on the very edge, once again. it matters not whether i am relevant in these times. it just matters that i plant it. lettuce, here i come.
maybe we’ll go back. this sassy coffee pot sits at one of our favorite antique shops and drew my eye. we’ll be sure to know where to put it and, perhaps, how to use it before we maybe go get it.
we were on our way to cape cod and the sign salvage chic antiques stopped us. four old aluminum coffee pots later, we left the store. they are now part of a five-aluminum-coffee-pot collection on a shelf in our kitchen; instead of a canister set, these coffee pots keep all our different teas easily accessible.
anyone who knows us knows that we love our coffee. anyone who knows us knows that we also love re-purposing old stuff. but not the fancy stuff. old aluminum coffee pots, old black vintage suitcases, old wooden boxes. they are the treasures around us. they hold special mementos, nespresso coffee pods, clothespins for the ukulele band, art supplies, rocks we have collected on beaches, in woods, from high sandstone precipices or red rock canyons deep. they are history and they are new. both true.
when we need a break, a few moments to lose ourselves, we will either hike or go to one of our local favorite antique shops. things of worry will gently fall off as we walk through woods or aisles of things-that-remind-us of other times, memories, or maybe inspire us with a beckon to be brought home.
we choose carefully and deliberately. for ourselves and for the gifts we get others. it’s never the fancy stuff, but it’s the stuff that stops us, draws our eye, beckons to be purchased and re-treasured.
summer is teasing us….right around the corner, it is gesturing to us and making us yearn for the time in the sun, the time to relax in the hammock, the time to take longer walks, to go on vacation, to maybe do a long-put-off-project. maybe it is the time to learn something brand new. in that case, i have to remind myself it’s the time to put aside the insecurity of not-knowing-how and just jump in with both feet. you just never know what might come of that not-knowing. consider it might even be fun! (watch out d, cause i really want a donkey!)
how could we ever think we are done?
every time we finish, we start new.
we are learning and growing and embracing change and trying on new things.
always emerging.
reverse threading 