Yeah, yeah. I know the drill. Hands are the true indicator of a woman’s age.
But let’s get serious…
These Hands
Among other things
Have raised
Babies
Vegetables
Spirits
And Hell
Why wouldn’t I love them?
Jun 092010
Open Eyes, Open Mind, Open Heart
Poetry
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Jun 092010
Vow to release the old, rigid ways
They hinder each step of the journey.
Open to options, to love and forays
Don’t let judgment inhibit the glory.
Eyes wide open
See what is real
Eternal, soul-building, enduring.
Consider, think, choose
How to fit in those scenes
Witness? Player?
Defensive?
Alluring?
Then open up.
Prepared
For the ride of your life.
Jun 082010
I AM here.
In the garden.
~
Early morning dawns with promise
Cool air kisses me hello
Quail’s familiar two-beat comment
Letting his companion know
I AM here.
Pre-dawn light, the garden beckons
Heat has not yet scorched the day
Scent and scenery sweetly reckons
What was sown in mellow May.
I AM here.
Harsh now, all the elements be
Searing baulkers, the unwary
But in this early light, I see
The wonders, wrought so perfectly.
They speak to me
Lovingly
Abundantly
Clearly
I AM here.
Jun 072010
Paradise has it’s price.
My little bit of the Sonoran Desert is bursting with new life, and it distracts me at every turn.
I’m compelled to wander through my mission garden several times a day in an effort to catch the quail off the nest and sneak a peak at the 11 eggs therein. Excited to see the brown cotton ball babies as soon as they hatch, I check often so as not to miss the big event. Fortunately, the brown turkey figs, which I share with the cardinals, are ripening, so I’m well-nourished on every foray.
On the other side of the house, the yellow finches love the wildflower garden, and obviously ~overtly~ they love each other, too. There’s a whole lot of chasin’ and matin’ goin’ on. And I am, apparently, a voyeur, because I cannot stop watching. The flit, they fly, they dance low in the sky; and I watch every move, regardless of what’s on my morning calendar. I might soon be expert on the mating practices of yellow finches. Just saying.
Then there are the butterflies. At least 8 different varieties, and lots of them. Honestly… a friend came by one morning, looked out back and said in low, controlled voice, “That is a lot of butterflies. It’s creepy.”
And I’ve developed a personal relationship with nearly all of them. I know the adult food sources and the larval options. I know the plants they prefer, but the sorts they’ll eat if they have no choice. I know way too much about desert butterflies. What did I expect?
I planted a bird and butterfly garden right outside my writing window. It’s in full bloom. Birds and butterflies abound. Caterpillars rapel across my window panes and spiders skitter after them.Then the lizards and roadrunners get into action, hoping for a quick snack or a sip. And I watch. For hours. Lest any of us forget– BULLETIN — I AM a writer!
Some days I worry that I might never write again. But then I’m wont to remember… this is the Sonoran Desert. Temperatures are nearing 110° most afternoons. Soon, the wildlife will retreat to the cooler ends of the days, leaving the middles for writing.
And I AM, after all, a gardener, too. So I’ll enjoy this little bit of paradise, and appreciate what a gift it really is.
Wanna join me?
Jun 042010
Love.
One of my favorite topics.
I’m big on it.
I’ve been in various stages and ages of love with the same man for nearly 34 years. I loved him intensely way back when. I love him intensely now. We met in high school, went to nearby colleges, and married when barely in our twenties. We had a mortgage at age twenty-five and three babies before I was thirty.
It was those babies, as they grew, developed and became the people they are now, who taught me about the greatness, the hugeness, of love. With each one, I wondered “Could I possibly love another person to the degree that I love this one?” And as each one came into being, I experienced the expanding nature of love. If one is open to the possibility, love is never-ending, unlimited, and I think, eternal. It grows and it grows and it grows, if you let it.
Through some challenging times as the matriarch of a family, I learned, among other valuable lessons, the wonder and truth of unconditional love. I learned that people aren’t necessarily their actions or their choices; and that it’s my duty, indeed my blessing, to love them regardless of the path they walk in the world. This wasn’t an easy lesson. It took staring into the chasm of near-death to soften my heart and my soul. How lucky I am that they did. Selah.
As my children bring others into their lives and into our shared world, my love is extended. How can I not love someone who so clearly loves my child? Or someone my child so deeply loves? It grows this way, love. It extends to others and surprises us with its intensity. The world, I’ve learned, is filled with people I do love, could love, would love.
As I age, I realize and recognize a love that always is, a love that encompasses my essential self. I feel deeply for people I’ve long-known, as well as some I’ve newly met. I feel connected to others in a way that makes me wonder about life here and now, and life in the past and in the future. I consider the possibilities that I knew and loved in another way, in another time and place, in another life and realm. I thrill at the ongoing, undying qualities of love, leading forward and backward across the spectrum of existence.
When inclined to judge or begrudge, I remind myself to love. I’m better in every way when I function this way. I feel love and know it’s what I was created to feel, what I’ve evolved to be, what I AM.
I love Love.
And I love this Erica Jong quote:
“Love is everything it’s cracked up to be… It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for.”
So I will continue to fight, and try to be brave, and risk all that I have, for the glory of love. Because it is everything it’s cracked up to be… and then some.
