on the banks

This morning's walk around the lake was that little slice of perfection that so seldom comes your way. The sky was sun-bright clear and the water reflected every sparkle.

My mind skipped to the Chesapeake Bay where we go every summer and mornings on the dock when the bay is flat-calm. "Like glass" by childhood father would announce to us coming back to the cabin after an early morning survey of boating conditions.

Gazing out over brilliant water irons out my soul. Somehow all the tangles of life seem to have potential for fixing or at least managing.

Water somehow rights my balance.

And sets straight my path.

With joy.

Heavely breezes blow

We're re-landscaping the front of our townhouse and it strikes me as being a bit like raising children! You don't know exactly how it's all going to turn out. Will this shrub spread out too much? Is this the right texture? Color? And how much space to leave? - now there's the question!!

And on that theme we were at a wedding over the weekend where the minister quoted Gibran and the idea of having space between you and your lover to "let the winds of heaven dance between." I do so love that quote and feel it has saved many a marriage, and kept many a child from running away from home!

Question is - how much heavenly wind do I need between my spreading yew and my Japanese maple?

out, damned spot

On NPR I heard a quote from the book The Selected Works of T. S. Spivet:

 "Adults were pack-rats of old useless emotions."

How true!

 As I weed through my closet and discard that dress that I will never be thin enough to wear comfortably again, the sweater with a missing button, the skirt that really doesn't "go with" anything else, the blazer that has shoulder-pads, the jeans that are too short or too long or too snug, the blouse with the shadow of a stain ---- along with all these items that I might, just might, want to wear one day should go:

the slight from a friend ages ago

the failed resolution

the embarrassing faux pas

the consternation of  unwise decisions

the fears of what might be

the sawing anxiety of should-have-dones

.....etc, etc. 

Toss!

Vacuum the whole area!

Clean spaces make breathing so much easier.

Oh what is so rare

June.

Morning.

Tit-mouse's "Judy, Judy, Judy" (will he ever find her?)

Sunlight spackling green leaves,

Nosey breezes float through the window.

Eden.

In a galaxy far, far away....

Remember observation decks at airports?

I was reading in my mother's 1957 diary about how the whole family traveled from Lancaster to LaGuardia to see a cousin take off for Switzerland. It was a very big deal! And as the plane was late - (even in '57!) - we had lots of time to be out watching the planes, landing and taking off. We spent hours there and it was pure entertainment. We thrilled as the plane finally took off in the darkening sky.

Wow. There are just so many things that make that scenario seem like it should be in a history book instead of my life!

April

For one glorious month the world breathes color softly.

The greens feather layer by layer.

The pinks emerge petal by petal

The sky croons an azure love song.



Autumn blazes.

Spring is slow, wondrous promise.

Guarded

I was thinking yesterday about openness.

A line from Mother's diary yesterday said "we slept with the windows and doors open".

While our windows always open except in severe cold or heat, our doors are always locked. Always. Day and night.

In our childhood home we didn't even have keys to doors - that I know of. I guess the back door had a push lock, but the house was simply never locked - even when we went away on long trips. And we never gave it a thought. I don't ever remember being scared of burglars or invasions of any kind.

Now look at us.

In a near DC suburb, a beloved music teacher was shot point blank when she answered her door. Still no reason.

I never answer the door unless I rcognize who is standing on the other side

As for answering the phone, we haven't for years. Our land-line whose very existence is nearing an end, has an answering machine whose volume is turned up and we screen all calls. Cell phones offer the same preview. In my childhood days we raced to answer the phone. It demanded and commanded. Now it is all but ignored.

It seems impossible that in my one seemingly short lifetime, our world has gotten so buttoned up, stitched shut, turned and hemmed for good measure.

We are wary of life.