here comes the sun

Little darlins — it feels like years since it’s been here.

But dootin’ do dos aside, it’s not the end of a long cold lonely winter.  

On second thought — maybe it is.  Figuratively.  At least, I think.  Yeah.  For now we’ll go with that.

But don’t quote me — yet.

Let’s begin with rumbling in the skies mixed with the 6 a.m. squeaking of my neighbor’s bathroom door opening just under the sounds of me brushing my teeth — morning sounds on an unfair weather day.

‘Could set my clock by that squeak,’ I thought for the thousandth time.  And then — ’wow, it’s been a long time since I got up without the sun.’ 

So I started the day out thinkin’ about this awesome summer and how maybe I was starting to take the sun for granted a little bit.   And since I practically breathe in metaphors, my mind went to the ways people are like the sun while my body jumped in my car and started driving me to work — if you can call it that.  Driving, I mean — not work.  Because work is work, but driving —

Well, you know —

Anyway I thought first of the people I love most and how hard it can be when they’re ‘not out.’  When they’re down or distracted.  At camp and not writing.  Or overwhelmed by circumstances that could or could not have anything to do with me.

And I couldn’t help thinking about how easy it used to be to get stuck on trying to ‘fix’ people’s moods or figure them out and how far I’ve come in letting this go.  In learning how to ‘make hay when the sun shines’ — and knowing how to wait it out.

Because the sun is still there — even when it’s behind the clouds.

And I say —

It’s all right.

(take it George)

all it took

Can one gutsy question change the course of your life?

Well sure it can.  Think about it —

Will you join me?  Should we try it?  What if we — ? 

Two by two, questions and responses create history.  Billions of miniature forks in the road are taken — or passed up.  And tiny threads weave an ever-changing pattern.

“Grandma, why is it that your wedding date and my dad’s birth date are only 7 months apart?”

Devout German Catholic grandmother replies to her 20 something granddaughter in 1954 —

“All it took was one time in the bush.”

Well alrighty then.

One time.  Fork taken.  Multitude of threads to follow —

Well you get the picture. 

Er — maybe I’m not so sure I want you to — after all this is my greatgrandmother we’re talkin’ about — and one can only assume she was referring to a secret rendezvous in the farm foliage, but —

Let’s just say —

it’s a pleasant reminder that creativity runs in the family.

on board life

There are times in life when you find yourself below deck waitin’ for the storm to pass — or maybe even hit —

And other times when you’re havin’ so much fun you don’t even notice you’re hangin’ from the mast by one finger —

and you haven’t a clue what’s next, nor do you care. 

As my time aboard this ship of life increases, I’m definitely wanting as much as I can get of the second state — the “glorious beauty of an appreciated now” as its been referred to by —

Oh, who knows —

But I am seriously thinking about this state and how to maintain it — right this minute.

And what comes to mind as a huge contributing factor to getting more time on the mast and less time hesitating below deck is the makeup of my shipmates. 

When I was in high school, I had a favorite phrase in a little book given to me by a very special person — my S.S. actually — and it was:

“I would not live without the love of my friends.”

Can’t tell you who gets tagged with this quote, nor do I care — right now.

But I can tell you that it stands today as the leading contributor to my appreciated now — through stormy seas or calm waters.  And to this I will add two words that I’ve found make all the difference.

I would not live without the love of my friends who amuse.

Being amused has got to be one of the greatest simple pleasures in life —

And this respect, I live in a virtual amusement park!

bryn mawr-ning

Towering cannas and cleomes wave over the empty sidewalks. 

Throw seven foot shadows pointing the way to the dentist as I wander Bryn Mawr in the morning light.  

I can hardly contain myself — the connection to this neighborhood, the deep memories — and yes, the long shadows. 

A picturesque existence in a Christmas card perfect bungalow.  Planting gardens and dreaming.  Writing and refinishing.  Preparing. 

Simple.  Enough. 

For me.

But not for him.

And so, we left by way of the shadows.  The beginning of a truly wretched ending. 

And still.

This morning, this place, brings me utter joy. 

Makes me smile with my whole body.  And ask —

Is this not amazing grace?

That giant leaves and brilliant blooms way over my head have the power to delete disappointment and vanish the stain of suffering?

Truth and beauty —

prevail.

prying tools

Well, well.

The screwdriver, it turns out, is part of a larger family of ominous tools known as prying tools. 

And if that’s just not handy dandy enough —

One of its key applications, I learned from the police-issued “business alert” poster hanging in our office kitchen, is —

go ahead, shout it out loud —

forcible entry!

And if your heart’s still not racin’, well — get this —

The perp is described as “well-dressed.”  Stylish and charming, no doubt.

Because ladies, I kid you not — guess what he’s after?

Your laptops!

(Make mine a Phillips.)

quamba pop 98

Driving is not my strong suit.

And I have many theories about why this is so.  But let’s start with the obvious one.

It’s boring.

And when it’s not — well, it’s mesmerizing.

And neither, in my case, make for the level of concentration necessary to drive efficiently and effectively — by most people’s standards, that is.

Yesterday I was driving mesmerized.  Through the lake country roads from Mille Lacs back to Minneapolis. 

It was green.  Oh so gre-eeeen —

It was blue.  Oh so blu-ooooh.

And then —

It was pink.

A pink shape on the horizon just after I read the sign:

Quamba pop. 98

And just after I thought:

Wow, less people than on two floors of the office building I drive to every weekday.  And they have a sign.  Hmmmm.  Wonder who runs this town?

And then —

Out of the blue (and green) — a reply.

The pink shape. 

A woman in a frock — definitely a farm dress.  And stockings.  Sensible shoes.  Patiently perched on the side of the road.  Waiting to cross to the neighboring farm.

A Sunday morning summit?

I’m so there.

new walk

Ok, it occurs to me that perhaps I was close to the last mind on earth to get word of the significance of 080808 — and that tells me something about my current state — which has been, well — the best way to describe it is —

‘all taken up’.

What I’m trying to say is that my head and heart, hands and feet, ears and eyes have suddenly found themselves ’spoken for’ just about 24/7 over the last month and no, I am not ‘in love’ but wait — that’s not altogether true —

Because in a way I am more ‘in love’ with life than I have been in a long long time and some very cool things have happened and are happening to me —

But it’s not a relationship — or ‘the one’ — but if it was, well, that would be something to write about —

or not.

So I’m breathing between the lines more these days, which leaves very little openings for things to zip in and find a comfy place to lounge —

or not.

And, of course, that’s what I need to keep creating.   Need some ‘being’ in addition to ‘doing’, but that’s not going to happen for awhile now, so maybe it’s time to just walk the blog a new way.

Turn it sideways —

and hope for endless possibilities.

Why not?