The softest moments, the value of grief, and even Jesus wept

Sometimes you get those rare moments where you experience the wholeness of life, and you're so grateful for it. A few Friday evenings ago, one of those moments was breathed out into the universe at a birthday party in a small downtown on a summer evening. The heat decreased as the evening wore on, there were summer dresses and outfits, sparkly jewelry, summer foods, a pink blush beverage, a pretty setting at a winery, and good laughs.

At the end of the party, three of us stood outside for a few minutes longer, where I enjoyed the sun going down and feeling the temperature drop while a steady breeze came and went. The ladies I was with are lovely and generous and open hearted and accepting. It made their sparkle even brighter that night, emanating from the inside out. 

It was genuinely nice and oh, so very gentle, a soft moment that flowed across time, just for us. For the briefest second, I realized that I could be anywhere in the world, experiencing that moment. I have found that the heart has to be open to experiences or we will never develop the ability to recognize them as they come along and grab on for the ride. We have to live with intention, or we'll miss those moments. And that is a hard thing to do - live a life of intention.

Moments can be beautiful, but there's a melancholy in memories steeped in nostalgia. I think, in part, it's because we subconsciously grieve the loss of the tangible moment. The memory can live a thousand times, but the real thing? That's only once. 

There is the strangest and strongest value in grief. We are often taught to "power through" or to "just keep going" when grief shows up. Then when grief becomes too much and we give into it, we are riddled with guilt for what is often misinterpreted as wallowing, an indulgence in our emotions. In trying hard to depend on ourselves to pull through, we forget that God gave us this emotion of grief because HE knows that it has value. We forget that God's son, Jesus, wept.

I have seasonal rituals. They are the tangibles that I can recreate each month of each year, for now, at least. I don't have to rely on the memories of them, not yet. The day will come, though, when life will change - with or without my blessing - and it will be up to me to both love and mourn the memories properly, or to bury them so deeply, that I will never have to feel the pain alongside the pleasure of times passed so dearly loved, now frozen.

When you grieve, it's okay. We are made to grieve. The oddity of a beautiful memory woven into that grief can be jarring. I think that sometimes, it makes the grief even deeper, while other times, it helps pull us out of our grief just a little bit more. Just don't forget the other part - the looking forward. In the hard moments, it can feel impossible to find the looking forward. I've lost track of it on more than one occasion, stuck in a hard spot, feeling outnumbered by demons and dragons. 

The trick to the looking forward is that it's often up to us to create it, that new path beyond the old battered trail we left behind. Then, life gets funny and odd and mixed up, and sometimes, it creates the looking forward for us. I never hedge my bets on that, though, instead choosing to try to map out my next way forward. The life that will happen while I make my plan is part of the looking forward, I just don't know it yet.

I'm in that place right now, a different path coming up sooner than later. There's plenty of the old that is beautiful, but there is more ahead if I'm open to it. I hope that wherever you are and whatever your path, you find your looking forward while remembering the beautiful yesterdays. Life is rich and full and hard and sorrowful and everything else in between. Be kind to yourself. Lean into the moments, they'll be gone soon enough.

 

Cinnamon chip bagel, cantaloupe, and summer melancholy

UPDATE: shortly after this was posted, the heavens opened and it’s been raining for a couple hours. Thank you, God.

It's been unusually hot these days. It's seriously awful. If we don't get a break in heat and a decent amount of rain soon, the yard and gardens will think it's that hot, end-of-summer time of year and go dormant. We've yet to get a ripe tomato, and they're not very large because of lack of rain. How do people who live in the desert stand it? I have to go outside, I feel like my spirit would be completely crushed if I had to be indoors the bigger part of a year due to heat. I can't imagine not feeling the earth under my feet daily, or just going outside whenever I want, any time of the day and not perish of heat stroke. My hat is off to you. I couldn't do it. I barely function now, as it is, when I step outside. Can you say CRABBY?

I was craving ice cold cantaloupe and a Panera cinnamon chip bagel, so off we went yesterday to a bigger town with a Panera. The cantaloupe is from Aldi, cheap and really good. It was on the verge of being very ripe. I washed the outside of the cantaloupe with diluted antibacterial soap, sliced and diced it, and put it in the fridge. It's like ice cold candy this morning, it's so sweet. It's the best one I've had in a while. I only ate half the bagel. They are enormous, and I knew I'd want a second helping of cantaloupe. Lots of butter on that bagel; you can't see it, but it's there! Toasted and chewy and cinnamony . . . mmmmmm. 

The gardens. A girl could cry. We need rain, and crying doesn't make it rain, but it might make me feel better. We did have a little storm roll through yesterday, and we got more rain than a few other friends in the county, but we need more. There are chances of rain this afternoon and this evening and overnight, so maybe we'll get some more liquid sunshine. In the meantime, I have some pictures. Things do look a bit parched, but that's life in a dry summer.

First up, here are the sunflower and zinnia patches. They're holding their own between the small smatterings of rain here and there and some watering every now and then to try to give them a chance. They've grown immensely, so I have high hopes for these turning out. Prayers that they do, it'll break my heart to not have flowers.

This is rooster comb! This is the first year growing these. The seeds were an exchange! I have a huge picture on my office wall, and it's one that I took of our zinnia and sunflower patch last year. A gentleman I worked with asked me about the flowers, and I offered to share some of our seeds with him. In return, he shared some of his rooster comb seeds. Now, get this: my seeds were purchased online through a reputable seed company. His seeds were family heirloom seeds that he harvests and re-plants yearly. I think his seeds are a bit more impressive .  . . . I'm excited to see how these turn out. 

 

This is pineapple sage! See those tubular flowers? Hummingbirds love those. The flowers will bloom through fall. This is a very inexpensive item to grow for the environment and can be maintained in a large pot, as well, although with a pot, you have to keep watering. This plant is in the ground. Although you cannot tell from the picture, it's quite large now. They grow quickly and smell wonderful.

Lantana! What can I say? I love lantana. The picture doesn't do it justice. These are actually scarlet red, but it was a very hazy day, and they appear to be a dark pink. They're not. I'll try to get a better picture. Our butterly/monarch population love lantana. I have two of these in the herb bed. They'll help round out the space of the herb bed and give it some color while contributing to the pollinator species cause.

This is just a fun picture of our grapes. I love how, no matter what angle you take a picture of a loaded grape vine, it's always beautiful. Hazy day? No problem. Gonna be a gorgeous picture. When you see a beautiful picture taken by a known photographer, the credit always goes to the individual who captured the picture. Me? The author of any decent picture that I take is 100 percent God's creation. I was just blessed to snap it.

That's just about it. A word about the next few weeks, though. The county fair is less than a month away. Then, August will hopefully be full of fresh tomatoes and lots of time outside in the shade. It's a return to school for kiddos, too. The melancholy of September will be upon us before we know it, along with Labor Day, the last hurrah of summer. September's the month when ice tea glasses sweat the most, flies move more slowly - so slowly that you can, in fact, hear their humming - and time drags until you realize it's Autumn, at which point we will all cry "Where did summer go?!" 

I both love and dread September. It's the beginning of the countdown to the end of the flowers, ripe tomatoes get scarcer, and the wind begins to feel different. The light shifts noticeably, and the realization of shorter days is a bit of a shock. But it's also a time when the monarchs and butterflies are plenteous. They put on a show of epic proportions, flitting about, telling a story of "busy, busy, busy." 

I'm not a fan of the holiday season. It's too much for me, and I feel overwhelmed and lost by it. I think it's probably not at all what it should be, but people don't like change, even if that change were to improve their lives. September is that last month before the bombardment of the holidays begins. Savor and love every minute of this summer season. We are already nearly a whole week into it already; it won't last, seasons never do. I learn to live in the moment a bit more every day. 

Love to you on this 26th day of June 2022. I hope you get a chance to feel the earth, catch a breeze, smell a tomato plant, and see some pollinators. It really is the best way to live.

Now we're cookin' with gas (not really, we're all electric)

The first fry-up of the season has been done! Zucchini, yellow squash, a cast iron skillet, lots of butter, salt, pepper, and a large dusting of parmesan did the trick just right. It. Was. Good! As we all know with these particular vegetables, they'll roll in on the vine faster than they can be eaten. They taste like summer, and it's wonderful.

The heat wave - what can I say? It's almost everywhere, we're all miserable and a bit snappy from it. If you can't bear it alongside your fellow mankind, then keep to yourself as much as possible until it runs its course. Next week looks brutal, too. We are being careful with our electric usage, trying to do our bit to help out, particularly during the highest head of the day. Thermostats at 75 for several hours during the day, blinds pulled, curtains closed, no appliances running. If any laundry is absolutely necessary, it is only done during the very early morning hours. 

The weekend brings us us a bit of a reprieve, with 50s in the mornings. The washer will be going steadily, and clothes, towels and bedding galore will be line-dried in the warmest part of the day rather than in the dryer. Then, we'll wait out the next week and hope and pray that the heat breaks. We need rain, too. I think most places need rain right now.

The picture below sums up the heat wave beautifully. I refer to it as "hazy plush," because heat in the air tends to distort images a bit. The yard and trees are a lovely green at the moment, but without rain, that tide will turn. Brown will become the color of the season if we don't get some liquid sunshine soon. I feel terribly sorry for anyone who has planned an outdoor wedding this summer. They're gonna roast on their special day!

Did you see the pink full moon on the 14th? It was beautiful. If you missed it, that's okay, because the funny thing about time is that, eventually, another full moon rolls around. We are over halfway through June, it's boiling, we need rain, and time has sprouted wings and taken off. That's okay, maybe it'll head us away from this heatwave sooner than later! Love to you on this (very hot) 16th day of June 2022. May we all find a cool spot to refresh us and to help us stay composed.

Drive-thru drama, the fliers, first veg and flower patches

First up, our local Sonic recently had some drama with the arrest of someone who threw a mint at the drive-thru into someone's car, hitting them on the head. No injuries reported, the mint thrower and the mint recipient knew each other, but the contact was unwanted by the mint recipient, and, therefore, an arrest followed. Okay. That's that shared. I hope the poor mint involved doesn't get in trouble. Also, any unsweet tea at Sonic with any flavor shot is to die for. I mean, seriously. Good, good stuff.

Our fliers are coming out in full force, healthy and beautiful and ready to entertain us for the next few months! Look at this beauty on one of our butterfly bushes! Isn't it stunning?! 

The garden is starting to really come in, and our pollinators have returned to help us turn lots of things into food. Case in point, the yellow squash and the zucchini pictured below came from the garden yesterday. These plants form gorgeous huge yellow blooms that our pollinators use to help  us get these garden goodies. Without pollination, those flowers would simply fall off and yield zilch. 

So many people disregard our pollinators. Please don't be one of those. Plant something for them, anything. If you have pets, obviously, research what you plant, not everything is safe for domesticated pets (dogs, cats, horses, chickens, etc). But you can almost always find something you can do for pollinators, whether it's in a pot or a small patch of earth or a big garden. But do something. If we don't help them, they cannot help us. And for the love of all that is holy, don't kill them with pesticides in your garden! Deal with the imperfect fruit or veg instead. They taste just as good, and they're way better for you without pesticides. I'm no tree hugger, but I'm not an idiot, either. The earth should be handled with the proper amount of respect and care. If we don't do that, then we don't deserve earth. 

The zinnias and sunflowers have gone wild! We do need some rain as their future performance will begin hinging on our water supply. Praying for some liquid sunshine soon, I wouldn't mind a good, old-fashioned summer thunderstorm followed by a steady rain for a few hours, as long as the storm doesn't turn violent, obviously. But look at this! Beautiful! Row after row after row of zinnias and sunflowers. They are not mixed in, rather the patches are beside each other. We'll get a solid patch of cutting gold sunflowers living next door to a multi-color patch of California giant zinnias. I cannot wait to see these in full force.

Baby Iris is growing! She's over two pounds now and expressive and interactive with humans in her behavior. She has the energy of ten kittens, but when she sleeps, she sleeps well for several hours at a time, so that's a relief. Right now, she's simultaneously killing a toy mousie and chasing the border collie. She's a multi-tasker.

Heading off to fry some zucchini and squash. I'm going to thinly slice them and throw some butter in the cast-iron skillet and salt and pepper them, turning them until they're gold on both sides. I like jazzed up squash with herbs, etc., but the first fry-up should be one where the star of the show is the full taste of the first garden vegetables of the season. As the veg gets more prolific, casseroles and other oven bakes will definitely come into play. 

Today looks beautiful, low 80s with very low humidity. No complaints here, that's a very good growing day. Hopefully, though, some rain is in our near future. Love to you on this 11th day in the month of June 2022. The calendar pages are going so fast, I can feel the breeze from it!

Movie list, county fair dilemma, and maple French toast bagels

Welcome to the month of June. I'm only seven days late acknowledging it! The garden has been in for a few weeks, thanks to my dad, and I've yet to post pictures. I need to start that this weekend so that I can have a record of this year's successes and compare them to past years - when did things bloom, when did the first zinnia pop open, when did the first tomato ripen. You get the idea. Believe me when I say that it really does vary quite a lot season to season.

How did it get to be the middle of the year already? This is the first time in years that I can recall that my summer scary movie list is not yet even compiled. In fact, it's only raced through my brain a couple of times since May. That's so unlike me! I've got to pull something together this weekend. June weather is generally still fairly pleasant, but by the time July and August get here and the heat sets in, it will be that "stay inside or you'll melt" time of year. The movie list becomes the activity of choice.

The Fourth of July will be here soon, and with that same month comes our local fair. Every year since 2020, it's been a quandary: do we go, or do we avoid crowds for one more year? In 2020, if I recall correctly, I did not have to end up deciding. They canceled the fair. We were in full-on pandemic by then. We are not in full-blown pandemic around here at the moment, but cases are definitely on the rise and hospital beds are getting Covid occupants again. 

It's hard to know what to do. We'll watch the numbers and make our decision accordingly. There are a handful of people I know who went to our local Iris Festival last month and tested positive for Covid shortly thereafter. While they are not 100 percent sure that's where they picked it up, as they pointed out, that was the only change in a routine they've kept for over two years and never had Covid up until then. So who knows? We'll see what it looks like and take it from there.

This morning's breakfast is a maple French toast bagel topped with real butter. Have to include the ever-present strong coffee, flavored with sweet Italian cream. It's so good, this introduction to the coming season of Autumn. I never tire of maple anything. It's that comfort food flavor that never gets old. Funny how some flavors taste like every stage of life. Orange and grape Nehis? That's my childhood. Dark chocolate covered orange citrus peel? That was a teenage years discovery. Warm, sweet, strong coffee? That's my late teens and early 20s. I could summon a list of food memories that goes on for days with threads of flavors that all my life stages have in common. Maple is one of those  all life stages flavors.

Then there's Iris. The ultimate foster fail, she was a very tiny baby who was too young to go to the humane society just yet. She needed to get well (had a tiny cold) and to grow a bit more. Yours truly volunteered to foster her. The rest is history. Lord help me, I stink at fostering anything. But here she is, this precious baby, who has taken over the border collie. She has claimed Lacey as her own, and they are inseparable, especially during the morning hours when they play for what feels like a million hours on end. Iris is adorable, one of the cutest babies I've ever seen, but Iris is also a real pistol. She has the energy of a thousand cats, and pretty much does what she wants. She is incredibly sweet, though. As she gets older, she'll be a beautiful cat with a wonderful personality. In the meantime, the word "exhausted" comes to mind. 

We have apples again this year! I am so glad to see them. Last year, we had a very late hard freeze for three nights in a row. It killed every fruit bud on every tree and we got zero fruits last year. This year, we are loaded up. We did have a later hard freeze again, but it was only one night this time around. Things survived it a bit better. Garden items that should be ready to eat for the first time by the end of this week include zucchini and yellow squash. How time flies! 

Storms roll in today and tomorrow. Silver lining is that we won't have to water the garden and potted plants, but I do miss the sun when it hides for a couple of days. It is what it is, and how can you let the weather get you down when you're fully stocked on Dukes mayo and the garden is starting to produce?! 

Blessings to you on this seventh day of June 2022. Now excuse me while I go chase summer before it gets away from me. I have a scary movie list to compile and a few day trips to plan with my sweetheart!

Nimrod, the stars, and the light

Edward Elgar - Enigma Variations - Nimrod | Leonard Bernstein

It is stunning this morning. Seventy degrees with a breeze you couldn't possibly buy, not with all the money in the world. But, no, it's there, suddenly, for our enjoyment, a deep, soft pleasure that rolls over your skin and touches you as if Elgar's Nimrod spilled over your aura and made you weep. This is my weather with its sheer pleasure of nearly-bare skin under starry dark skies, standing alongside a border collie who raises its nose to smell everything ever created. Windows are open, so I can hear the kitten, Iris, in the house roaming around, making racing noises. It's easy to see the silhouette of her practicing jumps in the air as she learns to become a lioness. 

My BC picks up a million scents, but my sense of smell zones in on the honeysuckle. It's one of my top favorite scents, but I prefer it as a tribute on the wind. Any other way, and it loses its feel of nostalgia, the roadmap to all the feelings that wash over us as sensory experience gives way to back-in-time travel. I'm in the 1970s if just for a moment, summer in Missouri. The peonies are done for the season, but there is honeysuckle. The smell stays with me for life, soft and poignant, not really dulling with time.

Some mornings, our hearts are full. Sometimes they are sad; sometimes lonely. Other times, we're thrilled to be alive; then the hard days return, and we question everything. That's okay, too. We start out life full of a bright and hopeful light in front of us, saying "come on, it's this way!" and off we go. A million side roads later, and we find that the light that once led our way is now just a hair past our shoulders. We know that with the passing of time, the light will ask us to stop glancing at it over our shoulders and instead, turn to follow it down that final path. It needn't be scary, but it is important to smell all the honeysuckle we can while we can.

This morning is a true and beautiful gift for me. If it had come wrapped in a 14-karat gold ribbon, I wouldn't have been surprised. Never take beauty for granted, for if we ever do, we'll cease to recognize it in all its glory. Light and love to you, always.

Early morning has its very own composition, the best song for sure

For the first time in ages, we have that early morning of 66 degrees complete with the balmiest of breezes, stars, moon, and an ecstatic, howling border collie loving the feel of the earth down to her bones. I am feeling it with her, and it creates a stronger-than-ever bond to my perfect, lovely, loyal creature. Every room in the house has open windows. It's 3:30 a.m., and a good breeze means that I can smell our giant lilac bushes and the honeysuckle that has taken over part of the back of our property. I'm waiting for the train whistle, which should be along any minute now.

My big, beautiful felines have gone outside to explore for a little bit, and I can see their gorgeous shapes in their silhouettes created by the lights on our smokehouse. They are perched on the old cistern behind our house, noses in the air. This is it. This is the heaven on earth that makes me long for my eternal heaven. If it's better than this, then my mind cannot wrap around how truly glorious it will be.

If I close my eyes, visions of grape Nehis and orange Fanta and Frosty blue cream soda float around, part of that "early morning, getting closer to summer" composition. I swear, I can smell funnel cakes, too. The warm, early morning song is truly something to experience, unlike any other time of the day and year. I'm not really sure if it's like this everywhere. My heart tells me that the blessing of living in a rural location or perhaps at the beach brings with it this experience of becoming one with the earth. It's not everywhere. I can't imagine not having it. I think my spirit would die without it.

It takes patience to get here. Cold, long springs, unpredictable winters, autumns that feel boiling then are suddenly far too cold,  you get the picture. But the reward is tremendous, and we find that patience pays. This year, we've officially waited for over three years to get cherries on our newest additions to the property - four sour cherry trees. And now, look at what the earth has yielded, impressive beyond comprehension how nature gives to us on a daily basis.

Today looks stunning, minus the threat of some gusty winds and a thunderstorm at some point. I'm hoping we get a gentle thunderstorm but that the gusty winds die out before getting here. As they say, time will tell. Life is a series of losses and gains, with a giant heaping helping of uncertainty thrown into the mix. If you live long enough, you find this out. That's why it's so important to feel the earth, eat the funnel cake, take in the nostalgic flavors of our youth. 

I opted for a biscuit with Dukes mayo, fresh tomato and sweet onion this morning. It felt like flavors that are highly acquainted with a perfect, early morning, so that's what I had, and it was wonderful. It's hard to imagine that Halloween is only six months away. Where did those other six months go? I try to account for them mentally, but it's easier to give that up and just live in the present.

Love to you on this Sunday, the first day of May 2022. I hope you have beautiful weather today and that whatever represents your honeysuckle and lilac blows your way and brings you deep pleasure, right down to your core.