Flashes of Color

Flashes of Color 

I have a routine. In the morning when I get up, I push the curtain aside in the bathroom and gaze out the window. Looking into the sky, past the fences, the rooftops, I look to see what kind of weather I might be facing when I walk out the door.  Lately, the multi-colored climbing rose with yellow-orange blooms has been gazing back with its beauty. Regally satisfied, the roses sit on the branches, content to have their blossoms revealed at last. I have to look past the red rhododendron which has flowers at eye level to see the rose and beyond the rose to judge whatever might be happening in the sky. Not an easy task with the flowers that vie for attention.

As a rule, the sky is cloudy, overcast or sometimes entirely hidden by the fog that has formed and drifted in hiding the flowers, the world beyond my window. Fat drops of water linger on the rhododendron bush leaves until too heavy the water streams toward the ground.

However, yesterday morning, I was greeted by a rainbow in the western sky above the ocean. Excited, I ran through the living room with my naked body chilling in the air—looking for my camera, searching for my purse where my phone should be.  Opportunity was calling.  I tried taking pictures through the window of the bathroom, frustrated by the screen blocking the view, I hurried into the front bedroom and without regard for my neighbors’ sensibilities, I pulled up the blinds, standing naked with camera in hand I snapped several pictures before deciding to chance getting dressed to scurry out the front door.

The man was still sleeping, it was Saturday morning after all.  With complete disregard for his opportunity to sleep in for I was up, after all, awake, and heading out the door; I yelled to him “Get up, get dressed and get out here.”

Later on, I would realize the earliest of the hour when I and the dutiful husband came back in from viewing the wonder of a double rainbow in the sky.  It was just after five thirty in the morning. The day continued with showers, clouds highlighted by the sun and a chill in the air.  The rainbow was a memory, its flashes of color hidden again.

Maybe all memories are flashes of color. I know that many of my memories have been washed off the canvas, painted over with only a dash of crimson, cerulean blue, or true black showing through.  I can’t say that I want the ones that I remember hanging in a gallery waiting for a viewing. Why? How personal are they? Or do I think that they just are not too interesting?  Definitely not titillating.  How exciting do I want them to be? I am just not paparazzi material nor do I wish to be.

 

I like living in the quiet. The man likes living in the quiet alongside of me.  The only drama that we generally experience is when we are on stage performing as actors on a community theater stage.  What bits of drama we experienced currently is on the world stage.  I tried not buy a ticket.  It is a difficult thing to do until something reminds me living a life is on a stage.

As I get older, my body is shoving out subtle hints that this stage I am playing on seems very real indeed until I am encouraged to self-heal, to gather myself out of the imaginary hole that I have allow myself to fall into.  Perhaps, what I really need to do is to gather the flashes of color place them back on the palette, mix them to begin painting my naked body with possibilities. I want to run out into the world to glow, to dance, growing in joy because the canvas is still here so I am going to color mine.

The Great Constancy in Life

The Great Constancy in Life

Lately, I have found that many things occur over and over without any input or output from whatever I think I might be doing.  In some ways it is very comforting.  I don’t have to do anything, things just happen.  The sun comes up and goes down without my thoughts, gosh, I forgot to make a sunrise, drat, sunset time again.  Where is my mind today?

Looking on a smaller scale, there is the daily ritual of the spider in the bathtub.  Every morning as we start getting ready for work either myself or the man, my husband goes in the bathroom to start the water for the tub.   We have a small jar, a small cardboard piece of paper that we keep in the bathroom.  It is our spider jar.  As the days have grown shorter, our equipment has been in use every morning when we discover our spider sitting or racing about the tub in a frantic state of bewilderment.

My husband’s comment this morning as I greeted him at the door with jar, cardboard and spider was the same as always, “Is this our spider?”  My reply, “Yes.”  Without another word, he took everything away and headed out the door, down the driveway of our house to deposit the spider somewhere out there.

Constancy. This creature is part of the great constancy in my life.  Somehow, every day, I imagine its mind saying, “Here we go again.”

It has been months since I started this latest addition to my blog.  Where have I been? What thoughts have crawled or leaped through my mind and really does it matter.   Christmas is nearly here in just a few more weeks.  I am happy that our Christmas tree is finally up as I was hit with a nasty cold which managed to bring with it a horrid cough that made me happy for codeine to keep me resting for three nights.  I have spent a whole week of resting at home, missing doing things I love to do, like walking outside in the beautiful weather that we have been having, cooking Christmas goodies to share at work, and just enjoying whatever comes along.  I really don’t like being sick, it cuts into my social life.

But getting back to the great constancy in my life, my random thoughts just don’t seem to be quite as random as you might think.   Months ago, I asked a local artist to make some felted hats for my son and his girlfriend.  I didn’t think about it much knowing that she make contact with me after my request was finished.  Until this week, I didn’t think about the hats because I have great trust in having things come to me at the right time after setting things in motion.  I had after all, talked to the artist, gave her my phone number, address then I went my merry way.

On Thursday, I thought about the hats, I had told my husband that I wanted an outing because I was finally on the mend.  I had called a local bookstore checking for various books for Christmas, they had them, I told the woman on the other end of the line to expect me on Friday for dinner while I picked up my books.  I texted a friend, asked her to meet us for dinner.  My plans were complete so I took a nap.

Things just go nicely for me, we arrived at the bookstore/restaurant and were greeted by Kate who said “I have a nice table on reserve for you.” I hadn’t given my name nor had I asked for reservation but the universe as always had everything neatly in hand.  Caller ID is great.  It was a table for two, we let her know that we would be three for dinner and quickly we were given another nice table.  We were in luck, a band that we knew would be playing in the small, intimate space.  My husband sat down and I went to reassure the bookstore that I was there and would like to pay for dinner plus my other purchases all at the same time, wandered a bit, added to my pile, headed back to the table to rejoin my husband while we waited for my friend.

Well, it was a lovely night, my friend showed up, dinner was tasty, and the band was marvelous.  Making it perfect was my artist of wonderful hats arriving for dinner as well.  She had lost my phone number but had the hats at home.  She gave us the opportunity to come to her house the next morning and pick up the hats.  Remember my idle thoughts about the artist, the hats, perhaps it was a glimpse into the future, a moment allowing me to know that I would be seeing her or was it my thoughts bringing her to me?  There is an old saying, “Be careful what you wish for.”

 

As I look back at my nasty cold, I am aware that after my husband who had surgery over a month ago came home from his visit with the doctor stating that he had been released from all restrictions.  I felt a release, a knowing that now I could be sick, have it over and get well before our son arrives for Christmas.  It makes me wonder, did I give myself permission to grab whatever was in the office of coughing, nose blowing just feeling icky co-workers.  Well, it was a stupid idea.  Just because everyone else is doing it, it does not mean that I need to do it.

 

Once again, it seems to me that there is definitely a constancy in my life which revolves around my thoughts.  My thoughts bring both bad and good things to whatever reality I believe that I am experiencing. With this at the front of my mind, I am determined to work harder on the little, restless thoughts wandering through my mind perhaps corralling a few if necessary. I know that my heart, soul and mind seem to expand with music.  Music is great for rounding up various idle thoughts, it brings me to a place where I can center myself, enjoy the brilliancy of the divine light before releasing it outward.  

 

Perhaps, that is what I needed, a reminder of how carefully I can maneuver myself into a situation.  So what is the plan? Where is the strategy for allowing creative, constructive, divine thoughts to grow? It is near Christmas time, a time for miracles. This year, I allow myself the miracle of being. For being brings the constancy of life in every moment.  Merry Christmas to those who celebrate this day. To myself, I will open my heart to all possibilities, to all beliefs for that is the joy of being. 

Gratitude in Eating

You may think that being a “Pollyanna” is easy.   Before I go on, “Pollyanna” is a book written by Eleanor H. Porter.  Pollyanna was always finding a reason to be glad due to her very optimistic outlook on life despite whatever circumstances came her way and with her sharing this viewpoint, she succeeds in changing the world of others.  After the book and the movie, Pollyanna became a noun and an adjective for an optimistic outlook.  I am a Pollyanna.

I did not come by it naturally but rather through many years of living, experiencing, and surviving the events that show up in a life if you make it through your early years.  I have embraced being a “Pollyanna”.  I applaud the idea of finding the good in everything.  For in somehow doing so, I have found that my world has opened up, my heart is freer, my mind is more restful.  There are still days when my “Pollyanna” is hiding, whimpering in a forgotten closet but somehow she pushes back her shoulders, straightens up her backbone, and with a steadying breath heads out the door of the closet leaving the moths, the musty drawers and once favorite garments that have not been worn for years alone.

A recent example of my glad, my gratitude was brought to the front when I lost my dental bridge of some 45 years on a Sunday morning.  I had been experiencing some doubtful thoughts about the dental bridge earlier this year and had gone to my dentist in January to have him look about.  Dutifully, he tried wriggling the anchor tooth in the front and declared that he could not see a problem at the moment (it turns out he should have checked the back tooth).

I was listening to a Portland classical music station on the fated Sunday morning. I sat eating a slice of bread with my almond butter when it happened, the dental bridge came loose in my mouth. I sat not moving as my tongue explored this broken, hard stranger hovering in my mouth full of bread.  When I removed the foreign body, I realize that coated with partially chewed bread and almond butter was my dental work.  This was not a good thing no matter how you look at it.

 

I went to the bathroom where my man was still soaking in his tub of bubbles and shared my news before promptly shifting into my “Pollyanna” mode. 

“My bridge fell out”.  I declared to him holding the traitorous, useless party in my hand. 

“Oh, that is not good,” was his sympathetic reply.

“Pollyanna” replied, “This is good.  Because it did not happen while we are eating out with your mom after church.  It did not happen when we are traveling to Indianapolis to see my Julie and I am not in any pain.”

My husband went back to reading his book and soaking in his tub.

After sharing the news with my husband, I called the dental office leaving a message.  The next morning on Monday, I was able to get in and after a brief exam, my dentist declared that crowns for the front and back tooth was in order with a future dental implant between.  Lucky me, I thought watching dollars fly through the air as my days ahead were lined up.  I was given another appointment for the next day, Tuesday (things happen quickly when you are spending money).

Tuesday morning with the dentist happily starting to work on the back tooth when I heard him say to the dental assistant, “Well, you don’t see that often,” then a quick revised statement, “I have never see that before, have you?” There is a quick affirmative answer to the negative. Fortunately, I was not left out of the conservation.  Doctor stated that he would be doing a quick filling, don’t eat on it and I would have to have an extraction as the tooth was crumbling. One filling later and a crown prep I was out the door contemplating the days of eating one sided, arguing that soups are good, the world is filled with soups and that I like soups.  “Pollyanna” was right there.  “Well, you are not in pain, you have money and you like the oral surgeon. “  She was right, it was a good day.

I was fortunate, the back tooth such as it was did not develop an infection nor did I experience any pain. I was given an appointment for the oral surgeon.  Over a month later of careful eating, remembering that soups are good, I arrived in Corvallis to see the doctor. We were guided to a room and the assistant brightly asked me, “So are you ready to get this tooth out?”  My response was, “Really,” my next eager answer was, “Yes.” Both my husband and I had thought that appointment was just a consultation. Remember “Pollyanna”? She was really glad.  She was thrilled, jumping up and down with excitement. Yes, excitement over the impending extraction of the traitor in my mouth. Despite the wonderful needle pricks to deaden my mouth, my joy was high, nearly spilling out my mouth if it could have worked its way past the blocks holding my mouth open, the oral surgeon with his hands and extraction tools, drills and whatever else he might have been using lodging in my mouth.

 

One hour later with a large hole in my jaw, we were headed home with prescriptions to be filled for antibiotics, a mouth rinse (the blue stuff that I had enjoyed during the dental implant episode) plus a little plastic bag of goodies. Soft foods including ice cream, no straw and let the healing begin.

Yes, there would be no more worries about traveling to Indianapolis to see my Julie with a questionable tooth with a temporary filling living in mouth. The future with a long menu of soups spread out before me was disappearing. I was being freed, “Pollyanna” had been my companion throughout the ordeal of the tooth, and both she and I would share in the days to come along with the gratitude of eating.   

Knuckling Down and the Circumstances of my Life, Leaving Walnuts on the Tray

Knuckling Down and the Circumstances of my Life, Leaving Walnuts on the Tray

Sometimes you will be trying to do one thing and your mind will detach itself from the given task to begin running merrily down another path entirely. It is Saturday afternoon and after some time spent in the kitchen making and processing pear sauce, I am at last sitting down with my cup of green tea reading my latest selection, a mystery while Chuck Mangione’s “Children of Sanchez” plays in the background.  The mystery is one that I have been trying to finish reading for the past month.  I find that I will have to renew it yet again from the library (guess what, third time is not a charm according to the library, two strikes of renewal is all you get). It is a good read, Christopher Fowler’s The Water Room and I was refusing to give it up until I discovered that I could not renew it.  I was working hard on reading it while my dear husband worked in the kitchen cooking my dinner.  Chicken Enchiladas is on the menu for those who wish to have their mouths watering regarding my meal.  

My distraction is this, this writing. The stuff that keeps filling my mind was so persistent that I finally had to put my bookmarker in the pages of my book and look for a notebook.  Yes, I do use a pen and paper while writing.  It is so much easier to mark out what I didn’t mean to say than the highlighting, the dragging and deleting in my computer.

Knuckling down.  What an odd set of words to haunt my head.  For a bit, I had to return to reading in order to allow the filters to strip out of the way, causing the meaning of the two words to reveal a plan, to lend a drift of coherency to my voice so that  the stitching of letters together might give meaning.

It is at times like this when you are able to reach into the sky and can hold a star in your hand. There is a completeness, a wholeness of being. I like it.  This feeling of being part of everything. I am not sure what it has to do with writing but I end up on a different level somehow when I doing the writing. It seems as if everything is possible.

Well, here it is December 29, 2016, I started this particular blog in summer, in August when the full harvest that comes of the hard work of the farmers in their fields and orchards starts to fill my kitchen with fruits, vegetables and a mad desire to start canning this and that. But now, I am working hard on knuckling down as a friend requested a blog to end the year.  My question is what sorts of expectations and hopes are coming from such a request?  What will pile into my mind and onto the keyboard? We shall see.

I took a couple of hours off from work this morning to put a soup together in the crock pot so it will hopefully be ready for our lunch.  The goodness of the broth from turkey with a large assortment of vegetables and some of the turkey meat chopped up for good measure. It seems to be the one thing that is going my way.

For today has been a day of misadventures that often follows the rush to get ready for work.  The man, my husband, managed to sleep in, and somehow when he does we seem to run out of time getting organized with all of the ordinary chores that we feel necessary to make it out the door.

I had had an idea for such a day entitled, “The Circumstances of my Life”.  It seems relevant to today.  No great disasters but a few small things that happened or didn’t happened.  As most of you know I am living with a gap in my smile due to a broken tooth this summer and the surgery that occurred for a dental implant.  But let me get on with the circumstances of my life. 

It started with breakfast when I was cracking eggs for scrambling.  I had cracked two eggs, opened them into the mixing bowl then I proceed on the third egg, cracking it quickly and very coolly broken it into the compost. When I told my husband, he wisely did not laugh but reminded me that it was a good thing that we had lots of eggs. The scrambled egg sandwiches were good and I was very thankful for the abundance of wholesome eggs in the house. This was item one.

Ah, the circumstances of my life continued after we headed out the door for work.  We made it two blocks before we circled back to check to make sure that the garage door was down for the two great minds in the white Toyota were not sure.  Score one for us.  Door was down. Item two.

We continue down the block to the light.  “My tooth,” I cried, “I forgot my tooth.”  My husband gave me a look wondering if he was going to have to circle the wagons again.  I told him that I would take a break at work and come home to get it, for also, I was planning on coming home to get the soup going.  Item three.  But as we crossed Highway 101 and headed down the street to work.  I said, “I forgot my tea.” This has become known as item four.

This all reminds me of other days, with the tooth forgotten or the day when I wore two different black shoes to work and no one noticed not even me until I was stretching in the break room and happened to look at my shoes quite carefully.  Hmm, good job of dressing this morning.  Another day of my little clothing challenges was while we were on vacation in Ashland for the Shakespeare Festival, I was wearing a short dress with a sweater and finally that night while disrobing that evening I realized that it had been inside out all day, on parade throughout the town, in and out of various restaurants.  I was past embarrassment as the deed was done, the day was done and I was heading to bed.

This all brings me to believe that you sometimes cannot control the circumstances of your life but you need to keep knuckling down and always be willing to laugh somehow, somewhere in your day. 

I seem to be able to control the walnuts that I have patiently waiting on a cookie sheet for me to pick through in order to put them in baggies for the refrigerator.  But I got the walnuts in November and here I am still working on them.  The good news is that my son got his walnuts and hazelnuts in November two weeks after I picked them up.

The walnuts have a migration route.  They are constantly moved from the dining room table where they sit among the clutter of unread books, Christmas cards, a jigsaw puzzle, one emery board, one fleeced purple and pink jacket, two knitted hats and my husband’s laptop, (you get the idea of the treasures hiding on the table) at any rate, they are placed there when I am working on them, then they are put on the washing machine in the laundry room where it is nice and cold to wait for the next chance for me to attend to them.

I find that I have too many things that I want to get done and somehow the circumstances of my life get in the way.  I am fortunate, I realize that each and every day.  It really is the small things that occur each moment to moment that makes the difference.  Which is why I enjoy working with the walnuts, it is a meditative time for me.  I can believe that I am knuckling down to a given task and given enough time this too will be done, completed in some satisfactory way.  So I don’t worry about much else.  The given circumstances of my life can not intrude for this time I am spending at the table.  The only thing that I really need to do with the walnuts is practice my mantra, “Shells, shells, shells.”  This seems to help me put the shells in one bowl without the walnut meat going into the bowl as well.  For whenever I want to put the walnut meat in its bowl, I change my mantra to “Walnuts, walnuts, walnuts.“  It is good to have plan, a routine to keep myself on track.

If I was to put down ideas, goals for the coming year, I can only think of one or two.  To be kind to myself and to my other self, the remarkable man who shares the world with me.  The circumstances of my life come and go, the walnuts will soon be done, and as for knuckling down, well, that will depend on whatever presents itself to me.  Here is to a new year of changes, hope and forgiveness.

Black Friday Without the Hangover

Black Friday without the Hangover

I am spending time off from working at my forty hour a week job. Time off has been going well except on Tuesday when I was living ten hours in the kitchen cooking goodies for the man of the manor.  You see, it was going to be his fifty-eight birthday on Wednesday.  One should celebrate. His request was lasagna which ended up being a day-long event of preparation, of chopping various vegetables, mixing and finally making it into something that you can eat.   Oh, then added a pie worth a standing ovation with all the calories you could want.  Don’t get me wrong, I love being in the kitchen but enough said about my cooking. 

Today is Friday, November 25, 2016.  Plenty of shopping going on.  We heard of a friend who was heading to Eugene early this morning to hit the sales.  They left home at three AM.  Why, we don’t know, and we will probably never know since both my husband and I are not heavy shoppers. My idea of shopping is to hit the small local shops to pick up a few things but not on Black Friday.  My man knows that he is to search for gifts for me at the local Farmers Market or at my friend’s little shop and a few local Artists galleries but really at my age of sixty-two, I am not really interested in any more things.  I don’t need stuff, I have drawers over-flowing with items that were gotten in the past years for birthdays, anniversaries and Christmases.

We have a new member in our house.  For those who have read my past blogs or Facebook posts, you know that we have lost our two cats and have been living in our house with just the two of us since our son is still living in New York.  Our new guest is eighteen, a community college student who is staying with us while her parents are in Arizona.  I am mentioning this because it involved major cleaning of my front bedroom in order to get ready for her coming to stay in our house. So we had to move the clothes out of the five drawer dresser in the bedroom and over half of the stuff in the closet. 

I found things.  Lots of interesting, forgotten purchases of years ago.  I had three bags of various socks.  In my defense, I knew that the socks were there.  I had had the bags in order of the seasons, first, Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter (My Christmas socks) which of course did not count my various socks that had been in the dresser taking up a whole drawer.  So I purged with serious intent, I sorted my socks, placed them in bags to travel to Goodwill.  I was a Goddess recreating the world until I face the reality of my son’s room (The Void).  It is now the room that I sleep in, get dressed in and have my smaller following of socks tucked in a one quarter of the drawer.

Black Friday, I don’t think so.  I will not, cannot, shall not even contemplate heading out the door to join the crowds.  I live in terror, not of someone grabbing my heart’s desire from my ever-reaching fingers but the crowd itself.  The mindless hunters who are willing to elbow, push and tear things from others. So how did I spend my day away from my office?  Did I hide in my house far away from the maddening crowd? (Thomas Hardy) Here is my postings on Facebook today from my two little outings.

November 25, 2016  9 am

Well, I did it.  I went shopping on Black Friday.  I drove down to Nye Beach, parked by Panni Bakery, walked to the top of a street and gazed at the ocean. It wasn’t enough so I walked down to the Nye Beach Turnaround and stood looking out, watching birds riding the waves, bobbing up and down.  For the first time, I was able to watch the waves hit the concrete wall that offers the view with gulls at my sides.  They rested on the fence posts as I held onto the steel cable and breathe in the ocean air.  My shopping trip was successful, satisfying with no real cost at all.  What did I get? Peace of mind, beauty and hope for the world.

November 25, 2016  1 pm

I believe that I am getting this shopping thing on Black Friday down.  I just got back from a fast pace walk of thirty minutes.  Shopping goal was to increase heart rate and respiration. I got more.  As I walked along a street that past a deep ravine, I stopped, I listened and what I heard was water rushing below in a creek unseen as it ran in its bed beneath the tall pines and the large sword ferns. A crow was calling in the sky, a small bird chirped hidden in the trees and I continued on, to watch the water run down the gutters in the street, babbling when it was slowed by leaves caught in a drain and yet, I continued on, up a hill, pacing faster, harder until the rain began telling me to go home.

The sky is darkening at a rapid pace causing the gray to deepen to gloom. I have been working on sorting my cracked walnuts, my first bag of twenty-five pounds.  I may be done with it tonight. Katherine, our temporary sleeper in the front bedroom has made peanut butter cookies, I have eaten two. As for further Black Friday shopping, I am thinking of heading to the kitchen for some of the birthday lasagna, after all, I have spent a great deal of my time on my feet and after a great deal of complaining from them I believe that I will call it a day, at The rest of my day has been staying at home since the weather has moved back in with the drizzle of light rain. At least, until tomorrow.

Top of Form

Bottom of Form

Top of Form

How fortunate

I have found a new mantra.  It came to me on a Saturday morning when after going to the Farmers’ Market, loading up the car with goodies, my husband heard a noise while we were backing up the car.  Dutifully, I got out and started to look around the car but I could not see anything that we might be backing over.  So happily we went on our way to our house, five minutes away to drop off some of the produce, plums, yellow and white kernel corn, little orange cherry tomatoes, green beans, dark purple grapes and melons.  When we got home, I prepared a box of the vegetables and fruits for my husband’s mom and we were off again without a worry.

Once at her house another five minutes away, we unloaded the vegetables and fruits, loaded ourselves into our white Toyota and headed away from her house to go grocery shopping which is our weekly routine on Saturday.  Not today. Just a block away, there was a thumping, a bumping and we stopped the car to see that we had a right front tire flatted by a large silver screw.

We called the repair shop and decided that my husband would put what he calls the donut tire on and that I would walk his ninety-two year old mother back to her house.  After I walked back to the car, I watched my husband changed the tire, using my body and hat to try and keep the sun off of him while he worked. After a bit of thinking, we decided that we would go grocery shopping after church on Sunday as the prospect of getting the tire repaired might take some time. I told my husband how fortunate we were that we were so close to his mother’s house and how fortunate for us that it was not raining and how fortunate we were not driving on Highway 101 with all of the summer traffic. 

We limped down the hill when there was more bumping and my sweet husband explained that he didn’t think that he had tightened the lug nuts on the wheel for the final time after he had taken the car off of the jack to lower the wheel back on the road.  He checked and sure enough, the lug nuts holding the tire were easing themselves off.  Once again, I thought how fortunate we were that we had not driven further and lost the nuts, the tire and ruined the new front brakes on the car.

My husband limped the Toyota on the back roads to our local tire shop after dropping me at home on the way and after waiting a couple hours, they told him that the tire could not be repaired and replaced it with a brand-new tire free of charge.  When he returned home and told me, once again we thought how fortunate that the flat tire was one of the older tires and not of the brand-new tires that he had put on the car two weeks earlier.

How fortunate, just two words but what a wonderful way to whisk your thinking quickly, painlessly into a moment of thoughtfulness, a spot of unexpected tranquility, a held breath of satisfaction.  How often, something unexpected happens to us without warning, a broken heel on a pair of favorite black shoes, a jar that cannot be opened so you have to change what you are planning for dinner, a favorite blouse that you cannot lay your hands on while getting ready for work so you reach for something else.  These are small things, the circumstances of my broken tooth over a month ago for me was a big, big thing but how fortunate that it broke off and fell into the sink while I was home, brushing and flossing in the comfort of my home.  How fortunate that my dentist was able to cemented back in on a Saturday.

After having experienced oral surgery this week, I can say once again how fortunate I am to have a doctor and his staff so well trained to take care of me, how fortunate that I was so well-drugged that I don’t remember a bit of the long drive home. As I sit here, typing waiting for myself to heal, I think again how fortunate I am in so many ways.  How fortunate, just two words but they might be just the ones you need today. 

Behind the Doors

Months ago while I was visiting a cousin in Idaho and was wandering about there with her, we went to a house to pick up a quilt that had been quilted by the woman that lived there.  It was a quilt made by my cousin’s mom for my cousin’s daughter who was getting married.  Due to the great size of quilt and time left for the project, the wedding quilt was taken to a quilting artist to do her magic.  My cousin’s mom who made the quilt would be finishing the edges.

I was surprised, delighted with the lovely quilts that were here and there on the backs of chairs, heaped upon the table which might have served as a dining table if the surface could be found beneath the swatches of fabric, threads and the various quilts.

I admired the various cotton colored fabrics that had been wrapped on a paper roll with the vast quantity of their companions now made into quilting art pieces. Ah, heart, slow your wild thumping in my chest and excuse me while I drool. Space and time to do all that you want to do, dream on, dream on.  

As an artist, I stink, as a quilter, I am a babe in the woods and the quilts I have made are simple log cabin patterns, simple blocks of color which I have made into warm articles to cover our beds.  I made a quilt for my son when he was quite young, I think that he was five or six years old at the time. I took him with me to select the fabric, explaining the need for a red color for the heart of the pattern. He was very solemn when he picked out the colors for his quilt.

I was quite surprised when my little son kept coming into the room where I worked on sewing his quilt in his grandmother’s house before going back out to play checkers with his grandfather or to read with his grandmother. I complained to my husband about his lack of interest and enthusiasm in what I was doing while working on the quilt for our son; meanwhile his son was checking on his mamma quite frequently. Thinking back on it, my son was continually asking when the quilt would be done whenever he came into the room as he was at the age of asking us frequently, ”Are we there?” Or, “Can we go a different way?” during our driving around town on errands or on long trips. I wondered if he still has the quilt as it went to New York with him so many years ago along with a blue knitted afghan made by his grandmother for his bed.

 

I started this little blog in September 2015 and today it is the beginning of August 2016.  Where has all of the time gone? I can look in my mirror for one of the answers, it went to getting more gray in my hair (I have stopped coloring it, though I only just started about two years ago coloring just for the novelty of it), I am getting closer to retirement and I have a great sense that maybe just maybe, I should adjust to allowing myself more time to relax, to breathe, to mediate, write and simply be.

  

Which is precisely what I am doing today.  I am taking vacation time off to spend the afternoon at home to do whatever my mind might choose to do.  Apparently, working on this blog is one of the items on the unpublished list in my cerebellum. As well as cooking up some garden peas and pasta for dinner. Ah, but back to this blog and the title “Behind the Doors”.  Curiosity is a gift and wondering about the world is part of that gift.  Behind every door is a wonderful or dreadful existence that so few of us can have a glimpse, a notion or a grasp of.

I have often thought about writing about the stories behind the doors or my idea of the life behind the stained glass door, the stark red door in the side of a blue house, the door hanging on one hinge banging in the wind. So many souls coming and going in this day upon day.  I know that when I was younger, I felt closer to the infinite divine presence which seems for the most part lost in my present day to day living.

Here is the story behind my door, I exist. I walk out the door, open another door into my car, drive away to still another door which I open with a wave of my badge to open yet other doors to walk into my office to greet other door openers who exist.

I can talk about the doors in my mind that open and close to reflect my mood, to contemplate what is going on around me but the other doors that are constantly opening and closing as well around me, I can never imagine.  But what a glorious spectacle is unfolding, what a miracle it is to be part of it.  Yes, most of the time I forget that part,that behind the doors is a miracle and I am still part of that miracle.