Attila had a day off yesterday, which we both thoroughly enjoyed. He spent his day puttering about the front garden, edging, cutting, assessing and making plans. I spent my day with my trusty Shop Vac. Our deck, though lovely, was not well designed. The boards are so close together that nothing falls through the cracks. Each spring the maple keys that have collected along the narrow spaces between the boards sprout, threatening a forest. I used to remove these laboriously with a kitchen knife, on my hands and knees. No more of that, all those sprouts have disappeared into the roaring maw of the voracious Shop Vac.
I walked to my doctor's appointment this morning. It was just a regularly scheduled visit, keeping my blood pressure under watch and making sure my medication is working as it should. It is. Our family doctor is a gem. He works with each of us to monitor and help us maintain good health. He is cautious when he needs to be cautious and open-minded at all times. I relish his youth. As he is much younger than I am, he might outlive me. In fact I may die of old age before he retires. That would mean that I could rely on his care for the rest of my stay on the planet, and that is a comforting thought.
The walk was lovely. It was cool enough to warrant a light jacket. The sun shone through the trees waving in the brisk breeze. Every once in a while the smell of earth and green things was carried my way. This is my favorite kind of weather, brightness with the tang of a chill in the wind; the wind making just enough racket in the trees to drown out all but the most persistent sounds of human activity.
Our Dogwood trees are in full bloom. They are a magnificent, startling white. My eyes are riveted each time I walk into my office, endlessly surprised by the beauty just outside my window. I like to sit on the deck beneath the Dogwood branches, staring up into the sky through patterns of bark and waxy soft petals. The joy of being alive is so vivid there, beneath the trees.
Today I am immersed in domesticity. Bread is baking, clothes are washing, clothes are drying, and several computers hum in the background. I am even doing a bit of dusting, but just a bit. Winter clothing is being sorted and prepared for storage. Summer clothing is being unpacked and distributed amongst dresser drawers and hangers. How satisfying, being able to do these ordinary things, these little things that are really the big things. There is joy hidden in these things that are the stuff of little lives that are really big lives.
I remember someone observing that the proof, that peace had returned to a war torn country, was in the small act of women combing out each other's hair. The information came to me through a television screen; the camera showed women who laughed easily together as their silky hair received definition and absolution from caring hands. How fragile is such a scene, and how enduring.
|RECIPES :: Cast
The view from earth.
By the Easy Chair
by James Joyce
The steady throb of loud bass from the direction of "The Teenager's" bedroom. The sound of the washing machine competes.
By Christina Baldwin
"Ritual is the way you carry the presence of the sacred. Ritual is the spark that must not go out."
11:30 AM DST
Temp: 15` C
Wind: SE 28 mph
Sunrise 6:10 AM DST
Sunset 8:31 PM DST
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