Gladioli

I am surprised (and delighted) by gladioli in the garden. I didn't plant them. Some previous tenant placed these bulbs deep in the fragrant soil with hope, for their own joy and for mine. And now they are here.

I count eight awkward, tilting buds in the planter box. I don't yet know all the colors, but they have thus far revealed peeks of rose pink, moon white, and butter yellow. The others are still a mystery.

Now is my time of anticipation and impatience. Oh, when will these awkward buds open to their full extravagance? Will my intense gaze coax them open like the sun? Their unfolding is maddeningly slow, but fully worth the wait! 

One Thing Leads to Another

Tried out the A/C for the first time and discovered that it's not putting out any cool air. We have not needed it until now - I keep bragging about that - but humidity and increasing temperatures are starting to make it feel sticky at times.

The led to a conversation this morning with the maintenance man for our rented house. Nice guy; liked to talk. It turns out that he and his son have worked together for 29 years, and they renovate houses, ours included.

He told me that this house was built in 1910 and was very solidly constructed. I had already learned from a friend that this had been the home of the Lyles family forever. Ray, the maintenance guy, told me about what the house had been like and what they had changed. He said the his  son and he were proud of how this one had turned out.

I had the chance to tell him how much we love the house; that it suits us so well; and we love how the essential character of the house had been retained, while updating it to be more livable.

I think he liked hearing that, and he told me how pleased he was to know that someone lives here who appreciates the house.

Ray is going to have to call the HVAC guy. His name is Ray also, and he works with his son. I hope he too will have some stories to tell me.

I can't quite say how, but encounter just made me feel happy and all the more glad to be living in this little place that now is home.

Out of the Dumpster

Ok, I let myself get into a Trump Slump. I think that is understandable, human, but regrettable. I sometimes feel that there is no place unstained by him, but that is dangerous thinking and part of the problem.

I know that despite my moments of wretched feelings, I am not stained by him on the inside. I will not be stained by him or the "me first" mentality that he represents. What I believe about the unity and equality of all living beings and our imperative to be loving and compassionate, cannot be sullied by him. 

For me, remaining clear about who I am and how I will live my life is the most important way to resist Trump and his minions. If I allow myself to be pushed into anger and despair by all that is happening and to let the chaos inside, then I have given myself over to what they represent. 

It is not impossible to know the truth about things. It is right there in my heart and in my own wisdom. Compassion, love, respect, and the golden core of goodness that is our true nature cannot be tainted without my permission.

I don't need six talking bobble heads, shouting to be heard over each other, to tell me this. I need quiet reflection and going to my sources to restore my faith in people and in myself. I feel that i am sailing through troubled waters these days, but constancy will keep me on course and unstained. I think this is one of the biggest challenges I have faced in my life. Here is where the rubber hits the road, as they say; to live what I believe despite adverse circumstances.

To Donald Trump, I say: "May you be filled with loving kindness."

Give Me A Break

I find myself deeply longing this morning for one day unstained by Donald Trump, but where on the entire planet might one go to find a place unstained by him? Turn the radio off, go outside, drink in the beauty of nature, but he does not rest and things will be worse when I get back. 

I've heard some people express that he is God's Man, his representative on earth. Oh, no. What kind of hate-filled, spiteful, deceitful, self-serving god would that be? I have no doubt that the Dumpster believes himself to be a god, but far from being God's representative, he has been called to serve and promote the dark evil that lurks in the hearts of mankind. God is not amused with us. This is a sad time from which we all are going to suffer until we rise up and claim goodness and love for each other again. None of which can be found in the likes of Donald Trump, our Predator in Chief.

I don't believe that we deserve suffering, or that it is imposed on us. It's just that we have chosen it for ourselves.

Opening My Eyes

I'm enjoying waking up each morning to a surprise. My mind still grapples with finding myself immersed in the familiar and the new. Here I am in my usual bed, and I see my own things, but the setting and the arrangements are still new and not yet invisible. Is this us yet? Or are we just posing in this house, soon to move on like we do from a vacation home. The tension is delightful, as I continue discovering myself in this place. It is wonderful to see things in a new way.

Good Morning

How delicious to open the door in the morning and take a deep breath of cool air. That this day begins at 56 degrees on June 7, is quite a welcome phenomenon. That first cool breath is an act of "yes" to the new day for me.

Morning sun floods the backyard, and my first task is to take the bird feeder and suet outside. Our previous feeder met with an untimely end at the paws of an Urban bear the second night after we hung it on the pole. Now we take it in at night, and I've noticed that the early birds are waiting in the trees for it. I'm glad to live in a city where birds of many varieties live in abundance. Squirrels too, but they seem to sleep a bit later than the birds, though their gluttony quickly makes up for lost time.

Chili Dog, G-man, and I left for a walk about 8:50, and I shivered in my short sleeves. We walked along the greenway and wooded paths beside the rocky creek at UNC-Asheville. The campus is green and shady, and we saw birdhouses; bee hotels, tribute and memorial gardens -  indicators of the presence of people who care for and about environment and the people who live in it. Plentiful park benches tempted me with respite from my aching knee, but I soldiered on. 

The pitiful state of my left knee is a bother for the outdoor activities I want to do. No doubt I will soon have to find someone here to do a repair. In the meantime I am determined (most days) to keep going with my knee brace.

In this, I am inspired by an older neighbor I knew when we lived in Polk County before our coastal interlude. Miss Margaret lived in the fork in the road down the hill and around the curve from our house. She was 70, at least, quite overweight, and troubled greatly with arthritis. Yet, everyday, she took her tall walking stick and headed up the long, substantial hill that curved upward. She walked some distance past us, and back down to her house. It took a long time for her relatively short trip, and I winced to see her go. 

One day I asked her why she took that difficult walk. "Well," she replied, "if I didn't, I wouldn't be able to." Her husband eventually bought her a gym membership to get her out of the traffic, and I wonder if her walking remained a daily event.

I am beginning to experience for myself the phenomenon of "If I don't, I won't be able to." I'm glad for the beauty and cool of such as morning as this, which calls me out and rewards me so abundantly. I have all those roads not yet taken ahead of me, and I want to be able to go.

Settling In

A place for everything, and everything in its place.

Anyone who has sampled my housekeeping would snigger at the idea that I take this proverb to heart. I am not a tidy person, and a cluttered look is the essence of my decorating philosophy.

I do, however, feel, in a visceral way, that things and people have their natural and optimal place. Moving, as I have done recently, triggers a cataclysmic upheaval in the natural order of things and in me.

Well meaning friends, with absolute correctness, advised me not to hurry about unpacking. It is a big job, and it will be completed in time. It is not to stress over.

I know it. I just can't stand the disturbing effects of my things sitting around out of place - God forbid in boxes! For me the art of unpacking and setting up a new household is discovering each object's natural place. The urgency of this task is that until things are in their natural order, the place just doesn't say home to me.

I am persnickity about this, obsessive even. I try to be agreeable and compromise, with G-man obviously, but as soon as my back is turned on the offending placement, I can feel the dislocated object glaring at me with distain. "Fix me," the refrain rings in my ears the live-long day.

Why is this blue bowl just right on the coffee table, and glaringly uncomfortable on the desk? Why doesn't this comfortable chair belong in the den? I can't say. It just isn't right. I feel it somewhere deep in myself. It is similar to my response to the color orange, which causes a disturbance in me at the cellular level. I can feel it, and never, never, never could I live with it.

I seek harmony in this process, and harmony and serenity is what comes of allowing the right order to reveal itself. It is not, unfortunately, always the same placement of objects as in our previous home.

We are nearly there. I hear my things humming with satisfaction as I walk through the house. It feels like home - almost. There are those few bits lying around waiting to be served. They are either unhappy in the spot where I think they belong, or sadly, there is no place for them. These I have to give some time. My perception might be slightly out of whack, and I might wake up one morning and see things differently.

I have a strong sense of place for myself as well. I knew this was the right house for us when I saw it. I looked across the bright green yard and into the snug corners inside, and I felt it. The property manager was quite surprised, because she also showed us a sparkling new house that was frankly House Beautiful inside. I appreciated it,  but I said "No, I would not want to live here." I want the little house.

I'm that way about the mountains too. When I arrived the first time, I drew a deep breath and something inside opened and was nourished - the same now that I have returned. We went walking on a Parkway trail yesterday, and with each resonant thump of my walking stick on the packed, rocky trail, something inside me hummed with gratitude. "I'm back. Here is where I live, and it is my true place." Order is restored.