Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

You are here: Home / Archives for thelazyw

friday 5 at the farm, oct 20, 2023

Hooowwwww is it already Friday again? This week has been another one packed with joys, both big and small, just shouldered and layered together like sardines in a too small can, and I love it. But I am stunned by the passage of time. Again.

How about a quick Friday 5 post to remind our future selves that yes, life is full and beautiful even when it races past at lightspeed? Okay.

CONNECTION: We have been fortunate to spend lots Of quality time with loved ones lately. Last Friday (I know that is technically last week, but I have not documented this joy yet) I drove to the city and savored a three hour coffee date with Kellie. We had not had any appreciable time alone in probably a year, and I missed her terribly. It was a soul refresher! We also had a glorious, casual, festive weekend with our dear friends Rex and Cathy, hip-hoppin around a local fall festival and then spending an afternoon carving jack o’lanterns and eating chili by the bonfire. On Monday, I had a wonderful visit with my Aunt Marion, who I have not written much about here but who has been central to my formation. She is at a stage in life when I appreciate every hour with her and regret the ones I have avoided. The next night, Mom and I met at Oklahoma Christian University in Edmond to listen to the author of Killers of the Flower Moon. That evening has been soaking into my bones every waking minute since. So fascinating! Wednesday was my sweet Dad’s birthday, and the whole local gang descended onto one poor waitress’ table in Midwest City to celebrate. I took a batch of triple chocolate cupcakes and sparkling “66” candles, and we all had a great time. I sure hope he felt loved. Today we had surprise guests, Mickey and his new lady friend, and my running friend Jeff! This weekend we have a few more easy social plans, and our tanks will be full to overflowing. I really value packing in easy but meaningful connections like this before the holidays, before the weather turns, before chaos threatens to rush things even more.

ANIMALS: The Farm-ily is doing well. The chickens are cooped up right now, partly to give my fall seedlings a chance to establish, and partly because of recent reports of the Avian Flu. Chanta had one half day of diarrhea, but it resolved quickly, thank goodness. I hope it was as simple as eating a bit of mold or mushrooms. He is great now. Meh has been a cuddle bug this week, and Dusty thinks that every time he sees me walk outside I most likely have carrots in my pockets. We owe this development to Cathy, who got the horses hooked on carrots while they farm sat for us in September (hitherto to their treats were mostly peppermints and apples). All three of the bachelors are getting that early autumn fuzz now, and it’s beyond soft. It’s sweater weather for them too! Klaus is on a personal mission to either befriend or exterminate two particular squirrels who jet back and forth across the meditation path all day. It consumes all of his available physical stamina as well as most of his waking thoughts, I am pretty sure. An armadillo is dramatically renovating three lawns for us, no charge. Very generous. We do have a big, exciting Farm-ily announcement to make soon, but I am going to try and hold it in for a while. This will be a challenge for me.

DOMESTICITY & THOUGHTS: I spent some time in the Apartment this week, editing furniture and collections, squaring up my sewing supplies for winter projects, and generally cleaning and reordering things. I have moved my writing desk up here, too, which is both smart and luxurious. It is easier to stay focused on writing with a dedicated spot that keeps me from seeing half a million other tasks at arm’s length, or hearing the tv. We are decorated nice and spooky for Halloween and are already excited for Thanksgiving and Christmas. The whole family is going to be together again! Twice in one year, and I am so PUMPED!! My mind is buzzing, but in a calm and pleasant way. I could sit here and type out one blessing or miracle or answer to prayer and be here forever. You might not believe it all. The flow of goodness in our life right now, really always but maybe we are sometimes sloe to acknowledge it? is staggering. This flow of Love is a strong, nourishing, safe river of cold, mineral rich water that we need and love and treasure. I have been practicing a few mental exercises that keep me in the conduit frame of mind, so that I can receive and then share the goodness over and over again, letting it flow freely through me, without feeling the need to hoard any of it or reject it or let it leak out before my thirst is quenched. If this is interesting to you, message me and we will talk!

HEALTH: News on the health front here is great. Handsome’s stitches came out some time ago, and his wound is fully healed. We continue to be actively thankful for this. because that bizarre freak accident could have been life altering. Or life ending. Not to be dramatic; it’s just true. He also has been taking some chest pains seriously and sought more aggressive attention from his cardiologist. We are extremely happy to report that his physical self is thriving and safe. His mental load and overall stress levels are beyond the scope, though, so that is as serious as if we had received a scary medical report. As for me, all I can say is that a couple of days ago while running, I tripped over literally nothing and fell forward in a full speed, momentum-driven, cartwheel kind of way, straight to the sidewalk. I was so embarrassed, that I just laid there for a few seconds, hoping the ladies walking up to me would just leave me for dead and pretend they saw nothing. One hip bone, one elbow, and both knees and both hands were scraped up and bloody, and my left hand was bruised. I am thankful it was not worse, and I would like to give a shout out to the older gentlemen who witnessed my actual fall form grace, continued to speed walk past me, and called out, “SOMETIMES YOU GOTTA BLEED!” Thank you sir. Thank you indeed.

GARDENS: The farm gardens are still beautiful. Summer treasures are exhausted and changing but still producing too, which blows my mind. Tomatoes, peppers and fragrant herbs are the big show offs right now, but soon abut twenty brassica plants and several patches of salad greens will take center stage. I do not have the heart to tear out a single thing, not even the blackening Tithonia or zinnias with powdery mildew. I relish the crispy sepia shades, and I am happy to just keep things hydrated and delay the culling. We are still Grand Central Station for pollinators, anyway, so why rob them these final feasts? I have planted a few beds with fall treasures and swapped out the front door and kitchen door planters a little bit. Nothing too crazy, just small adjustments for the barely different weather and my shifting moods. I am in the market for more asparagus, two apple trees, more spring bulbs, and more wildflower seeds.

Okay friends, I hope your week was also packed with a variety of joys like sardines in a too small can. I hope you are approaching your weekend with full hearts and tired bodies and enough space for a couple of adventures, work worth doing well, and all the pleasures life can afford you. It is okay to be happy, even in the midst of tragedy. It is okay to enjoy your life. It is okay to choose to believe that the best is yet to come.

Be happy on purpose.
XOXOXO

early october senses inventory

See: Sunlight streaming in and bouncing cheerfully off of several small disco balls, now their fuzzy reflections wiggling around the room as if they are living creatures. Halloween decorations in front of me on the dining room table and above me, suspended from the light fixture, mixed with honeysuckle twigs. I have the light bulbs in here set to purple just for fun, and even in the bright afternoon sun this is causing a bowl of apples to appear black. Oh wait, that is a plastic rat. The apples are fine. Two stacks of notebooks and garden references. My cell phone which needs to be charged.

Hear: Roosters crowing. Klaus alternately snoring deeply then breathing fast and shallow, catching his breath after a fun romp around the back field. Clack-tap-clack-tap of my keyboard. Refrigerator humming.

Touch: My bare feet on the area rug, toes searching tentatively for stickers that are surely hiding in the deep pile. Baggy denim overalls, too baggy, constantly falling off of my shoulders. My husband’s Top Gun t shirt beneath those, also too baggy but perfect. Some dried sweat around my hairline, proof of a morning well spent. Comfortable tailbone allowing me to sit like a normal person, something definitely worth celebrating.

Taste: Salty tortilla chips, a remnant of Dijon mustard on the corner of my mouth, and that bittersweet flavor of off-brand diet cola. A high quality lunch.

Smell: Faint smell of fabric softener mixed with potting soil. That midseason perfume of sunshine cooking dust on the open air windowsill. And sweet red apples. Red, not black.

Think: What is the weather today in Colorado? Does she have time to hike this week? Are the aspens bright yellow yet? Will we get to host Thanksgiving at the farm this year, and if so, can I persuade any of our guests to spend the night with us that weekend? Thinking about the power of words, both written and spoken. Speech and spells and blessings and curses. Not because it should be that way, but because it is. Operating Secrets of the Universe, you know, not someone’s mandates. There’s a difference. Thinking of turning fifty next Spring and how, if we keep to our pattern of leaving the farm once every four years, then I have at most 8 trips left. Best case scenario, what are the top eight places I would like to visit?

Feel: More in control of the emotional tidal waves lately. If not in control of what causes them, then at least more like I am able to surf them more gracefully, more safely. Certainly more in control of my perspective and responses. Feeling disturbed by recent events and still reeling a bit from dreams about beheadings, but not overwhelmed. Feeling thankful for an incredible summer season and excited for our transition to fall and winter. Feeling amazed by the detail with which God sometimes answers prayer. The specificity and timeliness. All the many ways He efforts to demonstrate his love for me, for our family, for everyone. Really amazing.

((we keep it classy like san diego))

How are your senses informing your world today?
XOXOXO

an autumn afternoon in the garden with Kindergarten

We sat in the shade with half a dozen bright eyed Kindergarteners, just three women and six children that day. The October afternoon was warm and breezy, still more summer than fall, and I found myself wishing I had brought cold drinks for everyone.

The day’s lesson was about seeds and how they relate to flowers and, ultimately, the foods they become. I passed around a huge, heavy, bright orange pumpkin and several pumpkin blossoms, deep yellow and frilly, impossibly related to that massive fruit. The kids touched and sniffed and made sweet, cooing, observant sounds, their immense brown eyes fixed alternately on everything they held and then on me. I passed around stems of tomato plants, each loaded with tiny, yellow, star shaped flowers. I sliced open a few juicy tomatoes and showed them the almost imperceptible white seeds inside. We examined purple, leathery hyacinth bean pods, which they needed some encouragement to tear. The beans inside were reliably glossy black with perfect white spines. Gorgeous tuxedo gifts. I watched to make sure no one ate one, ha! But they only rolled the treasures around in their curious hands.

We scrunched the papery crumples of zinnia seed heads and shared a bouquet of those Technicolor flowers then moved on to tomatillos, which are so fun to de-husk. Tiny fingers are adept at peeling quietly, and they had fun doing it. One brave little boy volunteered to manage the Tithonia seed heads, which our fair reader may already know are famously stout and prickly when dried.

((autumn garden collection, 2023))

As the kids explored and absorbed the many details of seeing, touching, smelling, and weighing the various seeds and flowers and their final growing products, their teacher encouraged them to more fully describe everything. She asked them beautifully precise but open ended questions that produced long, effusive answers in broken, cheerful English. I almost cried a few times, and I am not sure why. Maybe it was just the pure joy of seeing such young, innocent children enjoying nature. Maybe it was the simple intimacy of so few people sitting quietly in the shade. Maybe it was the memory of being in the garden with my own girls, now twenty years past, or the possible future thrill of sitting with bilingual grandchildren, in the garden, talking about food and flowers and watching them learn everything about this immense, gorgeous world.

After a little while in the shade, we wandered over to a collection of raised beds to plant new seeds. The students used wooden Popsicle sticks to carve little furrows in the soil. They scattered the miniscule seeds, sometimes with impressive focus and sometimes with understandable abandon. Then they watered. Oh my heart. If we thought that trading roly-polies and earthworms was their favorite garden activity last week, it is only because last week we didn’t have time to do the watering. The plastic watering cans are almost half as big as many of their five year old selves. And filled with water, those had to be some of the heaviest burdens these cuties had ever carried. But not one of the kids shrank from the task. They heaved and tottered and limped from hose to bed, sploshing and sprinkling as they went. A few exclaimed and squealed about their wet school uniforms, but overall the soundtrack was giggling. Soft laughter backed by sunshine and new experiences.

We made our way through the tasks at hand and talked about how important water is for the plants and seeds to grow and be happy. The kids connected easily with the idea of being thirsty then feeling refreshed by a glass of water. One little girl named Stephanie promptly refilled her plastic can and struggled over to a kale leftover from last season. She said affectionately, almost in a whisper, “There now she’s having a drink.” The kale was taller than her, yet she insisted on watering it from as high up the green, ruffled tower as she could manage, not at ground level. She walked away soaking wet and smiling ear to ear.

We had time to marvel at some expired sunflowers, towering toward the clouds and nodding like they were asleep, dried stalks as thick as my wrist. I had the kids hold their hands out like bowls and scraped my thumbnails against the sunflowers’ sky bound faces. Dusty seeds poured out like a spell into their waiting hands, and because the lesson was all about seeds and seed planting, they knew exactly what to do. “I need my little stick!” Amy said with some urgency, her long black braids flying as she looked left and right, and when she found her tool she got right to work carving a place for those seeds. Then Stephanie watered them.

How beautiful it all is. The huge squash blossoms that become massive, flavorful, vitamin rich pumpkins. The clusters of tiny yellow flowers that, with some water and sunshine and time, become a string of versatile, delicious tomatoes. Beans! All that protein and beauty wrapped in such dense, hard little packages. Flowers for beautifying and feeding. Children for teaching and nurturing and loving.

I have been thinking more and more about the world of flowers and vegetables, all the same, fascinating photosynthesis and so much beauty and purpose. Food for the birds and pollinators, definitely, but also, beauty as a purpose in and of itself.

All kinds of flowers use their multi-faceted beauty to draw in their needed audiences. We know about the birds and the bees and how they are attracted to colors and flavors that suit them so they can get on with the business of pollination and propagation, etcetera. But this lovely afternoon with the Kindergarteners reminded me that people are included in this symbiosis, too. Plants draw us in with their beauty, whether we are conscious of it or not. Their colors and fragrances, the never ending variety of shapes and patterns and textures, all of it woos us and bring us close enough to see them face to face. Close enough to understand them better and tend to their needs so they can tend ours. What a miraculous relationship.

I believe that every time a young child experiences nature up close like that, the world is made better, safer, more aligned with its original design. Life for that boy or girl instantly gains potential for greater enjoyment, better mental and physical health, and deeper artistic experiences. And life for their entire future purview might now hold more balance, more attention, and saner systematic choices. They could grow into better stewards than we will ever be.

((circa 1978))

We take care of what we love, after all, and it is so easy to fall in love with Nature. She sees to that.

martha and henry

A funny song from my childhood has become a pretty good descriptor of two-person farm maintenance. Usually it’s still funny; sometimes it makes me, us, feel one half step away from crazy.

It’s a sing-songy conversation between husband and wife as they navigate never ending tasks:

“There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Martha dear Martha, there’s a hole in the bucket, dear Martha, a hole.
Well fix it, dear Henry, dear Henry, well fix it dear Henry, dear Henry fix it.
With what shall I fix it, dear Martha?
…
With a cork, dear Henry…
The cork is dry, dear Martha…
Well wet it, dear Henry…
With what shall I wet it, dear Martha?
With water! (her rage building)…
How shall I fetch it? …
With a bucket…
(extra long pause while Henry takes a deep breath, because we all know what’s coming)
There’s a hole in the bucket…”

So you see, of course, the never ending loop of repair and provision and discovery, and then repair and frustration and connection-between-all-things-broken and, again, discovery and repair. The ongoing consultation between husband and wife kills me.

Truthfully? I have always felt like Dear Martha was a bit cruel to her Dear Henry, with her exasperation at his inability to grasp obvious solutions, just as he seemed helpless and maybe vapid, not very manly traits to a girl who grew up with a Bob Vila Dad and then married Clark Griswold who is fond of chain-sawing all the newel posts.

After some years on these nine acres, though, I see Martha through a slightly more compassionate lens. She is just insane from all the never ending work, that’s all. She probably used to be a softer, sweeter, more helpful wife. The conveyor belt of projects that are never singular and independent of several other mandatory projects, well, they take their toll. That’s all. I also see Henry through a more protective lens. Maybe he always saw clearly the next five steps but was so overwhelmed he could barely speak it. All he could do was reach out to his Dear Martha and hope she would not kill the messenger.

In this house, for the song’s purposes, I am Henry and he is Martha.

Also, worth noting, for some weird reason, I remember being ten years old in Fort Towson, Oklahoma, and singing this song, imagining Martha and Henry living under water. All the way under water, like at the bottom of the ocean. In the blue-green dark. I get the symbolism now. Somehow, my little girl self knew.

One day I said to Handsome, hey babe let’s re-grout the upstairs bathroom. He said sure. I was probably ovulating, which bodes well for my powers of persuasion. That led to a full on shower stall redo in our master suite, which meant we needed to move our hygiene operations downstairs for a few days. This revealed some needed repair to that guest bath, and it seemed like a good time to also paint those walls and rearrange artwork and, sure, a new shower curtain and support bar and area rug. Also, man, we want a true piece of furniture in there, not rickety shelves, so let’s see what gorgeous sets we can find that would bring us some tables that look good with the leather couches. A month later, we have re-grouted the upstairs shower and do not recognize the formerly pink guest bath.

Similarly but much more dramatically, once upon a time something near our chimney was struck by lightning, which blah-blah-blah caused a serious water leak. It flooded our downstairs carpets and foam padded laminate flooring, inspiring us to rip it all up and live on concrete. Which we painted blue but did not seal. This caused a tidal wave (in keeping with the water theme) of interrelated projects, none of them small.

((walk through upon buying our farm, an unbelievable 16 years ago))

Then there was the time at the peak of summer heat and humidity when I needed one skinny little garden gate adjusted because it wasn’t shutting smoothly. Well, that turned into relocating a clothesline, reconfiguring the surrounding fences, eliminating one other wide gate, and, you know what? We need more concrete for parties.

New concrete means ripping up the decking, and that wood can be repurposed, so let’s sort it out into piles. Burn what is unusable. When the ashes are cool they go in the compost. But only once the compost bins have space. So empty those as soon as possible! And also make use of the contents, don’t waste it. Balance it all with green materials and manure, so it’s good for the gardens. Not pure ash. But if you add to the piles while the bachelors are watching, they will eat your okra so put up a protective rope or something. Quick.

And no, giving them a round bale of free choice hay will not, actually, keep them from breaking into the hay loft. So be ready to fix that gate soon.

Also, my sprinkler died (more with the water theme, in case you are keeping score).

Schedule some time for a pipe to burst in the attic (another score for the water gods). Because I secretly wanted the kitchen pantry a different color anyway, and this is an excellent time to repaint. But only after his stitches get removed from sitting on a power saw while making plumbing repairs. And, obviously, we can do all of this more easily once the pickup is working again, because we probably need something huge and unwieldy form Home Depot anyway. Or more hay. Or, something. It should work out just fine.

Babe, do we want goats?

Just fix it, Dear Henry, Dear Henry.
Just fix it, Dear Henry, Dear Henry fix it.

Whatever type of property you manage, I am confident you experience your own version of the hole in the bucket song, and I sincerely hope that most of the time you, together with your corresponding Martha or Henry, find ways to tackle it all. Peacefully.

Hang in there.
Please be kind to the messengers in your life.
Say no to goats.
XOXOXO

happy 28th birthday to my girl

You are twenty eight tomorrow. Twenty eight!

I remember your twenty first birthday. And before that, the day you first left for Colorado. I thought it would only be a few months, a seasonal internship.

Even earlier, the day you called me from Target. “I’m free,” you said. Your year of cross country. Your driver’s license and graduation. Your emergency appendectomy and volleyball games and love of horses and dogs and iguanas. Your Australian Outback birthday party. Your favorite pajamas and the way you loved to smell like vanilla bath products and how tireless you were in the pool. My little bronze fish. The summer you made a habitat for roly polys and wrote a care schedule that included “freedom time.” How precisely and imaginatively you played Pokemon and Zoo Tycoon. How fiercely protective you have always been of your little sister. Your first day of Kindergarten. Your first wobbly steps on that red carpet in our second apartment.

.

Of course I remember so vividly first seeing your delicate self and holding you and nursing you. That first night was perfect. You were perfect.

I remember the terrifying day I first learned I was pregnant and then the thrilling night a few months later when I had that vivid dream of your beautiful face, yet unseen. That dream was accurate; you were soon born looking exactly as it showed me, and it was only the beginning of vivid dreams about you. I have dreamt of you more than anyone in my life. Just a few weeks ago I had a very specific and encouraging dream about you that I have only told one person. I would love to tell you about it. The details have been shimmering in my body.

I also remember every separation, both small and brief like the first day of school or a difficult drop off  at day care or your Dad’s house. Certainly the longer, more traumatic goodbyes are etched in my memory.

I remember how it felt to hope and pray and worry all those years. I still feel these in cycles but have learned to worry less, to instead trust and imagine you as happy as possible.

I have so many beautiful memories of reuniting with you. I will forever be buoyed by the immense, overwhelming joy of seeing you happy and in your element.

On Trail Ridge Road, June 2015.

Many years ago I glanced at a belief system which holds that not only are human souls eternal, which means that each of us has always existed somewhere and could be born to anyone, at any time; but also that children choose their parents. I don’t know how to reconcile that.

a Christmas memory from during the Colorado years

Occasionally someone will ask me how long it has been since I have seen you, and I have to really think. Not because I don’t care or keep track, but because in a very literal sense you are always with me. I probably think about you more than anyone in my life.

You are the first person I pray for every day. You are the first person my thoughts find in a quiet moment. Alone with our animals all day long, I talk to them about you. I make sure that Dusty and Chanta especially hear your name plenty, for when you come home.

I still listen to music you shared with me in Colorado, mostly Skrillex while running. If I cook something you might like, your slim body and enormous brown eyes are with me in the kitchen. I imagine you getting all worked up about the ingredients and aroma but getting full after barely half a plate, ha!

grinning up a storm while campaigning for me
to drink some Gatorade rife with chia seeds.

Anything with a spiral shape belongs to you because you were once so passionate about the beauty of the Fibonacci Sequence.

When I hear anyone tell stories of Colorado, I think possessively, that is hers. You will always be Colorado to me. Snowball fights in April, under moonlight on Trail Ridge Road, hiking to Gem Lake and Angel Pass, through wildflowers and innumerable trees. Living with bears but not worrying because Bridget has it under control.  Remodeling your first cabin. It was tiny and perfect and strong, just like you.

I keep photos of you close as well as childhood toys and clothes. I use your patchwork twin quilt all the time but might need to stop, because it is threadbare now. I stopped buying gifts for you at holidays only because I think rationally of where you are in life now and realize I have no idea what you need anymore. A stack of gifts sits unopened in the Apartment closet. But I still have the urge to shower you with gifts every Christmas and every birthday. A basketful of treats at Easter. I would so truly love to watch movies with you and cook daal again and let you paint the Apartment for me this winter. A mural of your own imagining.

You occupy so much space in my heart, and have so constantly for more than twenty eight years, that the cold hard “fact” of not being in your life right now feels bizarre and unreal. So when people ask me, I fish for the answer and add up the months. I feel the nausea.  Sometimes shame too, because how could a mother survive being apart from her firstborn this long? Sometimes fear, both that you are better off without me and that you are not. Two awful possibilities. I always return to Love and Hope.

Is time elastic for you?

I believe firmly that it is, and that Love stretches and fills the space, the calendar, in weird ways I can barely comprehend, let alone explain.

Had someone told me when I first dreamed of your face that a time would come that I didn’t see you in the flesh for this long, I… Well I cannot say what I would have done, but it would have been incomprehensible to me. It still is, and yet.

You have proven your independence and your inner fire so many times, in ever more daring and beautiful ways. You have survived more pain, abuse, close calls, and disappointment than most people know, and I am sure there is much no one knows at all. But there is also a wealth of Joy and experiences we would all love to hear about.

Jocelyn, you are finally past so much. You are so loved, not just me but by a big family who misses you. You are so filled with talent and strength and beauty. This world was made infinitely better when you joined it. You have a terrifying life force for which I have always been grateful. Now more than ever.

I trust that you have made a beautiful and genuine home for yourself. I trust that if you are dating anyone, you feel like you can be yourself with them and are receiving all the love and respect in the world. You are so good at making friends and maintaining community. I trust that your friends appreciate that they have in their midst one of this world’s finest artists, most loyal companions, and smartest adventurers. I trust that you are doing work that brings you more money than you need so you can play and explore and enjoy your life. I trust that Bridget still loves to hike and that she still fetches rocks. I miss her too.

If your thoughts turn to me, to home, to anyone here, may they be warm and strong and feel good. A woman should always feel most at home with herself, of course, but I pray that you feel at home here again too, in your own time. May your memories and curiosities about Home assure you that you are safe here, that you are only loved, and that a lot has happened in the past few years to bring peace, healing, and understanding. Room for life to grow for everyone.

I hope someone is helping your birthday feel extra special this year. You deserve it.

I love you so much, baby.
Happy 28th birthday!
XOXOXO