Lazy W Marie

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

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ripe tomatoes & prayers answered suddenly

I witnessed the fullness of a miracle this morning, and it came right on time for me.
I am broken-hearted right now, frustrated, hurt, almost paralyzed
by too many life changing worries at once.
And I desperately needed to see that God is still in control.
He reassured me this morning, and I am so grateful.

Sometime late in May I had a few scraggly tomato plants leftover from a market-to-garden bonanza. I had bought and planted and bought and planted until my fingernails were caked with soil and my raised beds were just plain full. Too full, as the weeks since have proven. But still these five or six little seedlings needed a home, along with a couple of jalapeno starts, so I dug up enough narrow holes in the herb garden to accommodate them, thinking, Ah well, if I need to move them later I will. I’m going for a run. Running is my most favorite excuse for procrastinating.

Well, the plants did marginally okay. I decided to leave them there near the Rose of Sharon and hope for the best. They faltered a bit, sagging in the poorer soil of the herb bed then drowning in those monsoon days we had last month. They stayed tiny for weeks. But I left them there, grooming them from time to time, shoring up the soil, providing stakes nearby. I scattered coffee grounds at the base of the tomato plants and scratched marigold seeds around them. Fingers crossed, you know? I had plenty of doubts whether these tomatoes and peppers would survive, let alone produce fruit.

Oh ye of little faith.

Then one day I was at the kitchen sink gazing outside at the voluminous and colorful herb garden, and I noticed that rather out of the blue those scraggly little babies had grown several inches. They were suddenly recognizable tomato plants! They were actually fluffy and beautiful with fuzzy arms, shy yellow blooms, branching elegance, all of it. The stalks were thick enough to stand up to the south winds. It was amazing.

The tomato plants grew and grew, towering lately to about three feet plus as many feet in every direction, laterally. My herb garden is not for the faint of heart. I like things crazy. Then I let the morning glory vines and wasps take over the herb bed and thought perhaps all was lost again.

Well, I didn’t want to give up because I love tomatoes, I really, really wanted those tomatoes. The little sugary cherry kind, the oblong grape kind, all of them. My raised beds out back have the big beefy prize winners (when Romulus isn’t robbing me blind), but in the herb bed I wanted every sweet little speck of juicy red pleasure I could get, and I was sad to think it might not happen.

Oh ye of little faith.

Early this morning after Hot Tub Summit I strolled past the herb garden, two empty coffee mugs in hand, just looking. Enjoying the twisted purple, pink, and white blooms of morning glories not yet open to the sun. Robust sage and parsley plants. Zinnias in every shade of happy confetti. Then I saw them. Heavy, glossy bunches of scarlet red grape tomatoes. Just dripping off the vine, weighing it down almost to the dirt floor.

It literally took my breath away. I’d glimpsed a few green beginnings recently, but the vines were so thick and I was so distracted by other things that I didn’t register where to watch. How many were coming. The green jungle was concealing the surprise being prepared, and today that surprise was revealed. Because even in a thick, shadowy green jungle the color of a ripe tomato is unmistakable.

I collapsed onto my knees and reached in to collect the three or four taut little fruits I could plainly see. I dropped them into one of the coffee mugs, squealing and giggling. They rolled around in the sugary film there, letting a few stray coffee grounds stick to their perfect skin. I felt so relieved that a month and a half ago I took a gamble and jammed those seedlings into the poor dirt here by my kitchen window. Thrilled that every roller coaster detail since that day has swirled together to grow those challenged orphan plants into wild, gorgeous, food-producing machines.

miracle green tomatoes

So I had three or four grape tomatoes in one mug. Then I saw another bunch of them on an adjacent vine and collected those. Then more. I kept plucking and dropping and plucking and dropping until both coffee mugs were packed with brilliant red miracles. And I am not exaggerating when I say that about ten times that many miracles are still green on the vines, waiting patiently for that morning when they will be the surprise, the miracle, the promise come to fruition.

Jeremiah 29: "For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, ad not of evil, to give you an expected end."
Jeremiah 29: “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.”

What prayers are so desperate in your heart that they seem unlikely to ever be answered, but of course you will not give up on them? Tend those. Don’t stop praying. Look forward to the promise come to fruition. Rest, trust, believe, and watch. Be ready with an empty cup to receive the blessings so fast that your cup overflows.

These are just little tomatoes, of course. I know that. But the glossy red struck me so violently and with so much joy that I knew God was telling me not to give up on some hard things. He bolstered my heart in exactly the way He knew I would hear Him, in my garden. And He will do the same for you if you stay receptive.

Thank you so much for visiting me here. Wishing you a productive summer garden and a life bursting with answered prayers.

Much love from the Lazy W.
XOXOXOXO

my aha moment experience

What’s an “aha moment?” Here is the answer offered on the Mutual of Omaha website:

It’s a moment of clarity, a defining moment where you gain real wisdom – wisdom you can use to change your life. Whether big or small, funny or sad, they can be surprising and inspiring. Each one is unique, deeply personal, and we think, worth sharing.

A few months ago I received an email from the Mutual of Omaha group inviting me to participate in a little video campaign. I have to admit, at first it seemed like spam. I was like, suuuuuuuure you want to make a video of me with no ulterior motives or checking accounts in Nigeria. Then I looked into it a bit more and thought, well my gosh. This might be pretty cool after all. So I made an appointment to record at the Myriad gardens and went about my life. I knew my “aha moment” worth sharing would have something to do with positive vibes and the power of imagination. I loosely rehearsed a sentence of two in my head but did not take it any further. For once in my life I was under-scripted. Ha!

Fast forward to a bright, summery day in downtown Oklahoma City. I arrived at the recording spot which was a very cool Airstream trailer and met three of the friendliest people ever born. One guy even wore a trendy mustache. I know. They welcomed me, told me what to expect (which was much more than I had bargained for) and we sat down to record. It was intimidating, all this production; in fact, the only thing that could have made me more nervous is a frog touching my skin. But it was all still lots of fun!

aha moment

Although I only had a sentence or two rehearsed in my mind, the young woman conducting the interview had a slew of gentle, focused prompts to help me tell more of a story. Somehow, owing only to her professionalism and not my verbal skills, we got enough recorded for the video experts to splice together and make about a two-minute video. So, if you can ignore my almost purple face, excessive necklaces, and very shaky voice, because talking is NOT my favorite thing to do, then you might like at least part of this little video clip:

my aha moment   There is so much behind and beyond this, though. Since my “aha moment” has really been a slow evolution, I have a million more things to say about it and am writing background for you, an outline of the reading material and breaks in life storms that have brought me this far. I hope you check back in for that too!

aha moment flowers and plaque

  Have you had an aha moment? What do you think of mine, do you think I’m crazy, or do you agree that imagination is incredibly powerful? Have you browsed around any of the other recorded moments? Lots of cool people in Oklahoma participated. Check them out! Worry is a misuse of the imagination. ~Dan Zadra XOXOXOXO

stormy pause

We woke to more steady, drenching rain, the kind that hypnotizes you, plus generous crashes of thunder. At some point overnight we lost power, too, so the house was warm and quiet, dark despite the hour. Thick, woolly clouds smothered virtually all of our sunrise. We caught just a shimmer of brilliant lightning first in one peripheral and then another, but mostly we felt the muted dark.

The geese honked contentedly. A rooster crowed from inside the coop. The llamas sat on their verdant hill, facing west, right out in the open, getting soaked and more comical looking by the minute. (Have you ever seen a really wet llama?)

No electricity means no coffee*, but that’s okay. It also means a willful, pressing quiet. It means the isolated staccato of rain falling in our chimney. Stillness around me, absent the air conditioner and other humming appliances.

WW candle books

No electricity means I have a chance to sit and reflect with precious few distractions. No laundry or ironing to do, no music, limited life on my laptop battery, no cooking, no sewing, no vacuuming… Lots of thinking. My heart soaks up ideas and emotions while the fields soak up the rain. No electricity is not such a bad thing. And this weather is such a gift! The gardens will enjoy a deep swig of life without my tangled, cumbersome garden hoses; the animals will be cooled all the way down to their dirty hooves; and the dust on our spirits will settle a bit, collecting some much needed energy after yet another devastating life storm just this week.

The power is off for now, but at some unexpected moment later today it will whoosh back on. The lights will blink silently. This modern house will yawn and stretch and rouse herself for another day of work. Our routines will return to us, like they always do. And we will see that life goes on, that storms always pass, that Love still lives here.

The little reed, bending to the force of the wind,
 soon stood upright again when the storm had passed over.”
~Aesop
XOXOXOXO

*About half an hour after he left for the office, Handsome zoomed his car back up to the front door of our house, and I panicked. I thought something was wrong. But he had just returned to the farm to deliver to his electricity-less wife a large coffee from McDonald’s. So, see? A little power outage isn’t so bad. It can be a breeding ground for romance. Even if your guy has to be gone all day. xoxo

how pacino tests & teaches me

Bobby Pacino is our macaw. He is nine years old going on either two or a hundred, depending on the day. He knows upwards of 130 individual words and phrases, and he uses all of them eerily well. He loves us and hates us in almost equal measure. And those feelings are mutual. (Just kidding! We totally love him. But sometimes our headaches do not love his Amazonian screams. And sometimes our soft, fleshy forearms do not love his razor-sharp talons. But mostly we love him to little blue and gold pieces.)

 

pacino upright

 

This afternoon I was a bit under the weather and decided to go soak up some mild sunshine with my feathery baby. We sat and talked. We sang the alphabet together and played gone-gone-peekaboo* with the bottom half of my apron for at least forty minutes straight. He drank my glass of ice water, and with every other sip his round eyes dilated and he hummed, “Mmmm… Do you like it?” He can be so appreciative of the simplest things. It’s because he’s read Voskamp.

 

pacino bow

image (33)

 

Of all the surprising things I’ve experienced with Pacino in these past nine years, the most profound has been his ability to gauge and reflect my mood. No, more than that, my energy. My aura? Whatever you want to call it, this hollow-boned face-kissing, baby-chick adopting scream machine knows how I’m feeling from minute to minute and is happy to show that to me in his own ways. For better or worse, he mirrors my attitude right back at me, and I’m not always thrilled with what I see. But sometimes I do like what he’s mirroring, and we have a grand time together. Like today. Today we both were all peace and love, affection and song.

I suppose lots of animal-human relationships offer this insight, but Pacino takes it a step further. Insofar as correction goes, you cannot really tell him to do much of anything. You have to show him.

For example, if he is too hyper and his talons are scratching you, then getting worked up and edgy yourself will only make the situation worse. Instead, you must unroll them, the way you would a baby’s fist gripping your hair, from your thigh or your shoulder or your face or your ponytail, wherever they have become entangled or embedded. Calmly, ok? Let him know that’s a no-no and just chill. Let him soak it up. Maintain eye contact. Now say, firmly but gently, “Okay, Pacino? You gotta be pretty, ok?” He loves this sentence, no matter how insane his most recent actions may prove. If you say it calmly enough he will abandon all notions of a parrot tantrum and stare you down, right in the eyeball, and repeat this to you over and over again. You gotta be pretty, ok? Shh. Ok? You gotta be pretty, ok? It’s so hard not to laugh.

And if he is too loud for your taste, then you absolutely cannot, under any circumstances, yell at him and expect him to magically become quieter. It just doesn’t work that way. He will outmatch your volume and intensity every single time. Trust me. This is how Pacino tests my patience.

 

pacino hair cuddle

 

Every bit of this has me thinking again about the climate of passionate debate we’ve been experiencing so often lately. Not Pacino and me; we tend to agree on most issues (I think). But in society at large. Between political parties, across cultural and religious borders, among friends and family groups, everywhere. Has it always been so hot? Or is this new? What phase of the moon are we in, again?

This, then, has me thinking of the belief that only light can overcome darkness. That contributing to the fray, whatever it is and however important it is, with more angry noise always increases the chaos. This is what Pacino has taught me.

Speak Only to Improve the Silence.
XOXOXOXO

*I’ve posted two tiny video clips on Instagram, if you’d like to hear Pacino’s voice! xo Just follow the icon in my sidebar.

chicken news & a scrappy craft

Fancy Louise, the little white hen with wonderful feathery feet, laid her first egg last week. It was perfect! And delicious, so thank-you-very-much-for-breakfast, Fancy Louise. Also last week, she developed a troubling independent streak. Once the easiest chicken on the farm to catch and cuddle, she is suddenly impossible to wrangle at bedtime. And if by chance she is in the coop yard when it’s time to close the door, then by gosh she bolts. She bolts heard! Head down, feathery butt shaking, beak forward. She makes a point to not be where she’s supposed to be. She relishes in disobedience, and it hurts my feelings. Egg-laying and independence-declaring. Are these things a coincidence? I think not. It’s okay, though, because of the free eggs.

In other poultry news, we have relocated Ethel the Las Vegas show girl to the chicken condominium. Pacino is dealing well with the move, though I have had to promise him regular face time. Ethel has a picturesque little white-feathered companion who so far has no name. Good thing, by the way, because this little hen might actually be a rooster. Feel free to brainstorm ideas for him.

Ethel, the Las Vegas showgirl. She answers to her name. xoxo
Ethel, the Las Vegas showgirl. She answers to her name. xoxo

 

If this clean, shapely little white creature were yours, what would you name him? Assuming it could also be a her?
If this clean, shapely little white creature were yours, what would you name him? Assuming it could also be a her?

 

Handsome cut windows in two sides of the condominium and covered them with chicken wire. I scraped the big, spacious box clean and added fresh shavings plus rose petals, wild flowers, and cedar limbs for fragrant nesting. I also tied up some scrappy tassels so the chickies have an interesting view.

coop tassels

 

They are so appreciative.
They are so appreciative.

 

Hopefully this coming week we will get to welcome Lucy to the flock, compliments of our friend, neighbor, and book club girl Seri. Lucy is more of a punk rocker than a Vegas entertainer, and she is awesome. You’ll see that for yourself soon.

The thing about chickens is how mission-oriented they are, despite their appearance of randomness. Their behavior is more predictable than you might think. So, keeping this in mind and knowing we have some sunset behavior to correct (Fancy Louise is not the only offender), Handsome and I are starting a new routine. We are ringing a bell every time we distribute snacks. It’s the Pavlovian thing, obviously.

coop close up

So wish us luck! And send cozy thoughts in Pacino’s general direction. He needs a baby to love. But don’t we all?

Signed,
Nesting in Oklahoma
XOXOXOXO