Lazy W Marie

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

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

pleasure list from tuesday

Nothing fancy. Just lots and lots of every day pleasures with remembering.

A clean, light-filled house with silly-scary Halloween decorations. Which is extra funny, knowing that we actually do have ghosts here.

Yawning, snuffly horses. Smooth-bellied boys eager to snuggle.

My favorite hen with almost no feathers left. Her name is Shoulder Chicken. She is highly optimistic.

Winds of change mid-morning and again in the afternoon. Shady running trail with broken twigs in the grass and sand. Eight miles of pure bliss.

Lantana blossoms changing from mostly yellow to mostly red, but the leaves are still green.

Freshly shampooed hair, sore thighs, abundant energy.

Carving a pumpkin I grew myself and (for the first time in years) not crying over Halloweens long gone. This empty nest is filling up with contentment about today and peace with the past.

pumpkin

Roasting those pumpkin seeds, pureeing that pumpkin meat, and then randomly baking banana bread with chocolate chips because I couldn’t stand to do something ordinary with that gorgeous bowl of orange. Yes to Greek yogurt and sea salt in the banana bread.

Making beef enchiladas from scratch while listening to Awolnation loud. Remembering brilliant hikes at Gem Lake. Loving all the fresh air right here in Oklahoma.

Roasting Anaheim peppers until the vapors sting my eyes.

Finding two of my favorite necklaces on my dresser, untangled.

Seeing new happy photos of my girl in Colorado, horseback, loving her pup, living her life.

Scooping dry manure into the empty herb garden, dreaming of what will grow there next.

Hydrangea soft and perky again after being watered.

Denim blue skies streaked with grey. Black clouds and bursts of metallic sun.

Satisfying belly laughs watching the SNL rerun about the Presidential debates. They basically said all the best things. All hail.

Reading weird little paragraphs that leave me wondering how much can actually be lost in translation only to land on a sentence that resonates. Ah there it is.

Friends, happy Tuesday night. I hope you are having such a delicious, interesting, soul-nurturing day. Around here I am physically and emotionally overwhelmed to stop and count all the pleasures. All the answered prayers too, although that’s not what I’m talking about today. Ok maybe a little.

“While it does embrace spirit,
it is most accurately described as a way of life,
distinguished by the ready accessibility
of happiness and love.”
~Don Miguel Ruiz
XOXOXOXO

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

how to remember the why of all this work

The moon is waning now, reduced to a perfect gleaming quarter this morning. During Hot Tub Summit just before daybreak it reflected on the hot wiggling surface of the water as thick and brilliant as one of my Grandma’s diamond stud earrings. Bird chorus grew insistent, as it always does, the geese marched uphill from the pond toward the watermelon graveyard, and we started filling the day with laughter and good intentions. 

Mornings here are dewy, lush, and colorful. They are an entrancing time, just like evenings. With a small effort I can forget all the work that needs doing. The pinks and purples of these transition hours seduce me into that old belief that farm life is idyllic and easy. 

volunteer sunflowers between the barn and the front field
volunteer sunflowers between the barn and the front field

But soon the dawn surrenders to early morning which burns off the dew. The animals are hungry and each one believes he or she is the only needful thing here. Our late August sun grows suddenly harsh, pointing less to the velvety lawn and more to the sticker patches out front. My fiesta-confetti zinnias are growing weary, mildewed and crisp, but still begging for one more week in the garden. I think towards the abundant heaps of spicy basil and smile inwardly, pressing hope hard against the spider mites that have ravaged my tomatoes.

Don’t forget to collect those ripe eggplants today. And work on the compost heap before things get out of control. The horses really need their hooves done. Check on the bees. Fill the chicken waters. Add mulch to the shade garden.

I keep to-do lists like a crazy person, intermingled with my calendar and loosely scribbled diary. Sometimes it all helps; other times the lists only remind me how terribly short I fall. 

So I also keep pleasure lists. Sensory Inventories to soak up all the spiritual profit of this unusual and beautiful life. Whether I am doing it right or not, who knows. I often wish I had a full-spectrum mentor here to lead me. But at least along the way I am taking stock of the why of all this work.

The chickens eat the kitchen scraps and return to us fresh, heavy, pastel eggs. The horses and geese love watermelon as much as I do, and that greedy crunch-slurp gives me the same feeling I once enjoyed just watching my children play. Here, we get to exercise old lessons from our grandparents, trying things they tried, understanding suddenly the craving for clean floors and unbothered cows. Siestas in the hot months are both luxurious and absolutely necessary. The sun and the moon rise and fall in the most beautiful arcs, dragging along clouds and stars in quiet patterns that I had never noticed before. The music of rain on the metal barn roof. Bonfire perfume. The hum of bees and the exciting flight patterns of bats and dragonflies. Turtles sunning themselves at the pond and fat toads hiding in the dusty shadows of the garden shed. Venomous snakes beneath the pine needles, plus the stunning effectiveness of a baby llama to ward off wild boars. Deer who visit from the forest, lifting themselves effortlessly over the fence, white tails upturned and liquid black eyes surveying it all. That deep burst of optimism when seeds sprout easily or chicks hatch without our help. Loved ones who visit us and say they can breathe deeply here, peacefully, strangers who become friends on these nine acres. Romance that is sparked over and over again in ever-changing ways. Brokenness and healing, depleting labor and unexpected satisfaction, mentally and physically. 

If I ever lose my memories or if someone ever stumbles on these coffee-stained pleasure lists, the reason for all of our work should be clear: Even when we fail, it is all so amazing.

XOXOXOXO

what a wonderful world, senses inventory

A little Senses Inventory to tiptoe into this spectacular, leisurely Sunday. Lots of texture to experience. And let’s add cravings to the mix, okay? As always you are warmly invited to add your own inventory in comments… xoxo

See: Feathery, scrappy hula-hoop dream catcher accepting all the sun and maybe some dreams too. Wedding chandelier, also made from scraps and a hula hoop, like a cotton jelly fish in the breeze. It’s hanging from a red bud tree which is on her last leg and covered in blue-green scales. Still beautiful. A grove of Oak trees making willing trades of their waxy green for crispy browns and orange. Yellow wildflowers growing in the shade, where the sand is being slowly overtaken by grass. Thank goodness. Garden gate dressed in skimpy, sexy morning glory vines. Nature’s lingerie. Rusted milk cans bursting with bouquets of garden tools. So many rakes, spades, and poles. Where did they all come from? Sun streaming in with vibrating energy from behind us, pink and gold and fierce this morning. Floods of it washing over the pasture to our right, setting that miniature prairie on fire. Cold fire pit below the deck where we’re sitting. Cedar benches circling it like a little Stonehenge. Unlit strings of lights above us. Fruit trees to our left, thinner now and bronzing. Feathery willow tree downhill, keeping watch over the pond. Almost yellow.

"I hope that all your dreams come true; just remember that nightmares are dreams too."
“I hope that all your dreams come true; just remember that nightmares are dreams too.”

Hear: Chorus of angry crows above the forest. Blue jay squawking, other birds warbling gently, a single woodpecker. Interstate noise in the distance, once again easy to imagine it’s the ocean. Klaus scampering loud and clumsy across the wooden deck, giving chase to Natasha. Twigs cracking. Acorns pinging on the smokehouse’s tin roof.

Smell: Coffee, less sweet today, finally.  Faintest bit of chlorine. My own lotion and deodorant. Not much else. There’s an unusual cleanness to the air today, crisp but empty of even wood smoke. Weird. Nice though.

Taste: Only my coffee. The chewiness of the cream reminds me of New Orleans.

Touch: Cool breeze, gentle like breath on my skin. Especially nice on my neck and bare shoulders. Warm coffee mug in my left hand, skinny ink pen in my right. Mesh lawn chair beneath me, paper thin rubber flip flops riddled with craters and sticker scars. Now a wash of warmth on the back of my neck.

Think: If instead of living here I were to just visit this place, maybe stay for the weekend with a stack of books and empty spirals, a pair of running shoes and yoga mat, I would see it as a perfect retreat. I would wonder how this place exists and never want to leave, would want to absorb every detail at every time of day and never step inside. If I were a visitor my eyes might not see work undone or projects to schedule, manure to scoop, gardens to clean. My eyes might see it as beautifully and lovingly as I do at this moment. How much time am I wasting in life? Since autumn is historically when our life tends to change in big ways, October is more of a New Year marker than January. So I sit here thinking how different life is now compared to last October. And how will things have changed by October 2016? What dreams will have been pursued, what miracles will we have in the bank? What burdens will be lifted, or traded for new ones, because we will be stronger then?

Feel: Settled. Feeling settled and energized both physically and emotionally. Optimistic way beyond the outer affirmations kind of optimism. Feeling truly excited for the challenges and opportunities right around the corner. Trembling with happiness for my people.

Crave: I crave a fragrant, slow burning bonfire, deep laughter, and meaningful conversation. Lingering affection. Easy, soaking-into-your-bones kind of stuff. Craving blocks of time to write. More than blogging. Really writing. Craving soup and watermelon too.

Okay friends, thank you so much for joining me today.

Have yourself a really wonderful Sunday.

“They’re really saying I love you…”
XOXOXOXO