Lazy W Marie

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

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Two Weeks Later, Love Remains

   This is gonna be an unusual blog post. Please forgive me if it’s even more rambly than normal. I want to organize my thoughts and relay them poetically, with some meaning or message, but all I can muster right now are observations and a few cell phone photos.

All you need is love! And treats. Chunk-hi agrees. 

   The last two weeks since losing Handsome’s Mom have in many ways been unlike any others in my life. Daily, hourly, by the moment, life has been unpredictable and volatile. On the other hand, some beautiful, familiar ribbons of love and stability have carried us from day to day. While we are once again broken in many places, the most important things between us have not changed, they have only strengthened. For this I am so grateful.

   The shock is just beginning to really fade. In its place I am seeing pain, confusion, loneliness, and much more. A flash of anger here and there. Judy was so much to so many people, that she is leaving a void no one person can fill. And she is gone far sooner than anyone was prepared to let her go.

   This is a time everyone relies on God to fill the gaps in our hearts, and He does, if we wait. We all try to be of service to each other, to be used in any way He asks. Preparing meals, cleaning, laundering, driving, listening, praying, organizing, repairing… Anything. But the grief is so ongoing, so revealing of a love that is deep and forever, that no tasks we perform from day to day really feel like enough. So we just keep trying.

brightontheday

   Handsome’s sweet Dad, Harvey, is staying with us at the farm for as long as possible. I hope to share lots of his stories as time passes. He is wonderful, and many days I feel like I love him as much I love his son. We really appreciate having him here, and I only hope the togetherness is as good for him as it is for my husband. The farm had been filled with dozens of other beloved visitors day in and day out for the past two weeks, so now the three of us will begin to discover a new daily routine. I know already that everything will be different. That’s okay.

   God is so good. I don’t have to look too hard to find hidden blessings, special skinny little silver linings that take the edge off the pain, but I also feel incredibly guilty enjoying those gifts. The circumstances under which they have been sent are so hard, and most times as daughter-in-law I feel like on onlooker, sometimes even an intruder into a dark, terrible, intimate family room. I loved Judy very much and admired her perhaps more than I ever realized, but my grief is completely different from everyone else’s. That’s probably normal, I don’t know.

Marci, thank you for this rare photo.

 

   The Tiny T love story will continue. I don’t feel like writing it exactly, but last week I was really surprised to learn that my in-laws had been reading the series together and had even started making guesses about what kind of woman T would end up with. So, especially because I love my father-in-law so much, T will return pretty soon. I missed the 31 day challenge again, but the love story will keep going for as long as it needs to.

   The farm is torn between cold and balmy, between new life and a deep, chilling slumber. Several of us noticed with lots of wonder that the forests were all lush green until the day after the funeral. Now every branch is bearing as much gold, crimson, and russet as green. Still, though, the apple trees have been blooming again, like it’s spring time. The herbs are still growing like it’s June, except for the tell tale seed spikes begging to be collected. And we harvest peppers and tomatoes, day after day. Kind of amazing.

Apple blooms in autumn?

   The horses have already found their thick, fuzzy winter coats. Chanta is so silky right now, so tempting. When I need to cry I go to the middle field and lay across him, combing my fingers deep through the gold and white hair all over his big belly, and he wraps his neck over me.

   Today my baby brother and I will be preparing a fortieth wedding anniversary celebration for our parents. It’s a wonderful occasion, and I’m so excited, but of course it’s bittersweet. Judy passed away just hours before we were to celebrate forty years for her and Harvey. See? Life is so wildly extreme. So all over the place. We must be limber and strong.

   As I finish writing this, the late morning sun is streaming passionately through the big east window. Mammoth plants and flowers from the funeral are everywhere, gilded now and illuminated by the fresh new day. Really pretty and really sad. Just like every other detail lately. The living room is absolutely pulsing with color and light, and I have no idea what to do about that.

   Thanks so much for all of your kind words, for all of your prayers. Every single speck has been relayed to the family.

   There is much more to say. I don’t know when I will write again, or about what, but for us life goes on. Love is steady and reliable, stronger than ever. There are dishes to rinse. Beds to be made smooth and comfortable. Animals to feed. Aprons to sew. There is plenty to do. And once again, for this I am so grateful.

Work is love made visible.
~Khalil Gibran
xoxoxoxo

Five Things That Should not Bother me as Much as They Do

   I have for many years held close to my heart a wonderful quote which speaks to the disproportionate power of small problems to weigh on your spirit even worse than the biggest trials:

“It isn’t the mountains ahead to climb that wear you out;
it’s the pebble in your shoe.”
~Muhammad Ali

  Right? We can usually keep a large challenge in perspective, scaling it down, breaking it up into manageable pieces that we conquer one after another until the thing is done. Or maybe our deepest heartaches are surrendered because that’s all there is left to do, and we bear the pain until the prayer is answered. But how often do life’s smallest, weirdest annoyances drive us to the breaking point?

   Super often. Very often. All the dang time often.

   Following are some culprits in my life. The Big Stuff is in check. These things? They makes me use swear words. You know. Like my good buddy M.  : )

1. The wrong color of shopping buggy. It sets the tone for my entire shopping trip. It affects my decision making skills. It distracts me and causes me to buy too much coffee and lettuce and not enough freezer paper. Of all the possible buggy color choices, I simply cannot abide orange. Unless it is Thunder basketball season. Then only if I am wearing blue. I hate that this is so important to me, but it just is.

2.  Hammering my bony shin against the low metal bar of that stupid orange shopping buggy. Childbirth hurts less. I am pretty sure the fronts of my shins are both permanently dented. And it’s not like walking more slowly helps that much! One wrong step and you’re a victim.

3.  When people leave their hair styling products and hair brushes anywhere near the bathroom sink, where I brush my teeth. I have a very real mortal fear of getting hair in my mouth, so brushing my teeth where someone’s hair might at any moment jump up on a light breeze and attack me… well, it is horrific. FOR-THE-LOVE-OF-GOD-BABE. I am begging you.

3.  Tangled up garden hoses. Especially when they are a hundred million miles long. Just kill me.

4.  House flies, squash bugs, and grasshoppers. In that exact order.

5.  Botching a great joke. Either by losing that good, funny rhythm or completely forgetting the punch line. This happens more than I care to admit.

   Whew!! I feel better. Thanks for listening. Now what silly little pebbles are stuck in your shoe?

“Adversity is like a strong wind. it tears away from us
 all but the things that cannot be torn,
 so that we see ourselves as we really are.”
~Arthur Golden, Memoirs of a Geisha

p.s. Have you read Memoirs of a Geisha? Good movie, great book. Treat yourself.

Senses Inventory: Surprise Midmorning Rainshower

   This morning I was sitting in one of my red wicker lawn chairs, near the herb bed, drinking my last cup of coffee and making messy but intricate lists of things I want to do in all of the gardens. So many ideas, from lots more edibles to dedicated “wedding” flower beds, plots for animal foraging, and much more. The skies were moody and quiet, the clouds low, the animals in a muted kind of suspense. Then as I sat there enjoying the kaleidoscope visions in my head, a seductive little rainstorm washed over the farm. From the low northwest corner uphill to southeast, right on top of me and my myriad lists. It soaked my trusty spiral notebook. It washed the dirt off of my bare feet. It brought me gently back to reality.

   Obviously this necessitates a Senses Inventory.

See:  Black ink smudged on my lined paper. Raindrops splashing with abandon into my coffee cup. (I have mixed feelings about this.) Badly painted toenails. Bright yellow and orange marigolds, green pole bean vines, and red cannas in the herb bed. Wonderfully voluptuous mounds of basil and sage. Piles of withering weeds outside the herb bed, pulled this morning. An empty tuna can licked clean by Fast Woman. A purple haze of feathery prairie grass in the middle field. Low clouds in every shade of navy blue and charcoal. Seraphine looking at me with those arrogant but beautiful llama eyes, as if the rain was my idea.

Hear:  I heard the rain before I felt it; it was hitting the metal loafing shed downhill in a syncopated, excited rhythm several seconds before I felt the first cold drop. I still hear that chorus, as well as the birdsong of cardinals and crows and our neighbor’s turkey gobbling and our own roosters crowing.

Touch:  Zero breeze again. The morning feels like New Orleans in so many lovely ways. I feel cool rain tapping my shoulder and running down the back of my neck and the fronts of my shins; the fringe of my cutoff denim shorts tickling my legs; and the squeak of the painted wicker on the stool beneath my bare feet. The air feels brackish… Warm overall with pockets of cool. My notebook gets heavier and heavier on my lap as it soaks up the rain.

Taste:   I sill taste minty toothpaste kisses collected from Handsome before he left for the office, and of course perfect sweet, creamy coffee. Also a New Orleans memory.

Smell:  Most fragrances this morning are green, green, green… the grass, the trees, the gardens, especially the herbs. My hands smell like oregano and lemon-thyme from grooming the plants a few minutes ago. I love this smell… But so near the pool I also smell a nice bleachiness. And so near the animal fields I also smell a nice manureness.

Think:  My mind’s eye sees the gardens overflowing with so much delicious, healthy food that I can’t share it or sell it fast enough. I’m thinking about the reflective properties of the Universe, that the more freely you give the more you will have for giving. I’m also thinking of some fun construction projects Handsome and I are planning for the pool area, things that will make gathering our loved ones even more awesome. I’m thinking of my girls, grown, coming home for the weekend with friends, boyfriends, husbands, grandchildren. Just coming home.

Feel:  Happy. So, so happy and truly relieved from some recent heartsick worries. Feeling deeply refreshed and powerful. Wide eyed and aware of how good life is. Thankful for how real miracles are.

Tiny Mr. T celebrating the Fourth of July at an Oklahoma car show.

   I hope you had a wonderful holiday yesterday! We sure did. It was by comparison a quiet Fourth for Handsome and me, but a very happy one. We have needed and enjoyed easy holidays lately.

   Redeem you time today, friends! Redeem your liberty, in every way that it presents itself. Soak up the detailed beauty all around you.

“I am chained to the earth to pay
for the freedom of my eyes.”
~Anotonio Porchia
xoxoxoxo

Choosing Light

   I sat down this evening with the intention to write about the recent influx of pests in my garden. The past three or four days I have paid my potagerie very little attention, and now I’m paying the price. So I snapped a million photos of the insects that are thrashing my little speck of Eden and planned to share them and my attendant complaints about what each of them are doing to my personal happiness.

   Maybe, I thought, I can share some worthwhile information about organic pest control. That’s the sugarcoating, my flimsy excuse to vent. Here’s the ugly truth:  Maybe, I thought, I  can scratch this itch of rage by whining and moaning for a while, in gushing abandon all over my innocent keyboard. If I tell everyone how pissed I am (about this and other things) then surely I’ll be happy again.

   Just scripting in my head what to say about bugs and loss and organic methods felt incredibly negative and, ironically, poisonous. The more I walked around outside, dwelling on the problems crawling at my shins, the less I could see the beauty around me. I saw only grasshoppers and forgot to celebrate yellow squash, straight, bright, and perfect. I saw only an herb bed full of grass and failed to notice until a while later that Dulcinea was running down to the pond, back uphill, and down again, splashing in the mud just for the fun of it. I failed to notice how many flowers have made colorful progress this week, despite my inattention.

   I cursed the mud on my bare feet instead of relishing the moisture.

   Then I came inside, made a desperate cup of coffee for dinner instead of food (Handsome and I are not sharing meals today), and started downloading the garden photos. My mean spirit was ready to spew a bunch of complaints and possibly even some vulgarity to the internet, thinking foolishly that getting it all off my chest will make me feel better. Not even caring what it would do to you. Or my husband.

   In those simmering, ugly moments I happened on this photo that I barely remember taking. The wild orange day lilies that flank my vegetable garden entrance are blooming heavily right now, and at this time of day when the sun hangs serenely over the pond, the most glorious light is cast over this scene.

The combination of a decades-old rusted bike with trumpet vine and day lilies makes me feels so at home.

   This is probably the only beautiful photo I took tonight. And seeing it took me completely by surprise. So I started meditating on a good bit of poetry or strong quote to pair with it.

   Do you know what I found, almost immediately?

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness;
Only light can do that.
Hate cannot drive out hate;
Only love can do that.”
~Martin Luther King, Jr.

   Exactly what our book club has been studying lately, and what I have been gleaning from other good sources too,  in so many ways. The message is that combating my negative energy with more negative energy is futile. I have zero hope of vanquishing sadness and anger with complaints and cursing. That behavior will only make everything worse, for me and my loved ones. For Handsome. And dwelling on the weird things I fear is more likely to bring them to fruition rather than “prepare me for the worst,” as my brittle ego declares it will.
 
   Obviously, tonight I am upset about far more important things than just garden insects. My heart has been dry and heavy. I was consumed with worry and shame, emptiness and just good old fashioned sadness. And I have felt weak, selfish, angry, sorry, rejected, indignant, and powerless to combat it this time. Tempted to shut everything down externally and just quit trying to be positive. Quit trying to matter and be so annoyingly buoyant. It’s exhausting. And lonely.

   So the insects are kind of catching my wrath right now. Deservedly, I guess, because as small as they are they have the power to destroy my Eden. If I allow them to.

   As small as worries are, they can steal your joy. 
If you allow them to.

   I have a grip now. I remember that light is constantly available, and it is our strength.

   Light is in abundance, too. It’s not a limited commodity. Darkness is powerless against it, so let it in whenever you have a choice. Which is every moment of your life.

   Thanks for listening, I hope I didn’t inject a bunch of sadness into your world.

   And if you happen to have any organic gardening tips, send ’em my way! Find this blog on Facebook and post, post, post those ideas. I have a murderous week ahead of me.

   To my husband, if you read, this, I love you. To my children, if you read this, I love you.

   To my book club girls, thank you.

xoxoxoxo

 

Sunday Morning Meditation

   Early this morning, while my full household is still in a deep sleep,  I tiptoe outside with my first big cup of perfect coffee and notice a million wonderful things.

   Beach towels, socks, and tee shirts hang around the south lawn like gypsy caravan curtains. Wild birds chirp a lilting, effervescent soundtrack against the breeze combing through the oak trees. Romulus (our daddy llama) strolls through the shallow edge of the pond, splashing just a little. The sun begins to pour his molten blessings over the day, over every building, every tree, every fence post, every flower. Every thought and emotion.

   The same light breeze that combed through the oak trees now ruffles my un-brushed hair and delivers a slender blue dragonfly to my shinbone. I secretly hope that the sugar and cream in my coffee will attract more visitors, like maybe the hummingbird from yesterday, so I sit very still for a long time.

   The red wicker chair and footstool are for the moment the most comfortable seat in the world. The carrot ferns and potato plants are incredibly fluffy this morning. And behind me the squash vines have never been more lush.  My gaze shifts forward, past the lower edge of my vegetable garden and toward the pond. The pond is so glassy and content looking this summer.

   Suddenly but gently the thought occurs to me that without the recent years of drought I could not so fully appreciate the simple beauty of this overflowing pond. This small body of water would be common and unnoticeable to me instead of miraculous.

   Then the thoughts follows that without so many violent winds in recent months I might be less compelled to sit still on a Sunday morning and enjoy the stillness and drink in all of this mild and otherwise common beauty.

   And how can I ignore this next thought? That without the pain and echo of an empty nest, I might view two weeks of house guests as just extra work and thereby deny Handsome and myself the experience of so much wonderful pleasure and love.

   My arms and legs are heating up now in the sun, and my coffee cup is nearly empty. Roosters are finally crowing on both sides of me… ours to the east and north and a neighbor’s to the west. A smaller dragonfly now hoovers near the yellow coreopsis at my elbow. It’s definitely time now to rouse my temporary family and get them ready for church.

   But I feel like I have already had church here by myself.

   What abundance do you have in your life at this moment that you are able to more fully appreciate because of a loss or a previous difficulty? How many prayers have been answered in ways that buoy your hope for more?

xoxoxo