Lazy W Marie

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

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many plants, one beautiful green

Right now the back field contains at least four distinct shades of green. If you walk slowly and pay attention, you will see the blue-grey version of green in sage and cedar, the lime green of this glossy litlle ground cover I have not yet identified, the more serious olive green in prairie grass, and of course the deep and reliable green of cacti and pine. I love every single color plus all the blends and variations between them. I also love all the many textures that this wild vegetation offers.

I spend time regularly, just staring at the details up close. Analyzing and memorizing the differences. Normally I am entranced by separating and categorizing the details and differences around me, especially in nature. It’s fascinating! The Universe runs on variety and specialization, after all.

But lately my heart has been drawn to commonality. What really catches my attention is that from a distance, maybe standing next to the horse trough or at the upstairs hallway window, the back field blurs into a gorgeous, smooth July green. It looks like one color, one plant. A single vast carpet of photosynthesis.

I still walk the back field every day and take stock of the distinctions between plants and zones and habitats; but something inside my ribs swells to walk back uphill and see it all in a blur. From that small distance, one field. It’s a physical relief to me. A homecoming to togetherness.

I believe deep down that we humans have more in common with each other than we realize. I believe that, for all our beautiful distinctions and uniqueness between cultures and families and individuals, we share a great many features and qualities that bind us. This is as much a comfort to me as the blurred green field is.

Are you feeling the pressure building in polarization? I sure am. It hurts, and sometimes it’s deeply worrisome. But instead of feeding that energy, instead of keeping track of who I agree with on this topic or that newest conflict, instead of resting in labels and narrow definitions, I am choosing to focus on the things that I have in common with people who see a few things differently. I am doing my best to fortify connections instead of surrender to disagreement and hopefully remember that not only might I be flat wrong in my views but that we both could be fully right, at the same time.

I love to see and celebrate differences when it feels healthy and loving. But right now, with so much instability and widespread uprootedness, I feel drawn to hunting the common ground and calling it by name. I feel the urge to declare love for people, groups, even schools of thought, that are far apart and clearly different when you get really close and alanlyze them but that, when you pull back and see us all as a group, as a community, are part of the same thick, velvety green blanket.

Yes. Differences are real and nuance matters. Nature relies on it. But patterns and fundamental processes are also real. Nature relies on these just as much.

I hope to see this beautiful green back field thrive more and more, a vast collection of different plants that are all doing their best. All workign to have their needs met. All contributing in their own inique way to the ecosystem.

I love you, friends! Keep choosing Joy.
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.

the mutual admiration society

The week before last was replete with special events. We finally gathered to celebrate Alex’s 29th birthday. I joined my friend Keri for an evening of sorority fun. We hosted the 6th annual Lazy W Talent Show, Thrift Store Prom style!! And one afternoon that week I drove to the city to attend the Public Utilities Division October team builder. I have great stories from each of these memorable events, but today I want to express some gratitude about the team builder. If my dad catches wind of this, he will chalk it up to an episode of the Mutual Admiration Society.

((with this cutie at the Jim Thorpe Building, Oct 2022))

When Handsome first told me we were both invited to this luncheon, I was excited to bear witness to what I thought would be the group’s loving sendoff to their fearless leader. In case you don’t know, back in May, BW accepted a new position at the Commish, which has gradually meant less and less time with the Public Utilities crew. It’s bittersweet. He has been there for so long, seen so much and been a part of so much history, made so many connections and started more than a few revolutions (my words, not his). He has had myriad opportunities to leave the Commish itself over the years, but it was never a real consideration. He has always felt there was more to do there, and he has been right. By taking this new job, though, he has better opportunity to do more of what he has been doing. Exactly the latitude and support to affect even more real change than before, and everyone is excited. Still, as bittersweet changes go, it means stepping away from the beloved fifth floor.

I am not exaggerating to say that the fifth floor is beloved. The people there in Public Utilities, the work everyone does, ongoing, storm after storm, crisis after crisis, almost always going unrecognized and unappreciated by the citizens and companies under their watchful protection, it all blows my mind. The Public Utilities Division is filled with some of the smartest, most motivated people in Oklahoma. A family of their own, too, in all the ways that a workplace can be a family. My husband loves them, as people and as a little community, an organism. And they love my husband.

I love them too, from a distance. I always relish hearing about the group’s accomplishments and culture shifts. I have been fascinated to see how the team builder tradition has evolved over the years. I admire how they have implemented so many strong policies that ensure the best possible work environment, transparency, cohesiveness, efficiency, you name it. They shine with both excellence and work-life balance.

It’s better than a James Clear newsletter, all respect to Atomic Habits. It’s even better than Adam Grant, and man that’s saying a lot. So I make them lots of cinnamon rolls and cookies to show my admiration.

The belated farewell to him is what I thought we were attending.

How humbling then, when as we sat down for lunch, after trading hugs and greetings with as many people as possible, that they surprised me and took so much time to pour their love out to me, personally. I was not expecting it. I was expecting a creative sendoff to BW, something akin to a retirement farewell, even though he is very much still in the building and involved in their culture. I was not expecting that personal show of Love.

They made me feel appreciated for supporting the man who has done so much for them, and they made that seem important. Valuable. They showed that the love I try to transmit to them has been felt along the way, which makes me so happy. These men and women are captivating to me, whether they know it or not. It’s also gratifying, I have to admit, to sense the far reaching effects of nourishing and supporting my husband so that he can perform well. His performance impacts so many people, and their outpouring connected us, included me in this beautiful fabric.

It all widened what can sometimes feel like a very small, isolated world here at the farm. And hearing from individual people I have been admiring and emulating in private ways just moved my heart. Lesia looked me straight in the eyes and convinced me that I belong to them, and I hope she knows how much I needed to hear that.

Thankfully the group did finally move on to honor BW, ha! I could allow the heat in my face to cool a bit. I could try to hold back tears for him instead of for myself.

What a gift to hear the full spectrum of ways he has impacted people’s lives and careers, their happiness at work, their sense of purpose and personal development. I know how much they mean to him, how invested he has been in them over the years, so it fed my heart mightily to see him honored. They all shared a beautiful euphony of how he has steered the division into a position of leadership and example for the agency at large. It’s good, very good, to have some home team pride, and this group has it. They deserve to be proud of themselves and where they are headed, collectively and individually.

When BW stood to speak to the group, the Love just continued to flow. I felt like we were at church. He mirrored every scrap of appreciation right back to them, and he pointed them straight and true to the future, to the next chapter. He reminded them that they are the ones making everything happen. I sat there beaming inwardly and having a crush on him with every word he spoke, knowing how earnestly he means what he says. Knowing how satisfied he always is by not just the hard work and brilliant results for which PUD is known, but also the culture of respect and appreciation they all foster.

It is a workplace, sure, and a government office at that; but Love reigns there. I felt it that day in overwhelming ways. Love streams through those complex relationships, the projects, the unprecedented challenges, the thrilling solutions. Love buoys them all and delivers them to shores beyond reasonable expectations. This is why I do not worry about the current storms or the unseen ones. Storms always pass, even the scariest ones. Love abides.

After the luncheon and several more hugs and precious conversations which I tucked away in my heart, BW took me around the building to see friends I had not seen in many years and to meet lots of new (to me) faces. The Commission is teeming with talent and passion, and those marble floors and art deco rooms have seen some amazing events. I felt deeply inspired by the end of our tour, and I appreciate my husband sharing so much with me that day.

I am sure looking forward to getting better acquainted with more people from all over the building. I am excited to bake for their meetings and hear their stories, to bear witness to their revolutions and wild, overcoming successes. A lot of glory is on the horizon for Oklahoma and the agencies that support her. How exciting to witness it all.

But Public Utilities will always have my heart. I hope they know that.

((a banner from our summertime PUD event at the farm, I keep it in the Apartment))

Signed,
With much gratitude and very real affection,
Former PUD Homeroom Mom
XOXO

near miss & a new friend

Yesterday midmorning I was driving north on Harrah road, toward the park for a run. I was in the right hand lane, slowing gradually nearer the school zone, far away from all other cars. Just as I passed the gas station on the west side of the road, a gray pickup with a camper shell exploded out of the intersection and raced right up alongside my car, definitely aimed for it. I hit my brakes and fishtailed just a little bit, and very much against my nature I also laid the palm of my hand on the horn, simultaneously. It was all instinct, not anger, though within seconds of narrowly avoiding a crash all that adrenaline did turn to anger. The pickup swerved just a breath away from hitting me, and the driver blended slowly into the right hand lane, just in front of me.

My hands were ten and two and shaking. I took several deep breaths and continued driving, even more slowly now, and eased a greater than necessary distance from the gray truck in front of me. I was nearing the park to stop for a run and saw that he, too, was headed there. He used his blinker, drove slowly, yielding to pedestrians the entire time, and parked in the shade.

I briefly considered driving somewhere else to run, I am so averse to confrontation. But I talked myself into staying because I had done nothing wrong. I just felt weird and conspicuous for having honked. I also didn’t know if the other driver felt he had done anything to warrant being honked at, and maybe he would think I almost hit him, you know, and try to fist fight me and I don’t know how to fight, not even in a video game.

My inner life in complicated.

Anyway I stayed.

I also pulled into the parking lot slowly, also yielded to pedestrians, and parked as far from his truck as I could. I did my weird little warm up, started my podcast about an unsolved murder, and started jogging. I was plenty nervous, and I don’t know exactly why. I just hate conflict so much.

The park has a smallish oval loop sidewalk for walking and jogging. I was going counterclockwise and the other driver was walking clockwise. We passed each other head on a few times before we both looked up and acknowledged each other. I pressed a thin smile at him and raised a hand for a low commitment wave, and he nodded softly and also smiled, but he looked sad. He was elderly but not frail, clean cut, polite, focused, and walking alone.

Around mile six I paused at my car for a drink of water, and I saw his truck pull up behind me, perpendicular to my bumper. I paused my stupid murder story and waited as he reluctantly put his truck in park and stepped out into the now blazing sun.

I took a deep breath and assured myself everything was fine. His posture was steady and gentlemanly. Polite. Cautious. He removed his ball cap and opened both hands and said, “I nearly hit you there, I pulled out and scared you, and I am so sorry.” His voice broke my stupid heart. Any defensiveness still in my body dissolved into either shame for honking at him or compassion or maybe amazement at his quiet nobility.

“No I am sorry, I never honk, I am so sorry I honked at you!” My chin started trembling. I was sweaty from running but also cold.

He shook his head and cut me off (haha) saying, “No, I didn’t mean to, but I did almost hit you.” He spoke more firmly this time. He went on to explain that the woman driving behind him had been speeding in that school zone, and she scared him. He felt she was about to slam into him from behind when he saw the opportunity or necessity to race out of the intersection, but all of it was so jarring, so sudden.

I tried a second time to apologize, and I extended both of my hands, not metaphorically. We shook hands normally at first then held hands, and I started weeping a tiny bit behind my scratched up cheap sunglasses. Had I not been sweaty I might have forced a totally inappropriate and unnecessary hug on this stranger (bad hugs are my hobby). It turns out, the verbal exchange was infinitely sweeter.

He said several more times and in a few different ways that he was sorry, and I said I was sorry. I thanked him for coming over to talk to me, told him I had been worried about it (the murder story barely kept my mind occupied), and told him his generosity made me feel so much better. I told him I was so glad that woman didn’t hit him. We agreed we all got lucky and wished each other a good rest of the day then shook hands again (I resisted the urge to invite him for Thanksgiving, because are we friends now?).

As he left the parking lot I started my murder story again, continued my run, and exploded into confusing tears. And the crying was only partially because I am in pre-ovulation. The tenderness and nobility he showed by approaching me and starting that awkward conversation was just so stunning. What an example he sets by this.

Since presumably we live at least somewhat near each other in a fairly cozy community, it is likely we will see each other again. I know now that if we do, it will be comfortable. But even if not, he made an impression on me and reminded me it’s ok to make the effort to keep neighborly bonds intact. We don’t have to go through the days ignoring strangers and neighbors, pretending we are islands or neglecting the effect we have on each other. He did not hit me. He was neither rude nor reckless. No harm was done aside from the momentary panic. He had no obligation whatsoever to ever mention it, but he did.

I swear my intention of honking my car horn was strictly to alert the oncoming vehicle to my presence there, not to express anger. But since I felt the anger immediately afterwards, all of it made me so nauseous. His boldness to resolve the conflict not only allowed me to let it go; it also inspired me to be bolder with neighborliness and more humble about my mistakes.

I am a nervous hugger, too, so there’s that problem. All of this also reminded me sometimes excessive handshakes are enough.

THE END.

summertime blogging streak day 1

Hello, happy almost June! I have so many updates to share, my body is thrumming from it all. Every day lately I have gone to bed tired and happy, but also frustrated for having not written. The goodness and energy accumulates, you know, and never slows down.

at Scissortail Park in OKC, thanks to our friend Kellie for snapping this photo!

Starting today, I will be on a blogging streak for as long as it takes to get it all out, at least for the months of June and July, maybe longer. Writing streaks are about the only way to loosen up my atrophied brain muscles, ha. The updates will range from farmish and gardening to family and community, health and fitness, books, and some deeply personal things too, so I hope you’ll follow along. I hope you’ll share your thoughts with me too!

Yesterday was our llama Meh’s seventh birthday. I made him a big, soft, layered vanilla cake with orange frosting and white pansies. He was characteristically unimpressed but still leaned in for cuddles and kisses. I will probably end up eating a little bit of the cake then donating the rest to the chickens,

happy 7th birthday, Meh! xoxo

My new salvaged-brick path in the shade garden has changed direction a bit and is looking great, in my imagination, ha. I am slowly adding enough shade loving perennials to fill in the abundance of blank space, and it is all wonderfully satisfying. I can’t stop thinking about my grandparents’ beautiful garden, the one I loved to explore as a little girl, and how maybe in the future our own grandchildren will love to explore this space. One of my favorite features of this garden is that it looks completely different from inside the adjacent cottage. Very secluded and gentle feeling, plus you can see Little Lady Marigold and Romulus from there!

Can you see the intended path?

One big, detailed update I will offer soon is on my husband’s mobile Batcave. Oh my gosh, friends, he never ceases to amaze me.

He is painting this massive enclosed trailer to transport the Batmobile in style!

What is going on in your world? How are you launching summertime this year? Are you traveling, gardening, resting, working harder than ever? A little of it all, for us. And we are smitten again.

“To live every day as if it had been stolen from death,
that is how I would like to live.
To feel the joy of life, as Eve felt the joy of life.
To separate oneself from the burden, the angst,
the anguish that we all encounter every day.
To say I am alive, I am wonderful, I am, I am.
That is something to aspire to.”
~Garth Stein
The Art of Racing in the Rain