Lazy W Marie

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

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miracles brewing in the late summer storms

Around sunset one evening last week, a mild storm gathered. We walked around the farm gathering the free range birds, I flaked out some bedtime hay for the horses, and Handsome obliged Klaus with his requisite post-dinner fetch throws. The skies grew bruised and moody, the clouds lowered, and a cool wind combed over us. After such a brutal heat wave and drought most of the summer, these were foreign details, sensations we had almost forgotten.

I grabbed my husband’s hand and said, “Let’s pray for the kids. For everyone.”

We stood in the front yard between the house and the yurt and faced north to watch the swirling, dimensional weather. We continued holding hands and prayed aloud for those closest to us. We prayed for some hard situations at the Commission, too. We prayed for a few dear friends. We gave thanks for innumerable miracles in our lives, both very old and very recent. We gave thanks for this little farm that has survived another extreme weather season, for all the birthdays, for all the fun and hard work and rest afforded us.

We prayed for the kids again.

And my heart lifted.

I got that giggling feeling that so often starts in my hips and rises through my belly and lungs. I let it bloom into a smile while we prayed and watched the Pine Forest and listened to the chickens quiet down. It felt wonderful and natural to be submitting needs and wants to God without begging Him. And in the shadow of the front edge of that storm, I felt revolution coming.

Today more fresh weather rolled in, an even cooler and much gentler rainstorm. I was at the local reservoir running a few easy miles, and the sky grew thick and woolly. The first few raindrops might have been my own sweat, but soon enough the moisture felt cold and consistent. I let it soak me and remembered many of the prayers we uttered a few nights ago. I thought back over the years, of how many miracles have burst forth in our life in what appeared to be an instant. One phone call, a sudden announcement at the office, an email, a visitor. A realization.

Everything can turn on a dime, and that is to be celebrated, not feared.

As we begin a brand new month and likely a new season, my heart feels stronger than it has, maybe, in years. I feel more attuned to Love and more expectant of miracles big and small, and this time in a much happier, less desperate way. Because this is how life is supposed to be. Rich with blessings and mercy. Alive with texture, change, mystery, peace, adventure, and Love.

I bid adieu to August in an Instagram post and my husband said it almost made him cry. I get it. Summer is a fun, free, celebratory time. August contains his birthday, too! And we always hate to see certain chapters close.

But this next little bit will be so good. Probably better in many ways. Maybe with fewer difficulties. Because all the late summer storms are hiding miracles we have not yet seen. Answers that we have sought earnestly and should absolutely expect at just the perfect moment.

As I finish writing this, rain has picked up pace. It is pinging and echoing in the chimney. Klaus is on the concrete floor, snoring contentedly. The farm is, otherwise, nearly silent. Ready for and open to whatever is coming our way.

Trust in the Goodness of Life
XOXOXOXO

milestones and gemstones, a special celebration

Jessica turned 25 this month. Twenty five! My beautiful little baby girl is a quarter-century year old! I have two short, happy stories for you.

A few days before she and Alex were due at the farm for a family birthday dinner, I was at the grocery store gathering supplies, and something simple and wonderful happened. A grocery store clerk asked whether I had any fun plans for the upcoming weekend, and the answer rolled up from my belly and into my mouth. I almost started giggle-crying from happiness. For so many years, being separated from my children made their birthdays bittersweet, at best. Many years it was excruciatingly sad for all of us. But as that clerk asked me about my weekend plans, the truth all bloomed in my mouth. That is the past. I am no longer expected to relive that pain. Today, right now, at that moment when the clerk asked me about my weekend, I was free to enjoy party planning and family celebrations. She was home for real. I didn’t spill all of this to the innocent clerk, of course, but I did gush about Jess to a stranger, and I did talk about our plans. She said, “That’s really nice.” Ha.

That weekend we ate a garlicky shrimp boil and played outside with bubbles and dogs and horses. We let the dogs swim and chase, and we all talked and laughed so much. Since we see each other pretty often and talk virtually every day, we feel pretty caught up in each other’s lives. Celebrating really gets to be celebrating, and I love that!

Besides sharing this maternal joy with you, I want to tell you the story of Jessica’s birthday gift this year. I enlisted the artistry and generosity of our friend Trisha, and we all were blown away by the results!

Trisha is a self taught jewelry maker. She singlehandedly runs a lovely Etsy shop called “WhiskeyBangle,” and she has expanded her style lots over the past few years. I asked Trisha if she could help me repair then redesign one of my pearl necklaces for Jessica’s milestone birthday, and man did she deliver.

This was one of four pearl necklaces Handsome gifted me around the time we got engaged, so it is precious. Each necklace is a different color of pearls, and I chose for the redesign the color has always made me think of Jess, even when she was a little girl. It’s almost but not quite rose gold, definitely a glowy, blushing hue. The pearls are irregularly shaped because they were collected naturally in Japan, not cultured. I treasure every one of them.

I brought the necklace to Trisha and told her Jessica’s birthstone is peridot. My only request was that she shorten my necklace to collarbone length for Jess and save the extra pearls for a future project for me to continue wearing. I loved the idea of both of us wearing pearls from the same piece, a reinforcement of the heirloom nature of the gift.

Trish brainstormed a while and mined through her abundant gemstones and beads; then she texted me the most beautiful idea.

With a rounded rectangular centerpiece flanked by peridot seed beads then pearls all the way around to the elegant metal clasp, she created a “Past-Present-Future” heirloom necklace, meant to be worn a bit asymmetrically. I loved it. She attended to every detail. The clasp has a little glittering bling in it and is suited for Jessica being right handed. The tones are all unusual and complimentary. The scale of everything is just perfect.

Most importantly, I know that Trisha, a mother herself, crafted it lovingly. She understood the gravity of the milestone and the opportunity to create and pass along a true heirloom. If Jessica and Alex have children, this necklace could become “Mom’s 25th birthday necklace that was made from Grandma’s engagement pearls.” (I hope everyone will forgive me for dreaming that up.)

When we gave it to Jessica at her birthday dinner, I felt so happy. She looked beautiful wearing it, of course, and it glowed on her skin. She absolutely understood the importance of us sharing my pearls with her, and it was really fun to see her enjoy all the stones and details.

I think she wore it to work every day that next week, and as hoped, it looked stunning with a variety of outfits. Most importantly, I knew she felt loved and connected to us. Jessica has endured untold difficulty in twenty five years. She has made mistakes and grown from them like everyone. She has become a gorgeous, smart, driven young woman who still gives us glimpses of the little girl we always loved, even in those years apart.

I cannot sufficiently thank our friend for working so hard and so lovingly on this very special gift. I also cannot say how much I love our girl, how amazing it feels to celebrate her twenty fifth birthday. And how wonderful to get to tell that grocery store clerk, veiling such a long sad saga, that yes, I was shopping for a shrimp boil dinner and planned to make a layered lemon cake for my daughter’s birthday.

It was really nice, indeed.

some garden & parenting advice

Jessica started her fall garden a couple of weeks ago, and my gardener-mama heart has been so full. Daily, we have been chatting all things soil, seeds, sun exposure, needed growing weeks, frost expectations, compost methods, you name it. This is a wonderful exchange for many reasons, as you can imagine. But something stands out.

Just a short bit into the thrust of her efforts, I caught myself praying that her fall harvest would be abundant. I asked God in kind of a pleading way to reward my baby’s efforts with lots of perfect vegetables and flowers, just all the good, beautiful rewards of hard work well done. I nearly begged Him to give her the “things” that would encourage her to keep going. Proof, you know?

((daily harvest, eggs already in the fridge xoxo))

He corrected me immediately.

The best rewards of a garden are not necessarily included in the harvest.

Gardening in its purest form is an ongoing cultivation of Life, a physical expression of art and science, a balance of need and provision between man and Earth and insects and God, of creativity and learning. Gardening is an adventure of trust in natural cycles. And much of this can only be learned by trial and, mostly, error. Lots of valuable error.

I know this.

So why would I deny Jess pleasure of learning on her own? Why would I swerve her away from the immense value of the journey itself?

My Grandpa Rex was a lifelong gardener and a lifelong student of, well, everything he could get his eyes or hands on. He was famous for being okay with not having all the answers, and yet I trusted him to always eventually find the answer and call me back. He trialed new ideas in his various gardens right up to the end of his gardening years, and he had wickedly specific reasons for even the paint he used on his shed. I think of that daily. I love how he never seemed to grow the same garden twice, and he thrived through it all. I want that for Jessica. Grandpa’s life showed the fruits of his labor far beyond his beautiful tomatoes and larkspur. I want that for her, too.

((little girl jess & not yet married Jess, always playing in the garden))

I will be here to guide her as much as I can, and to share my growing adventures alongside her own. And I will help her find good answers to her excellent questions. But I will not pray merely for a good harvest. Now, I am praying for a good experience, too. For good lessons and soul checks. For epiphanies and understandings, connections, realizations. I am praying for her good LIFE. It all matters.

Then, if she pays attention and has a little luck, she’ll get fresh produce, too.

Whew, I am thankful for that mild correction. He always knows what I need to hear.

“When we plant a seed,
we plant a narrative of future possibility.”
~Dr. Sue Stuart Smith
The Well Gardened Mind
XOXOXOXO

anniversary telepathy

Around 7:10 a.m., morning chores long since finished and second cup of coffee cooling and almost empty, BW was laying in the mild light with his phone, exploring the non-work-related internet, also making reservations for steak dinner tonight. The dogs were alternating between gentle wrestling matches and shade naps. I had just polished off Ada Calhoun’s Also a Poet and was reading back through my notes.

Something small and bright alerted me. I looked up from my book like a meerkat and said, “Something smells delicious!” We were in the yard and on the deck between the herb garden and the cottage, and there was no evidence of anyone nearby cooking outside. It was a vivid fragrance of grilled meat and eggs and cheese with maple syrup. My mind imaged for me a partially wrapped McGriddle from about sixteen years ago. Summertime, Dallas, Texas.

“That’s funny,” BW said, “I was just thinking about McDonalds.”

I believe the two of us are closely linked enough to trade sensory impressions like this, even fleeting ones. Or maybe our trip to Frontier City yesterday and the attendant nausea from too many whirligig rides just reminded me of a Six Flags trip from early in our marriage when I made the mistake of eating a rich and greasy McGriddle right before a long day of extreme roller-coastering.

And my cute husband often does consider McDonald’s for breakfast on slow, easy mornings like this.

What I’m saying is, maybe there’s a rational explanation for our common thought.

And yet, maybe we do share a few non-physical but nonetheless strong and solid connections.

Maybe both. Maybe the latter is as rational as the former.

Whatever made us share two sides of the same idea this morning, I love it. And I am loving our slow, piecemeal morning together. And I am loving him and our lengthening marriage. Twenty one years today!

My guy wrote this in the sand for me while on a business trip early in our marriage. xoxo

I am loving this life we have both constructed and stumbled into, this happiness we constantly nourish and protect. I am loving this rollercoaster love story, even the mild nausea we sometimes get, all of it scented with memory, pleasure, and unspoken understanding.

I love you, babe,
Always Now and Forever.
Happy Anniversary.

river not reservoir

Will you follow me on a short, meandering train of thought? This all occurred to me simultaneously, early this morning.

Are you, like me, a borderline obsessive list maker and goal tender? I keep a planner and myriad lists and charts for habit tracking, miles and paces ran, farm projects, holidays, seasonal work, animal needs, garden jobs, you name it. It helps me “stay on track,” I tell myself, but really what it does is soothe lots of insecurities about my contribution. It gives me an inky representation of my work, because deep down I know that I don’t do enough. Or maybe sometimes I do plenty, but I need the written proof, because no one else knows. Maybe if I die suddenly and someone asks, “What did she do with her life?” they could look at my multicolored planner and see. “Oh, good those habits seem very tidy. Nice.”

What if instead of keeping lists and calendars, instead of charting accomplishments and habits to make myself feel like a good enough person, I get back to counting blessings?

I had this thought early this morning, between a few picturesque moments. I lifted the east facing blinds to see the cotton candy daybreak, and then I walked outside with Klaus. The air was fresh and sweet, the cats were stretching on the sidewalk, campaigning for belly scratches and breakfast, and the birds were singing. SINGING. They produced actual music, not orchestrated by any human, and really beautiful. My mind was mechanically in gear about what to do first today, but the beauty of the moment, the safety and abundance of my life, quite undeserved (Or do I deserve it, a little? Have I fought hard enough for this, evolved enough finally?) overwhelmed me. I came back inside to make two very different cups of coffee, and the thought burst into my mind: “What if you stop counting the things you do and return to counting your blessings?””

I cannot tell you how scary this though felt at first, and then I judged myself for being scared of it. “Why? What is wrong with you?” I demanded of myself. What a clear message, that I have been relying so heavily on self and have been so feverishly feeding my ego, that I need to prove to my own mind so many ridiculous little things. No one else ever sees my lists; it is all for self assurance and carrot motivation.

And then there’s the notion of flow.

A few years ago, just before Pandemic actually, I had an unsolicited and overwhelming experience of Love that has stuck with me and taught me many lessons, the more I reflect on it. Part of the experience was being personally showered with specific encouragement about the ways I had impacted the lives of my friends and family. Dozens of people contributed, and I cried and cried. I wrote something at the time about “Leak Stop” in order to prevent my usual fleeting confidence from forgetting or dismissing it all. I tried to muscle myself into hoarding it all in my heart, you know? And that worked, to an extent. But I don’t think that’s what we’re really supposed to do with Love.

I don’t think we’re supposed to collect Love and keep it for ourselves, just be un-leaky reservoirs that receive lots of water and share it only in emergencies, or maybe grow stagnant. I think we’re supposed to be more like rivers that flow free and strong like the Thompson in Colorado. I think that instead of stopping up the leaks so I could keep more Love for myself, for bad days, I was fine being flexible and open, to share Love more boldly. Receive, give, receive, give, and flow with life giving energy day after day after day. How wonderful to be aligned daily with blessings and purposes. This has been one of my prayers for a few years, and I see it manifesting constantly. Weirdly, haha, I found a way to make that meditation into a task as well. Cool.

And maybe being obsessed with lists and accomplishments ironically stunts my contribution; maybe this lifestyle keeps me too oriented to self and keeps me from allowing Love to flow.

Counting blessings opens me up much more to wonder and gratitude, to magic and limitlessness. Not just small gorgeous details but also catastrophes avoided, abundance realized, joys fulfilled. I know this. I have known it for years, and still I sometimes need the reminder.

Our family has been in a little storm this past month that challenged my ability to stay in the moment and asked me to demonstrate what I have been learning these recent years about prayer, imagination, faith, trust, and free will. Will I spend energy worrying, regretting, and spiraling into what-if scenarios, or will I redeem energy for miracles? It’s been a private and inward job mostly, but the effects are very much three dimensional, very real and impactful to loved ones. What I’m saying is that prayer is a real force. Thoughts are things. And so, it matters where we focus. We have influence, but only by accessing Love. I am so thankful for the redirection this morning away from tasks and ego and back to the Absolute, the Source, the Field, as so many books refer to Love. Back to God.

How scary to realize the thinness of that line, the difference between trusting myself and trusting God.

And how wonderful to relax into being a conduit for power rather than needing to be a source of it, which is obviously impossible. There is only one Source.

Ok gotta go. I have a certain number of miles to run and a list of chores to finish, Ha! Otherwise I am not a real person, ok? I’m mostly kidding.

Harness your thoughts. Direct your energy. Love your life. It’s all here for us to enjoy and share, flowing back and forth.

XOXOXOXO