Thank you

The secret of enthusiasm is remarkably simple:

live in a state of appreciation

Brahma Kumaris

Mind your peas

Food memories are precious to me. My mother loved peas, so in the springtime, she brought large paper bags full of pea pods, and we sat together on the front stoop shelling peas-- that delicious tactile experience of popping open the pod, unzipping its full length, and tipping the plump green peas into a bowl.

In the summertime we shucked corn together, a much messier and more tedious occupation, where we sat on either side of the large bag where all the husks and silks went, picking the illusive strands out from between the kernels. I'm not sure, but I think she loved Silver Queen the best, a tasty pure white corn. The fact that it wasn't always as good as it could be made the times it was ideal extra special. Corn, peaches and pears are all risky-- they can be so delicious, so perfectly plump and juicy that you can't get your eyes open for savoring each bite-- or so mealy, you want to spit them out. Worth the gamble for the possibility of perfect pleasure.

Slow food is a new term, but that's how I learned things. Peeling, shucking, simmering, stirring, smelling, tasting... and all those memories are there for me now that my mother is gone. The spring brings the peas and the anniversary of her passing. It will possibly never get any easier? But I buy the peas, shell the peas, and remember those companionable times with my strong, beautiful, energetic mother.

The Principles of Uncertainty

You cannot imagine the extraordinary experience of this book of paintings, words and photographs. (Sarah, you are going to FLIP if you have not seen this book yet!)

On May the 3rd 2006 Maria Kalman writes:

How can I Tell you Everything that is in My Heart.
Impossible to Begin. Enough. No. Begin

And suddenly the pages fill with paintings of Spinoza, Pavlov's dog, ladies hats and impossible hairdos, Shakespeare's ruff, a red-footed pigeon, remarkable packages, tassels on curtains, glistening pastries and people on the gray streets dressed in sartorial splendor. The range of what people care about spreads before you in dazzling, almost bewildering profusion. And underneath it all is a sweetness--Kalman's discerning, kindly artist's eye, recording the fleeting passage of lives.

There is a painting of the bare branches of a tree, and the words:

WE SEE TREES.

WHAT MORE DO
WE NEED?

Well put.

A Mild Mid-Winter Day

A mild, mid-winter day
soft on my skin
as I walk home
in the late afternoon
grateful
for this moment
and this
and this

Tea & chocolate

Tea & chocolate
Stretched out on the couch
under my youngest son's blanket
bathed in golden sunlight
not working!
reading a novel
not a great novel
just a story
about a woman
who is not sure which way to turn.
Maybe life is like a garden.
You could design it this way or that
and it would probably be
just fine either way,
there are probably lots of ways
it would be really lovely.
And Nature will come in and do
Her own majestic and messy things,
too.


December 27, 2009

Paved with Gold

Ginko leaves on Grammercy Street in November

Emerald Green

I don't mean to freak you out, but I have a dead hummingbird lying on my nature table. I found it on the pavement outside of Talbot's two weeks ago, where I had gone to buy a new pair of black pants. My old pair, which could go anywhere from work to the opera, had died. I don't know about you, but I really need a good pair of black pants.

Karen, the best saleswoman on the planet, was there because I was praying the whole time I was walking up there that she would be. She's even tinier than I am, knows the merchandise in and out, and has the gift of knowing exactly what I, not a good shopper, should buy. I explained my predicament. She walked several paces to a rack of trousers, plucked off a trim pair-- exactly my size-- and swung them in my direction. "This is it," she said. "You can wear them anywhere, throw them in the machine and they're ready to go. Perfect every time."

Leaving the store triumphant, I noticed a speck of emerald green on the expansive esplanade in front. Emerald is an unusual color, so I was curious and approached the speck. A dead hummingbird, of all things, in the middle of the sea of pavement! My immediate thought was to fish a tissue out of my purse, scoop him up and gently deposit him under a bush. But-- how often do you get to see a hummingbird? If you see them, as soon as you see them, they are gone, out of there, faster than the blink of an eye...

So at first, I stared. At his plumage, shimmering emerald. At his long, needle-thin beak. At the tiny ruff of feathers around his neck-- a circlet for a prince. (I'm guessing this bird was male because male birds seem to get all the gorgeous colors.) How did he come to be in this sea of pavement?

I walked home holding him in the tissue, and soon, when I can bear to let him go, he'll be buried amidst the ferns of my garden, ashes to ashes, green to green, another bit of stardust in this shimmering web of life.