My bumper crop of zinnias back in October 2009.
***
Those Eternally Linked Lives 29 September 17, 2017
When you have an inner guide, be
thankful. You know how to go it
alone. You listen to those who
care and worry about you, but
ultimately it’s up to you as you
enter that stage of your life when
more losses will come your way.
For eighty you’re not doing too
badly. As it gets harder, you find
the grit you need to hold your own.
“A day at a time” is always a good
approach. Keep listening to your
deep wisdom. It has never let you
down. Your own individual path
is well-marked now, but such paths
always throw up something new.
Not everyone is up for the wholly
new, but you are. Keep yourself
fit and happy. Enjoy the orange
zinnia that survived the dog’s vole
digging and being bent down by
the wind only to rise and flourish
anyway. Take a leaf out of that book.
Those Eternally Linked Lives 28 September 10, 2017
The answer is
simple and obvious: in our deep
souls we know we can’t be seriously
harmed if we refuse despair. Insights
will arrive. Courage will appear
against the odds. The grain of the
universe doesn’t go away. Furthermore
other people gather around us, one
at a time. If we ask, we receive, and
not infrequently, we receive the help
we need before we ask.
–Those Eternally Linked Lives 19
Slowly I clear weeds, pick grapes,
cook out the juice and make Muscadine
jelly. The hens get the grapes. They
lay better. The zinnias rise again
and bloom. The spider lilies make their
annual surprise and throw up exultant
pink petals and whiskers. The next door
cats make friends with Wag. Are they
keeping warm together at night?
Arching over the garden weeds are
sunny yellow flowers. I forget their
name, and the rainbow lantana. The
high grasses aren’t dwarfed but have
competition. Reckless blue and purple
morning glories cover the porch
railing, determined to cheer me up.
My heart is pronounced normal.
I heal and resume more work as
the air cools. I tackle the high
grass a little at a time. My students
bring laughter and comfort. Observation
wins over theory. I have every reason
on earth to be happy and brave.
Indoor zinnias from 2011. Not to plentiful in 2017, but here.
***
Those Eternally Linked Lives 27 September 3, 2017
When I can’t see
very far ahead, I hold on. I’ve been in
so many dark places before. Light
always finds me sooner or later if
I keep myself from despair.
–Those Eternally Linked Lives 16
This life is not for
the faint of heart. We let go only what
we must; hang on for a rough ride, remount
our courage and listen to our hearts. It’s
the only way to stay whole and keep our
true Selves in tact until we die and see
that Death is still some distance off.
–Those Eternally Linked Lives 17
Sun is back after our storms
that flung down dead branches
but watered the grapes, zinnias, and okra.
I revel in three zinnias, their petals
fanned out to imitate suns, and I eat
five okra, some so tough only the seeds
are edible. I make tea from my huge
crop of lemon balm, and the dog and I
resume our normal walk. We both
sleep hard these days and have less
patience. I can tell I’m healing. I’m
not ready to be put on a shelf. It’s
up to me to keep up the yard,
check on the hens, keep my active
healthy lifestyle. Aging takes courage
in a new way. Other people worry
and need reassurance. When she took
my heart’s pictures, I could hear
its steady beat. I’ve had doctors
try to slow me down before, but
the wise ones listen to me. Trust
myself. I feel good, normal. Worry
wears down the soul. Let it go.
Move the dead branches. Watch
for the zinnias to rise again. Check
the grapes and okra. You know how
to weather the storms, in the sky,
and in your soul.
Those Eternally Linked Lives 26 August 27, 2017
Everything I do counts
in the long tabulation of the
centuries. “Be of good cheer,”
sounds in my ears. Sun reigns.
–Those Eternally Linked Lives 14
I heal. Again. Courage found and
rewarded. I rise to my problems.
One at a time I’ll overcome
both my new and my old fears.
We have cooler days and nights.
I can work outside more often.
Sun is less of a threat. My son
calls to say he may be able to
move here sooner rather than
later. I rejoice. I am confident
we can work out and through
the minor problems, if he finds
his way to returning home. I
Already have good help, but the
thought of his near presence
comforts me in a new way. He
has respect for my independence,
but he wants to help. I stayed
unbiased while he wrestled with
it, but finally said, “If you can
work it out, I’ll be glad.” The
mysterious partner inside me
is grateful. This counts, too, and
helps me finish my work on earth.
Those Eternally Linked Lives 25 August 20, 2017
Finally, a letter from Yuri–three
typed pages, but my Russian is
half-forgotten. I get out my big
dictionary. When I wrote to him
in late June, I’d been reading my
diary pages from when I’d stayed
with him and Vera twenty-two years
ago. He congratulates me on my
Jubilee–eighty years–most of them
writing. How they nurtured me back
then, and they’re still alive. We both
lost Mikhail, whom he calls Misha,
and sends me a note he wrote Misha
a month before he died. They both
longed for their childhood villages–
gone now but never forgotten. Yuri
remembers the yellow flowers under
the cottage’s window. Mikhail remembers
being put upon a horse and seeing a
pink sky, then falling off the horse.
A recurring theme everywhere I went:
the lost village, the rodina, birth village,
lost and never forgotten. A holy grail
to those who remember. He kept taking
me to see the village houses. Once I
stayed in one. He took me into the taiga,
the wild forest, where his village had
been until lost because of the push for
communal farms, and then the war
when twenty-seven million died
in battle or in prison camps. Some
things the memory won’t let go of,
as long as we breathe. We still love
those who loved us, and to whom
we opened our souls. It’s called:
reaching the heart.
Judy with reluctant hen, early spring 2010, during chicken workshop
***
Those Eternally Linked Lives 24 August 13, 2017
We forget: things change all the time.
People change their minds. Our
weather changes. Chickens like their
routines, but they change where they
roost, sometimes hide their nests.
On an old farm, despite neglect,
things grow. A Rose of Sharon leans
through the fence to say hello. Little
blue flowers appear on the Wandering
Jew. Figs ripen and some spoil from
all the rain. After a slew of problems,
a respite: a gift I’d given up on,
forgotten. I got hurt, but I’ve been
healing. I spoke some hard truth,
and was invited to speak again. I’ll
have students in September. My soul
settled in for my older age. I have
to consider my heart, my balance, and
how easily I forget. The weeds feel
impossible, but I know how to summon
helping hands. Wag and I do our daily
walk steadily. I work on manuscripts
I’m determined to publish; plant a few
more beans, find enough figs to sell.
My life resumes its normal rhythms.
Rain replaces the heat wave.
My soul is peaceful once again.
Judy with new books at book party May 21, 2017.
Photo by Johnsie Tipton.
***
Those Eternally Linked Lives 23 August 6, 2017
Banishing fear has
become a habit. Every time I outwit other
people’s worries, I stand taller in my own
view. All it takes is courage, helping those
who let me, and taking in gratefully those
loving hands that give me a reason
to stay alive. –Those Eternally Linked Lives 18
I do keep staying alive. I could have died
on Monday. Instead I fell as I raced
across the road to avoid a speeding car.
She wasn’t looking, she said. She stopped,
pulled me off the road, called nine-one-one.
Other cars stopped, including a sheriff’s
deputy. Then the fire department and
two ambulances. I recognized the voices
of David and Jerry. Claudia came up.
I asked her to put Wag behind the fence.
Later she came back to pray with me.
The phone kept ringing even during the
prayer. I did hit my head. A scalp wound
bled. John Bonitz called. Was I okay?
He heard a car hit me. No, I fell, but
she could have. I’m okay. Sheila called
to say she and Rhonda were coming
over. Then John and Wayne Cross
stopped to check on me. Emails and
phone calls. Rhonda checked my scalp:
“It will heal.” Jeff took me to pick up
my truck. Emma stopped by, having
heard the rumor. Sally wrote from Alabama.
Katie, from Asheville. Then Keely, Donna,
and Terica brought me groceries. Maybe
I couldn’t get to a store? Fruit and other
things I never buy on my simple diet,
but I’m enjoying them. Angelina says,
“You could use this in a novel. I keep
telling people the car didn’t hit you.”
What did hit me was people’s care:
I had to be all right. I am. Healing
well; reminding my children I want
to stay independent, follow my deep
wisdom. Falling’s no fun, but once
again I learned: people love me.
