Being Wise Four

Being Wise Four February 28, 2021

Some days aren’t so cold. We leave

the back door open in the afternoon

for the sun to beat on the storm door.

The volunteer peach tree has buds.

Daffodils rise in the front and in the

flower garden. Inside, my small orchid

thrusts out its tiny bloom stalks.

Tomorrow March arrives. I look at

the corner where my friend sat amid

a chaotic bunching up of clothes.

The fuscia in the window keeps

throwing up its red petals. She

brought us so many sad stories

of children in despair, lost and

maybe never found. I’ve lived here

quietly, at peace, glad for what I’ve

done in my life, for the obstacles

I’ve outwitted, the miles I’ve

traveled, the people I’ve loved and

been loved by. I wouldn’t change a thing.

 

Being Wise Three

Photo of Three Cliffs Baby on Gower, Wales by John Ewiing.

 Being Wise Three February 21, 2021

What is life without problems? I have mine,

and then some. I have my helpers, but

sometimes they fail, too. It’s why we like

to hear about other people’s, what makes

them stumble, protest, even despair. My 

old friend used to say: “If human beings

are involved, there is always something

you can do.” Welford Wilson comforted

me when I was down-hearted, and we’d

pick ourselves up and try again. I lost

my website for a day. Then today, to my

surprise, it returned. The email is blocking

eleven messages in my outbox. My mind

doesn’t do well on this level of technical

competence. From long practice, I’ve

learned to hang on, try new things, ask

help, give it a rest. Read a book. True,

life without problems would be dull. 

So what if the dog pees? Clean it up.

If the package is delayed, be patient.

If the order is incomplete, call and

complain. Don’t expect a perfect

life. You already knew there’s no such

thing. If people fall in love with you,

remember they can also fall out of love.

Human beings change. Rare are the

ones who accept you, foibles and all,

errors and all. Things don’t exactly

solve themselves, but sometimes

you catch a glimpse of a possible

solution. Go for it.

Being Wise Two

Being Wise Two February 14, 2021

Day after day I see the same things:

photos of my twin grandchildren when

toddlers. And my son Tim at age ten.

A sprawling orchid blooms in my

window. Finnish islands carved by

glaciers on one wall. Books and boxes

of books are everywhere. Paintings

and pictures on the walls. A few

plants here and there. The dining

table with its odds and ends, address

labels, planner, medicine, placemats,

and silverware. We eat supper 

together. Last night, soup. He had

chicken noodle, and I had vegan–braised

vegetables. A CD player lives under

the lively orchid, and a long-stemmed,

vibrant plant throws itself around the

computer table seeking light and

recognition. The email today brought

me another order of Baba Summer Two,

newly arrived in one big box and two

small boxes. Because of the window,

this corner is cold. But I wear many

layers, and a blanket over my legs.

Clutter dominates my household,

and too many books. Tim builds a

fire with wood Janet brought. She’s

always a step ahead of me. She

worries I’ll get cold. Lately we have

rain, wind, and low thirties, but sun

will return. Out the back window

I can see my hens and their guard

dog rooster running to the orchard

and back. Under my desk, a chaotic

pile of receipts saved for filing with

my taxes. My body still lives and

thrives. I sleep when I don’t want

to sleep, and stay awake when I

want to sleep. My dreams are

coming true, despite setbacks and

delays. I suffer patience and humility.<

Being Wise One

Being Wise One February 7, 2021 These days, these years are like no others. The virus confines us, yet we flourish. I make lasagna, pizza, spaghetti and tacos, fresh bread, lemon ginger tea. Janet and I plan a vegetable garden. We already have the seeds, and the onion sets are in the ground. We have the vaccine, too, now. I get my second shot in fifteen days. I still teach by Skype and publish books. One shipment in and one to wait for. Another already in the works. We have a new, sane president, but the last one left poison behind, still unresolved. Good and evil remain at war. Good will win but slowly. We’re told relief is coming, and more vaccine. Meantime, millions are without work or rent or food money. The numbers stay high of the sick and the dead. It’s time to throw away the bouquet that lived two weeks, to work harder to walk better. In my own way to tell the story of this year, its joys and sorrows, its newly learned patience and acceptance.

Talking to Myself Sixty

Talking to Myself Sixty January31, 2021 At this age--eighty-three--I think about the rest of my life. How many more years? I'll never know, but is it important? Probably not.Good things keep happening.. I woke up shivering, but I managed to cocoon myself and sleep another hour Taking off my covers feels risky, but I take the risk, add my serape to my costume for keeping warm, then my blanket. Toast and tea help. Outside snow is falling, the weather page tells me, and it won't get above 34. I'll make bread today and read a favorite author,heat the left over pizza, and Tim will start the woodstove earlier than ususal. Today matters. Each day brings a new surprise. My seventh grade boyfriend calls me up. His wife has dementia and he's depresed., but we laugh. My therapist' of the 80s to whom I dedicated my obook about teeens, writes to thank me and signs her letter "fondly." We're starting a vegetable garden. Janet has already planted onions and garlic and is readying rows for sugae snap peas. It will stay cold today, but we have wood and fire-starters, plenty of lemon grass tea.By suppertine we'll have fresh bread. I'll read the author I love best., walk indoors, make notes in my diary,laugh at Tim's Southern accent drink more hot tea and remember to enjoy each day's new surprises in a warm home.