It’s Not A Crime
This is not a post from a sweet, gray haired, “got it all figured out” Christian lady . I am just a person who sometimes lies awake at night wondering about life and who I am and why I’m here.
This is a week where a family member has died. It’s a week when a child has asked me “do you think it would be okay to have fun and not be sad?” I have come to a conclusion. It is not a crime to be happy. The world is full of terrible things, even so, it is more of a crime to be sad than to be happy. We were made to be happy. That is good news.
All the terrible things in the world didn’t come about by chance. They were not put here for us by an uncaring God either. We chose those things ourselves, most of them, and others came because we chose to hang out with a bad gang bent on destruction. Those terrible things, all of them, came when we didn’t believe what we were told about how to be happy.
It is somewhere deep in our being to think, and then say “NO, I do it myself!” Why is it so hard for us to believe that we are not the smartest, most reasonable, most capable, most invincible beings ever? Why is that so hard? Why do we act like a two year old child when we are told what will be best for us? Why does it take us fifty, sixty, seventy, ninety years to realize that we are not in control and that our days are going to run out. Those days go by faster and faster, begging us to look the issue straight on, to decide whether we will let ourselves acknowledge our parent who knows more than we do, our creator, and call him God.
I am not a preacher or a missionary. Sometimes I wish I were a missionary and could go to some land where life is very difficult, much more basic and simple. People there do not need to be convinced that there is a God. Most of the time they just need to be told and they recognize it as what they’ve been longing to hear and know. I live in a land where people think too much about some things and too little about other more important things – but there is a lot of thinking going on. Thinking like that young child, which is pretty much “what do I want now?”
This whole question of what’s going on with life can be learned by studying that parent – child relationship. It’s all there. I’ve had kids. I know. I’m not talking about all the bad variations of it that we have managed to come up with. A true parent longs for the child from the moment it is conceived in the mind, becomes more in love with it as it develops, protects it, delights in seeing it progress, grow and assume unique qualities. A true parent is concerned with the lifelong happiness of the child and has a better picture of how that is to be achieved than does the child. The toddler sincerely thinks he is capable, because he knows what he wants now. He does not know what he will want later – he has to be told that and don’t expect him to understand. Really, you can’t even tell him.
Don’t try.
Can you see how we are kind of like toddlers all our lives? We try one thing that we want after another, trying to feel big and important and smart and we will do it ourselves. We are not able to understand. We will test. We will insist. A good parent knows this will happen and plans for it. A good parent would die to keep their child safe and bring them through those tests. I am not a perfect parent but I feel that way about my kids. I think God feels that way about me.
I live in a world that is crazy with design and beauty, full of things meant to be good, meant to produce growth. I’m like that baby that grows up in the home provided by the parents – it’s child-proofed and I’m surrounded by toys to amuse and educate me. I’m watched over, cared for. Could I possibly think I put all that in place myself ? More and more, I know that I did not do it myself.
I lie awake at night thinking about this. Why does this even make sense to me? Why doesn’t it make sense to everyone – that’s what I wonder. Am I missing something?
Those Moments
There are moments of reflection, and I seem to have a lot of them lately, where I think “what if I never get to do this (fill in the blank) again?” I have done a bunch of really fun things that I never intended to stop doing but haven’t had a chance to repeat.
Last week, cleaning files, I found my maps and notes from my two Appalachian hikes. I know the exact section I wanted to do next but have not gotten back.
And later, the three day walk for breast cancer – I did 60 miles and it was so gratifying to have made it to the end. I’m having trouble with my knees now and wonder if it is permanent or temporary.
I found the handbook for the trail ride my daughter and I took across Florida, the menu from the chuck wagon, and the schedule of ranches that where we camped. My horse lives four hours away from me now and I rarely ever get to ride. Will it happen again? Have I put these plans and dreams away?
All this came to mind yesterday, at the pool of all places. I don’t go to a pool very often but I have always loved to swim. My childhood was full of long afternoons at the lake swimming and making up water games with my brothers and friends. Here I was with Gracie, who is eight and in that early stage of water love that I remembered so clearly. We had a few little races and tested how long we could hold our breath underwater.
I got one of those moments of reflection. Some body memories never leave you and I could sooo feel the arch of my back and the body swirl of a backward somersault in the water. Thought I, to myself, “do it again, it’s only water, how could you possibly hurt yourself?”
(Are you poised for disaster?)
I was right, it didn’t hurt. It felt downright good. (fooled you?)
Gracie was very impressed and we spent a few minutes while she tried it and practiced. As we did, we migrated to the height of water most convenient for her, about 3 1/2 feet. .My next backward flip demo was a little short on water depth, and I found myself kissing the floor of the pool at the bottom of my circle. Well, not even that really. I scraped the tip of my nose and chin, but the redness kind of disappeared into the sunburn I had already gotten. I appear unscathed.
It’s kind of nice to find that you CAN do it again, sometimes. You might have to think it through and be a little more careful, but you can do it. If you want to. If you don’t care that you are the only person over 60 in the pool doing handstands and back flips… just sayin’.
Container Queen
I am in the middle of a revelation. I am the Container Queen.
I have been paring down, cleaning, throwing away as I go through the various rooms in my house.
Someday, someone will be glad I did this.
Today, going through my gardening supplies and equipment it was suddenly, glaringly obvious that there were containers everywhere. Boxes, tubs, baskets, carry-alls, jars, vases – all sizes, made of many different materials, some full, some empty but waiting for just the right thing to go in them. I have to acknowledge this “thing” I have for containers and maybe (???) do something about it.
Yesterday I spent about an hour breaking down cardboard boxes that I had saved for someday when we move. Some of the boxes had come from FedEx or USPS, from Mary Kay, and some I even hauled home from work because they were a handy size. My garage shelves are stacked with boxes of canning jars,Tupperware that I can’t bear to throw away and plastic containers to hold … other containers, yes. I have baskets and bowls that I couldn’t resist, but at least they are decorative. I even pick interesting containers out of other people’s garbage (painful confession). My employer buys expensive almond soap in these really cute boxes which she thinks she throws away, but they are containing my button collection now.
Almost anytime there is something to be contained, I can think of something I have that is just right for the job – because at least half my containers are empty and waiting. Do I have a problem? I don’t know. But I have to say it does feel kind of good to finally be queen of something.
The Singular Experience
Trapped in a singular experience
One in which the intensity is almost unbearable
This is war, this is accidental life, unplanned,
Sudden, a hostage situation of the mind
Waiting for deliverance, for the rescue, for the revealing
Of the plan, the moment when the captor drops his guard
The moment also unexpected, but clear
Now? Now? Now. Waiting.
I Love…
I love and enjoy plants because…
Good morning, August. I can’t believe you’re here.
DaVinci Dating
For a couple months now the husband and I have been trying to revive dating as a regular practice. It’s not the easiest thing to do if you’re at the stage of life where staying home is really, well, kind of fun. But we try. The husband compromises and goes to movies with me. I compromise and go to things that catch his attention while watching TV commercials. It was a commercial for the Diiscover DaVinci exhibit that prompted this particular date. “I want to go to that.” was all he had to say to make me rush back to the half price Groupon I had recently deleted and snatch us some tickets. Finding a way to do it at a discount is almost like a message from God that it’s meant to be, in my eyes.
After a couple weeks wondering when to do it, on the last day of the exhibit, we set out in the morning – because it certainly wouldn’t be crowded then, right? No, wrong. There was a good crowd already in the one room auditorium. We got our wrist bands for all day admittance and started with an overview movie that was being shown on the stage. One of the guided tours that was just finishing was louder than the movie narration (did I mention it was a one room exhibit?) so my eyes were on a different script than my ears – but it was all about DaVinci, so who cares?Read More »
It’s A Jungle…
With all the rain we have been getting, the oneacrewoods is turning into a oneacrejungle faster than I can tame it. Letting it go too far is a mistake that take twice as much work to correct. I broke down and got Joe to come help me today and we began cutting things back. You people who live in other parts of the world have no idea what I’m talking about. The vegetation that we remove gets hauled back to a corner of the yard where I hope it will eventually break down and disappear but right now it is a giant pile higher than my head.
I was working in one of my pineapple plots which had become a grass plot and suddenly I heard a curious squeaking noise. So strange, it seemed to be coming from under my feet and I finally located it. Two small critters about four inches long with big ears were panicking in the dirt where I had just pulled up a big grass plant.. They could barely move and were entirely at my mercy. I called Joe over to look. We decided they were rabbits. I’m not sure if they were just hidden in the grass or in a shallow burrow but I had evidently taken away their cover. Joe kind of camouflaged their little depression in the soil with some grass plants and we hoped Mama rabbit would come and fetch them to another home.
An hour or so later I was talking to Joe and he said ” di you see billow ge rabbage?” I am often clueless as to what he’s saying due to his unusual English dialect and rely more on gestures and pointing and good guesses when conversing with him. He pointed to the pineapple patch and repeated the cryptic message. I pondered and came up with “rabbits?” “Yes, big billow take them rabbages.” And since he was now pointing up in a tree I’m assuming he actually saw a hawk get the baby rabbits. Like I said, it’s a jungle out there and everybody has to eat. But I’m sad because they were so cute and had such a short life.
I raise lots of pineapples in the yard and can’t really eat them all when so many are ripe at once. The squirrels and rabbits help me out and I guess I don’t mind as long as they leave a few for me. But something I don’t want them to have is this nice bunch of bananas that is nearly the right size to come ripe. It’s only a few inches off the ground and I don’t know how to protect it. I’m glad I have a picture of the bananas, in case that is all I get. Because it is a jungle, and we all have to eat.
A Small Gift
It’s Monday morning. I’m dressed and sitting at my desk thinking about the day ahead. Last week I repotted a houseplant and brought it to live on my desk in front of the glass doors where it would get a lot of southern exposure. I noticed a large drop of water at the tip of a leaf. And then I saw that every leaf that was turned in the same orientation had a large crystal clear drop of water – the whole plant was decorated at the tips of these leaves only. The rest of the plant was dry. Such a beautiful thing… just sayin’.
Not Easy Being a Horse
They really are beautiful animals, horses. When I think about it very long, it starts seeming strange to me what an network of industries has been built up around this one animal. Even though they are not used for work in average situations anymore, are not a common means of serious transportation, they are large, eat a lot and require a good amount of care – still people are so enamored with horses, especially women. You see horses standing peacefully in a field, or yard or stall and you naturally think “people ride those horses”. No they don’t, not necessarily.
I spent three days with Doc Julia last week. She hurt her back and needed a lackey to help lug her equipment around. I love watching her work and was glad I had the time to go. It was three days of meeting more horses than people. Horses with infected ears, horses with kick wounds, horses with bad skin and sunburn, horses with worms, horses, horses, horses… It seems being a horse in today’s world, especially in Florida, has a lot of hazards.
First of all, if you’re a horse, you had better belong to someone with a little extra cash because you eat like a horse. There is a good reason for that common saying. Horses eat continuously (except when sleeping). They are grazing animals and are most healthy when they can have a little bit of hay or grass going through their system all the time. My daughter’s horses live in a big pasture which appears to be green with some kind of plant but the reality is that the good grass is pretty scarce. Horses don’t like to eat most weeds. (They only like to eat the ones that aren’t good for them – that’s how smart they are.) Bales of hay cost from $7 -$15 and you get what you pay for in quality. And most horses down here also need to be fed some kind of pelletized feed, or oats – also costly in the amounts needed. There is also the supplement market which rivals the human supplement market in competitive fury and complexity. $$$$$
All this eating does amazing things to a horse’s teeth. They wear down where they rub against each other. If their bite isn’t perfectly balanced (and most of them aren’t) they get high places, points, and hooks where there is no wear. It can get difficult and painful to eat if these areas aren’t filed down and smoothed. Enter horse dentistry. $$$$ In the three days I spent with Doc Julia we did eight dentals. Think about your own experience with the dentist. Now try to imagine this happening to a huge, clueless animal who doesn’t like it any more than you do. Yeah, right.
Horses that eat the wrong thing or not enough of the right thing get sick. They get ulcers, diarrhea, constipation, stomach ache and bowel obstruction. Again, if you are a horse you had better have an owner who is willing to call the doctor for a house call because you could die quite suddenly in great pain and agony if you don’t.
If you are a horse, you are on the lookout for anything that could be preying upon you. If you get scared, you move fast to get away. You run into barbed wire fences and tear up your skin, you step in holes and break bones. You can hurt yourself in your own stall. Your life depends on being able to stand on your feet but your hooves are subject to all kinds of conditions that could disable you. You founder, you get eye infections, you get rain rot on your skin. You are a horse and you had better have an owner who loves you.
All this brings us back to the peaceful scene in the pasture – horses grazing on green grass, tails swishing, manes moving with the breeze. Many of these horses can no longer be ridden because of age or infirmity. They are there because someone likes to look at them, pet them and spend money on them. They are there because someone has memories of their better days and loves to see them happy and content. I’m just sayin’, they are the lucky ones.
I Just Have to Say... 