Surprised by My Groceries

Today is CSA pick-up day. That is, we committed to another year of membership in a Community Supported Agriculture plan. We pay ahead of time; the farmers plan, plant, tend; we get a share of whatever harvest comes. These folks are successful farmers, and I always feel that we receive good value for our investment.

With one's own garden, one does each of the steps, and observes the ripening and getting ready as any particular plant begins to produce. No surprises.

Week to week with the CSA, though, I don't know what will be in the produce box when I pick it up. Usually corn, since the season began. Tomatoes, peppers, summer squash. Last week the first of the apples. What will it be this week?

Each summer Tuesday I look forward to the fun of being surprised by my groceries.

Chair Outdoors

Seven chairs stand on my deck clustered in three conversation groupings, two sets of two and a set of three. Why is it that just seeing them in their familiar places adds to my of sense of being held in this place, my sense of ease and comfort? Just empty on the deck, those chairs feel right.

I've seen pictures of an empty chair on a beach overlooking the ocean, or an empty hammock hung in a lovely, natural place. Those pictures are often part of some advertisement. So I'm not the only one who feels some stirring when I see an empty chair set just so outdoors.

What invites us?

I have sat in each of our deck chairs in their various locations. Each offers a place to put down a drink; each offers its specific design shape and its way of holding the body; each offers a unique, specific view of the surroundings. In mild weather I often go outside with my first cup of coffee. Sometimes I have the pleasure of sharing the space with a friend. If the whole family is around, the chairs are easy to regroup and sometimes we all do go outside together.

I stack and cover the chairs once cold settles in, leaving just two in the protected southwest corner by the sliders. Any sunny-surprise day in winter might find me sitting outside there for a little while, just soaking up the gift of an easy, direct experience of the natural world. I find pleasure in having available a lovely place to sit outside.

But what feels so inviting about those arranged-and-in-place chairs even when they're empty?

Turning

Days are noticeably shorter. Since this morning's sky was overcast as well, it was still dim at six-thirty. About nine o'clock I headed out toward Deer Creek, walking in light rain. Sunday traffic is sparse which makes the experience of the walk so much more pleasant.

I posted on May 10 about a previous experience of walking in rain, so I won't repeat those specifics. Today I already knew exactly how to squinch up and tilt my face. The rain almost stopped by the time I was at the first corner.

Along Walters Mill I find Common Mullein in bloom, and Joe-Pye Weed, Jewel Weed, and many, many more. Gold finches flit about. A heron with white, blue and black feathers stands watching from the creek at one of the bank cuts, so close it looks rumpled. It does not fly as I pass. Most leaves are still green, but notable ones are bright, clear orange, or red or gold. Goldenrod are plentiful. Everything illustrates the day-by-day shift of seasons. I breathe in the quiet day, the damp air. About a tenth of a mile before I reach the Ady Road bridge, I turn around and start home.

I've never been to a days-long meditation retreat, but I read that the hours are spent in some predetermined combination of sitting meditation, walking meditation, chanting, eating, chores, and rest. A ringing bell signals when it is time to do each next thing. One need not choose, there is no choice given, one simply follows the predictable, reliable, dependable schedule and participates in whatever comes next.

Coming back from illness again, I look around for what comes next, seeking to get back to feeling like I did before. Wait. Before what? Before total collapse a decade ago? Before babies? Before I left my parents' home? What "before" do I seek?

A gentle, good-humored voice from some silent place inside me whispers, Before? Before? What's this before? You only have now, only ever have had now. Then it murmurs in time with my stride, Step. Step. This. Now. Step. Step. This. Now. I feel my walking movement through my whole body. Over and over that voice, mantra-like, and then it shifts to, Notice. Notice. This. Now. Find joy and compassion in this, now.

There is a Zen koan (teaching): "No matter how much the spring wind loves the peach blossoms, they still fall."

The sky has darkened as I walked, and when I turn the last corner toward home, the rain pours down in earnest. My shoulders are wet and easy under my t-shirt; my very short hair provides no protective curtain; droplets collect on my eyebrows, roll down my nose and jaw; I smile for this all feels so familiar and wondrous. I am past the horse farm there in the lowlands, and here comes a car. It is my husband. He came looking for me, and in his car he carries me home.

Courage

Fear. That primal, fight-or-flight response that leads us astray in our modern world where there's no safer place to which to fly, no overt, substantial enemy with whom to do battle. I know that when I am able to experience my gut response I often discover a root of fear.

Wisdom writings of all sorts tell me that fear (not hate) is the opposite of love. Already in childhood I set about praying for the gift of love. How's that working out for ya, girl? Well, I'm a poor judge.

What do I most deeply desire now? Do I still pray for the gift of love? For what will I seek to gird myself with the courage to make and stand life choices? I've been asking this of myself of recent years, and also asking others in hopes I will gain insights from their answers. My own present answer:

Yes. I want to say yes. To joy of being through whatever comes. To whatever comes.

I wonder, what is your deepest desire? What intention guides your choices? The work of a lifetime continues as one seeks to recognize desire and set one's intentional way of being in accordance with such recognized desires. Engaging this work demands courage and creates ordinary, unsung heroic journeys.

When I find again a root of fear, may I turn and be blessed with courage. (I claim to be striving for courage, not necessarily achieving it.)

Clouds are rolling in; the air has that quiet, waiting feeling. All three sons are away from their homes today, and I think of them, wishing traveling mercies for them and all the world as well. For myself, I expect and hope for a restful weekend.

Experiencing Gifts

Every gift carries both its blessing and its burden. We know this. Though the balance can weigh heavily on one end of the scale or the other, if we pay serious attention we see both blessing and burden in every gift. Don't we?

One of the items on my short list of what I desire is to be competent, alert and vertical until the moment when I suddenly die of a massive heart attack or simply do not awaken from sleep. My father died suddenly, like that; my mother suffered a long time. For those of us left behind, Pop's death weighed heavily, Mom's provided her release. That's how it felt to us. But the other side existed, too: for the one transitioning, I believe Pop had the easier path. Not that I imagine I really have a choice in the matter...

Today in the cool, dry morning air I experienced the gift of sunshine on my crown and shoulders as such a boon. It felt so very lovely to be walking along, to swing along, to notice the present-moment, embodied pleasure of being alive.

Perfect Day

Mild temperature, (78 degrees, here) low humidity after recent rains, blue skies and sunny with only an occasional puffy cloud. A twitter of breeze and bird song, cicada drone so reliable, horses sleek and shining in the meadow across the road. All is well, all is well, all manner of things shall be well. People who love me and whom I love sharing my life... It's easy to recognize perfection in such a day as this one.

I have set my intention to grow to recognize perfection in freezing rain, in pain, and in struggles as well as in times of sheer bliss.

The Gift and Grace of Laughter

My sister and I remember our mother as one who had a generous sense of humor. Her life had plenty of hurdles, and I occasionally saw frustration, anger, or desperation cross her face, in her muscles, in her eyes. Even when displeased, though, she would pause and then often laughter would well up in her as if from some deep, bubbling spring that she would not allow to dry up. I hope I learned this from Mother.

This morning I sat with coffee and leafed through the Fall preview issue of Signals catalog (Supporting Public Television since 1986; http://www. signals.com). They sell lots of things, of course, many of them works of art. They also sell wit. These sayings, which brought me laughter, are not credited to any author:

Irony. The opposite of wrinkly.

There, Their.
They're not the same.

I love gardening. It helps when you need to hide the bodies.

Statistics mean never having to say you're certain.

Engineering. Like Math, but Louder.

Resistance is not futile. It's voltage divided by current.

I used to be indecisive. Now I'm not so sure.

I'm always late. My ancestors arrived on the Juneflower.

HYPERBOLE IS THE GREATEST THING EVER!!!

And two that didn't exactly make me laugh:

Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over it became a butterfly.

I am fairly certain that given a Cape and a nice tiara, I could save the world.

I walked to Deer Creek this morning, for the first time since mid-July, two miles, and I pushed hard to get myself home, but!! success, victory, a pat on the back from me to me (I didn't break an arm) when I arrived home. I rested a bit by the generously-rooted tree where many others also stop. I put my hand in the water; it felt warmish. I considered taking off shoes and socks and wading to the opposite bank where an interesting new pebble bar (compared to sand bar) has developed. I decided the actual experience of it, today, would not fulfill the joy of the imagined experience. So, I exercised my imagination. I even imagined just where I would probably slip and fall, and the happy drippy-ness of it all.

We've had rain on a handful of recent days. The corn in the lowlands grows tall and healthy looking. Some critter-- probably 'coons-- bites off corn stalks and pulls them into the creek where they pile up against protruding rocks. Sounds coonish, doesn't it?

Small White Dog has disappeared, the one the size of our medium-sized cat, the one who had been hanging about at a distance, so frightened, so skinny, that I started putting out food and water for him. The last two times I put out food, though, I didn't see him appear to eat, and then, both times, overnight not only the food disappeared but also the light-weight plastic containers in which I'd placed it. Oh my. Smile through the sad places, too. Poor Small White Dog, so full of fear. He did not know I would have housed him.

One more entry from Signals:

Facing Your Fears Builds Strength
but running from them makes for a great cardio workout.