It is early now, as I write this and a steady rain is falling across a dimly lit rabbitpatch. I was looking forward to writing in the diary, for days. Mornings are my favorite time to write and rainy mornings are the best, so I was delighted and woke up smiling. Only the boxer and the gentle cat are here with me. Christian is at work and Tres went to see Sarah for one of his last weekends home.
His senior year starts in about a week. I dread seeing him pack up to leave. I will mope and trod about forlornly for a while , when he does. I am hopelessly foolish, when it comes to departures. Practice does not always make perfect! I just never got over that “empty nest” thing and at the age of sixty two, I do not aspire to do any better.
Mama and I have been busy. After our return from Elizabeth City, we headed for the lake for neice Hayleys’ graduation party. My sister Delores and Dana came with us. I looked at Hayley with her friends and wondered when she grew up?! For a moment, I saw her at six, full of spunk and curls . . now here she is all grown up and on the brink of everything!
Delores and Dana spent the night at Mamas’ that night and we all left for Raleigh on Monday. I would stay with Brant and tend to little Ryan while Sydney tended to obligations with her work. Ryan is a gentle natured child. He loves tractors, tools and books. I think he has already figured out his “Honeybee” , for he asked me for ice cream, for breakfast, the first morning. . . he settled for oatmeal, though.
Mama and I came back on Thursday. On Friday, I cleaned out several kitchen cabinets, washed clothes and scrubbed floors. I picked peaches too, as there was just enough left on the tree for a small pot of peach dumplings. The white peaches have a week or so more to go.
On the footpath to the clothesline and garden, I noticed that the “magic lilies” were blooming. Magic lilies spring up overnight, with large pale pink blossoms. I have often hoped to eavesdrop one night and catch them in the act! . . but you never know when this will happen, so I remain filled with curiosity, for I lack the stamina to appease it. The loosestrife is packed tight, along the way -so are the floss flowers. It is no wonder that the lowly and a bit uncivilized footpath to the garden, is a favorite place for me. . . and a lavender sea awaits. I love that lavender sea with hues from periwinkle to violet.
Lately, I have thought a lot about things that I love. Little things or small moments, are sometimes like a flash of shine, in the day. We all have them, if we just take an account of them. Somehow, I did. Could it be, that I did so, while at that “crossroads”? I did think, more than once, that somehow, I was lost-and was surely the only person on earth that could get lost standing still. That is when I became on high alert to things that I loved.
I love open windows . . and most especially those with sheer, white curtains that flutter in a playful breeze. If my gentle cat, “Christopher Robin” is dozing, behind the curtain, then I am pleased, at the sight, all the more. I love the drowsy hum of a window fan and the tinkling sound of my neighbor laughing in her yard, as I hang sheets on the clothesline. I love patches of sunlight falling through the leaves and bracken in the young woods, on the territory. I love the darkness just before dawn and waiting for the day. I love pastures filled with horses- or even just a couple. I really love old trees. I love when Christian plays the piano and floods the house with his tender melodies. I love it when moon shine spills in to the farmhouse . . .oh, I could make this a very, very long story, for there is so much to love. Being still, may be a lot more, than “it’s cracked up to be”. As it turns out, that season of hush, is waning for me, as is the summer.
I will be working this year, in a far different capacity and not as much as in years past. I start next week. At least, the dust finally settled around that predicament. Between, now and then, I am going to see the grandchildren in Elizabeth City and hope to have visits with several cousins. . .and I will keep seeking more things to love, as if my life depends on it . . .for in some ways . . .it does.