The wonderful and very old farmhouse is sold . I who, make gallant strides, not to attach myself to possessions, have mourned the loss of the place. I am glad to say, that I am at long last, with peace, about it .
School ended and immediately, sister Delores, Mama, niece Dana and I, joined forces for a bridal shower for niece Hayley. What a commotion ensued! Dana and I arranged flowers gathered from gardens, back yards-and ditch banks. We all cooked. Mama tied bows for lanterns and bird feeders-and the mailbox. Delores decorated and did all sorts of jobs. We used the same cut glass dishes, used for generations and what a lovely table it made. We also used something from the women before us. There were dishes, a teacup, a snow globe, a lamp and a hand made basket. We used a small silver tray Daddy had received from working a good deal of his life, with the same company. I recorded all of this in Hayleys’ “keepsake book”.
As it turns out, we are a good team, for the celebration was without blemish. When Mamas’ house was back in order, I left for a visit with Jenny and her family.
The days were filled with stories, books and ice cream. Will had a birthday and opted for a banana pudding, instead of a cake, which perplexed the little girls, but they helped anyway. None of us, were happy to part, but the sorrow was stunted with the thrill of an upcoming beach trip. Not only, am I going, but Brant, Sydney and “baby brother cousin”, Ryan will be there as well.
We just found out that “little Ryan”, will have a little brother in November! What sweet news-so much that I danced, right there in the dining room!
The latter days of spring have been full of gifts for my heart.
Since being back at the rabbitpatch, on Bonnet Street, I have painted an old Samsonite suitcase, purchased for three dollars at a thrift store. I had great fun painting a robin in a branch of pale, pink blossoms, on one side and a pastel wreath with a blue rabbit, on the other. There is a small slight dent, in the case, that I may declare occurred in London, though I have never been there. I think if you paint blue rabbits and pastel colored leaves, such a fairy tale is not sinful. I have a number of projects planned this summer. I intend to paint birds and flowers-and rabbits . . maybe horses, too-oh! and elephants. So far, so good.
Painting. does not come easy for me and so I am full of thought on how to make flowers look as if they grew wildly and unhindered, with their own intentions. While I paint, the chaos of this world is dimmed . . in those moments lies the beauty.
I am reading Thoreau, as well. The things he observed, and wrote about in the woods, is very akin to my own way of thinking . Of course, Thoreau knew it all first.
Thoreau saw how man weighed and measured every thing and every act. Judgement was calculated seemingly dependent on the monetary worth, of the deeds, of a human. It is no wonder to me, that Thoreau “took to the woods” for a long while , for it is disheartening, when you think about it. What profits a human, will never be solely accounted for in worldly currency.
Thoreaus’ collection of works spark my heart and spur me on to greater things than just keeping the lights on!
Now, I ready myself, for a trip to the ocean. The air will smell of salt and the soils will be soft, hot sand, that shifts beneath you, making your steps more tiresome than ever. The landscape will be tall slender grasses and “Joe Bell” flowers . . and shrubs whittled by the constant wind. The sky will be as vast as you can ever see it . . and then, there is is the ocean. A shining sea that sings constantly and boasts of genuine power. The ocean does not recognize, status or wealth or accomplishments or talent. Its’ beauty and mercy are doled out , to all without recognition of such criteria. The sea is like “the rain that falls on the just and the unjust” . Nature conducts itself with such generosity and we would all do well to consider that.
Of course for me, the mighty ocean is enhanced when my grandchildren play on its’ shores. I will not get one red cent for watching the scene, or listening to the songs of the water and wind -but I declare . ..I will profit . . . in unmeasurable ways.