While We Were All Together


There is a rabbit family that lives in the “Quiet Garden”.  This morning three of the bunnies attended the “early service”.  They were quite serious about their breakfast,  when light was faint.  As soon as the first rays of morning streaked the territory, however, the bunnies  began to play.  This disturbed a robin, who was still in his plight for breakfast.  The robin scolded the young rabbits and flapped his wings in a threatening manner, which made them dash in all directions.  It was the first “early service” I had attended at the rabbit patch, in almost a week and I wondered if some sort of feud had developed in my absence-or if the robin was just grouchy.

Brant and I got back around noon yesterday, from Elizabeth City.  It had been a wonderful and very productive week. We managed to have a lot of fun, as well.  I think, we all were sorry to see it end. So many projects had been completed.  There were special meals.  We watched a thunderstorm, one evening and ate ice cream at odd hours.  Lyla said “I am glad we are all together.”  I agreed whole heartedly, for there was some sort of beautiful and familiar feeling that was present, while we were all together. 

 On the way home,  Brant noticed from some sticker, I never knew about, that I was long over due for an oil change and was adamant  it should be done within the hour or else the car would likely fail me-  and at any given moment.  Out of fear, I relented and had it done before I got back to the rabbit patch.  I am awful at such things and usually need conversations embellished with stern warnings to  do any business of that sort.

 The rabbit patch seemed more sprawling than ever, after  being in the village by the laughing river, for a while.  Of course the grass needed mowing, but otherwise, it was mostly tidy.  My boxer, “Cash” ran several laps in unbridled joy at my return.  My cat, “Christopher Robin” sauntered by, seeming only slightly interested in my return –  but I heard him purring.

I had high hopes of mowing today after the early service.  Within the first fifteen, minutes, the newly replaced bolt, that holds the deck up, broke.  Not to be out done, I found some wire and rigged it successfully.  It would not start back, so I played with the connections to the battery.  The heat was about unbearable, but I was determined and eventually got it started.  In the next fifteen minutes I hit a root, and bent the deck in so the blades could not turn.  I tinkered with the thing, for most of the afternoon-and to no avail.  I didn’t care one iota when it started raining.  I was hot, filthy and had to battle “yellow flies” while lying in the dirt. I had not  made a bit of progress.  I was discouraged and cranky.  In such circumstances,  I call Mama and complain to my hearts’ content.   Then, I collect myself and start putting things in perspective.  So while it rained, I began to think of all the  wonderful gifts in my life-my loved ones especially, and suddenly it seemed foolish to get so worked up over a lawn mower.  I had laughed at the robin this morning for acting like he would surely starve just because the bunnies were kicking up a fuss . . .and now, I had followed suit and acted like I would surely perish, all because of a lawn mower.  

The rain fell steadily and the sound of it had the same affect as listening to poetry.   It did cool things off, thankfully, too.  I am not fond of the souths’ hot, humid weather.  . .nor the biting insects.  But, summer does offer me sweet liberty and magnolia trees with their fragrant blooms. . .and there are nights with a million twinkling stars.  There is  the wild honeysuckle and Miss Claudias’ beloved peaches. . . . Summer, like every season, comes bearing gifts.  



This Past Saturday


Sunday is fading fast.  The shadows made by evening light are falling in their familiar places.  Sunday nights are typically still and quiet at the rabbit patch.   I make a good effort to have the house in good order as the weekly routine unfolds before the dawn of Monday. Clocks end  our morning dreams and we scatter from the rabbit patch, each in a different direction.  Monday, shows no mercy.

Tonight,  I vow to remember Saturday.  It was Mama’s birthday and so Daddy and I were taking her to a restaurant in Greenville, just thirty minutes away.  Mamas’ official party is scheduled for next week end.  The day was spring-like.  Tulip trees bloomed along the road to Greenville .  A Bradford pear with its’ pure white flowers made me think of Easter.  February has been quite a disorienting affair.

My sister from Raleigh, devised a plan, to meet us at the restaurant to surprise Mama.  It worked out beautifully and it did me good to see Mama so happy.  The meal was good and the waitress was friendly.  Delores brought a small cake and we both gave mama small tokens to open.  It was a happy occasion, altogether and concluded with the birthday song being sung with strangers in close proximity.

My oldest children were in Wilmington.  They took Lyla to the ocean, as the weather was so pleasant. Lylas’ uncles, Tres and Brant, climbed an ancient live oak and took Lyla with them.  They sent pictures to prove it.  There is something so extraordinary  to see your children become parents and uncles.  They all take their roles very seriously.  I watch my boys with Lyla and whether one is playing a guitar for her or up some tree-well, words fail to do justice, to the state of contentment such things bring about.

The contents of our days, may not seem so spectacular, when isolated from one another-but when you consider sightings of blossoms on trees, pleasant gatherings with family, and your mamas’ seventy-fifth birthday, Saturday was not a bit short of spectacular.  



Tres and Lyla


Brant and Lyla