Morning reflections

Every morning before I come downstairs, I sit for a minute in "my" corner. Tucked in by the back windows, overlooking the garden, in an old chair that was my Popaw's favorite. I read a daily meditation ("Simple Abundance" daybook), look for any interesting birds, maybe write a little bit, settle my head for the day. This is a fairly new habit, one that came with the new upstairs back in February, but it's one I've come to treasure.

This morning, the word is Winter. A light blanket of snow, everything gone to sleep. Christmas is Done With, ahhh. The toughest Christmas yet, with family struggling to be merry in spite of our missing Light, our little Mom.

But we did it. We managed. We're through to the other side of Christmas now, and now I sit here looking at the snow on the just-waking world. "Winter Into Spring" by George Winston is playing softly, started by Tom, and completely appropriate.

The Monday after Christmas - a big sigh of relief. Back to some kind of routine, back to daily life, back to Home. This is probably my favorite week of the year, these days between Christmas and New Year's. Days of ending and beginning, all at the same time. Days of resting, thinking deep, gathering up for a fresh new start. The potential of these days sparkles, like a skyful of stars, just waiting to be touched...

Time for a little silliness... and Snuggies!

A Snuggie is not something I have ever thought to own. When I'm curled up on the sofa, I'm either under a blanket, or Not. But at our family Christmas celebration, our dear sweet Goofy Santa included a Hot Pink Snuggie in his "major gifts" grab-bag - and guess who drew it out!

As it happens, Chris H. and David M. had each already received one - theirs, in a dashing leopard print. So, here's the Contrast and Compare photo complete with (left to right) My Pink Self, Goofy Santa/Daddy, David, and Chris.

hee hee hee...

Changes...

2009 has been some kind of year. First of all, after two years of clear scans, my little Mom's brain cancer resurfaced and finally took her from us. More on that later, as I heal from the shock of having the smiling heart of our family Gone On Ahead.

In the midst of all this, Tom and I made the decisions that The Finch House at Thieneman's would close, and that I would resign my greenhouse job. These did not feel like hasty decisions, did not feel like "because of Mom" decisions - The closest I can come to explanation is:
It Was Simply Time.

And now? I'm Home. Home. Home.

Home to heal, yes. But more and different as well. Home to think, to work, to settle. I'm looking at it as a time to lie fallow, to wait for the next God Breeze to fill my sails. Time to get the house in order, to cook good nourishing meals, to start to do things for other people.

There will be more outside work in my future, I'm sure. For now, I'm considering this a time of self-employment. The Finch House is still here, back to its original incarnation: Herbal crafts, garden talks, classes. It'll also be hitting the cyber-bricks of eBay to (hopefully) sell the remaining garden shop merchandise. Beyond that, we'll see.

And still, at the grateful heart of it all, there's Home.

Emily's Garden

10:04 AM

Wednesday was cool and rainy, just like most days lately. I went in to work after art class, only to find us overstaffed and undercustomered. Within an hour I was bored silly. Luckily, Peggy was all too willing to let a couple of us off for the rest of the day, and I happily chose to spend the afternoon doing some much-needed cleanup in The Finch House.

I was sorting through back stock, pricing and putting out whatever I found (won’t sell if it’s in the cabinet, now, will it?) when I heard voices outside the door. I looked up to see three little people, shoes in hands, hair dripping.

“We’re wet because we were shaking the willow tree!” said the eldest - pretty, long-haired, dark-eyed, and about eight. “We’re playing Secret Garden and this is the BEST place!” I agreed absolutely, all-of-a-sudden turning eight myself. (Never read the Secret Garden, but I could imagine... Lovely rainy day, shaking the willow tree Just Because. Trailing hands in the koi pond, wishing they would trust you to pet them and wondering how it feels to wear scales. Seeing the ground and all its secrets much more closely for being so much closer to it…can I play, too?)

“I’m Michael,” piped up her little brother, “and she’s Emily, and this is Mia,” pointing to the youngest, a toddler wearing a big, delighted smile.

We chatted a minute or two more, then they were off, heading towards the gravel path. I grew up enough to call after them, telling them to watch where they stepped with their bare feet (and activating Dad, who wasn’t far off, who moved in to get their shoes back on them Right Now This Minute…)

I went back to my work, and came across a little stone plaque. It had a pretty, long-haired girl with a long dress and a basket, and its title was “Emily’s Garden”. I had special-ordered it long ago for someone, but she never bought it and it had hung on the wall, small and unnoticed by other customers, ever since. I took it down, gathered up a couple of other kid-type things, and found the Dad outside.

I told him that I had met his kids, and that Michael had introduced them, and I was so delighted with them that I wanted them to have these things, and that the stone plaque reminded me of his daughter and even had her name, Emily.

He looked puzzled. “You mean Charlotte?” he asked. “And Isaiah?”

My turn to be puzzled. “The little boy over there – I’m sure he said his name was Michael, and his older sister is Emily, and the youngest is Mia.”

More confusion. “Why would he say that? His name is Isaiah, and that’s Charlotte. The little one is Emilia, and we do call her Mia, but why…”

Oh, rats. I know that kids like to play at changing their names sometimes. So she’s Not Emily. The stone plaque doesn’t fit after all. Hiding my disappointment, I told Dad that they were so sweet and just delightful, and he could tell her that the stone is named ‘Charlotte’s Garden’ if he wanted to.

He called the kids over to tell them about their gifts and to ask Isaiah about the name changes.

“It’s from the book,” Isaiah said, in that don’t-you-remember-I-told-you-before kid voice. “We’re playing Secret Garden”.

Well, duh. “Emily’s Garden”, after all, for real! Guess I didn’t stay eight long enough today to remember that Actors Must Stay In The Role. And my education seems to have a serious gap in it – time to hit the library for a copy of The Secret Garden, pronto.

It wasn't till this morning that I finally realized exactly why these kids touched me. They had stepped right out of my own childhood and, for just a minute, had taken me back there again. Back where the worlds made from imagination are no less real than the one adults battle with every day, and where shaking a willow wins out over Nintendo or basketball practice. (How many kids even know what a willow tree looks like, any more?)

Hope their hearts keep the imagination alive, and that some day years from now someone small will help them be eight again, too.

Back once more...

9:23 AM

Okay, so I'm back again... This has been the busiest winter-into-spring I can remember! We moved into the new Upstairs on Valentine's Day, and proceeded to tear up the first floor - not construction, just moving furniture/closet stuff/etc. Meantime, the basement is getting it, too: Tom cleared out, cleaned up, and painted the coal bin (storage room under the porch). He found LOTS of metal shelving at a bargain price, intstalled new lighting, and Presto! Finch House Warehouse Room! Now, as I'm filling it up, he's wondering why there isn't more space showing up in the basement.

Answer? Stuff multiplies. You can't organize Clutter. You must get rid of it. We'll be working on that for years, now. Yard Sale, anyone?

As for me, I launched into February with classes at work. The Finch House volunteers hospitality, which means grocery/ baking/ schlepping/ displaying/ serving/ lots of to-do listing. We had two classes a week through February into early March - on my days off, which means I was at work for the better part of two additional days a week (unpaid!). Plus craft shows, teaching classes, yadda yadda. In April, I officially added days/hours to my working schedule, which means I have Fridays off at home by myself. Period. Which means I'm really not at home, but grocery/bank/post office - etc. (I miss my Tuesdays terribly.)

Long story to say "Time is waaaaay short". Haven't touched the garden yet. Haven't totally switched winter clothes to spring. Housework? I laugh! Dinner on the table? HA HA HA!

Don't know how people with kids and four-footed pets do it, sometimes. You all have my open-mouthed admiration...