Category Archives: Pause Points

Ordinary legacy moments in time.

No Explanation Required

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“It’s not about having things figured out, or about communicating with other people, trying to make them understand what you understand. It’s about a chicken dinner at a drive-in. A soft pillow. Things that don’t need explaining.”  Anne Beattie

Some of the things that don’t need explaining from this end-of-summer trip to the Cape are the smell of salt air and cedar, and being welcomed home.  Unpacking the car in record time because I learned long ago that I don’t need to bring nearly as much as I think I do.

Dr. Sunwolf said, “People overestimate the pleasure they’ll get from having more stuff.  This does not apply to new rose bushes, crayons, or yarn stashes.”  For me it doesn’t apply to espresso, comfortable shoes and my camera.   It doesn’t apply to a steno pad for notes or my laptop to create from those notes.

The best things in life are not things.  More things that require no explanation are visits from friends, spending time catching up and dining out.  Becoming an important destination for their much needed quick adventure is an honor and a joy.

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Morning walks to the beach with friends, or without them, but never without dogs.  If you can’t experience joy yourself I defy you to not see it in a couple of condo dogs playing in a back yard.  Running and rolling in the grass should be part of every vacation.

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Who can explain why one would wake early while on vacation?  Sleep in?  Not when the Cape is having the best weather of the year, not when you can have the beach to yourself with a screaming hot latte and the September sun and certainly not when your books are begging to be read.

The best things in life are free; Acting as personal paparazzi to your favorite people.  Meeting new people, enjoying music, and trying new foods all fall into the free or nearly free category.

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Being welcomed home to the Cape brings with it the ritual of making dinner for dear friends and sharing lively conversation for hours.  Nothing brings me more joy than cooking for friends, gathering around the table with wine and music and letting the hours roll by.

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And quiet:

“It just took some people a little longer than others to realize how few words they needed to get by, how much of life they could negotiate in silence.” ― Tom Perrotta

At the end of the day, the most important thing is to have a moment of quiet to reflect and bless the events of the day.  Each day brought with it something to be thankful about and something to tuck away for cold winter days.

At week’s end I’m always happy to get home, it’s not much different on Stowe Lane than being away, many of the rituals and things that require no explanation are the same. The ride home is always easy, our bed is far more comfortable and welcomed and our memories vivid. Only thing missing is the beach and the smell of salt air and cedar.

 

 

 

 

September Sun

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There is something about the sun on the Cape in September.  The girls and I are taking a much needed, long awaited week on the Cape, with friends, family and the September sun.  See you next week.

Kitchen Closed

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What I take from my nights, I add to my days.  ~Leon de Rotrou, “Vencelas,” translated

 

If I had to pick one thing that I call an important nightly ritual it would be closing the kitchen. Someone said, the trouble with living alone is that it’s always your turn to do the dishes.  I don’t mind doing the dishes, it ends my day with a sense of accomplishment even if the rest of the day was a bust.

I’m one of those people who really use their kitchen, you know for cooking. I try to cook something every night and even more on the weekends.  I can always whip up a meal for anyone who walks in the door and fortunately they do walk in the door.

So closing the kitchen becomes a sort of mediation for me:

I load the dishwasher and of course there is a perfectly neurotic way to do that.  Spoons, forks, knives all in separate sections, the spoons and forks facing up and the knives are facing down. Glasses on top, big utensils under the glasses, dishes in a row, it’s not like you don’t know me by now.

I clean the sink, sprinkle with Comet while I fuss with the dishwasher then come back and scrub and rinse until the poor old porcelain tries to shine.

I rub the cutting board with lemon, to disinfect and to make the kitchen smell delicious.  After I’m done I run the lemon through the garbage disposal to bring even more fragrance to the air and of course get the gook out of the disposal.

I wash my coffee cup and put it in position for the morning, priorities are, after all, priorities.

Mostly I get all the crumbs off the counters.  I don’t know what craziness takes me over when there are crumbs left on the table or the counters but surely I wouldn’t be able to sleep if they remained.  Kosher salt used with abandon will find its way everywhere. The linty stuff from pulling paper towels off the roll in the upright holder must go. The lemon zest, the piece of shallot, the cracker crumbs, you get the picture.

Once I’ve finished, as I turn out the light I always look back and smile.  It’s a tiny little kitchen in a perfect little U shape.  I can literally stand in the middle and reach left or right and grab just about anything I need.  Gratefully, I have a very well stocked kitchen both food wise and equipment wise.   It’s far from the one I left behind but I am grateful for the people it draws, the food that comes out of it, the fact that I have it and the nightly reassurance that I want for nothing. Exhale, kitchen closed.

The Gardener’s Shadow

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Gardens are a form of autobiography.  ~Sydney Eddison, Horticulture magazine, August/September 1993

So if that’s the case, what happens when a gardener moves, or becomes ill or dies? I took a photo walk through the community garden at the senior housing grounds where my mother lives recenty.  It’s about two dozen semi-raised beds that are gardened by some of the residents and I can tell you exactly what happens.  Weeds.  And more weeds.  And even more weeds.

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The juxtaposition of healthy gardens to weed beds is in direct correlation to the members who have become ill, disabled or died.  It’s a heart break.  I could barely see through the lens to capture the reality but it has also given birth to a new mission.  I know, you’re shocked.

I intend to find out exactly how these plots are allocated and make it my business to volunteer.  I’m at this senior housing building almost every Sunday and if I can weed my own neighborhood I can certainly weed some of these tiny plots of soil.  I can just imagine being among these people next spring when they begin their work.  It’s been said that the more one gardens, the more one learns; and the more one learns, the more one realizes how little one knows, Vita Sackville-West.  The base of knowledge to draw from excites me beyond…these seniors know more tips and tricks than any five gardeners I already know.  They’ve probably forgotten more than I’ll ever know.  And yeah the forgetting part may become a problem…just sayin it’s yet another reason to make myself available.

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I wonder if the on-site housing management knows when gardeners have taken ill.  I wonder if these plots can be temporarily reallocated.  I wonder why the other gardeners don’t jump in.  Is it because of the very personal and peculiar habits of all individual gardeners?

Whatever the reason I just can’t resist the temptation to get my hands dirty, share (ok more like abscond away with) all the collective knowledge of these senior growers and to preserve the integrity of these gardens through the season.

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The reality of the people living in this complex is not lost on them.  They understand that they are in the twilight of their lives but I can think of nothing more distracting than to see it brought to light in the form of an overgrown garden.

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For the residents to be able to walk among the plots of living, flourishing nature has been proven over and over to lift spirits and provide hopefulness and positive anticipation. Hans Christian Anderson said, “Just living is not enough, one must have sunshine, freedom and a little flower.”  I know like I know that I will certainly get more from this than whatever amount of backache it gives me. Stay tuned.

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Food for Thought

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In the interest of preserving my karmic equity I have developed a sort of code language.  Everyone’s got one whether they know it or not.  On my legacy journey I want to make certain not to piss off the Universe before I arrive but there are times…..

I’m in a business that is dominated by men. Enough said.  But the thing is, in this tiny little part of the business I’m responsible for they have to get approvals from….me.  These are grown men mind you, not children so hold that thought.

I was taught by the best and thankfully he didn’t spare any of the gory details.  Here are some of the more common translations I use to quell the boy inside the man when they try to get over on me.  If it sounds a little (or maybe a lot) like your mother you’re right on target.

What I say… What I mean…

 
Help me understand. WTF

 
What am I missing? Did you really think that would work?

 
Once upon a time… Oh yeah, let’s hear this story.

 
Sooooo, let me see if I have this right,

You want….

You did….

You said…

 And now you want me to…

WHAT?

You’d make a shitty teenager; even they wouldn’t try that logic.
 

 

  

You see how it would be impossible for me to preserve my karmic equity if I said what I really mean right?  I sometimes run into trouble when someone really pushes my buttons as was the case just recently.  Thank God my boss loves a good rant because I was on fire.  After I was done getting it all out of my system I thought well I’LL TEACH HIM A LESSON in my best na na nanana voice.  And I set about crafting an email that would cut like a knife.  About half way through I thought better of it. Kind of.  I know this guy’s got a story and he’s up against it and on and on and on. But he personifies passive aggressive behavior and has a condescending tone.  I thought maybe I should teach him a lesson in my best walk a mile in his shoes tone. So I said what I had to say and put a pacifying stipulation that would help him save face at the end.  Done.  Everyone’s happy, well maybe not him, but certainly me and the Universe.

One of the things I learned a while ago was to check my motivation.  I try to really know why I’m doing something and what I’ll get out of it.  If it runs along the lines of revenge, vengeance, one-up-manship,  I try and stay away from it.  If it leans toward kindness, compassion and humanity I try and go with it.  Listen I’m no saint but I’m trying to change my evil ways as Santana so eloquently suggested.   Truth be told I struggle with doing things just because it’s the right thing to do.  I like the thank yous and the fuss sometimes but that does not a legacy build.

The line I use the most, the one I believe will build my karmic equity better than anything and not tear it down, the one that will make butter drip from my tongue, the line that keeps me out of trouble the most because only those close to me ( and now you ) know about it;

He should live and be well.

Translation;

Dead To Me.

I know, I’m working on it….