Wednesday, April 28, 2010

My Sanctuary


After a long stressful day, I longingly anticipate the soothing effect my garden provides. I gather my trowel with its elongated smooth wooden handle, happy a splinter is nowhere to be found. I consider it to be an old friend; always nearby, dependable and willing to lend a hand. Hum, I thought, all that from a trowel. As I meander through the tall grass with its emerald fingers reaching for the sky, I spy a robin happily pulling worms from the soft ground and the graceful dance of a hawk drifts far above me on an unseen current. Invigorated by the fresh air, I am grounded by my connection to the earth.

I reach my sanctuary and all my cares float away like a feather blowing in the gentle wind and reminisce the times the wind sent me soft caresses on bare skin, ruffled my clothes and played with my hair. Opening the tall latticed wooden gate, I lovingly glance at the tiny plaque hanging by a piece of torn and tattered twine, “Mom’s Garden” it reads. I smile to myself and enter. As I kneel to till the soft earth, slightly damp from a spring shower earlier in the day, a musty earthy aroma enters my nostrils. I throw my trowel to the side and sink my hands directly into the soft, moist dirt twirling the earth around my fingers. “Wear gloves.” my husband always says. “No way.” I lovingly reply. Planting and tilling a garden with my bare hands allows me to spend time with nature in a very personal way. A true healing garden, I feel.

My relationship with nature is close as I understand what is needed for life to thrive. Lingering over seedlings to observe their growth is as if I am watching my own children from birth to adulthood. Surrounded on one side by tall dark green foliage that supports the roundest, reddest fruit, the tomato. So perfect, in its own way. Red and smooth as the finish of a newly waxed car. On the other side of me, jalapeƱo peppers, some long and thin like fingers of the wicked witch of the west. Others, not round, not square, a shape only known to the bell pepper. The gnarly sting of thistle burns my hand as I gently and delicately pull weeds from between the plants so as not to disturb their home, but to give them more room to expand and thrive. I pull a few lettuce leaves, wilted from the hot day in the sun and place them aside for tonight’s salad. A cucumber here, a carrot there, completes the bounty the earth provides.

Creating beauty through the creative use of space, and giving myself over to the possibilities of birth and growth connects me to the basic force of nature by being in the moment and allowing nature to sooth me. Nature’s power is as close as my breath, and I breathe deeply once again before returning to the world around me.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

"Hide not your talents. They for use were made. What's a sundial in the shade?"

~Benjamin Franklin

Saturday, April 24, 2010

Wonderful quote for all writers from John Leggett:

A story teller, like a travel agent, can help us up from wherever we are,
and put us down in another setting.
Oh, the delicious freedom of Saturday morning. Fridays are fine but Saturdays are sublime.

I linger in my bed, seeking then savoring the silky coolness of the laundered-a-hundred-times sheets. Thus begins the decadent dilly-dallying of Saturday morning. A toe, a foot, and ankle creep toward the the mattress edge and beyond into thin air, slowly preparing myself to shrug off the covers and rise.

"Are you going to stay in bed? I'll start the coffee if you like."

"No, I'm getting up. Just another minute or two." The choice of how I spend the day equals the lusciousness of remaining horizontal for much longer. And soon the aromatic waves of beans grown on shady Andes slopes reach me. Perhaps it is the promise of "sweet caramel notes and floral overtones" from my favorite "medium bodied brew," but I'm ready now. Grabbing my housecoat, I head to the kitchen.

Picking the Precious Moments coffee mug with my name on it from among the assortment in the cabinet, I pour in cream, then add the steaming brown elixir, watching mocha swirls rise towards me. Inhaling deeply, with a practiced yoga breath, I hold this moment for a heartbeat or two, my hands warmed by the mug, my nostrils cuing my taste buds for the delight which awaits.

Saturday, oh sweet day, I raise my mug in a toast to you.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Which is witch?

"Hi Sweetie, how are you," said one.
"Oh, it's you," said the other.

"You're engaged! That's wonderful," said one;
"That's courageous," said the other.

"I wish you both years of love," wrote one.
No mention of our wedding from the other.

"No daughter could be dearer," wrote one;
Seldom a call or a note from the other.

Which one's the in-law?
Which one's the mother?

Monday, April 5, 2010

Teaching My Son to do Laundry

Teaching My Son to do Laundry

Age 4

“Zach, let’s sort these piles of clothes into different colors.”

“Like this?”

“Yep, blues go in this pile. Nope, put those blues in the jeans pile.”

“Here?”

“Yep.”

“Ok, you can sit on top of the dryer, but don’t kick the door or it’ll break. Wait, I’ll lift you”

“Mumma, can I put in the soap?”

“No, I’ll put in the soap and you can toss the clothes in the washer.”

“Now Mum?”

“No, wait until a little more water gets into the washing machine.”

“Now?”

“Nope wait. I’ll hand them to you when we’re ready. Try not to kick the dryer.

Ok, here’s daddy’s jeans toss them in; ok, put mine in next. No, no, no don’t lean over any further or you’ll fall in. Zach, lean back. I’ll push the jeans down so all of them will fit in the washer.”

“Anymore?”

“Nope all done.”

“Can I close the lid?”

“Yes, gently.”

BANG!

“Good job buddy.”


Age 17

“Zach, it is simply time ~ you’ve got to start doing your own laundry. You’ll be going off to college next year and you really need to know how to do this.”

“I’ll get a cute girl to do it for me.”

“Trust me; no cute girl is going to do your stinky laundry.”

“Mom, I don’t know how to do laundry.”

“Yes, you do. You’ve been doing laundry since you were three, four years old.”

No I haven’t.”

“Zach, how can you not remember sitting on top of the dryer kicking your Nikes into the metal door? You don’t remember sorting all of those clothes with me in the basement at Angelo Drive? The basement had that cold cement floor. You used to lean over so far I was convinced one day you’d fall right in the washer. Zach, that’s how you learned your colors. I always felt like we were getting two life lessons out of one chore; learning colors and how to do laundry.”

“MOM, I WAS FOUR!!”

“I swear you had so much fun helping me; we did it everyday! Do you remember the time we pulled all of our jeans out of the dryer and every crayon in your pocket had melted all through the whole load? For days I tried getting that wax off. Finally I gave up and bought everyone new jeans. You always had stuff in your pockets, rocks, Nerds candy, and Ninja Turtle weapons. Make sure you check your pockets.”

“MOM! STOP. I don’t know how to do laundry!”

“Zach you took Home Ec in 8th grade. There was an entire marking period dedicated to laundry, whites in hot water, and colors in cold water and ironing. We practiced ironing shirts together with Niagara spray starch! I know you know how to do this!”

“Mom, can’t you just do my laundry?”

“No. It’s time for you to do this yourself. I’m typing-up the instructions and posting them on the laundry room door.”

“FINE! Annie, Mom’s going crazy! Will you sort my laundry?”

Age 22

“Mom, is there a way to get white clothes brighter?”

“Yeah, why?”

“All of my white clothes are so…dingy.

“Where are you doing your laundry?”

“In the basement of my building; I swear there are dead bodies down there. I pretty much throw the laundry in the machine, run upstairs and hope the clothes will still be there when I go back down.”

“Oh, gross. Maybe it’s the Brooklyn water. There’s a product called Oxi Clean—it’s a booster for your laundry detergent. You put a scoop of Oxi Clean in with the detergent and it brightens whites and takes out stains. It really works. What kind of laundry detergent do you use?”

“Downy.”

“Downy? Downy’s not a laundry detergent.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s a fabric softener. Why did you start using Downy?”

“Downy’s a client so I thought I should support them and use the samples.”

“How long have you been using Downy?”

“For months.”

“Oh, God. You need to get a good laundry detergent and Oxi Clean. Go to a clean laundra-mat and wash all of your whites on HOT.”

“Really? Do you think that will work?”

“I do. Really”

“OK.”

Age 23

“Zach, what’s your new address?”

East 61st Street.”

“Is that considered the Upper East Side?”

“Hmmm…sort-of. Well, not really, but its close.”

“Do you have a laundry room in your building?”

“Nope.”

“Where are you going to do your laundry?”

“I’m not. I found a great laundry/dry cleaning service one block down from my apartment; it’s 70¢ per pound to wash and fold. They charge $1.50 to dry clean my shirts. I drop off my laundry in the morning and it’s done in the afternoon.

“How many pounds do you usually have?”

“About forty.”

“Forty pounds! Does that include wet towels?”

No Mom, just clothes.

“How much does this cost you?”

“About $30 bucks.”

“Do you like being able to drop off your laundry?

“I love it! It saves so much time.”

“Good for you, Zach; makes sense.”

“The only thing is my cleaning bag is ripping so much that any day now my clothes will be all over Second Avenue. So this story is to be continued.”

“I’ll stay tuned.”