Category: MerryThoughts

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Jury Duty

I recently had to report for jury duty or, more specifically, jury selection. I was so unhappy about it. The very first day of that week, I had to go in. Ugh. I had to be there by 8:00 a.m. Thus, my dogs would get the bum’s rush with a tiny walk. Miles and I would not have a woodland walk at all. And I would have no time for meditation. I would be showering and dressing up in proper clothes (not my everyday dirty old hiking pants, boots, and a hat) before you could rub two sticks together! Again, ugh. And I would have to be among people–strangers–at 8:00 in the morning, smiling and nodding, or even quietly chatting. Not talking with familiar Others about our dogs or the weather or what was blooming in the woods that day. No, with strangers about who knows what. I cannot begin to tell how unhappy I was about all of it.

First, let me say that I know I’m incredibly lucky that these are things that I don’t have to do every day, like some–many–okay, most people. I know I’m tremendously lucky to be going on woodland walks with my dog practically every single day. I am very conscious of that fact every morning, as I drive past the hospital to get there. Most of the other drivers I see are off to work. I just hope they like their jobs.

Anyway, knowing I am lucky I still felt put upon. Grumble grumble grumble. Because of Covid, we had our temperatures taken and there were extra rules and precautions in place. Good! We were not all crammed into a small room but instead, taken into the courtroom and seated spaced apart. Our county was under a mask mandate, anyway, so everyone wore masks–everyone, that is, except the judge. Because . . . ? Grr. The two lawyers who performed the voir dire also removed their masks when they were performing (yes, performing), even though they had microphones. Because . . . ? Grumble grumble grumble!!

I had to sit in a chair for hours. My feet did not touch the floor. I had to endure inane questions posed by the lawyers, endless answers from all the jurors, and Good Old Boy humor from the maskless judge. Since it was a civil case of sex discrimination, I said that yes, I believe sex discrimination exists and yes, it has happened to me, and in fact I believe it happens all the time, and furthermore, I would find it hard to believe that there was a single woman in the room who had not experienced sex discrimination. A potential juror claimed he had been convicted of a felony. The maskless judge dismissed him rather quickly. Well played, Stranger.

I held my breath and crossed the fingers of both hands as they read off the numbers of the jurors who had been chosen, who would be staying, possibly UNTIL 6:30 P.M., the maskless judge had said. And for two or three more days! Please oh please. I listened. I closed my eyes. My number was not among them. Whoosh! The held breath escaped from my lungs in a rush and I managed to refrain from jumping up and down, shouting, or high five-ing the lady next to me.

I had been at the Courthouse for just five hours. But I was so eager to get HOME with my dogs and my son and my familiar things all around. Free! I was free!! My joy and relief were palpable. In a crazy way, I felt as if I had been released from several weeks of confinement. I hugged my dogs, took off those clothes, and rattled on and on to my son about how it was and how relieved I was to finally(!) be home again. Home in my own home. My dogs. My son. My things. My yard. My home. As if I had endured something huge and difficult and very long-lasting.

I am clearly very spoiled.
If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”
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Mary Oliver

Photo: Rachel Giese Brown

“Instructions for living a life: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.”

I quote Mary Oliver very often. I love her poetry. I love her reverence for nature–no, her delight in every last bit of nature. I do love nature, too, but there are many creatures who draw from me revulsion, rather than reverence. These include snakes, poisonous or not (which she seemed to admire nonetheless), ticks (ugh), spiders, and snapping turtles. Thus, she is above me in her unchecked love for the natural world. And you would not find me falling down in the grass or weeds to observe a grasshopper or some other insect. What if there’s a snake in there? Or, surely, ticks? Maybe it’s partly because she was so accepting of every last thing that she is a particular inspiration for me. I’d like to be as free with my love and admiration–but I’ll just say right now that I cannot imagine ever being even okay with snakes.

Her writing, though! Her gorgeous writing! Her poetry is lovely, simple, and understandable. No obscure words, tricks, or invention. For this she was criticized but also for this she was loved by so many. She loved wandering alone in the woods (well, with a dog) and she paid exquisite attention to her surroundings, always. She hid pencils in trees so that she would have one if needed, for jotting down an idea or observation. She loved writing. She loved dogs. Right up my alley.

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” – “Summer Day” in House of Light

I’ll just say what I plan to do. I will follow her life instructions and a)pay attention to my world and others b) I will allow myself to be astonished by the ordinary and the extraordinary and c) I will tell others what I’ve seen and learned. Seems like a pretty good life plan to me.

For many years Mary lived in beautiful Provincetown, Massachusetts, way up at the tip of Cape Cod. I traveled there once by myself and adored it. There is a shop there called Womencrafts that happens to carry my cards. Oh, I have often wondered, did Mary Oliver ever pick up a card of mine and read it? Might she ever ever have bought one to send or give to someone? My heart beats wildly. Or might someone else have bought one of my cards and given it to her?? It could have happened. It might have happened. It’s certainly within the realm of possibility. She lived there for many years and that shop has had my cards for many years. I like to think that somehow in the vast world of coincidence and chance, magic and possibility, since I have many of her books, she might have received or at least read one little card of mine and perhaps smiled. She would have to have smiled or my whole fantasy is ruined.

“If I had another life
I would want to spend it all on some
unstinting happiness.

I would be a fox, or a tree
full of waving branches.
I wouldn’t mind being a rose
in a field full of roses.

Fear has not yet occurred to them, nor ambition.
Reason they have not yet thought of.
Neither do they ask how long they must be roses, and then what.
Or any other foolish question.”
― Mary Oliver, “Roses, Late Summer”

What would you like to be? I love the idea of being a little wren with a big, hearty singing voice and a pretty brown outfit of feathers, tail upturned. Or maybe a dog, a small dog who lives in a house like mine, who takes many outings and has many secret adventures, running back panting and full of excitement.

“Listen–are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?”
― Mary Oliver

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Invasive Species

The Autumn Olive flower

Just now the Autumn Olive flowers and their fragrance are fading around here. Pretty soon our woods will be fragrant and pretty with honeysuckle and multiflora rose. All of these are invasive plants that we have in abundance in the woods and wild places in Missouri and I suppose that is true in many parts of the U.S., as well. They choke out the native species, honeysuckle wraps itself around all kinds of other plants, and bush honeysuckle springs up just about everywhere, crowding out the understory in all the wild areas. But they are all pretty and I have been chastised for loving the fragrances they add to the spring air. You can’t love the fragrance because that plant is bad! Well.

Bush honeysuckle is one of the first to put out leaves and last to lose them.

I always think about this a lot in the spring. I certainly do get the point. But I have to think–isn’t this the pot calling the kettle black? After all, aren’t we the most invasive species on the planet? Haven’t we driven multitudes of plants, trees, animals, birds and insects, not to mention people, out of their rightful places on Earth? Who is checking us? And who is responsible for these non-native plants showing up where they don’t belong in the first place? It’s not like those plants got on boats all by themselves (like we did), showed up and shoved the others out of their way, and took their land and resources right out from under them (like we did).

So I get the point and I won’t plant Bradford pears, honeysuckle, Autumn Olive or any of those others that don’t belong, and I will do what I can to rid my little corner of the world of them. I do work at eradicating bush honeysuckle from my yard, a never-ending job. A lone man spends hours of his own time chopping it down in the woods I go to, clearing out great swaths of understory so that the native plants can gain purchase. I admire him for doing it and I always think I should help, although it does make for less cover when one has to pee in the woods. 🙂

Native red honeysuckle in my yard

I met a guy at an art show who turns bush honeysuckle into beautiful furniture. “[Earning money] is not really what I’m trying to do. It’s to teach people . . . You take (the table) home and you’re planting the seed for conversation about the damage bush honeysuckle does.”

And I just read that one can eat the berries (not olives) that Autumn Olive puts out in the fall and even bake them into tarts! Can’t help liking that! A little whipped cream on top might not be amiss, either. Of course, if one eats the berries, there are less seeds going into the ground.

And can’t I still love the heady fragrances that greet me in the spring? (Yes, we’re back to that.) I think yes! I just cannot hate the hapless plants themselves, as some would have me do. At the same time, I can try to be less invasive myself, and more careful of what I do and how I interact with the less hardy species all around me. We all can do better at that, I think.

“Do not worry too much about your lawn. You will soon find if you haven’t already that almost every adult American devotes tremendous time and money to the maintenance of an invasive plant species called turf grass that we can’t eat. I encourage you to choose better obsessions.” — John Green

So what do you think about all of this? Do you want your Autumn Olive Tart with or without whipped cream?

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Rising Phoenix

I fell the other day on the wet, muddy ridge where I take Miles most mornings. I lay there awhile, collecting myself. My wrist really hurt. Miles came back, stuck his face in mine, peering, and gave me kisses. Dear Miles. I briefly considered calling the friends I had seen a few minutes earlier to ask for help. But I got up and walked back, caught up with them, and they very kindly got me home. At Urgent Care I was told “sprain and possible dislocation,” pending a visit to Ortho.

So here’s what I did, while also reminding myself that I could walk, did not have a head injury and had not actually fallen off the ridge. I immediately began making a pitiful list of all the things I could not do. These things included:

Ride my bike

Play pickleball

Write by hand

Drive my car

Make art

Walk my dogs

Play the piano

Use my camera

Pick up Rufus

Cook (kind of a bonus, actually)

Isn’t that just so human? That is the first place most of us go–what we’ve lost, what we cannot do. The next morning, unable to write with either hand, and also hurting, I started the day in a very poor mood. Woe is me. Miles, too, seemed to think that even after I had taken him on a decent walk, a better one should be forthcoming. My son said, “Miles needs to check his privilege.” Me, too.

Awhile back Oliver and I watched “Rising Phoenix” a Netflix documentary about Paralympic athletes and the history of the Games. Although all of the athletes were amazing, the one I was most astonished by was Beatrice “Bebe” Vio, an Italian Gold Medalist in fencing whose nickname gave the film its name. She had lost both arms from the forearm down and both legs from the knee down when she was 11, as a result of meningitis. Can you even imagine the devastation, for her and her parents? I cannot. But in a wheelchair and equipped with special prosthetics to hold her foil, she became a fierce competitor, won many World Cups, was named “Italian Paralympic Athlete of the Year“ in 2014, and went on to win Gold in the 2016 Paralympic Games. Listening to her speak is tremendously inspiring.

“Being special means to be able to make people understand that your weakness can be one of the things you can be proud of the most.” – Bebe Vio

It turns out I can do many things with my left hand or a sprained wrist, some of which I am certain are creating new paths in my brain. And I know I am amazingly lucky. I will never have the fortitude of that fierce young athlete or any of them. I am in awe of her and all the athletes and regular people who rise above their “limitations” to achieve astonishing things or just live their lives with grace.

“It’s not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves.” – Sir Edmund Hillary

So what are all the things you can do? I bet the list is pretty long. I hope you count yourself lucky.

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Dalai Lama-ish

PHOTOGRAPH BY PETER HÖNNEMANN

In 2007 I had a bad car accident and broke five vertebrae in my neck and back. The Jaws of Life got me out of the car and I got to ride in two ambulances! And I experienced the wonders of demerol and morphine. I had broken C1, C2, C6, C7 and T4. My paramedic friend said that the EMTs have a saying that goes, “C3, 4 & 5 keep the diaphragm alive,” meaning that if you break those you’ll likely be paralyzed. So I was terribly lucky! And I had a skilled surgeon who put a piece of donor bone in, from C5 to T1, I believe it was, plus a metal plate and four screws to hold everything together.

Well, of course, I was very grateful for everything, as anyone would be. And then my friends and family were so beautiful to me. I will never forget that. Or them. All the big and little things that they did for me still fill me up with gratitude.

So, those two things–luck and gratitude–were the big gifts I received from that whole experience.

Photo by Tenzin Choejor/OHHDL

I wrote about it in my second book, More Merrythoughts, and said that I hoped I would retain those very positive feelings forever after, and that I would at least become somewhat Dalai Lama-ish. It was an Iowa acquaintance who so appreciated that expression–you know who you are–and who now inspires me to write about it here.

Well, of course, even ish is a tall order. And of course, I haven’t fared so well. Just look at that face of his! Also, a) I don’t smile as much as he does and b) I don’t laugh as much as he does and c) I am too vain to shave my head or only wear one outfit all the time and d) I am genetically critical and not at all as kind as he seems to be. In my older age, though, I have put aside all the big dreams and goals I had when I was younger and made being kind my big goal. I suppose I’m still wishing to be Dalai Lama-ish. I have a long way to go.

Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible. – Dalai Lama

Photo by Manuel Bauer
I just had a flash of inspiration about this, though. I do have lots of issues with my neck. It gets very stiff and painful rather often, usually from doing something I love, like playing pickleball; I can’t tilt my head back very far for a length of time, to look at birds, for instance; I get uncomfortable keeping my head turned one way or the other to talk with someone, for example at dinner or a party or on an airplane; and I need to rest my head against something by evening, at least. I know this is nothing compared to what could be the case.

So the inspiration is that every time my neck bothers me, I can think, lucky! grateful! kind! Dalai Lama! I like this idea. And it only took me 14 years to come up with it. Some of us grow more slowly than others, apparently. So that’s my plan. I’ll throw in smiling whenever my neck bothers. Now I’m really cooking with gas. And have a kind thought whenever it hurts. Yes! It does get my attention. I’ll think of it as going tap-tap, um, time to do something nice. Perhaps in another fourteen years I’ll get close to ish.

If you want others to be happy, practice compassion; if you want to be happy, practice compassion. – Dalai Lama
So what are your big dreams and goals? Even if they’re great big, maybe you could come up with a way to trick yourself into getting there.If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”
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Sleeping Dogs

I decided not to call this one Sleeping With Dogs, even though that is really what I intend to write about. My two small dogs sleep in my bed. Miles has a dog bed at the foot of my bed, but definitely on it. Rufus, who is a Very Small Animal, wants always to be near a human, and he gets under the covers with me, not infrequently ending up with his chin on the other pillow.

He is a sweet, dear little dog, a cuddler, the one who will curl up with the parents of my piano students on the couch or with anyone at all who visits. Each person thinks they have an amazing special bond with him, but he is just pretty much like this with everybody. During his Grindstone days he found a young guy reading by the creek in one of those low beach chairs. Before I got there, Rufus had gotten on his lap.

Here’s how he was back in the day, in the woods, so full of life that he once chased a coyote all over the place!

Rufus has many health issues, which is why you never hear me mention him on these adventures with Miles. He is too tired to go. Back in the day he could run like a cartoon character with wheels for legs. He was the fierce Alpha, always bossing Miles around and trying to boss others, too. Now he is an old man, and how quickly that happened! He had a hard start to life and then we found each other and he’ had a wonderful life but now he is a tired old man with many problems. He has Addison’s disease, which is a pretty big deal in itself, requiring a shot every month and Prednisone every other day. He has a previously broken leg and back (part of the unknown hard life) and spinal stenosis. So the vet said don’t let him jump off of things!

My son and I put our mattresses and box springs on the floor so Rufus would have less far to go if he tries to jump before we have time to stop him. Because we certainly don’t intend to make him sleep on the floor, all by himself! Sheesh! My chiropractor gave me what I believe was the Stink Eye when I told him about this. “You sleep with your dog?” he asked, putting an unpleasant tone to the word “dog” and intimating that I curl up with him in a dog bed on the floor. I did not mention that there are actually two dogs in my bed.

Good vantage point from which to guard the house from intruders. See who’s closest to the door?

Also, Rufus has an enlarged heart and gets fluid on his lungs, so he takes meds for those things, too, one of which is a diuretic. Oh boy. So now, in addition to his nicknames of The Little Man, Little, Ittle (for short), Rufe, Rufle, Rufelly Dufelly, he is sometimes called Mr. PeePee Pants. I think you can guess . . . old man, tired, twice daily diuretic . . . Still, we haven’t kicked him out of our beds. It’s too sweet to have him there.

Little Dog’s Rhapsody in the Night – Mary Oliver
He puts his cheek against mine
and makes small, expressive sounds.
And when I’m awake, or awake enough

he turns upside down, his four paws
in the air
and his eyes dark and fervent.

“Tell me you love me,” he says.

“Tell me again.”

Could there be a sweeter arrangement? Over and over
he gets to ask.
I get to tell.

***

I found that when I Googled “pee pads” many such things popped right up! There is a solution for just about anything, I suppose. Or, at least, a coping mechanism, as we all know only too well. Coping mechanisms became our Best Thing last year, if we were lucky. And plucky.

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Big Adventures

Whew! Miles and I had two completely different adventures this morning in the woods. I had worn my new boots, since my old, worn out pair are no longer waterproof and I was intending to cross the creek. I love the back part of the park (“The Back Forty”) very much but because of all the rain I hadn’t been able to get over there yet. There is a slope back there that I call Bluebell Hill and I was thinking it’s probably about time for the bluebells to be popping up.

When I got to the creek, Miles was gone, off again on another of his secret adventures. But this time I felt sure I knew where he’d gone–to find and gnaw on a deer leg he’d found back the other direction. And I thought I could go and see the flowers and then find him over there. I thought we could both do what we wanted this time and then I’d find him.

In my adventure I was richly rewarded. Wow. Bluebells were out in full force, pushing through the fallen leaves, along with Dutchmen’s breeches, trillium and false rue anemone–a magic carpet of wildflowers. Walking through there, even quickly since I was thinking about Miles, my heart ached with how pretty it is. I took many pictures, none of which match the wonder and magic of the place, the flowers, the perch above the creek that I so love, the meandering path. No. Not even close. You can’t hear the birds when you look at the pictures, for example. You can’t tell that everywhere you look there’s something tiny and beautiful to see. You don’t feel the cool morning air on your face or smell the fragrance of damp earth and rich, ripe spring.

“Waldeinsamkeit is a German word that refers to the feeling one has while being alone in the woods, usually a sublime or spiritual one.” Dictionary.com

Sublime, indeed.

Meanwhile, Miles was having a different sort of adventure. I headed towards where I imagined he had gone but did not find him there and pretty soon my phone rang. He had found a woman, showed her his tag, and asked her to call me. (I’m sure this is how it went, as he is very smart and he knows all about cell phones.) She was at the complete other end of the park and she’d put him on a leash (not at all a part of his plan). I asked her to hold him until I was across the creek, where I could call to him and he’d hear me, so that’s how it went. He loves to go off on his own but he really really wants to come back and tell me all about it. Pretty soon he came racing up. All out of breath, worn out, wet, desperate to find me, legs trembling, the look of worry in his eyes. Bad mother. And the smell of death on his breath. Bad dog.

I gave him about two million treats and tried to get him to lie down and rest for awhile, but that only lasted about one minute. And we headed back, each of us rewarded once again by nature’s bounty.

“We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.” – Thornton Wilder

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you enjoy these letters, feel free to invite them to sign up for them. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Borrowing Joy

I began meditating in 2020. That is to say, I began meditating daily. I had been doing those Oprah and Deepak Chopra 21-day meditations or, rather, starting them (but usually not finishing) for several years. But I had never gotten into a meditation habit, and certainly not without music and someone leading it. Too impatient. Too many things I wanted to be doing. Too many thoughts and ideas. I cannot say what changed in me but somehow I now meditate for 25 minutes each morning. I put this in my list of positive things that came from Covid. Did it? I don’t know. But then a) I have no real schedule or place to be in the morning and b) it finally seemed like a pleasant and good thing to do when pleasant and good things to do were scarcer than usual.

One of the teachers I’ve listened to, Tuere Sala, on Ten Percent Happier, gave a short talk and led a meditation on “borrowing joy.” The idea is that if you are not feeling particularly joyful and you just can’t get there on your own, you think of someone, person or animal, that exhibits joy frequently. And then you “borrow” joy from this role model. You imagine yourself as that joyful being, you picture what joy looks like, embodied by that particular being, and you put yourself into that picture.

This was a no-brainer. Miles. My dog Miles is the most joyful being I know. Just this morning in the woods he went racing up to a total stranger, his body curving in excitement and his stumpy tail going a million miles a minute. She was, of course, charmed. And then later he did the same to another woman who marveled at what a wonderful, friendly, happy dog he is. “Yes, he is,” I said. And then, to be polite, added, “Thank you.” But I don’t know why. His joyful self is no reflection on me. He just is. He is exuberance and enthusiasm embodied. Merriment, gladness and delight. My beautiful Miles.

He had been given away by a breeder (he is rather large for a miniature poodle) to a woman who had adopted several children and who ultimately decided she could not keep him. The breeder had said that he had a gentle soul. Oh yes. The most gentle soul ever. He would rather do anything than be an alpha dog. He leans to go one way and I say, “Let’s go this way.” And his face lights up as if this is the best idea ever, as if to say, “Oh yes! That way is so much better! I love that way!”

He is the best role model a person could want for joie de vivre. The perfect being from whom to borrow joy. My Miles. You are welcome to borrow his joy, too, if you need some.

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Astonishing! Spring

Spring is upon us and I think just about everyone has a feeling of buoyancy once Vernal Equinox arrives. Even though here in mid-Missouri only a very few trees have buds on them, we all feel that little buzz of excitement, knowing that things are happening. Within those branches and down in the damp earth many tiny bits of thing are very busy doing whatever it is they need to do in order to pop out, to spring! Those mechanisms, those mysteries of growth and emergence–bud, leaf, blossom–are known only to the few who study such things, and I am not one of those, not much of a studier. I am just happy to look and love and maybe imagine the tiny goings-on.

“Let me keep my distance, always, from those

who think they have the answers.

Let me keep company always with those who say

“Look!” and laugh in astonishment,

and bow their heads.”

― Mary Oliver, Evidence: Poems

Now the grand adventure has begun. Oh, the looking, the searching, the joy of discovery on our little expeditions into yard, garden or woods! We look for the first this, the first that of the season and the first ever this or that. I remember so well when I saw my first Shooting Star–not a thing in the sky but a wildflower–on a trail called Shooting Star. I was with my sister, who was visiting here in search of birds and anything lovely. I’d always thought that trail was so named for sightings of the celestial type of shooting star from the bluffs there. No. The bluff was full of wildflowers. Shooting Star is one of those wildflowers I’d seen in my book and always wished I’d find in the wild. In person, as it were. And then, that April, my sister and I saw it together.

Just before official Spring, I’m casting my eyes to the ground on familiar woodland paths in search of the wildflowers whose whereabouts I have come to know. The east side of a certain hill is the first place I look with camera and mental notebook. And I am not disappointed. Shyly, they begin to show themselves. Tiny, delicate False Rue Anemone leaves, barely out of the ground, are my first reward. Toothwort leaves, too, and pretty soon a tiny row of buds hanging on their stems like socks on a laundry line. They will open by afternoon, I think. But I am a morning treasure hunter, so I will wait for the next day. I get a little burst of excitement with my first Trillium, first Blue-Eyed Mary, first May Apple, one after the other and another. I write these things down in notebooks. Yes, I count myself lucky.

Here’s a lovely Wendell Berry poem that I like to read every spring. I love every bit of it (though my feelings about outhouses are mixed) but I love especially his list of sins, for they are similar to my own.

A Purification

“At start of spring I open a trench
In the ground. I put into it
The winter’s accumulation of paper,
Pages I do not want to read
Again, useless words, fragments,
errors. And I put into it
the contents of the outhouse:
light of the suns, growth of the ground,
Finished with one of their journeys.
To the sky, to the wind, then,
and to the faithful trees, I confess
my sins: that I have not been happy
enough, considering my good luck;
have listened to too much noise,
have been inattentive to wonders,
have lusted after praise.
And then upon the gathered refuse,
of mind and body, I close the trench
folding shut again the dark,
the deathless earth. Beneath that seal
the old escapes into the new.”

― Wendell Berry

The old escapes into the new. What a lovely phrase. I hope this spring finds you hopeful and as he says, “happy enough.”

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Storybook Day

This morning I awoke grumpy. Rufus had fidgeted, scratched and rearranged himself in my bed for the last two hours of my sleep. And those two hours had been arbitrarily changed from 4:30-6:30 to 5:30-7:30 because of Daylight Savings Time. Not a fan. Now the sun is rising at 7:20. Grr. But I’ll not labor over that or burden you with my many thoughts on that subject. It was also a very gloomy morning, no crack in the deep cloud cover for brightness or blue to poke through. I thought, “This could be a storybook day if only there was even a tiny opening or two in those clouds, or clouds chasing each other across the sky, or perhaps a fall of rain or even a thunderstorm.” And then perhaps cookies would be baked.

Storybook days are those blustery, cloud-thick days, like we do have often enough in March and November. They invite nostalgia for childhood and for my sons’ childhoods. They make me want to fill up little books with pictures and scribblings, things pasted in, perhaps. Or maybe I’d mess about with small pots of paint or decide to write something, pausing now and then for an oatmeal cookie with bits of chocolate inside. These are days when I can imagine a squirrel named Russell having tea and crumpets with a couple of young rabbits (Olivia and Charlotte) and a dashing red fox called Leroy, all well-mannered and polite. Perhaps they’d tell of a recent adventure. Or plan one!

I took my dogs out the door for a short walk around the neighborhood, observing the various newnesses of near-Spring–Naked Lady shoots, spiky gumballs lying around, broken acorns on the ground, as well as wondering at the disrepair of a grand old house on Broadway–why? And then guess what? A light drizzling rain started up! Voila! Storybook day. This really put a spring in my step and improved my attitude. Once again nature proves that just about any day is better when you’re out in it than when you’re just inside, feeling crabby about the clock and judging the day by its cloud cover.

I’d like to share this beautiful writing from Pema Chodron, something a friend sent me when I was laid up with broken bones and could not do anything, not even read a book. It was hugely comforting.

“On a day of silence like today, when things are very still, you may find that you are feeling grim and doing everything with a grim expression: grimly opening the door, grimly drinking your water, concentrating so hard on being quiet and still, moving so slowly that you’re miserable. On the other hand, you could just relax and realize that, behind all the worry, complaint and disapproval that goes on in your mind, the sun is always coming up in the morning, moving across the sky, and going down in the evening. The birds are always out there collecting their food and making their nests and flying across the sky. The grass is always being blown by the wind or standing still. Food and flowers and trees are growing out of the Earth. There’s enormous richness. You could develop your passion for life and your curiosity and interest. You could connect with your joyfulness. You could start right now . . . Acknowledging the preciousness of each day is a good way to live, a good way to connect with our basic joy.”

I hope you find lots of little ways to connect with your joyfulness on this day and all of them.

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”