Category: MerryThoughts

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Itty Bitty Pleasures

Here’s a little bitty simple pleasure that never fails to make me smile. Recently, I shared it with a couple of out-of-towners on the trail here in Columbia, just because it’s fun.

Jewel Weed, aka “Touch-Me-Not,” aka Impatiens Capensis, is a lovely plant on its own, lush and green with large flat leaves that hold raindrops nicely. It’s visually pretty even without blooms, but the blooms are quite lovely. They come in orange, with spots, and yellow. We have a lot of the yellow variety in the woods and along trails around here. I’ve had some in my yard, as well, alongside the little creek that runs through.

But wait! There’s fun!

The fun comes in when they’ve put out their seed pods. We don’t call them Touch-Me-Not because they sting or itch. It’s because if you lightly press a fully ripe seed pod (like the one above) between your thumb and forefinger, it pops right open! Never fails to bring a smile. It’s one of nature’s more lively ways of propagating plants. And the coiled valve that pops it open and sometimes lands in your hand is pretty cool, too.

So kids and adults love to search for the pods that are just about ready to burst. If you walk along popular trails you’ll often have to search pretty hard for them, because so many walkers are playing the Jewel Weed game.

Jewel Weed can be medicinal, too, as an antidote to poison ivy. Robin Wall Kimmerer writes, in her wonderful book Gathering Moss, that you’ll often find it growing near poison ivy. The cure often grows near the troublemaker. Isn’t nature wonderful? It is.

So there’s your woodland report from here. What’s fun or interesting in your neck of the woods? Please do tell.

“Our indigenous herbalists say to pay attention when plants come to you; they’re bringing you something you need to learn.” ― Robin Wall Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass

“Paying attention is a form of reciprocity with the living world, receiving the gifts with open eyes and open heart.”― Robin Wall Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass

“A Cheyenne elder of my acquaintance once told me that the best way to find something is not to go looking for it.”― Robin Wall Kimmerer, Gathering Moss

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. 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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Spelling Bee

Like many, I played Wordle every day. And then suddenly I was bored with it. Too much luck involved. I started playing Spelling Bee, another New York Times word game.

What a colossal waste of time! Oh, sure, I have loved it, loved the challenge. I thought it was probably good for my brain, too. Is it, though? Where’s the research? Does it really behoove me to spend all that time on a word game when I have very many other things I want to do? I have been close to addicted to the game. For a little while I set a 20-minute timer and only allowed myself those few minutes. That did not last long. If you play, you know it is possible to use up a whole hour of your day (life) on the game.

I could be taking another turn around the lake.

See, when I say “life,” that gives you pause, doesn’t it? It does me. This is my life we’re talking about! Do I want to look back and see how many hours I spent playing Spelling Bee? No.

Being a word person, of course I enjoy the challenge. I’m happy to get to Genius, but not Genius without the pangram, which is sometimes possible. I have to get the pangram. There is certainly satisfaction in it. And then a friend told me that she and her husband reach Queen Bee every day. Every single day. So I wanted to do that, too. Aiyiyi!! Thank God I reined that in pretty quickly. But if I’ve already gotten all but 2 or 3 of the possible words, I might carry on far too long trying to get those last ones. Ugh. Not worth it. “You have things to do!” I yell at myself. “YES! I HAVE THINGS TO DO!!” I yell back.

I could be walking on one of our beautiful trails.

People my age are always talking about what’s good for our brains. Well, what about our hearts? This (previously) fun diversion can be a stressor, depending upon the letters of the day. Decidedly NOT good for my heart. Irritating. Bad mood-inducing. I’m not playing today. There might be good letters, though . . . No, I’m not playing. Of course I think about it. But I’m not going to. I’m writing. I’m painting. I went on a brisk walk in the cool, breezy morning, under the shade of many trees on our beautiful trail. Much more rewarding, in every sense.

I have THINGS TO DO. I will not play. They can’t make me.

“It may be that all games are silly. But then, so are humans. ”― Robert Lynd

“This is our purpose: to make as meaningful as possible this life that has been bestowed upon us . . . to live in such a way that we may be proud of ourselves, to act in such a way that some part of us lives on.” ― Oswald Spengler

“Oh, the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done! There are points to be scored. There are games to be won.” ― Dr. Seuss, Oh, the Places You’ll Go!

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. 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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Creative Block

“I don’t know how to paint,” I recently told both my son and a good friend. The friend responded, “No painter ever in the history of art has ever thought that, right?” That’s right. Not Van Gogh or any of those others. No one.

So I’ve been struggling with three paintings I’m been working on. Each new thing I try seems to go badly. Or I’ll be happy with one and a few hours later, I think it’s absolutely terrible. A dog’s breakfast, I’d say if I was British. Rubbish. Deserves to be thrown into the bin. Or tossed on the fire. I don’t even have a fire. What then?

And then there are other things. The heat and other things. It’s been a general miasma over here the last little while.

As a result, I’ve been pulling out the old standbys I use to lift my mood. Went to the gym, finally. On the track, I listened to a Gratitude Walk, which turned out to be more like Interval Training with just a hint of gratitude. Kicked my butt but I liked it. Slipped back into the funk after a couple of hours, though. Later concluded I do not know how to paint. Went to the gym the following day, with music on the iPod. Nice but then I required an Epsom salts bath, a nap, and chocolate. Gave my paintings the stink eye.

This is the painting my son wants for Christmas.

Today, however, we had a lovely, breezy, cool morning. I took Miles to Stephens Park and we walked around the lake, which was absolutely lovely. And then I went back out on my own, through the neighborhood, with Ceasar Happily aka Ceasar F. Barajas, a meditation/yoga teacher, narrating “Walk and Chill” on my phone. Oh my Lord! Lovely. Wonderful voice, amazing energy, beautifully encouraging words. And then it started raining. I love being out in the rain and so this was an added bonus. And then Ceasar says, “Now imagine the miracle that is currently happening. You are a walking universe, filled with energetic channels of light and love and electricity, currently walking on an earth that is in the midst of an even bigger universe.” Whoa. And more where that came from.

Okay, you tell me how a person can remain in a funk while hearing those and many other words during a walk in the rain at the end of a very hot week during which that person mistakenly concluded that she does not know how to paint. At all. Pish-posh. I am a walking universe! And I think painting is included in my universe. Funk lifted.

And then my son calls and says he wants for Christmas TWO of my recent paintings. This makes me very, very happy.

“When I have a creative block, I take walks. I like to see what shapes stick out – so many legs rushing by at once, it can seem abstract. I don’t need to see great art to get stirred up. Music does that for me more easily.” — Caio Fonseca

“If you hear a voice within you saying, ‘You are not a painter,’ then by all means paint, boy, and that voice will be silenced.” — Vincent van Gogh

“You can’t use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have.” — Maya Angelou

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. 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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On the Second Day of Summer

On the second evening of summer, from here at my desk and with the house all closed up against the heat, I could hear cicadas singing. I love them. I love them very much and as far as I had observed, this was their first chorus of the summer. I usually try to also notice their last song of the summer, but I’ve never yet been successful at that.

I stepped outside to my narrow balcony and they settled back down, as they do. Birds were carrying on and at the back of the yard, the barred owl took up calling. My neighbors were playing fiddle and guitar. And then, in the distance, I could hear the barred owl’s mate answering the call. As I turned my head in the hope of seeing it, I saw the tiniest sliver of a crescent moon in the Western sky. It must have risen very early. Next, a couple of fireflies lit and the cicadas made a false start at singing again.

Well, I don’t know that I need to say that I just stood there against the railing shaking my head and smiling in wonderment. I mean, wouldn’t you? One loveliness after another within a span of five minutes. Oh sure, these are all small things. The hum of life. The music of summer. The little pretties. All these things that make my heart glad.

I want to be that person who needs nothing more than these small things, ever. I want to to be the one who lets all grievances and petty irritations flutter on by. I want to remain unruffled by whatever little thises and thats wave in my face, trying to get a rise out of me. I want the kind of equanimity that keeps me sailing smoothly along, moment to moment, past the moments of beauty, all the way through the other decidedly not beautiful ones.

I do have equanimity sometimes. There are definitely moments, minutes, even hours or days when these small things are enough. I had no petty grievances right then, that evening. I am unruffled at times. And shouldn’t that be enough then, along with the cicadas, the owls, the crescent moon, the fireflies, the music? Just right then? No one is unruffled always. No one is consistently possessed of equanimity, not even the Dalai Lama. Where would the passion be? The life! The humanity.

So, since we are humans, these small moments of beauty and of contentment, brief or lasting, simply have to be enough. They are the gifts. And then we bumble along through the rest and we wait patiently for the next round of gifts that truly do come. And polite as we are, we say, “Thank you.”

“While getting lost in all those little things that seem so important, don’t forget the little things that matter . . .”― Virginia Alison

“The small things of life were often so much bigger than the great things . . . the trivial pleasure like cooking, one’s home, little poems especially sad ones, solitary walks, funny things seen and overheard.” ― Barbara Pym, Less Than Angels

“I live to enjoy life by the littlest things . . . Just the feeling itself of being alive, the absolute amazing fact that we are here right now, breathing, thinking, doing.” ― Marigold Wellington

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. 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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I and Love and You

I went this past weekend down to the Ozarks Amphitheater with friends to see the Avett Brothers perform. As usual, I had mixed feelings about leaving home, even for just one night. I don’t like to leave Miles, who is more clingy than he ever used to be. It looked like it would be hot (91 degrees). And me with another unending headache. In that heat. Those three points. But I love spending time with this group of women.

Ha Ha Tonka State Park

And what a beautiful experience it was. Just in time, clouds sailed in and the temperature dropped unexpectedly. To everyone’s wonderment, a luscious breeze suddenly filled the whole area. It was perfect. And then the music, filled with love. That word, “love,” sung again and again across a sea of people in the cool breezy evening, could not fail to fill the heart of any person in any state of headache or whatever myriad troubles which of course are present. The first song brought tears to my eyes, thinking of my sons, followed by so many happy, toe-tapping songs that make you want to stand up and jiggle around, even if you’re tired or have a headache, so much joy and love and regard spilling out all over the place. Filled us all up. And looking side to side at my joyful companions, as always, that filled me up more. I am reminded again and again of how lucky I am. I don’t know how or why, but I’ll take it.

View from the castle ruins at Ha Ha Tonka

So shouldn’t we all say the word “love” whenever possible? Tell it to each other, to our dogs, to ourselves? Say it, tell it, be it, revere it, spread it, revel in it, give it, shout it, write it, sing it, share it? Bake it into cakes, drink cups of it, offer platters of it, sprinkle it over our veggies? Sew it onto our clothes, wear it on top of our heads, wrap it around our shoulders, cradle the babies in it, tuck it into our shoes in the hope that it leads us down all the right paths? Yes yes yes.

“We should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once.”― Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche

“Love can rebuild the world, they say, so everything’s possible when it comes to love.” ― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

“One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words.” ― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. 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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Morning Pages

This year as I celebrate 25 years of my card business, Ampersand Cards, I’m marking 25 years of self-employment and my life as an artist. This is also my 25th year of writing daily Morning Pages, a la Julia Cameron and her book The Artist’s Way.

I always verge on saying that her wonderful book changed my life, but I think it’s more accurate to say that her book inspired me to change my life. With her words in my head, I left a soul-crushing job and struck out on my own, with writing and art. I have never looked back.

So I began the daily ritual of writing Morning Pages. This is one of the key components in Julia Cameron’s instructive course. First thing in the morning you write out, in longhand, three pages (give or take) of whatever comes to you. It is a kind of emptying out, letting loose all the big and little threads of thought/feeling that are roaming around in your brain. It can be a great way to work through all sorts of problems and issues, too. It has been the best part of her teaching, for me. Not a discipline, as many people seem to think, but for me a daily ritual that is one of the loveliest and most welcome parts of my day. And this year marks 25 years of doing it almost every single day, wherever I happen to be. Most days I want to have just a few more moments.

I always write sitting up in bed, a cup of tea by my side, one or two dogs lying by me, the tree-filled east view out my windows. Perfect. But now that I’m older, it hurts my low back to sit like that. Ugh. I’ve tried a few things to make it better ergonomically but the results are only minimally helpful. To think of doing it anywhere else is horrifying! And there is absolutely no room in my bedroom for any sort of chair. Anyway, a chair. Really? I don’t think so. I guess it’s a little silly to carry on like this when it hurts, but nothing I’ve come up with is as satisfying. No, I believe I’ll trudge along as I’ve been doing. I only have to hobble for a brief while after I stand up. It doesn’t take that long to unwind my back . . .

When you find a thing that is just so satisfying it seems ridiculous to stop, doesn’t it?

“For me starting the day without a pot of tea would be a day forever out of kilter.” ― Bill Drummond, $20,000: A Book

“Pages clarify our yearnings. They keep an eye on our goals. They may provoke us, coax us, comfort us, even cajole us, as well as prioritize and synchronize the day at hand. If we are drifting, the pages will point that out. They will point the way True North. Each morning, as we face the page, we meet ourselves. The pages give us a place to vent and a place to dream. They are intended for no eyes but our own.”― Julia Cameron, The Miracle of Morning Pages

“Think of your pages like a whisk broom. You stick the broom into all the corners of your consciousness. If you do this first thing in the morning, you are laying out your track for the day. Pages tell you of your priorities. With the pages in place first thing, you are much less likely to fall in with others’ agendas. Your day is your own to spend. You’ve claimed it.” ― Julia Cameron, The Miracle of Morning Pages

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. 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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Wishes and Regrets

Smoky Hill River Festival

On Saturday I went to our outdoor arts festival, Art in the Park. It was boiling hot, as usual. I wore a t-shirt from one of my very favorite shows–the Smoky Hill River Festival in Salina, Kansas. One of the artists asked me about it.

Smoky Hill is the second weekend in June, i.e. this coming weekend. If you can do it, you should go. It’s wonderful. You’ll have a fabulous time.

I tried for several years to get into that show, without success. Finally, I tried something a little crazy. I figured, why not? On the application, it asked for a description of your technique and process. I wrote: “My technique and process are not nearly as complex as my wild desire to be in your show. Oh, please relent and let me in!” It worked. At last, I was in. What a joy!

Anne and her husband Terry, whom she’d lost a few years ago, in my booth

The show is not only extremely well attended by shoppers, absolutely filled to the brim with color and fun, terrific live music, great food, and wandering stiltwalkers, but the volunteers and patrons are some of the kindest, friendliest people I’ve ever met, anywhere. One of those people died last week.

I’d always intended to go back as a visitor after I stopped doing outdoor shows. I wanted to enjoy everything the show has to offer but I especially wanted to see Ann, my favorite person there, a volunteer who absolutely made the show a wonderful experience for me and for so many others. We’d been Facebook friends but I hadn’t seen any of her posts for quite awhile. Last week her daughter posted that she’d died. I scrolled through her page for an hour or so. I wanted to find out what had taken her and I ended up finding more and more reasons to love her. But now she’s gone. Cancer. Stupid f-ing cancer.

One of the wildly decorated vehicles to be seen at the Smoky Hill River Festival

The last year that I did that show, it was very very hot and my booth did not allow much air to flow through. I’d gone to the volunteer table for water, saying I felt “funny.” Ann wasn’t at the table right then but within minutes of arriving back at my booth, she showed up, her hand on her hip, head cocked, with a motherly look on her face, and said, “You come with me.” No arguing! I followed her to the First Aid station, where they gave me water and had me lie on a cot with a fan blowing on me.

All of the volunteers there were great, carrying two jugs around to our booths, one of ice water and the other iced tea. We had red ribbons to hang on our booths to let them know we needed something. One time I got up on my step stool to hang my ribbon and by the time I had stepped down, a gal with two jugs was standing there, smiling. I said, “Wow! You people are like Jimmy John’s!”

Anyway, lovely Ann. Gone. And I never managed to get back there to see her. I regret that, as I regret losing track of what was going on with her, even through Facebook. I wish I could have offered at least some little bit of something as she went through that terribly difficult time. I regret and I wish. Regrets and this particular wish, pretty useless pursuits but hard to escape.

“It’s not that we have to quit this life one day, it’s how many things we have to quit all at once: holding hands, hotel rooms, music, the physics of falling leaves, vanilla and jasmine, poppies, smiling, anthills, the color of the sky, coffee and cashmere, literature, sparks and subway trains . . . If only one could leave this life slowly!” ― Roman Payne, Hope and Despair

“My heart has joined the Thousand, for my friend stopped running today.” ― Richard Adams, Watership Down

“Whenever I saw a sunset, I would quietly make my secret wish right before the sun tucked under the western horizon and disappeared. It would seem as if the sun had taken my wish with it. I’d make it right before the last speck of light vanished.” ― Michael Jackson, Moonwalk

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. 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 Ambitions

Having twice recently heard Franz Liszt’s gorgeous “La Campanella,” said by many to be the most difficult piano piece ever written, I decided I would try and learn it. Why not?

All of Liszt’s “grande etudes” are notoriously difficult virtuosic pieces. This one has right hand sixteenth note jumps that span two octaves or more, a fourth and fifth finger trill lasting four measures, and left hand jumps of three octaves. It is fourteen pages of technically demanding gorgeousness. Fun!

Oh sure, Liszt had great big hands with long, slender fingers. He could reach 12″! I can reach 7.5″. Back in the day, he and other pianist/composers reportedly cut their finger webbing, in order to improve their reach. Aiyiyi!! Now that’s crazy.

Liszt was a huge sensation as a performer in his day, like Elvis or the Beatles.

Having twice recently heard Franz Liszt’s gorgeous “La Campanella,” said by many to be the most difficult piano piece ever written, I decided I would try and learn it. Why not?

All of Liszt’s “grande etudes” are notoriously difficult virtuosic pieces. This one has right hand sixteenth note jumps that span two octaves or more, a fourth and fifth finger trill lasting four measures, and left hand jumps of three octaves. It is fourteen pages of technically demanding gorgeousness. Fun!

Oh sure, Liszt had great big hands with long, slender fingers. He could reach 12″! I can reach 7.5″. Back in the day, he and other pianist/composers reportedly cut their finger webbing, in order to improve their reach. Aiyiyi!! Now that’s crazy.

My father, who admired my mother’s piano playing but never took piano lessons himself, wanted to play Scott Joplin’s “Maple Leaf Rag.” He worked at it for years. As I recall, he learned a page or two but not the whole thing. But he plugged away at it. So maybe I’m carrying on from where he left off.

At 71, I am seeing the limits of my time on earth and I want to fill what time I have with everything and anything rewarding and wonderful while I can. Why not? Whyever not?

“Until you value yourself, you won’t value your time. Until you value your time, you will not do anything with it.” ― M. Scott Peck, The Road Less Traveled

“It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.”― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

“A man who dares to waste one hour of time has not discovered the value of life.”― Charles Darwin, The Life & Letters of Charles Darwin

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. 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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The Reluctant Gardener

My one small flower bed

My garden is my sanctuary. Gardening is my meditation, my Zen, my way of relaxing. Ah, no. That is not me talking. No. Those are the unfathomable claims of any number of crazies I know.

Don’t get me wrong. I love flowers and beautiful gardens. I can just imagine how my yard could be lovingly converted (by someone else) into a wonderland of flowers. I daydream, at times, about gardening projects, bowers of wisteria, pathways winding in and out of lovely flower beds. A cutting garden! A patio with a table for tea and cakes set into the middle of the floral haven.

I have cleared this all out any number of times . . .

But it would never be me who does it. Gardening, for me, is backbreaking, miserable, painful work. Yesterday I finally weeded the bigger part of my very small front bed and managed to get all of the plants I’d bought into the ground. It was the last active thing I did all day long. I hurt too much to go on a walk or a bike ride on the gorgeous day, ached far too badly to paint, or even sit at the computer tending to poems. I was confined to the couch with ice packs, Advil, my Magic Maker and yes, all right, a wee dram o’ whiskey. And I still went to bed hurting.

People say they enjoy pulling weeds. Am I the only person who has crabgrass creeping through the entire yard, culminating in some hellish spot between two large rocks? Am I the only one who wrenches her back trying to wrench the damn things out, cursing wildly as I fling them onto the weed pile? Don’t other people pull muscles while pulling weeds? And what about the wild onions that seem to love my flower bed? A friend remarked that I should let the nutrients in the soil soak into my body. What about the weeds snaking their way into my psyche?

The Queen of Hearts is not amused at the state of things in her garden.

No, gardening is not a respite for me. It is difficult, unpleasant, and painful. And later in the summer, when it’s boiling hot and horribly humid, I can barely be bothered even to water the plants.

Oh, I could be very Zen sitting in a shady nook of my beautiful garden! Not, however, slaving away in it. I suppose what I really want is a dreamy-eyed gardener, someone who would make my yard lush, colorful and verdant. I am not a gardener but I do want a garden. Is there anyone out there who would barter gardening skills (hard labor) for art or greeting cards? Anyone? Anyone at all. My garden could be your sanctuary. Think about it, weirdos. You could let the nutrients in my soil soak into your body. I shall keep the phone lines open.

“Mrs Loudon was even more successful than her husband thanks to a single work, Practical Instructions in Gardening for Ladies, published in 1841, which proved to be magnificently timely. It was the first book of any type ever to encourage women of elevated classes to get their hands dirty and even to take on a faint glow of perspiration. This was novel almost to the point of eroticism. Gardening for Ladies bravely insisted that women could manage gardening independent of male supervision if they simply observed a few sensible precautions – working steadily but not too vigorously, using only light tools, never standing on damp ground because of the unhealthful emanations that would rise up through their skirts.” ― Bill Bryson, At Home: A Short History of Private Life

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. 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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Regular Day

My sweet mother

I am writing this on Mother’s Day, though it will be the day after when you receive it. No longer Mother’s Day. Just Regular Day.

One single-mom Mother’s Day my sons brought me breakfast in bed on a giant piece of plywood they had decorated with black marker. Happy Mother’s Day and drawings all over it. I don’t remember what was served. It was the giant tray that was so memorable. I think of it every Mother’s Day; and on many Regular Days, too.

This morning I sent Bitmoji Mother’s Day texts to my sisters and a few friends, although this is the very thing I say is killing the card business. MY card business!
Texting, email, Bitmoji, emoji–all of these things. And yet they’re so easy. You can send them at the very last moment. And they’re free. And cute. And I do it, too! You have to get the card in the mail in advance, or you’ll risk having it arrive on Regular Day. Right? Just like this letter.

Shouldn’t we all celebrate Regular Day, though? Each day, as they say, is a gift. It truly is. And yet we usually fail to notice. Most of us are healthy and fine enough that we get complacent about each new day. But we could be celebrating Regular Day. And those who are battling a terrible illness or who have a loved one who is would love to have Regular Day celebrations.

So how about we get in the habit of doing so? Send that sweet Bitmoji, text (or, God forbid, card). Make breakfast in bed for someone in your house. Bring a flower or a slice of cake to someone you care about, even on Regular Day. Mow the grass for someone (thank you, Oliver). Call someone you love.

So, Happy Regular Day! May you have many more just as wonderful as this one!

“Write it on your heart
that every day is the best day in the year.
He is rich who owns the day, and no one owns the day
who allows it to be invaded with fret and anxiety.

Finish every day and be done with it.
You have done what you could.
Some blunders and absurdities, no doubt crept in.
Forget them as soon as you can, tomorrow is a new day;
begin it well and serenely, with too high a spirit
to be encumbered with your old nonsense.

This new day is too dear,
with its hopes and invitations,
to waste a moment on the yesterdays.”
― Ralph Waldo Emerson, Collected Poems and Translations

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. 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.”