Sunday, February 19, 2012

Early summer 2009

Watching the sun come up this morning I’m thinking of Iran,
for better or worse, tearing it’s self apart, traffic on the highway, concerned
only with it’s self, and what to make for breakfast. A load of “whites” churns
in the washing machine until replaced by a load of “darks” and then hung on the line.
   Sleep rarely comes quickly anymore, even more rare is sleep uninterrupted from night until morning. Thoughts of cancer, love lost, children lost before birth, shortcomings, and failures plague my dreams. It is not surprising then, that standing in my garden early this morning, I am consumed by a sense of grief. I lament the weeds, plants not thriving for what ever reason, beds not finished to my satisfaction, projects around the house and shop unaccomplished. It is more than I would ever hope to bear.
   And yet love is tangible. It is a fallacy to think that it is not, and I would call anyone a liar who told me it was not so. We dwell in a world where love not only is an idea, or a concept, or a myth. It is attainable; Attainable in the midst of sorrow, loss, frustration, anger, grief, and cancer.
   I went to get the paper this morning, and for the first time in years, it was not there. Canceled, for lack of 34.00 a month, a cancer cutback if you will. Anyone who tells you that sacrifice, suffering, pain, and failure are not inherent in love; I would call a liar. And yet here I sit… And I am blessed. I still have Sundays paper which I was unable to read on Sunday. I have raspberries in my garden, enough not only for my self, but for
my family. I pick enough for three breakfasts, and return to the house.
In the kitchen, water boils slowly in the kettle for coffee. I make an egg, toast, and yogurt…. With raspberries. The sound of a knife over toast is some how comforting, the solid sound of my favorite coffee mug, and breakfast plate on the table is satisfying. The rustling of the paper, pages turning, brings humor…. I am blessed.
  And now here I sit, my day elegized already, as the sounds of my family waking and shuffling from bed to bath, stairway to kitchen come to me through the walls. I am blessed.

Willamette Valley Early Summer 2009

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