Saturday, July 19, 2014

Gentle, Gentle, Only Coaxing, no Forcing

While sitting on my meditation bench, under the pine tree in the early morning..... 





                    .......I notice the Mandevilla's 
single trio of buds is pinking up, but still tightly closed. Though July is humid and hot, almost tropical, the Mandevilla
is reluctant to respond to the lush juices cursing through its veins.





On the opposite side of our patio garden is an amaryllis, gorgeous and brazen, shouting scarlet in four directions, dripping sexy pollen down swollen petals.  


In seven months, this is the fourth time of wanton blooming for this fecund bulb.






My soul senses wisdom hidden in the contrast of reluctance and wild abandon. Is there a reason why I've deeply noticed these plants?  Sleepy insight curls in my depths, as the ash from fires of early morning farm refuse burning whorls and rides air currents above me before falling gently to the ground like summer snow on green grass.  Interior movements rise and fall in my depths, as wisdom smudges the edges between wakeful routine of day, and reluctance to leave the soft cocoon of dawn. 

While I fertilize the Mandevilla, coax it to do what surely comes naturally, photograph the budding process, and wait in eager anticipation, I never touch the swelling buds. Gentle, gentle, only coaxing, no forcing.  Likewise, I've learned not to pick at the buds of insight. In due time, if ever, I will know what I am to know.  
find the buds! 


I am not irritated at the Mandevilla while adoring the Amaryllis. I water both, feed both, and talk to both.  I see myself in them as I know reluctance and wild abandon.  Well maybe a tad more reluctance.  Ah yes, there’s that niggling insight again…..


Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Short Takes: Turnip Head and DouggaDouggas


Two hazards on the dog walk this morning: baby chipmunks and poison ivy.  Turnip walked the whole path in creepy crawly stalk mode, his focus intent enough to ignore the long stem of grass cradled between his eyes in the deep furrow of his forehead.  Hilarious, a low slung hound dog creep walking with a grass seed-head dangling above his eyes, prickling his lashes!  I don’t think he even blinked. Eyes on the prize every moment - a good way to live.    

I often dream of unclipping and unleashing, letting the dogs be dogs. Reality trumps dreaming though. Only in my dreams are my dogs voice controlled and road smart. 

                                                       
Enjoying a raw bean. Burren is waiting for a handout 



The small boy came home yesterday after spending some time with his other grandparents and their farm. He has a tan and an increased vocabulary. He shocked me by pronouncing Turnip’s name almost perfectly!  I'll miss the Turdyip and Terp stage. How does a kid change so much in 10 days? Another reminder to notice, even savor, what is happening right now; blink and it will change. 

Jude and Turnip went with me to pick “back roozbeeries.”  Interesting combination of blueberry and raspberry!  He proudly held the berry box in one hand and with the other carefully pulled a black raspberry off the prickly stems. “Be careful Ternip, day will pick at you,” he cautioned his sidekick. Then he decided to hold the box with two hands and let me pick. As I placed each berry in the box, he picked it out and either ate it or fed it to Turnip. After I finished picking he held up his empty box. “Me em Ternip ate dem all!”  With such a jubilant face how could I scold?  Earlier, he shared raw sugar peas with Turnip. The dog is so glad to have his boy, his human Pez dispenser, back home.   



This morning, Jude watched the men bale straw, and unload the wagons. He rode in one empty wagon with Daddy as Papaw drove the tractor. He kept yelling, “Hey, Papaw, hey.”  Or maybe he meant “Hay, Papaw, hay!”  Just when he learns to associate real hay bales with drawings of hay in his farm picture books, we bale straw. That’s okay, most illustrator’s get them mixed up too.

While Jude was away, we folded up his Pack and Play bed and put a Cars themed toddler bed in its place. We changed his whole room around, added other furniture too. I was curious how he'd respond. First time in the new room, he did not squeal in delight or jump on the bed. He just stood in the middle of the room, scanned everything, then turned to me with eyes round and sad, “Where did my douggadouggas go?” His pacifiers were always tucked in the net bag hanging on the Pack and Play. Only after I showed him the little basket on the bed holding his treasures did he even notice the bed. He promptly took one dougga out, popped it in his mouth, and curled up on the bed. I had to promise he could nap here after lunch to convince him to leave the bed.   


This small boy can adjust to berries of blue, red or black, to bales of hay or straw, to staying with grandparents on either farm, to various beds, but he is not yet ready to face life without his precious dougga!  

No worries, at least not with this Nana. Few kids enter kindergarten with a dougga! For all those adults who judge a small boy too harshly, I say give up your morning coffee, or one of your other comforting addictions and then we'll talk. :) 

When Jude comes of age, Turnip will help him throw away his douggadouggas. Turnip will have had lots of practice by then, as daily he has to throw away rabbits and chipmunks.  




Enjoy the following sweet, compassionate photo story: 

I was photographing the buds on my fushia and heard Jude talking; I kept clicking. Notice the ice pop in left hand.Notice the angel figurine in the background. 


He's talking to the angel, patting her. 

He walks away, then turns back and....

...offers her a lick of his ice pop!  (too bad the fushia is in the way!!)