the blue muse

Sometimes you hear a phrase and you just know that you will never forget it. That it will always be part of your life. I love that about words. The way that somehow, even with the seemingly endless possibility of combinations, someone can hit upon a new one that just speaks to you.

Last night I read this article about Steve Jobs, written by his sister, Mona Simpson, who wrote a book I read years ago that I loved called Anywhere But Here. I didn’t know until I read the article that she was his sister.

But I am glad that I read what she wrote about her brother, if for no other reason than the phrase that became the title of this post. I have pretty much stayed silent since hearing the news about Steve Jobs, feeling that since I didn’t know him, it wasn’t really up to me to say anything about his passing.

And actually, it still isn’t. So I won’t.

But I will carry this phrase in the pocket of my heart for the rest of my life.

And I will always, always be looking for that place.

:: :: ::

*by Mona Simpson

This flower grows in my garden. At least I assume that it must,
because I took a photo of it, a photo that was in amongst
a whole group of photos that I took in my garden.

I have no idea, NO IDEA, what this flower is.
Or where it is in my garden.

Believe me, I’ve looked.

I’ve wracked by brain.

I’ve guessed.

Still, it’s a mystery.

A beautiful, lovely, blushing bride of a mystery.

I kind of like that.

::

Happy Friday.

Tucked in amongst the golds and greens and purples, I find evidence of life, fulfilled.

Blooms that are spent, yet still beautiful.

Tiny green seedlings getting a head start on next year’s cycle.

Bare stems and stark silhouettes.

Tall grasses that have yet to reach their peak.

Each moment is precious in the October garden.

Very soon, the snow will come and all will be hidden beneath winter’s blanket.

Purple monkshood stands tall and whispers

more time, more time.

As do I.

::

Life has hurled a lot of craziness at me lately. Nothing catastrophic, nothing that, in the grand scheme of things, cannot be handled, just a long list of scrambling to do things. So, deep breath. And another. And yet another.

Time gets away from me, giggling at my vain attempts to grasp it as it goes flying by. Time. That ever-elusive, enemy of my enemy who is my friend.

There is never any more or less time. Never a day with fewer hours or added seconds, time is as steady as she always has been. Patient. Gentle. Stalwart.

The craziness comes when we fill time with too many things. Adding one more accomplishment, one drop at a time, until that bowl just has to overflow. And then, of course, we have a mess to clean up. Meanwhile, time just sits there watching, probably smiling to herself at our silliness. Our scrambling. Our whining.

One of the things I have always loved about my garden is that it teaches me about patience. About blooming while planning for the future. About soaking up the sun and enjoying every last minute of it. About not giving up on a rainy day. About bending with the wind.

About that old cliche, stopping to smell the flowers. And then listening to what they have to say.

And about emptying that bowl called time, adding just a bit of water, and floating one perfect bloom on the surface.

Gently now, gently.

We say it all the time, “that’s life.” And it’s always true.

We cannot do anything, be anything, think anything that isn’t part of life.

I am stuck in a cycle of busyness, and constantly reminding myself not to complain. Reminding myself to be grateful for the work, grateful for the fact that I work from home, grateful for the view of my crazy ramshackle garden from my desk.

Tomorrow my father is having his second hip replaced. He is in a lot of pain right now, and I am grateful that the technology exists to fix that for him.

My house is an absolute mess, but I am grateful that I have one. There is painting that needs to be done, broken things that need fixing. There is always that. But I am warm and comfortable and there is tea every morning and very soon, there will be a cozy fire to read in front of every night.

That’s life. My life. And I am scattering seeds of gratitude today, knowing that they will grow into more of the same.

Weeds and flowers and grasses and trees, all mixed up in the same crazy garden.

That’s life.

that chilly whisper in the breeze reminding us that winter will soon come a calling. Golden leaves cling to branches as they shiver in the cold. It’s getting dark outside much earlier.

Another shift, another season, another year. So much of life seems to be spent in the constant realignment and readjustment to these shifts as they happen. Some days, some months, some years, they are large and noticeable, we have to stop and steady ourselves until they pass. Other times, they barely register and we walk through them without even realizing it.

I love these shifts, and I am forever reminding myself to pay attention, to notice them, even when I am being pulled in other directions. Looking up, around, feeling the wind on my face. Rustling through the leaves in the path I walk along just so I can hear their crunchy song. Enjoying the long slant of the afternoon sun as it pours through a window. Simple pleasures.

It seems like it shouldn’t be so hard to do, this living in the moment. But often, it manages to elude me.

I’m getting better at it though. Remembering to pause, to breathe, to observe.

And perhaps more importantly, to enjoy it when I do.

in that tightly furled bud, all candy-caned and poised with potential. Last night the weatherman mentioned the s-word, and looking out my window just now, it seems hard to imagine the possibility of snow. The sun is shining, the temperature pleasant, and there are die-hard flowers standing at attention all throughout the garden.

It’s going to be another busy weekend filled with work, but it is also supposed to be cold and rainy, so it won’t feel so bad to be forced inside.

This morning as I walked past a window, a blue jay was standing in the driveway, and when I looked again, he was gone. It will be the same with autumn. Before I know it, I will be bringing seed to hungry birds on cold, cold winter mornings.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how wonderful I have it here, in the tiny bubble of my own little world, and how different it can be out there, in the rest of it. Pondering how much I should strive to keep up with the news when it always seems bad, the politicians that all seem suspect, the state of the earth and the mess of the economy. There is so much that we cannot make sense of.

It can be so hard to know how to make a difference.

But I figure it out one day at a time, each morning there are those birds and that garden and that favorite teacup, and these are the things that ground me. I may never be able to solve all the problems of the world, but I can embrace the life I have and live it and love it and cherish it all just the same.

I can strive to live my best possible life.

And perhaps that is the best I can do.

::

How is it possible to be so  in love with a kitten?

A kitten who is technically no longer a kitten, but most definitely, a cat.

A kitten who is almost always up to something naughty,
except when he’s asleep.

Even when he’s naughty, he makes me smile.

And that is all the answer I need.

::

This past weekend was absolutely gorgeous, sunny and 80 both days. Summer is clearly over, last week we had a hard frost that killed all of the tomato plants. But it was nice to pretend for a day or two, nice to feel the sun on my face, nice to go for a run wearing shorts and a tank top, nice to eat outside at the last family picnic of the year.

Soon enough, the landscape will be turning to gray and then to white. My garden still has a few things blooming, anemones and hydrangeas, perennial sunflowers and monkshood. Red rose hips polka dot what remains of the rose bushes, and the tall grasses are tall enough to dance in the breeze, though they have not yet turned the tawny color they will wear all winter.

The squirrels and chipmunks are busy busy, and the hummingbirds have already moved on to warmer places. Of course the mice are trying to do the same thing, attempting to make their way inside. My naughty outside kitten has been busy on mouse patrol.

Nights are cool and sleeping is good. The geese that arrive in great flocks on their way south bed down for the night at the swamp down the road and sing me to sleep. Well, it’s more like honking than singing, but it always makes me smile, it sounds like such a party.

The air smells different these days. Fresh and crisp and full of change. I stand here and I breathe it all in, never knowing where life will take me.

But quite content to be here just the same.