Memoirous

You can feel it. Long and slow. The heat, the leaf, the locusts in the treetops, singing for rain. High and low, crescendo and allegro. Soaking in the kiddie pool, we all know. It’s the lack of purpose, the sense that soon it will be over that makes us lazy. Malaise. Paper leaves, withered by drought, fall, and it reminds me of Fall. Behind the heat, beyond the cloudless bleached sky there hides crisp nights, early morn schedules, wrapped sandwiches, student backpacks. Hecticity. But, for now, we sit and sweat and close our eyes while rubbing a glass of sweet tea along the edge of our jaw.

In five years I’ve gone from never having a garden—in fact, saying I’m NOT a gardener—to having a garden several years in a row. It all began out in Oregon with my millennial roommate who, using his Amazon account, ordered in a bunch of stuff for making a garden. He knew nothing. I sort of felt sorry for how naïve he was. I kept thinking: This isn’t going to be easy. You’ll be disappointed. It’s going to fail. Well, it didn’t. I thought, How can someone grow anything when they’ve never done it before? That’s when I became a believer. My first year in Michigan at the townhouse, I did veggies in pots—first in the back yard and then moving them to the front where there was more direct sunlight. My first two years at the Tiny House my garden did so-so. Come to find out all the trees in Michigan can put a damper on the garden. This year I planned even better and built raised beds along a section behind the shed and the neighbor’s fence, where there is no tree obstruction. Wow! Wow...

Despite the calendar date: Sumer is icumen in. This medieval round is delightful, gay, and carefree. I can easily imagine Renaissance women dancing around a maypole, celebrating the change of season. When I awake these days, I go outside with my cup of hot tea to visit the garden. Every day the beans grow higher, though NOT yet climbing; the cucumbers are 2 inches high, yet not spreading; the kale and chard are showing a bit of color. Something has dug with its little paw in a couple of pots next to the beds. I’m still thinking of how to restrain them. There’s also the need to weed—which means making sure I do not pull the wrong thing. I’m overly cautious. Last night there was a raccoon outside my door. I knew it was beginning to rain and thought: How can rain feel scratchy? When I looked over and saw it with its paws on my French doors, scratching at the window. I was entirely freaked out. I stuffed cotton under the door, in a little space opened up since the Tiny House is settl...

I last posted my Again and then found this on Facebook, via a friend I know who has struggled since the death of her husband—many years ago now, but the feels are still real. RUN THE DISHWASHER TWICE. When I was at one of the lowest points in my life, even getting out of bed felt impossible. I had no energy, no motivation, and was barely surviving. Once a week, I’d drag myself to therapy. But during one session, I had nothing to say. My therapist asked how my week had been, and all I could muster was, “I dunno, man. Life.” He wasn’t satisfied. “No, what exactly are you struggling with right now? When you go home after this session, what will be staring you in the face?” I hesitated, embarrassed by the answer. I wanted something more meaningful to say, something bigger. But the truth was so small. Finally, I admitted, “Honestly? The dishes. It’s stupid, I know. The more I look at them, the more I can’t do them. I’ll have to scrub them first because the dishwasher sucks, and I ...

We just did a longish weekend to Chicago. Short and frenetic, constantly on the go. I was able to tick a few items off my summer to-do list: concert downtown in the park (Beethoven’s Fifth under the lights and waning nighttime sky), Siam Noodle and a GREAT Mexican place I ate at last time, and a visit to the Art Institute, where I saw the Georgia O'Keeffe’s show “My New Yorks.” As opposed to how we often remember O'Keeffe as a painter of the American Southwest, these drawings and paintings represented her time off and on in New York City as well as upstate New York where she and Alfred Stieglitz summered at Lake George. Shows like this sort of gather up what ever they have and add to it from whatever collections they can borrow from and hope for a cohesive theme. I really liked the angle of this exhibition as it showed another facet of the artist that most people are not used to seeing. O’Keeffe and Stieglitz were apartment dwellers, taking rooms in various hotels high abov...

                                              Plant garden [x] Heat wave [x] Multi-day bike ride [x] Grill-out with friends [forthcoming] I’ve been making a list of things to do now that life and work have reached an equilibrium. I’ve gone through my floor training and now can work on a more reliable schedule and have figured out where the MSU Dairy Store is. I love taking bike rides in the cool of the evening. My grandson and I take bike rides in the morning and count bunnies. Yesterday on a walk we spied three deer quickly disappear into a woods. Right now trying to figure out a date for a backyard picnic with friends. I just don’t want to get to the end of July and ask myself—Where has the time gone? What have I done this summer? This weekend there is a Meridian Township celebration with fireworks. Whenever I see the signs I’m reminded of the Talking Heads film True Stor...

Summer is Coming  This week we celebrate the solstice and a heat wave. Since switching jobs and getting up to speed at my new one, I’ve been able to experience much of the late spring/early summer this year. Biking, running, picnicking on the back porch. Of course, baby holding. We’ve already been to the splash pool at Hawk Island. Last night I had some work pals over for homemade ice cream on the back patio. We sat and chatted while the machine churned. It was so nice to enjoy company in the cool of the evening. So despite the heat, get outside. Summer is coming.

 My Little Corner Has a bicycle, a garden, and a little boy. There’s an ice cream maker on top of the bistro table and chairs arranged in a circle. We sit in sunshine and shade. On the lawn are stray toys: bubble wands and balls, a pickle ball racket rests under the hammock. A baby on a Bumbo, a toddler in the sandbox, a squirrel at the bird feeder. Laundry lines the patio drying on racks. My little corner is crowded.

I’m nearing three weeks of training at my new job—soon to be let loose on my own. Right now I’m training for the sales floor, fitting shoes, etc. Let me just say now—everyone has their own particular foot. The FBI uses fingerprints, forensics use dental records to ID bodies. All someone needs to do is take off their sock and I can see right away what distinguishes this customer. So, I’m getting used to doing diagnostics and suggesting different kinds of shoes. At this moment I’m not getting a lot of hours, hoping that changes soon. I’ve gone back and forth with myself whether to let management know that I actually need to be scheduled more. Between bouts of anxiety about money, I’ve also been enjoying the relaxed feel of this spring and early summer. I have time to read and catch up with writing without cramming it in. I have moments without the pressure of “having to do.” I can wake u and not have to rush to get things done before riding off to work for 8 hours a day and come home...

Sometimes, because I’m not quite ready for the sun to go down, I walk around the yard, taking in the smells, the musky scent of compost, the garden, the nightshades, the settling of earth. In Italy they call it La Passeggiata, when the sun lowers and the narrow streets fill up with those who amble or promenade without purpose or direction, an evening stroll as a way to signal they are done with all work duties, just like the popular slow eating movement, this is a kind of slow walking, slow living, slowing, downsizing life to the incremental, elemental, singular, intentional, present, savoring, in the moment.   I was not alone.   Across the lawn, on a flagstone, was a bunny. Silent, dark-eyed, in her own Zen-state, splayed out, her back legs extended, as if without muscle, a position of repose, surrender, vulnerability, open to the last warmth of the stone, the sun, soaking in the final offerings of the day. She and I, at dusk, fee...