a snip of zinnias
a straggle of petunias
a cheer of sunflowers
a wonder of days
a sweat of nights
a hum of fans
a goosebump of air conditioning
a drip of cones
a slurp of popsicles
a sizzle of cookouts
an aura of fireflies
a glee of children
a boom of thunderstorms
an anticipation of farmers
a plethora of zucchini
a nest of tomatoes
a clutch of green beans
a delight of peaches
a fantasy of corn on the cob
a harvest of gratitude
At the top of a morning, I notice the energy of possibility. Hope, wide awake and willing, greets the day face-forward. Counting on roadside petals, life loves me and I love it right back. How fairy-taled the deep green velvet of a moss-covered path. How gladly sunlight dances with daisies and trumpets daylilies. How fun to chick-a-dee-dee-dee with chickadees and honk with geese flying over the lake. How gently the fog lifts as the day warms. How delicate a thread of web stretches from flower to flower to flower, a tell-tale trail of one spider’s travels. I marvel at the intricacy of a gravel road, two miles into my day. And returning, notice now how I feel right this very minute, tip-tapping on keys. Happy.
An unusual activity for me, but I did a little math this morning.
In one year, time passes accordingly:
From one season, month, day, hour, or minute to the next, there are so many opportunities to learn. To explore. Experiment. Create. Build. Design. Discover.
Imagine all there is to see, do, conceive, or dream up in the time it takes the earth to travel its 92.96 million mile orbit around the sun.
Think about all I can learn from new moon to full moon. From Fall to Winter and Winter to Spring. What new challenges can I meet from sun up to down? Who will I become from this one hopeful year of my life to the next?
Let’s find out!
Having just turned 60, I’m aiming for 60 new experiences. Recipes. Destinations. Classes. Books. New friendships, new challenges, and goals. New knowledge. Questions answered. Dreams fulfilled.
Maybe 60 is my once upon a time. My someday when. One thing’s sure and certain, it’s my next hopeful year.
As of today, it’s been 604,800 seconds, 10,080 minutes, 168 hours, and 7 days since my birthday, so it’s time to get started. I’ll share along the way … and feel free to offer suggestions and ideas for me to try.
New experience number one: Lemon Blueberry Scones.
Growing is growing – especially if it’s growing older.
Turning sixty wasn’t as bad as the anticipation of turning sixty. Or maybe now that it finally came and went – my biggest birthday ever, I mean – maybe being sixty is not as bad as the anticipation of being sixty. A mere flip of the page on the calendar. Sunday to Monday. July 10th to the 11th. Fifty-nine to sixty.
Still the same me.
All those years, one added to the next, equal a living sum of who I am right now. Shy. Curious. Loyal. Sensitive. Sometimes weepy or worried. Strong, but anxious. Always hopeful.
Devoted to love in just about any form I find it.
Six decades of learning.
I suppose I thought I’d be wiser in the whys of the world. After all this time. All of my experiences. Relationships. Mistakes. Do-overs and never-agains. After mothering and daughtering. Sistering. Friending. I was a teacher. Still a wife, full to the tippity-top with love for my husband. Role after role, day in and year out.
Turns out, what I know best – now – is me.
It sounds strange to say, “I like me.” But I do. And I guess it took adding up all of those years to be able to say those words and mean them.
Sixty and growing. A great gift, being sixty.
Even better than I anticipated.
circle in peace
compassion
and remembrance
circle in unity, in solidarity
hands and hearts
and hopes
circle in times of challenge
in sorrow, in grief
circle in faith, in belief
in the frailty of being human
circle in meditation, in prayer, in promise
in fear
and courage
circle in the divinity of morning’s soft light
or the deepening grace of evening
circle n celebration of summer
and sun and warmth and flowers
circle in peace
What a luxury to let dappled sunshine dry my hair this morning. Walking the rise of hills hurried my breath and released it again as those hills sloped back down. I crossed paths with a chipmunk and good morning-ed fellow walkers, all of us waving away the incessant deer flies.
Walking the dirt road today, I remembered other dirt roads, childhood roads, where I walked to school, never once thinking about anywhere other than right where I was. So I practiced that kind of presence today in honor of that girl I used to be.
Sweat bubbled on my nose and streaked across my forehead as I walked, only a hop, skip, and jump away from summer. There’s hope and happiness and freedom in summer, and I’m ever so happy to be out in it, grab ahold of it – deer flies and all.
I’m thankful for those who plant their gardens alongside the road for the pleasure and enjoyment of walkers-by like me. Roses climb a trellis while springtime pansies linger awhile longer under the mailbox. Chalk drawings in a driveway welcome summer as only a child just out of school can.
I want to remember this morning. Remember the breeze taking me by surprise and the glorious green surrounding me as I walk. There’s the swoop of a sparrow flying to rest on a fence post and the bounce of a robin across the neighbor’s front lawn.
Make no mistake – I saw that poison ivy spreading its way and growing alongside wild roses and the purple tufts of clover. So I’m reminded to admire not only the sunshine but the clouds too. I know rain sometimes ruins our plans and hopefully waters our plants – both. There’s the duality. Learning to savor the comings and goings, hellos and goodbyes, summers and winters. To spend these days wisely and aware.
Soon the sunflowers in the bed out back will stand taller than I do. Pumpkins will one day be ready to carve with our granddaughter. Summer’s car washes in the driveway will be replaced with new chores, with gathering, and nesting, layering and readying for rest.
But just for today, a warm breeze ruffles the ferns, tosses the buttercups, and distracts the bugs.
And I’m grateful.
One way to keep track of what’s been on my mind … is to keep track of my Google searches. Through my recent history, I’m able to see what I’ve been curious about, what I’d like to try, where I need help, what I’m doing, and what I’m learning. It’s been a fun – and a bit distracting – exercise. Given the current state of almost everything and all that’s really been on my mind, a distraction is a welcome exercise in self-care.
So, in no particular order, some recent Google searches:
>>>He asked about my plans for my day off. I told him my most pressing plan was cleaning all the pollen coating just about every surface in our home. It was then he asked if I had any plans to bake a pie? He was joking, of course, but I love him, of course … so pie it was. Strawberry rhubarb. My first. It was worth the search. Recipe here. Full confession: I used a pre-made pie crust. Still delicious.
>>>We’ve been planting, so I wanted to know: What annual flowers attract pollinators?
>>>I’ve not quite recovered from my last visit to the cell phone store, but in a moment of bravery, I Googled: How do you change your Apple ID? I’ll probably get to it when I have more time and remember my current Apple ID.
>>>How old is Queen Elizabeth? Her majesty is a glorious 96 years old.
>>>What is the text of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s The Other America speech? I’ve been reading the OTHER talk reckoning with OUR white privilege by Brendan Kiely which mentions the speech given by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. at Stanford University in 1967.
… while the law may not change the hearts of men, it can and it does change the habits of men.
You can read the speech here
>>>How do you line a baking pan with parchment paper? This little video uplifted my baking skill. And then some. A game-changer.
>>>Ever hopeful after yet another overzealous produce purchase … Can you freeze ripe bananas? Mercifully, yes … yes, I can.
Back to the pollen. Turns out, it’s better to clean a flat screen TV with a vinegar and water solution than Windex.
I’m hopeful we’re now past the pollen.
.
Slow down, you move too fast
You got to make the morning last
Laze. Window gaze.
Stretch. Smile. Be.
Here. Now. And nowhere else.
Just kicking down the cobblestones
Looking for fun and feeling groovy
Walking. Talking. Seeking. Finding.
The first wild daisies. My favorite.
“There’s only a handful of days like this in the whole year,” I say.
“Could the sky be any more blue?” you answer.
Ba da-da da-da da-da, feeling groovy
Hello lamppost, what’cha knowing
I’ve come to watch your flowers growin’
Ain’t you got no rhymes for me?
Hello peace and peonies. Peaches and berries.
Hello to the what’s possibles and the always predictables.
Hello to the maybe I wills and the probablys I won’t.
Good morning sun, I see your shine for me.
Hello Monday, make some hope for me.
Doot-in doo-doo, feelin’ groovy
Ba da da da da da da, feelin’ groovy
Thanks to the breeze. The green, the growing.
Coming to be the me I’m knowing.
I’m humbled and happy and couldn’t want more.
Life I love you, I’m ready to soar.
I got no deeds to do, no promises to keep
I’m dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep
Let the morning time drop all its petals on me
Life, I love you, all is groovy
*The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin’ Groovy) by Paul Simon
The school bus rolled down our road this morning at 6:40
Same as always
Keeping to the schedule
As if nothing had changed
As if the same thing couldn’t happen again today
Here
Or somewhere else
As if grief and terror and fear and horror
Didn’t wait by the side of the road for that bus
As if parents didn’t linger one minute more
For a last glimpse through the window
As if innocence didn’t climb aboard
Each and every day
For an education.
Sometimes I feel words gathered right there on the tip of my tongue, ripe and ready to roll off the second I open my mouth. And then, in a singular moment of awareness, I choose to leave my mouth closed. I don’t swallow the words so much as allow them to slowly dissolve. I can feel the unspoken weight of them and for a moment, the grateful recognition I did the right thing by leaving them there.
In the company of others, both home and away, I feel best and most at peace with what I didn’t say over what I did. The criticisms I didn’t express. The gossip I heard and didn’t forward. The sarcastic retort I didn’t let fly. Maybe even the personal regrets I forgave myself for rather than divulge.
Speaking or not is a choice. I know my heart never swells with pride when I’m unkind – no matter how privately or how far out of earshot. I can add or subtract. Escalate or encourage. My words can increase the almost universal angst we’re all feeling — or abate it — even for just a minute and ever so slightly. Offer hope, or join the melee. So much travels by word of mouth.
one hopeful year 