Saturday, July 11, 2015

My dears:

Yes, that is stain on the floors. Next week, they'll be sealed. The last week of July, the tiling in the bathroom will be finished. Some of the lights work and some of the plumbing. I'm breathless with anticipation. 

I spread a yard of compost over the front yard and today I planted delphinium, ground cover, lilies, hebes, azalea and a few plants I thought were pretty and I don't know what they're called. I bought a new shovel. 

Dinner last night looked like this:

because of this sweet man (and giant cauliflower) and his wife, my friend Joanne:

A friend here in town has been given a grave diagnosis so I'll be helping out. My sangha has gotten good at phone trees and potlucks and rides to the doctor. 

For two days after getting home, I wept at the slightest provocation. Raw, I felt raw. Not just jet-lag but raw to the touch. And gradually, my skin has grown back and I'm beginning to feel more normal. Waiting to attend a birth, probably tomorrow. 

Brevity. That's what I'm so present to. The days fly by, plants grow and bloom and wither and die back. Those bloody block houses are springing up everywhere in our town to house the influx of techies, blots in the neighborhoods of modest two bedroom bungalows, all with low profiles and outdated kitchens. My electrician who has faithfully worked on this house for the past year told me a developer bought a lot on her street and a month later, there was a completed block house, at an inflated price. No yard, no porch, just a featureless block with windows. I've attended births in those houses and in condos where the space is all vertical, three floors with a room on each floor. Surely there is a better way to house people in dense neighborhoods. 

Then there's a house like this in Scotland. Did I mention, I left my heart in Scotland and no, not because of the whisky but because of this:

And this:


Ms. Moon said...

Long ago, I used to go to sleep with a little story in my mind of being a midwife back in the old, old days on a cliff above a sea in Ireland. Scotland would work as well.
There were roses growing all over my cottage. There was a man who brought me food sometimes. There was a place to sleep when I had been up for many nights.
There was a god who followed me faithfully.
I love you.

Sabine said...

Wooden floors and cauliflower, what a good home you have. Block houses are springing up in our neighbourhood, too. We call them Lego boxes. They make me sad, what a waste, 10 boxes=10 tiny squares of instant lawn=10 car ports=10 missed chances of sharing.

lily cedar said...

The house looks lovely especially the floors. You must be a patient woman. And the feeling of rawness, I get that way sometimes too. When my daughter was diagnosed as handicapped I felt like all of my skin had been stripped away. Take care.

beth coyote said...

Mary honey-yup, I felt like I was a deep DNA kinda way.

Sabine-just so, no neighborhood, anonymous, faceless blocks.

Lily cedar-thanks.

Elizabeth said...

I'm feeling all weepy today for all the magnificence that is this writing residency I'm on and for all the sadness in the world -- in my life and in other's. Now I'm going to weep for your heart in Scotland.

I AM thrilled, though, to see your house humming right along!

A said...

The gigantic cauliflower looks like something from a fairy tale. And so do all the
images of Scotland. Grey light is my favorite.

Jo said...

Your house is looking beautiful.

I hope you continue to feel protected again - arnica is meant to help with jet lag and groundedness.

Scotland is truly magic. Your photos are beautiful. I love Mary's midwife fantasy too, I would have searched her out if she really had been here.

Marylinn Kelly said...

We need places where our hearts can live while we are here, either making peace with it as is or teleporting. Scotland would do so well, or what I know of Ireland or Wales. Your home has come a long way. Many things today make me believe that restoration happens. From time to time, I borrow your spelling of "leetle" for it seems the better choice. I was enchanted by a photo of giant daikon radishes the other day. Glorious mutant produce. Welcome home. Beautiful photos. xo