Coming back from the beach through the cobblestoned street on an early morning walk, Lila and I get passed by a big white lab. Intent on looking for the perfect place for his morning pee, he doesn't even look up at us.
But as he trots near me, I immediately get a fill of love, of a very particular kind of love: my Roxy. My Furry Soul Sister who graced me with sharing my life for 12 years. I can feel her, her calm presence, her joy, too.
Of course, my mind has opinions about this:
"Hey, this dog looks nothing like Roxy. What's up with you?"
Indeed, nothing like my long, curly black-haired girl.
We keep on walking, my heart bathed in something deeply sweet. Whether my mind likes it or not.
A block away, a man steps out of his house, looking as though he just woke up. Scanning the sidewalk, he calls out: "Roxy! Roxy! Where did you go?"
Blessed be these moments that remind us that love never dies.
I've been asking left and right if anyone knows where I can buy a tomato plant. I want to grow my own tomatoes!
But no lead.
Today, the vegetable man comes by, and as I buy a bunch of veggies and fruits, I ask him if he knows where I could buy a tomato plant.
"No," he says. "But why don't you just grow it yourself?" And points to his tomato section, on the truck.
Well, I have only grown tomatoes in the PNW and w/o a greenhouse so: a short season. I have never even thought of growing them from seeds. Instead, I always look for the biggest plant.
Seeing my doubt, he tells me that he will help me.
A few minutes later, we are in my yard and he is squishing the heck out of a bright red tomato. He spreads the whole thing onto a little planter I got ready with some dirt (note to self: always have a planter handy. And dirt) and then has me add a thin layer of dirt on top while he supervises. He tells me that he'll do the first watering himself now because it must be really gentle and that I must keep the pot in the shade for a few days, and not water it for 3-4 days.
Then he says that he will check on the plant once in a while.
Stay tuned for bright red tomatoes. How long, do you think?
There are many different Forms to the Essence of Creativity, and my experience is that they like to shift around and surprise us.
I have barely touched my paints and brushes, since I got here.
Yet I have created a home and written a lot.
I feel the call to write and the joy in letting the words flow. I can barely not write, these days.
Just as I couldn’t seem to stop painting, last summer.
Or making pinch pots, the previous winter.
Following the call, the nudge, the urge or the whisper.
Not hardening around “I brought my paints across the border and darn it, I will paint.”
Respecting the cycles.
Even when they ask us to simply sit.
Trusting in the calling of the Joy.
SCARED OF THE SACRED