Oh, look! He’s coming to see me.
And Mamma said, “No,No, No!”
Having and making friends as an adult is different. As a child, it seems to happen naturally, almost organically, wouldn’t you say? As children we’re thrown together in heap, and left to sort ourselves out. “You like gymnastics?” “Me too!” Instant friends.
I have been blessed with a few very good friends over the years, for that I am grateful. But, I found myself sitting and wondering, why was I was sitting alone on a beautiful saturday afternoon. I soon came to the conclusion, I only had myself to blame for that one. I have chosen a life that requires me to be near home all if not most of the time, There are animals to care for, gardens to tend, stories to write and paintings to be painted.
These are not things you can do anywhere. Granted, I could slip away from time to time. (I will work on that, maybe)
I still feel the warmth of friendship, though I may not see them as often; lives change and family and responsibility lead us in different directions. I suppose you could say we have grown apart. Grown separately, maybe. Growing apart doesn’t change the fact that for a long time we grew side by side; our roots will always be tangled. I’m glad for that.
As Jane Austin once said, “There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.”
My life is full, and I have no complaints, I enjoy my company.
Time and commitment, now…this, this is truly my dilemma.
A friend commented on yesterday’s blog that art sometimes brings music to her thoughts. I smiled a little bit, “cuz as I was downloading these photos, Doris Day started singing, well sort of, I started singing, hoping to sound like Doris.
I thought I sounded wonderful; Diesel started howling, Lexi hid in the bathroom, and Finnegan covered his head.
Richard just asked to be picked up, he thought I must have been in pain or something, I guess.
Here are some of the lyrics in case you want to sing along.
By the light of the silvery moon
I want to spoon
To my honey, I croon love’s tune
Honey moon, keep a-shinin’ in June
Your silvery beams will bring love’s dreams
We’ll be cuddling’ soon (my favorite part)
By the light of the moon.
By the light, not the dark, but the light
Of the silvery moon, not the sun but the moon
I wanna spoon, not croon, but spoon
to my honey I’ll croon love’s tune
Honeymoon, honeymoon, honeymoon
Keep a-shinin’ in June
Your silvery beam will bring love’s dreams
We’ll be cuddling’ soon
By the silvery moon
To be quite honest I only knew about a sentence and a half…I was delighted to hear the cuddling’ part.
Now, back to work I must go; the kale is gathered chopped and frozen, the last of the peas are shucked and frozen, the garden is weeded, a painting is nearly completed, finishing up some of my new obsession, strawberry honey preserves. I’ll share the recipe with you here: strawberry yumminess.
I love the sea, I love a rural landscape. I love quaint village charm.
Martha’s Vineyard is sprinkled lavishly with the irresistable allure of its seafaring past, interwoven with farmsteads, artists, and unpretentious beauty.
This island is not trying to be anything more than it is; leaving aside the germane need tourists may have for t-shirts, arcades, and the stipulation to be regaled, this, this island is honest.
The roads (other than the main highways) are dirt, rutted, and furrowed.
The fishermen have this north-east island life hardships etched into their face, divulging her secret struggles, with the weather, with time, and changing earth.
Verdant farms dot the mid-island landscape. Farmer stands, and markets offer a seasonal supply of freshness. Sustainability and a natural approach to life and farming are central.
Days are slow, they are meant to be. Savor the fresh salty air, the warm ocean breeze. Take a moment, simply feel the suns gentle rays.
Stand on her cliffs and wonder.
Imagine winter’s lonely nights as light keeper.
Be stirred by the wonder of spring’s arrival.
Contemplate memories of childhood, of sandcastles, starfish, and shells.
It is a place bursting with sustenance for the soul.
But, home,well home is where I thrive, the hills, the green fields, pastoral scenes, the barns, and the people.
All it takes to appreciate what you have is to be without it for awhile.
Hope you are well,
I have dreams, I have hopes, and I have aspirations.
Can I wait around for some fairy Godmother to to tap me with her wand?
Nah, probably not; I’ve got things to do, time is awastin’, and I’m not getting any younger.
Because I don’t speak of these things much, (until I am ready to share); it may appear to others that I just jump into things, willy-nilly. This could not be further from the truth, I research ad-nauseam. Make a plan, then research some more. (Are you nauseous yet?) I am almost ready! We’ve spoken to our local LDC and are set for our second meeting.
The Llamas are excited. Really they are.
The goats delirious. Can’t you just see the excitement in their eyes?
No? Look deeper.
…and the dogs, well, the dogs could give a hoot.
There are no balls, bones, or games involved, so they just choose to ignore the happenings around here.
They pretend they can’t see the yarn wrapped around their paws, in their water dish, and atop their heads. They lie on top of fabric scraps; try to take freshly stitched sweaters for their own, try to wear cowls, and make chew toys of thread spools.
It is going to be lots of work, lots of fun!
And the best part; I get to do it all in our freshly(to be) built barn.
The dogs really do like that part.
Alright then, let’s get to work.
Uhmm, where are you all going? We’ve got work to do.
Ah, well. There must be something in self-reliance.
“If you are a dreamer come in If you are a dreamer a wisher a liar A hoper a pray-er a magic-bean-buyer If you’re a pretender com sit by my fire For we have some flax golden tales to spin Come in! Come in!” ― Shel Silverstein
Be well, Jess
How much do you try to fit in those little shreds and patches of time between the usual things to be done.
I tossed the laundry in to the basket, grabbed the bowl of pins. loaded up the washer with the next load then headed out to hang them in the sun and breeze.
Walking back from the clothes line out back near the far pasture; I notice some weeds in the garden. I stop to pull the few I noticed; as I pulled, I noticed more. The seeing, pulling, and shifting went on for some time. My back was sore, then I looked at the clock, I had been at it for 3/4 of an hour. I had missed the rinse cycle on the washer, no softener in this load.
What continues to astonish me about a garden is that you can walk past it in a hurry to get to the next task at hand, see something wrong, stop to fix it, and emerge an hour or two later breathless, contented, and wondering what on earth happened.
Do fill the cracks of time so tight you couldn’t slip paper between the minutes? Do you accomplish more when you think you don’t have enough time?
I have a list of things to be done a mile long. This list seems to the should haves, at the end of the day I wonder why I didn’t hem those pants (sorry Mike), why didn’t I trim the dog, (sorry Finn), why didn’t I trim his hair, (sorry honey).
“What may be done at any time will be done at no time.”
– Scottish Proverb
I did however: weed the garden, hang the laundry, help Jenn with her knitting, do the dishes, make the beds, vacuum the rugs, feed the animals, throw the ball for Lexi, clean the chicken coupe, plan dinner, write this post, respond to emails, and its only noon!
“It is not enough to be busy, so are the ants. The question is, what are we busy about?”
– Henry David Thoreau
I have much to learn.