The Laws Of My Nature

May 22, 2018 By

Hi Everyone.  Yes, I’ve been missing in action. I’m still in recovery from the whirlwind of moving and all of the stuff that life has thrown my way while I was busy with other things. It continues to be an up and down time as I learn to deal with uncertainty and the changes that aging brings, never mind what’s happening out in the world. I still have some chronic pain in my shoulders, but it slowly gets better when I allow myself to rest, instead of taking on the world.

With spring’s arrival I signed up for a wonderful on-line writing workshop taught by Martha Beck, an amazing life coach and writer in her own right.  Called Write Into Light, it was just what I’ve been  needing to get my writing going again. I’d been sitting and staring at my screen waiting for words to arrive in my noggin like they used to.  Even writing a blog post every week was something I couldn’t do, so I just let it go for a while. 

After my book was published I knew I wanted to start writing poetry again but I put that idea way up high on a shelf thinking I’d get to it once life was more certain and had the steadiness I was looking for. I know there’s no such thing, but I’m famous for fooling myself. So when I read the description for Martha’s workshop, I knew it was time to act.  

We’re just moving into the fourth week of this three month adventure and after messing around with the first assignment for several days, I found myself happily writing a poem about a recent experience I had had here in my new community, which I admit I’ve been having trouble adjusting to.  It is the first poem I have written in five years.

I’m an independent old crone who has always lived on my own land and done my own thing without breaking the law or getting into major trouble.  So when I started moving plants around and adding others to my tiny garden, I had a run in with the Home Owners Association. It wasn’t all that serious, but my feelings were hurt and my sense of freedom was shattered. 

As a result I came up with this poem.  The writing assignment was to write 500 or fewer words in any genre about “how I’m succeeding by failing.”  Here it is:

The Laws Of My Nature

I paint large bold  abstracts
Express my love of color
Vermillion for angst
Blues and yellows
For sadness and fear
On my pallet I mix joyful tears
Confusion with what’s left in my heart
Sometimes magenta
Raw sienna
Soft gentle violet

Time has worn away my caution
My willingness to be quiet
Live the way the rest do
Who keep their blinds closed all day
So that morning’s glory won’t fill their hearts
With sunshine   gentle showers
That wash away dark bitter grit
Filling our world with anger

When I moved lifeless
Nandina from the front of my wall
Replaced them with irises  peonies
And hellebores for winter color
I was scolded
You need permission they said
As if I left my seat to go to the lavatory
Before I had raised my hand
They prefer the grayness of concrete
Shrubs of little color mostly low growing
Distanced apart   occasional
Japanese maples give a sprinkle of dark red

When spring arrived I bought large pots
Blue green in color  planted begonias
Fuchsia   radiant geraniums
Added rosemary spearmint Basil
A touch of flavor
To an otherwise bland setting

I don’t color within the lines anymore
I’m no longer ten years old
Rather seventy-five  ready to let go
Of the tattered carousel we still ride on 

My spirit dances in the wind
With the purple ruffles of my taffeta skirt
Free as the bluebirds that feed outside my open window

JZR
5/6/18

I hope you’re all having a wonderful spring!

Filed Under: Poetry, The Garden Tagged With:

Spring Is Here!

March 21, 2017 By

The first day of spring arrived yesterday and here in C’ville the temperatures are pleasant. The gardens are way ahead of schedule and many of the more tender blooms were killed by last week’s cold spell with night time temperatures below freezing and a wind chill on top of that. All of my plants seemed to survived but most of the fruit trees in the area lost their gorgeous blooms and there will be less than an average crop of fruit this coming year. I got to wear the down coat I bought on sale in early December. I’ve only had a few chances to use it and love the cozy warmth it provides on frigid days when the wind is whipping about.

The big concern now is a lack of moisture. We’ve had next to no snow this winter. Maybe two inches in early January and a dusting of sleet last week. And rain has been minimal as well. We’re in the early stages of drought and unless the weather patterns change in the near future, I’m afraid the farmers in this area will suffer. I’m really tired of winter vegetables at this point and have been looking forward to the opening of our local farmer’s market next month. But will there be the usual bounty of fresh produce that this farm to table community relies on?

Many of the restaurants in the area serve food that is raised locally, including grass fed meats, fresh eggs, mushrooms, and beautiful vegetables and fruit by the bushel. I feel very lucky to be living in a community that takes it’s locally grown food so seriously. And I love cooking best when I can use produce that has been tenderly cared for by people I know.

I wrote the following poem back in 2002 when we were living on the banks of the South Fork Rivanna River and were beset with a horrendous drought. I’m praying and crossing my fingers that will not be the case this coming summer.

Waiting for Rain

Mid August
the river shrinks
exposing rocks stumps
relics from another world
grass burned brown
crunches under foot
yellowed leaves spiral
to the ground
as if it’s October

I sprinkle wilted hydrangeas
a treasured viburnum
with water saved
from washing dishes
delight in a feather-worn cardinal
a brazen titmouse
preening in the birdbath
I keep refilling
just for them

I mourn as lime
moss and bottle green leaves
recede into memory
like the clatter of rain
on windows
the way thunder showers
puddle on the street
splashing as I drive
through a favorite place
to sail a tiny ship

jzr
8/27/02

HAPPY SPRING EVERYONE!!!

Filed Under: Poetry, The Garden, Uncategorized

Coming Back To Life

March 6, 2017 By

Spring is here a whole month early. Like many other locations it’s been a warm winter. Some one told me they found a tick on their dog yesterday. We’ve had several near 80 degree days, but mostly the warmest have been in the low 70’s.

Forsythia and magnolias are blooming, along with pears and cherry trees. The last two nights have been well below freezing and there was an article in the paper about how this freeze may effect the peach harvest here in Virginia. Local growers are using fans to keep the air moving around their orchards, but they admit there’s little they can do except pray since climate change is here to stay. I can’t imagine a summer without the sweet juice of peaches running down my arms as I consume them nonstop. Peaches are the best thing about the warmest months and I look forward to them all winter long.

My hellebores are blooming spectacularly this spring. On these frosty mornings they sometimes keel over looking like they’re dead, but once the sun is up and warms the air a bit, they stand taller than ever. They are one of my favorites because they bring color to the garden in February when I need a sign that winter is almost over. At this time of year I do a quick garden tour every day to see which plants are slowly rising above the thick layer of mulch that was put down last month. Orange breasted male robins are fighting over females and on my early morning walks the air is filled with birdsong that brings me joy. Tis the season of rebirth.

On my afternoon walk yesterday afternoon I noticed that someone in the neighborhood had tapped one of their maple trees hoping to gather enough sap to boil down for maple syrup. My brother Reid, now deceased, used to tap a grove of maples in New Hampshire every year when the days warmed above freezing and the nights brought freezing temperatures. He boiled the sap down in large pans over an open fire, coming indoors at the end of the day smelling of fresh air and wood smoke. My pantry was always filled with mason jars of his maple syrup. One year he supplied me with so much that I put it in the freezer thinking it would last longer that way. This past fall I used the last of the pint jars of his amber gold and when it got down to the last quarter of a cup, I wanted to tuck it back in the freezer as a way to keep him near me. Reid has been gone now for seven years. I felt that if I used the last of his gift up, he would be gone for good. But then I made a batch of buckwheat pancakes and used it up, knowing that if I carry him in my heart he’d be with me forever. Those last few drops were a celebration of his life.

Along with the plants, I’m coming to life again too. My burn out is easing and I’m longing to be out in the garden every day. I found myself writing a poem last week for the first time in years. I’m thrilled to be at it again, adding to my series of poems about Mrs. Heartwell, who is part me and every other woman in the world. She’s vulnerable, brave, strong, sensitive, and filled with love. I plan on working on this collection about her that I started almost twelve years ago and make it into a chapbook some day. I may start sharing a few from time to time but for now am sending out some of the series to see if I can get them published in a literary journal or two. Although I enjoyed writing my memoir and using well constructed sentences, I absolutely adore using words sparingly to paint short writings that are free of garble, yet full of power.

Do you find yourself coming back to life at this time of year?

Filed Under: Poetry, Spring, The Garden, The Natural World, Writing Tagged With:

Managing Stress In An Insane world

June 28, 2016 By
I stay sane by working in the garden and taking in the beauty of the natural world.

I stay sane by working in the garden and taking in the beauty of the natural world.

Earlier this year I decided to avoid the news as best I could. I didn’t want to hear about the presidential campaign; especially the words of one whose name shall not be mentioned here. He upset me greatly and when I started yelling  at the television it was a sure sign that I needed to turn it off. I do still tune in less than an hour every day because I want to be able to make informed choices. But I leave the room from time to time when I want to avoid talk from certain people.

Managing my stress is an important part of my self-care. I do not want to live with constant anxiety which turns my gut into a churning cement mixer filled with rocks. I get jumpy, depressed and feel hopeless. At the ripe old age of seventy-three I want a life of ease. I can’t afford the damage that stress causes to my mind, spirit and body.

I’ve been a news junky for as long as I can remember. I absolutely had to watch all of the heart breaking reports when JFK was assassinated. I tuned in constantly when Martin Luther King, Jr., and Bobby Kennedy were taken out. On the morning of 9/11, I wept and felt like it was the end of the world. On all of those occasions my gut churned away. I had no appetite for food. And for at least a week if not longer, I sat in front of the television reliving the cataclysm of 9/11.  Every news channel replayed the fall of the twin towers, over and over again. I was depressed. I had trouble sleeping. Like everyone else, I was sick at heart. At the end of that week I realized I was harming myself, not helping myself.

I needed to find my center. I needed to smile and laugh. I couldn’t go to NYC and help with the cleanup but thought perhaps if I lightened up and started believing in goodness, my depression would go away. I gave blood. I went back to working in the garden. I helped to prepare the downstairs apartment in my home for my mother, whose health was failing. She would be moving in with us in late October and would spend the next six years being in residence with us before she broke multiple bones and died in May of 2007. I knew it was going to be difficult and wanted to ground myself before she moved in.

I felt much better until Mom’s health started going down hill rapidly. I began watching hours of news again, and woke to NPR every morning. While I peeled potatoes, prepared meat loaf, or kneaded bread the TV was on. I listened to how the world was falling apart. It was easier to watch the world in turmoil and spout off on how to fix it, than it was to give my attention to what was happening in my own household as Mom moved toward the end of her life.

Later I was told I suffered from PTSD. It was suggested that the horrific news about climate change and the continuing saga of war in the Middle East were making me more stressed out than I was to begin with. But it was hard to turn it all off. I was too invested in the news and what was happening around the world.

I started meditating, said no to events or movies that I knew would upset me and set some boundaries For myself. But it was still difficult to stay news free. How would I know how to live if I didn’t know what was happening in the world? I was especially anxious about the mass shootings occurring so frequently around the country in schools, movie theaters, military bases and shopping centers. But even through those events I did fairly well at turning the boob tube off at the first sign of my being upset. I worked at staying positive. I reminded myself that beyond the negative is a beautiful world filled with good people who are kind and doing good deeds.

Then “you know who” decided to run for the presidency. My stress and anxiety levels began growing by leaps and bounds. I was sure the end of the world was nearing. I was afraid for my country. I feared what would happen to my kids and grandkids in the future if that man got into office. I yelled at the TV during debates and the nightly news. I cried some nights as I tried to fall asleep. Finally I said, “Enough. I can’t do this anymore.”

When I woke to the tragic news of the shooting in Orlando, a few weekends ago ago I was surprised by my reaction. I had no need to see the grim photos or know the numbers of innocent people killed and wounded. It was so unlike me. I asked, What is wrong with you? Why aren’t you reacting the way you usually do?

But I knew there was nothing I could do. Would sitting in front of the television all day taking in this heinous act of violence help to keep this kind of event from happening again? I knew that all it would do is make me feel angry, hopeless, and extremely heart sick. I decided to turn the news off and go about my day. I worked in the garden, cooked a delicious meal, and finished reading a book that I was completely immersed in. During the following days I signed petitions and made a donation to one of the sites involved in bringing an end gun violence. And after a bout of angry posts on Facebook, I decided to stop that too.

I still tune into the news most nights just to get the headlines. But it isn’t causing my stress levels to rise. I’m living in a better world, taking care of myself, trying to be as kind as I can, and being grateful for all that I have.

How do you handle the gruesome events that seem to happen every day all around us?
How do you stay positive in the face of negativity?

Filed Under: Change, Meditation, Mental Health, Navigating Through Life, Self-Care, The Garden

At Sixes And Sevens

April 26, 2016 By

IMG_0183I’m in one of those in-between places. You know— when you don’t know what to do next or where to start.

The Advanced Reader Copies of my book arrived a few days ago. I need to reread my words again one more time and check for typos. I have a great postcard design with my book cover and a terrific blurb on the front being printed now. I’m working on getting my website updated and plan to do some advance writing for this blog and my newsletter. I’d also like to submit a few personal essays to magazines on and off line to bring attention to my memoir. I’m so wired with excitement that some nights I have a hard time falling asleep.

But on the other hand, it’s spring. The desire to write and do what needs doing in theIMG_0178 studio is being drowned out by the early morning call to be in nature by an amazing variety of birds setting up households in the neighborhood. I have an unbearable urge to devote my time to the natural world and to get my hands dirty. I need to redesign a flower bed I tore apart last fall to bring it new life. I long to stay outdoors all day, visit nearby nurseries and garden centers to see what is available. I love walking down the rows listening to plants shouting out, “Choose me, please! My roots are being suffocated by the blasted pot someone planted me in and I need to escape!” Once rescued and at home, there is then the need to fulfill my promise and set those cramped roots free where they can stretch out, and fulfill their promise to infuse my garden with color and joy.

IMG_0184Then there’s the stuff of everyday living. The laundry, grocery shopping, cooking, veterinarian appointments for an aging dog, my own need for a well deserved nap, and on and on. I print out my weekly calendar each week, then make a list each day of what needs doing. Usually it works well for me and it feels so good to cross items off that scrap of paper as I get them done.

But I the slow pace of winter where my lists were fulfilled each day without difficulty are over. Now there’s the galloping pace of spring. My lists are lengthier and linger into the next day and the day after that. My energy is good but not enough to do it all in one day. Some say it has something to do with my age and the extra time it takes to do things.  It leads to overwhelm and I get stuck in my old patterns of rushing around like an idiot.

So I’m here today to make a public promise to myself that I will not allow my slowness or the too many things to do make me crazy. I will continue at my slower pace and do one thing at a time, reminding myself that when I choose to do something on my list it can not be done half-way. It needs to be done well and thoroughly. If I write a personal essay I must do it the best way I know how and take as long as it needs. If I choose to take a thirty minute nap, I will not lie on my bed and fuss over what I “should” be doing instead.

I think that we could build a new movement of folks like me who don’t want to rush and can easily say, “That’s enough for today. “ Will you join me?

Filed Under: The Garden, The Natural World, Writing
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