A Very Long Holiday Greeting

I’ve been absent so long, I’m having to reacquaint myself with where to find and write a post and there’s snowflakes running across my screen. I’ve always like seeing them; and they’re always a surprise. Oh, yes. It’s December and the snowflakes have returned!

There’s no snow in Kansas City. I’m always grateful to see winter arrive. I hate being cold and my fingertips and toes complain, as do joints, but winter shuts me in and I stop doing. Well, that’s not entirely correct as we’ve decorated the house and tree and that’s always a huge To-Do, but it’s done. As is the chimney cleaned and wood in.

This has been a year of to-dos. It began in February with the city digging up a broken water main in the front which eventually morphed into a completely replaced sidewalk along the front of the house, desperately needed, followed by  back porch cleaning, continued with back porch repairs on screens and a porch roof leak, and repainting the back porch (which, I’m loath to say took until fall to complete), followed by a frustrating experience with the air conditioner spring check (which led to a huge fight for weeks and weeks because of an over-charge issue ((which I won!)), followed by second son’s back going out so I flew to Florida to help him, followed by new great-grandson being born two months premature and all that woo-ha (baby is fine and growing and laughing), followed by oldest son rolling his ankle on both sides, all in the same week, which meant me doctoring one son in Florida and husband doctoring other son here and flurries of email and photos (mostly of new baby) flying through the Ethernet. In the meantime, we had disastrous floods in Kansas City and while we didn’t flood, exactly, we discovered water in the basement from cracks in the old stone foundation (which we finally got cemented this past week as well as finally putting up a new light fixture on the porch). During all this, sometimes in fits and starts, I’ve revised the memoir still waiting for a publisher. And somewhere in there, I found an tree-trimmer who gave the old and mighty oak in our front yard a haircut, and we cleaned up the back and front yard from bags and bags of oak leaves (our street is lined in oaks, pretty on summer evenings when you drive home through an overhanging tunnel of green; not so pretty when they are brown and moldy on the ground).

I’m no doubt forgetting something….oh, yes, we went to the farm for the eclipse because it was in the path of totality-which was pretty amazing, and while there, cleaned up accumulated weeds and trash. And in early November, we flew to Las Vegas, where grandson is in nursing school, to meet new great-grandson.

Ergo. I’m ready for winter. I’ll wear the house gloves my son bought me last Christmas (with leather tips so I can still use them on keyboard and phone) and the rabbit hair socks my sister gave me that keep my toes moderately warm. And God-willing and the creeks don’t rise, as my farmer Grandpa used to say, often, as I remember, I will stop.


Trimming the Thorns

I’ve had “feed and trim roses” on my to-do list for too long. Finally, with temperatures hovering in the livable range, I went out to begin the task of rescuing my roses from a tangling web of spindly canes and the long-limbed crabgrass that spread across the mulch. I didn’t do anything with them through July and they need one more good feeding before August dissolves.

Trying to understand where to begin any big task usually pushes me into a state of overwhelm, so I just begin and see where it takes me. I did remember to wear a long-sleeved shirt and gloves to protect my arms from thorns and gathered tools and a bag for refuse.

The roses sit along the north fence line. It’s a perfect place in the early spring because sunshine hits it early and long. But by summer, with an overhead sun, the trees on the other side of the fence are beginning to stretch south across that same fence and fill up with vines, a yearly annoyance.  The vines like to crawl up under the fence or over the fence or anywhere to get to the roses.

I began with the vines. And then the wild violets which I like everywhere but in my rose beds. By the time I’d cleared over and around each bush, I was ready to begin trimming by selecting a couple of strong canes and clipping away the rest.

A young male cardinal came to sit on one of the branches above me and chittered. “What?” I asked. Food? I refilled the bird feeder and put fresh water in the bird bath. That seemed to be the meaning of his command.

The best thing about working outside is not thinking. I just work. And my mind, allowed freedom, wanders with me. We’ve had finches in the yard this year. Lately, I’ve seen hummingbirds in the morning, so I’ve put out a clean feeder with sugar-water. We’ve also been visited by two pair of goldfinches, busy at the cone flower heads and bulking up for migration. This afternoon, I saw two swallowtail butterflies, hovering over the pinks.

I guess we’re all getting ready for fall. Yesterday, I cleared off my desk of accumulated bits and pieces of paper – classes and routine begin next week.

As I left the strongest canes and pruned away the spindly ones, I thought about how life is like growing roses. And perhaps the reason they’ve been so popular for so many years. I can grow a lot of spindly starts and shoots – and especially in the summertime when my routine is less defined. I have bits and pieces of writing, bits and pieces of ideas, bits and pieces of quotes from books. None of them will bloom if I don’t pare down and save what’s strongest – the spindly pieces lined with thorns will only get in the way.

Of course, roses have also been associated with a spiritual life for centuries: unparalleled beauty surrounded by thorns as if in order to earn the treasure, you must first be tested and found worthy. 

What makes a spiritual life “worthy” of the time it takes to prune away anger, discord, judgment, self-hate? Why spend a lifetime, a human lifetime that blooms and fades so quickly, struggling with such determined thorns?

The only answer I can give is my own: because I am more content.

In this in-between time, between the fullness of summer and the fading of autumn, take some time to prune away what you no longer need. Find the canes in you that are strong and feed your roses, whether literal or metaphorical, and allow your spirit to bloom.