ButterPecan of Bliss
May. 28th, 2018 09:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ismoHolidays are not my friend. They make me feel lonely, and remind me that I miss people. Once there were parties in the back yard, gatherings with the relatives, trips to the lake with children and friends. What does a holiday mean, when you're retired so work is not an issue, and the people you love are either far away or dead? I don't mean that as a complaint, exactly. A holiday should have meaning, and I should be able to create meaning for any day, whether it's designated as special or not. But sometimes I don't know how to do that. When summer days begin, I miss my father, because the warm weather and the surge of life in everything green brings back so many memories of things he used to love. I miss all the old folks--and the young'uns too.
Last night I dreamed I was struggling to pack up a lot of things, some of which turned out not to be mine. I had called a taxi already and was running out of time. I sometimes wake up with a complete sentence or two ringing in my ears. This morning I woke up hearing this: "Good luck figuring out the meaning of MY life!" It was a very loud and sarcastic voice, and it was mine. I wonder who I was talking to!
It was 95 degrees today, as if midsummer were already here, instead of the very beginning of the season. I went out in the morning to weed my back flowerbed while it was still in the shade. I pulled out an amazing heap of biomass. I wanted to free my lilies and day lilies from weeds. There are also some self-seeded wild columbines in there. I love their pale pinkish, fragile flowers. They are modest and not ferociously invasive like the other weeds so they have to be protected too. I took some water with me and sat in the shade to take a break a couple of times. The Sparrowhawk went out with me for a time, but then went off to the cemetery to see if he could find his grandparents and his aunt and uncle. There were veterans decorating the graves, and a tent with a guide who had maps, so he got some help. He came back to say he'd found them, and then went back again to clear off his grandmother's grave, which was partially obscured by dirt and grass. I brought in a bouquet of white and purple phlox and laburnum flowers. It was the kind of bunch that my father would pick in his yard and bring in to decorate the table. But his bouquets had a lot more flowers in them because he was a more dedicated gardener than I have been. I suppose it didn't hurt that he'd been gardening the same spot for 50 years! I've been handicapped by having to start over every little while.
The Sparrowhawk grilled us some hamburgers. He has been reading The Tolkien Professor and wants to rewatch all the LotR movies, so we watched part of The Fellowship of the Ring after dinner. Very emotional. Now we're watching part of the "1968" series on CNN. Unlike the War of the Ring, we were actually there for 1968. Like the War of the Ring, it's a tale of catastrophe and tragedy. Fifty years later, the result still hangs in the balance. The world is changed. I feel it in the water. I feel it in the earth. I smell it in the air. Yes, we changed . . . but did we change enough? Did we change for the better? It remains to be seen.
Last night I dreamed I was struggling to pack up a lot of things, some of which turned out not to be mine. I had called a taxi already and was running out of time. I sometimes wake up with a complete sentence or two ringing in my ears. This morning I woke up hearing this: "Good luck figuring out the meaning of MY life!" It was a very loud and sarcastic voice, and it was mine. I wonder who I was talking to!
It was 95 degrees today, as if midsummer were already here, instead of the very beginning of the season. I went out in the morning to weed my back flowerbed while it was still in the shade. I pulled out an amazing heap of biomass. I wanted to free my lilies and day lilies from weeds. There are also some self-seeded wild columbines in there. I love their pale pinkish, fragile flowers. They are modest and not ferociously invasive like the other weeds so they have to be protected too. I took some water with me and sat in the shade to take a break a couple of times. The Sparrowhawk went out with me for a time, but then went off to the cemetery to see if he could find his grandparents and his aunt and uncle. There were veterans decorating the graves, and a tent with a guide who had maps, so he got some help. He came back to say he'd found them, and then went back again to clear off his grandmother's grave, which was partially obscured by dirt and grass. I brought in a bouquet of white and purple phlox and laburnum flowers. It was the kind of bunch that my father would pick in his yard and bring in to decorate the table. But his bouquets had a lot more flowers in them because he was a more dedicated gardener than I have been. I suppose it didn't hurt that he'd been gardening the same spot for 50 years! I've been handicapped by having to start over every little while.
The Sparrowhawk grilled us some hamburgers. He has been reading The Tolkien Professor and wants to rewatch all the LotR movies, so we watched part of The Fellowship of the Ring after dinner. Very emotional. Now we're watching part of the "1968" series on CNN. Unlike the War of the Ring, we were actually there for 1968. Like the War of the Ring, it's a tale of catastrophe and tragedy. Fifty years later, the result still hangs in the balance. The world is changed. I feel it in the water. I feel it in the earth. I smell it in the air. Yes, we changed . . . but did we change enough? Did we change for the better? It remains to be seen.
some of us were so hopeful
Date: 2018-05-29 04:58 am (UTC)i feel you.
congratulations on growing enough flowers for a bouquet. and for having so many rich memories of spending time with people you love/d.