even when I was embarrassed that I let them get a bit oogy, and I thought they were destined to rot in the ground. Even when I was second guessing my meauring skills, whether I buried them too deeply, or too close together, whether squirrels would dig them up, or a blizzard would destroy them, even though we have never ever even had an inch of snow. Next year! I love to think of next year, or this Fall, actually, when I plan to plant twice as many. I want to fill this whole section with daffodils, and I want other varities, like the pale ones with orange cups, and the ones that are fragrant. Oh, just lots and lots. And more grape hyacinth, and what are those other classics... Crocuses! I hope I remember that this is worth the wait, worth the planning and small effort, and likely there is a bigger lesson in this, something about the value of acting on hope, applying effort and labor to intention. So, for the record, the Gardening Journal (that doesn't really exist, yet) I planted the bulbs on December 28, 2021. And that's when I should plant more, again, this year. I'll mark it on the calendar. Oh! What if we aren't in a pandemic, and people are hanging out, and all sorts of wonderful progressive things are happening, like peace and healthcare, and civil rights, and then I could have a birthday party and invite absolutely everyone, and we would fill the bed with bulbs, and I would send friends home with bulbs, and we'd eat tacos and roller skate in the driveway.
It's funny, I can't take my plans, even my fantasy plans, out of the driveway. Everything good, in the last two years has been in the driveway. I'm kidding, but not. I used to ignore the driveway. I used to think it was only a too large space that we were stuck with, practical, but oversized for its purpose, and wasteful. But since lockdowns and COVID and all of that, I adore our driveway, our wide, open, spacious and generous driveway! Our movie nights, and campfires, and stargazing, the picnics, and craft camps, even future events, have all revolved around the asphalt pad in front of our home. I may have a plaque made to commemorate the love and company we enjoyed here, the days and nights when this was a safe, welcome space for our loved ones to gather, and we endured, and we comforted one another. I even miss the nights when we fumbled through how to manage social distancing... to play games, or share food, or celebrate special occasions. Those gatherings are fewer and further between. Maybe, possibly, we can see real hope, a real chance to come out of The Stay At Home Season?
Paul and Janece reached out for a campfire gathering this week. And I was happy to move the chairs around, make some hot chocolate. We sipped chocolate and shared news, laughed, just our usual easy friendship pleasures. Our young ones are in their last semester of high school. And I can't believe how right I was when I declared that these years would fly by, and I would ask "Where did the time go?" Oh, my gosh, where did the time go?
In the midst of conversing, my attention was diverted, and I found myself admiring my pretty friend. I wanted to tell her, to interrupt the conversation and say how pretty Janece is. Instead I raised my phone to take a picture. She turned to face me. Later, I wrote about what I was thinking, to save the moment. I am glad I did. After the sun had set and we sat in flickering light and shadows, they shared news with us. Our friends are moving away, heading out for a new experience, for a chance to make life easier. Naturally, I have the best hopes and wishes for them, but not before I object, and protest, and wish that there was some other way. Ten years, I thought is a long time, but ten years is a flash, a snap in time, when it's spent with friends that you click with, with friends that in short time become more like family than people you met through blogging. Their calling is born of necessity, but they are embracing it, taking the adventure, and I hope to be a best kind of friend... one that supports them, and helps them move forward, and one that will always hold space for them, to stay connected, to share whatever new attachments we can make. Well, those are my noblest intentions, and aspirations, but I will always think this is one of the cruelest results of pandemic, of politics and economy and billionaire greed. I am disillusioned... no yachts, nor rockets, no tax evading corportate avarice, however shiny or glamorous will ever compare with families in safe homes, and children in good schools, with affordable healthcare for all people, and working a job should mean that you can thrive, not barely survive.
I meant for this to be all about flowers and found nests in the nasturtium, my pretty friend, and looking forward to plans, to spring and summer and fall, again. I want to be looking forward, but just now, all I can think is where did the time go?
Bird House Notes: Yesterday I made flour tortillas. And. Well. Flour tortillas are a taste of heaven, and we were delighting in them all day long. Good for lunch. Good for an after school snack. Good for dessert. And it may seem like an overstatement, a bit much for something as basic as a tortilla, but then again... if you have had one, soft, warm, a bit dusty from flour, straight from the comal, then you know, and you may be nodding your head, and thinking of comforting moments in your life, when the world felt good. I am so thankful to be imbued with food as an emotion, as sentiment and affection, as a narrative of my ancestors, healing, love, survival, connection, and to have the impulse to share it all.
March 11, 2022
How many years has it been since we, in California, voted to get rid of Daylight Savings? The measure passed. The people have spoken. I cannot fathom that we are *this* intelligent and creative and miraculous, but we go to war, and withhold healthcare, and change the hour on our clocks twice a year.
March 13, 2022