After all the turmoil, difficulty, and sadness of the past couple weeks, it’s great to see some old friends. My family made the plan months ago to spend a few days with friends from college days. And their kids. Their very beautiful kids.
Time together drives home the facts of love in a whole and deep way.
When we share love, and keep sharing over a long time, that love grows and continues into the future in ways we can’t even anticipate.
It’s a great joy to watch another generation of children come to love one another. Even more exciting is the anticipation of how THAT love may grow. How great.
Long Live Love.
In the wake of a big birthday, and feeling embraced and loved, my thankful cup is overflowing. Indeed, I am so very thankful for so very many things. Today, I’m finding myself particularly thankful for wool… Wool from sheep that I know, raised so beautifully by my fellow farmwife, Robin, and her dear sidekick, Paul. And for the indigo plant which they grow on their farm and use to dye their very own wool with their very own (somewhat blue) hands. And for two luscious skeins that were deposited in my lap on said birthday. And for possibility and imagination… with yards and yards of wool, the possibilities are endless. I almost can’t take it. And I’m thankful yet again for wool… wool that was hand-spun by the friend of a dear friend, and given to my eager hands with a bar of Olive and Sinclair chocolate and a lovely and simple pattern (could it get any better?), leaving me thankful that I didn’t have to consider all of the possibilities of what to create, letting my imagination focus instead on that chocolate.
Yep. I’ve left my thirties behind. Over the weekend I crossed the threshold of my next decade… my forties. It was not a bleak nor depressing moment. I was not pining for bygone times. No siree. In fact, I didn’t feel that much different than the day before, when I was still a young pup in my thirties. The day was grand and filled with some of my most favorite things: knitting, reading, walking, surprises, swimming, good food, dear friends, and my sweet family. I couldn’t ask for more. In the morning of my big day, I was instructed to go for a walk with Livi. When I suggested that we walk to the flower patch to pick some bouquets, I was met with a little resistance from the other three family members. It seems that flowers had something to do with a greater “plan”. So Livi and I opted for a walk in the opposite direction to the creek (hear the sighs in the background… “ahhhh, that’s better”). After some time, a few Sun articles, and many inspected rocks found by my littlest babe, Ira and Opal came bounding to the creek to inform me that it was “time”. At the front door, I was met by Eric, who tied a silk scarf over my eyes, placed a piece of chocolate in my mouth, and led me to my surprise. It seems that antique armoires have recently sprouted in our flower patch. Fancy that. Just what I had been wanting for the bedroom! A lovely piece of furniture fully decorated with fresh flowers. Surprise!!! Somehow Eric had successfully executed a grand surprise for me without my slightest inkling that he had something up his sleeve. And it’s not easy to pull the wool over my eyes. I don’t miss much, particularly in the realm of the house. There’s a James Thurber cartoon of “woman and house” that Eric often refers to when explaining to others what it’s like to live with me: giant woman crouching behind and embracing a house with a tiny little man standing on the front sidewalk, looking timid. Pretty hysterical.In the afternoon, the creek was the destination. Somehow, my fellow farmwives and I pulled off a “business meeting” in the midst of all of the splashing, screaming, and commotion. That’s just our style. Pen and paper. Cold beer. Constant distractions. Unplugged and basking in the sun. Once again, I couldn’t ask for more. As the day wore on, and hunger intensified, we trickled back to the homestead for a feast. And with so much merriment, and surrounded by those dear to me, time stood still for a moment. Or, rather, time was forgotten and replaced by the joy of living. It really doesn’t matter how old or young we are, if we’re living we’d better be living…Hello, forty!