Swathed in blinding green plastic tied down with twine in grommets to withstand the winds and rains of California winter, not much of either this year, probably due to global warming, the garden furniture is unwrapped, unveiled today. A glimpse of chair and table legs, their shadows falling across the concrete umbrella stand and flagstone. A view from down under(neath)! love, ama
And in my garden Spring blooms. Tiny violets, wild trillium, yellow and white sparaxis, the ornamental crabapple, quince bushes. Even the Japanese maples put out little red flower puffs, ferns unfurl their new fronds. Mornings I walk into that exhilarating display, the swelling buds, almost-open flowers, brilliant new leaves. love, ama
The dominoes were my mother’s. Precious objects, austere in their black-and-whiteness. Maybe 100 years old. My inheritance. The Chinese checkers from my daughters’ childhood. Maybe 50 years old. I admit it, I save almost everything! You never know when something will come in handy, right? love, ama
When my son announced the new blog theme--Game On--I assumed that this was a post that would require a light touch. I'd just been out shooting groovy urban landscapes and was all pumped about that and in no mood to stalk playgrounds and the like to capture pictures of toys or kids at play.
Last night, I was kind of guilting myself for having missed two check-ins (?) with the Spirit I channel--daily dialoging being a recommended part of spiritual practice. When I opened the file I discovered that the last entry had Spirit comparing life on earth to a game. Big coincidence, considering the new blog theme. Spirit's offering was triggered by a transatlantic telephone call my ex-husband made to our son a couple days ago. During that call, my son spoke to his father, then to his English Grandparents, as they are called (one's actually a Yank), and then to his father again. Then they hung up. It felt weird for my ex to call all the way from England and ring off without saying hi. After all, we've known one another 20 years. I didn't especially need to speak with my ex. Still, it felt strange.
I brought my confusion to Spirit--He of the big picture--and this is what He said:
Dear one, you are right where you want to be, where you need to be. It is no longer necessary for you to be cruising around, tracking down people to love and to have relationships with. You would only find yourself right back in the soup you toppled into before. You would still feel just as unsatisfied with those relationships as you were at first. Is this what you would again desire? Is this--the thing you already pursued and relinquished--what you would again want? This puzzle? This game? Do not return to the past and hope that something new will come of the games you once played that you believed would mend and satisfy. Do not return to the past. Keep moving, and you will return to your actual home in peace.
An hour on the parking meter. Hardly enough time for my escape. To lose myself among the blooming helleborus, the deer fern, the little four-inch thymus to plant between the flagstones. The festuca glauca, shining blue-green mini-grasses; the pink-white cherry blooms, the cyclamen, white, red, pink, their heart-shaped marbled leaves. I am an escapee to the bloom, the leafing-out of spring. I dare you to find me! love, ama
Today was my last day at my job. Sort of. My manager, who is always swamped, has been ditching me for weeks, trying to avoid saying good-bye. I walked the urban sweep at noon and shot photos till the charge ran out. The view above was taken from Snow Park, a small stretch of green directly across the street from work. The Winnebago turned up at the foot of the park. That's corporate headquarters in the background. The company is installed in five buildings in the area. I call the one I work in "The Palace". I got lost on my floor once. Left the elevator and thought I'd arrived in an alternate universe. A team mate took me back out into the lobby and showed me some landmarks to look out for so I wouldn't get stumped again. Gave me all his little tricks for staying on track. The tour worked. I never got lost again.
“Rule of thumb: A rough measure or guide. The part of the thumb from the knuckle to the end is approximately one inch and has often served as a measure when a more precise one was not at hand.” From The Dictionary of Cliches
Rules are made to be broken. Stick to the rules. Rule of thumb. Cliches are what we live by. Or not.