WAITING!!!

I. AM. SO. TIRED. OF. WAITING. How about you? It's funny how, even though we have spent several months holding our breath, the world continues in its rounds, undisturbed.

Today the wind is brisk, the sky is crystal blue. The air is tinted with cold. My sweatshirt is not warm enough. We waited for the end of the summer's heat and, whoops, it is really and truly gone. Today, a walk will feel bracing and even a bit exciting. Hold on to your hats and your children. This wind might steal them away.

The leaves parade down the center of the street, a colorful substitute for the parades that we had to cancel this season. Trees that held tight to their dying leaves so far will have to give them up. Get our your rakes. Leaf peeping and raking and jumping time is here.

Tomorrow is a biggie and although Election Day will come and go, the waiting won't end in 24 hours. No, we will have to "wait and see" if a transition will happen and how it will all turn out.

2020 turned into the Year of Waiting - waiting for a cure for COVUD-19, waiting for a return to sanity, waiting for people to learn to get along - while keeping their distance,  - waiting for peace, justice and "the American way" or what we hope the "American way" is. 

While we wait, let's take the time:

 to reach out to our loved ones, 

help a neighbor bring in her recycling bins, 

smile with our eyes since our mouths are hidden,

write an email to a friend,

thank the postal workers for struggling on,

take some food to the food bank,

give a warm coat to a shelter,

bake a loaf of bread,

have a cup of tea,

and give thanks that we have things in our lives worth waiting for.

 

Scraps and other blessings

 Think of all the things that are better than their components. 

Soups and stews are more than a bit of this and that. 

We prize quilts stitched from left over pieces.

Choirs sound lavish and deep when individual voices may be just a bit thin.

Last night, I made a new rule for myself. Before I can sleep I must write something that I made up. Journal notes on the day don't count.  Once I made that rule I wrote down the word "soup". Here is what followed.

Soup gathers together the scraps and the drippings

And warms them and stirs them and turns them to gold.

And soup made of gold can build up your spirit

And wrap you in sunshine to keep out the cold.

A life made of gathers of other one's leavings

Might seem like a poor life or one filled with tears

But a quilt made of tatters is warm in the winter.

A house patched with love can last many years.

So do not discard the riches life gives you

Just because those gifts do not match your desire.

Patch sadness with love and worry with laughter.

Add your small voice to the galactic choir.

                                                            Karen Maurer, 10/26/2020

Go well, friends. I have missed you.

Walking Under Trees; Summer time

The community center opened up again with limited admittance but I do not plan to return - not yet. Every morning, I get out before 9 am to take a 40 minute walk.

If you live on the East Coast, Eastern PA especially, then you know that 9 am is not early enough. I am so drenched by the time I get home that a shower feels redundant.

I have rediscovered the joy, the luxury, the calm and cool, of walking under trees. This morning I crossed streets three times to take advantage of the deeper shade on the other side. Maples give superior shade. Sycamores are shady, too, but their branches are so high up that sun slants through their leaves. (Never mind, sycamores. I love you for so many other reasons.)

When the temperature drops under a tree, I always think of the scene in "To Kill a Mockingbird" where Scout has to recount what she thinks happened when she and Jem were walking home from the school pageant. Scout had her ham costume on and could only see what was underneath her. But she knew she was under a tree because the ground was cooler there.

Would I know I was in the shade of a tree with my eyes closed? I think I might on these hot summer mornings. I won't try it because the trees with the best shade have the bumpiest sidewalks.

My route takes me into neighborhoods with the most trees and the oldest trees.  I keep moving. Still some shade is so deep that I want to sit with my back against the trunk and dream; or look up into the jungle above me, made of crossing branches and thick green leaves, and wonder.  Or, just breathe in shade-cooled air.

Today, I walked down the island in the center of the street. One side of the street had disappearing sidewalks and intermittent shade. The other side was largely shade-less. Sturdy trees marched down the center of the street and so did I. I know an invitation when I see one.

The trees do invite you to take advantage of their shade. If you are lucky enough to have a tree on your property, sit under it for a spell.

Walk under trees whenever you can. Walk there now for the shade. Walk there in the Fall for the color. In the Winter, look up at the lacy fingers against the sky. In the Spring, celebrate the many greens of fledgling leaves.

Walk. Linger. Breathe.

Sometime Selfies

What day is it? Did I miss the whole weekend? When our schedules are turned upside down, it is easy to lose track of the days.

Sunday came and went and no selfie from me. But, I have the same excuse we all have. So here is my Someday Selfie.

I have been staying up way too late. After midnight, one night last week, I heard a train whistle off in the distance.

It was a soft whistle a mile or so away. It was so soft that the only time I would ever hear those late night wails is on a night when I could not sleep.



We lived about 1/10th of a mile away from the train tracks as I was growing up. The trains ran more frequently back then but they rarely woke me up. Kids can sleep through anuthing once they get used to it.

When the train whistle did wake me up,  the cars creaked and crashed as they made their away around the gentle bend at the end of the park.

The train's horn sent me messages back then - and now. Sometimes the messages were forlorn, the way train whistles are often imagined. Other times, as I lay safe in my bed, the train sang out, "Love to you! Love to you!

Love to my mother who still lives in that house on the side of the hill.
Love to my brothers and sisters who heard their own messages when the whistle blew.
Love to my husband as he sleeps soundly through the train's soft wail.
Love to my son, my daughter-in-law and my granddaughter who live close to another segment of that same track.

Love to all those who are gone, or far away, or out of touch. Love to everyone sheltering in place, close but out of reach.

The train I heard the other night sang another song. It wailed "Soon!" "Soon!"

Soon, the engineer and the brakeman will get home to their famiies.

Soon, the train and all of its cars will rest in the train yard.

Soon, the packages, or cows, railings, or gravel, or people - soon, they will get to wherever they are headed.

Soon, a train load of good health will roll our way. We need to be patient. We need to be ready. Soon, friends and loved ones, we will hug each other again. Stay safe. Stay at home. Stay well.

Listen to the train...."Love to youuuuuuuu!"