WE CAN ONLY

 

We can only write what we see, see what we write.

Today bountiful waking to trees out my windows early daylight,

Husband's arm about my side,

Rise for Kenya tea, strong and black.

Our hall lined with windows, courtyard telling season's story:

 

Lashings of rain?  Rainbow blooms or withered leaves?

Frost on the meadow or dustings of snow? 

 

Every day too much scrolling, 

Too much news; ideas not mine, no matter how creative.

In early September swimming ends the day. 

 

Sit by the pool . . . but oh, the mint needs a drink,

Oregano too, the pot plants, impatiens and begonia, salvia red and white. 

Not creeping rosemary lavender flowers fine with the heat; 

The yucca, lantana red and orange all happy.

My life has been long, why is that on my mind? 

Because, I see fullness, bounty, beauty.

Mint in my lemonade, oregano in my pasta, 

Rosemary on my potatoes, 

Root the begonia, gather wood for Fall

Savor, always savor as only age can do.

If you have age you know that too.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WHEN DO YOU FEEL LIKE YOUR FAVORITE SELF?

I made it to the beach this afternoon and it's lovely.  When is it not?  If not in harm's way, even wild and thrashing is lovely.  But today at 5 o'clock the sea oats sway softly as far up and down the shore as I can see.  A yellow flag and families dotted about the sand, waves overlapping the shoreline.  A calm day.  I can swim in this, I'm thinking.  Horizon bright and sharp, a deep blue ocean against a Carolina blue sky, few clouds.  We have two more hours of daylight but already the sun is at my back.

Our shoreline runs east to west and faces south.  When rockets launch at Cape Canaveral (three with September target dates) we see them overhead.  Our sand is soft and oatmeal, not rocky, just shells and sand.  You can burrow your feet.  Children lie down and pour buckets over one another until only their heads and feet show.  Then they hop out, sand flying.  

The nights are cooler now but still in the 70s. No more stinging bare feet as we trudge between the dunes toward home.  The coast is rich and wide, full of life, no re-nourishment needed.  I am so happy to be here after months away.  No threat of a hurricane yet this season, although those will come.  

I know some folk aren't attracted to the sea.  They prefer mountains or desert, lakes or deep woods, cities and nightlife, small towns and farmland, or at least like them best.  Wonderful places for sure. There's probably nothing I can't enjoy on the right day and in the right mood; nothing at all.  

I encountered the question, "When do you feel like your favorite self?" somewhere and the answer came so quickly I knew it was AT THE BEACH.  Not where I live full-time.  Not central North Carolina Piedmont, halfway between the Atlantic and the Blue Ridge Mountains. But where I ride my bike, gaze at the ocean, look from the kitchen while making supper and watch the waves, hear them even with the windows closed, look at a dark sky rich with stars, find the moon over the top floor deck every night, watch the sun rise and set, eat scallops and clams, sit overlooking the sea and read . . . .

 Maybe you feel like your favorite self at home.  How good is that?  In your own small or large space.  Curtains and do-dads, history, cozy bed and comfy couch, dog and children and books and life.  Maybe that's where you are all the things you want to be.  Perhaps I used to feel like that too, earlier in life and not having this place at the beach.  I think in my 20s my favorite self was sitting in the rocker with both babies on my lap after their baths, their bodies smelling sweetly and wrapped in towels.  I remember that clearly, the fragrance and softness.  I was my favorite self then.  In contrast to harried mornings, finding a sitter, rushing to class.  Yes, my peaceful loving and blessed favorite self.  I have more recent thoughts of watching all three grandchildren play in our small pool, hooting and toppling each other and me feeling very blessed indeed.  When working full time my favorite self was at the end of a long case when my client's problem was made better.  But overall, nine out of ten times these days, my favorite self lives here, at the beach with my husband. A lucky woman long-married. 

After all, favorite self is a feeling, isn't it?  Athletes might find their favorite selves somewhere in the endeavor.  On a mountain top, at the end of a game, during a run or handling Class 3 rapids.  Dunking the ball, making a goal or thwarting one.  Where skill shines and endorphins soar.  That's why bike riding is part of my favorite self; it can feel like racing, with the wind in your face, peddling hard and watching the neighborhood go by.  Same with riding the waves, which my back won't let me do anymore.    

When I write about being at the beach I feel like it is a humble brag.  Maybe because I am a native mid-westerner and as a child beach meant travel and money. Not so for North Carolinians. There's camping and vacation rentals. . . . and no plane necessary.  Many people all over the world live near water.  But to me, having a beach house is a luxury, even a house that is a cottage and not a starter-castle-cum-rental house.  One where I climb the stairs three flights to the upside-down living/kitchen area.  Where the decking could use repair and new windows (and maybe even an elevator) would be an improvement.  But one that everyone in the family seems to enjoy.  The shed is filled with sand toys and boogie boards that we didn't buy.  When we come down, some nephew or son-in-law has installed a new smoke detector or water filter, replaced the rafts or left a new blender.  The towels are folded and my husband's elaborate "exit procedure" has been followed.  I hope that some of the family sometime find their favorite self here. 

When we read something, even a great novel, I think that what we want is to move from the specific to the universal.  How does this personal story of someone else fit me?  So this simple question is now for you.  When/where do you feel like your favorite self?  The answering I guarantee will bring back your  memories, your thoughts about where you are and what you are doing when you like yourself best.  I know that I picked somewhat common things.  I did not say my favorite self is when making the world a better place, an ambition I'm not sure I can handle.  But our times of life are different.  Where are you now in your life?  It's a good question.  And when do you feel like your favorite self?  

Sending you the best, Nina Naomi 

 

 

 

 

 

OUT MY WINDOW

Old World Swallowtail 

There's a butterfly on my lantana, yellow and black

On tiptoe angling this way and that

 A little pollen brushing her hair-thin legs.

Proboscis probing for sweet nectar

Drinking through her own straw, savoring her liquid diet.

A quick flutter to another bloom, another landing pad

Of lantana clusters, so brightly attractive. 

On her hind wings blue spots barely there.

Twisting and turning

 Gathering every drop of the divine drink of the Gods.

Lonely my geraniums sit, velvet red but nectar-poor, ornamental only.

But lantana, it has work to do feeding the lovely lepidoptera

Out my window where I write. 

  

Black Swallowtail

IMPERFECT YEAR, IMPERFECT PHOTOS

Do you love snapping photos?  These are from the past ten months or so--imperfect photos snapped by their imperfect photographer.  Imperfection is part of our precious, challenging, heartfelt lives (see Post, January 14, 2024), isn't it?   

 

The first picture is of a mild dusting in January with deer just waking on the slope behind our patio, heads turned toward me, instantly alert.  The bit of sky above is sunless.  More snow came later.  Oh what a better photographer (with a better camera) would have done with this scene!

 

This has been a year when we look to our own lives, our own homes, travels, friends and family for respite.  A year when we fight harder for our democracy. Luckily, for many of us, the pleasures of home are abundant.  

 

This photo is of an approaching spring storm at the North Carolina shore.  I was walking on the sand at the time and turned back toward the path I would have to navigate to safety.  I can't remember if I made it home without getting soaked.  These fearsome clouds come often at the beach and catch us unawares.  A tumbling darkness. Better to watch from indoors. What if lightening flashes?

Earlier, just before the January snowfall, we hosted a holiday supper and I got out my Spode Christmas china which you see below.  I come from a family of women who love ceramics.  I have inherited my grandmother's 7-piece place setting for twelve of formal china. Casseroles with lids, sugar and creamer, large and small platters, gravy boat, fruit and soup bowls, butter and desert plates, cups and saucers . . . .  More than I have ever needed, but love having nevertheless. 

Someday it will end up at a consignment shop, I am sure.  Probably no grandchild or niece will want it.  What do we do with all these wonderful old things that we have inherited?  Not worth much, actually, these days, but family memories, heirlooms.  I may be their last custodian.  Is that true for you of anything? Do you have a quilt, men's pocket watch, or old work bench or desk?  Something your grandfather used every day? 

I also have china from the St. Louis 1904 World's Fair which my Grandmother visited as a small child, Bavarian vases and tchotchkes.  Maybe cost her mother pennies, but precious to me. But the Spode Christmas pattern you see below, I collected myself.  Replacements Ltd is just down the road here in North Carolina.  My husband gave me a whole Christmas tea set one year and that began my collection.  So here it is, set out for a party. There's some of my great-grandmother's cut glass in there too.  Some I've already passed on to my daughter.

From the bare trees in the next photo you can tell that the shot below is of a winter sunset from our meadow looking back to the woods.  A February evening. The colors kept spilling, red to blue to purple to pink. Shouldn't we seek out the daily sunsets more often? Or sunrises? Everyday the sky is a gift, right out our window and door.  Free to all.  I can get lost scrolling sunset pictures; or zinnias; or hummingbirds.  Instead, I need to promise myself to go out every night to see the sun fall and the moon rise. When Mr. Wiggles was alive, this was so much easier as he needed his last walk before bed.  (Another reason to have a dog!)  It takes but a minute to salute the end of the day with a bow to the moon or stars.  

Another December photo below is from the past year.  We often attend Duke University Chapel for services.  It is a Gothic masterpiece, with a majestic Flenthrop organ and a magnificent choir.  Visit if you can.  On this day the poinsettias were arrayed for the season.  On Christmas eve when the students are gone, a community choir leads the congregation in Nine Lessons and Carols.  One year my father and I joined the singers, when he still had his high tenor voice and I my first soprano.   

This too, below, is a favorite photo: a soft Alpaca blanket my sister-in-law and brother gave me for Christmas.  The pillow cover we picked up in Santa Fe, New Mexico. No souvenir travels better.  So I made a cozy spot.  How many such do you have in your home?  We don't have a rocking chair, but that would be comfy too.  

You can tell that with the heat of August, somehow I am thinking about winter! And storms.  Probably because we hit over 90F again today.  My plants needed water, in ground and in pots and I gave all a thorough soaking.  I hope the heat will bring rain tonight.  In a month or two I can get out my blankets, light a fire indoors or out, and rely on the crock pot for supper.  

But until then, thank you for looking at these photos and thinking with me about your year too.  

With gratitude, Nina Naomi 

 

MIDSUMMER BLESSINGS

 

Midsummer On the Patio

Again, Family this weekend.  What a blessing.  nephew and wife and three nieces, granddaughter and us.  Also daughter-in-law.  A full house.  Tomorrow a grandson arrives, probably just for the day.  And today is my free day, also welcome. I didn't have to make the drive down I-95 or I-40 to see any of these loved ones. Just plan some meals and go with the flow. How did I get so lucky? 

I think it is because we live in an old mid-century house large enough to host; that's surely part of it.  Also North Carolina Beaches have their attraction for New Jerseyans.  I got to do crafts with almost-nine-year-old Lily all day yesterday.  We used shoe boxes and made bedrooms.  

One of our New Jersey nephews whom we seldom get to see, has Tourette's Syndrome, like our son Adam, who died from cancer at age 33 many years ago. This boy spent Saturday with his grandma Mimi and Grandpa Da cooking peach specialties and hitting golf balls.  Just what a boy with Tourette's needs--one-on-one time with a grandma and Grandpa who are unfazed by his tics.  Adam spent many a day with my husband's mother when he didn't want to go to school.  Tics are exhausting and controlling them even more so.  I used to walk with my arm tucked around Adam's neck to support his head, which was painfully jerking, a hard memory . . . . I wish we got to see this boy more. 

Was your midsummer weekend OK, or good, or difficult? Classes start for our college kids this Monday.  In North Carolina college students have to take a sport.  Our niece took walking last year! Our granddaughter is taking racket sports, starts tomorrow.  Our son, all those years ago, at 6'4" took gymnastics! Our church sponsors a ministry of listening presence.  Last week my care-receiver said that she likes her life just the way it is.  Since she is mostly bed-ridden in a nursing home, her comment might have surprised me. But she is a person cradled in the peace of God that passes all understanding.  Maybe I am too.  Maybe there is no way else to account for so many good days for a mother who lost a son to cancer.  Maybe our nephew will be such a person, cradled in the peace of God, growing up with his tics in a way that gives him empathy for others and compassion for himself.  

Spending time with family who all love each other despite setbacks, some almost unimaginable, does this--makes one thoughtful and grateful.  And a grandson tomorrow, who will soon return to St. Andrews, Scotland for his last year at University.  These are my midsummer blessings.  I hope with all my heart that you have yours.    In peace, Nina Naomi  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ARE YOU OLDER LIKE ME?

 

Collaging

Collaging

I retired in 2014.  From a 30+ year litigation practice that involved depositions, motions, hearings, trials and travel.  My concentration was plaintiff's medical malpractice:  representing people injured through no fault of their own by the medical care they trusted to help them.  I won my cases;  or more accurately, my clients won their cases and I helped them.  Each patient was catastrophically injured by a hospital or doctor that failed to follow acceptable standards of care.  Most of my clients were children.  I worried endlessly that I might not win for them; l might lose their only chance of recovering enough money to care for them for life.  Thank you Lord that did not happen.  It might sound strange to thank the Lord, but I did pray about every case.  I would sit on my office floor with exhibits spread about and pray.  I didn't want to go to court alone.  

Somehow most of the cases settled before a jury verdict.  The insurance company defending indefensible care decided that their risk was high enough to offer us the money we needed to structure a settlement that provided lifetime care.  I never had a dissatisfied client.  (I do know that that sounds like a humble brag.) We always remembered that this was a child's money we were risking, not our own.  It was a heavy burden for any parent.  

So when the time came, I retired.  Every case took at least three years, and I simply stopped taking cases.  When the last one ended, I was through.  

We have a relative whose brother-in-law died of a massive coronary on the day his retirement party was scheduled.  He wanted a healthy retirement but did not get it.  He was younger than I was when I retired.  Younger than my husband when he retired.  My husband is an academic and keeps writing.  He has stopped anything public.  I do nothing law related.  How about you, if you are retired? Are you doing the things you didn't have time for when working full-time?  I am.  

I began this blog in 2017, 3 years after retirement.  I began a prayer journal the same year after a traumatic event.  I just noticed that I began my collage journalling in 2019 and now have 6 huge notebooks filled with my collages.  They are journals in that they track my life; like diaries, they mean the most to me and no one else.  But they bring me great pleasure; a flow state, if you will. My craft table is filled with material for the journals. What else?  Now I have time to swim every day; our pool is heated, although right now in North Carolina the temperatures are in the 90s and no heating is needed.  We can go to the beach when we want.  We can have family visit, here and at the beach.  A ton are coming in just a few hours for the weekend.  We could travel, but it seems we want to do that less than we expected.  

The first benefit of not working is emotional freedom, as other retirees know.  We still have family-related stresses, and personal health concerns.  All those over 60 do, it seems.  A close friend fell recently.  Some other close friends have died, almost always from cancer. We are less needed than before; irrelevance is something to face.  But there are upsides.  I can focus on God more.  Spiritual concerns become more front and center. When I was working full time I could never have joined a book club or knitting group. Or taken a pottery class, or yoga on Wednesdays. One couple and we have our own supper club; we eat out together.  We have three or four couples we see regularly.  A friend and I have found a vegan restaurant called Pure Soul for lunches. I have time to write devotions for our church, which started during the pandemic (Somehow I want to capitalize that:  Pandemic.).

So many people are doing more than I am.  In fact, before I began this post I was thinking about whether all this introspection was worthwhile at all.  Whether I should be helping refugees or providing free legal services, and so on. But then I look up at a pottery hanging I did:  "NOTHING IS MISSING.  YOU ARE ALREADY WHOLE." 

Thank you.  I like this.  I think I will believe it.  You too.  Time to believe this.  Whether retired, employed or unemployed (hard), go ahead and believe this. 

In peace from Nina Naomi.   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"I WAS A STRANGER, AND YOU DEPORTED ME"

CHARLES BRIDGE, PRAGUE       On Sunday in our Intercessory Prayers we bowed our heads and remembered the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki; we asked the Lord to "keep us mindful of the horrors of war." We did not ask without reason.  While in our pews we may have recalled parents or grandparents who fought in WWII, more probably we were thinking of current horrors: the US war in Iran, the Israeli war in Gaza, and Putin's war in Ukraine.  Or maybe not; the nightly news has stopped showing us "horrors."  Instead, rising gas prices are featured. How many killed in Tehran or Kyiv or Gaza are not lead stories.       Before the Intercessory Prayers, we read from Psalm 145, "You watch over all those who love you, but all the wicked you shall destroy."  It is hard to come to church, read the Psalms or Gospel, sing the hymns or take communion without contemplating the situation in our beloved country.  It is simply not possible for a practicing Christian to "see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil," hands over eyes, ears, and mouth.  Nor do we think that our God wants our heads in the sand.  That would not be the way to follow Christ.  We can state this, I hope, from a position of humility.         Then on Sunday afternoon I read a post (in Substack) by Rev. Benjamin Cremer called Opposing Performative Christianity.  It seemed of a piece with our monthly Sunday School class where we have been discussing Christian Nationalism, among other topics. Historically, the idea may have originated in the theory of the Divine Right of Kings; if a King ruled by God's will, then resisting the monarch could be portrayed as resisting God. In Matthew 15:8-9 Jesus says, "These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me.  They worship me in vain; their teachings are merely human rules."  Since Christ's church carries centuries of moral authority, who, seeking power, would not want to align with it?  Even if only performatively, i.e. the easy way, without sacrifice for and obedience to the Word?       Rev. Cremer ends his post with, "May it begin with us."  This reminded me of Rev. Wendy Waugh's endings to her devotions, "Let us be as good as God to others."  In a recent devotion she asked, what is Good News to the poor? It may be a grocery opening in a food desert, she said, or getting a job or finding affordable housing.   Rev. Cremer preached it this way: "I was hungry" and you cut SNAP. "I was thirsty" and you cut funding to ensure clean water. "I was sick" and you cut Medicaid. "I was a stranger" and you deported me. And then the clincher:  "Whatever you do unto the least of these, you do unto me."           Finally, let me cite a few lines written by Wendall Berry (b.1934) in 2004: You mustn't wish for another life.  You mustn't want to be somebody else.  What you must do is this:  "Rejoice evermore.  Pray without ceasing.  In everything, give thanks."  I am not all the way capable of so much, but those are the right instructions Yes, those are the right instructions.  We know the right instructions.  We know the horrors of war cannot be ignored or minimized and that "wars of choice"-- well, yes--such wars may be chosen by those whose "hearts are far from" the Lord.  We know what we must do unto the least of these and that all religions must promote national policies that are moral.  And while we are doing what we must, we rejoice that we are able, we pray for guidance and we in everything give thanks.         We are not all the way capable of so much, but we are capable.  So, every week, let it begin with us.  AMEN   ​​