A VERY GOOD DAY

  

Farmers' Market Bounty

I wish everyone who reads this would tell me about their good summer day.  This week my stats show readers in Brazil, Argentina, Vietnam, the US and Ecuador.   I have no idea what a summer day in Brazil is like.  My only experience is that my niece and her mom went to Rio for a Taylor Swift concert.  Two New Jersey residents of Chinese-American-Hawaiian heritage had the time of their lives. Now my niece begins her sophomore year at NC State.  She will be only 20 minutes down the road.  How wonderful life is.  She and my North Carolina granddaughter are besties.  

    Argentina I know because one of my good friends is from there; some years ago she decided that I would be her "auntie."  I've been loving that role.  It means, she says, that I am always glad to see her.  Well, how easy is that?  I love her.  Vietnam is another story.  I lived through the Vietnam war.  My daughter's best friend, a Vietnamese refugee, was Miss Teen South Carolina.  It's a small world.  

     So if you are reading this and are from the US, where most readers are, please tell us about your summer day.  If from somewhere else, please tell us too.  My day was both ordinary and extraordinary.  Ordinary because we went to the Farmer's Market and got beautiful tomatoes for gazpacho.  Then went swimming.  Extraordinary because how good everything felt.  I've been so worried about our country.  But I've also decided that the felon at it's helm will not ruin my year.  I will do what I can, contribute, march, recruit.  But my mind remains my own.  It is free to roam and enjoy all there that makes life good.  A summer promise to myself.  

    Sending everyone good wishes.  Nina Naomi  

 

 

IT'S SUMMER, LET'S FORAGE

 

Through the Glass

It's so hot. Every summer I want small ways to live well.  Don't you?  Mr. Wiggles is stretched out on the cool floor by my side.  Our 15-year-old Maltipoo has a collapsing trachea, and with the vet we are monitoring his quality of life.  I try not to think about it.  He has only virtues.  I am his favorite and someday I will miss his devotion. If you love a dog, you know. 

So, yes, in this heat and political climate, we need small ways to live well.  Can you think of some?  How about starting in the morning, rising when the air is still cool, letting the dog out and watering the garden?  Letting the water wash away all the anxieties that accumulate during the night.    

From our well, water spurts on my feet and arms, dripping from the hose, soaking the earth beneath the chips around the plants.  Purple salvia, marigolds, impatiens, shiny begonias, red geraniums and a yellow-tipped ground cover that grows wild among the mosses.  Periwinkle blue balloon flowers and lemon verbena. Lantana in pink and orange.  Blue hydrangea that waits for me.  A wilting riot that needs my daily help to stand upright.  Even my forsythia need water this summer, deep-rooted as they are.  My garden is a modest creation, nestled by the house to avoid the foraging deer.  We saw a mama and her fawn just steps from the patio yesterday.  My husband jerry-rigged chairs to act as scarecrows.

Creating something may be the best small way to live well.  I read an article, "Foraging for Life" by Amy Dufault in a lovely journal called Taproot.  She wrote, "I think that our making marks a place in our lives, that the things we make by hand are stepping-stones to some greater goodness inside us."  Making releases feel-good chemicals in our brains, like a brain vitamin. I can't make much, can't bake, and my knitting can be a frustration rather than a source of serotonin. But hands in the dirt, or at my craft table with scissors, glue and glitter; taking photos for this blog, journalling or here typing away--those are creative dopamine times for me.  

We use the word Practice for yoga and meditation.  We should use it for everything we do. Why not, "I have a cooking practice" or "I have a tennis practice?"  I definitely have a writing practice, one word, one do-over at-a-time.  And with the percentage of plants that I lose to drought, deer and squirrels, gardening too is a practice. 

This article says that "making becomes a foraging of the self as much as the production of something physical."  Don't you like that idea?  We find ourselves everywhere, over and over.  The self that lives this retirement life is not the working self I used to be.  I never found her collage-journaling. blogging or gardening.  Your married self is not your single self, your parenting self is not your child-free self, your older self is not your younger. 

All these selves deserve small ways to live well.  Dufault says that our selves call to us, sometimes in a whisper, sometimes louder.  And that every call is "another bout with identification, the self crossing from country to country."

We love summer.  Most of us don't even mind the heat that much. We cope. Pools and lakes and cold drinks, vacations, cold suppers, tank tops and bare feet, air-conditioning, indoor and outdoor games, hair piled up or shorn.  We look forward to this season all winter.  Let's find ourselves and forage for small things to make this a wonderful time.   

                                                      Nina Naomi

 

SUMMER TIME AND THE LIVING'S NOT EASY

 

The children are back to school where we live, masked and excited to return.  Tomorrow it's my turn to pick up.  Only a few more days of summer, but not a summer of yore.  I don't think many will look back on these last 10 weeks with nostalgia.  With the unvaccinated, the Delta variant, wildfires and floods, many of us feel grateful for the vaccine but tense nevertheless.  Nightly I feel sorrow for the Afghans on the tarmac and in hiding who need help that's not coming.  We haven't done our best.

Margaret Renkl, a Southern nature writer, quotes poet Mary Oliver: 

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

In a NYT essay Renkl reminds readers that in the midst of grieving what we have wrought, we should still appreciate the good there is. She names the bumblebees, goldfinches, red-tailed hawks, black-eyes Susans and mock strawberries--all fauna and flora that lie outside my North Carolina door.  

Remember the song from the musical "Porgy and Bess," Summer Time and the Livin' is Easy?  Ms Renkl says that for no creature on earth is the living easy.  I agree.  Not for the baby birds nesting in the wreath in my courtyard, not for the chipmunk under our deck who avoids the resident hawk in peril of his life, not for the unvaccinated who drive this pandemic, not for the rest of us. We have a dear South African friend, a widower, whose girlfriend has declined the vaccine; he now has break-through Covid. No, the livin' is not easy. 

The UN report on climate change (AR6 Climate Change 2021) sets our task clearly before us.  Our guilt is inescapable. 

But to ignore the good that we experience everyday is to trudge with head down, missing the stars.  We cannot move forward without minding the beauty that is.  You have to prize something to want to save it.  Our democracy, our diversity, our earthly home . . . .  "Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also."  Matthew 6:21

Perhaps I'm looking for a way out, permission to find occasions for joy even though others are suffering.  But perhaps that is healthy.  To find moments of joy even when we ourselves are suffering.  Only then can we work hard to preserve the good.  

 

 

SUMMER STILLNESS

Summer Blooming Local Crepe Myrtle

If there's any time of year that we might leave our worries and our schedules behind, it would be now--summer.  We rent a cabin, set up a tent, open the summer home or hang out in the back yard, sprinkler spinning.  Whatever our summer traditions are, whether from childhood when grandparents and cousins joined in, or newly born, this is when a memory or a yearning kicks in.  

When I was a child, as a school teacher my mother had the summers off.  She stayed outdoors, laundry drying on the line, reading and studying.  She packed me off to summer school classes for enrichment or to the local pool.  I went to Y camps, Vacation Bible Schools of all denominations, and to my grandparents'.  I read books lying on my bed.  We slept al fresco on our upstairs screened porch.  My brother and I rode our bikes everywhere, though not together, he with his friends, I with mine.  It may not sound like stillness, but in a way it was.  Worry-free is its own stillness. I know that now.  

When my children were toddlers we lived in a country parsonage in Illinois.  We had a backyard wading pool and swing set.  I put a hose at the top of the slide to cool the aluminum and the children slid or tummied-first into the pool where the dog waited for them.  Only the cat stood aloof.  I made Kool-Aid popsicles and we dribbled watermelon down our chins.  If you ran through the sprinkler right before bed you could skip your bath.

When my law practice was full-time summer meant swimming after work or over lunch, fewer meetings, an abbreviated court schedule and judges, lawyers and staff on vacation.  Law is a profession that measures workdays in tenths of an hour. It can be a job, like many, where time is brutal. But not in July and August. For eight weeks no one hurries. The  summer pace of law is a respite for everyone, including the clients. 

Now we spend time with grandchildren.  Today returning to her house with my granddaughter, we saw young parents hanging out across the street.  In-arms or belly-wiggling, a gaggle of babies squirmed and reached, blankets and all kinds of toys spread on the grass, moms and dads chatting but at the ready.  Hard work, I know, but what great neighborhood camaraderie!

If you haven't had the chance to take advantage of summer, there's still time. Slow down.  Leave the clutter, make no-cook meals with all those fresh veggies at the market or in your garden, grill some fish, kick off your shoes as soon as you get home.  Put no demands on anyone, especially yourself.  You know what works best.  

I almost feel nostalgia for last summer when we had so many friends for patio visits, separate chip-and-dip bowls and long conversations, albeit six feet apart. With everything outdoors we could let the inside go. To combat the stress, we were easy on ourselves.

I want to carry over some of that summer stillness to now.  To listen to it--the cicadas at night, the Cardinals at daybreak, your favorite warm-weather music. The sounds of children, of water splashing, of bare feet running in the house . . . .  To feel it--the heat and humidity, yes, but also the fresh breezes and cool rain.  Dewy mornings, sunny afternoons, shaded eyes, air-conditioned cars . . . . To touch it--dragonflies gently perched on your hand, combing wet hair.  What says summer to you?  Maybe the stillness is not so much external, but is in our hearts as we pause and appreciate the season. As my yoga teacher says while we settle, waiting her guidance, "Take a breath . . . ."                           

                                                       Nina Naomi

 

 

 

SUMMER COZY COMIN' UP

When I was a child our local movie theatre had a sign that read "It's Cold Inside," snow-capped letters in icicle-blue.  This was the draw--keep the kids entertained in icy comfort with a candy bar and a movie.  Frozen Zero bars were a favorite.  By the time I had children those signs were gone.  Now every building I enter is cold, freezing sometimes.  Workers keep jackets, sweaters and even blankets at the office during the summer.  People eat al fresco at restaurants partly to avoid the air conditioning.  Without even getting into the waste of energy, not everyone enjoys recirculating air, winter or summer.  Some of us open our windows whenever the temperature allows. We work outdoors if we can.  We're not adverse to the heat, a good sweat followed by a warm shower.  Not bad.  What's best about summer seems to be the feeling of freedom.  Cooler clothes, ocean swimming, fruity drinks, casual get-togethers, more flexible schedules, vacations . . . lots of loose ends we make the most of.  

But summer is also a good time for cozy, that feeling of being hugged, being wrapped in comfort.  bella GRACE (BELLAGRACEMAGAZINE.COM), a magazine I tout from time to time (theme:  "Life's a Beautiful Journey"), loves lists.  The editors invite people to submit them for publication, lists like "My Flaws Worth Loving and Embracing" or "Small but Significant Reasons to be Grateful."  Nice prompts meant, I think, to help us with our fears, our dreams and our inspiration.  Because I don't want to give up the coziness of winter as spring blooms into the North Carolina summer, I've made my own list for Summer Cozy.  See what you'd add. 

• Picnics on blankets are cozy.
• Cotton sweaters are cozy.
• Late night walks (and cotton sweaters) are cozy.
• Sweatshirts after a swim are cozy.
• Anything after a swim--beach towels, pullovers, blanket-flopping. . . .
• The hot summer sun on our skin is cozy.
• Hot dogs over a fire, steamed clams, jacket potatoes, roasted corn, whatever we cook outdoors is cozy.
• S'mores are cozy, anything chocolate is cozy. 
• Crowding around an outdoor table.
• Porch-sleeping.
• Sleeping-bags are cozy, alone or together.
• Lolling in bed on a morning off is cozy.
• Eating pancakes.
• Snuggling on the couch with your children, or grandchildren.
• My maltipoo fresh from his bath is cozy, dry from rug-wiggling.

Isn't it funny how free and cozy can meld into one mood, one happy atmosphere, one lucky day? I'm not wishing away the spring.  It's too lovely and we've waited for it for months.  Just taking a minute to think about what's coming and how much there will be to enjoy. 
 
 
 
 

LET YOURSELF GO

Summer just opens the door and lets you out. 

This is a quote by Deb Caletti (b. 1963), young adult author.  I like it.  But actually, it can apply to any season.  Spring certainly, the season of rebirth.  Fall, which is also new beginnings, crisp air, the school year, the end of a hodge-podge summer schedule.  Even Winter with the cleanliness of new fallen snow and the brightness of Christmas decorations.  I figure just about any time is a good time to take off, to soar.  I am thinking partly about the times when we can be who nobody thinks we are.  

When we're alone of course.  We can dance around the house, sing as loud as we want, turn the music up, clean like a dervish or let things go, cry if we need to or practice scream therapy, sleep with the covers over our head or stay up all night. . . .   But also when we're on vacation, whatever time of year.  We won't run into our high school teacher at the super market, or an old friend (or enemy) grabbing coffee.  On vacation, especially if alone, we can wear hats, red lipstick, chat with strangers, do something outrageous, create a persona.  If a friend wants to do this with us, all the better.  

It's fun to be someone different.  I rented my husband and me a place in the mountains, just for a couple of nights.  At home we are straight-laced grandparents.   On a mini-break we added spa treatments, late-night oysters, mountain views, hair-pin curves.  Oh my goodness.  Just 3 hours from home but so good to be someone else. 

You parents and grandparents, family members, care-taking children, teachers, accountants, lawyers, bosses, have you done this?  Gotten away for a night?  Gotten to be whomever you want?  Students can do this when they go away to college.  A chance to change who they were in high school.  We can do it in a new job or new city.  A do-over.  It's downright liberating.  

I don't mean a break from our values.  Or what we believe in or who we trust or who we would lay down our life for.   Just a chance to lighten the load, to let ourselves go.  To be someone else for awhile or forever.  Do you have a weekend alone or away?  Can you plan something? Why not open the door and let yourself out?  I'm looking for a time right now.