I sit outside.
I take deep, conscious breaths.
I listen for the sound of windchimes.
Simple little things. Though I had a lovely night with friends and a good laugh, the next day brought reminders and responsibilities. It’s coming up on a year since my mom’s death. It’s been three months since Shirley’s. My favorite cat is missing, presumably gone for good, although we’re going to flyer the neighborhood tomorrow.
It’s been a year of heavy losses. Yet, there is also good. It’s there…even when it’s slightly out of sight.
Simple. What can I do, simply, to be in the moment and have gratitude?
Oh, thank you, God, for gardens. And for the same dear friends earlier mentioned, who bestowed upon me a veritable farmer’s market of vegetables. On my kitchen counter sit squash, zucchini, green and yellow beans, cucumbers.
I have a meeting here on Tuesday. Overwhelmed by work and my own introspection, at first I thought to dodge feeding them by staging a potluck. But really, I have food to feed an army. I love to cook for people. What to do? What to do?
These days, I’ve taken to keeping an entertaining record, a curtsy to those housekeepers of yore who kept records of dates, guests, menus, preferences, successes. A spring party. Dinner for my uncle and his partner. Anne’s graduation barbeque. Armed with my trusty notebook, I write out my simple plan: an all-garden dinner.
~Pickled green & yellow beans.
~Zucchini casserole with eggs & mozzarella.
~Baked zucchini spears with parmesean.
~Cucumber & tomato salad.
I make a note:
~Ready-bake chocolate chip cookies. No one cares if anything with chocolate is homemade.
It feels useful, a careful consideration of bounty. Breathing in. Giving thanks for simple abundance.