A Visit

We had a wonderful visit with long time friends last night.  They emailed a while ago they would be in the area and could we get together for dinner.  Of course, we invited them here for a cozy evening, an evening with candles and flowers, long on reminiscences and stories of grandkids and travels.    
I so remember backpacking in the Sierras with them when we were young and in grad school, hiking vigorously to the top of rocky peaks in thunder storms.  I remember driving all night from Pasadena to Havasu Canyon in N. Arizona, then hiking many hot miles into the Canyon to see chalky blue travertine pools at Havasu Falls. There was a Luna moth on a wooden fence and a conversation about the joy of eating all the chocolate one wanted when we were hiking.  We graduated, all of us, married, went on our separate ways, keeping in touch with Christmas letters and occasional visits.  We lived our somewhat parallel lives with success and no tragedy and now enjoy the pleasures of a rich retirement.  Somewhere in our conversation Lew said "This could be it,  you know."  I took that to mean, maybe it's our last visit, we might not see each other again.  At our age there are no guarantees.  Each day, I think, must be seen as a gift.  Is it that very thought that makes the days so sweet?  I keep thinking about his comment and the essential transitory nature of our very lives.  

Wickson Apples

Sometimes something is just so perfect, it's hard to describe.  That's how the Wickson apples, grafted on to Arne's apple tree, are.  The horticulturist heartily recommended this variety when he grafted 4 different kinds of apples on to the tree last year.  "They are small but intense in flavor," I remember him saying.  He didn't say they were perfect, but I think they are.  They clustered together on the branch, almost like grapes.  Each one a perfect miniature of an apple.  They are bite-sized and intense in flavor, like they were promised to be.  Each one is more beautiful than the next.  And you can't buy them anywhere.  What an autumn delight!  To have a bowl full of them makes me feel rich and blessed.

Vulnerability

Hillary Clinton has pneumonia and the reaction of the media and Donald Trump hits me hard.  The reactions to her illness show up what our culture expects of a woman.  They say her not telling about her diagnosis last Friday is a confirmation of her bad character and secretive nature.  All sorts of people are attacking her.  But I understand.  In my life experience, women were seen as weak, less than and prevented from doing many things.  We had to be better, stronger, smarter and never ever show vulnerability or weakness.  Every woman knows this and understands it one way or another.  I cannot count the number of times I went to school to teach very sick or cooked dinner for the family when I was too sick to even eat.  I was always rewarded for being such a strong woman.  Weakness was bad thing, something one didn't want to have or ever show if one happened to be weak.  Women are judged and taken advantage of when vulnerable.  Of course HIllary didn't stop her campaigning.  Of course Hillary didn't let it out she had pneumonia.  She is a strong woman.  Our culture say vulnerability is not what we want to see in a President, especially not a female candidate for President.  Just listen to the media and press attacking her and don't pay any attention.  Maybe it's time we revisit our cultural understanding of human limits of work and readjust our expectations of what it means to be human, even if you're running for President.

The Harvest

The grandkids came over on Labor Day to pick all the apples from the tree.  It's becoming a yearly tradition.  It was fun to see Elsa's head poking up among the green leaves at the very top of the tree.  Her method was to shake the tree, producing a shower of ripe apples that bounced and rolled on the wooden deck.  "No, no, it bruises them when they bounce." the adults cried out.  "Pick them one at a time."  She shrugged and complied, passing down apple after apple.  Liam climbed up the tree too, excited to tell us he got up all by himself for the first time.  There were fewer apples this year but each one was much bigger because of earlier culling.  Nevertheless, I was amazed and more than a little overcome to see how many apples come off one tree.  Now I am busy sorting the apples, sharing them and making pot after pot of applesauce from the bruised ones.

In the natural world, each autumn the harvest follows spring planting and summer months of growing and tending.  The harvest surprises me with its abundance.  In my life, it is the same.  Seasonally, harvests used to come along at the end of each school year.  In June, it was a joy for me to see how much the students learned and grew as I let them go on to new things.  In church, the liturgical seasons flowed one to the other, but it was baptisms, weddings and funerals that marked the seasons of life.  Now as I look back over the years of my life, I see the mature fruit of seeds planted long ago.  The harvest is rich.  With the little bit of wisdom, I've accumulated, I recognize how important it is to cull the weeds of negativity, worry, fear and despair, and nurture tenderly the positive seeds of love, gratitude and joy.  Each morning, I remember that even now seeds are being planted.  What the harvest will be depends on what is planted and carefully tended each day.

Liam

Liam told his parents he wanted to come to Gramma and Grandpa's house to play with the Legos and pick apples one day.  He's 3 1/2 and has always known what he wants.  We were excited and flattered, of course and eager to have him come.  When we met him yesterday morning, he was radiant.  His face lit up with a big smile when he saw Grandpa and he rushed over to give him a hug and a big screw he brought him for a present.  He excitedly told us that this was a "special day."  He chatted non-stop all the way to our house, pointing out construction trucks and cars he liked.  The first thing he did when he got here was find the giant tub of Lego we have (from the days our children played with it) and get to business.  In time, he went outside and with Grandpa's help he climbed the apple tree for the very first time to pick some apples.  Then we went in to make lunch.  I asked him what he wanted for lunch.  "Mac and Cheese," he answered, "but only if it's the kind I like."  Gramma had erred previously making a special Mac and Cheese with cheese.  Liam only likes the cheap box kind, with no cheese.  He helped make it for lunch and then ate two big bowls of it and pear apples from the garden.  He went back to play with Lego while Gramma peeled and chopped the apples for an apple cake.  When I called him, he came up and expertly poured the ingredients into the bowl and proudly stirred the batter.  While the cake was baking, I read him stories, thinking he'd soon fall asleep.  Grandpa did, but nine stories later, Liam hadn't closed his eyes.  So after trying the apple cake, we went out to inspect the garden and  pound nails on the deck.  Then we decided to go on a train ride.  So we all headed for the Steam Train nearby in Tilden Park.  He loved it and with wide eyes was full of enthusiastic comments,  but on the second ride, he suddenly ran out of steam.  It was a very special day for us to have him here wanting to be with us.  It is a day we'll both long remember spent making precious memories with our grandson.  We are indeed very blessed.