Beyond the green grass…

Score…an old antique door set upon two trestles, with cherry red Windsor back chairs. All for $60, and where did I find it… since I know inquiring minds might want to know? Facebook marketplace.

The long prairie grass creates an excellent natural privacy fence, and beyond is the green grass. It happens to be on this side of the fence.

The expanse of green, and sky and mountains beyond draws me to the table . It’s where we share, we gather, it’s the gathering place.

The scent of freshly cut grass in the summertime, seeps into my senses, and calms the rage and crazy that sits next in me, and anxiety that so often fills the space inside where I live.

Dead heading my red geraniums always reminds me of my Mum and Nanny Denzin. They taught me how to encourage new growth by gently breaking off the bloom where it connects to the vine. When I run my fingers together it takes me right back to their gardens, and the memories flood in, and a smile turns up the corners of my mouth. Geranium is supposed to be calming.. ok baby.. kick in.

I sit in my white rocker gently swaying back and forth, a slight squeak, and listen to the neighbor kids playing “fort” next door.

The one young lad says to his friend,

” everybody cries..my brother still cries, and he is nearly 12.”

Wise acknowledgment.

It’s an overcast kinda day, and the bees are buzzing excitedly around the crimson inviting blooms on the porch .

The kids are playing war, and riding their bikes. They have pretend guns, and have dug a hiding place under the earth from which they can pretend to be in combat with their friends.

“I just have a Glock,” one announces.

“Fire in the hole,” another screams

Then the rat..a… tat..tat of the gun. My sons used to play war in the backyard. Hiding everywhere, dressing in costumes, putting up tents, and pretending there was enemy surrounding them, falling down dramatically, and crawling from one fox hole to another. Somehow the knowledge of combat is innate , it doesn’t need to be taught.

“Don’t point guns at people,” the boy says

The others have gone back to their house to get more pretend weapons.

” You can feel the air when you shoot that” one announces .

A lady walks by on the path in the park with her young son. They are having an intimate conversation. I get to hear a lot from the vantage point of my rocking chair .

Always the fascination between the good guys and bad guys. My son used to use the end of the vacume hose as his gun , or his thumb and index finger . Can’t very well take that away without the authorities getting involved.

It is in us all. There are combative thoughts, and sometimes people direct words or actions in your direction and you must engage, even though you would highly prefer to disengage. It becomes a matter of principle to fight for the things that we want. If we are not a war with someone, are we failing to be seen, to be real?

Conflict comes to your door whether you want it to or not. Then becomes the choice. Will I or won’t I?

Pulling up, and digging out weeds in my walkway this morning, I was amazed at how diligently and with such tenacity that the roots of the weeds go down deep sure and strong. There were some that I had to utilize the garden trowel , and dig at those suckers’ roots. So satisfying when you pull hard, and up comes the offending weed. Beneath, hidden below is delicate warm and moist earth , almost smiling embarrassingly at having been exposed.

My hands and arms are tired, but I’ve gathered up two big buckets worth , and needed a break. I allow myself a porch sit. Only a “dock sit” looking out into the water could be better… but enough of that . Be where you are, and don’t ever think you are right where you need to be at just this very moment in your life.

I was looking up online how to kill weeds with what I had in the house, and one suggestion was to pour boiling water on the weeds. I did that, and I felt powerful . It helped some, but then another person said to use white vinegar and salt with a little water, and spray that on those non suspecting weeds.

This whole salt and vinegar concoction idea just had me craving salt and vinegar chips, which currently..are not in my home..much to my despair, but also incidentally will be better for my ever blossoming waistline if they are not in the kitchen.

I started to ponder the weeds in my life, the ideas, and things that I let crawl up my arms and legs, that threaten to strangle the way I want to live.

Weeds are so sneaky the way some of them produce pretty purple and sometimes white flowers. They just look like beautiful and fetchingly green Ivy, but they are not . They are the enemy ..

Left to their own devices they will grow through your wooden fence, and strangle out all the plants and trees that you wish to blossom and flourish . It’s a battle, and I’m waging war with my spray bottle dangling from my pink leather tool belt , and I ain’t giving up the fight.

Looking at one part of my back yard you might think that I had. The wild sunflowers are trying to grow over my detached, ” poor poor garage,” and I say that with love. My little garage is fighting for air, as these weeds are attempting to consume it. Not on my watch little keeper of all of my crafty things, and extra old suitcases, and stuff I maybe don’t need. I will annihilate these pests. Not today anyway, but you never know.

Taking time to read the books that bring me up up and away to enter someone else’s’ story is such a luxury . I wanna know all the stories.

A white butterfly flits about, and cannot decide where to land. I like to think it’s my late daughter Bianca paying me a visit, and I welcome that visit with all that is within me .

There is a pause in the air, and the sky is scattered and heavy with grey clouds. The birds have grown more silent, and the air has become muggy, and sticky. There is expectancy, as it seems the weather may change, and also the lure of a potential thunder storm and the drama of what may unfold .

The porch sit. I encourage it. Take a chair and look towards the horizon. It’s a Saturday. It is August. I can tell by the fresher, more cool morning air that fall is coming. Don’t come too fast, because summer, and flowers, and yes weeds, and cooking the produce from yours, and others’ gardens is so fulfilling deep down in my soul. The unbelievable wonderful growing something and then it gives back food for your sustenance glory of it all. It is garden magic . Plant a seed. It will grow. It takes a lot to distract it. It is singular in purpose..to grow..to mature.. to give back . What a great game plan.