Check out the Simon Eye for a picture each day.
Simon’s First Web Album.
OK, OK, here are the kitchen photos. Click on a small pic to see a larger version.
Today’s the first day of summer. We’re half-way to 2005, which is half-way to 2010. I’m still getting used to this decade; it still needs a name. “The Ohs?”
I read somewhere last week that DNA starts to break down at age 35, age spots appear, bifocals follow. That explains the faint brown blotch on my right hand, but I’m actually seeing better than ever lately.
It’s only this spring that I noticed that robin’s heads are black like executioner’s hoods, while their backs are a charcoal grey. Forsythia leaves have a jagged edge that looks like the dinosaur spines on the Flintstones. Those pesky blue-grey weeds coming up all over my garden are poppies. Left alone they produce dozens of tear-drop buds that are bowed as if in prayer at first, followed by an awakening of blooms that look like shredded paper. I’ve stopped ripping them out.
Jasper and I cross a greenspace every morning on our bike ride to school. It’s a transportation corridor, waiting for the highway or rails (depending on what side of the debate you support). While the city dithers, it’s growing over in weeds and trees and flowers. The path we take in the morning passes an incredible maple tree that stands 60′ tall and alone smack in the middle of what will be the highway. I think I will chain myself to it the day the bulldozers roll. Or maybe just remember it. The tree has a few boards nailed to it, a pathetic ladder put up by some kids who obviously abandoned lofty plans for a tree house. Someone has painted “love” on one of the boards.
As we pedal past, Jasper on his trike, me on my bike, he always says “There’s our special tree, Dad.”
I caught myself feeling what can only be described as grief the other day. The peonies are past. I felt the same a few weeks ago when the lilacs went brown. So much change. I’ve found it hard to fully appreciate all the beauty. What a horrible thing to cause pain. Life is just too damn good lately.
Even beautiful things like real love and an abandoned tree can cause grief if we fear their loss or cling too hard. I’m just coming to grips with the idea that a life of peace is only possible by being fully aware of the beauty all around, minute to minute. Hugging the tree and the boy, yes, but also being willing to let go.