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It came later this year. Last year it arrived on March 8th. On the plus side, it's still bright and sunny at 6pm, and sunset most likely won't happen until 7, on the con side - it's going to be dark at almost 7 am tomorrow morning. Also I lost an hour and my whole body's time clock will be off this week as a result.
Mostly lazy today, with weird nightmares last night starring Jack Lemmon of all people - the movie star/comedian who died a century ago. My subconscious makes no sense to me either.
Out of boredom, during the Zoom church session - I took photos of the flowers that my mother sent me for my birthday.
I particularly liked a lavender rose, that was so delicate and fragile, and alas I had to pluck it out and throw it away, the others soon to follow.
They last only so long after all. Roses often seem really fragile - this lavender one in the photo above - I wanted to hug and keep close. It had a beauty that seemed to call out to me, and reminded me a little of my grandmother. My maternal grandmother raised and cross-bread roses and African Violets. Mother remembers her driving out somewhere to pick up a leaf and growing flowers from just one leaf. She reminds me a little of a co-worker who does the same thing.
I love living things...nature is so beautiful and fascinating. Intricate. Far superior to anything we humans can create or conceive of. Since the pandemic hit - I've found myself staring at it in fascination. Often alongside statues sculpted by human hands or buildings haphazardly erected.
At church they said that it was important to find something to be fascinated about in the moment, something small or not, but something. Even something like a fragile rose, with it's petals just about to fall.
I took pictures of the rose, because I wanted to sketch it and paint it, and I knew it wouldn't last long enough for me to do so. Nor do I have the ability to set up a space for painting at the moment - my painting desk is operating as office space for the time being.
I get angry at people. And frustrated with the world at times. The world can be painful. I watched this lovely film last night, The Sound of Metal - which surprised me. It's about a heavy metal drummer who loses his hearing (for well obvious reasons), and is checked into a place for the death by his girlfriend. The over-arching message of the piece is that the world keeps passing and moving, it never stops, but if you can sit and find a moment of stillness within it - there is the eternal, the connection to all things, there is Universe or the Allmighty or whatever word you wish to use.
I think this is true, for I've found those moments of stillness. Often daily. Where I can sit for about twenty minutes, sometimes an hour, still.
No thoughts. Just being. I have those moments wandering a cemetery, or just sitting meditating in my apartment, or watching birds and cats and squirrles outside my window.
It's those moments that have kept me going more than anything else. They make me realize that all of this is temporary, that it's not that important. It will be gone in a blink. Watching the sky shows me that...it's as turbulent and changeable as the ocean's currents. Clouds rushing past as we speak, overcast then clear blue sky, moving and ever changing.
I was a touch annoyed today - on my way back from the fruit and vegetable store - when I noticed that the beautiful flowering tree just a block away from the fruit/vegetable store and pharmacy was gone. I look forward to it blooming every year. It appears someone took it? Chopped it down, when I wasn't looking. I hope I am wrong. I felt rage bubble up inside me, and for a moment, I wished ill on those responsible - impotent rage, going nowhere useful. For there was nothing I could do for the tree, and nothing I could do to prevent it's removal. Humans are careless beings, or so it seems. I see plastic bags in trees, and litter here and there. But pristine paint jobs on the house, new wooden shutters on the patio, and nice trampoline in the yard, with a lovely new fence that borders where the tree once stood, alive and happy in the yard.
On the plus side, there's food in the pantry, and a refrigerator on the sidewalk filled with food on one of the side streets - for those in need. Those who have nothing, and are far too proud to ask for help. Or perhaps just those struggling to get by, paycheck by paycheck during a seemingly endless pandemic.
And perhaps I'm wrong about the tree?
****
I found out today that I can take my allergy and other meds prior to getting the second dose on Friday, and afterwards. The only thing they don't want you to take is ibuprofin and aleve. You can take tynenol, but it's better not to - so the immune system can work.
Although cousin informs me that her doctor told her that anyone who suffered pain, fever or soreness with the first shot - could take a pain reliever a few hours prior to the second.
Good news that. I'm relieved. My emotions seem to leap from calm to anger/fear to relief and back again.
***
I'll end this post with another photo of flowers, I think. My hobby over the pandemic appears to be taking photos with my iphone. Perhaps, I'll start printing them off and framing them.
Mostly lazy today, with weird nightmares last night starring Jack Lemmon of all people - the movie star/comedian who died a century ago. My subconscious makes no sense to me either.
Out of boredom, during the Zoom church session - I took photos of the flowers that my mother sent me for my birthday.
I particularly liked a lavender rose, that was so delicate and fragile, and alas I had to pluck it out and throw it away, the others soon to follow.
They last only so long after all. Roses often seem really fragile - this lavender one in the photo above - I wanted to hug and keep close. It had a beauty that seemed to call out to me, and reminded me a little of my grandmother. My maternal grandmother raised and cross-bread roses and African Violets. Mother remembers her driving out somewhere to pick up a leaf and growing flowers from just one leaf. She reminds me a little of a co-worker who does the same thing.
I love living things...nature is so beautiful and fascinating. Intricate. Far superior to anything we humans can create or conceive of. Since the pandemic hit - I've found myself staring at it in fascination. Often alongside statues sculpted by human hands or buildings haphazardly erected.
At church they said that it was important to find something to be fascinated about in the moment, something small or not, but something. Even something like a fragile rose, with it's petals just about to fall.
I took pictures of the rose, because I wanted to sketch it and paint it, and I knew it wouldn't last long enough for me to do so. Nor do I have the ability to set up a space for painting at the moment - my painting desk is operating as office space for the time being.
I get angry at people. And frustrated with the world at times. The world can be painful. I watched this lovely film last night, The Sound of Metal - which surprised me. It's about a heavy metal drummer who loses his hearing (for well obvious reasons), and is checked into a place for the death by his girlfriend. The over-arching message of the piece is that the world keeps passing and moving, it never stops, but if you can sit and find a moment of stillness within it - there is the eternal, the connection to all things, there is Universe or the Allmighty or whatever word you wish to use.
I think this is true, for I've found those moments of stillness. Often daily. Where I can sit for about twenty minutes, sometimes an hour, still.
No thoughts. Just being. I have those moments wandering a cemetery, or just sitting meditating in my apartment, or watching birds and cats and squirrles outside my window.
It's those moments that have kept me going more than anything else. They make me realize that all of this is temporary, that it's not that important. It will be gone in a blink. Watching the sky shows me that...it's as turbulent and changeable as the ocean's currents. Clouds rushing past as we speak, overcast then clear blue sky, moving and ever changing.
I was a touch annoyed today - on my way back from the fruit and vegetable store - when I noticed that the beautiful flowering tree just a block away from the fruit/vegetable store and pharmacy was gone. I look forward to it blooming every year. It appears someone took it? Chopped it down, when I wasn't looking. I hope I am wrong. I felt rage bubble up inside me, and for a moment, I wished ill on those responsible - impotent rage, going nowhere useful. For there was nothing I could do for the tree, and nothing I could do to prevent it's removal. Humans are careless beings, or so it seems. I see plastic bags in trees, and litter here and there. But pristine paint jobs on the house, new wooden shutters on the patio, and nice trampoline in the yard, with a lovely new fence that borders where the tree once stood, alive and happy in the yard.
On the plus side, there's food in the pantry, and a refrigerator on the sidewalk filled with food on one of the side streets - for those in need. Those who have nothing, and are far too proud to ask for help. Or perhaps just those struggling to get by, paycheck by paycheck during a seemingly endless pandemic.
And perhaps I'm wrong about the tree?
****
I found out today that I can take my allergy and other meds prior to getting the second dose on Friday, and afterwards. The only thing they don't want you to take is ibuprofin and aleve. You can take tynenol, but it's better not to - so the immune system can work.
Although cousin informs me that her doctor told her that anyone who suffered pain, fever or soreness with the first shot - could take a pain reliever a few hours prior to the second.
Good news that. I'm relieved. My emotions seem to leap from calm to anger/fear to relief and back again.
***
I'll end this post with another photo of flowers, I think. My hobby over the pandemic appears to be taking photos with my iphone. Perhaps, I'll start printing them off and framing them.