The end has arrived. It was time to purge the agave before it became rigid and too tough to cut. The blooms hosted bees, honey birds and some butterflies.
When the stalk fell, a mild sweet fragrance filled the air.
Pieces cut to fit the green waste mounded on the ground.
Then each was stabbed with a pitch fork and dropped in the bin.
Smaller pieces were scooped in.
Few pieces wait for next week’s trash collection day.
Check out the close-up bloom. Each of those tiny tennacles were feeding zones for all the flying critters that hovered around the blooms once they opened. After sitting in the sun for several days, there was no fragrance, and no visiting creatures. This piece will join its kin in the bin next week.
I hope you’ve enjoyed this marvel of nature with me.
We’ve yet to determine what will be planted in the agave’s former location. But the next selection will take into consideration the little bridge and mature size of the plant.
I’ve been part of a “Writing Through the Pandemic” group. It’s been an interesting process which sometimes surprises me at what surfaces. You can find some these writing on my blog under the following menu options: “Writing Categories” and then select “Pandemic”. Feel free to leave your comments or write your own thoughts.
Together, we’ll get through this!
Everything is a process
Processes have invisible strands that tie the pieces together
For me the process started in late spring of 2019
Spending 10 weeks in the southwest of Ireland and England left me shaken
The recognition of my own materialism hit hard
The crazy pace of my life was revealed as just that—crazy
I tried to share those revelations upon returning home
My friends looked at me with that dazed look you give one when you think they’ve lost it
I still made little sense of this
I was trying to process it
Or figure out what it meant for me
Another trip to Ireland in early 2020 reinforced these thoughts and cemented relationships there
I arrived back to my home in Colorado just as Covid-19 was being openly talked about, but before any lockdowns
The lockdown has given me the time, and space to process those thoughts birthed in 2019
Given me the opportunity to be at peace with experiencing a relaxed schedule
Provided opportunities to have communications with friends and family scattered around the globe and revealed the shared trauma of this pandemic
No one wonders “why” someone is concerned—at least not in my circle
It’s my hope we will come through this fear, into love and thus come alive
Come alive to the purposes created for each of us
Ah, but first we have to recognize and acknowledge those purposes
I suspect that revelation process will be different for each of us
Some may even fight these truths, preferring instead to return to what was
My pragmatic side knows this and thus expects the “coming through” will not necessarily allow us to land in a “happy place”
There will be “happy places” but also some rough patches
There may be some friends cemented for life, but also some lost
I hope I can cling to the values learned through this process
I hope to make them an integral part of me
I hope more of us find the “happy place” and can affect and influence those still searching
I hope we will release the aspects of life that were—let them drift into a space of “what was”
And thus be able to allow those conditions to remain in that space.
I recently finished reading “The Second Half of your Life” by Jill Shaw Ruddock.
I resonate with the term “Second Half” instead of “old” or “retired.”
This book covers much information I’ve previously read, available to the woman who reaches those menopausal years, yet Jill Ruddock nicely pulled it all together in one place. Being an American, I enjoyed reading perspectives from “the other side of the pond,” even though I’m currently “on that side.” The core issues remain the same.
I enjoyed the humor found in the different use of vocabulary.
I appreciated her reference to those of us who are “baby boomers” being the “golden generation.” She stated we have defined every age of our lives simply because of how many of us there are; and expects as a group we will redefine what “old” means.
I like that thought. I have no interest in the idea of trying to be younger than my current age, but certainly won’t sit down and wait to die. This is my “second life” and I’m enjoying life. For me, that means life is to be lived; to be creative; to be full of passion and meaning.
Last week I spent a morning with a group of women trying to get a Women’s Resource Center off the ground here in Tralee, Ireland. The room was filled with energy while women shared their vision and passion to create something in the community to benefit many. Some of these women were in their “second half” living a passionate life.
I thought I gave birth to a baby girl. We were to live as a family, on the land. I thought she was mine. I soon learned this was not true. This child displayed a rebellious and defiant spirit as out of control as the ocean in a huge storm, against anything that had the scent of tradition, authority or rules. Occasionally, I would have fleeting glimpses of the daughter I thought was mine. And then they would be gone! Hers became a dance of seeing how far she could stray from the line. The collateral damage and destruction of those she either hurt or destroyed in her dance of defiance is huge. Every time I look, the circle becomes larger. It includes people both close to her and those just touched by the fringes of her life, and people whom she once charmed and has since grew tired of. Then awhile back we vacationed with her at the beach. Those few short days were a gift. Time spent together was pleasant and devoid of the stress I associated with her. I’ve come to realize there is something about the ocean that seems to calm the rage she has against life and civilization. She is back inland again, and the glimpses I saw of her at the ocean have vanished again. Is the ocean her true home and not this land the rest of us live on? Perhaps she was not a baby girl, but a baby mermaid instead.
These thoughts have been triggered by both a conversation with my local pastor when he asked me to think of a time when she was innocent before all the problems began (which brought to mind a photo of her sitting on the beach when she was about 3 or so with a white suit with red and blue polka dots) and a conversation with my husband pointing out the vacation trip we took with this child was really a gift. We spent almost a full week together and it was no stress, no drama, no difficult times, just a very pleasant time together. I’m glad I was allowed to frame this vacation into the thought of a ‘normal gift’ with this child because my life history with her does not allow me many of those memories. Somehow those two images merged into the Mermaid Girl – I think that may be her!