Elderwomen Musings

Lily, I am in love with you. You enter my life, stay a short while, but make such a lasting impression! Who painted those exquisite crimson lines on your curves, in your hollows?

How you surprised me a few years back, rising up from the ground, having arrived in my bed by some mysterious hand.

Today you stand tall, holding tightly the petals of your new blooms, keeping them to yourself, until you are ready to let go. How I adore the necks of the blooms that have opened, the ones already spent! Those necks—they almost beg to be kissed and caressed.

But it’s not just passion you inspire. You gift me, too, with your show of order and strength, such soothing precision in your posture. And, there is a plan, I am sure, to your unfolding that only you can know.

Lily, what a lover you are!

Frustration and fatigue have come for a visit and filled my shoes with lead. Just two weeks ago, spirit light, I skimmed across the surface of my world, like the water bugs across my tiny pond. I was full of hope and determination to accept all that came my way.

And then, what came was a mistake on my construction project: a kitchen sink and tile counter-top installed; a mistake discovered; and all had to be dismantled and demolished. How quickly did this water bug lose her equanimity!

So, this week I move slowly, heavy-footed, and know that sometimes life demands this slower pace.

This afternoon, it is this fence at my current home that gives me hope. It was ten years ago I built it—one post, one horizontal piece, one slat of wood at a time. Life, I remind myself, must often proceed this way.

So, I say hello to the orange daylilies that have traveled with me from home to home. I smile at their crazy, ruffled petals, and know that, just as they come to visit one day at a time, so my frustration and fatigue are only visitors today. Tomorrow or the day after I will once again step lightly, putting one more post, one more plank, into the world of my dreams.

Over many months, I dug a small pond, several scoops and shovels full at a time. The vision of lilies blooming and a few fish swimming pulled me on. The hole is barely six feet in length, three feet wide, and oval in shape. Last week I purchased pond liner, cut it, and laid it in the hole. Then I filled it with water, submerged a lilly in a pot, and a few days later, added one small goldfish.

Today I stand at the edge, on the stones I’ve used to circle the pond and anchor the liner. And, I am amazed. This miniature body of water soothes me. I gaze into the shallow heart of the pool. It is alive! The breeze ruffles the surface. The branches of the dogwood trees, the blue sky, and scanty clouds are painted on the top. Or is it on the bottom? The algae have moved in, so the water is thick with green.

And look what’s on the surface. Water bugs! They float, they dart, they move like long-legged skiers on this small island of water. What prompted them to immigrate from their last home to this? How did they find me here?

Like a child, I am pleased. What if I believed that everything I needed in life could come to me like this—easily, with no conscious summoning? Today, standing on this little slab of stone, I imagine life can work this way. And, truth is, I believe it. Life comes as I need it, even when it is hard. Can I learn to love what comes—all of it—greeting the ups and downs like water bugs, drawn by the water, summoned by the gods, bringing me exactly what I need?