Heidi Beth

For reasons which amount to a long and boring story, my husband brought home a mainstream brand of clear dish washing liquid. The significance here is that I always pick up a lesser known brand of eco-friendly dish soap at a local health food store. I’m not inflexible, so his acquisition sits on the back of our sink and I use it.

This morning, while washing my hands of raw egg goo, I noticed three words, in neat white print above the brand banner: NO UNNECESSARY CHEMICALS. Is this company advertising that their other products for cleaning soiled flatware contain chemicals that are superfluous, like, you know, extra chemicals just for fun… or wait, for the color green? Or the scent of spring morning in the Smoky Mountains?

A similar question begs to be asked when I shop at almost any mainstream grocery store. Some time in the last few years, grocery masterminds realized that many of us prefer to eat organic rather than pesticide-laden foods, need gluten-free choices of typically gluten-filled items, appreciate products with non-standard, hopefully healthier ingredients like evaporated cane juice and extra-virgin coconut oil, prefer nutbutters that consist solely of well-ground nuts, like to indulge in vegetarian meats, and will only buy dairy products made with milk from cows who aren’t pumped with added hormones. Thankfully, these wise executive-type folks decided to create a special place, which is often a few low aisles beside fruits and vegetables, for these “specialty” items.

Now, every section of store needs a name. The area containing the above mentioned sorts of food items, is nearly always HEALTHY.  Are grocers advertising, by a few block letters at the entrance to this section of alternative-to-mainstream goods, that they think the food available in the rest of the store is unhealthy, as in poor sustenance? I don’t know the intentions of grocery store planners, and I haven’t watched Food, Inc, but I’m guessing even the “HEALTH” sections carry a number of questionable products.

Pet sitting started at 8am when I fed Sasha and let her out in the backyard. Between bouts of taking care of business, she barked at neighbor chickens and dogs, wandered around sniffing grass, and spent an impressive amount of time standing still, staring off in the distance. When I was ready for Sasha to come back in, I discovered she has an uncanny ability to tune out her name being called in several different endearing, enthusiastic, super cutesy ways, as well as the sound of thigh slapping and finger snapping. Not being in such a hurry that I needed to scoop Sasha up and thwart her outdoor recreation, I sat back on my friend’s big red couch, gazed at the back of my eyelids for a while, and listened to the hum of appliances in an otherwise silent house.

I finally had to go out onto Sasha’s green, careful to avoid squishy landmines, and coax her as one might do with a distracted/otherly focused toddler (as if there’s another kind), squatting, making eye contact, and reaching my arms out as if inviting a running jump hug. I love to pet my dear little buddy, who loves to be scrithced and hugged, the kind of dog that hugs back, but I only had a few minutes to snuggle as I was due at another engagement with three cats across the street.

Grandpa Bob, aka owner of the above mentioned cats, is on a fishing trip up north. Lucky him! He’s been dreaming of getting back in a boat, sending out bait on a strong line, feeling that hoped-for tug, all bathed in sun and shadows in a near perfect leafy hideaway. If he could live in a cabin and fish all day, I believe my dad would seem like a different person. Indeed, he might be that different, the natural environment feeding his soul, waking him up each morning, promising delight and serenity rather than a blast of repeated reports of tragic reality ala CNN.

Grandpa Bob is the doting adoptive parent of cats who once lived at our house. Gibber, a small female, is 18 years old this month. She has always been on the skittish side and now needs fluids every day or two and soft food. As she’s the only cat who gets special dinner, she needs a guard, or for her roomies to be put behind closed doors temporarily so her dinner doesn’t get gobbled up by a stealthy peer. She and her feline companions were fed quickly as I was hurrying to get back home while my sweet sister-in-law was caulking our bathtub. We’ll be going back to cat-sit later, at which time I hope to get covered in fur as I attempt to compensate for their poppa being far away. He’s a Grade-A cat petter, a truly hard act to follow, but I’ll do my best.

After tending these four lovelies, I came back home, mentally prepared to do the last bits of getting the house show-ready for an 11am appointment with a prospective buyer. Last bits always seem not so itty bitty once the going gets moving. Every time I cleaned one place, I noticed another. There are an infinite number of tiny spaces that collect dust, particles of paint, and teeny weeny unidentified objects. Merry Maids may have my business soon, as they are specially trained in finding each and every possible crack and surface to clean, then doing so spectacularly, at least I’d hope such cleanliness would be the result of their paid-for efforts.

The woman interested in buying our house has come and gone. We had a nice conversation. She seems interested, will talk to her husband. I’m detached but hopeful. I’ve learned to not rush these larger-than-I-can-grasp transitions. When I hand over the process to God through prayer, and do what I reasonably can toward a specific outcome, things seem to work out better than I would have engineered for my wants. For one, I/we often learn some important skill/information needed for the next phase and if we had rushed, we would be lacking integral knowledge/know-how and phase-next would likely be harder than necessary to adjust to; at least that’s what past character building experiences have led my husband and I to believe.

Ah well! I hear the dumping of small, sharp plastic pieces. Fortunately the boys are in their room. They’ve been so compliant, keeping everything as neat as they know how and “off the floor please!” as I’ve been wandering from room to room with a vacuum attached to my arm.

The kiddos have eaten lunch (while I’ve been writing), finding their own grub now that I’m willing to let them make anything resembling a mess in the kitchen. For my lunch, I want to eat at a wooden table outside the Co-op. Hummus, tortilla chips, banana, organic grape tomatoes, string cheese, small carton of blueberries, couple of honey mints, and fruit juice sweetened soda. Me thinks it’s time to call grandma and offer her the opportunity to play Scrabble with her ten year old grandson to the sound of her seven year old grandson watching thirteen year old VHS recordings of Barney, which have, as of last night, become popular again.

I’m partial to Barney despite popular adult opinion, but that’s another post.

man fishing found here

Barney & friends found here

In no particular order:

– reading a beautiful poem that becomes a shimmering presence in the room

– Matthew’s toothless smile that he is so proud of

– conversing with one of my boys when both of us are relaxed, listening, and interested in figuring out what we can learn from one another

– meditating, especially getting lost and then found in a different dimension, specifically the realm of clarity, serenity and acceptance

– waking from a happy dream at 5am perfectly refreshed. Sitting down to write in that quiet space, to find a river of words flowing freely, expressing exactly what I intended

– that point in a drum circle when the drummers fade into the background and their collective rhythm grows wings

– a relaxed, purring cat, especially one inclined to be shy and skittery

– cafe mocha on a cool spring morning

– bike rides around tree lined neighborhoods

– making a new friend who soon becomes part of the family

– seeing Devyn reach for his dad’s hand just because

– a clean and orderly house, including having filing caught up

– a recipe turning out just right on the umpteenth try

– homemade pizza shared with family and friends

– harmonizing with my children

– sitting under the dome at the Baha’i Temple after dark, when the lights have been turned off, just before closing time

– a child laughing from sheer delight

– listening to my dad sing Silent Night

– almost every conversation with my husband

– being the voice of a stuffed animal who is conversing with my children

– a good book that carries me to a place of contented detachment from whatever I’m trying to not obsess about

– finally developing a skill or overcoming a difficulty when painfully hard work is involved in getting there

– laughing so hard, I cry

– guiding at the Baha’i Temple

– when all four members of my family are in on the same spontaneous joke and we set aside all other matters while we carry on giggling like crazy, each trying to keep the laughter alive as long as possible

– indoor climate control

– watching interpreters sign beside a speaker or singer

– unconditional love

What are a few of your favorite things?

Photo of Baha’i Temple found here

Living between empty walls, rolling with the wind in my imaginings of a near-at-hand future, grounded indefinitely, waiting. “Who will live here while we explore our country?” I wonder, allowing myself to not care just now.

Mulched the garden, cleaned gutters, moved bricks, washed dishes, swept.  Must be ready. That was yesterday, when my husband and I wore old clothes and work gloves, when our friend came by to help for a couple hours.

Today, another ant scurries across my lap.  Must send all six and eight-legged creatures away before we have the kind of company that might want to live here while we’re away.

Slow Saturday afternoon, birds sing, boys hold steady.  Big brother fills a single page with words, correctly spelled, neatly penned. I’m a live spell-check. He’s on a mission, amazed how easily time passes with pencil in hand. His smile is contagious.  Little brother wriggles and wiggles, donning too small brown pants – ones I better not give away without asking.  He is shirtless, sweaty, whining and wishing his mother would please ease his boredom.  I watch him flop onto our futon couch.  He stares at the ceiling, begins a familiar song, passing time.  I enjoy his small voice, how he misses words, is a bit off rhythm.

Clothes destined for Goodwill are piled on my bed. Sorting wearable fabric is all the big-dream-almost-here work I’ve done today. Now I sit quietly, resting from yesterday’s leap of progress.  For now, it is enough.

image found here