Saturday, September 1, 2012


So, even though I just posted a few hours ago, I want to take a moment and begin a new post.


1) DM, DRS, and JRS all donated funds for me to keep mobile. I took my car to get it inspected. Lil' Carl passed handily and the total cost was $21.00. The car will need an oil change in a couple of weeks and is desperate for a tune-up, so I will save those donations for the oil change a little later in the month.

2) The day is splendid, warm enough to be annoying, but not crushing. The leaves, not yet turned or even begun to, are wafting in the morning breeze. We all know what it is coming, but there is a bittersweet beauty to the gentleness of leaves slowly falling. You tend to notice them.

3) Two beautiful kitties hanging out with me in the morning.

4) Harvest time.

5) J bought a 46" LED tv. We watched Sleepwalk with Me last night. 'Twas fun.

6) At the farmer's market, an elderly woman accidentally knocked a potato to the ground. She could not bend over to pick it up. I did. And I was started to tears as I realized this woman was somewhere near my mom's age. My mom could have picked up that potato in the blink of an eye. Grateful for her health and mobility.

Today's farmer's market hauls: yellow and orange tomatoes, sorrell, kale, chard, garlic, onions, yellow and red peppers (making red bell pepper soup ... yum ... and almost always too expensive), rosemary. I didn't get around to getting a rosemary plant until late (or any other herbs for that matter). Oh, I should photograph my herb garden! BRB. 

Three kinds of basil, none of them holy though.

The line-up.

Vietnamese coriander.

I'll leave this post filching from Jeff Nunokawa's beautiful posts.

4163. "the mystery of this heart" (Matthew Arnold)

by Jeff Nunokawa on Friday, August 31, 2012 at 7:10am ·

A longing to inquire
Into the mystery of this heart which beats
So wild, so deep in us-- (Matthew Arnold, "The Buried Life")

The longing to learn the mystery of the heart will sometimes lose out to the dread of discovering its darkness.
I've never learned how to avoid the dread, and I don't expect that I ever will. But I think I can learn to consider the darkness as much what comes before the dawning, as what comes at the end of the day.
Note: All I feel is fear, I said to someone, this summer.
But you can feel something about the fear, she said to me.
Like what?, I cried.
Like curiosity, she said.
Teacher Training in Santa Fe

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