The first mini irises have been up for a few days. I’m so grateful to see them!
I’m always grateful for a simple cheese sandwich.
…and always grateful for a little hug.
I made it to town finally to buy peas. I’m grateful that our local store, the Hitching Post, carries local seeds from the fabulous High Desert Seed & Gardens. “We’re done with Burpee,” said Sherri, “they don’t care where you live.”
High Desert seeds are tested and grown for high altitude and dry conditions right down the highway in Paonia now, after starting a few years ago outside Montrose. During a mild break in a day of chaotic skies, I got the pea trellis assembled and a whole package of Magnolia Blossom snap peas planted, just in time for more moisture to soak them into their bed.
And after a cold and busy day, a bowl of warming cod with butternut squash sauce was the perfect comfort food. Mine doesn’t look like the recipe, because I started with puréed squash and the fish fell apart, but it was so simple, so delicious.
I frequently mention that I’m grateful for my cozy bed. It’s nothing special. No sleep number scientific mattress, no fancy duvet cover, no frills. It took me a long time to acknowledge and develop preferences with regard to fabrics and textures. But I finally allowed myself luxury in my bed.
Part of it was my mother in her last year of life saying sadly that she’d only ever slept on white sheets. We instantly bought her some gold satin sheets, and a hot pink cotton set as well.
I’m grateful for lilac-colored eucalyptus sheets, a long body pillow in a cotton case, and a silk pillowcase, on a soft mattress, in a safe room, in a solid house. I’m grateful that most nights I fall asleep easily and sleep well through the night, and sometimes enjoy a vivid dream life. I’m grateful for my bed. I’m grateful for climbing in between those freshly line-dried clean sheets, and no, I don’t iron them.
“When I got a review back for a paper in Science, one of the reviewers wrote “it’s at the 6th grade level.” I sent that review on to Alan [Alda] and he wrote back that it was the nicest compliment I’ve ever received. For my presentations, I give the same talk and show the same slides whether it’s a lay public audience or a science/medicine group of attendees.” ~ Eric Topol, Ground Truths, March 13, 2023
When I read this, I experienced a flash into an alternate universe, where instead of spending my nest egg on 35 acres of relatively wild forest, I used it to attend the science writing grad program at UCSC where I had been accepted. That was 31 years ago.
In this flash vision, I had graduated from that program with the credentials to follow one of my passions, understanding and communicating developments in science to the general public. In that universe, I had an exciting career that took me from the panda nurseries in China to the Australian outback and Great Barrier Reef, from the shrinking glaciers of Greenland to the drying Great Salt Lake in Utah. I had interviewed some of my idols including Anthony Fauci, and when the pandemic struck I had become a meaningful voice in translating its rapid public health implications for lay consumption, just like Eric Topol.
Oh well. The flash was over in an instant, washed away by a wave of reassuring recognition that I’ve lived a good life, and come to a place of contentment with internal balance, loving friendships, and meaningful work. Things could have been different, but they weren’t. My choices, along with conditions I had nothing to do with, led me to this place, and I’m grateful for the journey of discovery, continuing to pursue the question I’ve been asking since I settled on this beautiful wild land: Who am I, and how did I come to be here?
It feels so good to spend a little time in the garden. Not much, it barely broke freezing today, and I had to shovel a path to get inside the raised beds. But when I pulled the heavy plastic off the wire cage I’d set up to pre-warm soil for spring, I was thrilled to see lots of little green weeds sprouting inside. It’s time to plant carrots and peas, maybe garlic, frost hardy crops that can get a head start in the heat cage. I’m grateful for all that I’ve learned about gardening, all the teachers locally and in books and online, and for the greening of the land that’s beginning again.
Overnight, rain, ice, then a light snow frosted the apricot tree.
Life’s simple pleasures: the cheese sandwich
I’m grateful for the opportunity to participate in a citizen science project with the Michael J. Fox Foundation, by signing up for the Parkinson’s Progression Markers Initiative. There are enough categories that anyone can do it. I registered in ‘a certain age’ group with no symptoms or diagnosis; my brother who’s been recently diagnosed registered in the ‘anyone 18+’ group. He’s doing great with medication. There’s also a category for people diagnosed with Parkinson’s but not yet taking medication. There appears to be a link between loss of smell and certain degenerative brain diseases.
This study involves a ‘smell identification test’ which they mail to you, along with a pencil. You get four booklets with ten scratch n’ sniff patches in each book, use the pencil to scratch the patch, and then identify the smell to the best of your ability. Some of these were easy and a lot of them were hard. Kind of smelled like one thing, kind of like another, sometimes not like any of the options. But you have to fill them all in, so you take your best guess.
It was really fun, but awareness of chemical scent residue lingered in my nose for hours, even after a brisk walk up the driveway in driving wind. I was glad it was trash day, and pitched the booklets in the garbage can once I had entered the data online. It was very thorough, leaving no room for error, going through each page of each booklet one at a time, and then checking your answers at the end of each booklet. It felt good to contribute to this research to try “to learn more about how brain disease starts and changes and how to stop it.”
I won’t ever see the results of my test, so I won’t know whether that one patch was supposed to smell like watermelon or motor oil, cloves or apple. But I do think that my sniffer is in pretty good shape, as almost all of the patches smelled like something that was on the multiple choice list. I encourage you to check it out, have some fun, and contribute to this admirable effort sponsored by an admirable foundation started by an admirable and courageous man.
What a sight to wake up to… I’m grateful for the alchemy of dough. Overnight rise.
Ninety minutes later…
Another hour later…
I finally couldn’t stand it any longer. With temperatures above 50℉ the past two days, it was time to get into the garden. I needed some of the wire cages to protect the tulips poking up through mud, before the does destroyed them. The cages were stored in the back shed, so I had to brave a snow field to get to them.
The first few steps were easy: snow crusty enough to hold my weight. Then I punched through. Little Wren danced around on top of the crust the whole time. So did Topaz. It was a long way to the shed and it was rough on my knees and my back. I found a shorter way out, after dropping the cages over the back fence where I could get to them easily from outside. Then I crawled over the crust for twenty feet til I got up next to the raised beds, where reflected heat had melted a narrow path. It was fun, crawling over the snow, and doubled as icing on my knees.
More cuteness at lunchtime, Wren rolling and wrestling with the rug swatch toy I stitched together for her.
And gratitude and delight in the crocus patch now in full bloom. Lots of flies have hatched, but I haven’t seen a single bee yet. Fingers crossed.
I’m grateful today for sunshine, the proximity of cat and dog, flowers in winter, potted herbs, bonsai, and the resilience to just hang on sometimes. I’m grateful for the opportunity to give away bread to some friends who needed its comfort and cheer more than I did today. I’m grateful for living inside the kaleidoscope with the coming of spring. Gratitude is a conscious choice that is sometimes more difficult than others, but is always available and always takes the edge off. I’m grateful for gratitude practice.
This evening I got my first ever social media hate, on one of my instagram posts in support of a drag queen. It heightened my compassion. I’m grateful for the practice that allowed me to receive it with some equanimity, even though it felt like a slap in the face. And grateful that I didn’t feel compelled to respond to it. I imagined a potential spiral of consequences, if only as simple as another hateful reply back. I contemplated responding with something like, “I feel compassion for your suffering,” but concluded the wise choice was to forget about it. I just noticed it a few minutes ago–it wasn’t remotely how I intended to start this post. So I’m gonna forget about it now!
I’m grateful for waking up alive on this snowy, drizzly Sunday, for a few hours of sunlight, for the first spring bulb tips poking out of the mud, and for the leisure to enjoy listening to some dharma talks while finishing this exquisite Liberty puzzle, Monet’s Studio at Giverny. I’m grateful to our little puzzle club scattered coast to coast for increasing our puzzle options each season. This one only took two days of joyful puzzling between cleaning, baking, reading, and sharing meaningful conversations with friends and family.
It was kind of a rough week inside my monkey mind. I’m so grateful for all the beauty and love in my life, for the support of friends, and for the growing capacity I’m gaining to turn my attention to these gifts, instead of letting meager thoughts depress me for long.
The first night’s progress…
Last night’s progress…
And finally, I’m forever grateful to neighbor Mary for sharing this extraordinary recipe for Big Soft Ginger Cookies. This is the basic recipe, though I make them with Mary’s tweaks, including half brown sugar-half white, and of course butter instead of margarine. I also toss in a few chocolate chips. So simple, so delicious. It’s the kind of treat that fills up your senses so full you can’t be anything but ecstatic while it’s in your mouth.
