From The Washington Post today: Tumbleweed is piled up to the roofline at a house in Eagle Mountain, Utah, on Saturday. (Britta Jarvie/Reuters)
I’m grateful I don’t live in Utah anymore, for a number of reasons, but in particular because of the Tumblemageddon that took place near Salt Lake City over the windy weekend. (Check out the link accessible to all to learn about this noxious invasive species and see some crazy video.) The worst that happened here at Mirador was a few buckets got blown around, and one of my garden covers disappeared. I hope it’s late enough in the season that the little seeds and seedlings survived the cold blanketed under the snow that covered them. We have some tumbleweeds rolling around, and more now than there were twenty years ago; but I’m grateful to be relatively tumblefree.
Wind continued to blow at 40 mph until after I went to bed last night after midnight, but still no snow. The forecast was for less than an inch overnight. Imagine my surprise when I woke at 8 to this view! I’m grateful for this bountiful moisture in early spring, our biggest single snowfall in several years.
Imagine Wren’s surprise when she dashed out first thing to pee!
Later I had to shovel a couple of paths for her, one to a pee spot out front, and another to her poop tree out back. I didn’t measure but it was well over a foot of snow, around sixteen inches before it warmed up and started to settle. I texted our snowplow guy who had to dig himself out first and then some other neighbors.
The same garden cages after a couple of hours, amazing how fast the snow settled.
By the time he arrived the light deep snow had been melting for a few hours and become dense, wet snow, half as deep and twice as heavy. He tried to charge me $50 for plowing the quarter mile driveway, same as last time. “I can’t do that,” I scolded, “There’s at least twice as much snow as before.” I paid him $75, and then he shoveled a path from the front door to the wood pile, and brushed off the car. I’m so grateful for such a cheerful and kind snow helper.
My other little snow helper, happy to be inside warm and dry, surrounded by toys and beds.
I’m grateful that I live in a democracy, still, and that my vote counts. I question the truth of our democracy, even now, as Republican officials in many states and at the federal level continue to sabotage the voices of people of color with gerrymandering and laws that make it harder for people to vote in many districts. Imagine how many more Americans will be disenfranchised if the GOP wins more offices this fall. If you or someone you love is gay, trans, lesbian or anywhere on the gender spectrum besides white male; if you or someone you love uses marijuana recreationally or medicinally; if you or someone you love of any age has a functioning uterus: please take the threats to their liberties and their lives seriously, and support and vote for Democratic candidates up and down the ballot.
However, if you’re a registered Independent and you live in a state where you can choose which primary ballot you use, you might do as I did and vote for a woman running for the Republican nomination. I admire the courage and conviction that has kept Ambassador Nikki Haley motivated to remain in the race despite her minimal chance of trumping her opposition. As a fierce Independent myself, I’m grateful that I can offer this protest vote against the rapist, insurrectionist, lying, demented frontrunner. Nothing personal, just the facts.
The past few days have been a wild rollercoaster of weather, as in much of the country. The mini irises weathered one snowstorm and continue to bloom, while the crocuses are still going strong. The garlic beds are drinking up precipitation. I’m grateful to have spent a little bit of time outside on short breaks during a long work week, though the planetary winds the past couple of days have kept all of us hunkered down inside for the most part.
In another stroke of earring luck, after carelessly losing another favorite earring off a table, but not noticing until I’d rearranged some furniture and thoroughly vacuumed the floor, I was delighted when Topaz found the missing bauble hiding behind her play box. This earring also carries sentimental value: I bought the pair with a matching pendant for my mother decades ago when we visited Canyon de Chelly, from a Navajo artist at the visitor center. On one side of each piece is the traditional bear paw design inset with a polished pink shell; on the flip side is a design in turquoise and red stone. She loved them; I inherited them. They carry the history and love of our travels together. I’m grateful to Topaz, and the universe, that I still have them all.
The cheese sandwich project has been going well, as I continue to experiment with different proportions of regular flour and heartier varieties. Yesterday I used up some cheese ends in a fromage fort to which I added the little green sprout from the garlic, and a palmful of sautéed shiitake mushrooms from the night before. It made a delicious spread that tasted very like a paté. I spread some of this on bread and topped it with lettuce and avocado. Different, but good!
The real culinary success of the week, though, was this French Onion Farro and Lentil cheesy bake that Amy and I cooked together last night. The onions are simply caramelized first, then you add in garlic, white wine, farro, lentils and broth, bring to a simmer, and pop in the oven for a long enough time to enjoy a glass of wine and satisfying conversation. The recipe calls for thyme sprigs, but Amy and I don’t like thyme, so we used a bay leaf. Once the farro and lentils are softened, top with grated Gruyere (or Swiss, if you shop at City Market) and broil until it’s melted and browned.
Living on solar power, I have the lowest end oven in the industrial world, so the broiler is at the bottom, never works right, and continually frustrates me. I melted the cheese on the top rack of the oven, then pulled it out and browned it with a cute little kitchen torch, which ran out of butane before I finished. Oh well. It was fun to use it, and I’m grateful for Amy’s suggestion that I try that. Once I replenish the butane supply, I’ll be torching everything that calls for a broiler. As for the dish, it was so simple, and so unbelievably delicious.
I’m grateful for homemade granola, for Honeybadger whose gifts inspired me to try my hand at it, for all the ingredients from oats to syrup to dried fruit and nuts that I happened to have on hand, and yes of course I put chocolate bits in it.
We got a taste this morning of the severe winter weather that’s rampaging across the country. We woke to a blizzard with stinging snow blowing every single direction all at once. It only lasted a couple of hours and dumped three inches of snow. No one wanted to go out in it. I’m grateful that my little pets can hold it a long time. Shortly after it stopped snowing I persuaded Topaz and Wren to go for a short walk in the woods, just long enough to find Topaz a small spot without snow under a juniper. I’m grateful it was largely melted by late afternoon so we could take a longer walk, and grateful that tomorrow promises to be warmer and sunny.
We were asked in a group this morning where we find gratitude in the day. One person said “In relief,” i.e., when something happens or doesn’t happen and the emotion is relief, gratitude follows. Once it was articulated, a number of us could relate to that; though I hadn’t thought before about being grateful for Relief. Or if I did, I’ve forgotten. My answer to the query was, “Every morning when I wake up alive in my bed, for waking up alive, for the bed, for the house the bed is in, and on from there….” And of course, I’m grateful for my almost daily cheese sandwich.
Today’s version included mayo, mustard, dill pickle relish, Havarti, two fried eggs, and shredded lettuce, piled between slices of fresh-baked bread an hour out of the oven. Grateful for the convenience of ready-made condiments in the fridge, for the fridge, for the solar power to run the fridge; for the flour, salt, and sourdough still going strong, and the water and how it gets here, and the oven and the propane that fuels it and how those got here; for the fresh organic free-range eggs, and the non-stick skillet, and the wooden spatula; for the organic lettuce and those who grew it and transported it; and for the cheese, and the Danish cows it came from, and all the roads it took to get to my doorstep. I suffer some, but I really have nothing to complain about. And that’s a relief.
Even though it will snow again soon, I’m grateful for the arrival of early spring. Today it climbed over sixty degrees in the sun, and two little irises opened. I worked in the south border for an hour and planted some tulips I didn’t get in the ground before it froze. Maybe they’ll bloom this year, maybe not; but at least they’ll take root, and I planted them in a cage so they’ll survive the does. I’m grateful for the promise of spring.
In which Topaz leads the way. It’s Mud Season, and the pathways through the woods are half icy, half muddy, and half dry. So it’s a good time to follow Topaz on a walk because she hates mud and ice, so she finds the driest way through the forest. I’m grateful for idle rambling this afternoon, seeing parts of the woods and old juniper friends we haven’t visited all winter.
Walking up the driveway with Topaz in the warm light of late day in earliest spring…
Even late, fatigued, I’m grateful for the little gifts of today. I’m grateful that I’ve noticed the first tips of mini irises popping through the dirt over the past few days, and the crocuses which opened yesterday. Suddenly, just since Monday, all these little beings have sprouted from the ground.
I’m grateful that after an intense work week, and a full day of meaningful interactions, I was able to rest and reset with a long afternoon nap. I know that I did some good things today. I feel nonetheless the malaise of self-doubt and resistance to the way things are. I made the mistake of reading some articles this evening that I found disheartening, even frightening. Corruption, profiteering, heartlessness, and just plain meanness surround us, in our broken medical and political systems, in our neighbors, in corporations, big Tech and big Pharma, big Banks and big Oil… There are days it is just hard and wearying to know these things.
On days like these, when I’m exhausted by my own efforts to resist the weight of evil in the world, it’s more important than ever to turn some of my attention budget to the little precious things I’m fortunate to have in my life. To savor the tiny beautiful things and moments, to find renewal and nourishment in them when there feels like little else. There’s a peace in remembering Impermanence: these small pleasures are fleeting but they are endless; they coexist with the paucity of spirit in the species that allows and perpetuates inequality and evil. I’m grateful to recall that the human spirit, the human species, also holds generosity, goodness, and love, and that I’ve also seen a lot of that today.
I marvel sometimes at the transient meaningfulness of my simple cheese sandwich lunch habit. There’s nothing at all remarkable or special about it, except that I always have enough to eat. So far.
I’m in the middle of a gloriously creative work week, wrapping up the third big project in a row, burning the midnight oil tonight. I’m grateful that I have had the energy and inspiration to work this hard and enjoy the work, take breaks, and surf the contentment wave that continues to buoy me. I’m grateful for the fresh grapefruit juice I squeezed for a special salty dog cocktail this evening when I took a break for a zoom with a dear friend in Florida. I savored it all the more for being mindful of the reasons it was such a special drink: 1) the grapefruit came from a tree in the yard of the very friend I was zooming with, 2) my new favorite glass was a birthday gift from Amy, 3) I mixed flaky sea salt with raw sugar to rim the glass, and 4) all the elements of this one simple cocktail added together became so much more than the sum of their parts. Now, back to work.
Living inside the kaleidoscope… grateful for a little slice of sunshine at the end of a cloudy day.
Even though I’ve had the same home for thirty years, I’ve lived a life with a lot of coming and going. I used to travel across the country a couple of times a year, missing a whole month or a season at home. When I first had a year that I didn’t have to drive across the country and back, I was startled to realize: It’s been a whole year! I’ve been able to wake up every morning in the same bed, and see every day of every season from the same vantage point. And now I realize it’s been nine years since I’ve driven across the country, and four years since I’ve really done much more than wake up, meditate, fill the day with work, gardening, communication, punctuate it with my little lunch ritual, my little evening ritual, and then go to bed. This repeating pattern brings a pure, deep contentment to each day.
Contentment was an aspiration since I moved to this home. I remember sitting on the rim of the canyon thirty years ago and feeling a voice inside, This is the leading edge of peace. Since then, I’ve touched into contentment occasionally, recognized it in a moment here or there, felt it for a day or two. But a few weeks ago, it began to bubble up in me day after day after day, an inexplicable feeling of quiet happiness. As I reflected, it came clear that it arose from the simple sameness of each day; and yet, within each day, the infinite variety.
I’m grateful I found a good use for these ancestral pickle tongs! I was hungry for a greasy, salty snack this afternoon but I could not stop working: ancestral tongs protected the computer from sticky fingerprints.
There is a routine that shifts gradually from season to season, and varies only occasionally. I work from deadline to deadline on a wonderful variety of projects. But I don’t ever really know what’s coming next. I don’t know whether it’s going to be sunny and I’ll have a long walk—where will we walk? Or if it’s going to be icy and I’ll stay inside and vacuum, or write or read, or work. There is spontaneous variety in what I choose to eat and how I choose to prepare it on any given day. Who might call for advice or help or consolation, or to share some good news I can rejoice in with them? I don’t know what opportunities will arise to be of service in my community, or in the larger political landscape.
Contentment doesn’t mean that I’m never sad. I am finally able to understand, to feel in my whole being, that contentment can also hold my sadness: personal sadness with fading friendships, an aging body that’s rarely felt robustly healthy in its entire life, occasional loneliness, or the deeply held grief over dead beloveds; and a more global sadness at the dreadful state of so many aspects of our world.
I’m grateful for St. Francis, and one day maybe he’ll get an entire post devoted to him. Meanwhile, he took a tumble recently, but he’s been righted and rooted into the mud which should hold him for awhile.
Why has it taken me until this age to begin to feel so deeply content? Why was I not able to feel this contentment earlier in life, and why am I now? I guess because it took me this long to learn the ingredients of the magic formula…
To hear the magic formula for contentment, along with a free guided meditation, check out my podcast, Suffer Less with Mindfulness, wherever you get your podcasts. The episode ‘Want What You Have’ will air tomorrow before dark mountain time.
I’m grateful for experiencing the truth that happiness comes from what we bring to the world, rather than what the world gives to us. I’ve understood it theoretically for awhile, but it felt crystal clear to me yesterday after I had run some errands and was thinking, That was so much fun! Running errands hasn’t been something I generally consider fun. But I set off with the intention to embody loving-kindness in every interaction, and had fun with the clerk at the post office, had fun walking with a friend, had fun at the bank where Wren got to do some tricks for extra cookies and delighted the drive-up teller; then I had fun stopping by the Bad Dog Ranch, where I was greeted by free-range chickens pecking in the grass next to a black cat who thinks he’s a dog, and by three wagging dogs and a cowgirl.
All of it could have been not-fun if I’d brought a different attitude, like rushing for example, or even just indifference. I could have spent a neutral or unpleasant couple of hours, which is what I’ve done on so many errands in the past. I’m grateful for noticing my progress on the mindfulness path: being present and pleasant, looking people in the eyes with a warm smile, listening with the ear of the heart. It is such a simple shift in perspective, one that I realize has become largely effortless, bringing an intention of sincere friendliness into each interaction. I came home from ‘the world’ happy because I brought loving-kindness from inside myself to my interactions with ‘the world.’
On the radio driving from the bank to the ranch I listened to an interview with a poet and translator from Rafah recounting the desperate situation in that city. He said, “You are not safe at all… I never witnessed such a situation… I’m a survivor of five wars… what we are living through, I can’t call it war, it’s another thing… We are spending our whole lives trying only to survive… I don’t want to survive, I want to live… There is a huge difference between living and surviving….” It was a heartbreaking counterpoint to the happiness I was feeling in my safe car driving along on the other side of the world. I’m grateful for all the causes and conditions leading up to this moment where I am able to live, rather than just survive.
