All summer they provided nectar for hummingbirds. I planted them for the flowers, and they’ve never produced many beans in previous years.
But this year, though they began to bloom late, they did make a lot of flowers, and eventually a lot of big beans.
Today I pulled them all off, prior to the coming freeze. I read that pole beans should be harvested before a hard freeze, and most of them were already mature, though not dry on the vine. I do NOT remember the beans being this scrumptious berry color. I’ll dry them on a tray until the pods are tan and the beans rattle in them, then spread the beans out to dry further before storing in a jar. I pulled all the pod beans today, including the last prolific rattlesnake pole beans. I’m grateful for a day spent putting the garden to bed, another day with an enthusiastic dog, another precious day in contemplation, and I’m especially grateful today for scarlet runner beans.
I’m grateful for this sweater that I’ve had for so long I don’t even remember where or when I got it. Decades ago, for sure. It’s soft old cashmere, and feels like a hug. When new, it was for dress up. It’s got a few small holes, and always slips off my right shoulder; now I can only wear it at home alone. Every now and then I put it in a pile to give away, but I always pull it out to wear before I get that pile packed off somewhere, and decide again to keep it.
I’m grateful for this old dog I’ve had for so long he’s falling apart, too. But remarkably, though his incontinence continues unabated, his spirit and strength have improved with the magic of prednisone. He once again has a good walk in the morning pretty consistently, though he fades by evening. Back from the brink! How long this rebound will continue is, of course, uncertain; like everything else in life. We seize the day, each day.
Yeah, I behaved poorly… Years in the making, layers of labels, resentments, dashed expectations, “different world views,” and a final cascade of events and emotions…. “It was justified.” Still, I behaved poorly, and I’m grateful that I can have compassion for my old sorry self who used to let her mental stories lead her way, and still takes me over, though it’s been a long time…. I’m grateful today that I can observe the processes of “my” mind as I reflect on all the layers of this event, and of how it came to be. Though I’m not clear yet, I’m grateful for mindfulness skills that can help me at least know the possibility of clarity, feel the grace of self-compassion, and aspire to forgiveness.
It’s hard not to think in terms of last: is this his last walk to the canyon? his last drink from the hose? his last night? his last day? I’m grateful for all this painful awareness, reminding me constantly of what a constant companion he has been for almost fourteen years. And he still is, though it’s so different. He would still fight to the death to protect me, if he could move fast enough. I’ve remained the ‘parent’ as he has gone from infant to elder before my eyes, in no time at all. The challenges of this, too, shall pass. Nothing lasts forever. Death is certain, time of death uncertain.
This monk is pissed off! Bottled water in Tibet these days: He’s tying together plastic, pollution, greed, and climate chaos, with his personal experience growing up in Tibet in the 70s and 80s, when you could dig fifteen feet underground almost anywhere and be rewarded with pure, fresh water. Tibetans would have laughed at the idea of paying money for water! These days, he gesticulates, bottled water everywhere. The best thing you can do for the planet is stop buying bottled water. It’s heartbreaking, inspiring, delightful–miraculous, actually…
I’m grateful that I can be watching an actual Tibetan Buddhist master (who is 7500 miles from the roots of his tradition, and is actually present at the Yoga Tree down the road), from the comfort of my recliner twenty miles away, on the screen of a foldup super-computer. I’m grateful for the Yoga Tree and the Creamery, and all the other people in this valley and everywhere who make it possible for these monks from Gaden Shartse Monastery to travel to small towns with their ancient wisdom. It’s amazing that I am receiving profound teachings from a representative of a lineage going back to Gautama Buddha 2600 years ago. It’s technology, among many other things, that enables this astonishing connection. And it is technology, and our insatiable desire for more and better of everything, that has led to climate chaos.
“We all have responsibilities to be more content with our life and try to protect Nature as much as we can,” he continued, after explicating the six primary delusions of attachment, anger, pride, ignorance, doubt, and wrong view. We need to do the inner work to understand these issues, he taught, and from our balance will flow more balance for the world. A couple of people pointed out that we need to do something now, we don’t have time to rely on doing inner work.
“Recognize interdependence. When self-cherishing is reduced, cherishing of others will grow…. Start from yourself and then teaching your family, friends, near and dear ones,” he explained, “and one becomes ten becomes a hundred… like the coronavirus, this too will spread,” he said. It was a hopeful image, this goodwill for the planet and commitment to the well-being of all creatures great and small spreading exponentially like a virus, until, in my imagination, even our governments, our policies and laws, entire cultures across the globe begin to truly reflect the interdependence of all life on earth.
He concluded the lesson with this pearl: “Die without remorse, and your next journey will be great and fortunate.” I just wonder, where do we come back to in our next life if we’ve destroyed our species and much of the planet? Meanwhile, I’m just grateful when I can live one day without regret.
I’m grateful this morning that I didn’t get myself into a bigger snit this week, over a cascade of events that I experienced as aggravating and stressful. I lost my temper–but only a little bit–with the person I felt had put me in a no-win situation. I’m grateful for mindfulness practice for tempering my reactions throughout the experience, helping me keep a compassionate and friendly perspective, and for enabling me to let go once it was all resolved satisfactorily.
I’m grateful for the mind training I’ve engaged in this past year, which allowed me to recognize these worries as projections of mind rather than reality, thereby keeping rampant emotions in perspective. Frustration and resentment simply buzzed around my head like an angry bee from time to time, rather than dominating the field of love and serenity that Stellar and I have been cultivating during these last precious days together. (How many now? Ten? One? Another month?)
I can’t imagine what a mess I would have been two years ago in the same situation. Actually, I can imagine, and this clear awareness is so much easier; this letting go so much healthier. The angry bee has flown, ravens chat nearby, a sweet fall breeze stirs leaves and flowerheads. Stellar lies on his bed in shade beside the patio table where I write, resting comfortably after two short wobbles around the breakfast loop earlier. I’m grateful for the new regime of comfort meds that have given us both more physical ease, and therefore peace. Perhaps these palliative measures may extend his life a little longer, I don’t know; but the important thing is that they are giving him a better quality of life, whatever its duration.
I might as easily have chosen to highlight my gratitude for the Bibiliofillies, but I am grateful today for letting go. I’m grateful for the capacity to quit reading a book, or watching a show, or otherwise removing my attention from one thing and turning it to another. This is the very essence of mindfulness, the ability and willingness to choose where we place our attention.
Tonight, the Bibliofillies met on zoom to discuss our month’s selection, A Swim in a Pond in the Rain: In Which Four Russians Give a Master Class on Writing, Reading, and Life, by George Saunders, author of Lincoln in the Bardo, which we read awhile ago. The latter was a work of fiction; tonight’s subject, an academic analysis of numerous classic Russian short stories, and the arts of writing, and of reading. (I can’t tell you how many stories, because I didn’t get past the first chapter.) A few fillies loved it; some were almost neutral; the rest of us, well, to say we despised it would be an exaggeration, but needless to say the various opinions made for lively discussion. This is why I’m grateful, at least once a month, for the Bibiliofillies.
I bristled at the author’s (a middle-aged white man) initial assumption that he knew what I was thinking. From there it went downhill. Though I did find some redeeming features in what I read, I did not want to keep reading, one of Saunders’ essential criteria for a successful short story. My perspective aside, (for what does it matter anyway?), having this safe place to express it, laugh about it, adapt it, is… priceless.
It’s essential to adapting to be able to let go. There is so much to let go of every single day. I’m grateful that I can let go of attachment to ‘my’ point of view more and more often these days.
Life is so much easier now that I’m simply letting things be as they are, instead of trying to control them. I also used to bristle when people told me, “You think too much!” Turns out they were right, but for the wrong reasons. And if I didn’t hang onto an emotion, I couldn’t consider that it mattered. Letting go was never easy for me. So I clung to, among other things, my own judgements, expectations, mistakes; I harbored grudges, fed them with repetition. Michael was right: I did have a ‘victim mentality.’
Death is certain, time of death uncertain.
I’m so grateful that I’m learning to let go, of everything. Emotions can actually flow through, and that doesn’t make them less real or less valid. The faster I let go, the faster I learn the lesson. The lesson I learned this month was that I don’t have to finish reading every book, or watching every episode of every season of a show, or a movie to the end. I don’t always need to know what happens next: as in a bad dream, I can take my attention by the hand and walk away. I can choose where to spend my precious attention. I don’t know how much I have left. I’m grateful for letting go of things that don’t nurture me.
I’m grateful today for the satisfaction of doing what I had to do, for work, for dogs, for the house and yarden. Grateful for curiosity which has allowed me to slow down and observe without attachment. Grateful for the satisfaction delivered by a BLT with leftover chicken. Grateful to go to bed after a long day, without being too hard on myself or anyone else, and with only some minor regrets. Grateful for mindfulness practice.
Tonight, I’m grateful for cold cuts, among other things. Stellar’s vet made a house call this morning, and I’m very grateful for that. He hasn’t seen a vet in person since the spring, when his blood counts were all good and her second opinion was that she couldn’t offer more for his lameness than Dr. TLC had him on already. And so we tottered along through summer, before he really began to decline about six weeks ago.
Dr. TLC’s diagnosis today is that he has internal bleeding, likely from a cancer somewhere in his abdomen. Cancer runs in his family. His litter-sister died of cancer just about a year ago. This came as no surprise to me, and I’m grateful to have more clarity about what’s going on with him, and a lot more options for comfort meds as we enter the palliative care phase with an official prognosis rather than simply my intuition. He seems much more comfortable tonight than he’s been for awhile.
Today was a hectic scramble. I returned from the grocery store after PT and began sorting all the dog meds on my kitchen counter. Stellar’s on to the last few pill-wrapper treats, and Rocky doesn’t like to take his pills either. Who does? So I bought some new varieties of cold cuts to hide them in. So far so good on their end with the ultra-thin sliced honey roasted turkey breast, and I enjoyed snacking on a slice also while loading theirs with pills. I haven’t eaten cold cuts (except in store-bought sandwiches) since I was in college. I don’t remember the last time, or if ever, I kept any in my refrigerator. And when Stellar’s gone, so will be the cold cuts. But for now, they’re very helpful, and tasty too. So I’m grateful for cold cuts.
I’ll admit to a bit of stress this past week since Stellar’s seizure. Actually, watching his decline over the past few months has been stressful, though I’ve been coping well. It’s felt good this weekend to have accomplished some things, and given myself permission to relax. Rocky arrived this morning for a couple of days, and the three of us spent the whole day in the garden. Rocky is recovering from ACL surgery, and Stellar is moving along on his own journey, and I was content to spend the day with them in a shady little corner of the garden reading, writing, and occasionally getting up to do a little work with the plants. I’m grateful for relaxing today.
I’m also grateful for those of you who have expressed concern for Stellar, and for me. Thank you. Please don’t be anxious for us. While he’s now on a path that is ineluctably downhill (from one perspective), he seems to take two steps down and then rebound one. He may be around for a lot longer than I thought last week, and then again, he could go out with another seizure at any moment. This is the searing uncertainty that we all live with when we choose to accompany someone we love through their dying process. The hardest part is when he gets agitated and confused. His vet is coming by tomorrow, and I hope she’ll give me something to help him with that. Meanwhile, rest assured that unless I mention otherwise, he is toodling along at his own pace, and we are both ok with it. I’ll post a special edition of Morning Rounds when he takes his last step and ascends to Doggie Heaven, because that is surely where he will go; or else straight to the realm of enlightened beings, and those two places may just be the same.
Today I’m grateful for this strange little cantaloupe, and also for having another day with Stellar. I lay again with him outside in the garden for several hours this afternoon, thinking This is is, before he got up ready for a walk. My capacity for patience grows. Patience only begins when you run out of it.