• Rising early to prepare a warm bowl of oatmeal, apples, currants, and walnuts for my friend Pat, who came to spend the night recently.
• White roses in a galvanized tin vase, blooms unfurling.
• Relief and relaxation after embarking upon a long, slow cleanse.

I spent a bright July morning with my friend Jim on his 100-acre farm. We conversed over coffee, then did the ITP kata together. I met the perfectly delightful ball of fur and kitten energy named Max (short for “maximum cool” ― he was sitting under an A/C unit when Jim and his wife Cathy adopted him). After our meditation we took an electric-cart ride to see the barns, the cows lying in the shade, and the pigs in their wallow, then picked blackberries and gobbled them down warm from the day’s heat. They tasted like sunshine and love. I brought home a landscape that Jim had painted as well as vine-ripe tomatoes and cucumbers that Cathy had picked that morning. Such rich gifts!

When I got home, my husband Brent and I took off for a late lunch at our favorite Mexican restaurant, which had just reopened after a two-week staff vacation. We received a warm welcome from Jesus Bravo, the owner, followed by perfectly prepared spinach enchiladas made with handmade corn tortillas, beans, rice, and killer salsa verde, all accompanied by a cold Negra Modelo. The chef had clearly enjoyed his time off; his cooking that day was even more inspired than usual. Satiated and sleepy, Brent and I went home and took an afternoon nap, starkers on cool sheets under the breeze of a fan.

Later that evening, we welcomed our friends J and B for a simple meal of tomato sandwiches, grilled portabellas, tofu, tempeh, and a cold salad of thin-sliced cucumbers and red onions dressed with pinot grigio vinegar, extra-virgin olive oil, and fresh dill. The perfect end to a perfect day: sharing the bounty I’d received that morning and enjoying the fine company of friends.

Two weeks ago my mother-in-law Susan died after an arduous six-month struggle with lymphoma. My husband and I spent most of the month of April with her at the hospital, then at a beautiful hospice near our home. It’s been a terribly difficult, yet sweet time.

A few weeks ago Susan said, “When you can find the positive in the hospital, you’re doing well.” I can’t recall exactly what we were discussing at the time, but it’s true. Sometimes the only comfort a day afforded was when I was able to be present to a moment of beauty, or being handed a warm blanket, or receiving encouragement from a nurse. Despite all the intensity, sadness, and exhaustion, what I’m left feeling most is gratitude for the support, gifts, and care we received from family, friends, colleagues, and medical staff. And for the love extended to us.

I miss Susan. I remember an afternoon when we were sitting outside on her porch at the hospice, she in her wheelchair and me sitting next to her, clipping her fingernails. It was one of her last lucid days. We didn’t say anything; we were content together in the warm sun.

• Dancing with my niece and nephew in the soundSpace room at the life+science museum. Every move we made was captured by cameras that played musical sounds in response.
• Goofing off and getting big smiles from my baby nephew.
• Walking and talking with my little sister about creativity, art, and stuckness.

• I’m thankful for last night’s sleep, uninterrupted save for a few wild dreams.
• I’m grateful that I can walk virtually everywhere I need to go in the small town where I live. I walk miles every day to and from work, friends’ and neighbors’ homes, restaurants, the natural-foods co-op, the farmers’ market, coffeehouses, the library, and several theaters. My legs are strong, and I have a good back — and an excellent chiropractor when it’s not so good. (I can walk to his office, too.)
• I have sensitive hearing, and for that, I bow down in sincerest gratitude. When I was a child, I used to imagine what it would be like to go deaf or blind. I prayed that if I got to choose, I’d keep my hearing. Of course, having any working senses — being alive at all — is a gift.

• a note from a new friend;
• a delicious, nourishing dinner prepared by my husband;
• a small batch of perfectly smooth hummus from the owner of a local Mediterranean restaurant.

Periwinkles pop through beds of dead leaves.
Daffodils open their eyes of lemon and yolk.
A robin, worm-fat, darts across concrete.
A wren attempts to nest among bills in the mailbox.
Despite the rains, winter seemed so dry.
Think again.
Life teems.
I dream of wings
and flying.

———

The Virtual Bird, Bird Songs

• Ikiru, directed by Akira Kurosawa. A beautiful film about saying yes to life in the face of death. Superb acting, writing, and direction.
• Travellers and Magicians, directed by Khyentse Norbu. A fable within a story about “the bitter and the sweet of temporary things” filmed in the gorgeous Himalayan nation of Bhutan. The soundtrack features harmonic chant by David Hykes.
• Some Like It Hot, directed by Billy Wilder. This subversive, gender-bending comedy has perfect timing and a relentless pace. I laughed so hard I was gasping for breath by the end.

• I’m grateful for recently reconnecting with three friends;
• for the ease and speed with which I was able to arrange four literary readings and two family gatherings this week;
• and for the return of the sun after five steady days of rain.

• A brilliant afternoon sun slanting through a window at the end of the hall.
• One flower pushing through the dry leaves of a sleeping garden.
• The awareness that this moment is the only moment and that dwelling in anger is a choice.