Mr. Bean ATB 2/21/04–William Cowper
You don’t know me, but might recognize me from the neighborhood. I walk by your house with the silly black Lab puppy in the early evenings; sometimes we wave to one another while you’re out to bring in the garbage cans from the street.
Maybe you saw me this afternoon on my knees in my good clothes in the middle of your front garden. I had the camera with me on the way in from work and couldn’t resist stopping to take some pics, even though I worried you might think me a little nutty for doing it.
You see, those snowdrops you’ve planted have been drawing my eye for the last week or so; in fact, I look for them there every winter around this time. Last year, their blooms were suspended in ice, but my winter weary eyes were reassured at the sight of them.
If you’d noticed my pausing as I drove by earlier this month, it was just so that I might catch a glimpse of the green shoots poking the way through their bed of ivy. That was magic enough the morning I finally spotted them, but last week their blooms lifted my heart some on a day when it was otherwise heavy.
I can see from your carefully-tended garden that you’re as much a lover of the most delicate flowers as I am. But snowdrops aren’t delicate and they’re as generous with themselves as we gardeners te
nd to be. Yours are slowly monopolizing the small space you’ve allotted them and before too long will be blooming down along the sidewalk. When that happens, I hope you’ll forgive me if you should find me there one afternoon with a small spade in place of my camera.
I’d be happy to return the favor, if only you’d knock at my door sometime and introduce yourself. I think I saw you out there one spring day at the edge of the garden with an eye on my patch of lily-of-the-valley. It’s quietly covering the ground beneath the dogwood trees and making its way towards the street.
If we wait long enough, your plot of snowdrops may meet my patch of lily-of-the-valley, and then our flowers will be neighbors too and we’ll not have to steal glances from one another’s garden any longer.
“We are formed and molded by our thoughts.
Those whose minds are shaped by selfless thoughts give joy when they speak or act.
Joy follows them like a shadow that never leaves them.” — Buddha
Dear Mary sent an award my way, as did Trixie a while back, and I’m just now getting around to saying thanks here. Thanks girls! Just goes to show you how behind I am that I’m only now acknowledging nice things said about my blog.
Trixie said this: Laura at Somewhere in New Jersey — This is one of the most polished blogs. Her writing is always thoughtful and considered.
Mary had this to say (and which I think is probably closer to the truth!): Laura at Somewhere in NJ — You can feel her softness and charm in her writing. Now and then, she rants and curses a little bit and we all love it.
A few of my closest blog buddies have said the same and I find it a little curious. Just ask someone who lives with me or has to work with me – that ranting and cursing happens a little too frequently. I recover pretty quickly, though.
😉
Back to the ranting in a minute. First I want to mention a new blog that’s been making my day lately. It’s a collaborative photo blog called Shutter Sisters – lots of creativity and inspiration there for the photography buffs among us. Check it out! I’ll post a few other favorite *make my day* blogs in the next couple days.
Today’s rant: Phones. What else? I’d been away from the office since last Thursday and had 11 messages waiting this morning. No big deal. Wrote them down and planned on returning the calls late this afternoon. In an effort to maintain my (semblance) of sanity I try to get actual work done during… oh say, 6 hours of the day. Talking on the phone doesn’t count as actual *work* as far as I’m concerned because none of the piles on my desk get any smaller that way.
I also tend to screen my calls when I’m there at my desk and won’t answer the phone unless it’s either a call I’m expecting and know to be an urgent issue or the person is a pain in the ass and calls the secretary to put the call through to me. Otherwise I let the calls go to voicemail with the idea that I’ll return them in the afternoon when I’m brain-dead anyway and can’t get any other more useful work done.
So… today between 9 am and 2 pm I had an additional 14 messages to return. The kicker is that 11 of those were from the same frickin’ person! She called me over and over and over and left the same ridiculous long-winded message 11 times! In a row! And guess what? When I called her back – she wasn’t home. No answering machine either… lucky for her …cause you know how I’d have spent the last couple hours of my work day.
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Here’s something I’m learning lately about blogging: it’s really hard to come up with anything interesting to say when you leave thinking about it to the very last minute of the day. I’m days behind with reading all of your blogs and weeks behind with commenting or responding to your kind comments here. I’m sorry… I’ll catch up one of these days!
In the meantime, or today at least, have a peek at some pretty flower bits from last spring. Some type of azalea that I found growing wild at the edge of the woods. Hopefully, the muse will find me tomorrow with a bit of inspiration and a bit more time to write something worth your time.
😉
No… I haven’t fallen off the face of the earth! I just wandered away for a day or two and never got here to say that I’d be away. There were ducks for chasing and sunsets to see over Barnegat Bay. If you stretch your imagination past the dock and it’s lonely bench to the marsh on that far shore you’ll see a short-ear or two hunting with the harriers in the gorgeous golden light of late afternoon. I wish I had pics of that to share, but now that I’m back I have only to imagine them there in the far away distance.
“Seek out old people. When you find some, give them joy. Listen closely. Remember that each old person is a library. Listen closely. Be useful. Bring the gift of yourself. Be voluntary. Visit with magic. Try playing their game. Let wisdom seep in. Cradle your own future old person. Be gentle. Listen closely. Pay attention to an old person. The treasures will be revealed.” –Sark, A Creative Companion
I had a second visit with an eighty-something-year old client today; quite the character this man is! Today’s visit was a bit more enjoyable than our last in early January; he’s since been fitted for a hearing aid and we didn’t need to shout at one another this time. He’s almost practically blind with glaucoma so couldn’t read the letter I’d sent to let him know I’d be stopping by. I stood in the pouring rain for the ten minutes it took him to get to the door with his walker to let me in and then he couldn’t see me to remember who I was.
😉
The real purpose of my visit was to make sure that his landlord had done some necessary repairs that I’d required, but I could have just as easily done that over the phone – but for all that shouting! – the fact is that I love to visit my elderly clients in person when possible. They’re often grumpy, but I love them anyway and usually end up feeling like I want to bring them home with me or at least adopt them for the holidays.
We had a nice visit and chatted about all his health issues and the problems he’s been having adjusting to the hearing aid. Then the stories started – that’s what I look forward to the most, you know! He told me about the jazz band he played horn in for many years – dixieland – and the time his band was asked to play at a funeral and had all the mourners up and dancing in the back of the funeral chapel. He also told about a half dozen bad jokes, but I laughed and he laughed and that’s what matters, I guess.
Most of the seniors I visit live alone and are too far from family to have any sort of support network in place. Plus, I imagine they’re really lonely and like the chance to talk with someone who’s kind enough to listen.
I know it was that way with my dad. I used to pity the poor telemarketer or grocery store clerk who met him when he was in a talkative mood – which was practically always! – he could go on and on for hours and mostly my brothers and I had already heard all of his stories at least a thousand times so had stopped listening, really. I regret that now, of course, and sometimes feel like I would give almost anything to hear my dad tell the story of breaking my mother’s Christmas angel or any of the hundreds of others he had saved up, just one more time.
I think the lesson for me in this is that it’s too easy to take your own family for granted; the old guy I saw this morning has a few sons around, but I wonder if they are able to delight in him the way I found myself doing today. It’s not easy to do, I guess, when other issues or emotions get in the way of just enjoying one another’s company, but I think courtesy, a lot of patience and some extra attention can go a long way in making the elderly feel like they have something to offer the rest of us. It doesn’t take much to be kind, does it? And they see far and know so much; we need only really listen.
I roamed around for an hour or so on Sunday at the boardwalk in Point Pleasant Beach, but spent most of the afternoon at the inlet in my car because it was freezing cold along the boardwalk. Lots of people out despite the cold. The draw for me at the inlet there is the chance to see loons up close – I have some awful photos, but wont subject you to them. Point Beach and the inlet, especially, is a favorite spot for locals, I think because of the chance to watch the fishing boats come and go. There’s a still thriving industry there and I get a kick out of seeing the boats and the interesting names people come up with for them. This was a favorite of the day.
His voice hasn’t completely changed yet and he still pees like a girl, but I’ve gone ahead and scheduled the appointment to have Luka neutered. The vet will keep him overnight one day in early March, so that’s at least a few hours of peace I can look forward to.
Yes, the honeymoon is over.
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He is such a clown; when I’m not completely annoyed with him I laugh until tears stream from my eyes. I have more bruises than I care to mention from his flying leaps into my lap. He gallops through the house like a horse in miniature or a bull in a china shop. He insists on getting a carrot anytime the bunnies do. He steals banana skins from the garbage can. He pokes his head in while I’m taking a shower. He follows me everywhere and leers at me with that damn ball in his mouth from behind every corner.
And he sleeps next to me and keeps me warm at night. And is happy to see me when I come home. And he drags me outside for walks. And he makes me laugh.
Mostly he’s a good thing. Guess I’ll have to keep him.
😉
I’m thinking today about the first time I saw an indigo bunting – on my first *real* bird walk – and the naturalist who was responsible for my seeing it and many other firsts that day. During the ten years or so since, I’ve thought back to how fortunate I was to have met Don and the rest of that little group of old folks that day when I was feeling so new to birds and, quite honestly, clueless.
I had this new pair of cheap binoculars that I hardly knew how to use and all the enthusiasm in the world. But I didn’t know anyone to teach me about birds, so I signed myself up for a walk around the nature center where I had also just recently agreed to volunteer once a month. I recall being embarassed with myself for knowing nothing and not seeing a familiar face amongst the group. But Don was leading and there were other friendly faces that I soon learned belonged to more volunteers at the nature center. We saw all the birds that were common to the neighborhood around the center (set in the middle of a cornfield, basically) and they were all wonderful and new to me then. The indigo bunting was the first bird I saw, and I mean really saw, and wow – I was just bewildered with its beauty and the seeming magic of the gentle man who pulled it out of the treeline, by its song alone, for me to see.
I remember his patience with me, the new kid, repeating the words to the song over and over, patience with me while I struggled to find that little blue bird singing from the treetops; “Fire-fire, where-where, here-here, see it-see it, put it out-put it out…”
As it turned out, Don was a neighbor, and I’d run into him on my walks in the woods near home, or in the grocery store, or in Cape May, or at the local Audubon meetings and we’d talk birds and share our latest good finds from the neighborhood. He often suggested that I call his wife and invite her along when I went looking for birds because he didn’t have the time to do as much birding as either of them might have liked.
The last time I saw Don was a few months back at the memorial service for another local birding buddy. Don wasn’t himself then; he’d been sick for a while, with something the doctors hadn’t been able to figure out. I read today that Don died this week from ALS that had only recently been diagnosed. What a terrible shock.
Do me a kindness and take a minute to read his obit and think a kind thought or say a prayer for his family. I’ll think of him and remember the bunting’s song and be glad to have known this quiet man who shared his love of nature so willingly with others.
Have you seen this photo? Pretty amazing, isn’t it? I’d imagine those to be locust or apple blossoms that are camouflaging the fawn’s spotted back. Smart mama, I think, to leave her little one there.
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(I have a migraine at the moment… hence the post title)
