All posts by Garrett

1. God
2. Bulbs, MaryEllen’s and everywhere, so many varieties
3. Warm enough for a candlelight dinner outside
4. A kind veterinarian took care of Pegasus, who snuck out last night
5. Trailing off
6. Letting things come and letting things go
7. Laura’s gratitude is something to marvel at, remember, and practice

1. God
2. God box
3. Ingrid brought me rainbow chard and some herbs from her garden
4. Eileen making time for me and finding a place where we can talk. Where we originally planned to go, there was a lot of traffic because of the street fair.
5. Late blooming sunflowers
6. Iced tea with mint from the garden

1. God
2. Hearing from Oliver, who just moved to Florida, no damage to his new home, he said. From some others I know, heard damages were minimal, some still without power. Praying for all those affected.
3. Pink lantana and pink zinnias together in a pot. Virginia told me lantana do not like vases. We’ll see.
4. Pegasus for just being here, whether he’s just scratching or resting. Sometimes he walks across the keyboard and inevitably launches iTunes. Wonder what he wants to hear.
5. Jane and the things we share. May a doctor figure out what’s causing her son’s health problems.
6. Talking with Dottie again. We were close once. She was very kind and visited me and took me places when I broke my ankle. I’d forgotten she has a son who’s had trouble, two daughters I think who have managed well. It was good to reconnect if only for a moment.
7. Cats in the lit windows like bookends.
8. Perspectival lines fold the sky into the trees

“life is not a dead end, not something to be endured or mastered” – Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions

1. God
2. MaryEllen’s kind and thoughtful emails move my heart
3. Learning that Karen is safe in Houston, and she recounts sadness at the destruction, and awe at the acts of heroism and people coming together.
4. Tom’s father may make a full recovery.
5. Jean asked for prayers for Jessica, her niece.
6. For those who’ve lost mothers, like Nancy, and for those who offer prayers and comfort.
7. Good phone call with Eileen
8. Lightly waving pines
9. When I was parking my car, a man pulled up next to me and yelled that there was still an hour left on his meter, he drove off before I could thank him, but there was room for me to reverse.
10. The view of Stockbridge bowl and Monument Mountain, south from Tanglewood.
11. Moved by mauve double doors.
12. Shade and cool breezes.

1. God
2. Thinking of Karen, John, and others in Texas in the storms’ path. Also Virginia and Charles in Louisiana.
3. Jennifer almost completed her treatment and she seems to be making it through with determination, and love and support from family and friends.
4. Diane with Tom her fiancée who was injured in accident, in the hospital.
5. Jessica and her mother. She goes to visit several times a week.
6. Eileen, for her loss of Mani, her beloved dog.
7. Emily, for her upcoming diagnostic procedure, grateful for Oriana to take her to and fro.
8. Roslyn’s successful surgery. I feel like me again, she said.

1. God
2. On the dock by the riverbank
3. Letting things go
4. A walk on the river
5. A supportive friend
6. Soil
7. Alan brought us lobsters and clams when he returned from vacation;we watered his plants while he and family were gone.
8. Successful summer for Hannah. David too.
9. Blessings
10. And/or blessings plus one

1. God
2. Visiting my mother and father and bringing them basil and tomatoes and zucchini from our garden. They are always so appreciative. I appreciate them. My father says I have a green thumb like his father but I always appreciated the tomatoes he grew and the lettuce and basil he brought us when he tended a garden.
3. My father’s memory is no longer so good. I know it frustrates him, not being able to recall the names of people, places, and things, sometimes. You’ll experience it one day too, he told me. It’s humbling to hear this.
4. My mother is quite cheerful and I know it’s hard for her to manage my dad as well as things for herself. His stubbornness, which I think served him well at different times in life, makes it hard. Only occasionally have I tried to imagine myself in his shoes or in her shoes.
5. I try to cherish each visit and give them my full attention and as much time as I can. My mother offers me lemonade and then ice cream. She shouldn’t wait on me. Maybe it pleases her. It’s her house. She’s working tomorrow at the library, which she does one Saturday a month. It seems to please her also but often tires her. Otherwise, she manages their doctors’ appointments, calls in people to fix things, and keeps the house running. They don’t ask much from me even though I would implore them to. My mother asks me to look at the computer and I try what I can to fix it, and she’s pretty savvy about that too, except I think she has trouble seeing the little icons and “x”s and such.
6. I don’t know how many more visits I will have with them. Each one matters, but I cannot ask for perfection from any of us. They are in their eighties and healthy and strong. Tomorrow is not guaranteed to me either.
7. As I approached the house along the sharp incline from the drive way, spread before me was the vast green lawn (which I used to tear up playing baseball with my friends,) the surrounding pine trees, the flowers my father planted which I had sent to him monthly, and those parts of the yard with the sunlight on them. I could enjoy this, I thought, sitting out here, even once.