There are times whether walking down my old dirt road, or sitting on my front steps watching the world go by that random thoughts whiz in and out of my brain. Words, phrases, sentences, even paragraphs come and go at will. Random thoughts that I can't catch. Like wood smoke they go up to the heavens and disappear. But it seems that my brain gathers enough wool together that about once a month I stitch up some kind of story. This time around the word 'joy' has become the word that all other words seem to be crowding around. The joy of life, love, happiness. Joy is what makes you smile when it might be a silly moment. Joy can send your heart aflutter or it can make you release a deep sigh. Joy can be fleeting but when the moments are stitched together than joy is much larger than you think and covers you like a well worn blanket.
Our neighbor Maryann died recently. She was 65 years young. Whenever I saw her she had a smile and a wave for me. I called her my 'flyby' friend. I was usually out walking when she would drive by off to work or to visit her daughter or on some errand. She always seemed to be going somewhere. But she would stop for a minute or two if she had time so we could talk. The last time I saw her, joy radiated from her. It was the final few days before her daughters wedding. She couldn't have been happier or more joyful. She told me of some of the plans as she sat in her car and I stood in the street. The best thing about living on a dirt road is traffic is minimal so you can have real conversations with people.
Fate was on the road with us that day but we didn't know it. We didn't know that the rest of Maryann's life was to be but a few short weeks before and aggressive cancer would end it. Maryann was joyful and that is how I remember her. A smile and a wave and she was off. I never thought I would not see her again.
That joy can be contrasted with death in such a way seems terribly unfair. What would have been unfair is if she died before she saw her daughter get married. She most likely had many joys in her life but this would be the last and most important because her family was there to share in the day. She is a woman missed by many.
Joy can also be very simple. This week I sat and looked out at what I think of as my insanity. 5 raised beds just around the patio, filled with perennials and filling up with veggies, herbs and annuals. My unimaginably long and wide bed that contains a small tree, lots of peonies, perennials, a bush or two, another tree and morphs into the pumpkin and squash patch which morphs yet again into iris and daylilys and some flowers I don't know the name of. There is a large rugosa rose and its bed touches on the hillside of hosta and daylilys which slides down to the shade loving hosta and that wraps around a small froggie pond with various perennials with names like lenten rose and lugaria rocket and painted fern. There are several small beds scatter by the mudroom, side porch, generator shed, and greenhouse that are hardly gardens but they give me as much joy as my insanity beds do. There is also a 'fence' that started life in a factory as steel framed windows. Now they support grapes not glass. And birdhouses perch above them while birds fly through the empty window frames. There is an incredibly long series of raised beds that follow the quirky angles of the fence. Asparagus grows in some, rhubarb in others and the last couple are for potatoes. These odd things bring a smile to my face, they make my heart fill with joy as I watch the plant erupt from the earth for yet another growing season. As if their purpose in life is to give me joy.
My children give me joy. And they don't even know it. They just think I am their mom. That crazy lady that lives in Vermont with her almost as crazy hubby. I feel joy because they have gone out and found lives. That they have joy. Our youngest is to be a father. Joy glows from his face and his wife's. My older son has found love and I see the joy carefully contained within his eyes. And I hope I see it reflected in the eyes of his love.
Joy is simple and can be found everywhere in the simplest of places and sometimes at the oddest of times.
Take that joy and remember it. It is fleeting although there is a lot of it around it is not always recognized. Think about something special to you about a person that has died. I think of my mom waiting for me after school at the door to our house with her parka on, her wool pants and boots. But her skates thrown over her shoulder is what I see. And I hear her voice telling me to hurry. Time to go skating. Sometimes with friends and sometime just her and me. Such childhood joy. It's always there for me to capture again. Just like in the deepest winter's snow I can 'see' my gardens and feel that joy. Or when our first grandchild is born my chest will probably burst from the joy. Another link in our family chain, a chain forged with love and joy.
Our neighbor Maryann died recently. She was 65 years young. Whenever I saw her she had a smile and a wave for me. I called her my 'flyby' friend. I was usually out walking when she would drive by off to work or to visit her daughter or on some errand. She always seemed to be going somewhere. But she would stop for a minute or two if she had time so we could talk. The last time I saw her, joy radiated from her. It was the final few days before her daughters wedding. She couldn't have been happier or more joyful. She told me of some of the plans as she sat in her car and I stood in the street. The best thing about living on a dirt road is traffic is minimal so you can have real conversations with people.
Fate was on the road with us that day but we didn't know it. We didn't know that the rest of Maryann's life was to be but a few short weeks before and aggressive cancer would end it. Maryann was joyful and that is how I remember her. A smile and a wave and she was off. I never thought I would not see her again.
That joy can be contrasted with death in such a way seems terribly unfair. What would have been unfair is if she died before she saw her daughter get married. She most likely had many joys in her life but this would be the last and most important because her family was there to share in the day. She is a woman missed by many.
Joy can also be very simple. This week I sat and looked out at what I think of as my insanity. 5 raised beds just around the patio, filled with perennials and filling up with veggies, herbs and annuals. My unimaginably long and wide bed that contains a small tree, lots of peonies, perennials, a bush or two, another tree and morphs into the pumpkin and squash patch which morphs yet again into iris and daylilys and some flowers I don't know the name of. There is a large rugosa rose and its bed touches on the hillside of hosta and daylilys which slides down to the shade loving hosta and that wraps around a small froggie pond with various perennials with names like lenten rose and lugaria rocket and painted fern. There are several small beds scatter by the mudroom, side porch, generator shed, and greenhouse that are hardly gardens but they give me as much joy as my insanity beds do. There is also a 'fence' that started life in a factory as steel framed windows. Now they support grapes not glass. And birdhouses perch above them while birds fly through the empty window frames. There is an incredibly long series of raised beds that follow the quirky angles of the fence. Asparagus grows in some, rhubarb in others and the last couple are for potatoes. These odd things bring a smile to my face, they make my heart fill with joy as I watch the plant erupt from the earth for yet another growing season. As if their purpose in life is to give me joy.
My children give me joy. And they don't even know it. They just think I am their mom. That crazy lady that lives in Vermont with her almost as crazy hubby. I feel joy because they have gone out and found lives. That they have joy. Our youngest is to be a father. Joy glows from his face and his wife's. My older son has found love and I see the joy carefully contained within his eyes. And I hope I see it reflected in the eyes of his love.
Joy is simple and can be found everywhere in the simplest of places and sometimes at the oddest of times.
Take that joy and remember it. It is fleeting although there is a lot of it around it is not always recognized. Think about something special to you about a person that has died. I think of my mom waiting for me after school at the door to our house with her parka on, her wool pants and boots. But her skates thrown over her shoulder is what I see. And I hear her voice telling me to hurry. Time to go skating. Sometimes with friends and sometime just her and me. Such childhood joy. It's always there for me to capture again. Just like in the deepest winter's snow I can 'see' my gardens and feel that joy. Or when our first grandchild is born my chest will probably burst from the joy. Another link in our family chain, a chain forged with love and joy.
