Drop the Disguise

 

What happened?

Drop The Disguise

Leah Early

 

Just as I threw my hands up and 

Surrendered

To living Winter in the Pacific Northwest 

f-o-r-e-v-e-r,

 

I became aware suddenly

That this year’s tree moss crop 

Ranks particularly plump,

Like dollops of bright-green snow caught in bare branches.

 

I remembered slipping and splashing through puddles, 

Walking on surfaces in squishing shoes, and very wet pant legs.

At times the soil’s thirst was so replete, 

The ground could not sip another drop of rain.

 

And yet, in all that grey gloom dressed as Winter,

Skinny daffodil stems (no chance of being “a host” yet) 

Stretched toward the warmth of sun rays.

A few brave bulbs nudged out to ask: “Is it time?”              

 

Oh, it is time, you bet!

It is time to drop Winter disguises in multiple shades of grey.

It’s time to grasp a vision of a harvest and

To move bravely toward blooming and bearing fruit.

 

Spring, please.

Don’t be bashful.

Come! 

 

Amazing!

My Fragile Nature

by Catherine Marsh

The Road Catherine Marsh 2024

Recently I was called upon to share what I had learned over the past three months, since the last meeting of the Learning Circle, a group of six women whose roots and sisterhood go back some 50 years. We range in age from 76 to 87 and meet to share and encourage one another to continue the path of personal transformation and growth as we progress towards our 80s and 90s.

 
Given that context, the learning that I articulated was, “The beauty of life lies in accepting its fragility.” As the youngest member of the group, my encounters with my own fragility have only just begun, but my recent hospitalization reminded me that over the coming years, as I struggle with macular degeneration and osteoporosis as well as other conditions that will arise, such encounters are not likely to diminish in frequency or duration. However, they do not need to diminish me.  Fragility is a part of my nature.

 
I have accepted that I am fragile, and like the delicate orchid, I require attentive cultivation if I am to continue to grow and blossom.  I am learning to handle myself with care.  I eat healthfully and strive to sleep at least seven hours a night; I work out three times a week, twice with a trainer; I have developed practices of writing daily and painting regularly; I walk a mile to and from my painting class each week; I receive injections in both eyes four times a year; I receive an annual infusion for osteoporosis.

Perhaps more than ever before, with intentional care of my body, mind and spirit, I am living a bountiful life. My children are just a phone call away, and will come if called, but I have learned that I also have wonderfully caring neighbors that only need to be asked to help. I zoom monthly with old friends who live far away. Nearby friends join me on excursions into Chicago to participate in many of the wonderful cultural opportunities that exist close to home, and I have decided to stay planted in Evanston – what a wonderful place to call home.

I recently encountered work colleagues that I had not seen since retirement. They all seemed quite shocked and commented that I was aging in reverse, that I looked better than ever. One even used the word, “beautiful.” Ah yes, I noted to myself, I have accepted my fragile nature.