Monday, April 17, 2017
Pilgrimage of Place 001
To the place we first remember as HOME.
Yesterday we sat in the courtyard sipping when our neighbor fired up the lawnmower, bursting through our silent Sunday with a sputtering, coughing engine. Ah well. We do live in an area with old houses and not so grand yards.
Then I smelled it: gasoline and cut grass. Back, back I catapulted to early summer evenings when Dad would get home from work, put on a pair of shorts and ride the mower round and round until the yard was conquered. Gasoline and grass become precious incense. From fresh cut grass I progress to vinyl and chlorine because when Dad started cutting, the pool was already open.
Petrol and greenery; plastic and pool chemicals:
Frankincense and myrrh to a child.
Mom still lives in the house where the pool once was, where the lawnmower once stowed in the back shed, gathering rust and spiderwebs each autumn and winter. I can sit on the back porch and smell it again, when the breeze shifts and the ice clinks in my glass just so. The hum of the air conditioner becomes the old pool pump and I wait again, eagerly, for Dad to come home, mow the lawn, and make waves we could ride on an old, orange float.
Hello! Thanks for stopping by. As you can see, I'm not here right now. I'm spending the summer soaking up some outside time, awa...
Happy Monday! I know, I know, Happy WHAT? Believe me, I've been there. But Monday is a fresh start, right? A new week, time to refre...
Good morning! I hope February has treated you well so far. Thank you for stopping by! Today is the monthly gathering of the Insecure Write...
Whew, a bit late today, aren't I? Today I've celebrated the joy of the mundane. I've been doing a bit around the house. Energ...
Savannah burgeons with trees. Oaks and pines, mimosas. Hibiscus and Oleander, big as trees, wafting in the marsh breeze: one gives sweet t...
Have you ever decided to wash a small army of fabric scraps, freshen them up for a new project, and pull them out to dry and find THIS?...