Flowers and Other Ephemeral Things

A quick walk through my new neighborhood yesterday confirmed two things. The dogwoods are done blooming and the woods on this 80-acre estate are thrashed. Just passing through, one might think that a drunken tornado took them out, but the handiwork is actually that of man. Well, man and the southern pine beetle, a scourge that kills an estimated $7.5 million worth of trees every year.

Our mountain cabin, once surrounded and shaded by trees, is denuded and the newly revealed front yard is littered with dead limbs and fallen waste. The young dogwood at the end of the drive is battered, its top gone, broken limbs hanging, limp and dying.

I watched on Friday as they took down a pine and a few hardwoods directly behind and to the side of me. The targeted trees were too close and a perceived threat to the cabin. Jeff, the man wielding the chainsaw was fleet and fearless, his son, Todd, the Cat Skidsteer operator, solid and methodical.

I, on the other hand, fled inside more than once; first when I envisioned the whining chainsaw slicing off Jeff's foot, and again when I peered over the railing at the exact moment Jeff felled the towering pine. Yes, folks, I ran like a trepidatious voyeur.

After they left and quiet had descended once more upon the woods, I sat in a chair on the deck and surveyed my new domain. We're lucky. Since the tornado was specifically culling beetle-ridden pines, and the forest behind me is all hardwoods, our view from the deck is mostly intact. I did mourn, however, the dogwood that was crushed as a 60-foot chestnut oak crashed down. It was literally ripped out of the ground, roots and all, along with a wild pink azalea in full bloom.
I noticed that a couple of the nearby trees were also chestnut oaks and their leaves hung lifeless in the afternoon sun, as if somehow affected by the passing of the once-great oak. I wondered if they wept for their lost kin. Or were they sprung up from the mighty oak's own root system and directly affected by its passing?

Limbs of nearby maples were broken and hanging, caught by the oak tree as it crashed to the ground. I couldn't help but relate to these trees, many of whom would live longer than I. Do they feel? Do they mourn? Do they cry?

I think yes. Of course. Why not? They live. They breathe. They get sick. They break. They die. They also mend, as long as the wound is not mortal. They wall off the hurt or diseased part. And grow around it.

As do we. When a careless friend or loved one lops off our pride, or self-esteem, or our ability to love, when our detacher is broken, or our trust or belief is injured we dust ourselves off and lash up the wound to still the spurting blood. Then we go about the business of getting on with life. Most of us are hale and hearty and have an infinite ability to heal. There is the old saw, "That which does not kill us makes us stronger." Really, Nietzsche? Really??

Okay, yes. Yes it does. We survive. Like the flower, these and much more in life is fleeting, ephemeral. Here today, gone tomorrow.

I am reminded of one of my teachers at Life Chiropractic College. His favorite, and famous (at the school), saying was, "Thank God the body heals itself!" Which was my thought after being the recipient of one of his 'million dollar roll' manipulations. I say, "Thank God the psyche heals itself!"

As always, seeming-tragedies leave miracles in their wake. While I will miss those beautiful trees and the shade they provided, we now have enough space and sun for a garden. I'll be away for the weekend, but knowing Randy, he'll be out there building terraces and tilling ground. And, with the pines all gone we can landscape the space with sun-loving herbs and flowers.

Pictures from top to bottom: cleared area of Stonewood Village; Jeff pausing the talk to Todd before connecting the cable to take down the 60' chestnut oak (Pat, the owner is looking on); the dogwood and wild azalea before the oak squashed them to nothing; front of cabin before it was cleared; front of the cabin after clearing

The love inside, you take it with you.

My living room smells like banana boxes. Which, surprisingly, smell the same as apple boxes. Must be the fruit/cardboard combination, slightly earthy with just a hint of sweetness. It's a smell I associate with moving.

Years ago, I discovered that fruit boxes are the best and most economical way to move my schtuff from town to town. That came after ruling out liquor stores, which are generous with their boxes, but these tend to be odd shapes and sizes and never have tops. In Georgia, the grocery chain I found most generous with boxes, is Kroger. In California, it was Vons. They're always very gracious and will even save them from the recycler for you if you ask.

They rarely turn lose of banana boxes. I forget why. But, the Kroger in Dawsonville had stacks and stacks, so I brought home six, all that would fit in my cart and my car. Nothing like a crazy lady pushing a cart of boxes stacked higher than her head, maneuvering the randomly placed middle displays of fruit, bread and flowers. We needed a red light at one of those intersections, but a woman driving a motorized cart yielded to the crazy lady. It is a befuddlement to me why the powers that be arrange those sections so haphazardly.

When I got home I tossed the boxes on the front porch. Last I'd looked there was no rain in the forecast for days and days. And I was starving. It was close to 8:00 and I was coming off a sugar crash. Remember my no sugar, no bread? That lasted for almost two weeks before going by the wayside...along with my daily walk. Today, I'm starting again. I promise.

This morning I woke to raindrops falling a mere foot from my head. I lay there, smiling, enjoying the melody, then pulled back the blinds to peek and prayed that it would rain hard enough and long enough to wash the pollen of a quadrillion oaks, pines and cherry trees and a gajillion grasses away.

Rising, I put water on for my tea, opened the blinds to let in the lovely rainy day and saw Seven, our landlord's cat sitting on the porch in the rain, waiting for breakfast. When I opened the door to feed him, he ran in and Bugsy ran out. And I saw my glorious banana boxes, soaking up the rain. Operation rescue ensued, first the boxes (which are hardy and drying and smelling up my living room), then the shop vac that Randy keeps forgetting to take back to work.

Satisfied that my work, for the moment, was done, I sat in the ancient armchair with my tea, wrapped in the soft fleece jacket Carolyn gave me for Christmas, gazing out the window at God's handiwork. My world has turned green, even the white oak which seemed so hesitant at first, coaxed out of its bark by the warm spring sun. Soon, my vista will change. This weekend in fact. I wondered if my landlord would let me come by occasionally, to sit on the back steps, soak up the view and pet Seven. I just might ask.

As I type, the soft rain grows heavier, soothing my senses and sating my soul. The ocean does that. The susurration of the wind in the pines. My cat's purrs. The mockingbird's song. I love yous. Even thunder clapping and rolling. These all transform me, make me whole.

I am learning so much from my self-imposed exile, growing in leaps and bounds. About who I am. Who I'm not. What matters. What doesn't. I shared, long ago, about the light at the end of the tunnel, and having found it. I am now finding that there is more light, within that light, if one is willing to look. As a seeker, I must. I have no choice.

Freedom comes with knowing my self. Freedom to be who I am and who I'm not. Freedom to just be, without worrying about what you might think about that. I'm discovering it's not your judgments that haunt me, or harm me. It's my own

The stories I'm told, and the ones I make up, keep me running. It is these that keep knocking me to the ground. Always, eventually, I come back to the truth. I am not lost, I am found. I am safe, submerged in the stillness of Self, I've come home to the sanctity of my soul. Because nothing is real but love.

This brings to mind Sam's closing line in Ghost, "It's amazing Molly. The love inside, you take it with you." I had to go find it, and share.



Rest in Peace, Patrick Swayze. And Rest in Peace to my dear Aunt Aggie, who passed in to the light this past Saturday, April 17, 2010 at about 4:25 p.m. EDT. My cousins are laying her to rest today, on top of my Uncle Dick. Guess she got the last word. Or at least she came out on top.

I had the high privilege of telling her goodbye on Friday, before she entered a blessed morphine-induced peace. She was ready to go. And promised to give my Mama a hug for me. Aunt Aggie, I love you. Goodbye. For now...

Pictures from top to bottom: freshly fetched banana boxes, after drying out; Seven and Bugsy, caught yesterday, sleeping in the sun...born on different coasts, these two could be brothers; a close up shot of the rising sun shining through the trees outside our dining room window; a youtube clip from Ghost.

Technorati Listing

That Rebel with a Blog will soon be listed on Technorati! As part of that process, I'm posting my claim code: DWJB84M5BFNF

Technorati.com here we come!!

I mentioned Technorati in an awards post awhile back after finding a reference to it in an about.com article on the blogosphere. On my first pass through Technorati, I registered for an account, then despaired that my blog fit none of their categories. So I gave up. I shouldn't do technical stuff late at night, I'm not nearly as intrepid with blurry eyes and a daylogged brain. Nonetheless, last night, I got a Facebook message from my friend and fellow blogger, Ivy Bliss of every head i've head the pleasure to have met. She pointed me back to Technorati.

On closer inspection, I found that yes, I DO fit. We all do. So I 'claimed' my blog, Technorati's term for adding your blog to their extensive blog directory. I am now listed and it was relatively painless.

Technorati is a search engine/directory for blogs. This paragraph is an excerpt from their About page:

The leading blog search engine, Technorati.com indexes millions of blog posts in real time and surfaces them in seconds. The site has become the definitive source for the top stories, opinions, photos and videos emerging across news, entertainment, technology, lifestyle, sports, politics and business. Technorati.com tracks not only the authority and influence of blogs, but also the most comprehensive and current index of who and what is most popular in the Blogosphere.

So, to all my fellow bloggers, my friends and compatriots and those I've yet to meet in the blogosphere, check it out. Click over to Technorati.com and claim your blog, add yourself to that search engine in the blogosphere sky. There are people out there dying to read what you have to say. I just know it.

By the way, I got my confirming email this morning, I'm now listed in the Technorati directory. Yeehaa! Which merely means that when anyone searches on my keywords in Technorati, That Rebel with a Blog will be included in the search results. Will it make me famous? Who knows. It only takes one.

Lots of love, my fellow travelers...and a special thanks to the Sententious Vaunter, aka Postman. For asking.