In response to the writing exercise "I remember"

I remember when life seemed easier and filled with simple pleasures. Sitting on the laundry room floor with Grandma Mack waiting for the next load of laundry to complete its cycle so that we could gather it into a basket. We’d walk out to the clothes line already billowing with dry clothes from the last load; it was those hot arid Arizona breezes that worked their magic so quickly. I’d carry the empty basket for gathering the dry while Grandma carried the one brimming full of soggy garments. We’d collect the dry and hang the wet, return inside to sit with our backs resting on the opposite wall from the washer and read until the next load clunked itself to completion.


I remember gathering rocks for this same grandmother’s garden edging; something I continue to do today for my own garden. Now I don’t consider a garden without rocks a true garden at all.

Just this morning I enjoyed, yes I said enjoyed, hanging a small load of my own laundry on the clothes line out back. The early morning air was filled with the chatter of early birds out seeking that proverbial worm (or perhaps simply munching happily at one of my many feeders). I remember thinking to myself, “I embrace these simple things of life. It’s really not the big ticket items or extravagant vacations that create a sense of satisfaction, it’s the little things, maybe even mundane, that permit me the time and space to work in a relaxed and enjoyable manner. Had I not been standing at that clothes line, looking upward to the sky I may have missed the clear azure blue sky with the deep green of early summer tree leaves waving hello to the world around them. I admired the way the bright sunny pattern of last night’s dinner napkins cheerily flapped in the morning air. And then there was the dampness of dewy grass and its recently cut clippings reaching over my sandals and clinging to my bare toes. My ever-faithful dog Ruby roamed and patrolled the yard, periodically checking on my progress as she doesn’t want to miss the next job for the day.

I recall my thoughts as I debated whether to move straight to the computer for my morning writing session or head over to the herb garden for a light weeding and planting of a few new members. I noted the shadows covering it and decided upon the latter. I gathered my supplies and pots, knelt to the ground and began carefully removing slender blades of grass from within the lemon thyme patch. This ended up requiring a bare-handed approach so off came the gloves, never to return to my hands. I remember thinking that I would not be able to have my hands photographed in our church directory photo this evening as I would have definite green thumb and fingers. It’s funny where the brain goes.

Once I was satisfied with the weeding, I laid out the plants in locations that I deemed suitable. Upon the first spade full of dirt, I noted the impossibly heavy amount of clay and knew it just would not do. So I lugged a bag of sand that had previously served as added weight for my car during the icy winter months, and emptied some of it into my wheel barrow. I mixed the sand and soil, introduced the plants to their new home and welcomed them with healthy drinks of water.

Just as I was about to finish the last plant, Ruby went barking and snarling around the nearest corner of the house. There stood the meter reader; poor man just held his arms close to his body and waited for me call off my man-eating guard dog. As I guided Ruby into the house, I leaned down and whispered to her, “Good girl.” After all, she’s only doing her job, and well at that.

This man and I struck up a conversation with Ruby up on the sofa monitoring it all through the window. The electric company recently placed automated meter readers on their customer’s homes and I asked the gentleman about that. He explained that they’d continue reading manually for two more months to be sure it was all working accurately. To which I inquired about his job. It was no surprise that he’d lose it. He explained that he’s sixty-three years old, working for a sub-contracting company, about to lose this job and nothing else in sight to replace the income. We both agreed that America was being run by the almighty dollar and no longer by the relationships of the past. And our conversation angled right to my earlier thoughts of the morning regarding the enjoyment of simple pleasures: laundry whipping in the morning sun-filled breezes, the moist blanket of earth and grass beneath your feet and bare hands reaching into the soil in preparation for sowing new plants.

And so, the meter man left leaving behind two doggie biscuits for Ruby which she gobbled up after his departure and I returned to finish my task at hand. Now, I’ll go and work on that writing project niggling at the back of my mind.

the light through my window

The sunlight works its way through the filmy dust and grimy build up of my windows. It highlights the tree pollen trapped by the mesh of the screen. The light waxes and wanes with the passage of clouds overhead. Sometimes bright and then suddenly dim. During


those bright moments a sort of picture frame forms on the screen due to the shadow of the window frame itself. On my desk the sun seems to gravitate toward the stack of books on at the front corner. The yellow cover of a packet of watercolor paper happily reflects the sunlight in a reminiscent form of sunshine yellow. The light streams into the homemade pottery dish my mother made casting shadows on one side and lighting up the other.

Hmmm. How like our relationship that might be – maybe like the shadows of the past that fade right into the brilliant light of the present. One solitary pen sits in that dish, almost becoming a dividing line, and waiting to have it all written down.

I notice the swirling pattern of the wood within the black painted desk top is highlighted by the sun. The tiny peaks and valleys of ridges dappled in the same manner one might observe over a mountain range. This mountain range poses a different challenge though, rather than a physical climb, I’m faced with the daunting and often times, difficult task of trekking across the paper (or computer screen if you will) filling the space with story as of yet untold.

The very book that allotted this writing excercise captures not only the sun rays, but also the breeze and the paper back cover waves at me in an almost mocking jester jeering me forward in this endeavor.

My eyes next travel to the closet doors to my left, that would be toward the northwest in this northeasterly facing room. On this surface the light captures the wood grains in a similar fashion as that of my desk, only these seem to possess a more ghostly or goulish appearance. I recall being a small child and fearing those monsters in the grainy wood of my door or even the cracks in the ceiling or walls. Remember the story of the woman who thought she was slipping and sliding behind the wall paper of her room. Creepy!

Finally, I notice how this mid-morning light brings out the limy yellowish green of my funky-colored study. I remember choosing it because of its happy hue. I still like it. Sort of changes color depending on just how green it is outside and the amount of light reaching and reflecting from each part of the room. Today it moves from the window as pea green, then limy yellow, and finally to a deeper pea soup green. Perhaps, it doesn’t sound appealing to some, but I like peas and pea soup and I’m happy in my little green abode.

And so, today, I will write.