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Stella

Heaven greeted a sweet girl last Friday, my cousin Stella. She was everything a body could want in a human being: independent, funny, sweet, with just the right dash of mischief.

She had a rich interior life, nearly always joyously wiggling, flapping, laughing, and singing. The story, the thread, a near constant unknown, yet felt by all. Her joy, her curiosity, her wonder on full display, boisterously filling rooms.

I do not fully subscribe to the edict that everything happens for a reason, especially in regards to the death of a beloved child. I firmly believe, however, that Stella entered our lives for a reason. She arrived at just the right moment to show us how beautiful and vibrant a heart and spirit can be, regardless of ability. How we can simultaneously be in our own world while lifting others. How to seek delight in unexpected places and always manage to find it. How I loved her for it and will greatly miss her sharing it.

Lilac

in time of daffodils (who know
the goal of living is to grow)
forgetting why,remember how

in time of lilacs who proclaim
the aim of waking is to dream,
remember so (forgetting seem)

in time of roses (who amaze
our now and here with paradise)
forgetting if,remember yes

in time of all sweet things beyond
whatever mind may comprehend,
remember seek (forgetting find)

and in a mystery to be
(when time from time shall set us free)
forgetting me,remember me

e.e. cummings

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Mindlessly gazing into the dark Sunday rain, nearly bedtime, a torrent enlivens the gutters. My body soft, a deep pleasure-filled stirring at distant thunder and the infinite patter of drops. Come morning, there will be no need to water the seeds I am hoping to sprout.

Then violence. Blinding light and sound AT ONCE. No counting for distance. Now, now, now. Shaking the house, my insides, my bright mood of a millisecond earlier.

All is dark. Greg and I stumble dumbly about for solar lamps, gazing out the window and watching our neighbor do the same. We hug and reassure. We ready for bed and the hope of power and a morning of hot coffee.

With gratitude to the expediency of dark of night workers, it arrives. The coffee steams. We stay in motion.

Hello there! Bebe’s son-in-law came for a visit and brought a whole passel of back yard pecans(!!). Greg and I are grateful she decided to share and equally so for the shells, as the work at getting them off prevents us from eating too many at once.

We’ve had quite a bit of Pacific Northwest style rain, as of late, greening pastures and shrouding Pike’s Peak with snow later than any time in our memory. How gorgeously fantastic it has been!

When my parents visited, my dad bought some orange juice and never drank it, so I fashioned cocktails, tequila sunrise style. Pretty and tasty!

After watching Leguizamo Does America, I was inspired to check out Diasporican, a book on Puerto Rican cooking. Especially intrigued by any endeavor that eliminates the need for wheat, I dove headlong into the making of a jibarito, a plantain sandwich created by Puerto Ricans living in Chicago. They deep fry their plantains, but I am not interested in any such mess or fuss, so I did a little pan fry. Next time I will pop those babies into the oven because it was still a little more work and oil than I was after. Anyhoo, the sandwich was muy delicioso, but very filling, so I’ll do it open-faced next time.

In the same cookbook, I saw a recipe for shrimp and chorizo over polenta. I returned the library book before I made it, so I was without an actual recipe, but Greg and I had no complaints about the end result. What a marvelous flavor combo.

A little garden tour completed while sipping my morning coffee. With all the rain we’ve been getting, it is looking rather lush.

The top blooms are penstemon that volunteered in the garden. My delight is magnified by the fact they are volunteers that I transplanted from another spot. They did some nail-biting dramatic drooping, but are super champs now. Huzzah!

The second photo is the stunner of a view from the back door. My heart swells each time I see it. The weird ring of rocks in the foreground surround a clutch of sunflower sprouts I hope to keep Juniper from trouncing.

Speaking of Juniper, how about our cute explorer? She’s simply the best. I’m wearing my space sandals, named so for their neon quality that is surely visible from on high.

A question: has any other fellow gardener had lousy luck with true red peonies? Three photos from the bottom are my three plants. All planted at the same time, the two on the left have been going like gangbusters, while the red one, just like it did in Portland, is minuscule. So disappointing.

Luckily there is much to keep me distracted from the peony plight, like the hollyhock grove in the bottom photo, all of which are also volunteers. I can’t wait for their colorful show!

Tremendous

Why did you do all this for me?’ he asked. ‘I don’t deserve it. I’ve never done anything for you.’ ‘You have been my friend,’ replied Charlotte. ‘That in itself is a tremendous thing.

E.B. White

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