I catch my breath to happen upon this photo as I start my journey home from visiting Mom. So perfectly Father’s Day, which it is today although there are no fathers in my vicinity to celebrate with. It’s lovely to hang w/ Mom though, as she seems happier and more settled than when I saw her a couple of weeks ago. Already the two-and-a-half-hour drive is slipping into routine and arriving home, 8 1/2 hours from when I left, I am road-weary but glad to have gone. Best wishes for a Happy Father’s Day to all y’all who are dads or have them still with you, nearby or, as I do, in a special place in your hearts.
And so June slips past the mid-point and heads downhill toward July. It is an incredibly gorgeous day, sunny but not humid or overly warm. I decide spontaneously to walk for my errands today, picking a store a mile away to buy the comforter I will take up to Mom tomorrow, stopping by to visit my friend B. on the way home. As I stroll I drink in the second wave of flowers, including these delphiniums bobbing their heads in deep shade. The day lilies are about to pop, a sure sign that we will soon be deeply ensconced in summer. I smile, reminded that walking for errands is what I do in Rio. Tomorrow I will have to be in my car for hours so it feels good to eschew its ubiquity today.
My friend J. comes over for dinner, and as we relax in the garden with G&T’s, he suddenly declares it’s time to harvest my rhubarb. And so we do, snipping the red stalks, the glorious huge frilly leaves. He cuts the stems into bite-sized pieces and stews them w/ sugar and lemon zest, and we have rhubarb over mango sorbet for dessert. Earlier I plucked lettuce and herbs from my ever-growing kitchen garden for the salad and bolognese sauce. There is something quite magical and satisfying for an urban dweller, the granddaughter of folks who farmed for real, to plant, pick and eat. Simple timeless pleasures all three.
All day we are on the verge of rain. That hovering imminent presence that makes you grateful every time you can zip into the grocery store or back to your car “before it begins”. It actually doesn’t start until most of us are safely home for the night. I open my door to look out at the downpour, then close my eyes and inhale the sound and smell of pelting rain on pavement.
I the unwitting catalyst
for his flight to America
never saw him again but the
fact lingers a chance meeting missed
spontaneous adventure kissed
by a smile lost was future found
far from where his heart crashed to ground
without a plan as the wind blows
life’s distance still unknown love goes
where it will waiting to astound
for b ~
a catalyst is an ingredient necessary to a transformation,
but not present in the final result.