We're still watering the lawns. Still watering the garden. Still watering watering watering. September - with its hot days, cool nights, dry grass, heavy harvest...confuses me.
Makes me sleepy. My body doesn't know whether to keep the fast pace of summer going or to slow down into an autumnal saunter. I put on a sweater in the morning and when I'm out running errands in the mid afternoon when the golden light of a lowering seasonal sun washes over everything, it takes me a while to realize I'm not tired. I'm hot. And I need to peel off the sweater.
I took a quick dip in some summer memories just now. Back when the apples that are now crimson were just green little cannon balls hanging from hopeful branches. Back to that Sunday afternoon visiting family and after coming home from being gone a couple of hours, discovered that the dogs had taken liberties with a giant chocolate cake. Back when swimming at the river was the best way to beat the heat. Back when a rippling silk-cloud sky brought shade to builder men.
That picture at the bottom right...that's me in the orange...speaking with lovely women at my book signing at the new Joanne's store. I met some treasures, for sure. Among them was and artist, a mother of a one year old and two year old, Alexandra, with her wild woman hair, rainbow eyeshadow on her carmel skin, and hot pink skinny Jeans. She looked like Tyra Banks but her smile was even prettier. She quietly asked me a question about how I am able to balance being an artist and a mom. She had a look in her eye that I took as someone looking for the right answer and I'm not sure the one I gave her was the one she hoped to hear. I just told her my truth. Balance is a fine idea but I think a lot of people think it means finding steadiness and I'm not sure I have much of that. I guess I do in my way. In the way that my bones are rooted in earth and I'm more and more interested in listening rather than being listened to. She said "I want to do my art. I want to do more with myself than just cook and clean." I said "Sometimes you just have to make THAT your art. The rest will work itself out." I was talking to me too. I can be a good friend to myself, sometimes.
I sat down to write a little hello here. I thought some delightful, bubbly little paragraph would emerge from the static sparks of my fingers touching the keyboard. I just had to check a couple of blogs first. Sparkly, vibrant, happening blogs. And that's the point at which I realized today I am that 6 inch metal stick you're holding in your hand after the sparkler all burned up. Some days you're just the stick. And that's totally fine. It might not be a bad idea to give myself full permission to saunter as slowly as needed. This may or may not be the plums talking (16 quarts of juice and 36 pints of jam). The plums that have taken over my kitchen and my evening/late night hours the past couple of days. The plums that required the used of every last of the giant bowls and pots and pans in the plum-scapades. Sticky, sweet, sparkly plums on the end of my burned up stick. Sweet and tart and a little bit smokey. It's all good.
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