Dear You,
Yes, some of the nicest things in life are free. On a walk with a grandchild the other day we spotted a poodle across the street and called out to its owner to admire it. Her response: "Would you like some grapefruit?"
Interesting how things happen -- you admire a dog and you wind up toting a plastic bag full of grapefruit back to your house. Set aside the idea that the fruit looked nothing like that pretty stuff you find in the supermarket. This came from the tree in the woman's side yard, it was of differing sizes, and it was dirty. I repeat: it was free. I didn't even ask the woman's name, and two days later I wouldn't be able to point out her house, even if I wanted to return the favor somehow. It was just one of those "random acts . . ."
Most of it is gone now -- I have a little machine that makes turning citrus into juice pretty easy. The haul became over a half-gallon of grapefruit juice, and the grandchildren made short work of it.
Years ago, my Uncle Paul had a little place in St. Petersburg, and on his daily walk past a Lutheran church cemetery, picked up some drops to carry back home. He'd received permission from the rector to do so, and he always had fresh-squeezed "Lutheran Grapfruit Juice" (as he called it) in the fridge. Now I know how much pleasure it gave him.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
Following the Sun
Dear You,
Most days, the sunrises and the sunsets here in Florida look remarkably the same. And on my street, when I step out to get the morning newspaper or when I sit on the driveway with my plastic chair and wineglass of an evening, I can watch the scene by looking either left or right. It doesn't last long -- very soon it's sunny or it's dark.
The sky is deep blue; the land is just dark. Silhouettes are palm trees, and the gray street wends toward the rising (or setting) sun. Pole lights winking off (or on) are like little exclamation points to add to the excitement of the moment.
In between, a slice of orange, with pinks and lavenders above. I think of Roy G. Biv (or, as my earth science teacher preferred, "vibgyor") and I watch for the arriving (or departing) flights of tropical birds.
I don't record this because it's particularly beautiful (it is) or at all unusual (as a part-time Floridian, I can't take it for granted), but because once again this demonstrates to me the importance of being "present," of "showing up." As I said, it doesn't last long.
But what does?
Most days, the sunrises and the sunsets here in Florida look remarkably the same. And on my street, when I step out to get the morning newspaper or when I sit on the driveway with my plastic chair and wineglass of an evening, I can watch the scene by looking either left or right. It doesn't last long -- very soon it's sunny or it's dark.
The sky is deep blue; the land is just dark. Silhouettes are palm trees, and the gray street wends toward the rising (or setting) sun. Pole lights winking off (or on) are like little exclamation points to add to the excitement of the moment.
In between, a slice of orange, with pinks and lavenders above. I think of Roy G. Biv (or, as my earth science teacher preferred, "vibgyor") and I watch for the arriving (or departing) flights of tropical birds.
I don't record this because it's particularly beautiful (it is) or at all unusual (as a part-time Floridian, I can't take it for granted), but because once again this demonstrates to me the importance of being "present," of "showing up." As I said, it doesn't last long.
But what does?
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