Sunday, June 27, 2021

This Morning

 I awoke this morning with a heart overflowing with gratitude.  I was thinking of friends  and family members who have stood the test of time with me these last eleven months.  Some of them pulled me from the depths of darkness and never knew it.  I can't remember a morning since Rick died that I have not cried .  Many who grieve tell me the nights are the worst, and I agree nights are tough.  But for me, mornings are the toughest.  I have never liked Daylight Savings time, but now I dislike it even more.  The evenings drag on forever, the sunsets seem to hide on purpose waiting until I am coming out of my skin before they show their color and the stars take over the skies.  

There is something about night that allows me to breathe a sigh of relief.  I have made it through another day.  I might cry myself to sleep, I might toss and turn but I know the sun will rise tomorrow.

And then tomorrow comes.  The mornings were when we planned our day.  When we talked about about serious stuff, fluff, nothing and everything and tossed around ideas for columns and our blogs, as we drank our morning coffee.  We would sit on the deck or the screened porch,  if the weather gods were in our favor.  I would often chastise him about his phone, because even then it was in his hands, but that was Rick and for whatever the reason, he wanted to be connected 24/7.  We would pet the dogs, talk about how we lived in a piece of heaven and discuss breakfast, and listen to the hens cluck.  The mornings were sacred and we would both be a bit out of sorts if something robbed us of that time. 

So this morning before I looked at my phone, I spent some time sending love to those who have gone through this hard season with me.  I carry all of you in my heart, like tokens and charms of love and kindness.  Sometimes I call your names and see your faces, almost able to physically touch each one like a prayer bead.

When I did look at my phone, I laughed and cried.  My nephew James, the publisher of our daily paper and one of the papers that Rick wrote for had tagged me in a FB post.  Last night at the Alabama Press Association Awards, one of Rick's columns that he wrote for a paper in Birmingham, 280 Living, won first place for best humorous column.  Rick would be beside himself with joy.  Winning that award was something he had strived for.  I hope he is somewhere this morning drinking champagne and laughing, because that is what we would have done today.  Congratulations Babe, I kept telling you it would happen!  This morning just got better.


Wednesday, June 2, 2021

Summer's First

 She is the first for the summer of 2021.  I fell in love with gardenias as a child.  My grandmother Mamie had them in her flower garden.  Each time I smell that rich sweet, yet earthy fragrance I feel a beckoning. I think the scent is like the siren's call, reminding me summer is here, enjoy its bounty.  The purity of those white petals against the  malachite of her leaves gives me indescribable joy.  When I saw this first blossom on Monday by my grill, my first thought was of Rick.  I think he sent me a gift, because so far there are no other blossoms, plenty of buds, but no other blooms.

Every summer, I fill the house with gardenia blossoms.  She makes the heat and humidity of summer tolerable.  There are a least a dozen bushes on the farm.  Most are taller than me, some have the circumference of my Outback.  Some years the flowers are small, but if this first one is any indication of this year, they are going to be large.

Our friends, Keith and Roberta's wedding was one of those wonderful memories forever etched in my brain.  Rick and I were in the wedding party, we took the photographs, it was the day before my birthday and it was in NYC.  They had gardenia bushes in full bloom for their flowers.  Not sure where they got them in March, in NYC but I think of their wedding and the happiness we all shared when I see gardenias.

The temps are rising, so is the humidity.  There is rain this morning and for most of the week. But the gardenias will bloom and as nature has shown me so many times since Rick has died, life goes on.