A Sweet Spoonful

I thought that painting would be a good task today to keep my mind occupied–it turns out painting’s quite the opposite. It is methodical in a lovely way, but it’s also a large chunk of uninterrupted, alone time. Not really what I was looking for. But it was sunny and beautiful outside, the dogs were napping away, Gillian Welch was playing on my ipod speakers, I made a really foamy latte, and started priming…and that’s how today played out.

It was a nice break from sad phone calls, and talks and planning regarding Jean’s service. I’m so looking forward to being surrounded by Jean’s friends and family and all sitting around and finding comfort in one another. I’m looking forward to meeting her dear girlfriend Lauren, and giving her mom Ann a really, really long hug. I’m also terrified for the service to be over. Because-then what?

Last night, I was digging through some old notes and things that Jean gave me over the past 15 years–and I came across Mary Oliver’s book of poetry, New and Selected Poems (vol.1). In it, there’s a poem called “The Summer Day.”

It is, my dearly missed Jean, encapsulated. It is, I think, about living life vividly, sensuously, knowing what’s really important (fun and adventure), and being truly present and ALIVE. Jean lived this, and through her example, taught us to strive for this in our own “wild and precious life.”

So with promises of future snickerdoodles and fall soups–for now, I leave you with this:

The Summer Day
~Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean–
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down–
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

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