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Recent Entries Sunday Posted: June 27, 2010
I love Sundays. When they start out the way mine did today, I love them even more. I woke up at a decent hour (7:30, not 5 and not 9) and went right to my bookshelf and found some books of poetry that I have never opened before. My father has always given me a book for Christmas, and in an effort to edify me, has often given me poetry anthologies. Growing up, I was always a bit ungrateful for presents that weren't exactly what I asked for or thought I wanted, but these books made for a great Sunday here in New York this morning. I read some Tennyson, some Emerson and then turned to my own books that included Rumi and Emmanuel, a thinker whose words have always moved me. By the time I'd read for 30 minutes, I was calm and open to whatever this particular Sunday would offer me. I often begin my day with some kind of physical exercise. Today, I drove to the bottom of Lewis Hollow Road - a beautiful curvy road that climbs up Overlook Mountain - parked, and then walked to a trail head that took me up through the woods. I climb this same path 3 or 4 days a week and I always feel better having done so. The creeks up there are nearly dry at this time of year. Sad to see, but soon they will be overflowing again. The cycles are pretty consistent in this part of the world and can be relied on for assurance and comfort. On my way home, I visited my son Forrest's gravesite. The grass always needs trimming around his stone, so I have a pair of scissors in my car that I use to make things look pretty again. Over the last few years, visitors have left lots of trinkets and stones on his headstone. It's nice to arrive there after 8 years and still see new gifts left by someone who cares enough to visit Forrest. Periodically, things are missing and I wonder where they've gone. This morning I was surprised to find that all of the more prescious stones that have been left over the years had vanished. At first it made me sad and I wondered who would take them. But then the answer was: "someone who wanted them." And why not? If they wanted them, why shouldn't they have them. I'm not advocating theft, but surely if someone was willing to take stones from a gravesite, they must have really liked them or needed them. I hope that somehow those stones have the power to comfort that person, or that they travel on to someone else who needs them. Years ago, when I visited Forrest more regularly, I often ran into a little old man whose name I never learned. His wife was buried near Forrest and he was very faithful to her. He'd come with flowers and sometimes he'd talk to her when he didn't know I was there. Once I even watched him pull out some rags and polish and wash his car there so that he could be near her while he worked. It struck me then that he must have done that chore with her when she was alive and that doing it in the cemetery was an act of communion for him. What a romantic! This morning, as always, I looked at his wife Elsa's stone as I left to see if he had joined her yet, and he had just died. It made me very happy to know that he was finally there beside her. He lived without her for 18 years, but he never forgot her. It's a lonely story, but it's a beautiful story too. I loved witnessing his love for her. I'm grateful to have started my day with poetry. Somehow starting at a slow pace gave me permission to keep a slow pace so far today. Tonight? My friend Abby for dinner. My first dinner guest since I moved into my new house. I've decided not to clean up like I might have years ago. She will see how I live on a normal day. Not too sloppy, not too neat. Just my house. That'll be nice. Enjoy this Sunday. It's a pretty one. Bar |
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