Just Quiet Lives in Nearby Places

peeling wallpaper

This blog has had the feeling of a vacant lot lately, a forgotten patch of possibility on a back street somewhere, untended. There are a few good reasons for my neglect:  in particular, my time-consuming return to working in earnest on a book, and the wonderful distraction of my daughter's recent visit.  

Also, I've also been questioning the purpose of the blog again, and its meaningfulness. What do I have to say, and why, and to whom? I lack clear answers to those questions, and that leaves me stalled. At the same time, I've been following news events in the world, some of them horrific, and it makes me feel that most of what I write about is terribly small and irrelevant.

But life goes on, and each little life has its stories, and I can't deny my impulse to  document and share. So maybe that's all this is, a writing space, a little square of noticing.

I had a conversation with a friend recently who sometimes struggles as I do with disappointment in herself, feeling that she does not accomplish or contribute enough, especially when she compares herself to others, which is always a bad idea.

Since it is so easy for me to give the very advice that I myself should follow, I reassured her of the value of blooming where we are planted, the sufficiency of living a small, quiet life in which we strive to learn and grow and above all be kind.

cat by the door

Perhaps in keeping with this thought, I have been checking in with friends this week.

One of them has been dealing with the debilitating effects of multiple sclerosis, but he does so with his usual good humor and a "what-can-I-do?" acceptance. He lives in a humble little outpost on a local ranch, a house filled with photographs, books, and curiosities. A gentle cat sits in a patch of sunlight by the kitchen door, a wooden rack is adorned with cowboy hats and coonskin caps and motorcycle helmets, and here and there the old wallpaper is gracefully falling away.

There's a very old apple tree out front that has among the most delicious apples I have ever tasted, the perfect balance of tart and sweet and crisp.

My friend's ancestral connections to this land go back many generations, and he has an enviable sense of place and home and history. This is not an easy time for him, but he's here, and he  doesn't ask for more.