Grab a rake and live!

I’m late. It’s raining. I remember that forgot something and turn around and start all over. My neck is still hurting, and I am conscious of the burn on my back from working outdoors yesterday without proper protection. It is Sunday morning, and I am looking forward to a quiet morning with my coffee, my paper and my guitarist, Michael Farr.

The parking lot is full. This the first time I’ve not been able to get parking. I drive around. If I can’t find a spot, I will check back at the lot one more time, and if something isn’t open, I’ll go to the Port City Java. My excellent Asheville parking karma provides a spot right beside the building. A man opens the door for me and I hear Michael playing and every muscle in my body soaks in the harmony. My muscles go limp, in unison. And now, in an even more blessed moment, is my favorite spot, waiting on me.

Today, the Dripolater is full of young and hip people. Many look as if they just finished a Banana Republic shoot. I call it Disheveled Chic. One woman sits at the bar alone reading a book. An older man and younger woman sit at a table looking together at a computer screen.

My recent musings involve a comparison of Asheville to NYC. As I was giving my parking karma yet another opportunity yesterday, I noticed that Asheville has a version of Theatre District and Restaurant Row. As I was driving down Biltmore, thinking there was no way I’d get parking since I had been trying to get across town for 15 to 20 minutes in slow traffic. My goal was to pick up tickets at the Diana Wortham Theater at the Pack Center, which was on the left of me, and I notice on my right: The Bistro, Café on the Square, Sushi/Thai, Temptations and The New French Bar. So there you are - the Theatre District and Restaurant Row! Ok, its a stretch. But that's an example of some of my musings.

We’ve been getting a fair amount of rain lately, considering it has been so dry. As a gardener (wow! That’s the first time I’ve called myself that) I’m happy. I put in, with Mary’s help, three blueberry bushes and two hyssops yesterday. I went to the Herb Festival at the Farmers Market earlier in the day and picked up a few more plants to add to my “Home for Wayward Plants.” Progress is being made. I often sit on my front porch, in one of my two weathered rockers from the Screen Door, and think about how much there is to do. I can envision my strawberry plot (I think its too late to plant this year) my grape vines growing on the fence, and luscious plants in the mulched areas. I often sit and count my blessings that I didn’t buy a bigger house with a bigger yard.

The only thing wrong with this paradise, many people would think, is that it’s in an old neighborhood where many of the houses are not “manicured,” to say the least. And the houses are very close to each other. I have lots of room in front, back and left of me, but not much between my next-door neighbor on the right of me. Both our homes are new construction. I must have known, at a subconscious level, that I wanted and needed raw land. The benefits from starting with raw, exposed land, is to be there before birth. My job is to facilitate nature, to be a midwife, a nursemaid, a partner. Perhaps in some ways, I am a father. I plant the seeds; Mother Earth nurtures the growth. Whatever I am, I am in unison with her. We work and live in balance. At least, in my head.

Part of my thesis for my Masters in Conscious Evolution Final Project is that our lives are fragmented and separate from our very source of life sustaining support. Much of our living is unconscious, a total lack of awareness of any outside our immediate needs and desire. We consume and are pacified with the toy of the moment.

I now run my fingers through the moist soil. I am getting to know Mother’s Nature smell, her textures, her desires. I am beginning to see red worms, butterflies and bees. I feel life springing all around me.

I also see my neighbor, who lives on the left of me, in the back yard with a rake. Mary noticed her first. I walked around and say hello. She tells us that today is her 96th birthday. I ask her if she did anything special. She said, “Oh Lordy, I’ve had so much company.” She’s dressed nicely, and fusses with her hair. She complains about how hard it is to find men who will work in the yard for her. She’s an inspiration – a reminder of something I heard long ago: I’d rather wear out than rust out. In her case, she has done neither. Hope I pick up some good old lady vibes by living next to her.

Which brings me to one final thought and saying that I want to pass along. An interesting southern, perhaps really red neck phrase I heard lately when referring to a shiftless, lazy character: He’s so lazy that he has no use for a double wide when a single wide will do.

That’s to all you couch potatoes, watching reruns and eating. Go outside, get your rake, and live to be a 100.