The Greening

nasturtium

greening

Sometimes I feel as though we're in the midst of tumbling off the edge, free-falling into environmental catastrophe, and we need to turn ourselves around somehow and swim ourselves back up. If I can figure out how it's done, I'll let you know. In the meantime, maybe it's best to turn off the news and focus on the rain, as I am doing today. The hills are suddenly green, unequivocally green, and every leaf is beaded with droplets. It's been wet and gray all day, but now a silvery kind of light is straining behind the taut counterpane of cloud, as if the sky has a secret it can't hold onto much longer.

I like those nasturtium leaves (above) with their tiny stars and diamonds on luminous green. And there, to the left, is a view of the hills right beyond our house as seen from indoors today. I started out for a walk a little while ago, no doubt a colorful, comical sight with my red umbrella and bright yellow slicker. Predictably, the rain began to come down hard just about the time I reached the road, so I promptly turned around and came back home for a cup of tea. When life hands you a lazy, cozy Saturday at home with no commitments, why turn it into an ordeal? I don't need an adventure right now.

We're solar powered here, and I feel proud of that, but we do rely on a backup generator in stormy times. In another classic example of bad timing, we discovered a problem with it the other night, just when we needed it most...rain coming down, battery power low, and no sun predicted for days.  So we made a quick dash into town yesterday and purchased a nice, compact little Honda model at a local machine shop. (No more question about what we will be giving each other for Christmas.)

Now everything seems to be charging along steadily, though I take nothing for granted.I appreciate this place even more for having spent a day or two in Orange County last week. It seemed frenetic and alienating, as it often does, but exacerbated by the season. I think what irritates me is that ubiquitous holiday muzak and pseudo-cheer and the way our culture distills the meaning of everything into frenzied shopping. Sometimes it was funny, though. I'll share some photos in a later post. I want to keep this one scenic.

And when it wasn't funny, it was poignant. Because that's what I do down there. Poignant stuff, like visiting my 90-year-old mother, and trying to bolster my sister a bit. (That's the sister who has been running herself ragged as the sole caregiver for her brain-injured son while holding down a full-time job. I honestly don't know how she does it.)  

Meanwhile, my mother has been hospitalized and released twice in the course of a week, and she seemed especially vulnerable and visibly out of sorts. The best moment was when she stood by the open screened window of her room and pointed excitedly to the top of a tall, leafy tree visible just beyond the rooftop of an adjacent building, and said (in her LOUD voice with its New York accent): "See that tree, Cynthia? That gorgeous tree? It's my favorite tree! It's the most beautiful tree in the world!"

A couple of guys were on a patio just a few feet from the window...they were workers of some sort, taking a break, talking in Spanish...and of course my mother had to bring them into the experience. "Hello!" she called out to them, as though they were old friends. (And LOUDLY, yes.) Next she had to introduce me, simply because she introduces me to everyone, whether or not they have met me before, and these men most assuredly had not: "This is my daughter Cynthia! She's here visiting me!"

Finally, most important, she informed the men that they were within sight of her favorite tree. "Right over there...see? It's the most beautiful tree in the world!" I think she fully expected them to share in her excitement. They nodded and smiled wanly. Crazy old lady at the window. One of them half-turned to sort of glance at the tree.

It was time to go. I gave her some lip balm, a coloring book and crayons, and a butterscotch sucker from Mrs. See's. I turned her TV set onto a show with captions for the hearing impaired. Then I said good-bye and retreated to the refuge of my own life.

My friend Vickie asked me if the trip was depressing. Well, let's say it was a tall glass of depressing with a shot of profound sadness and a twist of dismay.But you know? It occurred to me afterwards that we had indeed been looking at the most beautiful tree in the world. Because there it was: a reliable presence, its lofty crown of green a familiar and comforting sight, its grandeur the constant opposite of everything ugly and mundane. The most beautiful tree in the world is the one that you can see.