As our lives speed up more and more, so do our children’s. We forget and thus they forget that there is nothing more important than the present moment. We forget and thus they forget to relax, to find spiritual solitude, to let go of the past, to quiet ambition, to fully enjoy the eating of a strawberry, the scent of a rose, the touch of a hand on a cheek…
Gerry suggests lunch out at an Indian place we’ve been intending to try since we moved back. It’s a hit, and we’ll definitely return. Afterward, we stop by the library and the green grocer, where we pick up a flat of strawberries. Dreams of jam-making dance in my head.
Supper is light: salad made with lettuce I harvested on the way home, and salmon. I smile at the names of the lettuce as I’m tearing the washed leaves: Merlot and Drunken Woman. It’s a garden party right there in my Fiesta bowl.
Later, we enjoy a dish of French vanilla ice cream made special with the addition of sliced strawberries and a dollop of the cherry chocolate jam I made last year.
Just a simple happy afternoon and evening.
Today: writing and jam making.