August 16, 2014


I last posted here in June and wrote about my tendency to have incredibly clever ideas for writing while I was planting and weeding in my backyard garden. I lamented that as soon as I stepped inside, those ideas vanished before I could sit down at my laptop or even make a quick note on paper. Summer's drawing to a close and now I'm reaping tomatoes and argula and and summer squash and kale--and, of course, still weeding.

Tomatoes, fresh from my garden. 

I'm also reaping ideas while gardening, but they seem to be more remembrances than the creation of something new. I've just finished a massive revision of THE PRIVATE WARS OF G. P. CALLAHAN and so am on a writing furlough for the moment. My gardening thoughts have turned to memories of friends and loved ones. People dear to me, important to me, some of whom I haven't called or emailed for too long a time.

My garden thoughts fly away.

While pulling weeds, I remember the past and make a promise to myself that I'll drop an old friend a line, or email a sister-in-law, or give an elderly friend from church a call. But, like my writing ideas, those promises seem to fly away before I step inside my home.

Why does this happen? I'm not sure. Could be that the duties of my "inside" life crowd away any thoughts I had in the sunshine. Could be that my attention span is way too short. Or maybe my brain can't handle more than one thought at
a time. Surely it's not because I'm growing old!

I once told a friend that, although I hadn't called for a while, I often thought of her. She assured me that she believes that whenever we think of someone, it's a blessing for that person. It's as if we're offering a prayer for her, even though she may never know it. I find that comforting. This summer I've prayed for lots of people! Amen.

1 comment:

  1. Anola, deep thoughts indeed in the garden,especially about the essence of thoughts and prayer. I am offering you a prayer right now.