Today's walk report: 060213

Every moment tells a story...

I've said this before about my walks. I'm not quite sure if I mentioned it here though. If so, excuse me but I think it's worth mentioning again. It occurred to me some years back that my walks are telling me a story. Without trying to get really deep here since it would probably bore us both I'll simply state that my walks often feel like an entity unto itself and that entity talks to me. Use your own imagination to figure out what that means, you can think that's wacky or deep, it doesn't matter to me.

My morning today was absorbed by one event, I needed to plant the crape myrtle tree I mentioned here both yesterday and the day before. What I did not mention was this tree had a dedication of sorts and that dedication was to my departed mother. She passed away at my side, here in this house on March 5 of  this year, not quite 3 months ago. The tree tribute idea originates from my sister, Kris. I, however, was trying to make an effort for almost 2 years to make this house feel more like the home it once was while our mom was still alive and that included living things throughout the landscape outside. Just 5 months ago I was seeing myself taking care of my mother for some time to come. I was hoping to be able to take her outside so she might enjoy the yard. I was also hoping to take her to the garden I frequent during my walks. Over a year ago I worked hard to at least paint the front of the house so it looked OK once again. At the time mom was going out just once a week with me to see her hairdresser and once a week with my sister for lunch. Both of those dates were already showing decline by the time I put the paint away. Outside almost everything was dead and despite my rather black thumb I tried to get some stuff growing. I had, in fact, done alright with a sort of hopes and dreams casting of wildflower seeds last fall along with some not so strategic planting of California natives with fingers crossed.

Here's a partial view, from my mother's bedroom window taken just 2 weeks after she passed away. Her final morning I opened up those drapes and described what was happening outside. I told her about the weather and pointed out the 1st 4 California poppies had bloomed, visible from her window. While I sensed that visually she was no longer processing I also sensed that she could hear what I was saying and had some sense of understanding. When I needed to cry I left the room and did so, quickly gathered my composure and went back in to hold her hand, caress her hair and tell her I loved her.

The tree being dedicated as a lasting memory for my mother has no ties to any beliefs spiritual or otherwise. It is simply a living recognition to a woman who meant a lot to me.

That's the flavor which started my day, it stuck with me throughout my walk and of course is following me as I type these words and post these images. I brought my mother with me today.

This is a wall at the elementary school both my sister and I attended. The walls were simply beige back then. I attended part of my year, 1965, right behind that wall. Room 20. The expression on the wall I see everyday called out to me on this day. It has a story that goes along with my mother's passing away and that story is conveyed here on my sister's blog, posted two days after mom left us.

The bulk of the walk was from there a trigger for fond memories of my childhood. This is what the walk told me, to hold onto precious memories and that the past is part of who I am but it also sparked a new motivation in me to move forward and grow where I've been planted. Perhaps that should read where I've been replanted. I've been hanging onto a disconnect in a way, to a different past. One which took place 27 years ago when I left this Valley and said I would never live here again. Today jolted me into the reality that I do live here again and that I need to make the most of it and regain my focus on how, not where, I want my life to be.

So the balance of the walk was pretty much one of introspection but I'll leave you with a pretty picture. Callistemon pallidus, commonly known as Lemon Bottlebrush.