Gratitude * Sunday
Sunday’s heartfelt tradition.
A time to slow down,
to be grateful.
A list of gratitudes.
Our gratefulness feeds one another.
Quoted from Taryn Wilson
Joining the Gratitude Sunday Tradition at Wooly Moss Roots.
Rose grows on tall stems
or vining over archways,
delight for old eyes.
We are generally blessed with moderate weather here in the Pacific Northwest. Portland is such a special town. Besides remaining weird, Portland celebrates roses every year. Roses. Two weeks of community parties for a simple flower. We have carnivals, festivals, art shows, car drag races, dragon boat races, parades, and more parades. We have a Rose Festival Court of high school girls representing the youthful roses of our community.
The Portland Rose Society was established in 1889 by Mrs Georgiana Pittock, wife of the founder of The Oregonian daily newspaper, Henry Pittock. Portlanders are fond of their historic roots; past Rose Festival Court members often ride on the floats. This year the Rose Court from 1963 rode in the parade. They’ve grown into beautiful women who have the confidence to contribute to their communities and take care of their families and themselves. You can see it in their faces. I don’t think that’s wishful thinking on my part.
The big Portland Rose Festival Parade was yesterday and the weather was just right, not too hot, not too cool, not raining. Not even a drizzle, not a drop. I don’t think the parade has ever been rained out, but it often rains in June in the late spring in Oregon so there’s always the threat.
I love parades. I’ll even watch parades on TV and sit through the annoying commercials, while writing usually. My weakness is the marching bands. Accomplished musicians who can march at the same time amaze me. Double your pleasure, two, two, two skills at once.
On June 9, 1971 I graduated from high school. I wasn’t the best of students, but nobody taught me how to study or research. No teacher had the patience to answer my questions about the subject. I wasn’t an easy learner nor was I a quick study, but I wanted to know. We had at least thirty kids per class back then; that’s nothing new, but teachers and school districts sure use it as a point for convincing people to vote for more school taxes. But since the way we do school now doesn’t work, didn’t work back then, works worse now, well that’s another whole essay.
That day I graduated from high school one of my favorite friends was busy being born. She is one of those special people the universe blessed with trials and tribulations from conception onward. She is delightfully joining us on this planet and surviving and making her life as happy as she can while enriching other people’s lives along the way. She smells like roses. I love having Joyful, who lives her name, in my life. When we both went back to college as non-traditional students and met, I learned how to do school. I wish I could live close to her because she knows how to cook meat, where I fail. Something else to learn, right? Oh, and forgive me for bragging about your years of experience, dear girl. You wear them well. Happy birthday.
Flower Watch – blooming attractions in my neighborhoods this week – sweet peas; hydrangeas; sedums; foxglove; and all the little wild “weeds”: creamy clover, dime-sized white daisies with the pink tipped petals, bright yellow buttercups.
Currently Reading – Devil in the Milk by Keith Woodford; Paradise Lot by Eric Toensmeier; Pines by Blake Crouch, and The Perfect Scoop by David Lebovitz. Still with the ice cream books. I’m waiting for a replacement part for my brand new ice cream maker that has never worked properly yet. Yes, concurrently.
This week I have been grateful for:
- The Portland Rose Festival. I rarely attend the events but I love the buzz felt throughout the Portland-Metro area.
- History and the pictures and stories that survive the hands of time.
- Writing with my “office” door open.
- Fresh air.
- A caring administrator who helped me manage a minor financial situation.
- That mechanical thing that has to reliably start every time and get me safely there and back again.
- Getting my guys to eat fresh greens by adding them to scrambled eggs and calling them “flavored eggs”.
Namaste. Peace. Blessings.