Counting Time in Figs

14 Dec

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I’m at Zillie’s, having a Bellini and waiting to go to the town event tonight, the local English teacher will be talking about his experience on Jeopardy. Yep, I’m living life in the fast lane for sure. It’s time, I think, to join back into the company of souls.

Clar and I took a walk this afternoon and I took pictures. The walk blew me around quite a bit, but it was needed. The fresh air seemed to clear out a space in me somewhere and then rounding the corner on British Cemetery Road, I decided it was time to go see the fig tree. The last time I was here we stayed in the house right next to Annie and in the front yard is a rather large fig tree. At the time of our visit, it was laden with very ripe fruit. I remember picking baskets full every day and eating way more than I should have. I took home a basket’s worth too and made fig refrigerator jam. On those hot July days, I can remember searching for the ones just ripe enough to pick, not over ripe, not under ripe, the ones that were just ready. And it leads me to understand something that I have never really learned well, but I am truly learning now…timing.

Timing is everything I suppose, and being awake to the truth. The truth of the matter then was that my life was changing and I didn’t want to see it. Sometimes life drop kicks you into your future and you land on your bum. But then, you eventually have to get up and start walking even though there’s a bruise. Back then, I was walking around town alone very much like I am today, the buds of a different life already under the skin of the bare branches of my relationship.

To be completely honest, right now, I’m really not all that screwed up. I mean, I’m not the only one with issues. I’m just dealing with mine openly. To be sure, my biggest issue is my refusal to accept the truth once I can see it. So, I see the truth now and I need to heed the fig tree’s lesson. In December, the fig tree has green buds on the tips of its branches and they will bloom in spring and the fruit will ripen in summer. Then, someone will need to pick those globes of lovely lusciousness off the tree and savor them, warm from the sun, deep and rich and dark and full of the life that was poured into them. In many ways I am the tree, little buds on tips. I need care for myself so that fruit will come. I’m pouring life into me after having cleared out the dead undergrowth. But more importantly, my relationships should be that way too. Many of them are tipped with green buds and waiting for them to grow is my problem. How to pour life into them? Be my truest self. Be honest. Be genuine. Be me.

It’s as simple as that. Love is simple. Mr. Rogers knew that. So should I.

So in a short bit I will go off to the library to be with this small, genuine but complex community and see what I will encounter. Then, I’ll go back to my little cottage and fix some olive salad and perhaps something microwaved. Clar will need to eat and I will unload pictures and try to sleep on lessons learned from the fig tree, one tree that fed me before winter, now during, and hopefully, after.

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