Truck in the Garden

My walking onions are now flatter than a flitter*. 

Every November, my sweetie backs the pick-up truck filled with firewood over my back door garden. This makes sense to him. Driving over any garden never makes sense to me. 

Views and opinions. There you have it. He has one view; i have another. We do not agree. Yet we do have communal harmony.

For lunch, i made a squash soup with onions from the back door garden. "What's this?" he asked.

"Squash soup with braised truck tire onions," i said.

*Etymology:  German flitter.

‘A minute square of thin metal, used in decoration; collectively, a quantity of such squares

The Middle-Aged Garden

One friend says she goes out to her garden every morning and deadheads. I take my garden cart and cut back the foliage of plants that have finished blooming. Now, in the middle of the season, plants are tall; they are middle-aged plants. Soon i have a cart full of dead bodies, which i haul to the compost pile.

Rupa dancing her way out of her living memorial service, cane in hand

Some friends die young. Rupa, a 75-year-old friend died 2 weeks ago. She was so vivacious and full of life. Yet i heard her say last winter that she was ready to go. I'm the one who wasn't ready for her to go.

Here's the chant i learned especially for Rupa's living memorial service 3 months ago--a memorial service that she attended and danced her way out of.

All things are impermanent.

They arise and they pass away.

To live in harmony with this truth

brings great happiness.

Flowers arising and passing.
Friends arising and passing away.