Sunday, October 6, 2013

SHOWERS & SOUP


As I write this, at the moment exactly 4:00 p.m. on the first Sunday of October, the rain is pouring down. It has been raining off and on all day—in fact, most of the night—though not nearly so hard. Thunder is rumbling off in the distance. Between the rain and dense cloud cover, the world beyond is only dimly lit. Looking outside, you'd think it was at least a couple hours later.

This is our first heavy rain in some months. The river is up and rising…though where it will mark its highpoint depends on how much rain is coming down throughout the upper reaches of the watershed. A fact that remains out of our awareness and control, though not out of our mind. But a condition of the riverside life that doubtless strikes many as foolish, reckless, naïve, or some such similar negative adjective, depending on their philosophical view of a life lived where Big Government isn't expected—or desired—to be in control of every aspect of life—including the freedom to get washed away, should it come to that.

Not that I expect such a fate this time around. Already, the rain has ceased. Here. Of course it may still be pouring upstream…or dry as bone. 

I have a big pot of just-made vegetable soup cooling on the stove. I used ham, onions, garlic, celery, potatoes, tomatoes, carrots, and three kinds of beans—green, cannellini, black. Plus a fat parsnip for a touch more sweetness. I also did some croutons—deli-baked multigrain bread, cubed, spritzed with olive oil, salted and seasoned, toasted, then afterwards, sprinkled with Parmesan cheese. Homemade soup and slices of the just-picked apples—tart, crispy, juicy—I bought at the farm market yesterday will make us a fine supper.

Yes, I know this post is mostly about nothing, while the photo doesn't seem to fit. But I made the shot just down the road from the cottage this past Wednesday, using my iPhone, on the way to the viewing for the husband of one of Myladylove's favorite co-workers—killed when hit by a truck as he crossed the road to check the mailbox.

The funeral home was packed. More than a thousand friends and family members filing through, paying their respects. And like us, everyone seemed in a state of shock from the unexpected suddenness. The couple had just bought their dream retirement place—a little farm in a nearby county. He'd recently taken early retirement. Their future appeared golden. It all seemed so unfair.

Alas, the only good I know that can come from such a heartbreaking and depressing tragedy is an unambiguous reminder that life is a precious gift, one we should never take for granted, but must always strive to live as best we can—in grace and courage, joy and love—every single moment.

So today I've made soup—because both Myladylove and I needed a bit of uplifting…not so much from the dreariness of the day's weather, but from the dreariness and sorrow of the week's circumstances.  

6 comments:

Gail said...

HI GRIZZ - lovely picture and the rain and distant thunder and rivers wild side all intrigue me. So too the vegetable soup. I can smell it from here.The flavors and textures and aromas make my mouth water and the sliced apple adds the right balance of sweetness to the meal. Your home made croutons sound amazing. And of your lady love's friends husband who suffered an untimely, unfortunate tragic end. I sigh with deep sadness. And yes, we all must remember that life is fleeting, often gone before we really grasp it - I live each day holding on to all that is ours to embrace, savor, love, feel, give thanks, sing, laugh, with kindness and humility guiding us always. Thank you for a wonderful post that so reminds me of the blessing of a simple meal, how nature is in charge, and the meaning of love and kindness.
Today we traveled to attend a benefit for a dear friend who suffered a stroke. It was good to go, to be there with and for her. It was a day of family love and kindness, music and food, and folks simply helping each other. Glorious!
Love Gail
peace...

Arija said...

A brutal but timely reminder of how tenuous life is. The English would brew tea but I too prefer a hearty bowl of com for soup. Living in the moment , for this one moment is all that is secure, whether your riverside house and piano get washed away or mine once again be consumed by wildfire, sad as it would be, it is a wonderful cleansing and makes it easier for us to leave it all behind when the time comes.
In the final analysis only love that we have shared with others lives on for a while.

Debbie said...

So sorry to hear about the unfortunate death of this man and to consider the surviving wife and her future without him. Seems a senseless accident. So often it is. What a testimony to him to have that many people come to honor him. Seems we're going to more and more funerals, and many ladies I know are now widows. Guess it's that time.

Grizz………… said...

Gail…

Thank you. As usual, you write from your heart, which I really appreciate…as I do your kind, thoughtful, and very wise words. Too often, life comes down to doing what little you can to share and comfort a friend during a time of grief. And sometimes those saddest of times seem so cruel, so tragic. But our time plays out as it will. Our plans and hopes and dreams mean nothing; all can disappear in a moment. We live in the here and now, and the stuff that really matters is what we carry inside—love and friendship, compassion, forgiveness.

I hope your friend improves. Take care of yourself. Again, thank you.

Grizz………… said...

Arija…

Tea, soup, bread…comfort food, though there are so many times when even that small comfort can be hard to come by. Still, we can only look ahead, remember the past, and live in the here and now. We have no other option. The water still rises here, but slowly, and I don't believe it's going to do more than reach its typical high-water mark. So the piano is safe this time around. And, when all is said and done, a piano—even my beloved old Steinway—is merely a "thing," an object, and like all objects, something we'll leave behind when our time comes. All that ever really matters is who we are—the person inside our aging skin. Heart, soul, mind. Not what we have, but what we give. As you so obviously know…

Grizz………… said...

Debbie…

Yes, I think for so many of us, it was the apparent senselessness, and the sad prematurity that made it so tragic. In spite of everything life teaches, we all tend to think—to believe—we actually control our future, and we're shocked when it's once again reiterated that we don't. As poet Robert Burns said, "The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry."

He enjoyed fishing and hunting and taking the family camping—and they were a close and abundant family; sometimes as many as 30-40 adults and kids comprising a weekend group. "We invade campgrounds!" they once laughingly told us.

And you're right…it was an amazing testimony to the sort of man he was that so many family members and friends came to pay their respects. Fact is, I've never seen the like of it other than with a celebrity. Moreover, my 1000 figure might turn out to be an underestimate, according to some who've looked at the visitor's book; they say the total might be closer to twice that! Yet so far as I know, after getting out of the army years ago, he worked until his recent retirement at a local General Motors plant. No high-profile job. So folks who came were there because he'd impressed a lot of people over the years and they really liked and remembered the man. We should all be so worthy of such a tribute!