A-Hit-Me-Over-The-Head-Look-At-How-Different
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The workmen are finished. Thanks to daily
rain my damaged lawn is repairing itself. No more mud and crud. My house is in
order. Trees are planted. I’m weeding the neglected flower beds.
Two-or-three-or-several times a week
I am rendered speechless with gratitude when
a-hit-me-over-the-head-look-at-how-different-my-world-is-than-it-coulda-woulda-been.
Whew.
Think about it. I grew up in Harlem,
Montana in the 50’s and 60’s. A trip to Chinook was a big deal. The Harlem News used to report when
so-and-so motored to Havre to visit relatives, told us who sat around the
table, what the happy family had for dinner and assured us that a good time was
had by all. Great Falls was another country. Any place further away was out of
our world.
Life was hard but expectations were
easy. As a girl I was expected to marry a Valley farmer like my Dad, have kids,
bake bread, grow a garden, put up green beans, all of which I dutifully did.
It’s a good life. But after ten years I hit a wall and turned left.
After many walls and a circuitous route in and out of Montana more than
once, I’ve landed in a mountain valley near Guadalajara. Yesterday I told my
friend Jerry in Idaho, “I can truthfully say I’ve never been happier.”
Happy, yes. An interesting concept.
I doubt “happy” has anything to do with geography. Or people. Certainly not
with acquisitions and money. I’ve never been more alone. I’ve never had less
stuff. It’s an inside job and I have no explanation, logical or magical.
Today a young woman I know called me
to thank me.
“For what?” I asked.
“You taught me that you cannot put
shoes on a shark.”
My mind immediately conjured a
cartoon “Jaws” wearing red Converse high tops.
I am speechless. I don’t remember saying
anything like that. In fact, I’m puzzled what “shoes on a shark” might mean. We
never know how somebody else will take meaning from what we say or do.
But, maybe, just maybe, that is my
secret from myself. Maybe I have quit trying to put shoes on my shark.
It is possible that this person I
am, this Sondra, is more myself than I’ve ever been, shorn of any pretense, any
need to be or do or appear other than I am. Warts and all.
Summertime and the living is easy. I
look up and the first thing I see is an orange hibiscus blossom. I take a deep
breath and smell jasmine. A striped green lizard is crawling along my brick
wall. A tub of mangoes sit on the counter, waiting for me to slice and freeze
for pies throughout the year. My first guava is ripe. Josue gave me
pomegranates from his tree.
While we were weeding through my
flower beds this morning, Leo said to me, “This place looks so different since
you came. It is beautiful. I like to just sit and look.”
Dinnertime this evening I’ll join
Lani and Ariel and my cousin Nancie for ribs, Mexican style.
Know what? If I were still living in
Harlem, I’d be saying the same things. Hollyhocks instead of hibiscus. No
lizards or exotic fruits. But I’d surround myself with beauty because beauty
makes me feel good. I’d be having dinner with good friends. I’d be glorying in
the sunset, different sky.
I like where I am. This woman from
little ol’ Harlem, Montana never dreamed she’d end up living in Mexico, no
matter how many left turns she took in life.
Shoes on a shark? I wonder what I
meant?
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
August 11,
2016
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