My Simple Life in Purple
Contemplation
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This morning after Qi Gong, I told
Jim, “I write my column today and my mind is blank.
“Easy,” his reply. “Write about
purple.”
We were beneath the Jacaranda, which
this week is a purple umbrella, sheltering fifty shades of birds burying their
heads in each blossom, milking the honey-nectar.
In that disconnected way that one
thought leads to another, I knew that what I really wanted to write about is my
simple life.
“Jim, the more I pare down my life,
the more important small things become. I see little things, always there, that
I wouldn’t have noticed when I was so busy. Like last night, about the time you
were watching the movie with Bonnie and Sam, the birds were performing a
symphony so powerful that my knees collapsed me into a chair to sit and listen.
“Or the three geckos I saw
yesterday. Or the white amaryllis, the only white one. Or the large gray snake
that slithered through my front yard and back out last evening. Ordinarily, snakes terrify me. But that one
was beautiful. I had to get closer to her just to look. Those little bits of
beauty touch me deeply. Things that in my busy life I would not have noticed.
Or not had time to notice. Same thing, maybe.
“Purple, huh? Well, I’ll think about
it.”
My intention, in moving to Mexico,
was to create a new life, not to pack my old life and drag it behind me when I
crossed the border. I’ve done it. My
life is small. Pared down to minimalist proportions.
For example, I brought with me one
electric appliance, a food processor. I left behind a kitchen full of gadgets.
My new juicer is a metal device with a cups at each end. Squeeze half an orange
by bringing together the halves. My mixer is a wire whip. Or a large spoon
powered by elbow grease. I do have a washing machine, quite old,
non-electronic. My dryer is our ever-present sun. One hour on the clothesline
or two hours in winter; clothing is dry. I do own an iron.
I have one cupboard, two shelves,
with dishes. Sigh. I do love dishes. But, I have all I need, all I can use, all
local pottery. Same with pots and pans.
I brought fifty favorite books, including my Shorter Oxford English Dictionary.
Kindle satisfies my book obsession.
Not feeding and maintaining an
automobile has more than economic benefits. For example, yesterday Lani, Carol
and I spent a good many hours in San Marcos, just up the road. In exchange for
the trip, I bought lunch, a two-hour sojourn at El Parrel, hidden away on a
back street. The food is always excellent; companionship a bonus.
Kristen, my son Ben’s special
woman-friend and sweetheart, said, “What about your one-hundred-plus potted
plants, which take hours of watering every day? Doesn’t sound simple to me!”
Oh, yes, that. I can explain.
“Kristen, it’s all about containment. Plants grow here at a prodigious rate,
obscene almost. When I got here, the yard was a jungle that I cut back
mercilessly and started over. I figured the alternative to wild jungle was to contain
plants in pots, especially things like jasmine, bamboo, mint and oregano.
Otherwise, one day a lovely flowering plant; next day, one is out in the jungle
with a machete hacking back the monster before it strangles you and eats your
body for breakfast. So my hundred-plus pots are for containment. Which works.
More or less.”
In some ways, my life has always
been rather simple. I never wore makeup or dyed my hair. No tattoos or body
metal ornamentation. But I like the
looks of a streak of vibrant color in a woman’s hair. Kristen promised me
she’ll make it happen when I visit next fall.
Which brings me back to purple.
Now that my hair is more silver than brown, I’d like to give a
streak of color a try. It’s not forever. I’m leaning toward purple. A discrete
steak of deep purple.
The sun is lowering in the sky. I shall change into my only
purple dress and go sit beneath the Jacaranda, heavy with purple blooms, and
await the avian sundown serenade.
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
March 29,
2018
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