Honeysuckle is
such an awfully invasive plant. I wonder if our grandparents didn’t realize
that when they planted it everywhere. It’s all over the chain link fence at the
back of our property and that covering part of one side. My house is closing in
on a century, and in some places the honeysuckle stems, caught now forever in
the fence, are as thick as a small tree limb, impossible to get rid of. On the
side fence, a profusion of ivy, carefully tended by my neighbor, has believe it
or not, about conquered thehonesuckle.
But on the back
fence, it’s blooming now and looks so pretty spilling over the top in cascades.
How can you criticize something that cheering and optimistic? Today I sat by a
window for a bit and watched the tiniest of birds—a wren?—flit in and out of
the leave and a bee seeking nectar. It was like a little bit of nature at work,
and I was fascinated.
I ran across a
term new to me today: womanist. I’ve been learning daily in recent months from
Richard Rohr’s meditation from the Center for Action and Contemplation. But he
did not invent the term womanist—he credits Alice Walker who wrote, “Her
origins are in the black folk expression, ‘You acting womanish,’ meaning ‘wanting
to know more and in greater depth than is good for one—outrageous, audacious,
courageous and willful behavior. . .. She loves, she is committed, she is a
universalist . . . committed to the survival and wholeness of entire people,
male and female.’”
For too long,
acting “girlish” had been derogatory, so I like the idea of womanish. And how
can it be bad to know more and in greater depth. I think I’m going to be
womanish from now on and proud of it..
A pleasant day,
working on my cookbook and suddenly seeing it take shape before my eyes. There
are miles to go, lots to be done, but I see the skeleton now. And I’ve had such
fun rediscovering old recipes.
But tonight, I
left work behind and went for supper with an old friend who will have knee
surgery next week, sort of a last fling before she’s laid up. Her doctor tells
her however that she will be driving within seven to ten days. Neither of us
can believer it, but she’s an eternally cheerful trouper—and a skilled R.N. If
anyone can pull it off, she can. I’ll want to take her supper or something,
after her daughter spends a few days with her, but the logistics will take some
figuring out.
Meantime we had a
jolly dinner at Winslow’s Wine Bar and Café. I had the appetizer crab cake (and
wished I’d ordered two), a really good glass of chardonnay, and a chocolate
mousse so rich I couldn’t finish it. Who would ever have thought that would
happen to me?
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