Even on a gray day, the ocean will cure what ails you!

Nothing today to say about job-hunting or gardening.  We headed to Ft. Foster in Kittery, and for some reason, the clouds made it especially magical.  Kayaked over to Wood Island and found sea glass, saw a seal, and luxuriated in the bliss of everything but the moment falling away.  It was perfect.  In honor of my husband and Star Island, for which I am bound tomorrow, here's a quote from Celia Thaxter, Shoaler, poet, and gardener extraordinaire: 


There shall be eternal summer in the grateful heart.


White sandy beaches have their place, but there is nothing like the exquisite character of the Maine coast!

The garden, late July, after rain

Loved this recent poem, "July," by Louis Jenkins, from The Writer's Almanac:

Temperature in the upper seventies, a bit of a breeze. Great
cumulus clouds pass slowly through the summer sky like
parade floats. And the slender grasses gather round you,
pressing forward, with exaggerated deference, whispering,
eager to catch a glimpse. It's your party after all. And it couldn't
be more perfect. Yet there's a nagging thought: you don't really
deserve all this attention, and that come October, there will be
a price to pay.

And this morning, after last night's rain, it really was July's party in the garden. The stars of the show were the nasturtiums, followed by the zinnias, as you can see.


Last week was my first week sans job.  It takes a while to get used to--and I'm not there yet.  My friend Nate, when he learned of my resignation, said, "Be prepared for the shock of the slow return of joy to your life." That "slow return" has started--a steady trickle of peace that comes mostly from a jarringly sweet absence of MONDAY (and the anticipatory dread I'd awake with in the pit of my stomach on Sunday).  


I'm trying to slow down, which isn't easy for me.  There's a real temptation to go-go-go (I can cram an entire summer into one day and make everyone miserable while I do), and there's the anxiety about the future--that, as the poem says, "come October, there will be a price to pay."  So, I scan the job listings--should I apply for this position?  That position? It all boils down to this: What the hell do I want to do with my life--and once I know, can I get paid doing it?  For now, though, it is time to do as Lao-Tzu, Tao philosopher, and my wise husband advise: "Practice not-doing, and everything will fall into place."  And don't forget to breathe.