Grace, and Dancing
Like many parts of the country, we are basking in an extended fall this year. The foliage is spectacular, the brilliant colors rolling out slowing and generously across New Mexico. Daytime temperatures are staying warm; the sunshine is luxurious; the skies bluer than you can imagine.
In our backyard, we have two crepe myrtle trees. They are always the last trees to leaf out in the spring, making me wonder every year if they had died over the winter. During the late summer months, they are a riot of purple-pink blooms, celebrating the scorching heat with a glorious display of enthusiasm.
But until this year, I had never seen them turn color in the fall. Generally, they stay green until the first freeze and then they simply drop all their leaves overnight. Turns out, given perfect autumn conditions, this variety of trees has beautiful red foliage. Who knew? It almost makes me giddy with delight.
Finding every opportunity to be giddy with delight is really my main strategy for survival these days. But not everyone has this attitude it seems. If I mention the stunning weather we are having, I am most often met with, “But it shouldn’t be this way!” Which is true, but not helpful. And, it seems to me, a Scroogish response to a gift.
It reminds me of a quote of Auden:
“I know nothing, except what everyone knows—
if there when Grace dances, I should dance.”
I thought of Auden’s dancing Grace recently one morning when opening up the screen doors and coming face to face with a pack of raccoons. They were hanging out in the courtyard, and wandering up and down the driveway like they owned the place. One was sitting casually on the courtyard wall. I watched as he grabbed the cylindrical birdfeed and started chomping down on it like it was a corndog. I yelled at Matt to come see, which didn’t disturb the animals at all, but might be evidence that they are planning to take over the mortgage (and the roof payments?) and that we are about to be evicted.
My response to this gaggle/smack/crowd/herd of raccoons was somewhat mixed. On one hand, wild animals! Right here! It’s like a zoo! Woo-hoo!
On the other hand, I buy pricey birdseed. Dammit.
If there when Grace dances…
Which brings me to Justine.
Some weeks ago, I had a fun text exchange with my friend MaryBeth, an artist and former studio mom, and the most domestically creative person I know. She also likes plants. As does her friend, Jim.
Jim was starting to bring his collection of succulents into his greenhouse for the winter and MB invited me over for a visit. It was delightful. Inspiring. Educational.
Two days later, she sends me a text with an accompanying photo:
This is my Justine.
She's rootbound, needs a new pot, probably about 25 years old at best guess. Including current pot, she weighs at least 150 pounds. Loving home wanted. If repotted, could grow more!
Jim says he’d help to move. I have a good hand truck.
Huh.
“You know, I have a real estate problem,” I wrote back. But then I thought about Grace and dancing.
“Ok. I’ll take her.”
I should say at this point that Matt’s response was: Holy Crap!
What could follow here would be a long, but rather boring, anecdote about the back-breaking transport of Justin. Suffice to say, she has been relocated to our sunroom and seems happy enough. But to Matt’s point, this specimen is large. Huge. Ginormous. It looks like it belongs not in our house, but in a hotel lobby.
In this season of forced gratitude, I am practicing my dance steps. I have herbs growing on the windowsill; one of my Christmas cacti has started blooming. Every day I look at the overnight temps and strategize when the outside plants will have to be moved inside (The Annual “Dash and Stash,” I once heard it called. Sounds like a 10K. It kinda is.). I am wearing socks for the first time in months; the comforter is back on the bed; the tea kettle sits on the stove, ready at all hours. In the studio, our upcoming fall recital is staring us in the face, which translates to extra-attentive practicing and highly focused work in lessons. Student improvisations have shifted from all things spooky to all things cozy and autumnal. We compare sightings of the harvest moon, and talk about pie. A lot.
The world is still falling apart, but Grace dances. Really, she does.