Skip to main content

Bits and Pieces #1

Submitted by Virginia Watts on Thu, 07/28/2022 - 11:24

Do what you like today.

If it's opening the window to hear

the birds

If it's to give the cat some treats

If it's taking your time deciding what you want

for breakfast

If it's sharpening a pencil

If it's lighting a candle

If it's making a pot of tea

or coffee

If it's listening to an old song your old self loved

If it's taking a nap

If it's unwrapping a new bar of soap

If it's window gazing

You know that all of it, every bit of it, is a good bit of doing.

A Good Clear-Out?

Submitted by Virginia Watts on Fri, 04/08/2022 - 11:19

It is Friday morning, and it is going to be hot here in the San Fernando Valley, unseasonably hot for early April. We are talking 99 degrees before noon. I have taken my morning pills, vitamins, had my low-calorie breakfast, put on my support socks and the rest of my clothes that will keep me somewhat comfortable inside our air conditioned house.

Every morning I wake up hoping that this will be the day my energy will return for all the pending tasks needing attention. And every day I go to bed having fallen far short of my own expectations. Even the simplest things like folding laundry and putting it away have morphed into monstrosities that refuse to be tamed. I have books that need reading (not just for pleasure!), a number of quotidian tasks that should be undertaken, and my level of enthusiasm and energy for such tasks has deserted me. I feel a sense of accomplishment when I can get the dishes loaded into the dishwasher before I go to bed. Such a small thing!

Optimism 2022 1st poem

Submitted by Virginia Watts on Fri, 02/11/2022 - 13:52

Today I planted onions.

I tell you this because it proves I can be optimistic.

One large red onion sprouted magnificent green fingers on

my kitchen window sill.

It was good, green company.

Today one onion has become three. Miracle, right?

Three from one, already a bonus.             onion sprouts

Tucked into the warm earth side by side (not too close!)

I left the sagging, spent tomato plant nearby.

There may still be whispered wisdom about living in our

hard adobe earth.

vw 2022 #1

Thanksgiving Memories

Submitted by Virginia Watts on Thu, 11/25/2021 - 10:28

The hot wind came from out of the northeast, and slammed into the trashcans, turning them over and spilling their contents. Southern California Thanksgivings are always unpredictable. Usually so hot and dry that the air is electric. This one ticked all the boxes. 

I am in my thirties, and we have two young children. My husband has taken them off to church and I am home attending to the housecleaning and cooking of the turkey. Guests are coming in the afternoon, expecting the traditional holiday feast. I'm new at cooking turkey, but confident I can manage. What's so hard about seasoning a bird and putting it in the oven? I've done it with chicken hundreds of times. I'm optimistic, looking forward to the family gathering in our home for the traditional feasting.


Submitted by Virginia Watts on Sun, 10/31/2021 - 23:29

When the veil thins on October 31, we remember those who are on the other side. We play with the idea of death. Does it terrify? Does it connect us with those we can no longer see, feel, touch?

Children come to our doors and ask for treats (the threat of tricks isn't real, not anymore). Or is it? That's part of the fun. Give me something sweet or I will give you something frightening? 

Life itself has been thoroughly frightening this last year and a half. We have been compulsive about germs, viruses. And rightly so. We knew so little about the terror facing us. Now we can see that some of our rituals to protect us were not quite on target. We sanitized everything. And it turned out that the air we shared was the thing that was most dangerous. Airborne pathogens. Nothing, really, is more terrifying. Unseen enemy, carried by children, friends, relatives. Without intention, without malice. 


Submitted by Virginia Watts on Thu, 09/09/2021 - 14:14

Sometimes I wake up in the morning in a frame that doesn't fit. You know what I mean. It's the way we see ourselves in the morning. Sometimes the frame feels like it belongs to someone else, someone I don't even know. It's too small, it's too big, I can't 'see' myself at all. I don't fit. It doesn't fit me. Who is responsible for this? Framed mirror
And often it stays that way all day. Unlike Alice, I can't go through that framed mirror in my mind's eye. I have to live with what I've got, at least for a time. 
Did the frame come during a dream? Did I get into it because of a state of mind? Is it because I ate too much, had one extra glass of wine? 

The Water Bearer

Submitted by Virginia Watts on Sat, 07/17/2021 - 11:53

Water Bearer is my chosen spirit name. I am an Aquarius in the astrological chart, so it feels right. The many images of young girls and women carrying water from the well have always intrigued and satisfied me. I can feel the dust on my feet, the lightness of the empty vessel, and the struggle to lift it once full. I can imagine the journey to the well -- hot sun on my face, maybe wishing I had started out earlier to avoid the heat of the day. Was the water sweeter when the effort of bearing it was done with a glad heart? Was there a brackish taste if the task was done with resentment and anger? 


Submitted by Virginia Watts on Wed, 06/23/2021 - 09:44

One of my favorite writing prompts included the word apprehend. I checked the dictionary to be sure I was clear about its meaning, and found I did understand it as used today. But "to grasp, to understand, to arrest, and to fear" still seem like mundane words to explain a much bigger concept.

When I was in the habit of attending church, and studied scripture, I often heard the phrase “apprehending the Mystery.” And when I moved to a different paradigm and sat with meditation groups or new age practitioners, I found the concept there as well.


Submitted by Virginia Watts on Tue, 06/15/2021 - 11:28

We lost a big Podocarpus tree (aka fern pine) in the winds earlier this year, and when it came down it almost took out a young lime tree. The same heavy winds took down a limb of an old bottle brush tree which, in turn, took out our power line and blew out the transformer in our neighbor's yard. It was a mess. In the middle of the night we had the roaring wind, the fire department, and the water and power people here. The live wire that came down was secured, and although we were without power for awhile, it didn't last long. In the days that followed, still in the midst of the pandemic lockdown, we had electricians and gardeners putting us back together and hauling away debris. We had some major pruning done, as one does after so much drama, trying to prevent a repeat should the winds return.