Happy Grapes Make Happy Wine
Hello My Beauties,
Though I did not intend to take a hiatus from writing my blog this summer, my fiction writing has demanded my full attention. I wrestled with trying to do it all, and as some of you may know, doing it all can spell disaster. And so I gave myself permission to set my blog aside for a bit.
I hope our time apart has been one of love and joy and beauty for you. I’ve missed you.
So much has happened since my last blog post, one of the most relevant being I had another birth day. In light of that and the experiences I’ve had over the summer: having my family here from New Mexico, Kauai, and Ecuador, rewriting/revising my novel, having my son home from college for the summer, committing to walking with my girlfriends 5 days a week at 7:30 in the morning, visiting Big Sky country and Yellowstone… I am recommitting myself to being happy, to laughing more, and to sharing my goofy joy in finding baby acorns and heart rocks and watching super heroes/heroines kick a villain’s/villainess’s bad-ass.
To me, recommitting to being happy means I stop and actually acknowledge the moments of joy for what they are—gifts from the Universe/LIFE, a quiet reminder that we are loved, that we have a choice in choosing happiness and being buoyed up or getting bogged down in the drama and trauma we humans seem to love so much.
I choose happy.
‘The Happy Grapes Make Happy Wine’ hit me while I was walking last week. My girlfriends and I have been walking the same beautiful spread of acreage since mid-June and watching the fields of grapes grow is the most verdant part of our drought-ridden golden landscape. It makes for a stunning contrast. Sooo, when we started heading up the final hill on this particular morning, we stopped to take pictures of these teeny-tiny grapes that would soon make some amazingly delicious wine, and my writer’s mind and my joyous heart noticed how happy these grapes seemed—plenty of sunshine and water, focused care by the vintners who planted them, and time to grow and bask in the glory of each and every day until harvest. And even then they continue on, transformed into what some might call ambrosia, to be shared amongst family and friends, generating conversations over food or marking celebrations.
It dawned on me how similar the grapes and I were…. I was planted here, I’ve had plenty of sunshine and water, I’ve been the focus of nurtured care, and I’ve been given time to grow and bask in the glory of each and every day, and when harvest time comes, I will be transformed, my light to be remembered amongst family and friends, generating conversations and marking celebrations.
The thing is, I don’t want to take any of it, any of LIFE, for granted. I have family members and friends who struggle every day just to get out of bed, their bodies bombarded by dis-ease. This is a constant reminder to me that life is precious, from the smallest acorn, to the baby grapes, to the birthing of a new dawn and the blanket of night. I wrote a blog post called, It’s the little things in life… [that add up to make your day,] and I still believe this to be true. It’s the little things that get us through the toughest moments. And so I look for these little things… a heart rock, a hummingbird landing on our plant to pause and take a sip of nectar—of life. Nature has so much to teach us and I somehow forgot this, not in the literal sense, but in the spiritual sense. Walking outside every morning has shifted my perception, of the weather, of my capability in creating new, healthy habits, and in my willingness to share my often very ridiculous joy over the little things.
I used to glance at the heart rocks I’d see giving them barely a moment of my time, now I mark them with a photograph, a moment of gratitude and joy—I’ve decided to SEE—not just with my eyes, but with my heart—every single one the Universe wants to show me. The same goes for pennies and nickels and dimes… I used to glance at a penny on the side of the road, under the table I was eating at, and then I’d leave the coin, untouched, for the next person. Now I choose to see this money as a gift for me, a reminder of just how abundant I am. I pick it up and say a silent, thank you.
I see rainbow hearts in the sky on the day a dear friend attends a dear friend’s celebration of life, I see the full moon days before she’s full and I stand in awe of her cool beauty. I look up at the sky and see the clouds and their transient splendor, the winds that embroider the vast blueness above us in lace of greys and violets and pinks and peaches and golds. I see the stars and their radiant light that has traveled so, sooo very far to shine down upon us.
I smile at my son’s laugh, giggle at my dog’s snoring, bask in my man’s love, relish the taste of a dark chocolate malt ball, and of course, take great delight in a delicious glass of wine—red wine, the color of blood, the color of Life.
Taking notice of the little things helps ground me, keeps me sane when the world makes very little sense. By sharing my joy, I hope I make everyone’s day just a little bit better, a little bit brighter. At the worst, someone may shake their head and think I’m crazy, but that’s okay, it will be our little secret.
So, raise your glass and make a toast to you, a toast to me, to Life and Love and the little things like teeny-tiny grapes that remind you life is to be lived, loved, and laughed through.
Love and Light, Grace and Ease.