Lessoned, I Have Been

Dear Maria,

Cold enough here to wear a light coat on the morning walk with the dog. The sun was shining, at least, and a brisk pace got us around the shorter loop in short order. Of course, no surprise that along the way watching a leaf float down to the ground was a part of the scenic show.

For some reason this morning, between the rose blooms out back in the earliest light and those leaves dropping from trees, I took a lesson again that how what happens happens in its own time. Could it be otherwise? That I should still be relearning this particular lesson as I seem to have to do again and again does not speak well of me as a life-long learner—maybe the better term is life-long student. I seem slow to absorb the lesson.

However, these days the process is gentler, to be sure. I was reminded this morning of a harsher lesson when I was 12 or 13 as I diced a bit of white onion for the scrambled eggs—yes, a little onion, 4 ounces of ground turkey, a tablespoon of marinara sauce, a teaspoon of olive oil, a dash of Cajun seasoning, half-a-dash of sea salt, and two large eggs. Despite a warning from my mother, I bit deep into a large white onion to amaze my younger siblings with a particular sort of brute stoicism that I wished to cultivate. That lesson? That lesson took hold.

The rose blooms, much fewer now than the high season, come here and there as they might. I do not know where and when until a hint comes at the end of a stem. Of course, I do not see a leaf in a tree ready to fall, the leaves release as they will. One moment there, the next downward they come.

Sometimes we too must come to what we come to in our time. Not so profound, I know, and yet I need reminding.

The roller-coaster that is November weather is well upon us, warming up and then soon freezing. Stay warm and well—the holidays are nearly come.

As ever, yours, srk