I keep on being astonished at how, despite the surrounding chaos, our little Green Acres Village seed pod of new/old creative culture is not just thriving but positively thrumming with aliveness. I’m reminded of the lotus, which sinks its roots into the muck of old decaying detritus and then rises, slow, steady, and then whew! BLOOMS! Even in February, we sense this blooming, though of course, admittedly, that mid-February days should be so warm is disconcerting.
Last night, before our weekly Community Dinner, a bunch of us gathered in the driveway, hugging and celebrating our belonging, and wondering briefly, whether we might actually move dinner outside.
It was as usual, a mix of new faces,
sorry, I didn’t get your name! — and old faces,
here’s Ari, in podmate Brie’s dress with glittering new tights that she found in a dumpster!
Yes, all of us scarfing down bean soup and squash soup and green and quinoa salads and salmon patties, plus podmate Dan’s authentic homemade Korean kim chi.
Dear Juakim discovered the drums in a corner where Rebecca stores them and brought one out. “It’s the perfect size for you,” I exclaimed, delighted. “It’s your drum!” Rebecca announced. “Really!” I had forgotten, it’s been so long since she took some of the drums from over here over there. My husband Jeff had left them behind when he commenced his celestial journey.
Speaking of such journeys, I told Juakim he could take the drum home with him. Of course he was thrilled, and even posed with sister Asiri for a picture.
When they left, he asked me, “Do I have to bring it back?”
“Of course you do,” said his mom, Mariella.”
“Not until you’re done with it,” I replied. “And after all,” I laughed, “by the time you’re 18 I might be dead!” (I’m 74 now.)
Juakim didn’t miss a beat. “Well then, I’ll play the drum at your funeral.”
Loved it, the way this kid stays so present, no matter what. And especially relished the image of Juakim playing Jeff’s drum at my funeral.