Wa

Patio wa.

Patio wa.

I never thought procuring new lawn furniture cushions would rival The Great Sofa Search of 1984, but it has been an eminently frustrating experience.

Seven years ago, I got a terrific deal on patio furniture. It was one of those experiences where I kept expecting to be arrested for shoplifting on my way out of the store because the ensemble was ridiculously cheap while being well-made, sturdy and exceptionally comfortable. Ya gotta love those liquidation type stores.

I clock a lot of hours outside. I need the sun to counteract my tendency to depression and I love the surge bright light on my pineal gland invokes. I’ve taken to sitting out there anytime the temperature is above 70 and it’s not raining. Sunday mornings are often spent sprawled on the chaise with a carafe of coffee and the laptop. The patio is my second living room.

From the get-go, I despised the cushions – they were a hideous faux-Hawaiian print decidedly not suited to my Appalachian barn garden. While the furniture was well-made and luxurious, the cushions were badly made of a vinyl fabric that provoked sweat and uncomfortable sticking. I hated them.

There was nothing wrong with them, but I kept my eye out for something more suitable and comfortable. Nothing appeared.

Because they were badly made (and I’m bad about storing them away), they deteriorated quickly. The search for new cushions ramped up considerably about 4 years ago. No luck.

Three years ago, when I was considering duct tape to hold them together, I found something that might do and dragged them home. Two chaise lounge cushions and four chair cushions of a luxury thickness will fill up a full-size sedan in no time. These six cushions cost 75% of what the original patio set had cost. I hated them – wrong color, didn’t fit right, and way too much money. I took them back within a few hours.

I decided that perhaps I should just buy a new patio ensemble, sell the existing one, and avoid the cushion dilemma by buying something that didn’t require padding to begin with. Wood, I thought, would fit the ambiance and project the atmosphere I was going for.

Hah! There is no wood patio furniture for less than $700 a piece. There is no comfortable wood patio furniture. There is no wood patio furniture in a dark stain.

I turned to metal furniture with that new-fangled non-cushion stretch webbing. Nothing. If I liked it, I needed a second mortgage to buy it. I cannot believe, I just can’t, that there are people actually spending $3000 for patio furniture. That’s criminal.

Chocolate mint and merlot.

Chocolate mint and merlot.

For two years now, I have searched high and low for a solid blue patio cushion in the right size for something less than a gazillion dollars. Last year, I threw the cushions away to force myself to do something, anything, to rectify the problem. The search has been frenzied.

Several years ago, I found the cushions of my dream, but the price was beyond ridiculous and the shipping costs even sillier. I lusted after them. They were made of the same fabric used on car convertible tops, billed as quick drying, and allegedly would last forever. Periodically, I would check Amazon and Overstock to see if by some miracle. . .

Well. The miracle occurred. Last week, I was cruising Overstock for the last gasp of the June family birthdays and there they were – my convertible top, royal blue, solid colored cushions without tufting (which collects water and mildew).

I was stunned. Even more when I calculated the price for all the pieces I needed. I’ve spent more on gas searching for patio cushions than it cost to have these delivered to my door.

I was dubious. This was too easy.

I ordered them fully expecting the hassle of returning them.

The order went awry and I thought, Okay, here we go. . .knew it was too good to be true.  Overstock apologized, promised to get things moving and before I even knew they had been shipped, they were outside my front door.

I opened the first box with trepidation.

Perfect!

So little of the externals of my life have been perfect the past few years and so it took a little while to register that they were perfect. I am not only happy with them,, I’m ecstatic. The whole experience had been so free of drama, I am at a loss as to how to behave. The color is exactly right and they fit my non-standard furniture exactly right. They’re thick and comfy. The fabric feels like a thick, soft denim. I suspect that the patio ensemble is now the most comfortable furniture I own. And I feel like I stole them. I keep waiting for Overstock to call and tell me that a terrible billing error occurred.

I spent this evening sprawled first on the chaise and then in a chair, sipping Merlot, watching fireflies, and sinking deeper into the cushions.

I cogitated on stuff some more.

I’ve been actively anti-stuff for several years now. I’m hauling far more out of here than I’m bringing in. I’ve been to the mall four times in two years and, when asked, I’ve requested eminently practical stuff for gifts.

My spirit has been much improved by the de-junking of my physical life. The Japanese have a concept known as wa which is feng shui, kind of, but applied not to just the external, but to the internal as well. Anything that disrupts the harmony of the spirit, the body, or the surroundings is said to disturb the wa.

The more stuff I haul out of here, the more harmonic my wa is.

Still, wa is about harmony; it is not deprivation. Comfortable seating in my outdoor living area enhances my wa. The old cushions disrupted it.

My benchmark for new acquisitions is that it must seem like they’ve always been here. It’s how I tell that the wa is not only not disturbed, but improved.

Twilight blues.

Twilight blues.

While it may seem silly to attach such importance to patio cushions, I think it’s even sillier not to. Mindless consumption is the problem. Expecting a thing to bring happiness is the problem. Improving wa is always win/win – there is never a down side.

The timing is interesting. Had the cushions shown up a month earlier, I could not have afforded them – even as cheap as they were. Again, it sounds silly to attach such importance to patio cushions, but the right cushion showed up at exactly the right time at a price I could handle with little discomfort. All good things in time.

I’m going to quit the frenzied searching for the stuff I need. This is not the first time the right thing came along at the right time.

My wa will be further improved by this new resolution to just roll with the flow.

Late Summer Suppers

Feng Sushi

Feng Sushi

It’s 10:15 and I just finished eating dinner.

I love late summer suppers.

This time of year, I’m too busy in the garden after work to think much about food (or laundry or housecleaning or bill paying or much of anything). When the sun starts slipping, I settle into the lawn chair with a glass of something and ponder the universe until the solar lights come on.

It’s about then that it occurs to me that I’m hungry.

My childhood was punctuated by late summer suppers. I inherited the after-work gardening gene from the folks. We ate late from about March to October. Daylight hours were spent outside.

In 1973, my father went through a spell where he was determined to perfect his spaghetti sauce – we all thought it was already perfect, but he wasn’t satisfied. We had spaghetti every twelve minutes or so. Fortunately, we liked spaghetti.

Daddy did this and Daddy did that – the sauce got better and better. But it also got later and later. As a starving teenager, by the time plates were set on the table, I was ready to chew on the formica.

That spaghetti – hot summer day cooling into a nice evening, sweat drying, ice tea glasses dripping, and the mosquito coil sending up spirals of smoke – digging into a steaming plate of perfect, tangy pasta with even better garlic bread – Lord, it was good.

The fullness of a heavy pasta and the exhaustion of an active day, the contentment of a good meal when ravenous – all of it engendered a sense of well-being that no psychotropic drug can mimic.

Today was hot. I’m making a point of trying to remember to eat, so on the way home from work, I stopped at the Kroger for something light. I ended up with California roll sushi, melon, strawberries, and Merlot. I also procured my father’s birthday cake – in this case, cheesecake. I ate dessert first (by several hours) and just now finished dinner.

We’ve all read that slogan – eat dessert first! I never do. But tonight? Tonight, I did. It’s a fine way to ingest the daily calories.

As I sit here thinking about 1973 and the following years, I’m awash in memories of all the late summer suppers I’ve had – at tables, on decks, at campsites, in restaurants. The joy of eating seems maximized in the summer – vegetables and fruits are fresh, the iced tea is cold, and, after the sun goes down, coffee is a miracle.

A few years ago, there was the naked lobster dinner. Last year, there was the rooftop North African dinner. Two weeks ago, there was the steak dinner (with art) on the deck.  I’ve had roasted venison by campfire, grilled trout by candlelight, and hamburgers under a yellow, bug light.  Dessert has been s’mores, cheesecake, a mango, and, on one memorable occasion, banana splits sitting on the side of a hill watching interstate traffic outside of Morgantown.

I love late summer suppers.

Tell me about yours.

Blogging as a gift.

From Thinkpad to Paper and Back.

From Thinkpad to Paper and Back.

I started blogging not to be read by anyone, but as a convenient online journal. I have journaled on and off for years and years. As the internet developed and technology improved, it struck me that an electronic journal would serve me best as it allowed for links, youtube videos, and pictures. So. Last August, I set up a blog.

Nobody is more surprised than me that I have a small, but faithful readership. I love y’all for reading my blathering drivel, but it has served to cause me to censor myself. (I’m afraid of the “keep this post private” toggle as I can just see me accidentally posting one of my most embarrassing TMI entries.)

That I can pull my Flickr into the blog (indeed I didn’t use Flickr until I started the blog) really rocks my boat and I love looking at the map thingie to see where my visitors are coming from.

All that aside, the blog has been great for getting me writing on a daily basis again. It’s also provoked me to take more pictures in my quest to be “right here right now.”

[An aside: I love feedback and, seriously, I don’t understand why more of you don’t comment even if only to tell me the post sucked or bored you to tears. I once was part of a writing group and “constructive” critiques are a gift.]

Wood Pulp and Ink

Wood Pulp and Ink

But, since I do have a readership and am censoring, I’m back to ink and wood pulp journaling. I haven’t been very good about doing it every day, but when I do, I like to make a ritual of it. Thus I have a good rollerball and a fine, fine dip pen (Murano glass that you dip in ink.) I love lazy mornings at the table writing secrets, rants, whines, and various blatherings on paper with fine ink.

Still, the blog is so much easier. I can just grab the laptop and sprawl either on the sofa, the chaise or in bed. I am a hedonist and being comfortable while doing anything is critical to my well-being.

Both my son and my father have considerable writing talents and opinions on everything. About a month ago I decided I would set them up blogs as a birthday/Father’s Day gift. I was amazed when I actually followed-through on that idea. Surprisingly, I had such fun setting them up and personalizing them with in-jokes and photos that it was worth the work even if they decide not to maintain them. [If you’re of a mind to, go wish my dad a happy Father’s Day – his life’s journey has been such that if you knew him, you’d love him too.]

fine pens are a must

fine pens are a must

Blogs as a gift are a stroke genius, I think, provided the recipients have any interest in writing and are not averse to a (mostly) silent audience reading their thoughts. I’m pleased with my unorthodox gifts. I think my dad will be and I think my son is.

And blogging, my own and others, has been a great gift to me. I enjoy it far more than I ever thought I would and I love setting up blogs for other people. (For a nominal fee, I’ll make one for you too!)

The Ides of June are slowly ticking away and the gift-giving season will soon be at an end. I’ll be able to get back to my regularly scheduled programming which I am now resolved will involve a more faithful paper journaling.