Beauty in the small beans of life

I'm writing a book. There I said it.  Not sure why some days but whenever I give my 30 second elevator speech (which changes every time I say it), the woman stops and stares at me, "Write that book. I'll read that."

But it's not a fun book. I should write romance novels or humor- I loved Erma Bombeck. That was a woman who could put a humorous spin on every day life or make you weep with her spot-on wisdom.  I'm not Erma.  I'm writing about childhood trauma and fear. I'm writing poetry that sucks life out of me. I'm digging into my own lifelong fears.  This is fun, folks.

And I'm sharing all this with a wonderful group of supportive writers who meet in Sundance, Wyoming.  We actually figured out this week that none of us actually live IN Sundance but one has a Sundance address since it's the closest town to her ranch.  I drive over an hour if the winter hasn't closed the back gravel road, otherwise it's over two.  I'm the one who brings the gut wrenching stories and shares the panic attacks.  Like I said, fun fluffy stuff.

But it needs to be written, if only for me.  So I write on.  But I also need to balance this dark writing with some lighter pieces.  I want to notice beauty on a regular basis, not just when I run off to a fun city like Seattle.  Today it was beans.

Red kidney, speckled pinto, white navy beans for contrast.  A tumble of earthen goodness.




My clever sister-in-law introduced me to hot bean therapy.  I dumped three bags of different size beans in a big bowl and microwaved the whole thing.
Then I sat on my porch in the sunshine and dug my hands into the hot beans.   

Once again, I'm  making wreaths for a local fundraiser and my hands ache.  I have a helper who clips all the greens, I just design and clamp the sections onto a wire base.  The clamp is foot operated- this is a classy act and the wreaths are beautiful.  But last year I did my own clipping and  made five in one day.... and my thumb joint has never been the same. Physical and occupational therapy has helped, as does a thumb joint brace but so do hot beans.



Plus I have to just sit, in the sunshine. Quiet and still. Messing with beans.  It was lovely. So were the beans.

 They roll and slip in my fingers. Bumpy but smooth at the same time, I dig deep and wiggle my hands under their warmth.  I rub my hands and hot beans slide between my fingers.  I feel their different sizes and shapes- longer and short, thin and plump. I hold my hands still and search with fingertips for the pockets of heat.  I'm a child playing in pebbles by the beach.

I close my eyes and feel the sun on my eyelids, the light bright through the skin. The rumor is for snow tonight but this morning the sun is bright in a brilliant blue sky. I sit in a light sweater, a small breeze plays with my hair. I hear its murmur in the pines. My hands are warmed, the stiff joints soothed.

Beans are today's small beautiful thing.