Photo by Moses Pendleton
On Thursday, as many of you know, I was in a bit of a funk about the condition of my house. It’s just that I was away for much of the summer and then, when I returned, I saw all the work that needs to be done. When you live in a house everyday, you don’t see the clutter. Or at least I don’t. So, I was sort of spinning wheels, moving piles of books from one place to another, muddling over whether or not to keep a pair of old tights or throw them away, when I got a call from the Pendleton-Quinn household. Would I like to come over for tea? There was something so wonderful and childishly rebellious about running outside when I was supposed to be cleaning my room – running off to play with my friends. Well, it was a beautiful, beautiful afternoon, too nice a day to be doing housework!
When I arrived at their house, Cynthia and Moses were standing on their wide wrap-around Victorian porch, looking out at the light. The natural afternoon light. They are planning an event that will take place in their backyard in two weeks. It’s a fundraiser for the Susan B. Anthony Project – an area organization that provides shelter and counseling for battered women. They’re having a cocktail party/dance performance with their dance company Momix and they needed to decide where the dancers would perform, where the people would watch, etc. It was the exact time in the afternoon that the performance would take place and they wanted my opinion on some of the decisions regarding these matters. I was so wildly flattered that they wanted my advice, that I only scolded them a few dozen times about the fact that they hadn’t invited me to the party.
“It’s a fundraiser – people bid on it at an auction,” they replied.
“Well, okay, I’m coming, if you insist,” I said.
After we had discussed the party and admired Moses’ garden, we all decided to ride bikes over to the farm where Moses leases land to grow his beloved sunflowers. The ride over to the farm was so bucolic and scenic. Moses and Cynthia only live ten minutes from me, but if felt like I was in another world. We arrived at the farm and there were fields of sunflowers all around us. Moses has rows and rows, acres and acres of sunflowers. He tends to them all day, everyday, during their growing season. He uses them as inspiration for his choreography, most recently in his show, Botanica, but mostly, he just cares for them because it’s his calling. He loves his sunflowers like children. He grows them for the pleasure of watching them grow. He’s a true artist in that he works to create beauty – for beauty’s sake. Not for profit or show. Just to create and nurture and photograph and admire beauty.
Photo by Moses Pendleton
When we arrived, the sun was settling low on the fields and it provided a wonderful backlighting to the flocks of brilliant flowers that surrounded us. You notice the light, when you’re with Moses. The light, the delicate fuzz on the stalk of a sunflower; the way an opening blossom looks like the crowning of a baby’s head during birth; the way that a sunflower has shimmering hues of purple and green in its center; the way that the surrounding wheat grass has a golden, hazy crown on the top of its stalk.
There were several different stands of sunflowers. Moses had them separated by types. We walked up to a patch of sunflowers that were all about eye-level with me. There was something girlish and adolescent about their stature. They were slender and of a type that doesn’t grow into the towering one-eyed monsters of the mammoth variety. These dainty sunflowers all faced the same direction, oddly, away from the sun, and Moses positioned me in front of them and I got to have the experience of having all eyes on me, they way he does each day. It felt like they were waiting for me to offer them something – like I was their sun, and since I was facing them, and the setting sun, my face was warm, and… well … it was really something.
I told Moses that I thought that sunflowers followed the sun during the day, that their big, brilliant heads always faced the sun. Moses explained that during most of their growth, they do that, but when they reach maturity, they stop following the sun. In the morning, they may be facing it, but in the evening, they keep it on their backs. They are their own sun now. Their heads are so heavy and full of pollen and seeds, they don’t need any more sustenance. They’re sort of like people, in their middle years, I thought, as Moses, Cynthia and I pedaled off on our bikes. At a certain age, you become saturated with the knowledge that comes from a lifetime of alternating darkness and light, until one day, you’re just your own source of light. Your own sun.
We rode home in the dusk, we three, past fields of hay, and darkening woods. We were home before dark, and then, I went back to cleaning my room.
Photo by Moses Pendleton
I love your story.. I miss my bike now even more after reading that … I have been thinking of purchasing a bike recently and never did. I’ve looked at garage sales, friends, families garages for this bike. I recently went to a neighbors house and saw that she had some old bikes in the rafters in her garage. I kindly asked, “can I borrow your bike one day to ride with my son”. Oh.. I have not used those in over 10 years, she said. “Thats ok” I don’t mind. Oh.. they need air in the tires she said. “Thats ok” I will do it. Well, she never did allow me to use the bike. I am amazed how hard this quest has become. Why don’t I just buy a bike?.I did go to the store, but they are so over priced, for my needs, I want an old bike., one thats been used, and yet I cannot seem to locate one. I spent many, many days, from morning until dusk on my bike growing up. When my mom passed, it was imperative that I found a friend and latched on quickly to their daily schedules, outings,and meals. It was pure survival instincts I’m sure. Now looking back, since my dad worked everyday including Saturdays. When I think back, it is so odd, that he just would leave during the summer, go to work very early, and not have a sitter, or a friend or relative watch us. I guess back then, having six kids, we were expected to look after each other, but my older siblings were never home. So the bike, held so many fun times, dangers, and adventures. I still love to ride, and I’m back in the same town. I miss my bike. thanks Ann for such a cute story as I awoke today. I love Sunflowers, my mom grew them too. You are blessed. When I get my bike, I will think of your ride and the Sunflowers. thank you..
Beautiful post! There’s something about sunflowers that give my heart a lift every time I look at them.
: )
Ann,
What type of camera do you have the pictures are better than HDTV? I absolutely love your winter pictures. It reminds me of a snow day morning in Michigan.
Moses took the photos on this post. The winter photos were taken with my old Canon. The one I dropped into a puddle, while riding a horse. It did take beautiful photos, and has never been the same since I dropped it.
Beautiful, Ann, one of your finest. You’ll have to play hooky more often.
Classic avoidance technique Ann.
What beautiful imagery. You are such a wonderful writer. I felt like I was there.
I especially loved this part: ‘but when they reach maturity, they stop following the sun. In the morning, they may be facing it, but in the evening, they keep it on their backs. They are their own sun now. Their heads are so heavy and full of pollen and seeds, they don’t need any more sustenance. They’re sort of like people, in their middle years, I thought, as Moses, Cynthia and I pedaled off on our bikes. At a certain age, you become saturated with the knowledge that comes from a lifetime of alternating darkness and light, until one day, you’re just your own source of light. Your own sun.’
What a wonderful metaphor (am I using the correct term?) for life. At 46 I have finally shed my extreme shyness, my need for approval from everyone, my insecurities, my lack of self-esteem, and my surviving life, and am finally LIVING life. I am my own sun! And I am loving it! I’m happy, love myself for the first time ever, am comfortable in my own skin, and am seeking out things that bring ME joy. Thank you for putting it into words better than I ever could have. If you don’t mind, I’m going to copy and paste that section and print it out so I can read it every day.
Life should be a celebration, not a chore, and I’m glad I’ve finally reached the point where I’ve realized it and am emotionally able to do it.
Thank you, this really touched my heart.
Meg, your comment was very touching. I know what you mean about riding an old bike, I too rode my bike all day, as a kid (I often pretended mine was a horse, though). I can’t believe your friend wouldn’t loan you a bike. I wish I could loan you mine! What state do you live in?
Ann, I used to pretend my bike was a horse too and I would don my cowgirl hat and ride around the block – watching the alleys – as if I were on some adventure. On sweet youth, now I stare down the exercise bike to see who will win the battle of I don’t want to ride you. If only I were 10 again.
Sunflowers mean happiness in flower language. Here is to happiness and tackling the “fall cleaning” of our homes.
Happy Birthday Wendy, but I can’t remember which Wendy it is!
Very nice
Oh, Meg . . . that friend needs to rethink her priorities. I’m in North FL — if you’re near me anywhere, we’ll find you a bike — maybe an old banana seat Schwinn with a basket with the big flowers and tassels? A bike is so much more than just a means to get around for a child. Even for an adult, for that matter.
I love sunflowers, as well, and my husband usually grows them in our summer garden every year for me. This year, my 30 year old step son has been living with us, reconnecting with his Dad after a 7 year horrible family rift and bonding with his half brother and half sisters who are 3, 6 and 11 and never REALLY believed us when we told them they had brothers and sisters besides each other. He helped his Dad plant the garden this year, graphed out all the plans of where to put each crop, not knowing that my husband always saves room for my sunflowers. After so much family drama I couldn’t bring myself to mention that they forgot my sunflowers. I was just so overjoyed to watch father and son bonding over something so simple as a vegetable garden.
Sometime in July when the sunflowers would usually be about 10′ tall my 6 year old son said to me “Mama, Daddy and Little Tim forgot your sunflowers”. I told him it was okay, we’d have sunflowers next year, that this garden produced something far more beautiful to me than sunflowers — I got to watch my husband and stepson and children grow tall and strong and happy instead. While sunflowers are beautiful, nothing replaces a strong, happy family.
I’ve spent too much of this year worrying about my upcoming 39th birthday . . . one day closer to that damned 40th one we all seem to dread. After reading Tracy’s post about finally being her “own sun” at 46, I’m not going to dread it anymore, I’m just going to work to be my own sun.
Thanks, Ann, Meg, Tracy and all the girls and guys of the blog!
Oh Ann,
This post is breathtaking! It touched my heart too and I love how you managed to so seamlessly incorporate your wonderful sense of humour (“Well,okay I’m coming, if you insist,”)into this piece…Thank you! Even if you’ve done nothing else, this is evidence of a productive urge!
Meg-I hope you get a bike—soon! I’m digressing back to the possession-purging discussion, but I must confess that your neighbour’s clinging to the bike is incomphensible to me! I think that if something hasn’t been used for a long time, it should be put back into circulation so that it will (hopefully!) end up in the hands of someone that will use and/or appreciate it!Rant over, and I REALLY hope that you get a bike!
Tracy-I LOVE your posts, your positive outlook and how you wear your heart on your sleeve!
You seem like an absolute doll and maybe Ann will share her Miss Sunflower title with you!
Caroline-What a lovely story, what a lovely family! Don’t sweat the big 4-0—and if it helps, I plan on celebrating my 10th ANNUAL 39th birthday this year (harhar). I also second you in sending thanks and good wishes to this entire blog community!
P.S. Ann—thanks to the Pendleton-Quinns, too! I am sure the fundraiser will be a great success…
Best,
Lynne
Meg I just bought myself a new bike in April. It was my birthday present to me. It was not expensive and I am using a lot. My son loves to go riding with me. I loved my old bike, but it had to go because it just could not be ‘fixed’ anymore. I don’t know if your friend has some real sentimental attachment to her bike, because her behavior doesn’t make sense. Sorry she treated you that way.
You are right about times being very different when we were children. When I was growing up babysitters weren’t really around. Kids were pretty much on their own or watched by older sibllings.
Ann,
As I read your post this cloudy Sunday afternoon, I got a little bit weepy; specifically over this line: “At a certain age, you become saturated with the knowledge that comes from a lifetime of alternating darkness and light, until one day, you’re just your own source of light. Your own sun.”
I’m gradually evolving, at 41, into the person I wish I had had the confidence to be at 21 or 31. I can’t tell you how much your blog and your kind readers have brought to me. Each day we all connect is a real gift to me. I’m not yet where Tracy is, but I’m working on it.
And like many who posted today, my childhood bike was my best playmate. I also decided it was really a horse, especially because it was a Schwinn “Wildfire”. I used to ride it through the dirt alley in my little neighborhood in Fairbanks, Alaska, to visit two horses I loved: Duke and Sabrina. I can’t believe I still remember their names.
Catherine
Meg, I loved your childhood story of your bike, it brought back such wonderful memories, such feelings of absolute freedom. I too am shocked that your friend would not loan you her bike. That is very strange. I too have been thinking for months of buying a bike at a thrift store or at this man’s house who fixes up old bikes and sells them. I honestly don’t know where I’d put it in my condo though! I’d have to see if there was room to hang it in my foyer closet. I can’t see myself hauling it up my stairs to my spare room every time! Though that would be great exercise in itself! lolol
Caroline, what a beautiful story about your stepson, the garden, and the sunflowers. It touched me so deeply. It made me tear up. It was beautiful to read, and must have been absolutely stunning to watch unfold. I’m really happy for your family.
I’m glad I could help you not dread turning 39. Strangely for me I didn’t have a problem with 30 or 40. My problem was with 25. The thought that I had been alive for a quarter of a century was just too hard for me to wrap my head around, and I really struggled with it. Since then it’s been smooth sailing.
Lynne, thank you so much! You made my day. I feel like I just got a great big hug. The people on this blog are so wonderful, I’m so glad I found it. It’s such a big part of my every day life, it’s hard to remember what it was like before.
Catherine, I too wish I had this confidence at 21 or 31. I spent my life with no self confidence, and it was a gradual evolution. It took me a long time, but I finally made it. I’m so glad you’re here to share this special blog with all of us.
Just the latest example of why this blog is such a special place….
Wow, thanks guys.. Ann, I live in Long Island, New York, but don’t worry, I will eventually find a bike. It really is funny though. This is my second summer without the bike. I thought for sure, this would be the summer I would be able to ride, I should be able to borrow or find one at a sale, I have to look harder. Christine, your bike sounds great, but I do not want a new bike, I’m afraid I won’t use it enough for the money they cost. I like the old bikes, but def not the banana seat, or basket, I’m 47 lol. Just a woman’s bike, the older ones that are easy to ride. Lynne, I don’t really know why my neighbor is hesitant, she is 65 and has two bikes in the garage, She is a nice person, but for some reason, did not want to be bothered taking down those bikes. We admired them, she told me about them, but, just kept looking at them up there..I said maybe your husband can get them down… ahhh… nothing. Well, I guess people don’t want to give up their old bikes so easily, even when they are just sitting there doing nothing but collecting dust. Ann,I too pretended to ride horses, but We would find a great big sticks. It’s so funny.
I couldn’t have said it better myself, Alan. “Just the latest example of why this blog is such a special place…” Reading Ann’s post and all of the comments following it filled my head and heart with so many memories, desires, wishes, dashed hopes, and needs.
Meg: Your friend might not have wanted to loan you the bicycle because she felt it was in bad shape and she would be embarrassed by its condition or worried that you might be injured on it. Loaning or giving items to friends and family members is not always a cut-and-dried endeavor. Granted, I don’t know you or your friend, or the dynamic between you both, but the reason could be as simple as concern for your safety or worry that you might think less of her for actually giving it to you once you got on the bike to ride it. Just a couple of thoughts….
Everyone else’s postings tugged at my heart strings, but Caroline’s yanked hard. I have been estranged from my entire family for 10 years, and there’s no hope of recovery. Reading stories about families who overcome their fears, prejudices, anger, judgments, and idiocy are both uplifting and painful. But it’s good for me to learn that some people can sweep aside their petty (or, sometimes, not-so-petty) differences and make their families whole again. Or even better than they were before. Thanks, Caroline. It’s good to know others can do it. I’m extremely pleased for you and your family.
Ann: I began this post to merely tell you how amazingly-written your comments were. Vivid and funny and memory-inducing. I, too, felt as if I was standing right next to you in the field of sunflowers. You are an extremely gifted writer and observer of life. As Tracy wrote, it’s hard to remember what my life was like before you and all of my fellow AL bloggers became parts of it. You had a marvelous, memorable day last Thursday.
Lynne: Your observations about Tracy are spot-on. She is beginning the trial of helping me with my bouts of depression and anxiety. Reading about her experiences and the happy, confident, light-filled road she is now traveling gives me hope for my own future.
Along with so many others here, I, too, need a new bike. But I don’t have the necessary knowledge to help me choose the least expensive, most efficient bike for my use. Choices….there are too many choices today, aren’t there?
(Honest. This was going to be a very short posting.)
I love this place…..
God Bless everyone here.
Alan said it best, but I will comment anyway. Today is a perfect example of why we all enjoy this “place” so very, very much: the amazing beauty of Ann’s writing, the support, the encouragement, and if that wasn’t enough, the laughter.
Julie in Eugene
p.s. My childhood bike story is pathetic- I was the oldest of three, brother in the middle. He got a new bike about every other birthday. Little sister and I got his hand-me-downs. I didn’t like riding bikes until my own kids were nearly adults. The funny (or sad) part is, now I ride their hand-me-downs!
If we were all men, and drunk, now would be the time you’d be hearing lots of “I love you, man.” lol
I think I’m a long way off from being my own sun. But I like the metaphor there, especially the use of the word saturated. It implies color and fullness.
I do love sunflowers, because they are indeed rather saturated. I just shot a whole bunch of them.
http://juliabohemian.deviantart.com/gallery/#_search/flower sun
And I thought of you today and I was attempting to orchestrate a family portrait with four dogs.
Julia
Ann, thank you for another beautifully told story. This one should be part of a book someday, somewhere. I haven’t shared much personal info, but probably should socialize a little today.
This blog really does have a different atmosphere than most. To be perfectly honest, it’s the only personal blog in my RSS feed; reason being that I’m here working long hours online and when work is done, I usually like to get off the computer. There are about 200 industry-related blogs I follow… and yours, which I’ve come to look forward to the most. Kind of reminds me of the days when my kids were small and I got together with a handful of ladies for coffee/play date once a week. (No offense to the gentlemen here; I enjoy your comments as well.) I turned 54 last week and realized I have not taken time the past 10 years for friendships with other women and I miss that. Web development is a tough, competitive field and between that and family, something had to give so it was that. It’s nice to come here for a little while each day and unwind in a place where everyone’s not snipping and arguing, which is the case with so many blogs these days.
Like many here, I stumbled upon your site while looking for past episodes of Rescue Me, because my family became fans this past year and wanted to find the seasons we missed. Then of course, I found a very talented and witty Mrs. Leary whose writing I’ve enjoyed just as much. (BTW, my 25-year-old son, who is also my work partner, also now follows your feed. He’s completely in love with your dogs and their antics.)
Since it seems I’m one of the (ahem) “elders” here, I’ll just share something in the conversation about age. I’ve found life to be difficult and challenging at every age, and that hasn’t changed now that my hubby and I are in the 50-zone. What *has* changed however, is the way we think and live. It’s the best time of life, truly. We tend to let a lot of little things roll off our backs, to enjoy every minute more because mortality is quite an obvious reality we can’t ignore now. I have a personal blog, but am embarrassed to admit I haven’t posted since… oops, December. But I did write a little post last summer about life at 50 that some of you might enjoy. It’s entitled, “50-something, the new 30-something” and you can find it by clicking my name link.
Tomorrow my hubby and I will be leaving for a week’s vacation in Maui to celebrate our 35th anniversary. No computers, no phones, no work, for a solid week! I’ll look forward to catching up here when we get home.
Thanks to Ann, and all who regularly comment here, for sharing a little bit of your lives. You’re all quite a breath of fresh air.
Mahalo,
Lynn
Thank you to all of you for your nice comments about the blog. I don’t even feel like I can call it my blog, as you all are what makes it so nice. Many people have told me they love reading the comments as much as the blog entries – and these are people who never comment!
Caroline, lol at the “I love you, man” comment.
Meg, since you live in Long Island, I suggest that as soon as school starts, go to the nearest beachy town and look for a bike rental place. I know on the cape there are many places that rent out bikes to seasonal home renters, and then, at the end of the summer, they want to get rid of the clunkers and sell them very cheap. And they’re usually in fine working order. Also, if it’s not too hilly near you, you can get a real oldie, as, in my experience, it’s the gears that usually go first. If you live in a flat area, you can get a bike with 0-3 gears and do very well. Also, I used to make sticks into my “horses’ too. WIth names! Good luck with the bike search.
p.s. beautiful sunflower photos, Julia!
I’m on it. Great idea. The good news is, I have some leads on a few used bikes in the area. Will be checking them out on the weekend. I will be sending a photo for sure when I get my bike!! thx for all the creative thinking, I will be riding soon., I feel it! ps/my horse’s name was “Mickey”. Apparently, my dad owned a horse with this name, and told me many stories about him. I still have some horse statue’s, all named Mickey. lol and a very funny horse necklace, that I cannot believe I wore. Does anyone remember that movie that came out in the 70′s, I think about Appaloosa’s? Which every horse loving young girl had to see. I remember going with my friend and her dad, but cannot think of the name of it. I wonder what all the significance is with young girls and horses, I know for me, I was drawn to their beauty and innocence.
Oh my gosh, Ann! I really, really needed to read this today. (Read my latest post to see why) Thank you, thank you, thank you! I need to rely on my own light. I’m at that weird age, early 30′s, where you are just coming into your own and trying not to rely so much on what others think about you and decide about you. It’s hard, especially with what I’ve encountered recently. I’ve been in such a funk these last few months. It’s been a bit depressing.
Having all those flowers on you must have been an amazing feeling! I loved your description of it. Very inspiring.
All those photos has inspired me to get out and take some pictures today. That always makes me happier.
Alyson,
I hope you took some happy pix! I checked out New England Living (but didn’t get a chance to post) and you are clearly a very talented lady!(With a lovely family, as well!)I hope the funk lifts…
Take care of yourself,
Lynne
Betsy, thank you, you touched my heart. I only hope I can help in some way. We’ll work together towards a brighter future for you.
Caroline, you made me laugh out loud with the ‘I love you man’ comment. lolol
Julia, your photos, as always, are beautiful. For those of you who haven’t friended her on facebook, she has has tons of wonderful photos there, and lots of Buddy the possum, who I’m still so fascinated with. I especially love his new house. He’s the luckiest possum in the world.
Good luck on your bike mission Meg. Ann’s idea is a great one.
We all seem to get what we need here, don’t we?
Oh, Elizabeth — this is just a repair in what I call “my own little family” — my husband, our children and the step children and grandkids. I think I’ve told you before that there is virtually no chance of the recovery of my “birth” family — my 5 brothers and sisters and mother. It is the most devastating thing that has ever happened to me to be estranged from my family. And even worse that there is not a concrete reason, things just seemed to break apart when my Dad died 10 years ago. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think “If Dad were here, this never would have happened”. I feel your pain and I’m so sorry about it. I just try to concentrate on my “little family” and make sure my children grow up the best of friends so that another generation isn’t affected by this.
I gained a wonderful sister-in-law out of my “birth family”. She and my youngest brother are in the middle of a divorce, but she has never been anything but kind to me and actually has the insight into my dysfunctional family, so we are able to talk ourselves off the ledge most of the time! Sunday night she said “deep down you love your Mom so much and you just don’t understand why she doesn’t love you, but loves all the other kids”. It sounds harsh, but sadly, it’s right on the mark. How could a mother not love her own child? I can’t get it out of my mind and for 2 days have just been bursting into tears over it.
Thanks for letting me vent. Sorry, I know it’s way to personal for a blog, but I always feel safe here.
Thinking of you, Elizabeth — if you need a stand-in sister, I’m around.
So weird after venting all of this stuff to you, my captive audience, that today I was at the market and walked past a woman who was wearing “Charlie” perfume — the perfume my Mom’s worn for years. I started crying in the bread aisle.
Caroline, the sense of smell is the most nostalgic of all the senses.
Your comment about “Charlie” perfume instantly brought to my mind this commercial. Don’t click on link unless you want to be singing the song in your mind, against your will, for the rest of the day.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Sn8H42FZcI
Awww, thanks, Ann . . . now it’s on repeat in my head, and my 3 year old is singing it — VERY LOUDLY!!!
Wow, this post was absolutely poetic and beautiful, as always. Thanks for that glimpse Ann!