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Grief has a way of waking me in the night. At first, I might not be aware that it is grief tugging at my mind. It can seem as if something else – a worry, thought, memory is the culprit.

Recently, I’ve spoken to two different groups about the idea that we are always having experiences for the first time. I, for one, forget this. Often.

When we moved into our Arizona home, we discovered a lemon tree in an obscure corner of the yard. At the time, it was full of green lemons. So, we waited.
But it was growing over the fence and overhanging the neighbor’s path out of his yard.

Recent events have gotten me thinking about aging. Perhaps because what we thought the future would be is changing so rapidly. People I know have expressed concerns about their experiences of aging in the face of new uncertainties.

Years ago, I worked for a summer camp located in Kerrville, Texas. I served on the administrative team that worked year-round. Every summer, though, I witnessed the exciting, rewarding, and impactful work of the camp.

In the past, this would have been a project I would have tackled myself. Cutting them down, getting rid of the debris, weeding around them and then digging in new plants. But. The ground here in the desert is completely different.
First, its hard and rocky. My trusty shovel has a hard time making a dent in it. Second, the current plants are watered by a tiny spaghetti system of water lines. I don’t know a thing about these lines. Finally, I don’t know much about desert plants either.