Dear Elizabeth ~ This essay is a pleasure and a balm, from first line to last, poetically woven and skillfully designed. The stories themselves are heavy hitters. Your ability to tell them and guide the reader is out of the park.
Kim, thank you so much. Sometimes comments hit just where we need them to, and this is one of those. I wasn’t sure this piece would hold together until the very end, so hearing that it resonated from start to finish is truly a gift. So glad you're part of <<all this>>.
There is a melancholy beauty about this time of year, and you capture that so movingly. (BTW, it was my wife and me who provided the live music at the Library celebration. I’m sorry I didn’t know you were there and could have said hello.)
Darrell, what a small-world delight! The music was wonderful. It brought just the right energy to the evening. I have to admit, my over-socialized brain didn’t put two and two together with the band name at the time, or I’d have said hello in person. I'm sorry about that and am glad you reached out here.
I appreciate the idea of the season's melancholy beauty. For me, it's always a welcome time to rest, and I guess both themes show up here, don't they? Thanks for sharing your thoughts.
'Pleasure and balm' as another reader commented, an apt description. My 'people', Sicilian immigrants on my dad's side persisted in the American Dream. I hold that dear and will also persist.
Oh, Deb -- I love hearing about your family’s persistence, that steady faith in the promise of a better life. It connects to so many of the complexities we're grappling with these days. I’m touched that you found something here that echoed your own roots. Thank you for sharing that.
Nancy, what a beautiful note. Thank you. I love that you linked these two pieces; they do converse with each other a bit, don't they? Here’s to the ones who follow their own rhythms and to all of us still finding our way through time’s mysterious pacing.
This post is like a sip of nectar in a frozen world, so unlike anything else in mine, almost indescribable. It takes time to adjust but the effort is worth it.
I recognise these little snippets even though they occur literally half a world away. I’m at a Conference here in Australia realising that those two must sit together because he struggles to complete the most basic tasks - like putting his hat on before they join the next walk (sigh… Dementia is such a cruel disease.)
I too am at that point in life where death, grief and illness haunt us, but where hope also resides. We just need to walk together and keep a hand out for it.
Thank you Elizabeth. An appreciated middle of the night read.
Dear Beth -- gosh, so dear. Thank you for taking time to share these thoughts from your own yesterday. I can picture that moment you describe at the conference vividly. The giver in caregiver doesn't get the attention it deserves. Dementia really is a cruel thief, and yet, as you say, hope is generally alongside somewhere. I’m grateful this piece could keep you company in the quiet hours.
Remembering.... Celebrating..... Protesting.... And persimmon pudding tops the list.... It's amazing how something that puckers your mouth.... when combined with the sweetness of ingredients can create such a delicious food.... I wish that which makes our lives pucker with greed, power, and hate... would realize there's more sweetness than we can ever imagine..... when we combine our love and kindness ingredients... Love your writing, Betsy.... It made fall so special.
Barry, you always know how to mix wisdom into a sweet offering — just like those persimmons. I love your thought about transforming the “pucker” of life with love and kindness; that’s a crop worth tending all year. Thank you, my friend, for reading and for bringing your generous spirit to the table.
Jill, what a wonderful image — sparks flying through time! I love that you felt that kind of connection between past, present, and future. Your words light things up in return. Thank you for reading with such heart.
I loved this, Elizabeth. I felt an ache reading your words, for things and people in the past, and a feeling of innocence and hope that is often hard to come by these days - and longing for sweetness and relief, even if I don’t know that it’s coming. I love persimmons. Thank you for this 🤍
Ally, thank you so much for this. I’m grateful to know those feelings found a place to land today. For all the ills of algorithms, I'm glad for the community of beautiful souls they've brought me here. Looking forward to more conversations as we both keep writing and discovering. We persimmon lovers are a special breed!
Such a moving piece Elizabeth in every way. Love the photos and that Sara T poem especially. There's such an omnipresent feeling of the ground we stand on constantly shifting these days - it's hard to settle, to remember how to feel safe again. Reading the thoughts of like-minded, kind people like yourself is very reassuring. PS That observation about introverts is SO true!
I appreciate you, Sue, and these thoughts. I was glad to find my way back to Sara in this writing -- a light lost too young. Finding safety and stability is an ongoing effort, one I'm sure our ancestors also put forth. I find that a little bit comforting, somehow and am grateful to share this space with others who understand that—especially fellow introverts! Your kindness means a lot.
"In the backdrop of each occasion was someone in the late chapters of their story—people who shaped the world in ways large and small, and whose legacies linger, even as the light shifts around them." -- There is a real poignance in beginning to notice this "throughline" in your meetings, get-togethers, and movements in community.
Your week, frankly, sounds exhausting on a social level, but I appreciate the small character sketches that underscore your moments of noticing.
Honestly, last week was totally exhausting socially! I felt every bit of it wearing on me (and, odds being what they are, now hubby is sick). But I think I needed all those different moments to get me to the place I needed to be emotionally. Sometimes it seems like overwhelm is part of the process. Isn't that weird?
Here’s hoping there’s sweetness ahead for both of us. Thanks, Amy.
There is a richness in life that sometimes hangs like old wallpaper that we don't notice. You will never stop noticing. And as long as you never stop writing you will be able to remind your readers - however many there are - how to practice taking note, of persimmons, of small dogs, of memories we can hold dear, and even love those memories that feel like they are someone else's. Lovely landing. Beautiful slideshow!
Stew, you often notice how much I notice, and the wallpaper analogy, alongside your writing, tells me you're also looking carefully. (My attention to detail has definitely been known to drive my spouse a little crazy when it comes to sharing a household! 🤪) I suppose that’s how our stories hold their meaning over time -- a fusion between those who see the beach and those who see the grains of sand. Thanks for reading and commenting with such care.
Lovely, Elizabeth. The first thing I want to say is, LUCKY YOU! You have a man who brings you persimmons. One of my favorite things about autumn is the arrival of the persimmon. My mother was unusual in the the 1960s for introducing us to two fruits that people didn't commonly eat...the persimmon and the avocado. A lot of people that I've met either have never heard of them or think they're disgusting because of their texture. I adore them. The flavor, the mouthfeel. They're so sensual, they remind me of really good sex. You're such a beautiful writer.
Nan, lucky indeed — I feel so grateful for the persimmon deliveries (and the man who brings them). Your mom sounds like a trailblazer in the fruit department! Avocados may be ubiquitous now, but persimmons definitely not. I’m with you on their unique, sensual magic, and that part of your comment really made me smile. Thank you for your characteristic honesty and generosity.
p.s. If you want to geek out a little and have a laugh at the same time, spend a few minutes with this gem. It came to me from someone who is equally...uh...aroused by the subtleties of fruit flavors. :)
HA! I'm glad that made you smile. Initially, I wrote it as "they remind me of good sex." Then I thought, "don't overshare, Nan, that may be too TMI." And then I hesitated again, conducted an on the spot check-in, and said, "but Nan, isn't being yourself what you've been working on?" And I said "yeah, I have, but maybe I should temper it a little, until I get to know EB a little better." So I tempered it with the "They're so sensual" part. Do you see what I go through in my commenting process? I won't even tell you about the quibbling I do with myself when I'm writing an essay...Nah, I'm getting better at letting loose and not filtering myself so much. But that's on my site. I want to respect the culture here. I await further guidance from you, my new persimmon-loving pal. Gonna go check out the video. And let's talk about ripe summer peaches, next time, okay? xo
Just watched the video...Giambo persimmons and Saijo are the ones I love. I've never had a Fuyu. I don't think it would feel right to eat a crunchy persimmon, not to be confused with an unripe one. The Giambo are the best in my opinion. I love geeking out. xo
As to you comment process, I am closer to that than you might imagine, and my filters have never been particularly thick. My head, on the other hand... 😅
As to your persimmon preferences, I actually have *another* guy with persimmons from whom I've enjoyed bounteous harvests in seasons past. His are Gionbo.
And what about the guy in the video and his "sensual" moments with his persimmons? LOL!
He was funny. They weren't figs, though. They were persimmons! It's good to know that I can play and be myself in your comments! I may even try some filters on...but I doubt it! xo
Ooohhhh, the Rollercoaster of life and the rides and sensations it conveys, should we choose to feel them all. Some run. Some trim the persimmon tree and the beard that tends it. Others grow wild and flex in all directions, I think.
Life is short and precious and your descriptions here are reliably wonderful, week after week. Thank you, Elizabeth! Thank you. J
Janice, that's an apt metaphor, and what I appreciate most about it is this bit: "should we choose to feel them all." There's a fine line between feeling what there is to feel and getting stuck there. I think there's a lot of stuck in the world.
Life really is a flash in the pan, and I’m so grateful we get to notice it together. Thank you for your steady solidarity.
Dear Elizabeth ~ This essay is a pleasure and a balm, from first line to last, poetically woven and skillfully designed. The stories themselves are heavy hitters. Your ability to tell them and guide the reader is out of the park.
Kim, thank you so much. Sometimes comments hit just where we need them to, and this is one of those. I wasn’t sure this piece would hold together until the very end, so hearing that it resonated from start to finish is truly a gift. So glad you're part of <<all this>>.
🙏🏻💛
There is a melancholy beauty about this time of year, and you capture that so movingly. (BTW, it was my wife and me who provided the live music at the Library celebration. I’m sorry I didn’t know you were there and could have said hello.)
Darrell, what a small-world delight! The music was wonderful. It brought just the right energy to the evening. I have to admit, my over-socialized brain didn’t put two and two together with the band name at the time, or I’d have said hello in person. I'm sorry about that and am glad you reached out here.
I appreciate the idea of the season's melancholy beauty. For me, it's always a welcome time to rest, and I guess both themes show up here, don't they? Thanks for sharing your thoughts.
'Pleasure and balm' as another reader commented, an apt description. My 'people', Sicilian immigrants on my dad's side persisted in the American Dream. I hold that dear and will also persist.
Oh, Deb -- I love hearing about your family’s persistence, that steady faith in the promise of a better life. It connects to so many of the complexities we're grappling with these days. I’m touched that you found something here that echoed your own roots. Thank you for sharing that.
This one--and the last one about your marriage--leave me breathless Here's to you, and to Jane and Diane--Who knows where the time goes?
Nancy, what a beautiful note. Thank you. I love that you linked these two pieces; they do converse with each other a bit, don't they? Here’s to the ones who follow their own rhythms and to all of us still finding our way through time’s mysterious pacing.
This post is like a sip of nectar in a frozen world, so unlike anything else in mine, almost indescribable. It takes time to adjust but the effort is worth it.
I recognise these little snippets even though they occur literally half a world away. I’m at a Conference here in Australia realising that those two must sit together because he struggles to complete the most basic tasks - like putting his hat on before they join the next walk (sigh… Dementia is such a cruel disease.)
I too am at that point in life where death, grief and illness haunt us, but where hope also resides. We just need to walk together and keep a hand out for it.
Thank you Elizabeth. An appreciated middle of the night read.
Relating strongly to middle of the night read, Beth T!
Dear Beth -- gosh, so dear. Thank you for taking time to share these thoughts from your own yesterday. I can picture that moment you describe at the conference vividly. The giver in caregiver doesn't get the attention it deserves. Dementia really is a cruel thief, and yet, as you say, hope is generally alongside somewhere. I’m grateful this piece could keep you company in the quiet hours.
Remembering.... Celebrating..... Protesting.... And persimmon pudding tops the list.... It's amazing how something that puckers your mouth.... when combined with the sweetness of ingredients can create such a delicious food.... I wish that which makes our lives pucker with greed, power, and hate... would realize there's more sweetness than we can ever imagine..... when we combine our love and kindness ingredients... Love your writing, Betsy.... It made fall so special.
Barry, you always know how to mix wisdom into a sweet offering — just like those persimmons. I love your thought about transforming the “pucker” of life with love and kindness; that’s a crop worth tending all year. Thank you, my friend, for reading and for bringing your generous spirit to the table.
Such a lovely piece. Thank you.
A pleasure to know you enjoyed it, June. Thank you so much.
Sparks. That’s what you leave us. My mind and harder sparking with the present, the past, and melting into the future. It’s beautiful.
Jill, what a wonderful image — sparks flying through time! I love that you felt that kind of connection between past, present, and future. Your words light things up in return. Thank you for reading with such heart.
I loved this, Elizabeth. I felt an ache reading your words, for things and people in the past, and a feeling of innocence and hope that is often hard to come by these days - and longing for sweetness and relief, even if I don’t know that it’s coming. I love persimmons. Thank you for this 🤍
Ally, thank you so much for this. I’m grateful to know those feelings found a place to land today. For all the ills of algorithms, I'm glad for the community of beautiful souls they've brought me here. Looking forward to more conversations as we both keep writing and discovering. We persimmon lovers are a special breed!
Such a moving piece Elizabeth in every way. Love the photos and that Sara T poem especially. There's such an omnipresent feeling of the ground we stand on constantly shifting these days - it's hard to settle, to remember how to feel safe again. Reading the thoughts of like-minded, kind people like yourself is very reassuring. PS That observation about introverts is SO true!
I appreciate you, Sue, and these thoughts. I was glad to find my way back to Sara in this writing -- a light lost too young. Finding safety and stability is an ongoing effort, one I'm sure our ancestors also put forth. I find that a little bit comforting, somehow and am grateful to share this space with others who understand that—especially fellow introverts! Your kindness means a lot.
"In the backdrop of each occasion was someone in the late chapters of their story—people who shaped the world in ways large and small, and whose legacies linger, even as the light shifts around them." -- There is a real poignance in beginning to notice this "throughline" in your meetings, get-togethers, and movements in community.
Your week, frankly, sounds exhausting on a social level, but I appreciate the small character sketches that underscore your moments of noticing.
Here's to your persimmon pudding in coming weeks!
Honestly, last week was totally exhausting socially! I felt every bit of it wearing on me (and, odds being what they are, now hubby is sick). But I think I needed all those different moments to get me to the place I needed to be emotionally. Sometimes it seems like overwhelm is part of the process. Isn't that weird?
Here’s hoping there’s sweetness ahead for both of us. Thanks, Amy.
Poignant and heartfelt connections. Thank you for sharing them with us.
I’m glad the fullness of that came through in the writing, Elizabeth. Truly appreciate you taking the time to read and share your kindness.
There is a richness in life that sometimes hangs like old wallpaper that we don't notice. You will never stop noticing. And as long as you never stop writing you will be able to remind your readers - however many there are - how to practice taking note, of persimmons, of small dogs, of memories we can hold dear, and even love those memories that feel like they are someone else's. Lovely landing. Beautiful slideshow!
Stew, you often notice how much I notice, and the wallpaper analogy, alongside your writing, tells me you're also looking carefully. (My attention to detail has definitely been known to drive my spouse a little crazy when it comes to sharing a household! 🤪) I suppose that’s how our stories hold their meaning over time -- a fusion between those who see the beach and those who see the grains of sand. Thanks for reading and commenting with such care.
Lovely, Elizabeth. The first thing I want to say is, LUCKY YOU! You have a man who brings you persimmons. One of my favorite things about autumn is the arrival of the persimmon. My mother was unusual in the the 1960s for introducing us to two fruits that people didn't commonly eat...the persimmon and the avocado. A lot of people that I've met either have never heard of them or think they're disgusting because of their texture. I adore them. The flavor, the mouthfeel. They're so sensual, they remind me of really good sex. You're such a beautiful writer.
Nan, lucky indeed — I feel so grateful for the persimmon deliveries (and the man who brings them). Your mom sounds like a trailblazer in the fruit department! Avocados may be ubiquitous now, but persimmons definitely not. I’m with you on their unique, sensual magic, and that part of your comment really made me smile. Thank you for your characteristic honesty and generosity.
p.s. If you want to geek out a little and have a laugh at the same time, spend a few minutes with this gem. It came to me from someone who is equally...uh...aroused by the subtleties of fruit flavors. :)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5WiW7ddHZ70
HA! I'm glad that made you smile. Initially, I wrote it as "they remind me of good sex." Then I thought, "don't overshare, Nan, that may be too TMI." And then I hesitated again, conducted an on the spot check-in, and said, "but Nan, isn't being yourself what you've been working on?" And I said "yeah, I have, but maybe I should temper it a little, until I get to know EB a little better." So I tempered it with the "They're so sensual" part. Do you see what I go through in my commenting process? I won't even tell you about the quibbling I do with myself when I'm writing an essay...Nah, I'm getting better at letting loose and not filtering myself so much. But that's on my site. I want to respect the culture here. I await further guidance from you, my new persimmon-loving pal. Gonna go check out the video. And let's talk about ripe summer peaches, next time, okay? xo
Just watched the video...Giambo persimmons and Saijo are the ones I love. I've never had a Fuyu. I don't think it would feel right to eat a crunchy persimmon, not to be confused with an unripe one. The Giambo are the best in my opinion. I love geeking out. xo
As to you comment process, I am closer to that than you might imagine, and my filters have never been particularly thick. My head, on the other hand... 😅
As to your persimmon preferences, I actually have *another* guy with persimmons from whom I've enjoyed bounteous harvests in seasons past. His are Gionbo.
And what about the guy in the video and his "sensual" moments with his persimmons? LOL!
He was funny. They weren't figs, though. They were persimmons! It's good to know that I can play and be myself in your comments! I may even try some filters on...but I doubt it! xo
Lordy -- I should know better than to type before caffeine. I've edited that error. 🤦♀️
But now we're on the subject, what's your opinion on figs? I love them fresh. I like them dried, but fresh? That's a sexy fruit, too. xo
Ooohhhh, the Rollercoaster of life and the rides and sensations it conveys, should we choose to feel them all. Some run. Some trim the persimmon tree and the beard that tends it. Others grow wild and flex in all directions, I think.
Life is short and precious and your descriptions here are reliably wonderful, week after week. Thank you, Elizabeth! Thank you. J
Janice, that's an apt metaphor, and what I appreciate most about it is this bit: "should we choose to feel them all." There's a fine line between feeling what there is to feel and getting stuck there. I think there's a lot of stuck in the world.
Life really is a flash in the pan, and I’m so grateful we get to notice it together. Thank you for your steady solidarity.
I share your affection
For our connection! *****
Love the poem! And the photos of your ancestors and your democratic stance last weekend. Always a pleasure to read where your creativity takes us.