Honey be good.
Considering I grew up in Scotland, I can’t believe I'm about to say this, but it's raining here in LA this morning and I'm loving it.
There’s something beautiful about rain. Especially light rain. Having started this year with the horrendous LA fires, being able to sit in an armchair in a house that didn't burn down and type into my phone while raindrops musically pitter-patter down outside seems bordering on luxurious.
Also, I probably shouldn’t be writing this post. I should be faffing about doing stuff for Mark’s birthday, which is today, or rather yesterday, depending on what part of the world you're reading this in.
And, the weird thing about birthdays is that I'm never really sure how I'm meant to behave. Like, if it's someone's birthday, are you only allowed to say lovely life-affirming phrases to them, and wander around asking them what they wish for like a genie from a bottle?
If that's the case, then here in Tweddletopia, we’re doing it wrong. Birthdays involve cards, gifts, and snuggles. At some point, there's getting to choose dinner however and wherever you fancy, and at another point, cake.
If I were to follow Mr Tweddle around all day, offering up life-affirming phrases or behaving like a genie from a bottle, he’d accuse me of hovering or quietly inquire if I might be losing my marbles.
So, here I am on his birthday writing this note in an armchair by the window, listening to the rain, while he, independent of any interference from me, potters in the kitchen with his favorite present.
His Mum and Dad got him a honey extractor for his birthday (as unsurprisingly, they know him remarkably well) and he is thrilled. Yesterday, he pulled some frames from one of his hives, and today he's set up the extractor in the kitchen so that he can harvest honey.
Watching him setting the frames into the extractor and turning the wheel, it is clear he is absolutely as happy as anyone on their birthday might ever want to be.
I've learned a lot from Mark over the years - unsurprisingly, as we’ve been together for decades - but one thing that always seems to come as a welcome reminder every year is the ability he has to be able to enjoy what is, rather than be searching for what might be.
Like, for example, when I asked him what he wanted to do for his birthday dinner, he thought for a couple of seconds and then replied, homemade burgers.
“Don't you want to go out?” I'd said.
He shrugged. “Nope. Burgers. That's what I'd like. And potato wedges.”
And ok, so I do make fancy wagyu burgers. They're tasty and everything. But he's had them before. Many times.
Yet when I said that to him, he replied, “And that's how I know I want them.”
So I've prepped the burgers and they're in the fridge. And I'll prep the wedges later. Birthdays, eh? They're a never-ending merry-go-round of effort.
I've always struggled with any kind of special day pressure: birthdays, Christmases, Anniversaries. Anything that requires me to be happier on that day than any other. It's tricky. What if I stub my toe on a table leg, or get a shitty letter from the health insurance? Am I allowed to get pissy? Do I have to float through it on gossamer wings? Having a fabulously special 24 hours sometimes feels like a terrible responsibility.
But Mark does not see things that way. Though he completely stresses whenever he has to get a gift for me, on his own birthday he kicks back, and just enjoys what is.
Sitting on my chair watching a man harvest honey from his own bees, smug in the knowledge there's burgers and cake in his future, I recognize a picture of contentment.
Watching him over the years, I have come to understand that contentment is a skill. And that gratitude is an awareness that is worth being nurtured. What if ‘what we already have’ is what matters, not just ‘what there is yet to find’?
“14 lbs,” he calls from the kitchen.
“What?” I call back.
“Honey,” he replied, “14 lbs so far. And that's not even the proper harvest. That's just because that hive needed clearing.”
“Wow,” I say. “That's amazing.”
“Bees are amazing,” he calls, turning to look at me. “What are you doing?”
“Writing a Note From the Valley,” I say, “It's about you.”
He laughs. “About me? Are you telling everyone how mental I am?”
“Something like that,” I say.
And we both smile, and he turns back to harvesting honey, and I turn back to write on this Note. And as the rain musically pitter-pattered down outside, I smiled to myself thinking how I wish that everybody one day gets to feel as happy as a man with a new honey extractor.
Xo
PS: Every time you click on the wee heart emoji on this post to like it, a wee bee will buzz with happiness. That’s a complete and total lie obviously, but it doesn’t half perk up my algorithm.
P. P. S: If you’re feeling the world is a bit dodgy and you’re out of whack with it, come and join me and Mr Tweddle this Thursday at Fish and Bear. First time is free, gratis, and a gift from us so you can try it out. After that, it’s $10. xo
And because I am totally showing off - look, I have a book for sale. Written when I had two fully functioning arms - though no better grasp of punctuation.
Volume 2 is available now: US, UK, Can, Aus
Audiobook link https://amzn.to/3Dh0MVP
If you do buy a copy, please leave a review on the site as it helps people know that I write in proper sentences… erm sometimes xo
Life can be full of sweetness, especiallly from bees. 😎🐝