This is Fruitycake. I would like to issue an official warning to everyone visiting this Italy place during this time of year. The ground is trying to get you. Not dramatically, of course. Not with a volcano or an earthquake or a wild boar wearing an angry expression. No, the danger is much smaller, rounder and considerably more Mediterranean. Olives.
Thousands of tiny olives are dropping from the trees around our rustico, and apparently, they have organized themselves into a coordinated effort to make Girl Person fall down. I have nothing against olives personally. They seem like respectable little fruits, although I question why anyone would choose to eat one when pizza exists. But here in Portofino, olive trees are everywhere, and this is the season when their little green and purple passengers begin abandoning ship. Some fall naturally, and others are being collected in nets stretched beneath the trees so that persons can take them away and turn them into olive oil. I approve of this industry because olive oil is used to make pizza, and any agricultural activity that eventually results in pizza has my full endorsement. I just hope these persons know what they’re doing, because there are an awful lot of olives, and I have yet to see anyone carrying a pizza.
Girl Person has been walking very carefully lately. She looks down at the path, then at me, then back at the path, as though she’s negotiating a complicated obstacle course. Boy Person is also being careful, although he has the added responsibility of carrying things up and down this mountain. I believe the olives have identified him as a particularly valuable target. One wrong step, and suddenly a person is performing a dance that was never intended to be seen in public. Arms go flying, feet begin negotiating independently, and everyone makes that peculiar noise persons make when they are trying not to fall. I have observed this noise several times. It sounds like someone attempting to swallow a trumpet. I, of course, have four legs, which should theoretically make me twice as stable as a person. However, I also have a bell, an adventurous personality and a tendency to investigate things without consulting my legal department. So I am not claiming complete immunity from the olive situation. I am simply saying that if I slip, I would appreciate everyone looking the other way.
Olives are useful for many things. They can be pressed into oil, used in cooking, and have been part of life around the Mediterranean for thousands of years. Olive trees can live for centuries, quietly producing fruit while generations of persons come and go. I find this admirable. Imagine spending hundreds of years making something useful and never once demanding applause. Although I do believe a tree that has worked that hard deserves an occasional pizza party. But olives are not particularly useful as flooring, and that got me thinking about something else. Life is full of little olives. Sometimes we make real progress with ourselves. Maybe we’ve been working on our temper, learning not to react so quickly when someone says something unkind. Maybe we’ve been trying to choose our words more carefully, to listen before answering, or to stop letting every small inconvenience ruin an otherwise perfectly good day. We begin to feel proud of ourselves, as we should. We’ve worked hard. We’ve changed something. We’re walking along feeling rather steady on our feet, and then somebody says one little thing.
One tiny comment, one misunderstanding, one moment when we’re tired or hungry or worried about something entirely different. Suddenly, there goes our patience, sliding across the floor like Girl Person stepping on an olive. We say something we wish we hadn’t. We get angry over something that wouldn’t have bothered us yesterday. We wonder how we could have made so much progress and still ended up right back where we started. But perhaps we haven’t ended up where we started at all. Perhaps slipping doesn’t erase the distance we’ve already walked. I think about this with grief, too. We still miss Aunt Lin so much. There are moments when Girl Person is busy working or laughing at something ridiculous I’ve done, and life begins to feel a little more ordinary again. Maybe she gets through a morning without crying. Maybe she thinks about something funny Aunt Lin would have said and smiles instead. And perhaps she starts wondering whether she’s finally getting a little better at carrying this sadness.
Then something small happens. A song plays. A memory appears. Something happens during the day that she would have immediately told Aunt Lin about. Maybe it’s simply the time when a message would usually arrive, and there is no message. One little olive, and suddenly the sadness feels as fresh as it did before. I wish I could tell Girl Person that I know exactly how to fix this, but I am a dog, and my usual solutions involve going outside, eating dinner or putting my head on someone’s knee. I do know that missing someone isn’t a mistake, and feeling sad again doesn’t mean the happier moments weren’t real. Aunt Lin was part of our days for so long. Of course little things are going to remind us of her. Love doesn’t disappear simply because we are learning how to live differently. Maybe we need to stop measuring progress by whether we ever slip and start measuring it by how we learn to walk afterward.
October 13 | I Can Ask A Better Question
TODAY’S AFFIRMATION: When I feel stuck, I will try changing the question. Instead of asking why everything is difficult, I can ask what would help, what I can learn or what is possible from here.
If the question is “Why is there no pizza?” I support continuing the investigation. But sometimes a better question opens a better door.
I believe this affirmation is especially important during olive season because Girl Person could spend the entire morning asking why there are so many olives on the path. She could ask why they insist on being round, why they can’t fall somewhere more convenient, or why olive trees haven’t evolved to produce little warning signs. These are all reasonable questions, although I suspect the trees would refuse to answer. But a better question might be, “Where can I put my feet so I don’t fall?” And maybe that’s how we can approach our other little slips, too. Instead of asking, “Why did I lose my temper again?” perhaps we could ask, “What was really bothering me, and how could I handle it differently next time?” Instead of asking, “Why did I say something I regret?” we could ask, “What can I do now to make things right?” And instead of asking, “Why am I still so sad about Aunt Lin?” maybe Girl Person could ask, “What would help me remember her with love today?” Perhaps she could listen to one of their favorite songs, remember something funny they shared, or simply allow herself to miss her without expecting that feeling to go away on a schedule.
Sometimes changing the question doesn’t change what happened. The olives are still on the path. The words have already been spoken. The person we love is still gone. But a different question can help us find a way forward instead of standing in the same place, staring at the ground and wondering why everything is so slippery. And we shouldn’t forget that olives, despite their unfortunate tendency to behave like tiny ball bearings, are actually the beginning of something wonderful. They’re gathered, they’re pressed, and eventually they become something that adds flavor and goodness to a meal. A small, troublesome thing can become something useful when we know what to do with it. I believe life can be a little like that. We can take our mistakes, our difficult moments and even some of our sadness and learn something from them. We might become more patient, more understanding or a little kinder to someone else who is struggling. We may not be able to prevent every slip, but we can become better at recognizing the slippery places.
So today, as we make our way along these beautiful old paths in Portofino, I’m going to keep an eye on Girl Person and Boy Person. I will supervise their footing, inspect the olive harvest and continue my investigation into whether any of this oil is being used for pizza. I feel strongly that the farmers should be required to submit a detailed report on that last subject. And if one of us slips, we will help each other up, dust ourselves off and keep walking. We might even laugh about it afterward, provided nobody has landed in anything particularly unpleasant. Because making progress doesn’t mean never losing our footing. Sometimes it simply means remembering that one little olive doesn’t have to ruin the whole walk. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a very important question to ask Boy Person. If they’re making all this olive oil, why aren’t we making more pizza? I believe this question deserves an immediate answer.
Fruitycake 🍕🐾
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