Tag Archives: Theresa Scott


The I-Hate-to-Wait Blog

by Theresa Scott Have you noticed how fast-paced modern life has become? Way faster-paced than in prior decades. I think the main reason for this is related to one thing: we’ve become accustomed to the widespread immediacy of information on … Continue reading

We Love Bees

I love to watch bees. Springtime and early summer is when I find the plump yellow-and-black honeybees buzzing around my backyard, doing their best to pollinate every fruit and vegetable flower in sight.


According to the UN Food and Agriculture Organisation, bees help* pollinate 71% of the 100 crops that provide most of the world’s food supply. Bees are busy pollinating fruits, avocados, almonds and other nuts, and we humans can eat 4000 different vegetable crops, thanks to bees. They also pollinate a variety of flowers, which add fragrance and color to our homes.


Bees have been in the news for the past decade for ‘colony collapse’, where the entire hive dies off. The cause is thought to be mites. A second concern was reported recently in the New York Times [“Mystery Malady Kills More Bees, Heightening Worry on Farms”, NYT on March 28, 2013].

The article reports that during the past year, die-offs of honeybees escalated; the cause is thought to be nicotine-based pesticides.


We know that bees add immeasurably to the variety of foods we can eat and the flowers we can look at and smell. It would be great for bees if gardeners stopped using nicotine-based pesticides in their gardens. It would be even more helpful if agribusinesses did the same in the fields.


I for one want to see the bees kept happy and pollinating for years to come so I can enjoy the various fruits of their labor.


Bet you do, too!


*In 2000, the value of crops pollinated by bees was estimated at $14.6 billion in the USA alone, according to the UN.



The Wise Woman

by Theresa Scott

“…It’s not somebody who’s seen the light
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah…”

~Lyrics from Leonard Cohen’s song, “Hallelujah”

So I go to visit the wise woman. She’s someone I visit every month or so; sometimes I don’t see her for six months, and then I feel the need to chat with her, so I show up on her doorstep. The wise woman is a bit of a mystic. She writes poetry, she meditates, she lives a quiet life. Does gardening, pats her cat, that sort of thing.

She’s not someone you’d particularly notice when you are shopping in the grocery store. You’d walk right past her to the oranges. When she’s driving down the road, you’d probably feel impatient driving behind her because she’s kind of slow moving when behind the wheel. You guessed it about her car, too: best way to describe it is ‘nondescript.’

You can’t sell her a lot of anything, because she has everything she needs, and more. When she enters a room, she moves a bit slowly, a bit elegantly, and she’s probably wearing something okay, but not necessarily really fashionable, or anything that stands out and screams, “Hey, look at me! I’m a fascinating celebrity who knows a lot and can help you straighten out your life. Just ask me!” Nope, definitely not someone like that.

So, fortunately for me, this wise woman is in my life. I’ve had wise women in my life for about, oh, thirty years. Different wise women at different times. I watch them listen to me; I listen to them. Sometimes I ask them dumb questions like the question I asked the Wise Woman of the West about ten years ago. I asked her: how do you learn patience?

So I visit with the wise woman, and then I go home and I think. I think about my life, and the amazingness of being alive; of being alive at this time in the planet’s history; of being on this beautiful blue and green planet with the water and the air and the people and the love. Of what an immense value this is to me. And I think about the value of other people’s lives. To them. To the people who love them. I think about the quietness of her life, the wholeness of it; the unknowing parts too, because she readily admits when she doesn’t know something I’ve asked her.

I like having someone in my life to help me focus on what is important. Someone who isn’t about advertising, or making money, or promotion, or what to do, or living at a fast pace, or a faster pace than the next person, or out to attain excellence and perfection: all the things our society throws at us, telling us what we need, what we should do, how we should think. And we take it in–unthinking and unreflecting. At least I do. For awhile. Then I pull it out and look at it and, usually, I discard it. But I don’t discard what I hear from the wise woman. Her words I absorb slowly and take them in and think about them.

So after I’ve talked with her and I’ve thought about what she’s said, or hasn’t said, then I call someone who was once my life, and whom I haven’t spoken to for a long time, and I gain some understanding, and yes, some forgiveness. And when I am waiting to buy my bag of oranges at the grocery store, I stand in the longest line, so I can learn patience.

To Water

Well, we’ve just got done with Robbie Burns Day, a celebration of the famous Scottish poet’s birthday. While some of you readers are recovering from excessive haggis intake, I’d like to remind you of two of the many poems he wrote: To a Mouse and To a Louse.

Robbie Burns’ poems begin very down to earth and then leap up into the heights of reflection. Since a poet of his stature found it seemly to write lofty poems about humble topics, I thought I would try writing a poem as well. Mine is free verse and nothing rhymes and no one can stop me now.

In deciding what topic or thing or element to honor with a poem, I looked around to see what was common to all our lives, what I (and maybe most of us) overlook, and yet, if I (we) reflected on it for a moment, would say: ‘Oh, what a good thing for all the world that this excellent thing exists. Now I appreciate it more than ever.’ Which I’ll bet Robbie’s 18th Century audience never said about the mouse or the louse. Anyway, here it is:

To Water

Ah, what clear and cool liquid you are as you pour from the tap

Millions of beings on our beautiful planet long to hold out their hands to you, scoop you up, nestle you in the palms of their cupped hands and kiss you

You who are sacred

You who are everywhere—so everywhere that people forget who you are and think you will always be there, fresh and clean and pure

How beautiful you are to swim through, your touch gentle on my skin as you let me pass by

O Water… thank you for your healing presence and your clear and simple essence

Without you, we would be nothing.

* * * * * *

Note: if you would like to join me in supporting successful efforts for more people to have access to clean water, take a look at Matt Damon’s interview on water (CNBC) in October 2012. He is a co-founder of Water.org

Theresa Scott is a writer who lives in the Pacific Northwest where a lot of water pours from the sky. You can read more of her writing at http://www.theresascott.com