The other day, I was digging in a flower pot along the fence when my neighbor peered over and said, “Boo.” He didn’t say it loudly, but it startled me. I looked up for a moment to say hello and then continued to dig in my pot. He asked, “How are you?” Normally, I have been trained due to an instance at work many, many years ago, that I am required to respond and pose the same question. Normally, I would say, “I’m good. How about yourself?” Normally, I would do that, but in that moment, I couldn’t even muster what I know is expected of me. In that spilt second, I couldn’t dig down into the bowls of my existence and fake a pleasantry. No, instead, with my head lowered and my mind focused on feverishly digging in that flower pot, I finally uttered, “I’m managing.”
Truth be told, that is exactly what I am doing. I will not lie and say that I’m good, great, awesome, pretty okay or any other customary response. Nope, I’m too honest for that bullshit, I’m managing. Unless, that is, I’m in my garden or shopping for my garden. In the past few weeks, when I’ve been playing in my garden, no matter the weather, I’ve been pretty okay. I can feel the stupid grin on my face, even while in public, pushing a shopping cart with a hanging potted fern and a few annuals in my basket, I feel like I am a princess, this beautiful thing to behold as I glide around peering at my subjects. The bounty of flowering baskets and flats of annuals seem to exist purely for my pleasure and I feel like royalty.
Over the years, I have become more educated about my purchases. In the past, I would load up on way too many flowers, but this year, I have behaved myself and I have focused on shopping local as well. Even though I know my yard battles the shade of the tri-maples my mother planted 40-some years ago, I couldn’t help, but purchases flowers that require full sun because of their brilliant yellow hue. They called to me, not literally, that would be freaky, but I was completely drawn to the pansies and petunias. They made me remember one of my favorite high school gym teachers who would egg me on, “What are you, a pansy?” His teasing always made me try harder and he was so handsome too, so any attention from him was welcomed.
The color yellow can hold some negative connotations, but I think I’ve been drawn to it due to its positive ones; it also symbolizes optimism, energy, joy, happiness and friendship. Oh, the things I crave most these days. I haven’t been sleeping well, for a number of reasons, but one of them has been a flooding of thoughts or memories of my folks. My eyes will pop open and there they are, memories, questions, fears and desires surrounding the idea of my parents. So many unanswered questions, answers that will never come to me. Fears of being alone, desires of having what they had as a couple and the memories of what little shreds of relationships I have had of my own. My children have been warned, if mama buys a dog, be worried, be very worried, because that means mama is lonely. I have no desire to have a pet, especially one that requires so much care. I have spent decades of my adult life rushing home to take care of people, I’ll be damned if I do that for a dog. (sorry pet lovers, that’s just how I feel).
So, back to my neighbor saying hello to me. The conversation continued, there was a squabble between two other neighbors about elicit trash being put where it does not belong. Very long story short, it involves a woman who lost her husband to Alzheimer’s and may be suffering from it herself. My heart ached, knowing what I know now about that horrible disease. I wish I could make it all better for her, but I know that I can’t. The memories flood my gray matter, all the things I wish I could have done better for my dad if I had only known, but I didn’t. The memories of my mother and how completely ignorant I was about her health condition and what nightmare she must have lived through, alone, in fear, alone.
Managing, yes, that is what I am doing. I cope with all the nonsense at work by working harder and praying that the industry I love, no matter how much my children do not understand that statement, I do love what I do and I pray that it doesn’t go away because I really don’t want to do much of anything else with my life. I manage to take care of the house, the chores, the bills and the upkeep. I mange to keep myself in relatively good health, although I am facing some challenges of late that are making sleep and taking a walk, dreams to behold. Managing, I am managing. How am I managing? I garden.
I saw an image on Facebook that I didn’t dare post because I don’t need some detective knocking on my door, but what the fuck, I’ll tell you what it said. It said, “Gardening, because murder is wrong.” Back in the day, I had a punching bag, that was how I took out my frustrations. Now, I dig in the soil, the damp, fragrant earth and it makes me feel alive, like I have something to hope for, a dream to realize, life to cultivate, peace. I garden, because I can. I have no real control over what will happen, but there is a sense that if I do what I’ve been told I should, all will work out well. I will have delicious vegetables to eat and flowers to decorate my yard.
In the moment, when the air is cool and the rain sprays a mist upon my face, the smell of the soil, the filth on my hands and feet, the colors, the sprouts beginning to peer above ground, I manage to feel alive. I feel like maybe, just maybe mind you, that I do have the answers and that everything is going to be okay. The world may explode tomorrow, but for today, the world is filled with hope and certainty. The certainty that if I dig into the earth and plant the seeds, something wonderfully fulfilling will happen. There’s something so wonderful about reaping what one sows, in the garden and in life. My garden, my work, my home and most importantly, my children.
I am managing and I am no where near buying a dog. My garden keeps me grounded, safe and sound with a little bit of certainty to behold. Even on this cloudy day, soon, my solar lights will begin to shine, the wind chimes are singing as well as the birds, the obligatory siren in the background, because, that’s where I live folks (at least I’m on the same side of the train tracks as the hospital and that gives me great comfort), the airplane headed for the comfortingly close airport and the sound of my new water fountain, all of the layers of sound give me hope, flood my gray matter with memories and allow me to count my blessings.
I have no need to click my heels three times, I am home.
#thelieswechoosetolivewith
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