Last Garden Post, 2018

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I had hoped to capture more of the garden before heavy frost forced its end for the year. Alas, an early snowfall surprised us all this week. Maybe “surprise” is not the correct modifier in this case. Here in west central Ohio we live under the threat of early snowfall from Halloween to Thanksgiving, but snow seldom becomes a reality early in November.

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Garden, October 14

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The frost advisories of fall have begun, so there may not be much time left for this year’s garden. I’ve purged all but one of the containers because most had become partial casualties of repeated late summer and early fall heat waves. What is left is more stalwart, petunias planted in flower beds and echinacea that offered a surprise late blooming.

The nights have gotten chilly. I may need to turn on the heat in the house this week. I am ready for the cold, as long as it doesn’t get too harsh. Last night I woke up in the middle of the night and felt chilled enough for a second blanket. I have longed to be just a little cold, as if I need that chill to settle into my bones for just a little while.

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Garden, September 15

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The construction phase of the yard sidewalk project is now done. The crew took an entire month to finish this job, but a small percentage of this month represented actual work. I have been stewing in irritation over that fact all the while. I admit that the majority of this anger was irrational, but I did not appreciate the time of their actual work at all. For example, I had just three days of true vacation this summer. Of course they did 60% of this project’s labor during those three days.

I could vent on this matter more deeply than is healthy for me or my readers. My enthusiasm for this project has been indifferent at best, and I feel selfish that I haven’t been more supportive of something that is important to my husband. Why is it that I can’t just be smooth in enduring things that don’t interest me but matter to someone I love? Why did I have to be the mom who was secretly relieved that my child quit band?

The garden is enduring the late summer heat. This weekend I pulled some of the flower pots. They hadn’t fared well with the contrasting heat and rain of this past month.

The hibiscus bush is blooming at a different pace this year compared to the last two years. While it had a mass flowering in July and October during those years, this year it hasn’t stopped blooming since it started.

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Summer Photo Walk, August 23

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Each year I take a few days from work to help my daughter get ready for school. This morning I made a quick walk through a local public garden to capture some late summer blooms. Bumblebees attended sunflowers both tame and wild. I also spotted dew on some dark caladium leaves that looked like something from a dream:

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I will close with a few other pictures from today’s walk, and then I will return to the yearly ritual of the back to school. The next step shall be the haircut. At least the hairstyles nowadays are simple and free of the perms and big hair of my school days.

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Garden, August 19

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August has been hot and damp enough to make the garden defy taming. We also are in the middle of a sidewalk construction project whose end is unknown due to the weather. Today I offer a few shots of the garden, even though it had become overgrown and somewhat wild.

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Surrender

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I’ve been remiss in creating updates about my garden because parts of our yard are literally under construction due to changes in drainage and expansions to our sidewalks. The tension I’ve felt over this project has been out of proportion to the event itself. Trying to pinpoint when an outdoor construction will take place is about as productive as guessing exactly when the cable repair person will arrive. The timing and shape of the event defies prediction.

I’ve suggested to my husband that we could have sped up the start of the sidewalk project by telling the contractor not to arrive on a certain morning because we’d be sleeping in due to some fictional day trip that had occurred the day before. I think he was just a bit offended over this suggestion, like I’d betrayed one of his clan. He himself has a job involving a bit of outdoor construction with a schedule is subject to the whims of weather and emergent repairs. The thought that fiction could tame the chaos of such work may have sounded outrageous to him.

In the time I’ve been away from this blog, I’ve had some “teachable” moments that have made me consider that I need a full-scale re-calibration of how I think of others and my place in this world. I suppose there’s no point in relating a story whose principle characters can’t be defined with precision, but I will tell you that I’ve recently been reminded that alcohol, negativity, and anger have nothing of value to offer.

I have no problem avoiding alcohol. There have been some years in this century in which I haven’t had a single drink with alcohol. In other years, I’ve had drinks a handful of times. I learned through personal experience and witnessing the alcoholism of family members that alcohol at best offers empty, fleeting joy and at worst leads to destruction. That’s not a popular point of view in this era, but it is one that is important to me.

For me, what is harder to avoid is the seductive force of anger and negativity. I think that anger is the easiest emotion to convey. It is easy to think that there’s strength to be drawn from anger and sarcasm, that one can emerge victorious by “telling it like it is.”

I’ve seen someone else self-destruct in negativity, and I’m taking a step back and noticing that I’m not so far behind that individual in the darkness of my feelings and thoughts. Lately when I’ve thought of many people I know in real life, I’ve done so to find the faults in those people. The habit reminds me of that moment when King Lear goes mad and proclaims, “Then let them anatomize Regan; see what breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in nature that makes these hard hearts?” (King Lear, 3:6:76-78).

The problem with “anatomizing” the people you know is that it becomes a mutual process. By focusing on the faults of others, you open yourself to much of the same criticism. The more cutting the judgement, the harder it is to resist sharing those thoughts. It is so tempting to get a laugh out of revealing how deluded and wrongheaded someone else is, always when the person commented upon is never close enough to hear your words. It is inevitable that people will eventually start talking about you when you leave the room, too. Eventually you’ll find out what those words are.

In real life, I’ve learned that I’ve failed to convince many (but not all) people that my chronic pain is real. It doesn’t matter that I have medical proof of the cause of my pain. The MRI’s and procedure records may as well not exist. Opinions about my parenting and my daughter are more divided. Some (again, but not all) people think my daughter doesn’t really have autism, that I’ve given her autism through bad parenting, or that I’ve failed to correct her autism through lack of discipline.

Long story short, silence is almost always the best choice when you notice the faults of other people. To give these things a voice invites a harsh verdict of yourself. Is there a greater emptiness than the no-holds-barred opinion others may have of you?

There is great truth and wisdom this the age-old advice:”If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.”

It is hard to be kind and easy to be mean. I’ve struggled so much with pain and uncertainty in the past two years that I’ve made the easy choice all too often. The harvest of these moments when I thought I’d been so clever to say what everyone else must be thinking has only been alienation and depression.

So I take my first steps into the light. I will try to think of no one unless those thoughts are kind. Likewise, I will try not to dwell on my failures of the past and present and the unknowns of the future. I will hope for a better harvest.

Garden, July 22

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This weekend we received some much-needed rain and cooler temperatures. The turn in weather bore hints of fall, which I would whole-heartedly embrace if not for the turmoil I feel within when thinking of what fall may hold for us this year. It’s no good to consider the future with worry over what could go wrong, but that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m terribly worried that we’ll have another school year that my daughter will barely tolerate. I keep telling myself that it’s utterly counterproductive to think in such a way, that worry improves the future about as well thought alone can make the hands of a clock move faster.

Last week I read Dicken’s A Tale of Two Cities for the very first time. I’ll try not to spoil the plot for those of you who haven’t read this classic, but I will mention that there is a poignant reverie wherein one of the characters imagines some glorious aspects of a future that stretches across several generations. Perhaps it is not natural for anyone to think so far into the future, but I found that I could not or would not think more than two to three years into the future. To look any further seems like delving into a choose-your-own-adventure where the choices seem impossible to make.

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