I can be trusted with plants

For several years, since I have had kids, the concept of house plants in my care has been so overwhelming I flat out refused to have them in the house. A non-talking being needing care and tending on top of my staggering caring load was inconceivable. The few times that a straggler got through the front door, I was burdened by guilt as they slowly failed to thrive and die a parched, neglected death. As the roots dried out, I treated it , if at all, like another piece of clutter. Before I thought of watering it, I'd wonder, should I dust it?

Lately, I have started caring for plants again. My childcare duties have been alleviated , the kids can now dress themselves, have a solid concept of time and can feed themselves. There is now a little wedge in the pie chart for plants. My good friend brought me three charming characters a few weeks ago. I have learned somethings from taking care of them. They are alive. they are alive like me. And like me, they need water. Having plants in my life, especially healthy, low maintenance overachievers like these, is a healthy addition to my living space.They are model roommates. Instead of constantly feeling like I'm letting them down, they nudge me towards watering myself. "I miles well pour a glass a water for myself while I am watering you", I think. "How rich is this soil you are in?"

Their life reminds me about mine. They are constant reminders about what I need to stay alive and thrive. Drink water. Soak up sun. Be cared for. For a long time, I thought I shouldn't be trusted with plants. I didn't think I was the right person to care for them. I didn't realize that they are meant to care for me too.

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I entered August without you.

I won't visit you this month. You won't call. I will raid your garden and you won't get any of the vegetables. I will make plans without telling you about them. We'll go to the store and not buy you one single thing. Whole books will be read and I will not tell you which ones. I will watch movies and not inform you. The nasturiums will ripen. Last month was different. I changed my schedule and took time off work to be with you. I dropped all kinds of plans for us to be together. You sent me messages, I received them. I picked up food that I thought you would like at the store and sent you pictures of every beautiful thing I saw. I sang with you. We watched the Great Canadian Baking Show. You chose the recipe for the garlic scape pesto and gave me instructions for making the gooseberry jam. I am in August without you. You are in July.

Fists full of lettuce

It is a pot of a variety of lettuce plants. It was planted by my mom. She has been living with Stage 4 bile duct cancer for at least 1.5 years (that we know of, probably a lot longer). Standing and gardening are becoming harder as time goes on. She learned about gardening from her dad as a kid and kept on gardening every year of her adult life. Sometimes the gardens were tiny or rudimentary, but with the help of my dad , they have become major and, at times elaborate, growing projects over the years. Now it is a collection of raised beds and regular beds that hold a host of plants, vegetable and flowers. Something that was clear that first spring with Stage 4 cancer is that gardening would continue in a big way, cancer or no cancer. It was important to order the seeds and start them inside and get them planted outside, no matter what. Spending time together in the summer with cancer now consistently involves gardening and following instructions. Plant...

Keep telling yourself that.

We talk to ourselves everyday, all day (and night) for the whole of our lives. We started talking to ourselves before we knew we were a self, we forget what we said because we forget everything from before...when we were too young and busy developing our brain to remember those early years. There is still lingering residue of long forgotten conversations I have had with myself as a toddler sitting around in the crevices...sloughing off occasionally into words I tell myself still. We talk non-stop, and not just with dialogue. Our goosebumps communicate to us, our tingly feelings, our neurons, our peripheal vision. They are all submitting data into our self and expecting us to react, respond or all to often, expecting what they are sending us will be ignored. After all that talking, you'd think we'd know what we think about most things, but occasionally we are stumped. Unless we stop what we are doing and really concentrate sometimes that voice(s) ...

Growing Versions

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