Growing Versions

 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.

 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. Planting, and prepping and weeding

 She walks out of the room,  away from him and the trajectory of the shards of that revolving argument gathering up a plate of half eaten fruit and an inside out sweater as she goes.  She enters the kitchen and casts her eyes around the room. She turns the sweater right side out and tosses the remains of the fruit into the compost.  The copious piles of plates, crusts of bread and cold coffee ahead of her propel her forward.   The sink itself is piled high with pots from the homemade pasta and porridge that had been planned hours in advance yesterday while she half listened to a webinar.   The heat of the earlier argument dissolves in dishwater.  It eases off in flakes as the clear water rinses away the sediment of earlier decisions.  The next meal starts to be assembled in her mind's eye, oh yes, we have that salmon in the fridge. We should use that , it will taste good with the leftover bits from yesterday's vegetables- maybe with a sauce?  no maybe not, it will just get wast

Since 2020, I have written the following: -grandiose grocery lists (written on an empty stomach) that often end up getlting left behind at home -funding proposals -delicately worded emails -harried Whatsapp messages -a slew of facebook messages (that basically kept me alive) -a tinder profile or two... -utilitarian text messages -heart felt text messages -the very occasional love note (on paper) to a friend or a loved one The things I have not written since 2020: -a journal -a multi-page handwritten letter -a play -a sketch -a novel -more than 2-3 blog posts that I didn't even publish -a pros and cons list

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) get drowned out.