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.

Comments

A 5 minute challenge

WifeMotherExpletive extended an invitation I could not refuse: " Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking" on the word, Real . real is what I always strive to be. in a hurry to be as real as possible, I've overlooked so much. I have denied myself things that would have helped me understand things better. real, but real for who? as I age, I want to be more real to me because I suspect that there will be many surprises. hard to believe that I will be surprised since I have lived with myself for 36 , going on 37 years, but I don't doubt it for one minute. Honesty is where I falter. I can achieve "real" (does it qualify as real if it is in quotation marks) but it may not be true. In general, I want things to be tied up in a package and smooth even it is too jagged to fit. I want this, I know that to be real, it cannot happen but I think true is what I need to really aim for. I know some things are tru...

the words fell out

Despite being an introvert, I do often process big life events (and many many small ones) out loud by verbally hashing out my thoughts with whoever will put up with me. But this morning when I woke up to the big red blotch on the U.S. map...all my /the words fell out. They fell out unsaid, unformed. Got to work and probably , in another time, would have annoyed my co-workers, dominating the conversation with my verbal extrusions, but not today. I just mutely stared across at them and nodded. My dad came for lunch. Normally, we relish a good political diatribe, especially when we feel sure of our perspective, but this time, all I could do was munch on fries and marvel at all the unarticulated thoughts that I was not even bothering to retrieve. The silence inside me was noticeable. Social media was awash with reactions and I just looked away. I couldn't bear to read one word about it. I was not receptive to any reactions, accusations, reflections, words...

Bringing her back

As the first anniversary finally passed, I exhaled. The sadness still nibbled away at the edges, but not clawing deep into my chest like it had been with varying degrees of ferocity in the twelve months previously. She died in early summer, so I plunged into ocean and lakes and ate fruit straight from the plant. The grief became softer, the folk songs carried me along in the potato patch we planted in therapy. But then, I started to miss her. The deep grief kept her so close and now as the pressure eased, so did her presence. I held my breath and decided to be really sad this morning just to see her face. To sit in her prescence. My breath became jagged as I cried for her, for us. This Taylor Swift cover by Marc Maron broke me right open this morning. Here's to staying broken open enough to keep your loved ones close. And then, I walked into her garden. The garden she envisionied, planted over and over and still pre...

Growing Versions

Search This Blog