wanted: greenthumb

I can’t keep plants alive. I can do everything that I’m supposed to do, and they’ll still die.

Case in point, my landlady’s plants. I housesit and care for her place while she is away — but no matter how much I follow her instructions regarding her plants, they are dying off.

I’m not sure what to do for them at this point. I don’t know if it is too cold, not enough sun, maybe I’m not talking to them enough…maybe they need someone around to give off good vibes. Maybe I’m not. Its hard to say.

I don’t think I’m toxic — I’ve managed to keep my cat alive for 6 years, and she seems like a happy, if not eccentric, cat.

But green growing things and me don’t mesh — despite the fact that green is my favorite color and I love the outdoors.

I think I’m simply meant to have only photos of plants…..or I’ll have to marry someone with an affinity for plants to balance out my lack.

In the meantime, I still haven’t got a clue how to save these ones.

h1n1 solution to not taking the vaccine…

Just get the flu. It makes a person feel like you’ve been hit by a truck and dragged through hell, but when you get through that part, you know your body has developed immunities naturally.

On the plus side, it seems to be a fast weight loss program.

inevitabilities…

It has been nearly a month since I last wrote anything. Seems hardly possible that that much time has passed and yet every calendar I look at assures me that time is continuing forward.

These last couple of months have been fairly surreal. I find that I continually have to remind myself that one more person has left my life. The fortunate blessing in this is how many people have stepped into my life.

There are people in this world who manage to become hermits even in the midst of crowds. Certainly I think we all have moments when we bow out of society, however momentarily. But of the few things I know with any certainty, one of the most important is that none of us can truly exist in a vacuum and maintain a perspective of reality.

We need other people – friends, family, lovers, associates, even the people who mill around us while shopping or taking the train. Human contact is a great healer. We find others to commisserate with, to laugh with, cry with, smile at. Or simply just sit and be still with. And through it all, we heal those broken pieces of ourselves.

A friend of mine once said that it isn’t time that heals, but love. I think it is a combination of both.

It takes time to grieve the losses in our life. The endings that happen too soon, too abruptly, too often, or simply happen at all. But it is the love of others, and loving others over a period of time that mends.

I have always been very fortunate to find myself surrounded by great people, people who bring a great deal of joy, laughter, and love into my life. Friends, family, coworkers. I am sometimes overwhelmed by the blessing of people in my life. By the strength they lend to me in times of need, and how they allow me to share love in return.

Give and receive. That’s the best way.

I feel sad for my step father as he shuts away all the love that can be brought into a life. Any little speck of it, he will kill it somehow. He made every effort to do just that with everyone around him, and in the lives of all around him.

Inevitably, the only person he has rendered truly miserable is himself. Inevitably, those who were once in association with him, have moved on, walked away and left him alone.

The day I learned of my mom’s passing, he asked me to please come back home and help him. He and my mom had been separated for the last three years, but still he was the one who found her.

I cut my holidays short and was on my way home within an hour. Within the two weeks from that moment and the funeral, he had managed to accuse me of some of the most abhorrent things, barricade me in his home against my will and utter such ugliness that was beyond my comprehension, and threaten a great deal of abusiveness if I didn’t do what he wanted.

I still am a little stunned to think about what happened in such a short period of time. It amazes me of the bitterness and cruelty that exists within some people.

I understand why he did it. Greed is an astonishing motivating factor around people’s death. I suppose because I really don’t care about money and “things”, it always catches me off guard a little when people act so horrendously about it all.

Thankfully, and inevitably, life goes on. Money and things fade, but the love we have for people stays. And I am the fortunate recipient of a wealth of it.

jeanne robertson – on grocery lists

the math of life

One of the things I’ve learned in my life is there is a special type of math that goes along with living. We always seem to be in some kind of countdown, either towards an event or away from it.

We count the days until the next weekend; we count the months until Christmas; students count the months until graduation; parents sometimes count the years until their child passes through the insanity of puberty and come out the other side into something resembling normalcy and adulthood.

We count the hours since we last saw our lover, maybe even the minutes; we count the days since we last spoke to those we love; we count the days, the weeks, the months and eventually the years since they left our lives.

We’re always counting something.

It has been 35 years since my sister died. 32 from the grandmother who first cared for me. 21 years since my dad. 5 since the aunt who was like a mother to me. And 2 weeks yesterday since my mom suddenly moved through that door called death.

I have discovered that there is no easy way to say goodbye; there is no simple way to let go. I had time to be there with some, little with others. No warning at all with mom. But I don’t know that there is ever a way that makes it easier.

There may be opportunities to minimize regrets. I certainly don’t have a lot, as I’ve always tried to love people while I have them with me.

But you can never wholly be free of those moments that catch you, those moments when you wake up in the middle of the night and realize you’ll never have the answers to so many questions you still have left to ask. Some questions you can think of, some you know won’t arise for awhile — but you know they will, and when they do, the person to ask is already gone.

I miss my mom.

Sometimes I wake up and tell myself this is just a bad dream and I’ll be able to call her in the morning. Just to hear her voice and reassure myself that she’s okay. But that morning never comes. And won’t.

No, my regrets are few. I was very fortunate these last couple years to have been able to heal the damage between us, and build bridges of love again. I finally knew that my mom loved me and was proud of me. I know that she knew I loved her and was happy to have her in my life. Glad to have every moment with her this last year as we rebuilt.

I love my mom.

I know she is at peace. I know she is no longer in pain. I know she is free of  the body that became a prison to her in so many ways – physically and mentally.

I also know she is happy — she is now with my dad again, and last weekend they were able to celebrate their first wedding anniversary back together in 20 years. She is also with my sister, the daughter she had to let go of so many years ago. Now they have a chance to grow together, get to know one another. I know my mom always carried that loss so closely to her heart. Now her heart isn’t breaking anymore.

Well maybe a little still. But I won’t be able to help mend that hurt for awhile. The separation between us will remain until my own journey, and I’m not hastening that one.

Until then, I know how it works, I’ve been down this road before — the waking up in the morning and crying until the hurting numbs out. The pushing myself into work and living so I don’t have to think about letting go. Knowing that eventually this heart sickness will fade into a dull ache but never fully go away.

Knowing that there will always be moments when you forget reality for a second, and have that thought of “I need to call them and tell them about this”, only to crash head first back into truth and the awful realization that there will be no one on the other end of that call. Only silence.

Knowing that their voice will gradually fade from your memories, along with their face…..the memories become distorted somehow. They take on an unreality until you don’t recall things in first person anymore, but as a passive observer.

For now her voice and face are still fresh, still animated, still vivid. So is the pain in my heart.

2 weeks. 14 days. 336 hours. 20160 minutes. Approx. 1,411,200 heart beats.

I don’t know the countdown until she fades from me a bit, and the ache will loosen its grip.