Anticipating the Blooms

Inspirational song: London Calling (The Clash)

I love mornings like this. It is overcast, cool, and still wet from yesterday's rain. I could happily live in a climate like this all the time, although I have been heretofore reluctant to be in the Pacific Northwest. One thing I have to tolerate to be here is the sad realization that not everywhere smells good after a spring rain. Rains here often stir up more pungent scents, such as the water treatment plant a few miles away, and on really unfortunate days, the paper mill a couple municipalities away. I expect a brief respite from these circumstances soon. As it was when we first visited before the move, the masses of tea olive hedges are about to bloom. For that first week, I was blissfully unaware of the paper mill or any of the rest. When I chose my Park, one of the most important features that convinced me this place was meant for me was the giant thicket along the back perimeter, almost half of which is ten foot or higher tea olives.

If ever I wondered why we use the word squirrely to describe charmingly naughty behavior, living here clears up any question. I just watched a squirrel leap to spill a large handful of birdseed and the race off to attempt to carry away a stripped corn cob off its hanger. Yesterday I saw one threaded all the way through a handmade pottery feeder, with his head poking out one side and his ass hanging fully out the other. I need to be faster with the camera, for certain.

I was asked whether the mystery rose had bloomed yet. Still no, but it is starting to hint at being a pale color, possibly yellow. I am enjoying the suspense.

Stronger

Inspirational song: Here Comes the Rain Again (Eurythmics)

I waited all day yesterday for rain that never came. I didn't go out and water the container plants, thinking that I didn't want to swamp anything. I need to teach myself not to do that, now that I'm trying to grow things in a pallet. There is only a small amount of dirt, and the drainage is crazy good, so I don't think it's possible to water too much.

I updated my phone yesterday. I got one that is way fancier than the one I've had for a few years. In less than a day, it has already changed the way I am behaving. I skyped with the man yesterday on it, I downloaded a training app to teach myself to run, and actually did it, and I can't wait to blog with it (although I am not doing it yet).

The rain finally came overnight, and all of my patio furniture is soaked. I have to write from inside, and that's a shame. The squirrels and birds are having a blast in the Park this morning, and the little red-headed dog and I are stuck inside. I know we have different motivations for wanting to be out there.

Catastrophic, on a Very Small Scale

Inspirational song: Under My Thumb (Rolling Stones)

It's day two, and I made it out of bed at a reasonable time, despite almost no sleep last night. (It's probably because the dogs would pee on the rug in a heartbeat if I didn't get up when they tell me to, but I'm going to go with "I have great discipline, and wanted to walk and write, as is my new habit.")

The walk was a series of highs and lows, one of the lows truly horrifying. I was in the home stretch and a squirrel was run over ten feet away from me. There was nothing I could have done, but she did not die instantly, and she flopped herself toward the curb spastically. I was suddenly in seventh grade again, seeing my second cat ever run over in front of my house in Oklahoma, in her death throes, until my teenage brother came out with a shotgun to end her agony. Yes, I have been annoyed at squirrels who dance across my roof, or gain unauthorized access to my attic. But secretly, I cheer for them and don't mind too much when they empty the bird feeders. It's why I tap on the glass and make noise with the door handle before I let the red-headed dog out. I want the squirrels to get a head start before he comes flying out in hot pursuit. I would be so angry with him if he ever caught one.

I have come to accept that one of my cats is a feline activist, fighting for liberation from the oppressive collars that are a symbol of their domesticity. Me, I just wanted my phone number on them in case they wander the neighborhood. (This has come in handy with the little old man cat who is deaf, and who takes off anytime he finds a weakness in our perimeter defenses.) But to the boy, collars will not be tolerated. It used to be that he just removed his own and spat it at my feet emphatically. Then he took to removing others. I find them all over the house. Last night, he kept waking me by wrestling with the old man cat, chasing him around the bed. I took off the old man's collar for him, hoping it would allow me to sleep, finally. But the boy spent another 20 minutes attacking the collar itself, for spite, maybe. I had to hide it to get any peace. Vive la revolucion.

A Day Off

Inspirational song: Breaking the Law (Judas Priest)

So far today is going exactly how I imagined it. I stayed in bed until 10 o'clock. I put on workout clothes, but so far I have neither gone on a walk nor done yoga, nor much of anything else. It was raining when I woke, but there is a chance it dried enough that I can mow out back before a week of daily rain sets in and makes it difficult. I got a little emotional when I saw some of what the man left behind scattered around the house, but for the most part, the stoicism has already started setting in. It helps that he has texted me from airports as he hops across the time zones.

A friend of mine is showing signs of strain due to the same mean girl politics that dragged me down lately. It makes me aware of my failures in our volunteer organization, because my primary goal when I took over leading the group was to weed out the cattiness that had damaged it a year ago. I wanted a place where everyone felt welcome and safe, and now not even I feel like I belong there. Why do women do this to each other? I know I'm not the first person to ask that, and I doubt anyone has ever figured out the answer. On the up side, my friend might be available so I can have my very own hermit, just like a real 19th century British country estate. It's what all the cool parks have.

A couple weeks before the man left, I told him how I wanted to put in a pallet garden, because I'd seen them on Pinterest, and thought they were cool. He didn't understand the appeal at first, but eventually I made him look at a few, and he liked the idea. I completed it in the morning yesterday, a few hours before we took him to the airport. Most of the ones I've seen we're herb gardens or ornamentals. I decided to try some wacky things in mine, like peppers (including one I'm trying to revive after it was nibbled to a stalk) and watermelon & squashes planted in the first tier off the ground, where they might have a shot at growing away from voles or bunnies or whoever it was who ate my peppers and cucumber. I consider it an advantage, being so new to gardening after a youth spent unable to touch plants with my bare hands for fear of hives. I don't know all the rules. Hell, I don't know half of them. I can break any rule with impunity when it comes to gardening, because I have no one to please but myself. I told the man, I'm a woman with more money than sense, and I'm going to test all the boundaries in my Park. I am on a path to revive my creativity. Rules are going down!

Out of Time

Inspirational song: Dancing With Tears in My Eyes (Ultravox)

As the time to go to the airport approaches, I am having a harder and harder time keeping it off my face and out of my voice. I told the man last night that I changed my mind, I didn't want him to go after all. It didn't seem to work. Not that I expected it to.

I'm trying to keep my new routines this morning, even while I am totally losing my shit on the inside. I walked the same route. I noticed today that one of the close in neighbors planted a row of purple salvia and pink impatiens along the walk to their door. I will be interested to see how those impatiens hold up in the sun, since last week they took down the Bradford pear that shaded the walk. It might be amusing to track the flowers' progress against my own, since I don't expect me to last through the entire summer heat either.

The man and I have spent a lot of time out in the Park this week. There is so much to do, so much he won't get to work on this season. It will be a real test for me, to see how much work I am able to do alone. That I am out here at all is still a miracle to me. Since I first toddled onto a lawn as a baby, I have been allergic to almost everything that comes in contact with my skin. When we first moved to the Low Country, I was topping off my daily Allegra with bumps of Benadryl. It still wasn't enough. But then we bought the Park, and it all stopped. I don't know whether to credit the local honey we started buying, or some other change in my chemistry. But I stopped taking all allergy meds, and I don't miss them one bit. I even yanked out piles of poison ivy yesterday, and it absolutely brushed up against my forearms. I got to it early, got clean, and so far no rash. Something about this place is right for me. I guess when you find where you belong, you flourish. A few weeks ago, when the man built our garden shed, he moved some roses and spirea that had been spindly and sickly, next to where the building went in. The roses survived the move, which pleased me. What surprised me was how well the spirea is taking off in its new location. I repeat, for emphasis, when you find where you belong, you flourish.

Increased Activity

Inspirational song: Jet Song (West Side Story)

I have found a much more interesting time of the morning to walk. Yesterday I waited until almost 10 o'clock, and apparently I was the only animal in the neighborhood who didn't know it was the wrong time to be out. Today I left at 8, and the air was cooler, the sun less harsh, and the whole world was frisky. I saw more ducks and squirrels out than I'd seen at one time on the other walks. There was a crowd of almost a dozen ducks around the corner from my Park, what seemed like two rival gangs hissing at each other. It didn't seem terribly threatening. I was waiting for them to break out in a dance-rumble more than an actual territory fight.

FedEx just came to my door. The documents we were waiting for have arrived, and it is as real as it will ever get now. Today will be a flurry of activity, trying to finish every loose end that can't wait indefinitely. And through it all I have to keep off my face and out of my voice how much it is getting to me. We've had lots of these separations over the years. But even he feels like this one is different, as do I. Neither of us is sure why.

No photo this time. I will try to make it up later.

The Mystery Continues

Inspirational song: I Never Promised You a Rose Garden (Lynn Anderson)

I can't decide which I like better. The mornings had been so cool lately, I needed a sweatshirt on my morning walk. Today, the sun was back. It bordered on too warm. I guess I need to teach myself to wake earlier if I'm going to keep walking.

Time is running out. It's sinking in how little time I have left with the man, before he leaves. There are so many projects to wrap up around the house, but I don't want to waste the last handful of hours painting a shed or raking up freaking sycamore pods. I also don't want to be on the verge of tears, like I have been for days when we went from indefinite delays to tickets purchased. I hate having conflicting desires, wanting time to speed up so I am free of club obligations, while wanting it to slow down to extend every second I have with the man before I have to do without him for months.

Last year for Mother's Day, instead of a bouquet of roses from a florist, we went to the Lowe's garden center, and filled a cart with bareroot roses, most of which came from the clearance rack. I think all but two of them survived the first season. Several of them were vigorous, with beautiful cascades of blossoms that demanded my attention. One behaved very strangely. It shot up in a single, tall, thorny cane, and tangled itself in the least healthy crepe myrtle. It never created a single bud, never bloomed. Last autumn I cut it way back, hoping for better results this year. It split into to primary canes, with just a little branching starting to grow, and last week I got my first two buds on it. I keep watching, wondering what color they will be, since I totally forgot which clearance roses went where. The buds are taking their time growing, still tightly furled, keeping me in suspense. I imagine that after a year with aberrant behavior, and a week of teasing me with the promise of a bloom, that the final result will be the prettiest rose in the garden. After all this wait, I suspect I will think it is, no matter what it looks like.

Enjoy the Silence

Inspirational song: What I Am (Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians)

Sometimes it's the smallest thing that brings everything back to rights. The meeting tonight was every bit as challenging as I expected, but I made it through to the other side. I have to take my new car to be detailed after a crock pot full of chili tipped over in it, but that's a different problem for a different day.

I came home expecting to find the man live-streaming our daughter's band concert on the school site, but instead I found him out on the deck, feet up, drinking a beer, with tiki torches lit, and the most amazing peace surrounding him. The main road into our development is on the other side of a thicket, through which our back fence runs. Cars go past with no more sound than a gust of wind. The air is absolutely still. The bushes rustle as the cats get their first authorized nighttime out since we moved here, and the little red headed dog paces the perimeter, keeping us safe from rodents. It is enough to make me not mind that the concert wasn't available after all.

My brother shared one of those memes that race around social media, this one a cute photo of young John Lennon, quoting him as saying, "time enjoyed wasting is not time wasted," or words to that effect. How funny that a silly meme could crystallize my intentions so well. That is exactly what I plan to do, the moment my obligations are over. I had a plan. Now I have a slogan. A philosophy. It's what I am about, as of now. You what you are, or what?

Expecting a Fight

Inspirational song: Somebody's Watching Me (Rockwell)

Somewhere in the last two weeks, my big trees on the back side of the Park, and giant crepe myrtles on the front fully leafed out. I have a bit more privacy upstairs, thanks to the largest crepe myrtle I have ever seen. It helps, because I have always had this thing about windows, especially at night. I am a grown woman, and yet I still feel like a six year old around them, waiting for the bogey man from the Legend of Boggy Creek to come flying through. It isn't better in daylight, when salesmen, missionaries, or con men wander my neighborhood, ignoring the No Soliciting sign on the door. I feel like they see me, hiding from answering the door, and it makes my stomach churn.

Tonight I do not get to be anonymous. Tonight I have to lead what promises to be a contentious meeting of the general membership, giving year-end reports and voting on next year's officers. I caught wind of "questions to be asked before the vote," which gives me a sinking feeling. I hate that there has been a total breakdown of trust between me and the crew taking over. I would ask what they are planning if I thought I would get a real answer. I need to spend the entire day, leading up to the meeting, making sure I am up on my bylaws and operating policies. I fear my knowledge will be tested.

Yesterday the man got word of when he is leaving. Those with the power dragged their feet as long as possible (lulling me to live in a fantasy world where he was delayed indefinitely and not really going), and now suddenly everything is rushed and he has to be out of here very soon. I don't want to be bothered with petty, mean-girl politics. I want to spend these last few days with the man, while I can.

I don't even feel like posting a photo today. Maybe tomorrow.

Walking the Line

Inspirational song: Put One Foot in Front of the Other (Santa Claus is Coming to Town)

A set of conflicting circumstances existed for me last quarter. On one side, I promised a dear friend that I would be her workout partner, from over 1500 miles away. She would text when she awoke in the wee hours of the morning, before she had to wake her children, and two time zones away, I would drag my lazy self out of bed and we would do yoga and a couch-to-five-k program together. At the same time, a time bomb in my abdomen went off a couple decades early, and a disease common in the older members of my family decided it was time to lay me low, throw me in an ambulance, give me a few nights sharing a hospital room with an unpleasant roommate, and encourage me to wallow in freakish misery on the couch for months at a time. As one might expect, these circumstances don't play nice together, and the painkillers and antibiotics and limping around like an old lady won out over C25k. But now the abdominal evil has been vanquished, at least temporarily, although part of the peace negotiation requires an imminent elimination diet. Today, I finally got to be C's workout partner again. It is still cold as hell, relatively speaking for the South, so I wore a hoodie over a sweatshirt, and still kept my hands tucked in my sleeves. I took it easy and only walked the main anchor-shaped route, no cul-de-sacs to add distance. Start to finish it was just over half an hour, but I did it. I'll do it again tomorrow, and the day after that. Maybe by next week, I'll add in the 30 second bursts of jogging that c25k requires, or I may try to rebuild the core strength that vanished since last Christmas, and do yoga. It is comforting, finally being able to plan it again after months of hell.

While I was walking, I did what I always do, and compared the neighborhood lawns and gardens to my Park. It is early yet in the season, but there were very few who were as devoted to adding color-lots of colors-as I. I admit, my early season advantage stems from a string of mild winters so my annuals from last year never died all the way, thus I have mounds of white and pink and purple all across the front. The man thought he would be gone before his daffodils and tulips bloomed, but he was delayed and they have come and gone already. He won't be here much longer. He surprised me yesterday, while I was at Target, with word that we were having an impromptu garden party last night, possibly our only chance with the Bonfire crowd, before he leaves. I had only gone in to the store to buy water after a massage. $130 worth of food, deck pillows, and various impulse buys later, I made it home to set up and entertain. I hope I can convince that group to come here sometimes while he's gone, even though my tiki torches are a sad substitute for Bonfire. My little Park is covenant-controlled, so I do what I can.

Rounding the last bend

Inspirational song: Let the Sunshine In (Hair)

It is a beautiful morning in the Park. Yesterday's unusual cold snap has passed. There is a brisk breeze, but the sun is bright. And the dog is muddy. Like holy-crap-no-go-back-outside-what-did-you-do-you-went-to-the-groomer-Monday kind of muddy. I'm guessing the big line of storms from Friday re-soaked the swampy area in the corner where we had to pull out the drowned oleanders and replace them with a weeping willow, in the hopes that something would suck up all the water.

I have some projects today that are fun, like replanting yellow peppers in their container and putting that container somewhere out of reach of the Bunnies Who Live Under the Deck. I have never seen these Bunnies, but apparently the cats and dogs and next door neighbor have, because there is always someone staring at the base of the deck (usually a cat or dog, not the neighbor, especially since we completed the privacy fence,) I am only assuming my pepper plants were a rabbit's breakfast. It might be the squirrels' fault, but they seem to favor sunflower seeds above all things, including anything we buy that claims to be squirrel food.

Some projects today will be less fun, like setting the agenda for the final general membership meeting to elect my successor, as if it were more than a formality. Only one person is nominated in each position, so it is no surprise who will be on next year's executive board. I refuse to quit early, but I am really having to dig deep to find the fortitude to do the last month and a half of presidential duties. To think a few months ago I was happy and determined to run for a second term. I can barely remember what that felt like.

Let the sunshine in. Let it disinfect all the bitterness that has been infecting my good humor. Let the flowers and muddy dogs and well-fed Bunnies Under the Deck bring me back to happiness.

Genesis

Inspirational song: I'm Not Ready to Make Nice (Dixie Chicks)

I have a little over a month left before my time is completely my own again. The man I keep around to open jars and lift heavy things is about to go away for an extended work assignment. I am about to step down from the executive board of a volunteer group I led for the last several months. I will be living quietly in my own personal park, surrounded by tame animals who love me and wild animals who tolerate me for all the sunflower seeds and dried corn I leave out for them. My worst enemy here will be poison ivy (and there is definitely poison ivy in the Park).

I have become so burned out on social politics over the last few months, and I am desperate for time to myself to heal, physically and emotionally. Right now, I don't want to apologize for being in a horrible mood yesterday, at our group's wildly successful fundraiser last night. I was angry and tired and sick of the shit. I don't want to walk anything back. I just want to keep walking forward, and let it all drop off behind me. And that is what I am doing, as of this moment. I plan on writing from my personal Eden, whatever strikes me as interesting at that moment, and I will share the scenes of my journey to peace, in whatever form that takes. I hope it takes a few detours through art, as I rediscover my will to paint, pot, sew, sing, and garden. Maybe somewhere along the way I will learn to dance.