The overcrowded garden

I am something of a plant collector. In the Spring, I pack a hand trowel and scissors in my vehicle so that I can snip off and dig up small pieces of plants and put them in my gardens.

I treasure the lilac bushes that I dug up as shoots from along the driveway of an old, decaying house (pictured...aren't they amazing??!!). I look forward to seeing my Poets Daffodils bloom every Spring, after finding them abandoned under brush along the road.

Similarly, I treasure the cuttings and divisions given to me by friends and family. I have a rhodey from The Pillars, sedum from a trailer my mother bought and sold, and fern peonies from my grandparents' flower bed. Somehow, I remember the origin of each plant....she who can't remember what she wore yesterday.

I usually put these cuttings and divisions away into the ground in whatever free space I can find in one of my gardens. This year, I noticed, my gardens had become very, very cluttered and overgrown. Oregano mint from my Amish friend Gracia has overtaken the bed by the barn. Great Grandma Myrtia's rose bush has taken over the circle garden in back.

Today I began to thin and relocate some plants. The goal is to make room for some bushes and plants with better "bones" and evergreens that might show in the winter.

I found myself struggling. Every time I pulled a plant I wondered how and where it would fit in somewhere else. All the beds are overgrown.

The overcrowded garden is a metaphor for my life. Sometimes I have to thin out even activities that are in and of themselves "lovely."

Last summer I worked three jobs. One in case I lost the other. One because the town couldn't find a sub. I also took renters at the cottage to help with expenses. I'd leave work at 10:00 p.m. and then head to the lake, cleaning up or preparing for guests into the wee hours of the morning.

My husband and the boys helped. They painted the picnic table and benches, weeded, cleaned up the beach, vacuumed, and more.

I missed just "sitting" by the water. I missed my family. By August, I was exhausted.

In January we made the decision to sacrifice rental income for a season.

The decision hasn't been "popular," although some former renters have been wonderfully understanding. Today, Mother's Day, I heard from two of them who said, "it's OK." "We understand."

The plants in my garden grow and flower when there is ample space and nutrition. The beds look better with plants that have "substance" and deep roots.

I'm hopeful that our decision to keep things "quiet" at the Lake will eventually provide for "room to grow."

Game's Up...Phew!

Mr. WestBerryMom recently cleaned off the shelves in the boys' room to make a place for them to put their clothes and underwear. From the shelves he pulled our collection of board games, some sewing supplies, and boxes of buttons.

The boys instantly became interested in the games. They opened Monopoly and played for several nights. Cranium Cadoo and all of its little pieces were strewn across the living room.

It's sad, but I HATE games. I don't enjoy cards, puzzles, or hide and seek.

I considered elementary school gym class and recess to be the highest forms of torture because of jump rope and tag.

Baby and bridal showers...all good, except for...yep...the games.

Over the past year I'd noticed someone close to me seemed to be playing some sort of mind game. Avoiding a topic and then avoiding me all together. Our relationship, even though we kept to the topics that were "safe" for the other person, became strained.

The other "player" created elaborate strategies. She "pretended" to be willing to talk but failed to show for meetings due to illness and schedule conflicts.

She never came out and said "I just don't want to meet." Until yesterday.

And today I am walking on air. Skipping to my lu.

The game is over.

=======

I stumbled across this list...The Top Ten Games We Secretly Hate

Twists and Turns

Today I'm thinking about life's twists and turns. During the past year, in particular, I've marveled at unexpected, dramatic world events. Events like the earthquakes and tsunami in Japan that changed the course of life for the entire country with a ripple effect all the way to my small town and my little family.

The Japanese woman I help care for lost her entire childhood village. We have been careful to safeguard her from the news, in order to protect her happy memories.

Similarly, I've been touched by instances where people I know have headed in very unexpected directions.

Take the case of Troy Christ, a former classmate who found his mother dead in his childhood home and then set the whole place on fire. Wow. That was unexpected.

I'm amazed to meet the granddaughter of exiled Venezuelan politico Rafael Tudela in one of my classes.

My dear friend Montse is raising her family in Kobe, far from her homeland of Spain because she finds the country aggressive and poor in spirit. She was always an ambassador for Spain and Segovia. I recall bouncing up the steps to the Roman aqueduct and posing for a portrait by a medieval wall during our honeymoon visit to her parents' home.

Where will my children's life paths lead them? How can I prepare them for the twists and turns?

Who will I meet today along my own journey?

I have Julieta Venegas' song "Otra Cosa" on replay today:

intento hacer una historia
que sea real como ninguna antes
contemplandote sere
paciente dejare
que sucedan las cosas
como deben ser
sin apresurarlas


Side note: I have a dream, to some day walk part of El Camino de Santiago. Hand in hand with my dear husband.

Breakdowns

We are into May and the weather continues to be cold and soggy. Days are dark. My customers and coworkers are cranky. Farmers are nervous as the growing season is severely shortened at the front end. I had a HUGE argument with my parents.

It's the end of the semester and I have a high pile of grading to work through. I'm easily annoyed by students' requests to know their grades ahead of the Records Office's due date. Technical difficulties plague my on-line course.

And I'm sick. Sore throat. Achy body.

Like a car with warning lights flashing and smoke pouring from the engine, I see my mind and my body heading for a potential breakdown. Quick fixes like hot coffee, dark beer and rosy perfume aren't helping in the usual way.

"Give me oil in my lamp, keep me burnin' burnin burnin'"

Music helps. Prayer helps. Seeing my youngest boy run naked and dripping wet from the tub to the couch makes me smile.

I called my Uncle and my Grandma today. We talked about mental health and stress and breakdowns.

The "overheated engine" warning light turned off. The "maintenance needed" light has dimmed.

A Child LIves (lived) There (here)

Yesterday I waited on a customer who asked me if I knew any people in the next town over with the same last name as mine. I answered that I was local. I live in the hamlet of West Berry.

He smiled and said that he grew up in West Berry.

He didn't seem much older than me. I didn't know him but I recognized his last name. I asked if he was related to the Humphrey family who had lived across and down the street just a bit. That house, a beautiful, historic Victorian home, had burned to the ground a few years ago.

There's still a horse tie out front to date the property. Farther back, it had been the home of a prominent family, The Bodines.

Indeed. He'd grown up there. HIs father passed away a week after the house burned from other underlying conditions. His younger brothers, now his guardians, now live in a group home.

She was a heavy smoker and drinker. The younger boys were mentally handicapped. I remembered them from the bus and Sunday School - handsome, sweet children. As young adults they found their mother "asleep" and it was only when they showed up at a public event without her did anyone happen to discover that she had died.

Why didn't I know of this older brother? He asked who in my family had a snowmobile. He used to watch it whizz by from his window.

There were never any toys or people outside of the Humphrey home. Bushes grew up over the windows.

Not unlike the home of a neighbor across and down the street now.

This morning I drove by as a child ran out to board the bus. A child lives there? Why don't we know one another? Why don't our children play together? Why don't I hear giggling or squeals from that direction?

I felt a sweet sadness yesterday after meeting and "catching up" with my former neighbor.

The property where the old foundation sits has finally been sold. There will be a new family in West Berry, this one from California.

Report Cards

Yesterday was report card day. It came as quite a surprise to me that N, now 13, sent me a pict message with a photo of his grades. Quite a few of his grades had improved since the last marking period.

W, who is 6, showed improvement in basic writing and reading. J, 15, was angry over one grade in the 70's, while the rest of his grades were at or near 100.

Ironically it was "report card day" for me at work too. As soon as I arrived the store manager pulled me into his office and gave me a lecture about my poor performance. I failed in the categories of smart phones and accessories. I came in dead last in the region with the accessory take rate.

There was no "sandwiching" the ugly between my accomplishments (for example, I also sold more phones last month than anyone else in my store. I never show up drunk or spend the day smoking outside. I've completed every required training. I go out of my way to help customers).

Nope. No sugar coating. Just a stern, "Come on. You've been here four months. You should be doing better."

He handed me my "letter of referral" to sign. It's the first of three steps that ends in termination.

It's been tough for me to work through my anger and indignation over my manager's approach and what I perceive as a flawed numbers system. I struggle to accept a failing grade because I've always tried to get high grades, in everything.

Over the years I've had to learn to be patient with a less than perfect, aging body, a historic home constantly in need of repair, and never enough time for housework.

I told the boys this morning that I'm very proud of them. And I reminded myself, and them, that as people (and God's children) we are so much more than a list of grades.

(It's going to take some repeating..."I am more than my sales numbers. I am more than the balanced score card...")

They Won't/Will Grow Up

PETER PAN:
Are you ready for today's lesson?

ALL:
Yes, Peter!

PETER PAN:
Listen to your teacher. Repeat after me:
I won't grow up,
(I won't grow up)
I don't want to go to school.
(I don't want to go to school)
Just to learn to be a parrot,
(Just to learn to be a parrot)
And recite a silly rule.
(And recite a silly rule)
If growing up means
It would be beneath my dignity to climb a tree,
I'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up
Not me!
Not I,
Not me!
Not me!

Our oldest (15) just performed in the musical "Peter Pan." The show was FABULOUS, may I brag?

The musical brilliantly highlights boyhood, childhood fantasy, childhood fears and even common parental fears (like losing our children and finding them lonely and hungry).

It amuses me to no end that my four boys have been running around the house singing, "I won't grow up!" It's one of my favorite songs from the show. I cried from my front-row seat Saturday night and the son sitting next to me commented, "Embarassing...Mom!"

I'm reminded not to be so grumpy about the little pieces of paper all over the living room floor ( J and W have been cutting swords out of cardboard) or their unmade beds. Grumbling over homework and chores. Dangerous tree climbing and rope swinging.

It's all a part of that wonderful phase called boyhood. So quickly I see it passing. My older two already have "real" girlfriends (gasp!)

Here is a snippet from our show.