Byrds in the Garden

Over the last couple of days intense gratitude has washed over me and filled my brain with clichés. Even as I am writing this, I have to hit delete repeatedly because my fingers keep clicking out language that usually makes me roll my eyes. How do people express these feelings without using sun-shiney words that make people want to gag? Here is my attempt:

Plants are sprouting in my cedar boxes. There is something satisfying about perfect and round, little green bits peeking up through the soil. Knowing that by putting a seed in the ground, coaxing it out with water and sunlight, I can reap fragrant foliage or ripened fruit when it has reached maturity. It is a simple principle: at the right time, with the right care, good things come when you nurture them.

Life is falling back into place and serenity is a welcome side effect. Recognizing my role in my family, friendships, neighborhood, and church organization has reminded me that I am not, nor do I want to be, an individually functioning unit. I am connected to beating hearts and that interaction yields happiness. Having socially isolated myself for a long time it is wonderful to open my arms again and hear that steady beat when I get close.

I am indebted to my friends and family and counselors for their unwavering support through all of my emotional, spiritual and physical difficulties. They haven’t flinched or become frustrated and have been patient with my cautious pace (one where I drag my feet or dig in my stilettos) and my over-thinking brain that sends me in intellectual circles without letting me come to any conclusions.

Stepping down off the fence, despite trepidation about some unanswered questions, is inciting growth. I am making informed choices and find happiness in the results. This is a huge step for me. Looking forward, instead of craning my neck to keep an eye on an unfinished past, has guided my feet down this untended path, even though I might have selected the wrong shoes for the walk.

As I find delight in gardening and social interactions, this Byrds song streams through my brain. I think they might have stolen the lyrics from some uncopyrighted material (possibly some ecclesitical/preacherly person?). I think I am going to leave out some of the more repetitive lyrics but it goes something like:

To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven.
A time to be born a time to die, a time to plant a time to reap,
A time to kill a time to heal, a time to weep.

A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones, time to gather stones together

A time a war, a time of peace
A time of love, a time of hate
A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing

A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time a time to love, a time to hate

A time for peace, I swear it’s not too late.

Hope

I have written maybe 7 posts that I cannot bring myself to publish. They are about everything from growing tomatoes to wheeled Mayan toys to serial killers but despite my efforts to unearth deeper truth about life and human nature, everything sounds preachy or hurt and angry.

Faith has been on my mind and its association to relationships. This topic has consumed me for almost a year. Some conclusions are presenting themselves but they are fragmented. A friend, Courtney, posted something on her blog, and I wanted to post a link because it discusses something that is impressive to me: humility. Although everyone is guilty of pride in some way, when the dearth thereof is characterized in film or television, we connect to that person; we love them.

I have faith that there are people who take responsibility for their actions and not push blame on other people. People who say, "What can I do to make this relationship better?" instead of saying, "It is your fault." If they make a mistake, they try to fix it. These people are more worried about what others feel, more than their own discomfort. They exist. Their qualities of kindness and humility are more important than any achievements or wealth they accumulate. They have my respect and I want to say, "Thank you."

This is the blog.

If I Were One of the Seven I would be the Grumpiest

I need to vent and everyone I know is asleep. Curses! So listen up internet world! Here it goes: I know this happens to everyone, but right now I feel uniquely screwed. I spent hours working on something brilliant to post, but something got in my way. Something insurmountable if I wanted to retain any scrap of dignity. Why do I care so much? Since when did anonymity become so important in sensitive subjects? Am I a coward? If I have something to say, I should just say it, right?

I considered the last question and decided that the best move was to stay with propriety at present. Forgive me if you mistook me for a bold woman this morning.

Please know that I know how easily love can turn to anger and then back into love. I am concerned about a few people in my life who are not worried about themselves at all. There are, in fact, two people whose lives and choices are running parallel at present. I can see what specific decisions have led them to exhibit the same characteristics. If I pointed these things out, which I am tempted to do, they would not listen and be even more furious, pushing us farther apart.

If you are one of these people and reading this blog, something I doubt highly, know that the anger back to love part is the most important step. My attempts to not get stuck in the space before that transition have mostly proved successful. My wishes of good luck are extended; I say that in earnest even though I might kick you next time we come into contact.

XOXOXO,

Heidi

Okay

I ran into someone today at a toy store, a friend of a particular friend. He asked me how I was. The question was innocent enough. Casual greetings are tossed around by lots of people. “How are you doing?” hardly qualifies as earth shaking material. We chatted for a few seconds and he asked me again.

Everyone does this when distracted, they ask the same banal question to someone again. Even when there is genuine interest, it is common to repeat formalities.

We talked for a few more minutes and he repeated, “How are you doing?” Surrounded by plush animals, a wall of candy and novelty toys I realized that this wasn’t a mistake. “I’m okay,” was the real answer and that is what I said.