Making The Tough Choices

I've had this plant for over 14 years. I have no idea what kind of a plant it is. Up until yesterday it was growing in a large ceramic planter where it had lived out the majority of its life ever since I rescued it from an empty cubicle in the office where I was working at the time. We had just suffered our first round of layoffs in 2004 as the business started to slow down and the owner of the plant was one of the first casualties. She was so upset over being let go that she just threw her stuff in a box and marched out in tears. I don't know if she just forgot the plant, or if she just didn't have room for it at home and had to make the tough choice to leave it behind. Of course, being the plant lover that I am, I could not handle seeing the poor thing sitting all alone with no one to take care of it, so I marched right over and moved it to my desk where it lived until, after yet another round of layoffs, the company merged with another one in 2006 and the entire office was let go. So my little adopted plant  came home with me. 

Over the years she outgrew several pots. I tried my best to find out what kind of a plant it was but was never successful. She just kept growing and growing, and I just kept re-potting and re-potting into larger and larger pots. A few years ago she started to lose her bottom leaves while her top ones kept growing larger and larger. The problem was that the ones she lost on the bottom exposed her spindly stem that also kept growing taller and could not hold the weight on top. I kept tying it up to pieces of wood and plant stakes but finally, after all these years, it was obvious that this could not go on. I would need a plant stake the size of a broomstick to keep it from falling over and snapping in half as more and more bottom leaves died while the top leaves just kept growing and the whole thing got taller and taller. I finally had to make the tough choice to cut it down and see if I could re-root it. After all these years, and moving it from not one but two homes, I thought we would just grow old together. In my mind I kept seeing it start to root so that I could replant it and keep it going, but in my heart I knew that the chance of that happening on a plant this old was not great. It was like pulling the plug on a friend. Sometimes you just have to make the tough choices.

The funny thing was that from the moment I put it in the water, the leaves started opening up wider and the color became greener and more vivid. I swear it almost looked happy. Could it be that there was still some life left in the old girl? My heart gave a little lurch of happiness. It may only be a temporary thing, but then again maybe not. I'm keeping my fingers crossed and praying for her to pull through.

Sometimes we have to make tough choices, the kind we wish we didn't have to make but know deep down inside that it has to be done. It may be a decision to move away from friends and family, or quit a job and go out on our own, or finally cut the apron strings and let our little birds grow up and fly on their own. Whatever it is, it takes courage and a whole lot of faith to follow your gut and do what must be done, but when we do, sometimes, like today, things look a whole lot greener!

Ad so it is. 

The Sweet Tastes of Life

(Please enjoy this post from last summer while Flower Bear takes a much needed week off for some rest and time with family. Have a wonderful July 4th and we'll see you next week).

Nothing says summer to me more than my first bite of my first peach of the season. On Saturday my daughter, granddaughter, and I went to the local farmers market where I bought my first local peaches of the season, along with some beautiful squash, cucumbers and mushrooms. There is something about a trip to the market that feeds my soul and speaks to my heart. It must be the memories of those years working my own gardens, knowing that all that backbreaking effort would be worth it when I picked that first tomato, harvested the lettuce and tied up my beautiful herbs to dry. Like the juice from that peach as it ran down my chin when I took that first bite, the fruits of the labor are well worth all the blood, sweat and tears.

Sometimes the biggest rewards come from the things that most people don't see as huge endeavors. Gardening isn't up there with creating a new source of energy, or writing a best-seller, or winning an election, but there is something about partnering with Creator and Mother Nature to be a part of the creation process. Anyone can go to the grocery store and buy a peach or a tomato. It takes someone who loves the feel of dirt in their hands, the sweet sound of birds overhead and bees buzzing nearby, and the warmth of the sun on your face to be willing to get down and dirty just to experience the sweet taste of a self-grown life. That, my friends, is how life is supposed to taste.

I feel no shame in admitting that I have an acute case of garden-envy this year, but I can get a little bit of that sweet feeling back when I visit the farmers market and talk to the people that put in the work that produced these works of art. I can smell, and touch, and taste, and know that the real riches in life are the ones we grow ourselves.

And so it is. 

Pushing Through The Mud

After what seemed like weeks and weeks of rain just about every day, we've finally experienced 72 consecutive hours of sunshine! I wish you could see the effect this is having on folks. Not only are the streets filled with walkers, joggers, weekend bikers and mothers pushing happy babies, but people are smiling like it's Christmas morning and they're 5 years old! It's like we've all been on this long, arduous trip through a dark tunnel and we've finally come out the other side into the light. After weeks and weeks of muddy shoes and damp spirits, we're all on solid ground again.

This morning I was reading an article about how we often have to go through dark or difficult times to get to the treasure that awaits us on the other side. The writer quoted Buddhist master and author Thick Nhat Hanh who said:

"No mud, no lotus."

Let's face it, sometimes life in general can be pretty muddy, and often it feels like we're so mired in mud that it takes all of our strength just to get one foot out of the muck and put it in front of the other. However, if you think about it, how would we know what felt good if we didn't know what felt bad? How would we know that sunshine felt better than clouds if we didn't experience clouds? Okay, weeks of constant rain may be a bit on the extreme side ... we got the whole sunshine/cloud thing after about week two ... but it's all too easy to forget what's on the other side of the coin when things are all peaches and cream. We don't need to live in the land of hurts, as meditation teacher Davidji teaches, but we do occasionally have to pay it a visit just to be reminded of the difference.

Today on my way home from a meeting, I noticed with great pleasure how bright and abundant everyone's gardens were. All those weeks of rain had nourished them to the point where it was almost an embarrassment of riches. I passed a row of yellow day lilies that were so vivid it almost hurt your eyes. I guess all that mud underneath was good for the lilies as well as for the lotus. Sometimes you just have to push through it to get to the sunshine.

And so it is.  

Strawberry Summers

This past weekend was one of this areas most loved events, the annual Strawberry Festival in Owego, NY. Every year thousands of folks descend on this lovely town and experience one of the first fruits of summer, the strawberry, in all it's splendor. Anything and everything that can be made from strawberries is offered, along with lots of neat crafts, entertainment, and even a parade. I have to say that on my list of most-liked fruits, strawberries are right there at the top. This is one berry that finds its way into my morning smoothies more often than any other.

This year the word went out that, with all of the endless rain and cooler temperatures that we have been experiencing, and continue to experience, the strawberry crop this year was not the best and a bit on the short side. All the additional water carries a higher risk for disease, and the cold is no friend to the poor strawberry, either. Still, this did not deter the strawberry lovers from near and far who turned out in record droves ... even in the rain ... in support of their beloved fruit. The feeling is that if you don't have enough to make a big strawberry shortcake, cook them down and make strawberry jam! In other words, work with what you've got.

I've always been partial to a saying by the wise and witty Mike Dooley, creator of "Notes From The Universe:"

Do what you can, with what you have, from where you are. 

We could all take a page from the strawberry folks Book Of Life and not let a little thing like weather, or anything else that is out of our control  take the spirit out of our lives. When life hands you lemons, make lemonade. When it hands you a tiny crop of strawberries, make jam, and when it doesn't hand you what you wanted, take what you got and make it into something as awesome as you are!

And so it is. 

Mother Nature's Paint Set

This past Friday my sister and I spent some time at a First Friday Art Walk. Our area is blessed with an abundance of very talented and creative individuals in any and all the mediums you can think of. We have painters of every kind, sculptors, musicians, dancers, builders, technical wizards, and more. On the first Friday of every month, our downtown becomes an open invitation to tour galleries, museums, restaurants and outdoor events that celebrate the creative spirit.

I have to admit that much of what I saw this week kind of went over my head if  you get my meaning. I don't claim to understand what is referred to as "modern art," nor do I think myself educated enough to criticize anyone's work. I just know what I like. If I find a sculpture made entirely out of stay pins or other strange objects, I don't decide to like it or not like it - I just accept it for what it means to the person that created it and move on.

The things that captivated me that night, and always captivates me when it comes to art, were the landscape paintings. There on the walls and stands were canvasses of mountains, trees, gardens, vast fields and even someones personal take on Vincent Van Gogh's "Starry, Starry Night." All of it was beautiful and in each one I could feel that the artist had touched on what Mother Nature had in mind when she whipped out her paint set and went to work on the earth.

I don't care how talented a person is, from a Van Gogh to a Monet and everything in-between, no one yet has come close to what Mother Nature can do with her paint set. Have you ever really looked at a cardinal in all it's red glory? Have you ever seen a field of wild flowers in bloom and just felt your heart melt? Have you really looked at the intricate art work on a peacocks tail feathers and wondered how in the heck it came out so perfect and symmetrical? No human being could have come up with anything close.

So the next time you go to an art gallery, or see some artwork on display somewhere, whether you agree with it's message or not, just remember that the artist is trying their very best to express something within them that is bursting to get out. And remember that even though no one can match Mother Nature, there's no harm in trying. We can certainly use all the beauty we can get.

And so it is.

Just Say "Yes!"

Saturday was very warm, almost 80 degrees, and sunny. Sunday was dark, chilly, and rainy. This morning I woke up to 45 degrees and gusty winds. When I looked up at the wall calendar hanging next to my desk, I realized that I hadn't turned the page to June, not that it mattered much. A calendar no longer gives me an accurate account of what month it is let alone what season it is. The fact that we can have all four of them in the space of a weekend at any given time should be as valid an argument for climate change as the overabundance of catastrophic storms we've had over the past few years. So I've just decided that the only way to get through this without losing my mind is to just say "yes."

It takes twice as much work and stress to fight against what is, than it does to just accept what is and find a way to make it work for you. I can rant and rave all I want about the weather, but no amount of my ranting and raving is going to change it. So I have to ask myself: How can I adapt to this to make it work for me? So I make sure I always have a small, fold-up umbrella in my tote bag or close at hand. I don't put away all my winter clothes but, rather, keep a few sweats and long sleeve shirts handy as well. I check my newly planted seeds in their pots every day and turn the lights on and off as needed depending on whether Mother Nature has decided to grace us with sun that day. I make sure I have change for the bus handy in my purse just in case it's sunny when I go inside the store and pouring when I come out (where I live riding the bus is cheaper than owning a car). 

It seems to me that my animal relations have survived whatever Mother Nature throws at them because they know how to adapt. It's only we humans, the newest members of the earth if you think about it, that have it have it their way all the time. They don't wake up in the morning, see a rainy, gloomy day, and hit the snooze button. They wake up and go about their business. They say "yes" and keep on trucking. This morning when I woke to this frigid, windy day, the birds were still singing the day awake. Sure, they were hanging on to the branches a little more tightly than usual, but they were still singing their hearts out. I could swear one of them was saying yes!

And so it is. 

Memories Are Made Of This

Last Wednesday I was blessed with the opportunity to spend the day at a beautiful lodge on a lake deep in the woods with a bunch of beautiful ladies for a day-long retreat. For once the weather decided to cooperate and we had the opportunity to walk the grounds, sit and dream by the river, and hike some of the paths. As I was walking around the main building, the wind shifted and I caught a familiar and much beloved scent ... lilacs! How I love the smell of lilacs. They usually don't bloom until June around here but we've had several days of warmer-then-normal temperatures and with all the rain we've had, it combined to produce a bumper crop this year. Their sweet perfume wafted on the wind and took me back to my childhood, our backyard, and my mother.

Growing up in Queens, New York, it was unusual to have a backyard, let alone a garden, but we had both as our house sat on a double lot. Part of the yard right outside the back door was cement and provided space for a picnic table, folding chairs and my Dad's sacred grill. Behind the house we had a garden that was not much on grass but blessed with bushes, trees and shrubs. We had two rose bushes, a hibiscus tree, and my favorites - two lilac bushes. When the windows were open to the afternoon breezes, the smell would tiptoe into the house and fill the back laundry room and the kitchen. Even as a youngster, I had a knack for flower arranging and my Mother would have me arrange the lilacs she cut in a vase to put on the dinning room table. Every time she walked through the room and saw them, she would smile. I think the sight and smell of them made her happy. She never did tell me why they had that affect on her and I never asked. To this day, whenever I catch the scent of lilacs, I remember my Mother and that smile when she saw what I had created in that vase.

It's funny how certain scents can spark memories. The smell of popcorn always reminds me of Saturday matinees at the movies. Coffee dripping in the pot brings back scenes in my mind of Sunday mornings and the smell of coffee that woke us all up. When someone in the neighborhood lights a fireplace or fire pit, I remember trips up to the hunting camp my Dad shared with some friends and our summer vacation sitting around a fire and catching lightening bugs. But I think it's the smell of the lilacs that move me the most.

Yesterday as I sat here at my desk working, I caught the scent again as the breeze picked up in anticipation of an incoming rainstorm. Looking out of the open window I spied the bush in front of the empty house next door that they are renovating. There they were in all their purple glory, more lilacs. When the guys come back to work on Tuesday, I may just wander over and ask them it it's ok for me to cut a few for myself. After all, by the time they get done with the renovations and people move in, they will most likely have already died off. What a waste! I want to take them up here to my little nest in the sky and arrange them in a vase on my table. Then every time I walk by the table, I can look at them, inhale them, think of my Mother, and smile.

And so it is.