Hidden Garden

Much has happened in the three years since I last wrote on this blog. Turns out marriage takes up a lot of time. Who knew? Lest anyone think that's a complaint, it most certainly isn't. I'm not really any busier today than I was as a single fellow. I'm simply busy with other things. And it's not that writing has become any less important to me, or that I've lost my desire to write as I've replaced some (okay, nearly all) my writing time with family stuff. And I have a champion for my writing now, in my sweetheart, who gently reminds me nearly every day that I have a dozen writing projects moldering more due to excuses than crises. 

In that three years, we had a drunk and stoned driver run over our mailbox, across our yard, and into both of our cars, totaling them. At two a.m. The four of us each went to the E.R. at least once, including a first anniversary car accident in a snow storm which was heavier than the weather forecast predicted. (There were a few other snowstorms that came hours early when we were already on the road, and flurries which became feet, fortunately not resulting in accidents.) No few late nights with troubled kids. I received a few "I hate you!"s. (By the way, "Hmm, sorry to hear that. I love you" ends such conversations pretty quickly. Who knew?)

We survived each of these. How? In part because the good times far outweighed the bad. In part because we decided we would survive. In part because as different as we are, the ways in which we are different complement, and we grow together. Last night I read my last post, on "Companion Planting". At the time of that writing I imagined approximately... zero of the things which happened to us. But I wouldn't trade away any of them. Each of them brought us closer. The far more frequent pleasanter experiences did too, and we're grateful for that frequency. 

We've planted a garden every year. Our yield has never been high. Many of our plants grow large and flowery and pretty and bear little to no fruit. We had weeds choke out others. Does gardening imitate life, or does life imitate gardening? There are certainly parallels. No matter how well you tend a garden, there will be weeds. There will be blight.

Right now our lovely world is facing a blight in the form of a pandemic, the likes of which hasn't been seen in over a hundred years. It's frightening. My family and I were prepared in many ways, and in other ways, not. We are blessed to both be able to work from home. We had supplies already on hand, and the means to replenish, at least for the time being, what we didn't have on hand. But the fear is ever present, even with our religious faith, because the uncertainty is exacerbated by too many unknowns, and concern for friends and family who are at higher risk than we. I'm glad for our faith. I'm glad we live in a country where we can still freely exercise that faith, and for the technology allowing us to continue to worship with others, as well as that technology allowing us to continue to work, Some of our friends and family aren't able to do so, and there's only so much we can do to help them.

As frightening as the pandemic itself is, I myself fear more the aftermath. Certainly world economy is a concern. But how will this change everyone's world view? I can imagine a world where people realize how interconnected we are, where people and nations stop fighting, stop judging, start pulling together and sharing resources and knowledge. I've already seen that, both in my family's personal experiences, and in news reports. I can imagine a world where that continues once the pandemic becomes a memory, and governments stop squabbling and enact positive lasting changes in the health care system and workplace environments. A world where that cooperation and working towards common goals is already in place so lives aren't needlessly lost whilst debates ensue over who started it and who deserves help and who doesn't and who is going to pay for this. A world where human life is valued over policy or us vs. them.

And I can imagine a world where, in short, we go back to hating and blaming. There has been no shortage of those reports already, or people attacked because their ethnicity makes them the perfect scapegoat in the eyes of those already prone to think so, or because they got the last damn roll of toilet paper.

I'm not so naive as to think that everyone is going to grow in a positive way through this forced sequestering. But I am hopeful the majority will. I hope that those with hatred and greed hidden in their hearts are far fewer than those with vast reservoirs of good and compassion and creativity hidden in their hearts, just waiting to be tapped and shared. That those hidden gardens will bloom and our world - which no matter how frightening it often is, is still incredibly beautiful - will do the same.

As I write this, it is snowing. The tree outside our west window, which yesterday was popping in green buds, now is snow covered. I've seen enough spring snowstorms to know that tomorrow or the next day the snow will be gone and the green will be more vibrant than before, because the tree's roots have been established. Plants are like that, and I think most people are, too. 

Companion Planting

Companion planting is a gardening method of pairing plants which grow well, even thrive, when planted side by side. Because of, or perhaps in spite of, each plant's own individually inherent qualities, soil conditions, climate, and every gardener with even an occasional hand at tending the plants, the plants grow better together than they ever would by themselves.

A couple months ago I sought comfort and strength in a Priesthood blessing. During that blessing I was told that I have "recently experienced a number of changes" in my life (this was certainly true) and there are "many more to come". I thought the promise interesting and a bit surprising, but at the time was more focused on the counsel and comfort I'd sought in the first place.

Heavenly Father has plans for us which far exceed our expectations or (what we think are) our desires. A friendship which had already blossomed into a romance blossomed further, and rather quickly; heartfelt prayer brought some pretty surprising answers. Abject terror gave way to gleeful anticipation as I questioned how ready I really was for this new garden.

I have never been a husband. I have never been a stepfather. Now I find myself both. Less than two weeks later we find ourselves reeling a bit. We had a sixteen day engagement. Yeah, we know. Pretty quick. Call us a couple of crazy middle-aged kids.

I look into my sweetheart's eyes, see there and hear in her voice trust and belief, and I wonder at the doubts which seem so terribly long ago. We talk about the events which led her into my life, and me into hers, and we see far too many coincidences to discount a Master Gardener plotting this. Oh what gratitude we have for Him! And what gratitude we have for all those who helped nourish us along the way, in whose faces we see joy on our behalf.

We have already felt our hearts expand far beyond what seems feasible for such a short time. As in gardens of vegetables and flowers, we are finding stones and noxious weeds. Some of those we saw when our friendship was new, others were dormant at the time and are just starting to peek above the ground. We anticipate more. We recognize their potential to choke us but we decided early on these things are not going to develop deep roots. We recognize that only together, as companions, can we recognize our full potential. Daily we're consulting with the Master Gardener, exploring and discovering what we each bring to the garden complements the other's talents and dreams; learning how to prompt and promote one another's continued growth.

It's going to be an amazing, beautiful garden.

2016, You Don't Suck

Recently I have seen Facebook posts by a number of different friends, along the general lines of "2016, You Suck!" Friends and family who have posted this sentiment are generally lamenting the loss of beloved celebrities - actors, musicians, authors, etc. - if not the far suckier things like economic uncertainties and violence around the world. I know that most, if not all, of those sentiments are written in the moment, and a careful examination of 2015 or 2014 or 2013 would reveal the same number of losses, the same number of incidents in our individual communities and around the world which invoke fear and uncertainty and disgust. Social media has a tendency to make us think things have never been this bad in all the history of mankind (they have) and we've never lost so many actors and musicians and authors as we have this year (we have - go to Wikipedia, type in the year, scroll down.)

Life is hard. Sometimes it's harder than it is at other times.

Life is wonderful. Sometimes it's more wonderful than at other times.

Sometimes it's both. For myself, 2016 has been both. I pushed myself outside my comfort zone a dozen times and found myself pushed outside it by unwelcome forces. Forgotten fears resurfaced. New fears tagged along. There have been health concerns, both for myself and in my family, and a couple of those were downright frightening. There was stress at work. I changed residences and even after downsizing I still have way.too.much.stuff. And if anyone is actually looking for sucky stuff, one only has to turn on the news (it is debatable who portrays doom and gloom the best: social media or the "real" media.)

Pushed outside my comfort zone, I found forgotten strength to handle those forgotten fears. Rifts were healed, friendships renewed. Health scares turned out to be less frightening than when they first appeared, and health returned. Babies were born - beautiful, precious babies - a grandnephew and children of friends, and I got to hold them, and did I mention they are beautiful and precious? (Seriously, people, if you think this or any other year "sucks", you need to go ask to hold someone's baby, and hold that baby until your perspective is reset!) I taught 3-4-5 year old children at church this year and I'm pretty sure I have less hair than when I started but oh, how I have grown to love those children! Work got better - considerably so - not less challenging, but less stressful. "Stuff" is making its way out the door faster than it's coming in. I read more, and found books which made it to my "favorites" shelf. I wrote more (not on my blogs; I know you just checked that, admit it!) - and - I submitted my work. Okay, so it was rejected. But I submitted! For the first time in a decade.

I woke up. 364 days so far this year, I woke up. I have wonderfully supportive friends and family who are there at times of crises and there for the good times. I have a job. I have food on the table and in the pantry. I have what a coworker refers to as "The Over 50 Disease" but overall, my health is good. I live in a free country where I get a say in who runs it, even if ofttimes those choices are less than stellar. The tough parts of this year I handled, occasionally with finesse and decorum, and those tough times put me on paths I wouldn't have found myself on otherwise.

One of those paths took me where I needed to be for my heart to be open to a relationship with an absolutely amazing woman. The relationship is yet in its infancy and I am still astounded at the exquisite comfort and joy of having this incredibly loving and lovable person in my life, who loves and cherishes me and allows me to love and cherish her in return. And before I break out into song, I'll just say I am a truly blessed man.

No, 2016, you don't suck. You totally rock.

Transplanting

It seems odd to sit down and blog after a too-long absence, letting too many things get in the way of writing. I profess that writing is a love but I don't do it often enough to convince anyone, including myself, that it actually is.

It seems odder still to break that drought selecting my "Where I'm Planted" blog - when I am being uprooted. The apartment building I've called home for 25 years was sold in December, and the new owners decided to make some much needed and long neglected repairs and upgrades. Such things are expensive, and in the current housing economy where people are paying outrageous rents for even studio apartments, my option for signing a lease on  one of the apartments already upgraded would mean paying more than I wanted to pay. I could have afforded it but I had gotten used to putting a certain amount into m,y saving every month, and I would not have had that.

Deeper than financial constraints was the recognition and acceptance of the fact that I had been wanting a change for a few years, anyway. But I hadn't made the change, because it required more effort than I either would or could expend. Over the years, my clutter had not earned me a spot on one of those TV shows, but it had indeed affected me spiritually and emotionally and (and once I started stirring up dust in neglected and forgotten closets) physically. In keeping with the garden/planted analogy, my soil had dried up and become choked with weeds and rocks and my creativity, even my desire to be creative, had become dull and lifeless and whatever did grow in my garden had a short life span.

My first impression of this connection between clutter and creativity came a couple years ago when I visited my parents for a week and one morning I awoke wanting and needing to write. and I wrote my first short story in about a decade. I do not discount my blogging during that dry spell, but I hadn't written any fiction in a very long time. A year later I wrote another short story, this time at the home of a friend who I was house and pet-sitting for. Shortly after that I wrote a Doctor Who fanfic for a friend, again, mostly away from home. Why did I feel more creative away from home than at home? I decided there might be something to that New-Agey stuff I'd heard about negative energy in clutter. Even if my new writing environments had clutter of their own, it wasn't my clutter, so it didn't bother me on either a conscious or unconscious level. So even before knowing I'd have to move I tried decluttering - but not being a requirement, I never got that far. Far enough to notice a positive difference, but not far enough to build up any kind of momentum. Until I was required to do it, I hadn't realized how adept I had grown at not only blithely ignoring the clutter, but also how incredibly (dare I say creatively?) adept I'd grown at hiding my clutter even from myself. It's not just the accumulated mass of 25 years in the same place I've been dealing with for two months, but the years before when the moves were quick and not as carefully gleaned.

Many of my discoveries have been pleasant; letters and mementos from ages past brought good memories and a desire to reconnect with friends and family. Anyone remember the pre-digital age when people wrote letters longhand and you waited weeks or months to hear back, longer if your friend lived overseas? And how it felt to see that in your mail box? And how that compares to the quasi-thrill of seeing something forwarded 47 times in your email inbox, something with no real personality or news of its own attached? Social media has put me in touch with people I'd otherwise lost contact with - but as a way of building and strengthening connections, it falls short. The fruit of those plants is small and stunted or even non-existent. Once settled, I intend to use all those blank greeting cards and postage stamps I've run across to good use.

Many of the discoveries have been less-than-pleasant; reminders of how I used to clean up: everything (magazines, junk mail, bills both paid and unpaid, aforementioned correspondence from friends and family, toys, etc) into a box and the box into a room to be sorted "later". There's where not only my creativity kicked in, but my scientific genius; I manipulated time and space and hid things from view, compacting roomsful of clutter into spaces not much larger than Mary Poppins's carpetbag.

Then comes the gleaning, the weeding of my garden, if you will. My goal, once I knew where I was moving and knowing how much time I had to do it, was to cut everything in half, even though I was moving to approximately the same square footage. I didn't want to still feel overwhelmed and hemmed in, so I planned to half everything. Many things were easy to do this with and in fact much was cut into a fourth or fifth or even sixth. Books I set a separate goal of cutting out a third, hoping with that goal I might take a fourth out the door. But life if full of surprises. So adept had I gotten at creating my own little TARDIS, I didn't realize how much the half I kept would still be.

Organizational experts will tell you things like "If you hadn't read it, listened to it, worn it, otherwise used it in a year, carry it out the door." Not bad advice, but advice which needs to be taken with a bit of wisdom. Last year I read two books which had been on my shelves unread for twenty years (for the curious, "Matilda" and "The Phantom Toolbooth") - books which I immediately added to my "favorites" list, and therefore to my "to be shared" and "to be read again and again" lists. Had I simply gleaned them from my library unread, I would've been poorer for it - even if I wouldn't have known. But with the magic only books contain, I knew now was the time to read them, and as I've tried to cut my books by a third, those survived. Following the wisdom, though, I donated to friends, family and thrift stores books which no longer piqued my curiosity even if they had when initially bought, and books which I enjoyed ten-twenty years ago but which I'm reasonably certain I won't re-read, along with their sequels, many of which I never quite got to. In the same vein, going through my closet allowed me to get rid of clothes in perfectly good condition but which I no longer care for the color or style of, and clothes I'd outgrown - and ironically, the clothes I hadn't worn for over a year because they were too big, fit perfectly well now and that revamped my wardrobe without straining my wallet!

All that to say, there's something to the if-you-haven't-used-it philosophy. The rules of six months or a year or three years aren't the point, and don't fit every situation, but I think I'd gotten too caught up at finding a rule that fir every situation I ended up doing nothing for far too long. Deciding my rule would be "If it's truly important now, keep it; if not, lose it" gives me permission to say goodbye to some things, hold on to others awhile longer without guilt. And that "awhile longer" in some cases ended up being a mere week. As often as I have experienced "Buyer's Remorse", I didn't want to substitute it with "Donator's Remorse" which is less common but which I had experienced often enough that the fear of it had caused me to hold on too long to certain things. The gardening analogy here might be, "Well, there are a lot of rocks and weeds here and the soil is dried and lifeless, but the seed is still there and it might come up if I wait long enough..."

Through having a garden in plastic pots on my porch and kitchen windowsill the past couple years ago has taught me a few life lessons. Noticing how plants grow, wither, recover and flourish again has taught me that while transplanting a plant traumatizes it, the amount of care given it during the transplanting process and directly after in its new place in the sun, say a great deal on how that plant is going to bounce back and flourish, even beyond its former splendor.  I have been blessed these last two months with family and friends encouraging me, and helping me to maintain my vision, and committing to be there come moving day (which is looming frightfully near!) I have been blessed with seeing, in many small ways, my creativity returning, even amidst the chaos and disarray of keep-don't-keep-and-empty-boxes-for-each. And I've been blessed with seeing my enthusiasm slowly returning; what little bit I'd even noticed it had gone away was marred by the fact I wasn't enthusiastic enough to care about it returning.

One of my favorite quotes is by Neal A Maxwell:

“The harrowing of the soul can be like the harrowing of the soil to increase the yield, things are turned upside down.”

 I'm being uprooted. The choice wasn't mine, save for the fact I'd prayed for new opportunities to grow and opportunities t get out of the rut I'd felt myself in. The choice of when wasn't mine; the choice of where is, and the choice of whether or not I will thrive - or in the words given to my friend in answer to prayer, the words which prompted this blog for me - bloom where I am planted - that's my choice, too.
 

The Cost of Carrots

Tonight after work I walked over to Walmart (not my favorite place to shop, but being within walking distance earns them more of my patronage than it would otherwise) to get foodstuffs I can put in my new slow cooker. I usually avoid Walmart on Mondays because there are usually about 600 people there, each with a month's worth of groceries, and three open check out lanes, none of them express lanes. Tonight there were fewer people there, at least in line, and maybe five checkers, somewhat of an improvement. But that wasn't the most striking thing about his visit.

I was second in line at the lane I chose, and it was just being handed over to a new checker - and I got the impression from the hand-off and the look in this kid's face he was new on the job. Everything went well until he tried to ring up the loose carrots. Braaaamp!went the register; the wrong code had been entered. He tried again. Braaaamp! He picked up a laminated sheet full of produce pictures, put it aside and rang up the rest of my order. Then he politely excused himself to find someone to help, and despite the fact he returned within seconds, there were restless murmurs behind me. The woman he came back with was on a handheld radio phone, obviously frustrated but politely and respectfully explaining what needed to be done to solve what ever problem it was she was dealing with while confidently entering the carrot code -- Braaaamp! (obviously the incorrect one) -- into the cash register. "Does anyone know the correct code for single carrots?" she asked the person she was talking to and then said, "Apparently we don't sell single carrots." I laughed, thinking that she was being facetious, but as she walked away, she turned back to me and asked if I wanted the small bag? No, I wanted just the two carrots. "We don't sell single carrots." I assured her they do and they had a full bin of them. She looked skeptical but said okay, and walked, I presumed, towards the produce aisle.

At this point I wished I had paid my usual attention to the prices so I could simply say they were y cents per pound. But I hadn't. I had merely thought, "What's a stew without carrots?" I was thinking perhaps I could just used my canned or frozen carrots, and was going to tell the checker so, when the guy behind me grumbled something about "Stupid people who work at Walmart." I hate bullying, and that includes personal attacks against people who are obviously trying to do their best. In such situations I generally respond in a passive-aggressive manner (i.e., still bullying, technically, even if it is bullying the bully), and I decided this turkey needed a lesson in patience. The entire delay up to this point had been two or three minutes, tops. The lesson didn't last long; I'd no sooner made that decision than another woman came forth, swiftly entered the code and told the checker what it was. My order was complete. I thanked her, and thanked him, recognizing the efficiency he otherwise displayed, paid and left the store.

As I left at my own leisurely pace, a woman raced past me with her cart, out the door and to a waiting taxi. She apologized to the driver, who shrugged and said "No prob," and she went on to explain about "nobody knowing the price of stupid carrots." Okay, now we're verbally abusing defenseless vegetables in addition to responsible working teenagers.

I walked home, reflecting upon the fact that I would be a liar if I said I never let anything so insignificant as a four minute delay cause me to lose patience with my fellow humans. And I wondered why it didn't bother me tonight. I know if I am tired and stressed, as quite possibly Grumpy Man and Taxi Lady were, I have little patience with delays. But I was tired tonight, yet not stressed. Why didn't it bother me tonight, really not bother me (aside from my irritation at Grumpy Man)? The fact I didn't have a twenty minute wait before it was even my turn was likely a factor. The fact I really wanted those carrots might have helped.

Perhaps it was an experience I'd just had on the bus on the way home from work was what had changed my perspective. At any given time, there are a multiplicity of infinitely more important things than delays caused by the uncertainty of cost codes. People are facing terminal illness,
wayward children, addicted loved ones, unemployment. Carrots, no matter how yummy they are, are rather insignificant by comparison. On the bus ride home I was half-dozing when I heard a man behind me saying he was hungry and had spent all his money for bus fare and he would give his life for a hamburger. I had two thoughts, the first of them being that was hungrier that Popeye's friend Wimpy ever got, and second, wondering if this man would accept the chia bar I had in my bag. Chia bars are an acquired taste, after all. And then I wondered if I still had any McDonald's gift cards. I seldom eat fast food any more, but do buy the gift cards to offer to those who beg for money. And those cards are generally in another bag or another coat, so I cannot offer them anyway. Today, I had one with me, so I turned around and offered it to him. At first  he protested and said he couldn't take that. I said "Of course you can. Go on, I carry those cards with me for this very purpose." I then felt a little uncomfortable, fearing it sounded like I was building myself up, which was not my intention. It is why I carry those cards with me, but I don't like praise for doing something I consider to be simply decent. Say "thank you", and then be done. This man was very thankful. And he appeared very stunned that a stranger would help him. I could tell he was sincere. I wondered, when was the last time someone did something nice for this man, perhaps even acknowledged him as a human being? Even though I had freely given him of my fast food gift cards, he probably needed my time as well.  I'm not proud to admit that in addition to being embarrassed and uncomfortable with his praise at my goodness, I didn't particularly want to talk to him because I wanted to get back to my nap. But many blocks later when I pulled the cord for my stop, he reached across the seat and gave my shoulder a squeeze and said softly, without the overflowing of praise, "Thank you. It means a lot. God bless you." I told him "And God bless you, too. You take care of yourself." I walked home, wondering why I find it so difficult to give of my time to strangers. That's probably another blog post.

I don't know what made the man in the checkout lane behind me so impatient and disdainful of others; if that his normal behavior or if there are so many hard things going on in his life that those four minutes really were a big deal to him. Likewise I do not know if the lady rushing to the taxi maybe needed to get home quickly, or maybe just needed to have someone listen to her. Once home, while cutting up the carrots and potatoes and wishing I had an onion (the single onions at the store looked pretty poor and I didn't want a whole bag of the good ones), I thought of something else that might have given me an extra measure of patience tonight. Yesterday's Sunday School lesson was entitled "Who Is My Neighbor?" and although the stories were familiar to me, they were presented in new ways. I'd heard of the  servant who had been frankly forgiven the ten thousand talents and then straightway went and bullied a lesser servant for a much smaller debt. But I'd never before thought of it in light of how I tend to forget my own blessings and the things which I've been forgiven for and how I need to forgive others for their much lesser transgressions.

How easy it is to lose perspective! How easy it is to take our blessings for granted and forget that we get three square meals (or more) a day. How easy it is to became irritated, even feel righteous indignation towards social injustices and then fall into the trap of making blanket statements and passing unrighteous judgement based upon our current inconveniences or fears or uncertainties. How easy it is to allow the emotions of others to influence our emotions, to allow news media and social media to color our own judgement. Despite what Facebook memes would have you believe, the vast majority of police officers do not abuse their power and are constantly faced with having to make split-second decisions without the luxury of a video game "second life" to use when they hesitated too long before being shot themselves and saying, "Dang, my first impression was right -- that was a gun and he did intend to use it against me!" Despite what left-wing or right-wing talk show hosts and radical practitioners of religion (is there much difference between radical religionists and radical talk show hosts and Hollywood pundits?) would have you believe, the vast majority of people who believe in some sort of higher being, regardless of what they call that being, diligently strive to use their beliefs to build stronger families and better societies and believe in such things as charity and tolerance and coexistence -- even if they go about it differently than you do. And most grocery store employees are trying every bit as hard to do their jobs as everyone else does theirs.

[Side note: In case anyone is curious, carrots are currently 50 cents a pound, and I caused all that commotion for fifteen cents worth.]

Beauty Where You Don't Expect It

Friday, in what has become my norm, I didn't allow myself time for a leisurely walk to the bus stop, and on a day with snow and ice covering my paths, that is not such a good thing, because no matter how good one's winter boots are, haste is just asking for trouble. I know my regular path fairly well and know the parts most likely to be icy in the parking lot I typical cut across. I pass by a medical office which has the past few days accumulated quite the array of icicles. I had taken a picture of them the first day; they had grown and I wanted a close up for one but knew i was already cutting the time short. I settled for plucking off one of the larger ones and examining it as I quickly walked the rest of the way. I have a friend who teases me about having missed my calling in life as a "safety engineer", and I had a few vague thoughts such as the possibility of slipping and impaling myself with the icicle sword, but for the most part that part of me was shut off as I hurried along carrying this thing.

And what a thing it was. An intricately carved work of art like a sword in a fantasy novel, a bit over two feet long, with rings and twists in interlacing layers. I really wanted a picture of it then, and figured it would probably take more than one to capture all the details, but the only camera I had with me was the one on my cell phone, which I'd not yet turned on, and lo! there was the bus, pulling up to the curb. I tossed the sword - that is to say, the icicle, into a snowbank and trotted up to the end of the line of boarding passengers. I was reasonable certain I would not be allowed to board a public transportation vehicle with the argument that it was a work of art and not a potentially deadly weapon which would melt before the authorities arrived. Although I did file that thought in my "story ideas" file.

Later that morning commute, one of the regular passengers who often sits next to me when she boards but has never responded to my simple "Good morning" greetings with more than a nod, again took a seat by me. The usual layover at that location was truncated due to the weather slowing everything down, and we took off shortly. The route is split between the main boulevard and avenues lined with trees and older houses. I commented, "I don't much like snow, but I cannot deny how beautiful it makes things. My seatmate smiled and agreed in accented English.

There was a humorous country western song recorded a number of times in the late forties and early fifties, which asks the question, "Life Gets Teejus, Don't It?" Well, yes, it do indeed. But I think at least a portion of that tediousness comes when we lose our focus. We might not have much say when it comes to what bombards us through the day. Difficult coworkers, neighbors, clients, merchants and even complete strangers sometimes seemingly go out of their way to share their pain, trials and negative outlook with us, whether we invite them to or not. We deal with our own fears and insecurities and disappointments and tragedies and then gain a little perspective when we see those we love suddenly facing things which either make our own problems pale by comparison or cause us pain as well because of how much we care for them, or simply frustration because we are so spent we don't feel we can help. And that can add to the tediousness, because where is the beauty if everything is cold and lifeless and everyone is sick and afflicted?

Right under the surface is where it is at. It is frozen within layers of cold, but adding beauty, unable to catch the light until we hold it up and truly look at it. So hard to see when we are so distracted by what we don't have that we look right past what we do. Five minutes looking at a sculpted icicle or  a tree lined avenue woven on Jack Frost's loom won't make trials go away. But five minutes is time sufficient to catch one's breath and regain a bit of perspective. And for me, it prompts the question why I don't take that five minutes more often.

Where I Am Planted or, A Work In Progress

A little over a year ago A friend told me she'd received in her last temple session the counsel "Bloom where you are planted." She wasn't certain what it meant, not then nor when I asked her months later. But the idea meant a lot to me, and I've reflected on it a great deal since then. At the time, I wrote in a previous blog what the phrase meant to me: "Do something with what I have already given you, and I will take care of the rest; I will guide you as you do so and bring forth the good fruit you desire in your life." Today I ask myself what I think of it now, today. I'm not sure I've done much "blooming" in the time that has passed. But that is not to say I've experienced no growth. Contrary, I feel more confident in my own garden. Only slightly so, but it is there.

This past summer I decided to grow a garden in various sized pots on my apartment's porch. I hadn't attempted it in years, and the squirrels had reaped more of the harvest than I in the years I had tried. But I wanted to try again, so I went to the store, bought some dirt, bought some seeds, bought a few pots. And after I planted those, I dug around in my storage shed and found more pots and seeds and even a partial bag of dirt that appeared to be the approximate age of the tombs of Egypt. This I mixed with new soil, and then examined the seeds I found. Even though it had not been 18 years since I'd last attempted a garden, the seed packets were that old. But I planted them anyway. Long story short: both new and old seeds brought forth fruit in varying degrees, and although I initially only wanted some fresh veggies, I found a few gospel analogies which I've tried to keep in my heart as I traverse this thing called life.

The soil you plant yourself in matters. But the Master Gardener sees life in even the most barren of soils. It might need to be mixed with new soil - new friends, new situations, but there is still potential in it.

Similarly, He can bring to life seeds long dormant and bring forth fruit, given time and patience and energy. We should never say something is "too late" or the time has passed.  We don't know what potential still lies in those seeds. I got four tomatoes and three purple beans and one pepper plant (sans fruit) from those seeds nearly two decades old, which might not seem like a bountiful harvest, but since I very nearly didn't plant them, I think there's something to be said there.

A good root system is important. One of my tomato plants shot straight up. And up. But not out; it never grew bushy like tomato plants are supposed to do, and when the first frost did in my plants and I pulled up the dead plants to put everything in storage for the winter, I found unlike the tomato plants which bushed out, the roots never grew much beyond where they were as seedlings. Perhaps, if the growing season in Colorado had been longer, I would've seen more growth; after all, the plant did have yellow blossoms on it before the frost. But unmistakeably, the plants which did the best had a root system to match what was above ground. To me this says that whether or not we see the growth in others, or in ourselves, God sees what is below the surface.

Proper and constant nourishment is important. I didn't spend much on plant food; I figured it was already in the soil. The plants I helped along with more than water simply did better. The plant that did the best was the only one that I bought as a plant rather than started from seed; it had already been cared for and nourished, and produced abundantly. Yet, still, I took it for granted and overwatered and stressed the soil and returned from a vacation to find...

Toadstools. Avoid stressing your life and finding it overrun with toadstools. And do not be overzealous in correcting the problem. In reading up on the causes and cures of toadstools, the best course of action would have been to remove the offending fungus and allow the plant to bounce back on its own, or to gently treat it with a very diluted solution of vinegar and water. Very diluted. In my impatience, in my fear that the toadstools would return, I reversed the proportions of water and vinegar applied to the soil. The toadstools did not return. Neither did the plant. I wonder if we do that with problems in our lives: Get a little too eager to correct the problem, to "fix" the problem - and end up making a bigger mess. Gentleness. Patience. Balance.

Some things have a different value than others, but that doesn't equate to a lesser value. Of the non-edibles I planted, only two bloomed: a dwarf sunflower which I gave to a friend before it bloomed, thinking it would outgrow the space on my porch (turns out I was mistaken, and it would have been fine; but it brought joy to my friend, so it turned out well after all) - and a morning glory which grew one flower which bloomed twice that I am aware of, for only a few hours each time. But it was beautiful. And it was blue. (My friends know the profound significance that is to me.) I couldn't eat it. But I could take a picture of it and the first time I saw it in bloom brought as much joy to my heart as the first tomato or first bean did. The lesson? Maybe we neglect to see the gifts we are given because they aren't the gifts we were expecting.

Finally, enjoy the fruit for what it is, not what it isn't. If I add up the cost of pots and dirt and seeds and water and nurture and care, every bite full of my garden cost around $5. Actually I don't know what it cost. More than buying produce even from the natural food grocery stores.

But oh, so delicious. So splendid, so wonderful to reap your own harvest. Next year I will take what I have learned and try new things and learn new things. Learning about gardening is a work in progress. As is life.