THANKFUL FRIDAY

Sunday was for lawn work. I bought some plants for my tiny backyard garden that ends up being a mix of herbs and tomatoes every year. I purchased some decorative plants for the front, including a hosta plant called Queen Josephine (because, of course). As Michael and I roamed through the large plant center, our cart started to fill up and I was juggling cost, durability and beauty while reaching for this or that. I kept asking Michael “Can I get this?” and he would say “yes”, but I don’t think he realized that I was asking because I wanted him to keep me in a budget. At one point I said that he could not just let me buy and buy. Then he said “But it makes you happy.” And that is why we can’t stick to budgets. Sure, buying plants makes me a little bit happy. It also stresses me out because I am neglectful and just not into the continued maintenance of plants. I want easy, tend-for-themselves kind of plants.

Tulips came up in the front area this year, but only one bloomed so I pulled all of them out of the ground. I’ll plant new bulbs in the Fall. I trimmed back the hedge that had slightly gone wild and would try to grab you as you walked up the front path and I pulled out all the weeds. This is when I discovered the perennials I had planted last year and the year before. I was like “Hey you! I remember planting you there!” The hostas I had purchased at a plant sale in OK three years ago were also coming up and they had multiplied. I split them and redistributed them around in hopes that the whole front area will be nothing but hostas. I never would have wanted a hosta in my yard if I still lived in OK. Every time I saw them planted in someone’s landscape, I’d wince. They were sad plants. They were sad plants because they prefer a muggier climate. The hostas I have seen around my neighborhood have been large leafy green things with beautiful blooms. The first time I noticed them, I was stunned. I’m not a gardener and hostas are the easiest plants for me to work with. I told Michael that next year I am not allowed to buy new plants for the front yard, only something nice for the pretty blue pot I keep on the stoop. I can honestly say that as I prepared the front bed for the new plants and discovered the plants I had planted from previous years, I felt some joy.

I wondered for a moment if this is the reason my mother tends to her flower beds.

While I have said that I am not the gardening type, there is something about planting things permanent in the ground. One of my mother’s biggest laments when she sold and moved out of our family house in Collinsville was about all the plants she was leaving behind. She had multiple beds filled with irises and various trees and shrubs, all plants that she had tended to for more than thirty years. The soil and how the sun hits the house she lives in now is totally different then it is at the old house. A smaller yard also meant that she couldn’t just dig up everything and take it with her. She had to leave them behind for the new owner to do whatever with them. I haven’t been by the old house since we helped moved my mother out, so I have no idea if those irises are still blooming or if the magnolia tree we gave mom for mother’s day one year has survived. And while the house Mom is in now is different (her front door faces directly east), she has planted new plants in the ground and spends her time caring for them and fussing over them. Gardening seems like an activity my mom does truly for herself and because she loves it.

There is satisfaction in planting things in the dirt and watching them grow, but the real joy comes from seeing those things come back year after year.

I’m meeting my mom and sister this evening in Manhattan, KS so we can go to the tulip festival happening in Wamego which is close to Manhattan. I’ve not been to any of these places before. Wamego is a tiny town known for an eclectic Wizard of Oz museum and apparently, tulips. I’ve been told that the museum is more like someone’s personal hoarding collection of all things Wizard of Oz. There a little Toto statues all around the town and a Dutch Windmill. I am excited to see the tulips and seeing my mom and sister. The weather is predicted to be sunny and warm. I’m looking forward to spending my day in the sunshine, basking in the bright colors of the tulips, something I am not sure I would have appreciated as much if I hadn’t spent years watching my mother work in her own gardens.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

The transition from Winter to Spring is tumultuous in my neck of the woods. There are signs of Spring by mid-March, but then everything seems to go into a holding pattern for weeks while we jump back and forth between 70 degrees and just above freezing temperatures. The greens of the tulips I have planted in my front yard have been up and out of the ground for weeks and weeks now. Some of them look like they’ve been chewed on. The same could be said for the tulips they plant in the gardens at work. The green parts have been out of the ground for ages without any hint of a bud. I have seen this all over the city with the tulips. Even the redbuds have had tiny purple or white egg shaped buds on them for week without actually blooming. The tips of the tree branches have little swirls of red or green that just might unfurl into leaves.

I thought that maybe my tulips just wouldn’t bloom. They are old bulbs and I have been told by the gardeners at work that I really should replant every three years. They replant the tulips bulbs at work every Fall. I feel like I was doing well to plant the bulbs years ago in the first place. I am surprised every year when they pop up out of the ground. It is the same feeling I have whenever I discover eggs in the chicken coop. I found four eggs in there the other day, with Margarette hovering over them because most of them were her’s. That same day, I was walking outside at work and noticed that there were flower buds nestled inside each green swirl of leaves. These were joyful moments indeed, but when I noticed that my very own tulips also had buds, my heart leaped.

Moving from Winter to Spring is a practice in patience and humility. I always think of myself as a very patient person. Yet, the time between Winter and Spring strains my patience to the thinnest when I want everything to be in bloom with consistent days of warmth. I should not have to wear my winter coat to work in April. Some times, when I am driving to a new destination, I get slightly anxious about turning on the right street. I always get the feeling that I’ve missed the street but the reality is always that I didn’t drive far enough. This was something Chris and I would laugh and joke about. It’s always further than you think. Moving into Spring is just like this except instead of driving, I am waiting. Seeing the buds on the tulips this week just tells me that we’re close. We haven’t missed it. We just haven’t waited long enough.

Drive a little further.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

The first ones of the season

10 Likes, 0 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "The first ones of the season"

There are three of us left working in the office and two of them are my supervisor and boss. People who can work from home are asked to do so. There is talk of everyone working from home by the end of the day, but nothing new has been announced. I have been stressed out over the idea of working from home mostly because so much of my work is hands on. There’s not much I can do from home except read articles. I have been happy to go to work this week and maintain some sort of routine, some sort of normal. It has been lonely here though. I like the people I work with. Those of us still here sort of mope around the place. I found myself crying at my desk on Wednesday because I couldn’t get my thermometer to work and that old man who has cancer in that news story the day before couldn’t go to his daughter’s wedding. It is a good time for meltdowns. No one’s here to witness it.

At lunch time on Wednesday, I threw on my jacket and marched myself out of the building. The sky was overcast, but the rain had stopped leaving the air cool and brisk. I started walking, taking the risk that it might rain on me and had the sidewalk all to myself. Crossing roads was easy due to the light traffic. As I walked, I noticed the greening of things, like the tips of bare tree limbs with tiny green buds breaking free. The black and white of Winter is slowly being colored in with red, purple, yellow and green. The bright yellow blooms of forsythia, our earliest bloomers, are a striking contrast to its still bare surroundings. I made my way up to the Nelson, which is closed right now. The sculpture garden remains open and I walked the winding trail that leads up to the east side of the Block Buildings. There, in the grassy space between the first two Block buildings, was a young woman just lying on her back staring up at the gray sky. I wondered how long she’d been there before sneaking a picture and then continuing on my way.

When you reach the space between the next two buildings, the path zigzags its way down to the south side of the Nelson. From my vantage point at the top of the zigzag, I could see just a bit of red peaking out of the courtyard and I picked up my pace. There are two small flower beds in the sculpture garden where the tulips have bloomed. Tulip greens have been up out of the ground for weeks now, but none of them have bloomed. These bright red tulips in these two almost hidden away flower beds were the first ones I have seen this season and my heart swelled at the sight of them. I had an almost unproportional reaction to the sight of them. Like something so simple should not be able to make me feel such joy. These bright little beacons of goodness popping up out of the soil were just so beautiful. Tulip season is always my favorite season but this year, more than ever, I needed to find these blooms.

Americans do not like being told what to do, but now is the time to set aside that stubborn willfulness and protect each other. Yes. It is hard. It is scary. At times it is lonely. I cannot visit my family. All of them fall into the high risk category and I cannot take the chance of the possibility of exposing them to this virus. I will not take that risk of losing them because I couldn’t follow orders. I take solace in knowing that eventually all of this will pass and this time will become a distant memory. So, for now, we hunker. Let’s not forget that we Americans are resourceful. We have been able to connect without being in the same room. Within minutes of hearing the mandates to shut down our city, dozens and dozens of people started posting about live concerts, live yoga, free books, free education classes. Online groups featuring distractions and games started forming. We have found ways to laugh and make the best of things. The CDC says we can still go outside as long as we keep our six foot distance from other people. So, GET OUTSIDE! Even if you have to bundle up or carry an umbrella or both.

Get out there and find your tulips.

LOVE THURSDAY

Twirling tulips

"Twirling tulips"

Remember how I woke up with that song in my head and I couldn't figure out what the song was? Yesterday, I sat down at my desk and started singing "dreeahhmin', dreamin' is free" and I had a complete Ah Ha! moment. It was Blondie, not the Go-Go's, singing in my head. Dreaming is free y'all, not breathing. Though breathing could also be free. I'll tell you what was happening while that song was playing in my head. I was dreaming. I was in a convertible with the top down and a chic scarf on my head. We were on a road trip and that's the song that was playing on the radio. So I woke up with an urge to chew some bubble gum and bye some new sunglasses all while snapping my fingers to the tune of Dreaming. 

April stems from the Latin word aperire, which means 'to open'. All of the tulips that had seemed to be opening up one by one around here are now all open and in full bloom, all of them saying "Hello!" to April and the landscape has taken on that dreamy Monet look. Because in a very cliche way, April began with showers. The pastel pinks and the vibrant greens are viewed through a layer of mist, making it all look like one big watercolor painting. The crazy awful dreams of March have been replaced with lazy daydreams while staring out the open window. Are you beginning to sense a theme? April is the month to open everything up. 

I feel like I've been closed up all winter. I have the tendency to shut myself off from the cold and from the dark memories of the past. My shoulders feel hunched, my chest concave from crawling inward and curling into a ball. Yet, I've noticed that rolling myself out of that ball has been more difficult than usual. It has left me prickly and annoyed and lacking patience. Patience. That's the piece that seems to be the triangle supporting the teeter totter of life. Those tulips didn't just pop out of the ground and pop open. They pushed their way slowly up through the dirt and then rested in buds for weeks before finally opening up. I should be like the tulips and have more patience. 

Last night all of us went down to see the chickens. Michael lifted the Cabbage up so she could stand on the table and look down into the bin at the (rapidly growing) chicks. After we talked and petted each one, the Cabbage's mom said "OK, let's get going." and plucked her off the table. The Cabbage started begging for one more look as soon as her feet hit the basement floor. She whined and begged as we all made our way towards the basement stairs. Finally I gave in. I lifted her up and said "OK, I'm going to count to five and then we are done looking at the chickens." I slowly counted to five, the Cabbage counting along with me as she dangled her hand in the box. When we got to five, I lifted her off the table without any complaining or whining. All it took was just a few more seconds of patience.

Today I will be open to being more patient with those around me. Today I will be open to being more patient with myself. Happy Love Thursday.

LOVE THURSDAY

Delicate #365

"Delicate #365"

The Carpenter's Christmas Waltz has been running in a loop in my head these days. Yes, I know it's a Christmas song and Karen's singing about frosted window pains, candles, candy canes and Santa being on his way with lots of goodies on his sleigh. It's the second chorus of that song that I keep humming. "It's that time of year when the world falls in love." In fact, that's the only line of the song that just seems to be set on perpetual repeat in my brain. This sounds like a particularly annoying ear worm situation, but I am not in the least bothered by it.

When I stepped outside yesterday to walk across to the other building for yoga class, I almost started skipping. Most of the tulips in the circle drive have bloomed into a lovely circle of pinks, yellows, orange and whites. The sun was on my face and the breeze lifted up the tiny petals from the Bradford Pair tree blossoms so that the swirled around in that magical way you only see in cartoons. You see, it really is that time of year when the world falls in love. 

I had about half an entry going already before I erased it all and started again. It was about how much I love the chickens (of course). I've always been attracted to those gardens with the bubbling fountains. I really like the little garden fountain that has the chimes floating around that ding when they occasionally bump into each other. There have been moments while walking through such a garden where I have felt myself be truly still. The chickens have become my babbling chiming fountain. They bring to me the same kind of peace and calm. The chickens are an easy Love Thursday entry, but then there was that moment yesterday when I stepped outside. I remembered that every season has that moment when the world falls in love. 

In the winter there is the magic of that first falling snow flake. The Fall brings the beauty of the changing leaves and all the trees are painted red and gold. Summer is that first cannon ball into the pool. Spring is special. It is the season of beginnings. New tulips. New leaves on the trees. It is the start of the cycle of things, the beginning of the loop of seasonal change. I wrote recently about the first day of Spring and not having any energy for it. I realize now that I'm like those tulips in the circle drive. It started out with one bloom. For many days that one tulip stood alone, but one by one more started to open up. It just took time. Things are clicking into place like a giant Rude Goldberg machine. Seeds for this year have been sorted. The new garden boxes have arrived. There are chickens in our basement. And Karen Caprenter is singing about the world falling in love. 

Happy Love Thursday!