Author: ferylfiles

Beer, Trees, and Bryan

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I’ve set up an event on Facebook, but I realize there are those who aren’t local or don’t use that platform that might want to know. Mary and I were chatting a while back trying to think of a new way to celebrate Bryan. We thought of Bryan’s love for trees and decided to do a little something on Arbor Day–Friday, April 26th.

With that in mind, we’ve decided to invite folks to join us out at Quirk https://www.quirkbrewing.com/ a local brewery in Walla Walla starting at 6pm and going until at least 8pm. Buy yourself a beer or dinner at Agapas, gather with friends and loved ones to share stories and memories of Bryan, raise a glass with us. And if you’d like to, join us in donating to the Scribner Fund for Walla Walla Trees which aids in the City of Walla Walla’s care, maintenance and replacement of our urban forest, a project near and dear to Bryan’s heart.

If you’re out of town and can’t make it, maybe carve a little time out of your Arbor Day evening to raise a glass of beer (or whatever suits you) and toast Bryan and his memory. You can donate to the Scribner Fund for Walla Walla Trees here: https://bmcf.fcsuite.com/erp/donate/create/fund?funit_id=1407 or you could donate to something similar in your own community in support of trees.

Gathering in community, conversing, debating, laughing, asking probing questions–these were some of Bryan’s favorite things. Let’s do them still for him.

Dance Party

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The last couple of mornings, I’ve gotten up early to play loud music and have a dance party in my living room. I may not have the best moves, but what I lack in talent I certainly make up for with enthusiasm. That’s probably the best description of me so far. It’s nice feeling good enough to want to dance and the dancing fosters more of those endorphins and then next thing I know–posititive feedback loop. Wahoo!

Last week, several minor house issues came up. Three, actually. In one week. While all of them were/are manageable and not terribly expensive, it takes a mental toll. The buck stops with me when it comes to this home instead of balancing it with my person and navigating it together like we so often had. I had a pity party Saturday morning, crawling back into bed after one of the kitchen cabinet doors came off its hinge. I came off my hinge. But every time these things come up I figure out (often with help, counsel, and loving texts from my bonus mom) how to proceed and knock them back off the list.

Sunday, I got more work done in the backyard and it’s starting to look like my vision. That’s a good feeling too. But right now, the dancing is reminding me very much that I’m alive and that it’s okay to play and have fun, too. I finished up the party this morning, and then listened to this and this line really stuck out to me “But I’m falling right back in love with being alive…”

Tulips

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2018 was a very full, busy, momentous year. Bryan, Mary, and I went to Hawaii in the winter. Bryan and I met up with friends in Paris in late Spring and then visited my French host family just outside of Tours. I also made the heavy decision to close my little boutique gift shop, Shop Eleven. And in the fall, my dad, with whom I’d been estranged for a few years reached out to ask me to come see him in Bend, Oregon, which I did without hesitation.

My Daddy loved his babies, me included, but I think our transitions to adulthood and independence were hard on him in every case and it manifested in not always the most pleasant outcomes (I like frosted over euphemisms, too, Mom). A big source of the heartache was my relationship with Bryan. I had chosen a much older man. And in early days, Bryan had a conflicting schedule and couldn’t meet with my Dad when he’d come out from Ohio to visit. Bryan thought there would be ample opportunity and Dad felt it was a snub. Lack of communication and hurt feelings all around grew and grew. And Dad often leaned on anger, the secondary emotion, when hurt was the primary one. With a lot of encouragement from others, Dad ended up calling me to help resolve what had been way too long of a time apart. It was a good visit. It was a healing visit. I’m so thankful to every person who helped make that possible. You know who you are…

At the end of that weekend, driving back to Walla Walla from Bend in our old Camry, I decided to make a pit stop at the Bi-Mart in Redmond. What should I see when I stopped? All kinds of bulbs for sale–daffodils and tulips primarily caught my attention. I felt the strongest compulsion to buy tons and so I did. Bringing home a full heart and a full car.

Bryan, delighted by the visit and gracious in my fall planting exuberance helped me plant all those bulbs. The squirrels have gotten most of the daffodils, but the tulips have been a source of joy and healing ever since.

The following spring, April 4, 2019, my daddy passed away. And the tulips were in full bloom. Every anniversary of that date afterward, I think of that fall 2018 visit and what it has meant to my heart and my healing and that the tulips come just when I need them most.

Still Living, Living Again

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This is the reemergence of one of my peony plants in the backyard. They look a little otherworldly when they start to break from the ground, but they have the most fragrant beautiful flowers when the time comes. Bryan used to quote Frank Herbert’s Dune a lot. One of his favorites was “beginnings are such delicate times.” How true. These shoots remind me of that. Spring reminds me of that.

Overmatched

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Some days I get up early enough, make breakfast, make the bed, get to work with time to spare, take care of all the tasks in front of me. Laundry is caught up. The kitchen is pretty clean. The house is mostly tidy.

And then as the day concludes, here, alone, I see all that’s not done. All that I’m reponsible for. I feel overmatched. How do I do this? How am I supposed to do this? That feeling of overwhelm and smallness–it clobbers me.

I went out to clear the stream of debris. I think I might have plucked a dead squirrel or rat or some misfortunate, drowned rodent out along with all the water plants that flow downstream to the grate that separates my side from the neighbors. I began to remove weeds and dead plants from the back garden, barely scratching the surface. Why is it so much harder this year? Why does it seem like a mountain?

I know I can do hard things, but I don’t wanna. (you can imagine that in as whiny a voice as you can tolerate) Tomorrow is a new day. I’ll put on my big girl pants and tackle one thing at a time.

Too easy.