Author: ferylfiles

100

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Over three months ago I started a project I wanted to try for a long time. Concluding one job and beginning another, getting over being pretty sick, and trying to anchor the beginning of my day with something other than dread and doom-scrolling, I followed some advice about deliberately creating joyful experiences. My method, my medium has been watercolor paint and 4”x6” heavy, cotton paper each morning before breakfast with coffee mug nearby. Painting isn’t a new endeavor for me, but putting these restrictions, or what I prefer to think of as simplifications, gave me enough wind and sail to propel me.

So what did I paint? Abstracts, landscapes, bouquets, trees, produce, and single flowers. I learned that being a beginner is a wide open field of opportunity. Skill and technique really come with practice. I might have learned this lesson better as a ten year old practicing the piano, but I’m a stubborn git and prefer when it’s my idea and not imposed on me. Mom, Dad, just be glad I eventually got there.

I learned that I have a quiet place I can go in my heart and my head that shuts out the noise just for a bit. I learned that the colors you think are right and the colors that make it better are often outside the obvious. I learned that the paper is part of my palette, that water has a mind of its own, and the blow dryer is really handy when you’re running on a tight schedule.

I also re-learned something about myself that apparently I have trouble believing. I’ve got grit and stick-to-it-iveness. I can do the things I set out for myself to do.

If we’re lucky, we get to add 100 more days after this one. Whether we do something or not this time will pass. Why not be a beginner at something? Or why not get better at something you already do? What would you like to be better at? What are you willing to give 20-30 minutes of every day toward? Would you learn something new about yourself?

Stitious?

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I have a jade plant. I got it at the Whitman College biology plant sale AGES ago. When I first got it, it was maybe three inches tall. I had learned as a teenager that a jade plant meant good fortune in a monetary sense. I thought maybe I could use a little extra help at the time. Of course I’m not superstitious, just a little stitious. That plant grew to be quite large and unwieldy. In fact, I had it in the kitchen window where I was hesitant to touch or turn it for fear of losing one of the stems. Ultimately, I did and had to prune it off.

Bryan got sick not long after. I always had this sinking feeling like maybe my futzing with the jade plant had some correlation to his illness. I know. I know. Illogical. Superstitious. That branch broke and our good fortune took a turn. That’s what it seemed like/felt like.

Last week, I woke one morning to one of the branches drooping. I nearly had a panic attack. Is this a sign of my ultimate demise? Silly rabbit. I got so mad at myself, I immediately looked up jade plant care. I had not taken the best possible care of this plant, turning it regularly, putting it in the best light, and routinely pruning so that it remained bushy and less leggy. I immediately got shears and pruned away. I was not going to continue victimizing myself with superstition. I’m going to learn better–how to care for this plant better and to maybe propagate more baby jade plants.

Subsequently, I’ve moved the pruned plant to a windowsill that also has a full-spectrum light above it. I’ve taken to rotating it regularly so the stems are forced to push themselves in various directions to get stronger. I put potting soil, stems, and leaves in small pots to begin new plants, putting enough in each one that if just one or two take, it’ll be a nice plant.

Later that same day, I looked up other meanings for jade besides “good fortune.” It is also a plant that represents resilience because it grows after being pruned and is easily propagated. It also signifies friendship when a plant is given as a wish for another’s good fortune. I hope I have the opportunity to share these plants with my dear friends. Bryan used to say “when there’s no way to tell for sure, go with the theory that makes you feel the best.” I’m betting on resilience and friendship every time!

A Part

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I have this part of me that developed when I was a little girl. She’s the part of me that decided instead of being reactive to unexpected hurt (Mom’s going to the hospital. Mom’s getting an apartment and not coming home. Our parents are splitting. Here’s this new lady Daddy likes and spends time with. Your home is broken. Get used to this new normal, which isn’t.) she was going to be preemptive. Imagine every possible worse case scenario, worry about it, worry about even the most inexplicably random, improbable things because, you just never know. You didn’t think your family would fall apart and it did. Why wouldn’t it be possible that you would be a coked out homeless teenager in New York City–heck even Nancy Reagan was warning you it might happen. It’s very much a child’s logic and yet, that part of me has played a large part in my adult life. It doesn’t help when the worst case scenario is realized as it was with Bryan’s illness. It reinforces that thinking.

But here I am navigating the world as a single adult and doing so with some moderately measurable amounts of success. I open the pickle jars on my own. I changed a lightbulb in the laundry room yesterday evening. I’m having a neighbor build me a fence that has been long overdue. Problems arrive and I tackle them with maybe some frustration occasionally that I have to, but then I do it. Some items on my to-do list have taken longer for me than maybe I’d have preferred, but I did those too. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m trying to persuade the childlike part of me who deals with heavy big feels and worry that actually my track record in facing hard things as a grown-up is pretty good. And while I appreciate the fierce determination this little person inside has to protect me, it hurts more than my simply dealing with things as they come.

I’m a pretty creative person. I paint and garden and bake and write and I have an imagination that is rich, vivid, and detailed. This is so much fun when it is. And scary as all heck when a childlike skillset utiizes a big, adult brain. Yowza! I’m trying to be soft and appreciative to this part and to let her know I’m the grown-up in the equation now and I’ve got this. It’s okay. You did your job, but I’ve got the wheel.

The Gift of Boredom

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I’m so thankful my parents didn’t jam-pack my schedule with activities. Sure I had piano lessons, trumpet practice, gymnastics–plenty of enriching extras, I assure you, but there was enough downtime for me to complain. “I’m sooOooooOOOooo bored.” Which of course produced the pat responses: “Only boring people are bored.” Given enough time and structure to be left to my own devices, I learned how to entertain myself whether that was surrounding myself with World Book Encyclopedias and nerding out to developing a beaded jewelry hobby that eventually paid for itself.

As a single adult who juggles a full-time job, three and a half cats, a home, a garden, a vehicle, important relationships, all while trying to get adequate exercise/sleep/nutrition/hydration means I long for a little bit of boredom now and then. I remember in times of intense crisis (I have had a few. Some of my people are currently in the midst of it), I longed for just a little bit of boredom. Maybe that puts too much of a negative spin on it. Maybe what I really mean is a longing for simplicity.

I chatted with a friend and relayed how much the act of puttering around my house, a slow mosey of tasks interspersed with creation and snacks, is my absolute bliss. Life is a fast flowing river, sometimes with rocks and rapids, but a little rest in the eddies at the edges is so blissful. If you find yourself in those places, soak up every last bit of that joy to sustain during the rougher patches. Maybe it takes practice to discern when we’re in them. If you’re thinking to yourself , hmmm, I’m bored, maybe you’re actually in the midst of bliss. Most things are a question of perspective, I think. 🙂

Apples of the Earth

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That sounds a lot nicer than dirt apples, yes? For some reason God, the universe, karma, my guardian angel, random chance, something keeps trying to teach me lessons using potatoes. The French call them pommes de terre which automatically sounds fancier and more elegant. Whether you say poe-TAY-toe or poe-Taaaaah-toe, the fact remains, this descendent of Irish immigrants keeps having them appear as metaphor, proverb, thought-provoker, lesson.

In times of uncertainty, humans try to mitigate their fears with planning and preparation. During the pandemic, folks stocked up on extra toilet paper–we still crack jokes about that. I grew up with the notion it would be important to have a ready, long-lasting supply of dried legumes, rice, and canned goods for the Time of Trouble TM. That teaching, those habits are ingrained (pun ABSOLUTELY intended). Whether it’s a threat of a hurricane or a hefty snow storm, people gather what they think they might need. It offers a semblance of control when things are largely out of our hands. Go to any grocery store when a blizzard is in the forecast. See what shelves are cleared out first.

A few months ago, I was sick, I was worried, and I went to the Grocery Outlet with single-minded focus. I needed to stock up. Volatile markets, political instability/uncertainty, etc all offered reminders and telltales of my upbringing and those things nudged me to get to getting at the Scratch-n-Dent. In that process, I bought a large bag of russet potatoes.

Friends, I’m a single woman who lives alone with three (and a half) cats. I entertain small gatherings perhaps one to three times a month. I don’t feed a family of four on the daily. Yet, for some reason, I thought a giant bag of potatoes would come in handy, you know, just in case. Fast forward to the last couple of weeks and I noticed said giant bag of potatoes showing the telltale signs of sprouting. The clock had been ticking.

This morning I texted family asking who might like a giant vat of mashed potatoes. Fortunately I got a taker and will be sharing some of the bounty tomorrow. While peeling, boiling, and mashing an entire bag of Grocery Outlet russet potatoes, I got to thinking about a few things. I’m reminded of conversations I had with Bryan about our garden and how I think the principle applies to catastrophe preparation. Bryan said there’s no use in our growing zucchini in our back yard because so many people already do and often look to offload it. We should instead maximize our small space to produce the things we use the most and that we might best be able to share/barter/trade. I love this because a. I don’t want to grow zucchini (the suckers take over with their sprawling untidiness) and b. We do better when we can specialize and then share.

Do I think we all need to stockpile rations in the form of dried legumes and rice and an infinite supply of canned goods just in case things really go off the rails? Maybe. Probably not if we’re not intending to cycle those things through to keep them as fresh as possible. I think we do better when we rely on each other, working together. I hope someone has the foresight to have a wheel of aged Parmegiana Reggiano put away for when it counts. And maybe someone else has spices and salt. I have had more than one Time of Trouble already and it’s the community and connective fabric that makes survival possible. I know that to be true for the future, too. Tonight I made mashed potatoes and a couple of pans of cottage pie, some for me, some to share. May this be the way of it whether troubled times or not.

I don’t want to be dismissive of anyone taking measures to feel safer, to have necessary items at their disposal. Mostly, I’m showcasing my own foibles in trying to control the uncontrollable when it’s really the relationships with the people around me that are the keys to my survival.