Spring Bouquet

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I am practically jumping out of my skin. As soon as the morning rush hour dies down (assuming I can be patient that long), I’m driving across town to my favorite discount plant nursery. This place and the planting that followed used to be a spring break ritual for me. I eagerly anticipated the trip, making lists and amending them as their availability page updated. I would fill my car with a hundred small plants (what? they’re cheap!), carefully stacking and wedging pots. The day would be spent planting – the soil my canvas and the plants, my paint.

After the divorce and the subsequent loss of the house, I missed my spring ritual. I mourned the loss of my garden and my daily walks within its walls. I ached for the sight of the new growth pushing through the soil every spring. I wondered how my plants, carefully tended from small starters, were faring under their new owners. My spirit felt the empty hole left by the removal of my garden.

I substituted a membership to the botanical gardens for my own, finding some connection to the soil and nature’s rhythm in that public space.

But it was never the same.

And I wondered if it would ever be.

bulb-care-daff

We moved into this house in September. One of the reasons we chose the house was its outdoor space. It was full of potential. While waiting for the house to close, I brainstormed a list of plants I wanted to acquire that would complement the space. I started painting the garden in my mind, filling the space with blooms and greenery.

Yet I resisted actually getting my hands dirty.

Some of it was practical.

I was busy painting and moving and setting up the interior space. It was a cold and wet fall, not ideal for planting. And, as the yard and I had just been introduced, I felt like I needed to get to know it a bit better before I went sinking my hands into its depths.

But some of it was emotional.

I poured a lot of my soul into my old garden. And its loss was painful. So painful, that I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to start again. I had become accustomed to being mobile. Setting down literal roots is a commitment. And I wasn’t sure I could handle that risk.

I planned to do some planting this spring, but I didn’t have my old excitement, my old drive, about it. It was matter-of-fact.

Until I pulled up the plant availability page at my favorite nursery two weeks ago.

And then I got giddy. Alive with excitement and possibility.

So now, here I am. My fingers are twitching in anticipation of the trowel. A tarp lies in wait in my trunk, ready to accept its verdant cargo. The beds have been weeded and the trees trimmed. The compost and fertilizer are staged at the side of the yard. All I need are the plants. And some patience:)

I have a garden again.

Colorful_spring_garden

 

In honor of the re-establishment of my spring ritual, here is a bouquet of spring garden themed posts.They are partly about literal gardens. But they are also are metaphorical, highlighting the similarities between nature’s rhythms and our own. All have pictures that remind us that beauty follows even the harshest of winters and words that remind us not to be afraid to bloom.

 

The Garden

In my old life I had a garden.

When we first moved into our home, the 1 acre yard was a motley medley of scraggly grass and tenacious weeds; too wet to mow and too shady for grass to thrive. It was a blank canvas. Slowly, I began to paint, using the medium of small starter plants, tree seedlings obtained from the forestry department, and cuttings and divisions nurtured from friends and neighbors. Click to read the rest.

 

The Beauty of an Early Spring Garden is in the Details

At first glance, the early spring garden is barren. There are few leaves, few flowers, no raucous plants fighting for attention. It is a different garden.

The beauty of an early spring garden is in the details, subtle interplay of color and texture, and the bright green of new growth tentatively poking its head though the soil. In order to see the beauty, the quiet spectacle that is the wakening garden, one must be patient and in tune with the rhythm of life. Click to read the rest.

 

Awakening From Hibernation

Ahh, February. It’s not quite spring but we are well over winter. In the south, the trees and flowers are jut beginning to stir. The first signs of the cherry blossoms have appeared. The daffodils are letting their yellow undercoats peek out at the tepid sun. Tree branches are rounded with the soft buds of the new leaves. The stirrings are not limited to the plants. Joggers are beginning to fill the trails, especially on those days between cold and rain fronts. The squirrels are out in force, digging up the acorns they buried months ago. The birds have lifted their self-imposed ban on song and their chirps and warbles fill the mornings once again.

It’s natural to hibernate when the world outside becomes too harsh to bear. It’s instinctive to curl up and tuck in, settling into a protective stasis. We do it annually to some extent as we follow the natural rhythms of shorter days and colder nights. We tend to narrow our worlds in the winter, paring back and slowing down. It is a time of restoration. Click to read the rest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Make It Better

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I had no idea.

I had no idea when I started blogging that it would change the way I look at, well, everything.

I am a numbers gal. I like data and graphs, empirical evidence of cause and effect. But I’m also a relationship person. I like to build and nurture connections with people.

And blogging is interesting that way. The input in is words and the output is in relationships and data. And the data holds clues to building relationships.

 

Behind the scenes on any website, you get information about traffic and views. You can track visits over time and analyze the impact of certain posts or links. And for a numbers gal like me, that data is intoxicating. It’s like a full-time science experiment with little restraint, “Let’s see what happens if I try this.”

After a few months blogging, I noticed an interesting pattern. From day to day, week to week and month to month, all of my data takes a cyclical pattern, growing and shrinking in a predictable wave.

wavelength

Simply the recognition of that pattern was comforting. In those early days, those troughs caused me to question, well, everything. It was easy to conclude that the downward slide would continue until my site was obsolete. Remember that I didn’t see myself as a writer. Just a math teacher who happened to have a story. But every time, with no clear reason, the pendulum would shift and the readers would come again. I learned to find comfort in the pattern, secure in the belief that the pattern would continue.

But that wasn’t enough. After all, a science experience where you simply observe is no fun at all. So I started to increase my efforts every time the numbers would fall. I would post more frequently, seek out new readers and new platforms and generally market like crazy. My goal was to raise the troughs to the level of the crests.

The interesting part? It didn’t work.

I mean, the numbers would increase again, but only in the same pattern as before. Yet I would be exhausted for the efforts. Perhaps because efforts during ebbs are often driven by fear and frustration. And they’re lousy drivers.

So I changed tactics. When the numbers indicated a trough, I stayed steady. But when a crest approached, I got busy. I realized it was easier to build at the top. I was excited and my energy was contagious. Leads seemed to come from everywhere and links would pour in. The good mojo would feed my creativity and the words would flow from my fingers.

And you know what?

It worked.

The amplitude increased, each crest a little higher than the one before. And those dips? Well, they also stepped up and weren’t quite as dippy.

And I wasn’t exhausted after the cycle of increased effort. In fact, I felt energized.

When something is good, it is easy to make it better.

As a numbers gal, I see patterns everywhere. And, as I learned to recognize and work with this cyclical pattern in blogging, I began to see it in other areas of my life.

My students’ progress ebbs and flows throughout the year.

My fitness seems to build only to fall again due to injury or illness.

My writing inspiration comes in waves (usually with ill-timing!).

Money comes and goes.

Social events arrive in waves.

And, most interestingly, my relationships seem to be on a similar wavelength, with periods of greater intimacy and connection followed by times of more detachment.

And that was eye-opening.

As someone who has been betrayed and abandoned, it is all too easy to interpret that downward trend as an inevitable slide towards the death of a relationship.

When in reality, it’s just part of a normal pattern.

Periods of growth are often followed by periods of rest.

Just look around you.

After my experiments on the blog proved successful, I decided to try them on my marriage.

I put my efforts into making the good times even better. To build even greater intimacy and connection at those times when everything seemed to just flow. And when I feel more distance, I don’t without effort, but I also don’t expend extra. I just recognize it as a period of rest before the next wave.

And you know what?

It works.

The crests get higher, pulling the troughs up as well. Every effort is magnified. The good feelings are multiplied.

Just like the best way to build yourself up is to help build up those around you.

And the best part?

Energy spent making the good even better isn’t draining. It’s rewarding.

Look around your life.

Do you see cycles?

Periods of ebb and flow.

You can fight the ebb.

You can go with the flow.

Or you can can work to amplify each pinnacle, reaching new heights with every period of growth.

Making the good even better.

There’s no limit to what you can reach.

 

 

Remodeling

Posted on by stilllearning2b

My grocery store of choice is currently being remodeled. They ran the numbers and decided that it made more financial sense to remain open during the construction and perform the construction at night when the store is closed. Of course, this also makes for a much more protracted process. Every evening, the closing employees have to drag shelves out of the way and move some of the product to a holding location. Then, every morning, the early crew moves the shelving back and restocks the product.

I’m friendly with many of the morning employees there (that happens when you go grocery shopping while other people are still sleeping!) and they are tiring of the project. They’re frustrated at making progress only to have it wiped out again the next night. They feel stuck. Motionless yet always moving.

I’m frustrated too. Even though I spend less than an hour a week there, I don’t like the experience at the moment. Nothing is in the same place from week to week. The aisles shrink and grow, breathing like a huge set of bellows. The produce bins seem to be playing musical chairs and their contents are bruised from additional handling. Even the atmosphere isn’t as nice. It’s generally a very well-kept store with good lighting and nice floors. But now? It feels dark and dingy, the floors a calico pelt of stain.

 

But, like all transitions, it’s temporary.

Change always requires some discomfort.

To make things better, you often have to strip them down.

Change can be unsightly. Ugly even.

Remodeling makes us face our assumptions and expectations.

It breaks habits. And that can be painful.

 

Progression is rarely linear; there are usually steps backwards as well as forward.

Change is frustrating. It’s hard to accept being neither here nor there.

 

But without remodeling, the knowledge born of experience could never be used to build a better future.

Without remodeling, nothing adapts to meet changing needs and demands.

And without remodeling, everything stagnates after a time.

Not just grocery stores.

 

Extraneous Solutions

Posted on by stilllearning2b

When we lived in our rental house, I used to spend a significant amount of time on the weekends writing at the Starbucks down the street. I would settle in to a seat, latte on the left, notepad on the right and laptop at center stage. I had an office space at the house complete with a door that sort-of closed and a desk by a window. But, for some reason, the space never felt welcoming. Perhaps because I knew it was a temporary home, a not-so-brief stop on the way to establishing roots. Or maybe there really is something to the energy of a house being “off.” The woman that cleans for us once a month said about the rental, “No matter how much I clean, it always looks dirty.” She’s right.

Regardless of the reasons, I didn’t feel welcomed by the space. It felt almost like sitting a middle school lunch table with a group that is giving you the cold shoulder.

So I chose to sit somewhere else.

We’ve now been in the new place for seven months. My office set-up is very similar. And yet the energy is completely different. The room calls to me, invites me in with open arms. For the past seven months,  I have not carried my laptop to the coffee shop. Even after being snowed in for a week, I still wanted to be in my space.

The coffee shop is now unneeded.  An extraneous solution.

And so I let it go.

I uncovered another extraneous solution recently as well. In my old life, I had a garden that nurtured my soul as I tended its blooms. When I had to walk away, I mourned the loss of my plants. I missed my daily walks to talk to them and tend to them. My soul felt like the hole left when a root ball is yanked from the soil.

So I found a solution. I purchased an annual pass to the botanical gardens and replaced my daily walks in my own garden with weekly walks within the public space. And even though I was not the one to nurture them, the plants were kind enough to nurture me.

Yesterday, I received my annual renewal notice for the gardens. And I realized that I have been a stranger to them, that I have not visited in many months. I now have my own yard, not yet a garden but a still a space with possibility. And I would rather spend my time tending to it than on regular visits to the public space.

The membership renewal went into the garbage. It has become extraneous.

 

Life is always in flux. The needs of today may not be the needs of tomorrow. It’s all too easy to allow extraneous solutions to clutter our lives. To keep doing something because we’ve done something. But that answer may no longer fit your current circumstances. Make the effort to find the solutions that address your current problems, not the problems of your past. Make sure that your time, money and energy is going towards the needs of now rather than the problems of yesterday.

If there is a need, fill it. If it’s extraneous, eliminate it.

Rock Paper Scissors

Posted on by stilllearning2b

During much of my divorce, I felt like I was playing Rock Paper Scissors against a much more skilled opponent. Whenever I would pull out the scissors, out would come the rock, crushing my hopes and my progress. So I would retire the pointed attack, opting for the pliability of paper, only to face the cutting attack of the blade. Frustration and fear would win out and I’d pull out my own boulder, determined to obliterate the pain and confusion of the split. Often only to find myself defeated again, the paper obscuring the view of the object of my anger. Click here to read the rest.