If I needed evidence that my life had become bajiggity again, I need look no further than the gap between blog posts.
Sigh.....I need to see Spring again and it's not even Winter yet...
Welcome to Bajiggity Life
Trying to find peace and happiness is a full time job. Just when I think I've found it, the wonderful "there" I aspired to suddenly becomes another "here." The decision to "bloom where you are planted" as Mary Engelbreit so sagely said, is what this blog is about.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
Blooming in a monsoon
When times get tough, the tough get going - or so the saying goes. Originally intended (I'm relatively sure) to mean that in difficult circumstances people dig in, steel themselves and work harder. Does this apply to plants in the garden too?
This summer my garden - trying very hard to bloom where I planted it - has been buffeted by monsoons, heat waves and winds. I have given up on plants that should have been fine - they were healthy when planted and hearty. They were tough and ready to get going. But they couldn't. So I've yanked them from the beds and put them on the weed heap - not even good for compost as they were beset by bugs and in a completely chemical free garden, there is a limit to what can be done. As a result I don't have the harvest I thought I would. This is both disappointing and scary. What if I completely depended on my garden to eat. Silly you say? Maybe, but not really. There are bigger crop failures - Russian wheat for example. Food will be more expensive as fossil fuels increase if crops/products continue to be transported great distances. Others in my little part of the country are saying what a bad year it has been for typically easy-to-grow crops as well.
Maybe when the going gets tough now, it's too tough for even the hardiest among us. Then what?
This summer my garden - trying very hard to bloom where I planted it - has been buffeted by monsoons, heat waves and winds. I have given up on plants that should have been fine - they were healthy when planted and hearty. They were tough and ready to get going. But they couldn't. So I've yanked them from the beds and put them on the weed heap - not even good for compost as they were beset by bugs and in a completely chemical free garden, there is a limit to what can be done. As a result I don't have the harvest I thought I would. This is both disappointing and scary. What if I completely depended on my garden to eat. Silly you say? Maybe, but not really. There are bigger crop failures - Russian wheat for example. Food will be more expensive as fossil fuels increase if crops/products continue to be transported great distances. Others in my little part of the country are saying what a bad year it has been for typically easy-to-grow crops as well.
Maybe when the going gets tough now, it's too tough for even the hardiest among us. Then what?
Saturday, July 17, 2010
One bad lemon
Today I learned from a friend that the cancer she was being treated for had spread. This was I'm sure a shock to her as she'd been told her prognosis was better than most with pancreatic cancer as she had been a candidate for a special surgery only done when people had a good prognosis. Since the surgery in the Spring she has been through chemo and was undergoing radiation. She was about halfway through it I think and now this. As I write about this I can't really find words to describe not only how I felt when hearing this (no matter how bad it was undoubtedly a shadow of how bad she felt) but how impressed I was with her acceptance, grace and strength in the face of this. She says she has no intention of being anyone's lab rat now that the cards are on the table. She has no intention of prolonging her life if that life is spent sick to her stomach and unable to enjoy the company of family and friends. We all say this, but how often does that resolve fade away when faced with the unambiguous, real end of one's existence?
This person is very dear to me despite the fact that I hadn't seen her often in the last decade or so. I want to go back in time and make up for that; to spend time with her that isn't available. She taught me much in the 31 years I've known her, not the least of which was how to make lemonade when life handed you lemons. But this time by her own admission, she can't do it. No more lemonade. This is one really bad lemon. And one more lesson she's taught: the ultimate in blooming with grace and strength exactly where she is.
(As a note, this is not the same person I wrote about last month.)
This person is very dear to me despite the fact that I hadn't seen her often in the last decade or so. I want to go back in time and make up for that; to spend time with her that isn't available. She taught me much in the 31 years I've known her, not the least of which was how to make lemonade when life handed you lemons. But this time by her own admission, she can't do it. No more lemonade. This is one really bad lemon. And one more lesson she's taught: the ultimate in blooming with grace and strength exactly where she is.
(As a note, this is not the same person I wrote about last month.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)