In my tiny slice of life, this all began as reaction to crisis. I'm good at that. You can't live the life I've lived and not somehow learned to thrive in chaos. Greater people came before me and made beautiful paths for me to bumble along. But this-- THIS-- feeling of interminable caught-ness is a roller coaster. Some days it's a "get things done" mentality, but more are the days of dragging myself out of bed
In recent weeks, I decided to plant things. It's something to do. I have filled every plant growing receptacle with dirt and planted all the things. I have tilled small swaths of earth, scattering and planting every seed or bulb that I could find around the house. I have curiously checked my pots daily (if not more) for any sign of life. I thrilled over each tiny green shoot that peeped from the soil. I have reveled in those signs of life. All the while knowing I more than likely won't see their blooms this year. The blooms I do have dotting my yard came from plantings of previous years. My lilac bush grabbed my soul a few weeks ago when I saw the plethora of buds. I planted it several years ago and it didn't bloom for two years. Every spring I would appreciate its green leafiness, but, oh, how I longed for the flowers. Funny thing about blooms, though. They are so temporary. The soft, colorful petals last only a few days or a few weeks at most. My lilac bush, just a couple of weeks ago, was laden with buds that quickly bloomed into fragrant clusters, drawing in butterflies and bees. Today, most of the sweet pretties are gone, the ones still clinging on have lost their luster and have gone to brown.
I've tried for years to get poppies to grow; every year sowing seeds and bulbs. Last year I tried spreading a whole can of seeds. Then Keith unknowingly poisoned the entire area. Ah, well... it was worth the try. But some actually survived and I was brought to a standstill the first time I noticed the bright orange of the California poppy growing. Of course the ones that are growing are not exactly where they had been planted, one even defiantly growing on the other side of the brick wall from the garden it had been intended for. A seed got caught in the garden wall and thrived. I have watched the daily changes to this lone poppy plant, from one bloom to many. It has become the most beautiful thing in my yard. It's not where it should be. It put down a promise of life over a year ago, living through the seasons and the unintentional poisoning.
12 March changed life for most of us and we have experienced truly strange times, unprecedented in modern collective memory. Today, I went to Walmart to pickup my groceries, pulled up to my parking spot, and waited for the worker to bring them out to my car. This new normal of seeing masks on peoples faces touches me deeply-- it's covering human emotion and our basic communicative features aside from words. The sectioned-off store entry and exits are bizarre to me, existing only in some kind of upside down world that you only read about and don't see. When I do go into the store, the usual friendly greeting has been replaced by someone counting my person as data for who enters and who exits. For pickup, the sign in front of my car says "For your safety and ours, please open the area you want your groceries placed, wait inside your vehicle with windows up." Once I return home from my twenty minute excursion out of my house, it takes me longer to wipe down my groceries with disinfectant than it did to pick them up. How are we supposed to thrive in such an impersonal, sterilized world? It's hard to trudge along, difficult to stay out of my own head, when the world has seemingly gone mad. I'm growing an all out jungle of indoor plants, and my outdoor plants are peeking out so very slowly. My wild poppies are promising me that a year from now the mundanity of my current life will blossom into something I long for. I just need to take it one day at a time, as it comes, focusing on the mattering.
