vertical gardening

i’m no photographer, and i wouldn’t even try to play one on TV, because if i did i’d likely trip and fall and pull down the umbrella we were using to block the natural (too bright) light and shadow, to get things “just right.” and then, when i ran from the setup shot, in SHAME, i’d probably trip over the 100-billion watt lamps we had set up to mimic “natural light” and burn the whole sha-bang down… only.just.sayin’.

and just goes to show… i’m constantly learning in this life, that there are no “just rights.” i’ve also been playing around a lot with Jung and shadows, my own and those that fall on me in the bright sunshine, JUST WHEN I THOUGHT I HAD IT ALL FIGURED OUT, and worse yet, the shadows that fall on me in the dark, making things darker, JUST WHEN I THOUGHT I HAD IT ALL FIGURED OUT!

i’ve cried a lot this week, even though in re-opening the door to my blog the other wee-hour'd morning, and writing the first entry, i was so held upside, by my own personal guns, that i wouldn’t allow myself to shed one tear. there are still no words (might make some up though!!!) for the sounds i was making those wee hours. it was a learned moment for me on JUST HOW HARD I CAN BE ON MYSELF AT VERY TELLING MOMENTS.

sheesh! it's okay to tell... and it's okay to FEEL in the telling; it's okay to verbalize an emotion instead of just telling a story. there's a difference between what you think, and what you REFUSE TO SAY YOU FEEL.

there's a difference between what you think & what YOU REFUSE TO SAY YOU FEEL.
there's a difference between what you think & what YOU REFUSE TO SAY YOU FEEL.
there's a difference between what you think & what YOU REFUSE TO SAY YOU FEEL...

(yeah, so "thousand times on a blackboard" work for later)

i’ve also LAUGHED A LOT THIS WEEK, to myself, with others, over the phone too (so hard sometimes there was only wheezing on both ends, which would sometimes would break the cell connection or make the two of us talking both go "are you still there?!?!?" knowing we both were/that strongly connected), out loud, in public, in texts, using emoticons, etc. … and at myself!!!! (important NOTE TO SELF: laughing at SELF is way better than SHAME/BLAME/GUILT or any of those other post-traumatical f’d up feelings that make the laughter harder to come by when forced to look at SELF and still seeing the PTSD/SHAME/BLAME/GUILT crap!)

(more "thousand times on the blackboard, OLD LADY, let's get this right!!!! kinda stuff!)

i have felt renewed and incredible LOSS this week. and even though i own this really great book by Judith Viorst called Necessary Losses and even though i’ve read it/lived it/loved it/her writing since i was a child because she is so spot-on, and own her other book as well, Imperfect Control—AND, even though i have since replaced my worn paperback copies with HUGE Amazon re-order hard-cover versions, which i balance precariously from high places so that they can smash down on my head whenever i need her healthy reminders, i’m suddenly and continually lost and (REALLY, REALLY HARD ON MYSELF ABOUT IT) for not being able to control my grief (losses) right now.

there are many times, where i’m caught up in asking myself, “where the FUCK is that little girl who used to lie (HIDE) in the grass, with the Redbook magazines (where i first discovered Viorst), and whatever other healing WORDS she could steal from the house, off the bookshelves … where is that little girl?!?!?!?! the one that knew, if you just made it through, you… you what?!?!?!?!

that little girl used to be soooooooooooo fucking empowered by loss (or was she just fucked up?!??!?). she ate losing and imperfect control for breakfast, and sometimes had trouble slamming the thickness of it down, past the lump that was already in her dry throat. to her, it was all "winner, winner, chicken dinner," even if she was sent away from the table, because alone in her room there were fairy tale books about other chicken dinners, or she could tell herself a story about a better chicken dinner, or cut pictures from the Sears catalog and build a room with an EVEN BETTER, MORE WINNING FAMILY CHICKEN DINNER WHERE SHE WAS SO PERFECTLY STILL, AND STILL AT THE TABLE!!!!!

for that little girl, life went on, because the alternative was … ?!?!?! and the idea of “whining about it,” uhm, yeah, not such a good idea.

until now, until this particular mean season, things were going along pretty good, with and without good reasons, but suddenly (or not so suddenly since we all know that river D-E-N-I-A-L) that little girl still, who thinks she has to be perfect, and get it figured out, now she thinks she has to do it all by her 50th birthday (which by the way—she’s looking forward to this monumental event in her life, but maybe trying to move forward too fast?!?!) --and of course she has all kinds of other mini-deadlines prior to this like finish this first, and be sure you heal this over to and get started on that, and ... (yeah so--make sure you pull the giant stick out of your rumpus too, why don't you??!?!?!? in fact, how did they manage no miss that stick on your colonoscopy?!?!!?!?)

i love milestones, and until this year, i used to understand the beauty and the history and ongoing nature of a headstone … and therein lies my personal rub in so many wrong directions right now [therapist type jumps in and asks, “anne, why did you call your “personal rub” a “wrong direction.” why do you still perceive anything about you as “wrong?” … but therapists aren’t ALLOWED IN MY BLOG RIGHT NOW… scurry off, you!]

[therapist exits stage left/anne goes to front door and finds package]

[hey wait! i thought there were no therapists in this blog?]

[who is writing inside these brackets, anyway?!?!?!?!]

okay… since the freak inside the brackets mentioned, and since this blog needs to end soon because i have some “real work” to do today, yes, there was this fantastic, itty-bitty package sitting outside the front door of my little cottage this morning.

it was something i ordered a few weeks back, so it’s not like it was a “total surprise,” but one musn’t look a untotal gifted surprise of any kind in the face right now, especially during a time when bracketed conversations show up in their blog (seemingly from nowhere), you know?!?!?!? tall horse-y girls with clutzy emotions have to be careful about these things!

when i saw the return label on the box, that was less than a foot sqaured, i giggled, OUT LOUD, for about the i’ve-lost-track-how-many-times this week/compared to the times I’ve also cried. –and the sun and snow-light was bright, i could have cried!!!!

so yeah, life, every morning, it's a SURPRISE i don’t get pulled out the door by the dogs and bust my ass and trip over a package, but this morning EXTRA.SPECIAL!

it was my Thumbelina-sized gardening tote/tools, for my plans for “re-growth” this spring and summer. yes, me Ms. Winter, i’m all about the regrowth, always have been, which is why I LOVE WINTER, it’s the necessary season beforehand.

prior to bed last night, i had shoved work, writing, therapy workbook and much other aside and instead was reading about a “vertical gardening project” i want to attempt this spring/summer, since my property is small/there’s only going up—so the timing and arrival of the tools i will need versus the bigger tools i already own at my supposed “other house,” did i say timely??!?!?

did i say timely, even though i’m the one who believes there is no such thing as that silly thing, time—only change.

and did i say timely, during a change-ling period when i have LOST A VERY LOT, and i have learning again we have control over nothing, and oh, what a beautiful thing that can be, if.we.let.it.

and just BE.


“Plant a garden in which strange plants grow and mysteries bloom.”
― Ken Kesey

--and if i'm wrong about ALL OF THIS, most of these garden tools could also be used for eating things like ice-cream or clipping/hacking off giant hunks of cheese from a block, or pawing at salads & salmon but there isn't a single tool in this kit bag that could be used for self-mutilation, NOT EVEN BY A TALL CLUTZY GAL with her contacts in the wrong eyes!