lundi 17 mars 2008

Realization of the Absurd

6 years. I should have started before. There is so much on which to catch up. More pressure, like where to start when the start is long past? This was the tale of a garden gone to hell and its recovery. Along the way, it became more, like so many great efforts that seem to become glyphs referring to the other things one isn't quite up to addressing yet -- like the stepfamily you made that you were so sure you were going to succeed brilliantly at blending harmoniously, which turned out to be way beyond your human abilities and capacity for niceness -- a way to redirect the energy that gets all bottled up and frustrated behind the things you cannot change, channeling it into the things that no one else even wants to touch, carving out your sphere of control alongside the things it is better to leave to your husband (who you are so sure is flawed and inept), as much as this is torture (and probably not a really good idea), for all the things that are really just bigger than you can manage and require you to hang on when you don't remember why you are anymore.

Except that in the garden, no matter how much you bungle it up, it does get better rather than worse, the buds and early blooms reappear on the sticks of the shrubs and trees in the muddiness of March, and the stems push up out of the ground to offer their flowers to the warmth of the sun behind those low-hanging clouds spitting more rain, opening occasionally to light the garden and fields beyond and reveal their glory. You suspect you can manage another winter after this reward for the last one survived. The least you can do is thank the plants.

When I started, I knew nothing. Now, I know enough to really understand that this was true and start to figure out what to do about what I have done. I suppose that is progress of a sort. The realization of the absurd will continue, at least for another year.

Come take a seat, have a glass of whatever it is you are drinking and keep me company with the cats and the dogs, the frogs and the fish, the toads and the butterflies while I labor on and try to learn how to make something of which I can be finally proud.
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