Garden Reclamation

So after a worthless weekend of laying around like a slug, I decided that I needed to get into the secret garden and get to work. I had already put in a full day on the job and burned some calories at the YMCA, but my jungle of a garden called to me. I had longingly looked at the garden through the writing room window all day the day before. So although I was practically spent, I knew the need was great and the call to action too pressing. So I put on my gloves, doused myself with bug spray, grabbed the rusty by-pass pruners, a set of loppers and entered through the first garden gate with much trepidation. The first few cuts with the pruners felt mean, but the longer I was swung the machete, the tougher I became. This garden had been my solace, my little slice of heaven on earth where I could hide myself away from the neighbors, uninvited visitors and sadly, even my family. But I had allowed the weeds to grow, the plants to escape and the critters to roam free. It was a mess and I was to blame. Pulling the hateful little weeds and stacking them in a growing pile made me feel alive. More so than I had in days, maybe weeks. Yanking and pulling, I stripped the raised bed of invasive plants that were out of place. That's the nice way to describe a weed. Something out of place. It didn't take long for the garden that I love and had missed, to spring back into view. My neglect had caused it to get overgrown and because of that, I was afraid to enter, afraid of what I would find, afraid of the work it would require to right the wrong. And it got me to thinking about the garden of my heart and mind. Often times, without forethought I will neglect my thoughts. I'll allow them to roam free, dwell on the negative, see and hear only the ill and then wonder why I feel so sad, so bad and so mad. Again, taking responsibility for my out of sorts inner garden requires that I suit up for the job properly, be committed to cleaning up the mess and without hesitation, jump in with both feet. It's not something I'm proud of, letting things go to pot. But I'm honest enough to admit when I've been lazy, neglectful or uncaring. Guarding your heart and your mind are the best defense. If those tactics fail or falter; then you must renew, refresh and replenish your garden with the good, the true, the honest, and the positive. I did tonight and it feels amazing!

Judge not, lest ye be judged!

Have you ever done something you were immediately ashamed of? Maybe you felt the spiking sting of guilt even as you were in the very act of violating a law, rule or guideline? I have. Its a crushing cyclic stab in your deepest being, its like clinching your teeth when you're angry only to hear them crack. What is it about breaking your own standards or not living up to expectations you have for yourself that deals such a lethal blow to your pride? Defeat, depression, despair and devastation...they follow your forever failures with a wicked, remembering smile. Telling you that you're only human and prone to error doesn't do a thing to change your lowly opinion of yourself. You are weak, pathetic, sinful...you hear yourself think viciously. You always fall, fail or screw stuff up... Whispers of self-condemnation circle your head like tiny, invisible gnats. Swatting at them doesn't help. You aren't trying to drive away the truth anyway, it's just irritating and degrading to have your mistakes buzzing around non-stop in your face. So you swat and swing, curse and cry. You've heard that confession is good for the soul? I never believed it either, but I find myself standing here on the precipice of integrity, dangling precariously over the edge. Clamping my jaws together, I make a failing preposterous attempt to keep the sorrowful, seeping truth from escaping my mouth. Hanging my head from the weight of my shame, a single tear shouts in preparation and I begin to speak..."I ate a zebra tonight...(not waiting for your response, I rush on...)  A Little Debbie Zebra Cake." Don't judge me!

Rango, bring cake!

It's been a long hot summer so far with no reprieve from the heat insight. It's too dry for anything to thrive and too hot to water. My hope for rain dissipates with the passing of each miserably scorching day. Walking around the yard in clogs, introduced dirt into my toe holes, so I resorted to slipping on socks. So now I'm not only overheating, I'm dorky to boot. Awesome. Back inside I sigh, is it any wonder I feel depressed? My skin is pale 'cause the sun hates me, my head hurts 'cause it hates the sun and as my depleted vitamin D level bottoms out, my anemic, jaundiced eye balls squint through the dusty blinds...searching the blue sky for any cumulus clouds. I see none. Fantastic! So I guzzle the ice water in my hand and put the cool glass next to my cheek and think...what I really need is chocolate cake. Cake makes everything better.

Fair Weather Rider

So if it ever cools off, I'm climbing on...and Big Blue will transform me into one of my many alter egos...Harley chick! If you see me, wave. If I don't wave back it's cause I have fallen asleep behind the handlebars. This lil baby has a cushy seat,  highway pegs to stretch my legs out  and cruise control. If you have never ridden you can't understand. If you are a rider, you will concur...riding equals freedom. There is a reckless, tingling sensation that crawls  up your spine and captures your spirit like a greedy lover. Once you feel the revolution of the motor beneath you, there is no going back. Similar to the deadliest drug available, you will be hooked with your first try. So I urge you to use caution. Don't throw a leg over a seat and plant yours on it, unless you are willing to commit to a lifestyle change. At least (if you are like me) a lifestyle change when the weather is just right. Not too cold, not too hot, not too windy...

The Greatest Pain

I couldn't tear my eyes away from his face. It was so misshapen, bloody and bruised. A fellow gun-toter; tall, strong and agile now lay motionless, helpless and broken. A motorcycle crash had landed him in the ICU, but how had it happened and who was to blame? It didn't really matter since it wouldn't change the outcome, but somehow focusing on the how seemed to help ease the tightening around my throat. I kept thinking of all the things I had never said to him. Like; "Thank you for always treating me with respect, or thank you for always backing me up, you are a good friend, you're a great partner or Jesus loves you and died to set you free." Why is it that I never got around to say those things? Why did I let fear or pride keep me from speaking the truth? Ashamed, I stand there by his bedside and pray that I will get another chance. I don't know if he can hear anything that I'm saying, but I begin slowly making amends. I pause while looking up into the eyes of his beautiful wife and I wonder what regrets she has. My heart begins to ache as I acknowledge the greatest pain of all mankind, regret.

Happy 4th!

Laying on my back on the still warm concrete, I shaded my eyes. Not from the sun, but from the debris that was falling from the fireworks that my husband and son were setting off. I marvelled at the colors, the sounds, the explosions. I love the smell of sulfur. Clapping and yelling for more I couldn't help but recall Independence Day celebrations gone by. My brothers, Brian and Brent, were dangerous with firecrackers. I can even remember some stink bombs or wildcats that were tossed into the back seat of a moving Chevy Nova in the wild west town of Enid, Oklahoma. Since we never wore seat belts, it wasn't too difficult to scramble and fight to get away from a smoldering device that had landed on or near a Levis, dock-shoed, Izod-wearing kid. Yeah, those were the days. Smiling in the darkness, my face lights up with more than the fizzle of another round exploding in celebration. Those days epitomized life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Happy Independence Day!

Oklahoma, you got to got to got to...love it!

Why do their little faces look so pale?

Why are they bent over as if they are trying to catch their breath?

The heat and the wind.

That's my plants excuse for everything. Personally, I hate both of them too, yet somehow the plants and I must endure to live in Oklahoma. Sure, I could move...but my Okie husband and Okie son would probably miss me. Surely, they would miss my complaints about the heat and the wind...

So I come home today to see all my little baby plants suffering from the horrendous conditions. I am so consumed by their plight that I can't even sit and relax after a grueling day at work (okay, not so grueling, but I was, "on duty" which means I was away from home.) All I can do now is frantically drag hoses around the yard to spray the wilting, pathetic flowers with water and curse the heat and drought.

Would it be wrong of me to call in sick tomorrow so I can stay home and water?