Intentional (plant) killing

      I have inadvertently killed a lot of plants in life. Sometimes it was hubris (see: orchids, cinnamon tree, etc.), sometimes it was neglect - ok, a lot of times it was neglect, because I'd get caught up in something else and forget about plants. A couple times, it was even legitimate disease/illness of the plant, like when a cherry tree contracted a fungal disease in the main trunk. Generally speaking though, I've tried to keep the plants in my care alive and thriving as much as possible.

     Last year, I met a woman at work who had a whole line of plants on the windowsill near her desk. She taught me a couple things about taking care of plants but the lesson that stuck the most was when one plant started really struggling despite no change in care, so she just picked it up and dumped the whole thing in the trash. I was floored. Seeing the expression on my face, she shrugged and said something like "It was old. It'd had a good life. Potted plants aren't forever."

     What a wild thought. It made me realize I have a tendency to want to hold onto things forever, even when it's pretty clear they should just go. 

     On a related note, I bought a houseplant a while ago that looked pretty, nice white and green streaked leaves, but was SO. DRAMATIC. Like if I was a day late watering it, it would literally droop all its stems over and act like it was horribly neglected, but then spring right back up once it was watered. Might be melodramatic of me, but I don't need that guilt in my life, so I made a conscious decision to kill it. I watered the plants around it, but not that one, and it slowly fell over and skeletonized without much fuss. 

     And you know what? I feel fine. I'll get something else to replace it eventually, but for now, it's just nice not having drama. 

Gratitude to myself

     I've debated writing here again so many times, and each time I thought how much work it took to write and draw each post here, and decided other things in life took priority. Also, looking back, I feel like a good chunk of this blog was trying to explain myself and/or write to make others happy, neither of which I want to do now. So to anyone reading this, or maybe just to myself, things before/after now have changed. Without further ado, here's what prompted me to resume:

     When I was young, I decided I wanted to grow old gracefully, and develop smile lines instead of frown lines. There are times I've fallen into fear of aging, fear of no longer being attractive, but the more I meet other older people with crows feet and big grins, the less I worry about those things. I am so grateful I made the decision to be happy, and worked hard to be where I am today. 

Plans

I wish there were a way to communicate the feeling when the words stop. When the constant turmoil of seeing, comparing, judging, assessing, planning, and noting for later just fades away, and nothing matters but the moment. Plans were made to bring me to this place. Obstacles arose, were assessed, and were overcome – or the plan was modified – so I could keep moving forward. Deviations from the plan were noted and accounted for. Research finished, knowledge assimilated, tweaks and redesigns slid into place. After interminable hours, weeks, years of constantly herding a million aspects of a plan into place – distractible cats that move at different speeds, or can only get started after other cats are done – the papers are signed, the hubbub is done, everyone leaves, and I want becomes I am. 

It doesn’t last long. Sometimes it’s interrupted by glee: that an impossible plan actually worked. Sometimes it morphs into space for long-denied emotions, releasing pent-up tears or pain so that healing can start. Sometimes it becomes a re-ordering of reality, fitting the new piece into a foundation that will support larger plans, and the brain is off again, making lists of new research, assessments, and things to consider. But the memory of that moment, that beautiful, silent, balanced moment when struggle unfolds quietly into accomplishment, is worth everything that went into it. 

Luck and Hard Work

      "Oh, they just got lucky, they didn't earn that."

      "That person put a lot of hard work in, they deserve it!"

Personal two cents, the truth is often somewhere in between. 

Thumbkin rhyme

      Randomly, my brain started singing the children's rhyme "Where is Thumbkin" the other day. There wasn't anything particularly pressing, so I sang it all the way through. If you don't remember it:

This is then repeated with the pointer, middle, ring, and pinkie fingers, each one bowing or nodding to each other on both hands.

     It occurred to me that this was more than just a children's rhyme to identify fingers - it was a story of how to properly check in on your introvert friends. The singer goes looking for their friends, says hello and how are you politely, and then leaves them alone because that's what introverts need! 

     Or maybe it's just a children's rhyme...