Weekend Coffee Share 5/14/16

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If we were having coffee… well, I’d be offering herbal tea today. Rather late in the day for caffeine. For me, anyway. After weather hovering in the mid-80 degree (Fahrenheit) range, today turned cloudy, wet, and has cooled down to the 50s, so warm tea seems apropos.

If we were having tea, I’d tell you that this past week has been one of introspection for me. With years and years spent on the self-help/self-improvement track, I never managed to become very self-helpful, no matter how many books I read, seminars I attended, meditation techniques I tried…

But life threw me enough curve balls – make that hand grenades – that I had to finally just hunker down and work on survival. Not getting rich, gaining power, living the life of my dreams, finding true love, finding nirvana… Just surviving.

Once the dust settled and I could lift my head above the trench I had cowered in, I came to a kind of peace with myself and my life. It’s okay. Everything is okay. More than okay. A lot of facets of my life are pretty freaking amazing.

No, I didn’t win the lottery. I didn’t suddenly figure out how to “make friends and influence people.” But I realized that what I truly wanted in my life had very little to do with what the self-help gurus were peddling.

I’m not perfect (okay, stating the obvious now), my life’s not a bed of roses. Dandelions, yes; roses, no. But I get to just be me.

The real work I see for myself at this stage is learning to be comfortable with being me. Comfortable with my lifestyle choices, with my appearance, with my priorities. And not feeling the need to compare myself to others. Not overthinking everything and stressing over what everyone else might think about me and my choices.

Wow. How did I get off on this tangent? From chatting about the weather, I managed to segue into life values. Hmmm.

I’ve been introspecting so much here that my tea has gone cold. Yours too, probably. And I have no spiffy wrap up planned for this unplanned post. More tea, perhaps?

Next time I’ll let you do the talking. Hope you have a great week ahead.


Thank you to Diana at PartTimeMonster.com for hosting the #WeekendCoffeeShare.

Chance Encounter

opossum
We met one morning, you and I.
You stood stock-still and watched me
with fear, I think.
Curious, I stood-stock still
so as not to scare you away.

Had you been older
(and less enchanting),
our encounter might have gone
quite differently.

If you felt cornered
you’d bare your teeth,
and hiss a warning
for me to stay away.

You may have tried the ploy
of playing possum,
flat on your side, stiff and unmoving,
eyes closed in mock death.

I might have poked you with a stick,
testing your resolve to continue
this risky gambit.
It would be a long stick and a soft poke,
lest you chose to resurrect.

But as it was, we simply met,
assessed our respective threats,
and finding none, we parted ways.

Should we meet again,
I’ll hold no kind sentiment.
You will sense no familiarity.

Despite our chance encounter,
your innocence and my curiosity,
we are not – and never shall be –
kindred souls.


Discover Challenge: Chance Encounter

Mom’s the Word

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The two beauties who let me be their mom. Okay, so they didn’t really have a choice.

Ah, Mother’s Day. Candy, flowers, attentive husbands who suddenly feel compelled to tackle their “honey-do” lists. Overflowing brunch crowds at restaurants. Excited children who think every day is mother’s day, or who don’t understand the concept at all but are still thrilled at eating out for breakfast and getting servings from Mom’s chocolates.

In reality, relationships with one’s mother are much more complex and complicated than the Hallmark-fueled spin would have us believe. As with any role we take on in life, we have our strengths and our short-comings. There: that’s my disclaimer. But this is a day for celebrating the good.

mom hammond

Yup! The one smoking the cigar…that’s my mom, pre-motherhood.

I absolutely loved parenting and watching my daughters grow into the wonderful women they are today. (The chocolates and flowers were a great perk, too.) While I’m no longer needed to shepherd them on a daily basis, I now have the privilege of sharing in their adult lives.

And now, I am a grandmother (or Oma, in a nod to our German connections). I get to watch my daughter as she grows into motherhood with her toddler and infant. Spit-up spattered tops, sleepless nights, the “I don’t want to” tantrums from her two-year old… Definitely a challenge, but she’ll look back on these days with the tender warmth that comes with time. And memory loss.

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My mother passed away last year. As I said before, complicated. On the plus side, she instilled in me morals: a sense of right and wrong; fairness, responsibility, support of one’s family, a strong work ethic… And love.

It seems strange – and incomplete – not to have that matriarchal link, that further generational layer in the succession of motherhood. And it’s a bit scary to think that now I’m the matriarch of this lineage. For better or worse.

I don’t have any pithy revelations to impart about motherhood. And I’ll spare us all the mushy sentiments. But I’ve got some hecka good chocolate to consume, thanks to my loving daughter. And we all know that’s the bottom line, right?

Happy Mother’s Day to all!

Forgive Us, Mother

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Sooner or later, we will have to recognize that the Earth has rights, too, to live without pollution. What mankind must know is that human beings cannot live without Mother Earth, but the planet can live without humans.

~ Evo Morales

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… for we have sinned.


The Daily Post weekly photo challenge: Earth

Playing from Memory

blue and white

When I was a child
we played with sticks, rocks and mud, and
garter snakes until they escaped
into the long grass of unmown fields.

We looked for frog eggs —
and later for tadpoles — in
murky ditches of standing water
alongside gravel roads.

We went barefoot
and sometimes forgot to sidestep
the patches of barbed sand stickers that
latched onto the soles of our feet.

When I was a child
growing up in a small town,
I never realized
what a privilege it was.


CFFC: Blue and White

Wait! Don’t Eat That!

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I’m not the most neighborly person in the world. And recently I seem to be gravitating toward lawn and garden projects that involve fences, privacy screens, hedges, wide moats filled with man-eating piranhas… well, I would if I could.

Last weekend I invested in a number of boxwood shrubs to create a hedge between my driveway and the driveway of the house next door. Once I got the shrubs planted, I gathered up the containers they had come in, the tags I had cut off of them, and the little stick things that get shoved into the containers to identify the plants and tell you how to water them.

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Stick Thing

 

I never really read the stick things. I let nature decide when to water the plants, intervening only when I hear the plants hallucinating that the mailbox is a shimmering waterfall.

I happened to glance down at one of the stick things in my hand, and my eye caught a word that began with “neon.” Idly wondering if my hedge was going to glow in the dark or light up with beer signs, I took a closer look. The stick thing read:

This plant is protected from problematic

  • aphids
  • white flies
  • beetles
  • mealy bugs

and other unwanted pests by Neonicotinoids.

These pesticides are approved by the EPA.

Since I try to avoid pesticides in my yard, I was not impressed that someone had taken it upon themselves to determine which pests were wanted or unwanted in my hedge. But I’d already planted the boxwoods, so I made a pledge to read the stick things more carefully in the future, and went inside the house to clean up.

After scrubbing the dirt (and pesticides, apparently) off my hands, I opened my laptop and checked my Facebook feed. The first post to grab my eye was one by The Mother Nature Network. A photo of bees crawling over a honeycomb was accompanied by the heading:

Lawn Care Giant Announces Plan to Phase Out Bee-Harming Pesticides

Very cool! And about time. The declining bee population is a major problem for the environment.

Then I read the first line of the click-through article:

“Ortho’s decision to nix neonicotinoids is an important one.”

Neonicotinoids… hmmm… where had I seen that word? Neon—

OMG!!! My glow-in-the-dark boxwood hedge was going to turn me into a bee killer!

I started researching.

⇒ Maybe I could just rinse the pesticide off. (No, you can’t).

⇒ Maybe the effects of the pesticide are short-lived. (Wrong again.)

⇒ Maybe boxwoods don’t have flowers that will attract bees to them. (Yes, they do. In fact, bees love boxwood flowers.)

The only “solution” I could find: pluck off all the blossoms in the first blooming season so the bees don’t get to them. In subsequent seasons, the poison won’t be so harmful. So they say.

You know what a boxwood flower looks like? Yeah, neither does anyone else. They are described as “inconspicuous.” Small and yellow-green in color, they pretty much just blend in with the leaves.

I’m at a moral crossroad here. Do I:

  1. dig up the plants, dispose of them, and find some that aren’t going to be lethal? Or
  2. swear an oath that I will make daily searches during blooming season, scouring the hedge for hidden flowers to remove? I’m willing, but would that be enough?

The hedge runs along my dandelion/clover-infested yard where it abuts the neighbor’s always green, utterly weed-free lawn. Maybe his weed killer sprays or granules (or whatever form of poison he uses) will leach over and kill my bee-killer pesticide-drenched boxwoods. One could hope.

I have a feeling I will be ripping out my hedge this weekend. Maybe it will bring good bee karma. Maybe the bees will pay me back by asking their wasp buddies to leave me alone this year. I could recommend a nice relocation site nearby. One with a very, very green lawn.

Yeah, as I said at the start, I’m just not very neighborly.


The Daily Post weekly photo challenge: Dinnertime

Each Passing Day

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With each passing day
the past grows ever longer,
even though we already
cannot fathom its scope.

 

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With each dawning day
the present forgives us,
and offers a clean slate
to create what we choose.

 

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With each dream or hope
the future takes shape.
Have we learned from our past?
Are we setting the stage
today?


The Daily Post weekly photo challenge:  Future