Bloom Where You're Planted

I spent Mother's Day this year doing something I really hate! Gardening! I have many friends and family who love to garden. I don't! Some think gardening is a spiritual experience. I don't!

But after a recent trip to England where the flowers are abundant and the gardens are spectacular I decided that I needed to beautify my very small outdoor space.

My Granny Cox was an avid gardener. She had an enormous vegetable garden filled with every kind of vegetable known to man. All other available plots of earth were turned into flower beds. She loved irises the most. I used to spend the summers with her in South Carolina. One of my daily chores was to help her tend her gardens.

Granny: Take this bucket and pick some green beans for dinner.
Me: I hate picking beans because there are black widow spiders under the leaves.
Granny: Then go pick corn.
Me: The stalks are too tall and I'm too short. I'll need a ladder.
Granny: Then pick some squash.
Me: Too prickly.
Granny: Then pick blueberries.
Me: Too many bees.
Granny: Then go dig potatoes!

I tried but I never could get out of helping her. I loved the cooking part, and the eating part, and the canning part. The indoors where it's cool and I won't get dirty and sweaty part! I would wash dishes all day long if I could just get out of helping in that garden. I really hated the gardening part.

And yet, yesterday of all days, I decided to plant flowers. We got up in the morning and headed straight to Lowe's. I've wanted a hydrangea bush in the worst way for the longest time and I bought the BIGGEST hydrangea I could find. I also purchased day lilies and colorful annuals. I was ready to plant! I was excited! This would be great! I could do this. I had experience after all! Just dig a few holes and stick some flowers in them.

                                                   (Before - Weedy mess!)

The little dirt patch I had to work with is at the bottom of the steps from my front door. At most it is a three foot by four foot rectangle. Part of that space is taken up by a big grassy plant and a gas "thingy".  So my work space was not that big. I just had to keep my shovel away from that gas "thingy". I started to dig the big hole for the hydrangea first. Nothing! Why wasn't my shovel doing anything? I hammered it. I stomped on it. Nothing! If you watch the tv show "Modern Family" then you know what Claire sounds like when she yells for Phil to do something. That was me. Paul! Paul! Paul!

Me: I can't get this shovel to work. There's something BIG in the way. I think it's a big tree stump growing under the house. Why did I even come up with this idea of planting a bush. I could be sitting on the beach. I could be relaxing. And on and on and on...

Paul: Umm. Honey. That's the water pipe to our house and not a tree stump. Let me just go check and make sure there are no leaks anywhere... I'll be right back. (In his usual voice of calmness and serenity). It's going to be alright. All we have to do is move the hole for the hydrangea just two inches to the left.

Me: The instructions say to dig the hole 1 1/2 times the size of the pot. We won't have room to do that if we move the hole two inches. Why did I buy such a big hydrangea. I should have bought the smaller one. And on and on and on...

Paul: It's going to be fine. I'll dig and you just decide when the hole is big enough.

Me: Granny Cox didn't need instructions. She just knew what to do.

The hydrangea was successfully planted and Paul said I was clear to plant the rest of flowers wherever I wanted. Even on top of the water pipe. So I took my little trowel to dig little holes for the little flowers that remained. Nothing! Why isn't this trowel working?! Under the small layer of dirt there were millions of roots and rocks and sticks. Plus lots of slimy earthworms. Ugh! Gardening was not supposed to be this hard or disgusting!

Me: Paul! Paul! (My sweetheart comes running as he always does when I yell because he is wonderful and patient and kind and caring and loves me even though and especially when I am a grouch). This is too hard. What was I thinking. I should have paid more attention to my Granny. If she can see me now she is laughing her head off. I didn't learn anything from her. I don't want to plant flowers on Mother's Day. I want to hug my boys, and see my Granny again and drink mimosas with my neighbor and wear a cute floppy hat and cool Hollywood shades like my other neighbor and go on a picnic...

Paul: Then go dig potatoes...

So I sat out there and pulled out roots and sticks and rocks. And I thought about my Granny. I dug little holes. And I thought about my Granny. I gently moved the hardworking earthworms to other places where they could build a new home since I ruined theirs. And I thought about my Granny. I abused a few little flowers. And I heard my Granny say Be gentle. They're just babies. They're fragile. I gently put the baby flowers in their baby holes.

When I had planted the last little marigold I had a garden. I lovingly watered my little flowers and whispered please don't die, please grow. Watering was always my favorite garden chore at Granny's house. I would be the first in line with my hand raised high for THAT job. The nurturing and watching them grow job. The mothering job.

                                          (After - Flowers. It's a good start!)

I spent my entire Mother's Day with my Granny Cox. I thought of her and I worked on my little flower bed with her and I talked to her. I could feel her encouraging me. She stayed by my side and helped me feel less sad about missing my own little boys. It was very spiritual and I remembered...

I remembered sitting on her back porch at the picnic table and eating fried squash and cold, juicy cantaloupe and the best Kentucky runner green beans in the world. I remembered swinging on the swing surrounded by purple irises and watching the figs grow on the fig tree as I lazily took in the warm sun and sweet smells of summer. I remember using her  huge vegetable garden as the forest that the yellow brick road passed through to get to the "Emerald City" while acting out the "Wizard of Oz" with my summertime friends. I remembered playing croquet in the front yard and setting up a really tough obstacle course amongst the dogwoods and crepe myrtles. I remembered running through the sprinklers to cool off. My Granny was always there, watching over me, while lovingly caring for her plants.

My Granny has been gone for 20 years now. I miss her. What I wouldn't give to be that twelve year old little girl working side by side in the garden with her again. I would pick every bean and gladly take a few black widow spider bites. And I would never, ever complain about having to dig potatoes.

Gardening was her spiritual practice that filled her soul with happiness. I did not learn how to garden like my Granny. The most important lesson that she taught me was how to nurture and how to mother.

I love you Dorothy Mae Cox. Thanks for spending Mother's Day with me. Your grateful granddaughter and namesake - Dorothy Gaye.

Writer's Block

It's confession time - "Forgive me for I have not written a blog post in awhile". I have been suffering from writer's block. For a time this Pollyanna was on a roll. I had loads of great ideas and even made a list of topics to write about. All these super-fantastic ideas would keep me going for months. If I managed to produce just three hundred blog posts then maybe I could compile these into an inspirational book. At least it would be something I could leave to my kids. That would be so awesome!

Then "bam" I was hit with a brick to the head.

As a librarian I don't always turn to Wikipedia as a reliable source but in this case I do like their definition:

"Writer's block is a condition, primarily associated with writing, in which an author loses the ability to produce new work or experiences a creative slowdown."

The article goes on to state various reasons that a writer might suffer from writer's block such as lack of inspiration, daily distractions or adverse events in one's life.

By some stretch of the imagination what happened to me could be classified as an "adverse event". A person that I don't even know used my blog postings in a critical and disparaging way to form a negative opinion about me and the life I have led. That's the way I interpreted it. I was hurt and scared. I felt shallow.

In an instant I formulated the belief in my head that my "silly, little blog" was not going to help anyone (including myself) but might actually hurt someone I loved. Then the floodgates really opened. "What were you thinking? You're no writer. You don't even know what you're talking about. You're just pretending to be a writer like you did when you were a little girl. Did you even read Eats, Shoots & Leaves?" And the worst and most ridiculous thing that popped into my mind was "Do you even remember how to do a tree diagram of a sentence anymore?".

Ugh! I hate having that Negative Nellie on my shoulder. So I've been blocked. For months. It's not that I have nothing to say but that I've been AFRAID to say it. What if I hurt someone's feelings? What if I get sued? What if my contribution to social media is harmful to someone else? It's too heavy a burden to bear.

I don't like to play the "what if" game and I really don't like to function from a place of "fear". That's what this is really about. FEAR. Fear blocks us. I started to think about other "blocks" that we've created in our lives. We put up personal relationship blocks, work blocks, fear of failure blocks, weight loss blocks, financial blocks, educational blocks, health blocks and a plethora of other restraints that prevent us from doing the things we want to do. Whatever it is that we are afraid of causes us to creatively and productively shut down.

What would happen if we substituted one of these "other" obstacles for the word "writer's block" in the Wikipedia definition?

"Relationship block is a condition, primarily associated with being in a relationship, in which a person loses the ability to engage in a new relationship or experiences an emotional, relational or intimate slowdown."

"Work block is a condition, primarily associated with employment, in which an employee loses the ability to produce new work or experiences a creative slowdown."

You get the drift. They all impair our ability to try something new and they all slow us down.

Aha! We put up mental road blocks that keep us from physically continuing down the road.

Tim Storey is a motivational speaker and minister who has a new book called Comeback and Beyond: How to Turn Your Setbacks into Comebacks. He says that sometimes people have a setback, get stuck and then "settle in" to being stuck. They just stay in that stuck place for the rest of their life. They never move out of being stuck. I could feel myself settling in and staying stuck. I needed a comeback and I needed it now.

I've been scared before and I've been stuck before. I've had numerous blocks that have prevented me from moving forward. Eventually I sort things out in my head and realize that the biggest thing being stuck does is waste valuable time that could be spent on living.

Anne Lamott in her inevitable wisdom helped me with getting "unstuck" in this situation. In her latest post she talks about turning 61. She wanted to pass on words of wisdom and acknowledge some of the things she had learned in her lifetime. This is what she had to say about the writing process:

"Writing: shitty first drafts. Butt in chair. Just do it. You own everything that happened to you. You are going to feel like hell if you never write the stuff that is tugging on the sleeves in your heart--your stories, visions, memories, songs: your truth, your version of things, in your voice. That is really all you have to offer us, and it's why you were born".

You can read the post in its entirety on Anne Lamott's Facebook page.

I have been told on more than one occasion that am a transparent person. I suppose that's true. I wear my heart on my sleeve and I usually don't mind sharing my life experiences with others. For the last four months I let the words of someone that I didn't know get into my head and temporarily restrict me from expressing who I am. I let it get in the way of my story. 

Stories inspire, motivate and teach. I learn from the life stories of other people. The best part of being a librarian is listening to patron stories and sharing experiences. One of my favorite broadcasts on NPR is StoryCorps. I follow Elizabeth Gilbert, Anne Lamott, Brene Brown, Glennon Doyle Melton and other motivational and inspirational people just to know their stories. These people that I admire never started out to be writers but life led them to write their stuff down.

Like them I have my own stories to tell. I use my blog to do that. I write for myself and I write for others who may be struggling with some of the same issues and emotions that I am feeling. I may never speak on a Ted Talk, share my soul with Oprah or publish a book but I can talk about my experiences and share my stories in the hopes that they will provide inspiration and motivation to others. Because in the end that might just be why I was born.