Two Birthdays and an Anniversary

In the fall, the garden dies, although some of the plants come back: rhubarb, herbs, horseradish, artichokes. And some reseed: sunflowers, lettuce, kale, tomatoes. That is if you let anything go to seed. I have had lots of kale reseed and potatoes I missed digging in the fall. And carrots come back, but they turn woody. In the fall, you can plant onions and garlic. I've heard that you can plant peas in the fall too, but have never tried that. Around here, it seems that they would rot. But I have some old seed, perhaps I'll throw it out in the garden and see what happens.

Right now the community garden is lush with sunflowers and dahlias the size of dinner plates. There are acorn squash littering one plot and beautiful corn another. And the plums are ripe, yippee—a drying opportunity.

Yesterday I picked several big boy tomatoes. And bought a bouquet from a sweet flower stand set up in front of a neighbor's house. It reminds me of the lemonade stands my sister and I used to have on Audubon Street across from Audubon Park. More my sister's project than mine. She was and still is the better entrepreneur of the two of us. Our father is an entrepreneur and it rubbed off. He has gardened on occasion and grew up in wheat country. His mother canned the prunes (Italian Plums) instead of drying them. Ooh, were they delicious.

Today is my daughter's birthday and the anniversary of my ex asking me for divorce. Need I say more? Holidays are important to me; I like to celebrate. It just so happens that all the bombs he dropped fell on holidays. That can't be by accident, as he's claimes. But now, I'm going to two parties, two lovely women celebrating birthdays. It's a beautiful sunny day, and I've moved on--that's the good part. There is power in moving on. It has to be this way—or one would go batty with grief. For finding meaning through the stages of grief see Elizabeth Kubler- Ross's book On Grief and Grieving

Yesteday my friend Brenda and I made Soul Cards to mark the this transition--turning away from divorce and focusing on the rest of my life. We also had a great meal and then went on a walk around the harbor. There a row of ragossa rose sports bright red rose hips, which I love. I ate a couple and when Brenda tried them, groaned and spat it out. Really, they are high in vitamins C and make great preserves. Try it. Delicious. And, the sunset and full moon: divine.

Okay then, off to the garden. And for all of you out there that are weeding your inner garden, love yourself to pieces. It's what the world needs more of—wasn't that a song?

Flower

Zucchini?

What to do with all the zucchini? Things get let go of, do you know what I mean? After awhile, the routine of doing things day after day, drops away. Maybe it's the routine of checking the garden excitedly to see if there is a zucchini yet, and then later, being satisfied by plenty of zucchini and forgeting to look for a day or two. Then comes a day when there are huge boats of zucchini taking over the garden and the remainder of the plant's energy is depleted. This must be a metaphor for something. A marriage?

Now back to endings. Do you all lose your energy or is just the Aries amongst us? It's great to start things, but when it is time to follow through--get a Capricorn, (my ex). Anyway, I was thinking about the trip I made to Mexico. It was March of 2006--and I'd just gotten the news. Maybe like finding out one has cancer, or a relative does, it was a huge shock to me to find out my husband wanted something different. Then began the process, yo-yoing at first, he was going back and forth about where he wanted to live and his @*%& identity. So I went to Mexico and sort of like the chick in Eat, Love, Pray, began devouring the shrimp sauteed in butter, the coconut drinks on the beach, the tortillas and beans, tamales, ahhh peppers--you know I said I was afraid of cayenne--well in Mexico I couldn't eat hot enough food. Did I say tequilla? I totally had a turn around the flavors I enjoyed. At a big indoor market, I ate the most delicious soup--a big pot with a whole chicken, potatoes, onions, peppers and this green funny looking vegetable that I can't recall the name. I will remember. So I came home and started making this soup. And eventually I changed from using the exotic vegetable to using zucchini. So that's it--chicken, potatoes, zucchini, onions, peppers, and simmer until tender in broth. Salt to taste. Oh, it is so delicious. Serve with tortillas.

So now, today, the attorney. My ex no longer wants to speak to me. This hurts like a kick to the chest. I feel hatred mixed with longing to have things okay again. I'm writing out daily affirmations and reading meditations. I must let go. Eek! I must.....

So the garden is wedded (when I proofread I'd written wedding instead of weeded) along each row. Not between, because my theory is, leave the weeds so the deer will eat them instead of the plants. I know the soil is deficient, because the pigweed is only five inches tall. What decent pigweed would stoop so low? Okay, enough.

Have a good hot day. Enjoy life. Feel the hurts. Create. Move on.
Flower

Summer Again!

Last night I had a meal out (Flats in Fairhaven) with a good friend who is off on Friday to England, and then perhaps Iran and Afghanistan. It depends on his visa where he will travel to, and since the visa didn't come on time, he will wait for it in England. I have a deep desire inside to be so bold, to muster my courage and fly off--perhaps to London or Paris, perhaps back to Rome. But really, I'm mostly chicken disguised as brave woman. And in the heat of the day yesterday, I was aware of my lack of bravery. Not that I have to be always on, always couragous, but to travel , pop off to some exotic place without a plan, without a partner, isn't for the faint of heart.

I admire all my traveling friends, which means to me that I will be traveling more, because anything I want I move toward, I begin to embrace by biting off bits of fear as I go. Fear transforms, I believe. I used to be afraid of dogs and living alone, teaching, and cayenne pepper. None of these things frighten me now, except living alone is lonely at times--but not frightening.

Lately I've been experiencing an interesting phenomena--a broken heart. I'm only calling it this because grief and the ache it imposes on the heart isn't named much in our society. But it is a real pain, both kinds, and results in a ache the size of a large saucer or small luncheon plate exactly placed over the heart. Now I could imagine a shield going into battle, much larger of course, but perhaps this ache is like a shield, only in my case, it's breaking apart, sort of dissolving under the pressure of loss. Whatever the case, it is a real pain, palpable and curious. Yes, I've decided to be curious about it instead of trying my best to get rid of it--it doesn't go away anyway, although I'm assured that it will with time.

I've sent for a book called Intimate Terrorism after reading an article by the author in Oprah Magazine. He was saying that one must not hope to be friends with the lost lover, because it doesn't work and it does delay the grief. Grief changes a person, for the better. It goes deep inside and empties out pockets of pain and transforms the individual. I'm trusting these words of wisdom. I will let you know more once I get the book what the steps to take are.

From my pathetic little garde I picked broccoli raab that went into my chicken dinner; the spinach became a nest for my breakfast egg yesterday; I had broccoli from the farmers market today in an omelet with goat cheese, and last night with my friend Peter, yams with aoili sauce and omelet of caramelized onions and truffle oil. Ooh wee, all is not painful

Ciao!

PS That's a closeup of my painting "Roots". It goes with the heart thing, I think.