Expert = a drip under pressure
This post has nothing to do with the title... I just remembered that from a long time ago and thought it funny, maybe you will too!
Background information which you need:
My Dad died four years ago. While sorting though all the junk he'd acquired his 73 year life (the man never even threw away rusting 10-penny nails!) I laid my hand on all his Craftsman Tools and not one tear dropped from my eyes. At the funeral, I didn't cry... not even when Mom cried... neither at the graveside nor after we got home. Until I looked outside my bathroom window and saw a wad of papertowels stuffed into the crook of the gas meter. I didn't burst from crying or anything; just a few tears trickled down my cheeks and then I cried a little bit from just wishing he was still there. Next day, I drag out his tools and I sort all the wood planks he had stacked in the back and set to work on a flower box. You know the kind... big enough for a seat. I envisioned an arch over the seat with lots of wildflowers waving in the breeze behind the seat. Maybe a pot of lillies on one side of the seat. Yeah! Beautiful. I set to work and built me a flower box in the front of the house.
"What cha doin'?" came an almost continuous call as folks walked and drove up and down the main drag. (We live on the busiest street in town, but you have to realize that 6 cars makes a traffic jam!)
It got to the point I wanted to put a sign up saying, "This Will Be A Beautiful Flower Box". I did not realize until just a little while ago that the box was my Grief Box. I poured all my grief into that box.
Mom hated it. She tried to make amends and bought me some dirt to go into it but it didn't fill the box up. I planted my wildflowers in it anyway. Wouldn't you know, none of the flowers bloomed and it just looked like a box of weeds. Sigh... Mom hated it. We had a huge argument about it two years ago. I did not realize why it made me so angry that she hated it and wanted me to take it down. For two years, we skipped over the box issue. We never talk about it.
Here's the scene this morning:
Sun is shinning brightly. Storms have passed. Ground is soft and moist. And I'm outside planting flowers, digging up flower beds and pulling up weeds. I take a break and drink a cup of coffee with Mom. We chat about different things, but it is really pleasant.
I go back to work. After I'm done with two beds, I get the brilliant idea to put the left over bricks stacked up around the old box to spruce it up some. Maybe that will satisfy Mom for awhile. Thank goodness it is cool today because it was back breaking work! I have muscles groaning that haven't spoken to me since I was in High School.
I get two rows stacked up. Pour fire ant killer on the other bricks; no sense in toting ants from the back yard to the front yard. They can make that trip all on their own little legs just fine thank you.
Mom comes around the corner of the house to let me know she was running an errand. She sees me bent over the flower box and says, "You're taking down the box!" She's got this really sweet, soft look on her face, like I'd just given her a diamond ring or something.
My menopausal monster rose up its ugly head and snarled, breathing fire. I swatted the beast and simply said, "No. There is going to be great compost in that box next year." I had just dumped all the cedar tree trash (the cedar tree that hurricane Katrina knocked over) into that box yesterday. That is when those muscles started barking like dogs after the moon.
"But you are going to take it down before you leave, aren't you?" she asked as I walked by.
I said an ugly word. I gathered up all my pots and potting soil; put away the rake and shovel and wheel barrow; then with horrible thoughts like, "That is the last dime I'm spending on this yard. No more flowers. No more breaking my back to make this place look nice," I stomped inside. I was so upset, I ate two Krispy Kreme donuts and I can't even remember eating them.
I have spent loads of money on this yard. My sister gave me 10 Japanaca plants and 6 Crepe Myrtle plants for my birthday 2 years ago and I planted them in this yard. I have walked over every foot of this acre sized yard with buckets of fire ant killer... and I'm leaving?!?
Oh. Yes! I'm getting married to a most wonderful fellow. So why do I get so angry when someone wants to take down that flower box?
I expressed my grief. I used his tools. I used his wood. I sweated while doing it. Perhaps it is time to let go of the Flower Box. I just planted another box full of wildflower seeds in it, though. Plus, I just put all that really good mulch in it. In about 2 months, we'll see what comes up. I do know that I must work on letting go of that box. It isn't healthy. Perhaps it is because I put so much work into it. I'll have to be honest... it doesn't look a thing like I envisioned it. Something happened in the execution of the plan...
Considered thoughts from Gina Burgess at 3:46 PM