January 1: Taking Root

In December, I began to think again about this blog, which has been neglected in the last couple of years.  For a long time, I was grateful for this place to record my thoughts and mark the passage of time.  I’m not the sort to make resolutions, but I’ve enjoyed writing of late and the blog is back for now.  I’m looking forward to posting more often this year.   

As has been my custom, I’ll start each month with a post about something in the natural world.  This year, that’s going to be the houseplants that bring me happiness on a daily basis.  I’ve a bit of a green thumb and I love houseplants.  More than two dozen flourish in my care and they are all over the house and my office at school.  Some go outside for the summer; all of them bring me joy and help me to feel grounded. 

Like any good mama, I don’t have a favorite plant.  Each is valued on their own terms and each is meaningful to me for a different reason.  For January, I pick this little pothos, which currently has a spot on the radiator in the dining room. 

I have many a pothos plant; they are easy to care for and they grow in abundance.  Some of mine have variegated leaves; others are a verdant green  This plant was started from clippings from the plant that lives on the top of my living room bookshelf.  It had begun to trail the floor and, loathe to throw out the trimmings, I showed JT how to transplant them.  We did that in the midst of our hard summer and I can remember telling him that life was sometimes like a plant waiting to take root; not always much to look at but always with potential.  I told him that the tiny transplant was an investment in hope for the future.  Privately, I crossed my fingers that the plant would take root and begin to thrive and that when it did, JT would also be better situated. 

This little plant is in a better place today, as is the son who helped me to grow it.  I start 2023 with gratitude for this growth, and that feels like the right note for a new year.

Time

Each morning, I sit on the porch with my book and my coffee and I look out at a familiar landscape.  On the one hand, the usual plants and flowers feel familiar.  On the other hand, the plants and flowers are growing and changing in the sunny, warm, long days so that each morning affords a slightly new view.

Summertime hours themselves pass both slowly and quickly.  Slowly, because there is time to relax, read an extra chapter of my book, and drink some more coffee before I head to work.  But time passes quickly in other ways, especially when I look at my son and reflect at how fast the years have flown by.  In just a few months he will start his Senior year, his final year at a school that has nourished his mind and heart for 15 years.  I started teaching at our school as the mother of a 2 year old.  Now I live with a 17 year old, a man-child who is both familiar and new.

His summer is filled with running mile after mile in preparation for a fall cross country season that he has been anticipating since the final day of last year’s season.  It will be a school year filled with college applications and plans for his future.  He knows that things are changing but he’s a kid and so change is his constant.  I see a future of even greater changes to come; he simply sees an exciting future.  Both are true, of course, and I embrace all of it, excited for what comes next.