Putting it Into Words

Back when I had a partner, I used to idly engage in an internal debate in which I considered which state of life was more difficult: being in a relationship or being single.  It was a purely rhetorical debate; I wasn't contemplating a change.  But I could remember life as a singleton and I was intrigued by the differences.

Little did I know.

Now without a partner, I can contemplate life on my own and compare it to life in a partnership.  But whereas I could once consider the question with the emotional detachment of what I thought was a secure relationship, these days the issue isn't one of idle reflection.  In fact, given the choice, I just don't go there. 

But sometimes the choice is stripped from me, and I find myself right in the middle of some pretty thorny territory.  It happened the other day when I woke up in the middle of my bed.  In that hazy moment when I was slipping out of sleep, I moved back to my side and then reached over to the other side of the bed, only to come up empty-handed.  And now fully awake and awash in the familiar realization that while I now have the run of the bed, I also bear all that entails. 

In my weaker moments, I'm afraid about my future.  I don't mean the day to day; that I mostly handle.  I mean that moment in the distance when I send the boy away to college and sit down to the supper table on my own.  I worry about aging and illness.  If I get under the weather now, it's a challenge for me to keep family life on an even keel.  But if I got really sick, what would happen to me?  How would I cope?  Would I even want to cope?

So for every small relief I experience from being on my own (there are some; for example, it's much easier to compose a grocery list), there are compensating anxieties (both large and small).  Mostly, I take it day to day and attempt to shelve my fears.  There's really nothing I can do about them.  And worrying doesn't get the laundry done.

But there's still a lot about life in a partnership that I miss.  I miss the inside jokes.  I miss the easy affection.  I miss having someone to talk over the things big and small that one shares in the easy feel of intimacy.  I miss a walk through the garden together.  I miss the sense of an uncertain future to be shared, thus removing fear from the uncertainty equation.  But most of all, I miss being able to reach across the dark of the room to touch a hand; to feel a heartbeat and know that I'm not alone.

Real Life Conversations with KO: Why Bother? edition

The backstory:  My sister and I were on the phone, catching up in advance of the next week's activities. 

KO:  So, have fun camping.  Toast a marshmallow for me.

Me:  Well, there's no campfires allowed so….

KO:  Wait.  Did you just say NO CAMPFIRES?

Me:  Yup.  No campfires.

KO:  Well, ummm, ahhh

My sister has been struck speechless by the apostasy that is camping without a campfire. I can tell that she's thinking "why bother to camp if you can't have a campfire?" since that was my first sentiment when I discovered this insane rule.  But she's aiming for something more diplomatic than WTF and so I step into the gap….

Me:  I'll have an extra peanut M&M for you.

KO (in dubious tone):  Okay. 

I can tell it's not quite enough, but she'll make do. 

Climbing Vines

For as long as I can remember, I have been entranced by climbing vines.  There were so many of them at Butchart Gardens in Victoria that I snapped picture after picture as I idly wondered how I could have features like this in my garden.  I even consented to having my own picture made in front of the rosebush trellis.

This year, after years of admiring trained flowers in other people's gardens, I planted a clematis of my own and installed a trellis for it to climb.  Early progress was impressive and I've enjoyed a first bloom.  I've got a few years before I reach Butchart status (!), but I'm looking forward to watching it grow over the years.

Inspired by my trip to the Butchart Garden, I've since spent hours daydreaming about the ways in which I can train more climbing vines for my house.  I have plenty of ivy in my back yard and I've begun to train some of it to grow.  I'd love to have a climbing rose.   Eventually, Sassafras House will be covered in vines and it will just be me and the cats peaking through the last windows left to the sunlight when a grown-up JT comes to visit his crazy mama.

Butchart Gardens

Our last stop on the cruiseship was in Victoria, Canada.  We weren't there for long, just 4 hours on a Friday night, but my sister had scheduled a visit to Butchart Gardens and I tagged along.  The gardens are about 30 miles north of the port city, and the drive out of town was an interesting tour of the city and its suburbs.  And the gardens themselves?  They were simply amazing.

Started in 1905, and added to in the subsequent years, the gardens began as a family project.  They remain family-owned and operated and are open 365 days a year.  If I lived in Victoria, I'd have a yearly pass to enjoy the beauty.  As it is, I was there for two hours and I've since spent hours daydreaming about plants that I'd like to add to my garden. 

Some delphiniums are certainly in order, for both the vibrant colors and the heady scent.

And I could do with a bed of double begonias that look like these.

It's unlikely that I have a hole large enough for this sort of sunken garden. 

Or a fountain.

But I could certainly make some space for a few more rose bushes.

I'd love to have a hedge capable of doing this….around which my childhood princess fantasies could once again flourish.

But I'll settle for an arbor.

In short, this garden walk, and the dozens of pictures I made, will feed my garden imagination for months and months to come.

Real Life Conversations with Ahmed: Blasphemy edition

The backstory:  JT and I were in a cab with my parents (aka, the Homey Gs, a nickname courtesy of my nephew S), headed from the Seattle port to the Sea-Tac airport.  We struck up a conversation with our taxi driver, Ahmed, and, as these conversations often do, we turned to the topic of weather.

Ahmed the Cabbie:  Where are you headed?

Homey G'pa:  To central California.  It will be hot when we get home.

Ahmed:  How hot?

Homey G'pa:  Well, probably in the 100s, maybe up to 105 by the end of the week.

Ahmed:  105?  Jesus Christ!

And at that, we all burst into laughter.  Really, what else is there to say about 105 degrees?

Ketchikan Gardens

 The town of Ketchikan gets abundant rains and that, combined with the long summer days this far north, creates a rich and lush growing season.  As we walked through the streets of the town, it was apparent that the locals love to garden.

 These informal gardens are lush and somewhat untidy ----- but what they lack in order they make up in charm.

Unclear on the Concept

I am a fan of both cuisines but somehow I feel that a dining establishment unable to select one area of expertise might not be the place to enjoy either of the cuisines in question.

Sorry, Ketchikan.

Real Life Conversations with the Cousins, Hammer Edition

The backstory:  I was coming back from the on-ship gym, headed for a shower, when I ran into JT and his cousins, C and S.  They were hot, sweaty, and indignant.

Me:  What's up?

JT:  We were playing basketball and some teenagers took our rebounds.  When they had all the balls, they kicked us off the court.

Me:  Bummer.  Where are you headed now?

All Boys:  We're going to get our dad.

And they stomped off in a huff, ready to dispense justice to the rotten teenagers.  It is a tribute to Uncle M that he is a hero to both his boys and my own.  Well-played, Uncle M.

Ice, Ice Baby

On Wednesday, our ship sailed into Glacier Bay.  The bay is a national park and an amazing array of wilderness abounds.  We saw miles and miles of forest, seals and whales and beautiful birds, soaring overhead and alongside the ship.  The main event, of course, is the glaciers.  This one, Margerie Glacier, calved several times as we watched.  There is most remarkable sound when a glacier calves.  You hear a crashing thunder followed by an enormous splash into the icy water below.  It's made all the more remarkable by the silence which proceeds and follows the event.

The blue color in the crevices of the ice is really quite lovely; the ocean around these glaciers was still and looked almost thick.  That's a result of the fact that the bay is a thousand feet deep and the water is heavier and a grayish green, the color and texture the result of glacial silt.

For most of my life, I've taken for granted the splendor of the western mountains of my childhood camping trips.  This trip has reminded me again just how rare and beautiful such wilderness is.  As our ship sailed out of the bay, we caught sight of kayakers camped on the the side of the bay and I was filled with envy.  How splendid it would be to wake up to these sights for a few mornings in a row.

How Could I Resist?

For obvious reasons, this offering at the toy store had my name all over it.