Archive of ‘Pure Randomness’ category

The Ties That Bind.

This morning, my great aunt died. She was old, and sick, and had lived a very full life,  so it was not, in and of itself, a great tragedy.

But you know what is?

The fact that I never got to know her. And, because I didn’t know her all that well, can’t fully share in my mother’s grief. And she? Could use some comfort right now.

My mother loved my great aunt. Very much. But my grandmother (her sister) got angry with her over something. Maybe something trivial, maybe something big, no one remembers anymore.

But that anger turned into a grudge.  A grudge so strong that she refused to speak to her. A grudge so enormous that none of us were allowed to speak to her, either.

So my mom was cut off from the people she loved. She wasn’t able to include them in our family events as my brother and I grew up. I remember her only vaguely as a kinder, plumper version of my grandmother. Someone who laughed more frequently, and it seemed, forgave more easily.

And now she’s gone.

My grandmother can’t say she’s sorry, even if she wants to. She can’t get those years back. Can’t regain the love she threw away – the family she tossed aside.

It’s pretty damn stupid.

You only get one family, people. Some of us get good ones, some get shitty ones, but we all only get one.

One set of people that knows our history. Our neuroses. Our joys and half-forgotten pains.

One group that remembers when we still pooped our diapers, and who won’t hold it against us when we’re pooping our diapers again.

My grandmother? She’s 90. That’s pretty awesome.

But with every passing year, she alienates more and more people. Loses more and more friends.  Angers more and more family.

Soon, there won’t be anyone left.

What’s the point of living, if you don’t have anyone to love?

I hope I never find out. I wish no one ever did.

You only get one family. Make the most of it.

Proudly linking up with Pour Your Heart Out at Things I Can’t Say today.

 

 

Yeah Write!

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but pickings have been a bit slim around here lately. That’s because I’m running a little dry in the inspiration department (well, that and I don’t have enough hours in the day…).

Anyway, I’m trying something new to try to get back in the groove. I’m joining this week’s Yeah Write Challenge.

I submitted a  recent post that I loved, The Opal, and I’ll have to read 49 other blog posts in 2 days.

If all that bloggy goodness doesn’t get the juices flowing, I don’t know what will.

So head on over and check it out:

read to be read at yeahwrite.me

Gardening in the Dark.

I was a little bit cranky yesterday. A tad out of sorts. My nerves were jangly, my throat was sore, and everything was just feeling…too much.

But as I left work, I was greeted by a swirly, twirly summer breeze and a sun that whispered, “let’s play.”

So I pulled the windows wide, threw the sunroof open, and jammed down the open road to the peppy beats of the new Scissor Sisters album.

I planned to go home, scoop up the munchkin and head out to play.

But then I got stopped at a red light. And my eyes were drawn to the bright blue Lowes sign beckoning to me from the other side of the highway.

I thought about my poor, sad little gardens with gaping holes left by plants who didn’t survive the winter. In my mind’s eye, I saw flats of colorful annuals waving in the breeze, calling for me to take them home.

So I pulled in, grabbed a cart, and spent a blissful 30 minutes lost in the flowers. A salvia went into the cart. Followed by some phlox. Before long, some cute little rudbeckias joined them. Before I knew it, the cart was full.

my cart bursting with flower power

Practically skipping as I left the store, I piled my haul in the car and brought my new friends home.

But just as I plunked the first vinca plant in the ground, the munchkin arrived. It was time for dinner.

In the end, it was almost nine before I made it back out to the garden. The sun was setting, the crickets were chirping and the weeds were disappearing under a blanket of darkness.

But I didn’t care. My soul needed some dirt time and I was darn well going to give it some.

Soon my ears were filled with the sound of my shovel chunking into the soil. My hands eased the plants out of their pots, untangled their roots and placed them gently in their new homes, rejoicing in the feel of the dirt clumps crumbling into submission around them.

And my mind quieted, soaking in the peace of the garden.

One by one, the jangling worries fell away. My thoughts cleared. My soul let go of some of the pain it had been carrying.

By the time it got too dark to see my fingers on the handle of my trowel—so dark that I had to admit defeat—I could breathe freely.

The garden had worked its magic. Even in the dark.

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