I took these pictures at the garden on Saturday. The routine was the same, the camera the same, the sidewalks the same, the company the same. It’s only me that’s changed. I’m different, and finding a way to say that is difficult.
In late August I expect to see the towering tropical plants, and they are all there, beds of flowers several feet taller than my head. But I’m surprised at how delicate some of the other flowers are, tucked into small corners of pocket gardens.
It seems like the sun and the heat should do them in, they should be more comfortable in cooler weather with long afternoons of gentle rain and spring breezes.
We study the tightly coiled buds on each plant alongside their flowers, released. It hardly seems real to us, how a flower can emerge from that space and look unwrinkled or bruised or mussed.
Some are on the verge of opening, and they look like fragile balloons at a party. Maybe they are filled with candies and treats that will fall to the ground once opened. The girls wonder if a passing bee’s stinger might release them ahead of schedule.
There are long stretches of the walk that are lined with a million tiny flowers. The girls are long gone, ahead of me and not quiet, so I have some time to sit in my own head. Their voices dodge the lush greenery and occasionally bounce back to me.
They’ve found the crown jewel of our visit, these vibrant colored flowers in four stages of opening across this hanging basket. Pink petals unfurl and bend gracefully backwards, then slowly, a purple cylinder emerges before sending out “tentacles” (as the girls call them), one by one. We scanned hundreds of them, looking for an example that might show the purple unfolding a little more, but found none. We’ll check again on Wednesday, it might not be time yet.
F collects a dozen spent blooms from the sidewalk and carries them on the overturned lid of my coffee cup like a most valuable treasure.
She only sets them down to take a photo with the raccoon because he’s now the perfect height to love her back.
We finish our walk, and I tuck my camera back into its case until the afternoon when I’ll move the photos to my computer and sort them into a representation of the morning, but also a story if I can.
I arrange them the way that I want to, but it’s lunch time and I’m hungry. Everyone’s in the house now, and busy. I should be content, but I’m not. The afternoon spirals out of control and I cannot resurface.
I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I’ve been thinking about it for awhile. I thought about it some more in the garden, and even more when I returned back home and sat down at the computer.
When I started writing here I had a focus – it carried on the documentation of our old house project that we had started on a blogging platform that was expiring. The new platform was a lot more user friendly, and so I expanded it a bit and included photographs and stories from E’s preschool years. The grandparents loved it.
Over time I grew to enjoy the practice of writing – sitting down several times a week to get my thoughts out of my head. I was never consistent at keeping a journal, although I wanted to be. Blogging was easier for me to come back to each day. I missed it when I was busy and didn’t have the time to write. I still read back in time and marvel at how long ago it feels. I forget about the crazy things I’ve tackled, and those reminders make my day.
It is not as easy for me to write these days. I start and stop a lot. I don’t have a central focus anymore – I write about a lot of things, but nothing of real consequence. I’ve tried to create schedules for myself, tried to circle back to all those subjects that have brought you in along the way.
I’m at a point where I can only write about the things that bring me joy. Joy might even be too strong a word, maybe what I really mean is comfort, stability, strength. Those early years were more manic – our lives felt like content machines, although we never consciously lived our life for writing prompts. The words wrote themselves, we photographed everything. We were writing a good story.
Now I work at balance, all the time balance. I’ve found a few things I’m good at, and a few other things I’m not necessarily good at but that I can work at. And for the most part they keep things running smoothly. But by their very nature they are repetitive. I have nothing left to say about them, other than they work for me and I have to work for me.
I know better than to make rash decisions, particularly during times of transition. But I wanted to let you know where I am, and how much I’ve appreciated your presence on the other side of this screen. I’ve never had any desire to be the most popular person in the room, but I also don’t want to be the dullest. I have some work to do, and it’s quiet work. The words just aren’t there, and I’m sorry.
Oh my goodness – your posts are not dull! I think there is something to be said for finding the things that bring you comfort, that you have talent for, and that make the day-to-day worth living. Don’t sell yourself short. Your words and photos both bring comfort and inspire, and I very much look forward to them. Please don’t feel obligated to share when you are not feeling like it – but please know there are folks out there eager to read what you share (says the woman who has for years contemplated starting a blog, but hasn’t yet taken the plunge!)
I echo Andrea’s words 100 percent. Your words and pictures bring comfort and inspiration. Don’t underestimate this super power 🙂
I miss you so much my friend. Sitting at my computer stealing a moment to catch up with “you” on your blog, but i’d rather be stopping you on your way to get coffee and take up too much of your time to hear all about it. Sending my love!
If I only wrote about things of consequence, I would definitely not write much at all.
I do think blogs/journals/writings serve different purposes at different times in our lives. I’m definitely in the documenting-for-grandparents stage a lot of the time, but I can imagine that will shift and change.
I know you’re not asking for a cheerleading section, but I always like your words and pictures. And I am REALLY looking forward to a play by play on your kitchen reno… Are you telling me that’s not gonna happen?
Your post needs to end with a comma not a period. You didn’t start blogging for us, and you shouldn’t stop because you think we are bored. Please continue pretending that we aren’t here and write/post as much or a little as you want.
Life does have its highs and lows, inspiring moments and less inspiring moments. I still love your beautiful writing and have probably learned more about you from this place than any other (ok, except the kitchen maybe, oh – and St. Johns hospital).
You know my horrible memory, so I still need a place to check in occasionally to remember where we were, what we were doing, or where you and the girls disappeared to (while I was mowing – like this day) 😉
Oh dear. I never find your words dull. You have such a lovely writing voice- thoughtful, sincere. I find such inspiration in not only your photos but also your words, your reflections. Hang in there –
That Marcus is a smart man. I agree that you didn’t start writing for us, write for you. But know that I love reading your blog to see what you and the family are up to, and to see how the girls are growing, since I so rarely get to see you in real life. But most importantly, do what feels right to you!
I am not one to comment on blogs…ever. Even though I have the same thoughts that so many others have reflected above, I still probably wouldn’t have commented, until I checked Facebook this morning and saw a link for Spread Some Sparkle in my newsfeed. I quickly realized the post was about your niece, and I knew that I needed to leave you a note to say that the words you have shared here matter. Your authenticity matters. In today’s social media world, so much of the focus in on perfection, only writing a post when something amazing happens, only sharing the happy. You share life. Of course that means joy and amazement, but that also means grief, struggle and melancholy. I have enjoyed reading it all. No matter what is going on in my own life, I have appreciated the opportunity to read about your world. You certainly don’t need to continue writing for anyone other than yourself, but I wanted to let you know that you have made an impression on me.
I love blogs because when and if the words do come back, the blog will be there (like us) ready to receive them. Do what’s best at this moment.
Caroline recently posted…Microblog Monday: Dental Hygiene
If your posts are dull then mine are like watching paint dry. Your blog is beautiful, stylish, and the writing is impeccable. But I hear you, since Finn arrived getting a post written is about as quick as molasses. i have so many things to do in the few hours (minutes really) I have on my own that I fill them with so many other “important” things. But I think we deserve the outlet of writing, and the pressure to continue documenting our families. So each time I think I’m done, I remember that and keep going, telling myself soon it will be easier (liar!!!). Keep going, you are wonderful.
Becky recently posted…Finn: 10 Months
Nothin’ but love for you, friend…
Miss you. I’m sure you are spreading some sparkle all week, and you will be here by driving to visit. You always put others first. Thinking of you all this week!
Courtney recently posted…so sorry for the confusion
This whole building friendships with strangers through blogs is surely something sociologist with study in the future. You don’t owe us posts, and I just want you to know how much I appreciate your writing and thoughtful commentary. It is a pleasure to get to know you and your family – even in this odd way.
Always do what it is best for you and your family, but I just wanted to let you know that I have enjoyed following your blog. I don’t blog, I don’t post. I am a private person, which is probably why I enjoy and admire your blog so much. You are brave enough to put your thoughts and dreams out there for the world to read. If you decide to switch gears and not blog anymore, I totally understand, but you will be missed. I hope you can find what will make you happy.