Coreopsis in my garden. They like lots of sun and look great with dark blues and reds. They are paired with "Blue Knight" Salvia and a climbing roses. Hardy perennials, starting to burst into color now, late April. Several varieties.
Saturday, April 30, 2005
Gardner's Journal: Coreopsis Grace
This idea of sharing one's garden through giving away perennials is one that is very appealing to me. In the first section of my garden there are a hosts of perennials, shrubs and roses that are now reproducing with abandon. What was once a small scraggly piece of earth is now fully entombed with dark branches, sponges of roses, explosions of color.
And a garden does what most healthy organisms do...it grows and reproduces itself.
In the corner of my garden is a rich thicket of coreopsis a perennial with bold yellow color, tufts of dark green foliage. They are getting ready to dot the entire landscape of my garden with their swaying and folly.
In fact, too many. Too much color, too much green, too much. My garden overflows with the abundance of this beautiful, sturdy flower.
I called my father in law and offered it to him. He was thrilled because he enjoyed looking at it while he was here the other day. So this afternoon I will be packing away these tough little plants to share.
And as I do, I think about sharing. I think about sharing grace.
Grace is one of those words that religious folk have used so much it really doesn't affect us much anymore. Like a shot of innoculation, we have become immune to the power of this word and to the power of what it can do.
Having lived through the 70's and 80's, I am a child of the self-help generation. The "you can have it all" gurus filled with seminars and workshops on how to better oneself. And these are worthwhile endeavors that are designed to assist us in being more of what we can be. I take no fault on this premise, having spent a good deal of my own life improving, improving, improving. Every good INTJ knows that improvement is what it is all about.
But is it? Sometimes I wonder if I wouldn't be more helped by learning to be human. To be comfortable with my foibles and mistakes. After all, I spend much more time in that zone than in the super-human part. Like most of us, I am filled with complex contradictions, wierd logic and just crazy ideas and actions sometimes.
Aren't we all?
Really, aren't we all? If to be human is that we must strive towards some perfect place, then maybe I don't want to be human at all. Maybe I'll leave perfection to the Gods of this world and I'll take my place alongside them as an imperfect offspring. And as Terry Hershey says so well, "I ain't God and further, I'm not applying for the job."
That's where grace comes in. Grace filled with the nodding approval of others and their foibles, much like mine. To extend grace to another is being the most human that we can be. It's saying that "I am like you...you are like me...and together we're on this thing called life and we're going about things imperfectly."
But where do I find this grace when I hurt? This power to heal my own wounds simply by forgiving others of their own inadequacies?
Tough question for us self-help folks. I can't always "feel" my way, control my way, steer my way to it. It's a question that stops me in my tracks, until I remember my garden.
Those seeds were given to me from another source. And I have nurtured them and now there is so much that I can give it to others.
To others in need.
To others in pain.
To others who are human.
And a garden does what most healthy organisms do...it grows and reproduces itself.
In the corner of my garden is a rich thicket of coreopsis a perennial with bold yellow color, tufts of dark green foliage. They are getting ready to dot the entire landscape of my garden with their swaying and folly.
In fact, too many. Too much color, too much green, too much. My garden overflows with the abundance of this beautiful, sturdy flower.
I called my father in law and offered it to him. He was thrilled because he enjoyed looking at it while he was here the other day. So this afternoon I will be packing away these tough little plants to share.
And as I do, I think about sharing. I think about sharing grace.
Grace is one of those words that religious folk have used so much it really doesn't affect us much anymore. Like a shot of innoculation, we have become immune to the power of this word and to the power of what it can do.
Having lived through the 70's and 80's, I am a child of the self-help generation. The "you can have it all" gurus filled with seminars and workshops on how to better oneself. And these are worthwhile endeavors that are designed to assist us in being more of what we can be. I take no fault on this premise, having spent a good deal of my own life improving, improving, improving. Every good INTJ knows that improvement is what it is all about.
But is it? Sometimes I wonder if I wouldn't be more helped by learning to be human. To be comfortable with my foibles and mistakes. After all, I spend much more time in that zone than in the super-human part. Like most of us, I am filled with complex contradictions, wierd logic and just crazy ideas and actions sometimes.
Aren't we all?
Really, aren't we all? If to be human is that we must strive towards some perfect place, then maybe I don't want to be human at all. Maybe I'll leave perfection to the Gods of this world and I'll take my place alongside them as an imperfect offspring. And as Terry Hershey says so well, "I ain't God and further, I'm not applying for the job."
That's where grace comes in. Grace filled with the nodding approval of others and their foibles, much like mine. To extend grace to another is being the most human that we can be. It's saying that "I am like you...you are like me...and together we're on this thing called life and we're going about things imperfectly."
But where do I find this grace when I hurt? This power to heal my own wounds simply by forgiving others of their own inadequacies?
Tough question for us self-help folks. I can't always "feel" my way, control my way, steer my way to it. It's a question that stops me in my tracks, until I remember my garden.
Those seeds were given to me from another source. And I have nurtured them and now there is so much that I can give it to others.
To others in need.
To others in pain.
To others who are human.
Friday, April 29, 2005
Mexico and all that salsa
I have made the decision to work in Mexico with the business that I now have. My company is opening up the country to us, in that we can go there and train and recruit. I haven't really ever thought of myself as someone who would do this, but having spent some time there I have been refreshed to see a culture that is open to learning.
The thing is, I'm suppose to go there to teach, train. But I figure that I'll be the one who will learn the most. I am sure I don't have a clue how much I have to learn. I imagine this new transition will be one of growth, frustration and complexities.
I will spend one week or so every 6 weeks week. Travel it totally at my discretion and with technology there may be ways to bridge the gap. However, when I was there, there were very few internets rocking the place, so I expect to have some challenges to the way I do business now.
What refreshes me is a culture that doesn't have a hard time with sales. They are born salespeople...they don't view it as a creepy thing to do, like so many here in the states do. They aren't too good to try it and they want something out of their lives...like to eat. And they also don't mind working -- and working hard -- for what they want, which is a challenge for most Americans it seems ( including this one).
This notion fills me with newfound passion and excitement. It causes all my day to day activities to seem more worth doing, more enjoyable. Like the last 13 years may have been a prelude to what may happen next.
I'm taking one of my directors with me -- she speaks Spanish fluently (was a HS spanish/french teacher for 28 years). I'm sure I'll learn more from her, too.
This new opportunity, along with new found writing opportunities that are opening up are filling me with a sense of "rightness", of being "in sync" with some kind of internal calling. Maybe it's God, or some divine sense of order in the world.
All I know is that it feels great.
The thing is, I'm suppose to go there to teach, train. But I figure that I'll be the one who will learn the most. I am sure I don't have a clue how much I have to learn. I imagine this new transition will be one of growth, frustration and complexities.
I will spend one week or so every 6 weeks week. Travel it totally at my discretion and with technology there may be ways to bridge the gap. However, when I was there, there were very few internets rocking the place, so I expect to have some challenges to the way I do business now.
What refreshes me is a culture that doesn't have a hard time with sales. They are born salespeople...they don't view it as a creepy thing to do, like so many here in the states do. They aren't too good to try it and they want something out of their lives...like to eat. And they also don't mind working -- and working hard -- for what they want, which is a challenge for most Americans it seems ( including this one).
This notion fills me with newfound passion and excitement. It causes all my day to day activities to seem more worth doing, more enjoyable. Like the last 13 years may have been a prelude to what may happen next.
I'm taking one of my directors with me -- she speaks Spanish fluently (was a HS spanish/french teacher for 28 years). I'm sure I'll learn more from her, too.
This new opportunity, along with new found writing opportunities that are opening up are filling me with a sense of "rightness", of being "in sync" with some kind of internal calling. Maybe it's God, or some divine sense of order in the world.
All I know is that it feels great.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
The Old Gray (Computer) is dead
I know that water and electronics don't mix. So why did I insist upon having my cereal right there by my laptop?
It's because my laptop is a part of me. Not only for business but for personal use...I write all the time, on my online journal, here at my blog...writing for me is breathing.
Truth be known, I started my own business 13 years ago and the dream then was to make enough money to perhaps go back to school, learn how to write.
Little did I know that learning to write was a lot about experiencing life...which I have done, some, and have learned how better to do. Writing is now a part of who I am.
I don't know if I'm much good or not. I've been working with someone who is helping me develop ideas and on Monday we are getting "jiggy" with it. Finally, finally someone who can hel me take all the ruminations in my head and make some sense of them! It's like finding someone with a map or at least a compass.
But today, I was busy finding a new computer -- thank GOD for Dell Computers! In a day or so, I'll have a new companion who I hope will be as helpful as the old one has been.
For now, I am "jerry-rigging" my laptop with a stolen keyboard from another home computer. We have more computers in my house than people...you'd think that finding a computer to use wouldn't be much of an issue.
But a personal computer is just that. It's like looking in someone else's purse when you don't have your own that works...it doesn't "feel" right, it doens't work right.
I know this sounds like a spoiled American talking -- and I guess I am. I was drug kicking and screaming into the internet revolution by my geek-y husband (love those geeks!). Now, I can' t imagine not having my laptop. The new edition is sleeker, with more power and more "ram" and easier to travel. I still have my treo (blackberry) for quick use on the road but for more business applications, I'll stick to my keyboard.
It's because my laptop is a part of me. Not only for business but for personal use...I write all the time, on my online journal, here at my blog...writing for me is breathing.
Truth be known, I started my own business 13 years ago and the dream then was to make enough money to perhaps go back to school, learn how to write.
Little did I know that learning to write was a lot about experiencing life...which I have done, some, and have learned how better to do. Writing is now a part of who I am.
I don't know if I'm much good or not. I've been working with someone who is helping me develop ideas and on Monday we are getting "jiggy" with it. Finally, finally someone who can hel me take all the ruminations in my head and make some sense of them! It's like finding someone with a map or at least a compass.
But today, I was busy finding a new computer -- thank GOD for Dell Computers! In a day or so, I'll have a new companion who I hope will be as helpful as the old one has been.
For now, I am "jerry-rigging" my laptop with a stolen keyboard from another home computer. We have more computers in my house than people...you'd think that finding a computer to use wouldn't be much of an issue.
But a personal computer is just that. It's like looking in someone else's purse when you don't have your own that works...it doesn't "feel" right, it doens't work right.
I know this sounds like a spoiled American talking -- and I guess I am. I was drug kicking and screaming into the internet revolution by my geek-y husband (love those geeks!). Now, I can' t imagine not having my laptop. The new edition is sleeker, with more power and more "ram" and easier to travel. I still have my treo (blackberry) for quick use on the road but for more business applications, I'll stick to my keyboard.
My date with a Gangster
His arms are black with tattoos. His walk, cocky. His smile, charismatic. He walks and the crowd parts. Like oil on water, like the split in a garbage bag...he walks and the people notice.
I sit with him, interested. I hear his story about a family gone wrong. Abuse, children hurt. I see the hurt in his eyes. I know his story is real.
I have the same questions that most have. "Why?" is a big one.
He says simply, "because it was a family. A big dangerous family but someone has your back. Always there to protect you."
And I nod in understanding. I've made my own deals with families like that. The protection may be there but the cost is quite high. One's independence, one's integrity. Indeed, one's identity. This gangster and I are not so different.
We each yearn for community. For approval that is like crack to an addict. It drives us, haunts us, makes us do stuff we don't really want to do.
Family. What is it exactly?
Recently, my husband and kids made a decision. For most of our lives we have shuttled off to "church" where we sit without each other, sometimes studying a bible, sometimes singing, but rarely connecting with each other -- and usually not with others, either. Like an illusion, this practice has become synonomous with what we settle for for a "family experience".
I'm not getting any younger. My kids are continuing their chosen paths...soon they will be out the door, into their own lives. When exactly is this "family thing" suppose to happen?
We have chosen to spend those times now with my husband's father. The patriarch of our family, gentle, kind and worth knowing. We don't crack a lot of bibles. We don't even pray. We tour the garden, talk, just be together.
This community -- this family -- is what is important. It cannot be imitated. It cannot be bottled. It is what we have -- the good, the bad, the worts. And it is worth keeping working on.
I watch as my friend leaves the table, people stopping as he cuts across the street. He is making his own exit from a family that has hurt him deeply.
I hope that I have the same courage.
I sit with him, interested. I hear his story about a family gone wrong. Abuse, children hurt. I see the hurt in his eyes. I know his story is real.
I have the same questions that most have. "Why?" is a big one.
He says simply, "because it was a family. A big dangerous family but someone has your back. Always there to protect you."
And I nod in understanding. I've made my own deals with families like that. The protection may be there but the cost is quite high. One's independence, one's integrity. Indeed, one's identity. This gangster and I are not so different.
We each yearn for community. For approval that is like crack to an addict. It drives us, haunts us, makes us do stuff we don't really want to do.
Family. What is it exactly?
Recently, my husband and kids made a decision. For most of our lives we have shuttled off to "church" where we sit without each other, sometimes studying a bible, sometimes singing, but rarely connecting with each other -- and usually not with others, either. Like an illusion, this practice has become synonomous with what we settle for for a "family experience".
I'm not getting any younger. My kids are continuing their chosen paths...soon they will be out the door, into their own lives. When exactly is this "family thing" suppose to happen?
We have chosen to spend those times now with my husband's father. The patriarch of our family, gentle, kind and worth knowing. We don't crack a lot of bibles. We don't even pray. We tour the garden, talk, just be together.
This community -- this family -- is what is important. It cannot be imitated. It cannot be bottled. It is what we have -- the good, the bad, the worts. And it is worth keeping working on.
I watch as my friend leaves the table, people stopping as he cuts across the street. He is making his own exit from a family that has hurt him deeply.
I hope that I have the same courage.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
A True Story
I told this story to my brother who thought it was "blog worthy" so here goes. It really happened...
I'm driving in the taxi, it's early, still dark. I've not had a lot of sleep so am groggy and not at all excited about the trip home (5 hour plane ride). My wits are not about me, I'm off balance, tired, weary.
Why do I pick these times to practice new skills, like speaking in Spanish?
That's the difference between creative people and non-creative people. Creative people throw caution to the wind and "go for it" when sometimes it would be best to huddle with your friends in the back seat and just keep your mouth shut. Creative people have this idea that if they just practice -- aloud and a lot -- they will figure out the rules of the game.
I told the driver, "I need to get some money". Necessito aci auro deniro (something like that..)
To which he responded, "Si". (yes, thank you).
Now I'm feeling cocky. Not only am I tired, but feeling like showing off a bit. Big mistake.
I noticed the sign for the airport. I've never said the word "airport" in Spanish before..but being a very tired, creative sort of person, I go for it. And then, I add a couple of other spanish-sounding words to it just to finish it off nicely.
This brought a very interesting response from the driver. He kind of smiled, looked a bit sheepish, then said (in perfect English I might add, the lout), "I'll take you to the airport..the "faggot dog" isn't opened at this time of day."
And yes, the not-so-creative friends in the back seat, laughed hard at my expense.
I'm driving in the taxi, it's early, still dark. I've not had a lot of sleep so am groggy and not at all excited about the trip home (5 hour plane ride). My wits are not about me, I'm off balance, tired, weary.
Why do I pick these times to practice new skills, like speaking in Spanish?
That's the difference between creative people and non-creative people. Creative people throw caution to the wind and "go for it" when sometimes it would be best to huddle with your friends in the back seat and just keep your mouth shut. Creative people have this idea that if they just practice -- aloud and a lot -- they will figure out the rules of the game.
I told the driver, "I need to get some money". Necessito aci auro deniro (something like that..)
To which he responded, "Si". (yes, thank you).
Now I'm feeling cocky. Not only am I tired, but feeling like showing off a bit. Big mistake.
I noticed the sign for the airport. I've never said the word "airport" in Spanish before..but being a very tired, creative sort of person, I go for it. And then, I add a couple of other spanish-sounding words to it just to finish it off nicely.
This brought a very interesting response from the driver. He kind of smiled, looked a bit sheepish, then said (in perfect English I might add, the lout), "I'll take you to the airport..the "faggot dog" isn't opened at this time of day."
And yes, the not-so-creative friends in the back seat, laughed hard at my expense.
The first bouquet of the season! Today I harvested the first of what will be many daily bouquets. This is a casual blend of "Moden Blush", "Golden Showers", Perennials and fragrance hybrids. I am enjoying their beauty while I listen to an artist that I recently discovered, Jesse Cook (www.jessecook.com) with earthy flamenco and sweet jazz. Great way to start a day!
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
My Zig Zag Life
Can't get that sailing trip out of my head.
I'm here doing my work, hanging out with my family and all of the sudden, I'll be looking off into the distance, thinking about sailing. I am undone by the experience.
I'm fascinated with the idea that to make forward movement, a sailor has to position himself at 45 degree angles. 45 degrees, then catch the momentum of the wind. Then, position oneself at 45 degrees in the other direction, catch the momentum, move forward.
It seems cumbersome and unprecise. No wonder sailing gave way to the speedboat.
But some people believe that sailing is the one of the cleanest and most self-sufficient sports there is. You can travel virtually anywhere in a sailboat (harbors). And as long as you like seafood, you can live on what you catch.
And yet, to move forward you have to almost double back.
This is a foreign concept to many of us -- OK, honestly? It's a foreign concept to me, card carrying high-wired, type A, get- it- done- today -certified member. I know that I have to move forward, point a to point b. Making progress, getting it done.
But those sails! They are powerful. The speed is incredible. Is moving forward really a series of doubling back?
45 degrees is half of 90 which is half of 180. That means, that moving forward in sailing is like an almost-almost turn.
I've only begun to really understand this idea and it fascinates me. Because my life is a series of zig zags. Frustrating turns. Dead ends. Get a bill paid, another one arrives in the mail. Get a realationship on track, another one crashes. Get something accomplished, more work arrives in the "in" box. I think I'm making progress, only to be sucked in by a gale. Zig zags are what make life...life.
What if zig zags ARE life? What if our lives are not meant to be hurly burly, running to catch up, get there before anybody else? What if our lives are meant instead to be a series of meandering and precise cuts on top of life's sea? What if making progress is actually catching the wind and allowing it to direct you? And what do we learn in the zig zags? What wisdom, what hope, what inspiration rain upon us while we untangle our nets, straighten our sails, position ourselves forward?
That's what I'm thinking about.
I'm here doing my work, hanging out with my family and all of the sudden, I'll be looking off into the distance, thinking about sailing. I am undone by the experience.
I'm fascinated with the idea that to make forward movement, a sailor has to position himself at 45 degree angles. 45 degrees, then catch the momentum of the wind. Then, position oneself at 45 degrees in the other direction, catch the momentum, move forward.
It seems cumbersome and unprecise. No wonder sailing gave way to the speedboat.
But some people believe that sailing is the one of the cleanest and most self-sufficient sports there is. You can travel virtually anywhere in a sailboat (harbors). And as long as you like seafood, you can live on what you catch.
And yet, to move forward you have to almost double back.
This is a foreign concept to many of us -- OK, honestly? It's a foreign concept to me, card carrying high-wired, type A, get- it- done- today -certified member. I know that I have to move forward, point a to point b. Making progress, getting it done.
But those sails! They are powerful. The speed is incredible. Is moving forward really a series of doubling back?
45 degrees is half of 90 which is half of 180. That means, that moving forward in sailing is like an almost-almost turn.
I've only begun to really understand this idea and it fascinates me. Because my life is a series of zig zags. Frustrating turns. Dead ends. Get a bill paid, another one arrives in the mail. Get a realationship on track, another one crashes. Get something accomplished, more work arrives in the "in" box. I think I'm making progress, only to be sucked in by a gale. Zig zags are what make life...life.
What if zig zags ARE life? What if our lives are not meant to be hurly burly, running to catch up, get there before anybody else? What if our lives are meant instead to be a series of meandering and precise cuts on top of life's sea? What if making progress is actually catching the wind and allowing it to direct you? And what do we learn in the zig zags? What wisdom, what hope, what inspiration rain upon us while we untangle our nets, straighten our sails, position ourselves forward?
That's what I'm thinking about.
Book recommendation
I completed a wondeful book by Kathleen Brehony (http://www.jonesbrehony.com/kathleen/kathleen.html) recently.
There is a chapter on "The Life of the Spirit: Prayer, Meditation, and Being" which speaks clearly to me...here's an excerpt:
Spiritual beliefs are seen as somehow separate from the rest of our life. Spirituality and religion in our culture are relegated to specific times and places in our daily schedule. We may believe that when we go to church or temple or mosque we are in touch with our spiritual self while at all other times we perceive the world and behave according to the secular values of our society. But this is our cultural distortion, for none of the major religious systems has ever suggested this dichotomy between what we believe spiritually and how we live. Like creativity, spirituality is more about attitude and intention, a prevailing worldview, than specific activities; true spiritual enlightment is about who we are and are becoming, about being rather than doing.
There is a chapter on "The Life of the Spirit: Prayer, Meditation, and Being" which speaks clearly to me...here's an excerpt:
Spiritual beliefs are seen as somehow separate from the rest of our life. Spirituality and religion in our culture are relegated to specific times and places in our daily schedule. We may believe that when we go to church or temple or mosque we are in touch with our spiritual self while at all other times we perceive the world and behave according to the secular values of our society. But this is our cultural distortion, for none of the major religious systems has ever suggested this dichotomy between what we believe spiritually and how we live. Like creativity, spirituality is more about attitude and intention, a prevailing worldview, than specific activities; true spiritual enlightment is about who we are and are becoming, about being rather than doing.
Monday, April 25, 2005
Sunday, April 24, 2005
"I know everybody here." says Alberto Garcia, who hails from Mexico City. He does, too. I was looking for the "romance district" , an artsy and fun part of Puerta Vallarta, and he pointed me in the right direction. He even gave me a free bottle of water for my trek. He waves to everyone all day, encouraging people to come in and see his shop.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)