When we got Mattie a Giant swing set, my rose garden was too close to where he would be running around, so I (GASP) dug them all up, and planted peony there instead. They are soft leaved and only flower in the spring so he would not ruin them if he ran through them.
Last week I sold Mattie’s swing set. It went to a nice family that would enjoy it like Mattie had, and the day after it was gone, I dug up those peony I had come to hate.
You are not going to believe what I found under that huge 6×10 foot peony bed.
No NOT kittens or Yorkie puppies, that would be just too cosmic even for me to handle..
BUT, a climbing red rose had survived. Seven years it had grown there, under all those peony.
I spent all this week digging and coddling that red rose bush, and today I put it back up on a trellis.
Sometimes what you really love is waiting for you, right there in front of you, till you are able to love it again.
Feature image: “Blush” By Karen Gorrell
The Holidays are now over and the New Year has begun. Now what. Time to get out all those goals you have been reciting to yourself once January came around. Diets. Organization. Frugalness. Great Hope, for you and your family, until normality re-sets in. Back to old habits, with maybe a few new good ones thrown in.
For me, none of this take place until the snow is gone. My true renewal. When my garden starts to tell me it’s time to be reborn. Only then can I start to think of the new year’s goals. I need to see the birds return, the trees start to bud and the daffodils poke their heads up towards the sunshine. Here in New England, that’s going to be a while, as we have just begun our deep freeze.
So it looks like I still have some time for comfort foods, warm blankets and old movies. Still a few months before I need to re-design my life and body, with labeled bins and low carb meals. Still a little time before I need to start what I truly do every spring-Procrastinate
Tomorrow is National Feral Cat Day. For one year, our family had the pleasure of including one of the BEST cats we’ve ever had. Feral Fred. He “just showed up” one day in May of 2008, and by July of that year, was totaly domesticated and the friendliest cat people had ever met. My neighbor, Sharon and I joyfully fought as to who would keep him, as we both had been feeding him together, for months. I won, and after a trip to the vet for shots, and being Neutered, he came to live with us. He stayed inside all through the winter-happily- but got antsy in the Spring of 2009, so he went out in the day, and came in at night. He helped me build the pond and stream this year, as he “had” to roll in EVERY spot I dug, before I planted in it. He was the first to walk across the new bridge, the first creature to drink from the pond, and brought our family dinner of a vole or mouse every night, sometimes twice. A few days before the forth of July, Fred went out at the crack of dawn, as usual, and never came home. A neighbor called me later that day to say she has seen a coyote in my front yard that morning and to be careful. Not sure what ever became of Feral Fred. Would like to believe that someone scooped him up because he was so lovable. That’s what I’m going to believe.
There never seems to be a loss for opinions when it comes to Autism. How did he get it? How do we fix him? How do we prevent it from happening to others? All I know is, right now I’m living it. And not as a part-time job or as a clinical study. Survival is a daily thing. Communication is hard work, on everyone’s part. And it wreaks havoc across all settings. But give me a shovel, a piece of land and something, anything, to plant or mow or water- and I’m good. At least for the short run. Don’t let me fool you, I have my support groups, my pretty meds, but getting my hands dirty is more cathartic than anything I know. It gives me the energy to deal with what ever life throws at me. And it gives me the inner strength to raise and love unconditionally, a 10-year-old boy named Mattie.