Gardens

Funny how one idea or picture can inspire one to duplicate or stimulate your creative side

Such was the case of the Easter/bunny garden my sister made- I kept thinking of it and how it made me feel 

It was a tiered tray- each level filled with old and newer springy delights and creatures - taking you back to childhood but with a grownup touch and whimsical essence

So I hurried to Target and scooped  up some inexpensive Easter items- eager to get home and assemble 2 Easter gardens of my own- adding some older relics too

After I posted my creations to Facebook- my cousin texted me with her darling Easter garden!

What a fun succession of  shared interest- one of those unexpected bonding moments - sister to sister to cousin and perhaps others were making their own interpretation of the Easter menagerie 

My sister’s 

Mine

My cousin’s

My Easter trees

My other bunny garden

Futile

Sorta a continued thought from E day post—— Futile gets a bad rap

It can’t help that somethings are just impossible and better moved on from- yes I’m aware I just ended in a preposition 

Futility is hard work- it’s what you get when you try too hard or what you feel like when you don’t 

Why is it we only use it when we are trying to tell ourselves that things can’t work- that the universe would supremely be against it 

If futility was as exhausting as it sounds- why do we keep doing things that bring us back to this outrageously maddening word

Enough

 Enough is enough and too much stinks! Did everyone’s mother say that or was it just mine?

Enough is a very relative word

Condescending yet satisfying 

Controlling but desperate 

Enough is obviously subjective and elusive 

Tragic and ultimately mind numbing 

Enough is never- you fill in the blank

I’ve had enough of this futile word

Different

 I feel different- I feel like I suddenly don’t have a clue who I am

It’s sorta like those dreams where I’m in a car and going somewhere I’m totally familiar with- but then suddenly I can’t find my way back home 

Everything is different now- different is super scary- different is actually terrifying- it almost makes me dizzy

Because this different is disorienting and lousy

Everyone tells me to put a new spin on life- to try new things- to put myself out there

And that would be different for me- but what is it that they say- different doesn’t have to be bad- but this different is different 

Comparison

 What’s that saying- something like comparison being the thief of joy 

Definitely a true statement 

I try these days - really hard- to not compare- not to wonder too much in what might have been or look too closely at someone else’s life

I try very hard to have that “attitude of gratitude “ we all hear about— and it does help 

If I compare my life before with these days- well it doesn’t really compare too well 

If I look in a mirror and compare that young woman- the one who didn’t appreciate her youth- well that doesn’t end well either 

So I try and stay positive and hopeful 

Not wanting to shoot myself in the foot by being a drag for people to be around 

But some days I let myself compare what I feel like on my best days to another person’s maybe worse day and I kinda feel like they might be the same

Before

 I know my first two words are not very interesting or thoughtful but they work for me right now 

Before my husband got sick and ultimately died 

We were planning a beach trip- some of our family was coming 

The year before we had taken a trip to nags head North Carolina- a place I had visited as a child

I had introduced Frank to this beautiful oasis and he came to love it more than me

That last trip- my son Colin and his wife Kelli and their girls- our beautiful granddaughters - had come- it had been years since we had been with them along- Robyn and Miller were of course along too- my son Dustin and his family were not able to come

It was a great trip and a wonderful memory now

Yes before- we were full of plans- and new deck and patio furniture- which Colin and Frank happily put together not even 2 weeks before Frank got sick 

Before there was time to dream- yes we still dreamed 

Time to take for granted that things would continue to be somewhat predictable and comforting 

I’m glad in a way that before was so innocent- because honestly what can we do about the future- only hope for it or dread it

And certainly knowing what lay ahead of us would have taken any joy we had before 

Before marks my life now- like a time I thought I knew what my world  looked like- a time I’d grown accustomed to and didn’t understand before would soon be my past

After

 I wasn’t sure if I would participate in the az challenge this year but I figured it would help me to write 

Today my word is after- after my husband Frank died- I was going to say passed away but that’s much too nice of a word 

Too nice for the agonizing way he died- the horrible covid death 

I never gave much thought that he would go before me- it just seemed like we had lots of years left

My father had died three months before my husband but sad to admit- I was ready for dad’s departure from his aged body- he died at 95- that seems right - that was expected 

How did I still not get - how life isn’t neatly ordered or reasoned 

How did I not stop this somehow- how was it that I allowed my best friend of almost 44 years - to die alone- hooked up to all they had to offer- ravaged beyond recognition of the man I knew and loved

So after that- I really don’t know what to say about after that but I know I breathe deeper and think awful thoughts 

I dare to do some things I enjoy- only to catch myself looking back more often than I ever have

And wondering if after will ever be okay