Posts Tagged ‘spider plant’

When You Wish Upon A Star

January 7, 2015

A falling star at that.

I saw the glowing ember descending heavens above me as I rode my bicycle home through the cold air of the park, I immediately wished.

Love and sobriety.

I wish for love.

I wish to stay sober.

Those have pretty much been my wishes for over the last few years and as I sneak closer to a decade of time I am again overcome by a feeling of wonder and awe at where my life has taken me and the things that I have gotten to do.

I suspect that there is more to come.

I used to wish with obsessive habit on the first star of the evening.

Or the new moon, as seen over my left shoulder.

I almost always would look up, up, up, scanning the still glowing horizon after the sun had set over Twin Peaks, searching for that first evening star upon which I would wish.

I wish for sobriety.

It’s a wish that has been granted every day now for a little bit of time.

It’s not the wish I thought I would be making when I was a little girl and heard about wishing on the first star of the evening.

Star light.

Star bright.

First star I see tonight.

I wish I may.

I wish I might.

Make the wish.

I wish tonight.

I wish to stay sober.

The wish is a good wish to make.

For with it come all manner of good things.

I would not have the life that I live or the principles I live by without having been granted this wish.

I used to wish for money, fame, notoriety (I mean, perhaps not consciously, but I like the idea, even still of being notorious), love, but not the kind of love that I get in spades every day, I was fantasizing about a type of romantic love, someone who would sweep in and save me from myself and my crazy life.

I like my crazy life today.

It’s much more sane than one would think.

Jam packed with stuff too.

I was sitting in a room, listening to wisdom and experience and solution and my eyes closed and I could have just drifted right off.

Today was a full day.

Lots of cooking and laundry, parks, three different park outings, one run to Lucca Ravioli, two runs to the Whole Foods Market on Valencia Street (which is not a Whole Food Market at all, but a little mom and pop where the owner and the clerks know me and the boys by name), cooking for the house–today I made turkey meatballs and spaghetti, a big salad, and steamed cauliflower with olive oil and garlic, picking up some tailoring from the laundrette, a trip to the Eco Center on 17th, and the normal nap time, snack time, lunch time, dinner time, bath time routine of the boys.

Let’s add to my day an hour and a half bicycle commute.

Aka my urban gym routine.

I always get a good giggle when I see ladies at the park doing the boot camps.

Listen, I want to tell them, get a job that is a half hour to 45 minute commute on bicycle, there’s your cardio, then add hauling around a 2 and a half-year old for legs and upper arms, and finish with pushing a double stroller about the Mission with a four and a half-year old in tow for stamina and strength training.

You’ll tighten up real quick.

I promise.

In addition to the commute, I got up early and yes, I wrote.

I mean, I always write and I am writing now and I am happy to be making a concerted effort to be doing the writing, but I really am seeing how important it is to keep me balanced and in good harmony with the world about me.

How it lets me observe things that I would not necessarily see if I was buried in social media or surfing the internet all day.

I would miss out on observing the life about me.

Like the sun reflecting off the back windows of the house behind my in-law in the morning.

I don’t have much morning light, but the western facing windows of the neighbors at a certain time each morning, reflect into my studio a blaze of warm golden sunlight.

This morning I was sitting, eating my oatmeal with pink lady apple chopped up into it and wild blue berries, sipping my pour over Stumptown coffee (no Holler Mountain today, the store was sold out, but I tried a new blend that might make a run for the money shot–Indonesia Bies Penantan–clove, white pepper, cola, prune, and brown sugar accents) and the light blew up the spider plant I have hanging in the corner with the most beautiful light.

The plant was glowing and shimmering and almost transcendental with light.

That’s God, I thought.

I mean, everything is God, in my opinion, but that was a special God shot indeed.

Every home I have had, since I have had a home in which I have consciously chosen to decorate and nest in, since I was a sophomore in high school and took over the big room in the house in Windsor, has had a spider plant in it.

I have changed and I continue to change, but there is an epicenter of myself, a core being that has a lot of little tiny nuisances that have stayed with me down the years.

I still wish upon stars.

I still sing along to the lyrics on the radio.

And sometimes I actually know the lyrics to said songs.

I still dance like, mostly, no one is looking.

I still like to write.

Hopefully the writing has gotten better, but I do know that there is voice, a persona, a verbosity, or tendency toward, that I have always had, I can see it here and there and it speckles my writing like the stars in the warm summer sky over the orchard when I used to walk back there in the grass at night, longing for something that I knew not what it was.

Love.

And sobriety.

They are both the same thing.

I couldn’t have one without the other.

I’ve been wishing on stars for a very long time.

It was only recently, though, that I realized.

I have been given my wish from the very first time I wished upon a star.

Falling or otherwise.

My wish has always been heard.

I am loved.

 

Be The Mother To Yourself

May 12, 2014

That you wished you always had.

That statement takes on new meaning as I develop a new relationship with my mom.

I almost said with my current mom.

And that actually makes a kind of sense, she’s a different person, I am a different person, and we slowly construct a kind of relationship that neither of us have had before.

I am not real interested in reconstructing the relationship we used to have.

It did not work.

I will leave it at that.

She did the best she could.

I did the best I could.

I learned a lot of new behaviours that started to happen when I really asked for, and received some help.  I have had a lot of recovery in this area, I have done a fuck ton of inventory, gone to therapists, psychiatrists and counselors.

I have worked through a lot of the collateral damage.

But sometimes, I still will have my feelings about it and I found myself crying for no particular reason after I got off the phone with my mom this afternoon.

It’s Mother’s Day, that’s what you do, you call the mom.

I had to eat breakfast, pray, meditate, and write before doing it.

And the phone call only lasted six and a half minutes.

I think mom might have been talking for a while, but we had gotten disconnected.

I waited a few minutes, chuckling, thinking she must be chatting away over there in Florida, filling me in on all the doings of her partners daughter.

Like I care.

But, I listen.

I picked up the phone when she rang back and listened to her talk.

That’s probably the best gift I can give her, listening to her.

I don’t need to ask for or rely on my mom for anything.

I never really did, even when I should have been as a kid.

However, for years after I became an adult, I continued to look to my mom for emotional and financial support.

I never really expected it, but I would hope for it, I would long for it, I would go to the very dry well and expect a big bucket of cold, refreshing spring water to slake my thirst for all things mom.

So today, I did the best thing that I could do for myself, I took care of myself like I wished my mom could have when I was younger.

I made myself soup.

I sat outside in the sun.

I went for a bike ride.

I cleaned the house.

I read my book.

I balanced my checkbook, paid my phone bill, dropped the check in the mail to my friend for the Lighting in a Bottle Memorial Day weekend camping trip.

I did all things mom like and responsible.

Then I had a realization.

And perhaps it is like marrying yourself, I don’t know, but I have bought things for the little girl in me when she has needed them–pajamas, stuffed bunny rabbits (all since donated and gifted away to little girls I used to nanny) hair clips, stickers, etc.

I have gotten things for the teenager in my psyche too–lipstick, trips to Sephora, bottles of Essie nail polish, magazines–she like W and Vogue–but I have never, until today, thought about getting something for the mom in me.

I am pretty maternal when it gets right down to it.

I was my own mom, my mom’s mother at times, my sister’s mother at times, I am a care taker, especially in my first long-term relationship,  I was definitely the mom to the man I was dating.

How then should I celebrate myself and do for myself a nice little thing–acknowledge that the mom in me needs a Mother’s Day gift too.

I mean, who doesn’t like getting presents?

So, I took myself to Sloat Garden Center here in the Outer Sunset and I got myself a hanging plant.

A spider plant, to be specific.

I love the green.

I used to have one in my bedroom in the house I grew up in, Windsor, Wisconsin, a land very, very, very, far, far away.

I like them.

They do something for me.

Don’t care to analyze it, but I have had one in a number of the more stable housing situations I have been in.

There’s something about it that puts the final stamp of approval on my place for me.

I got a black metal hanging bracket, screwed it into the wall, threaded the hanger (bought a cloth one in blue with pink roses–yeah, hey, it’s got to have a little mom feel to it you know), and hung up the plant.

It makes me absurdly happy when I look at it.

Again, I don’t know why, but it does.

There’s something fulfilling about having green plants in my home.

In fact, I distrust people who don’t have plants, they’re homes always make me nervous.

There’s something nurturing about having plants in the home, flowers are sweet and I love them too, but just a good healthy green plant, thriving in some sunshine, makes my little space open up and grow too.

It is therapeutic to look at greenery.

It soothes me soul, it does.

Going out to Sloat Garden Center also helped me to get back on the scooter.

I checked it out and pretty much found it to be doable, I wanted to ride it to my evening commitment at Church and Market tonight, and figured a trial run was needed.

The Garden Center was a perfect little jaunt.

It’s at 46th and Sloat.

I am at 46th and Judah.

Just a few blocks to go, then a nice meander through the green house, the flowers, the geraniums and Gerber Daisies, the orchids, slender and beguiling with lush yellow purple sunbursts of petals, the African Violets and baskets of begonias and bouganvilla.

I wanted the spider plant, though, and that’s what I got.

It rode back with me, tied down to the back seat.

I got my scooter legs again and took it to Church and Market and back with no problems whatsoever.

Which is great, since I am working in the Castro tomorrow and want to ride it to work.

It appears i will be making that commute again for the week.

Wednesday I will drop it off in the evening to get the dent popped out of the front fender and I will chalk it up to part of the learning curve.

And when I feel overwhelmed I will soothe myself and regard happily my new plant.

Happy Mother’s Day to you and you and you.

New mom’s, old mom’s, grandma’s, and to those of you who get the gift of mothering yourself too, may it be joyful and everything you need.

Even if it’s just as simple as a green plant hanging in the corner of your soul.

Uh, I mean home.

 


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