Harvest
My gardening habits became quite entangled in my hospitalization level breakdown some 12 or so years ago. It was a complex interaction of many events that were catalyzed in a neighborhood spectacle between a neighbor and I. Officially it was with her newest man, but this particular woman was the consistent presence and used her many men like yard dogs to do her barking for her. She hated my garden and my love of yard work. But she and her latest man were only a catalyst who kept 911 on speed dial. The elements which were catalyzed had nothing to do with her, her revolving yard boys or her passion for calling the cops. It was an intense period in my family's dynamics and the explosive cocktail was complex.
The element in play today is my husband's inherited trait of disappearing into the corporate halls for long, long hours and assuming the position of absolute authority from afar. He could invalidate gaping wounds if they were not on his corporate docket. The realities of family life are not corporate material. We were just pictures in his wallet. He grew argumentative and even violent any time our lives strayed from his stories around the water cooler. Any attempts to share the parenting load with him were met with desperate attempts to shape us into good little corporate assets. I attempted to live two lives. One for his wallet and the other for the realities which my sons and I lived without him. During this particular phase, I was attempting to do so while hiding the lowering of memory blocks from everyone. By the end of it, I had full recollection that the neighbor's newest man looked and smelled an awful lot like the grandfather who loved to "educate" his grandchildren in his machine shop in his basement. This grandfather died when I was five. I had not previously remembered even knowing him.
I am proud to say my husband and I have come a long way in the past dozen or so years. These days he is an active partner and able to admit he is not an expert in what happens when he is not around, much less in the echoes of what happened before we met. He has developed admirable listening skills.
We are currently dealing with the stresses of mentally ill adult sons and settling into a new community after 22 years in the old house. Anxieties are high and numerous. My husband has always been proud of "our" organic landscaping. The ones he innovates around the water cooler. High on my personal list of anxieties is the prospect of fending off a new batch of carpet grass experts and their wives. Sorry, ladies, but that is the 100% of my personal experience. The boys bring the power toys and their wives bring the browbeatings and offers to lend me their men to do it right.
At present, there is a rich crop of clover in the front yard. Clover is an especially rich green manure I would like to harvest for my brand new compost pile. My husband has agreed to get his hands dirty and help. If necessary, he will handle the local carpet experts.
I am still anxious. Small steps. Just do it.
The element in play today is my husband's inherited trait of disappearing into the corporate halls for long, long hours and assuming the position of absolute authority from afar. He could invalidate gaping wounds if they were not on his corporate docket. The realities of family life are not corporate material. We were just pictures in his wallet. He grew argumentative and even violent any time our lives strayed from his stories around the water cooler. Any attempts to share the parenting load with him were met with desperate attempts to shape us into good little corporate assets. I attempted to live two lives. One for his wallet and the other for the realities which my sons and I lived without him. During this particular phase, I was attempting to do so while hiding the lowering of memory blocks from everyone. By the end of it, I had full recollection that the neighbor's newest man looked and smelled an awful lot like the grandfather who loved to "educate" his grandchildren in his machine shop in his basement. This grandfather died when I was five. I had not previously remembered even knowing him.
I am proud to say my husband and I have come a long way in the past dozen or so years. These days he is an active partner and able to admit he is not an expert in what happens when he is not around, much less in the echoes of what happened before we met. He has developed admirable listening skills.
We are currently dealing with the stresses of mentally ill adult sons and settling into a new community after 22 years in the old house. Anxieties are high and numerous. My husband has always been proud of "our" organic landscaping. The ones he innovates around the water cooler. High on my personal list of anxieties is the prospect of fending off a new batch of carpet grass experts and their wives. Sorry, ladies, but that is the 100% of my personal experience. The boys bring the power toys and their wives bring the browbeatings and offers to lend me their men to do it right.
At present, there is a rich crop of clover in the front yard. Clover is an especially rich green manure I would like to harvest for my brand new compost pile. My husband has agreed to get his hands dirty and help. If necessary, he will handle the local carpet experts.
I am still anxious. Small steps. Just do it.
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