upside downside

I had a friend named Flip.

Flip owned, and operated a prosperous lawn and garden center.

Flip took a chance on me, one with no experience growing anything, and hired me, as his first seasonal employee.

One day Flip decided to take lunch offsite. He gave me detailed instruction on what he needed me to do while he was gone.

He needed me to ‘deadhead’ the purple petunias by removing the spent blooms down to the next leaf joint. He explained that by removing the faded flowers, the plant would continue producing new flowers, and would stay in bloom longer.

Purple petunias are my favorite with their deep purple color and their faint, mysterious scent.

I was so happy to have a task that was uncomplicated and yet would continue the cycle of glorious petunia purple-ness.

I was happy to have the task completed as I saw him pulling into the parking lot. I had deadheaded the petunias, cleaned up my mess, and displayed the baskets along with the other flowers.

As Flip walked towards me his face showed dismay. It was not the dismay I expected. He was confounded as he asked, “What did you do?!”

I was startled, since I did what he asked me to do.

“No. No. No! I asked you to deadhead them. You have removed all the blooms.”

He then showed me what the new blooms looked like and questioned me. “Don’t you see the difference?”

I hadn’t noticed a difference until he pointed it out to me. The new and old blooms had looked the same with just subtle differences that I will now forever remember.

Flip.

Thank you for not getting hostile or mad. Thank you for using that moment to train me further in my knowledge of plant cycles, growth, and care.

Thank you most of all for teaching me how to rectify a plant-based mistake.

Fertilize it with phosphate, with potash, and give it time. It will bloom again.

I remember your lesson Flip.

I apply it often.

*Learn bloom stages.

*For vigorous growth, remove the dead blooms.

*When I cut away the wrong things, do damage control by adding nutrients.

*Most important: give it time.

And so I will Flip- so I will.

The diamonds in the grass

The diamonds in the skies

Are diamonds in my heart

And diamonds in my eyes.

Surprised the thirsty Earth

The gentle pouring Rain

Was washing clean the dirt

While easing parching pain.

Droplets of dew on grass

Sparkles of stars in sky

Ignited hope in heart

Renewed love in my eyes.

Diamonds clear

Conquer fear.

The diamonds in my eyes.

All the tears I cried

on the day you died

are stored in a jar

on the Moon or on a star.

They shine bright, through darkened night,

by the light of Moon or Star.

The tears, the tears are stored

in a jar, in a jar— oh Lord.

They shine bright

Though darkening night,

by the light, the light

of a Star.

Tears— my tears;

In a jar, in a jar.

Human Resource jargon is the worst.

If you want me to ‘Reach out’ to someone, what happens if we touch? Is that terminable? Shouldn’t I just make a quick call?

If you want to be ‘Fully Transparent’ will I just hear a disembodied voice?

This brings me to another question… why work? If you have the ability to be fully transparent; go National! Call the tabloids, or the network news. You have an incredible skill. It has to be on the Super Hero list of skills.

Full Disclosure. Why? Partial disclosure is more than I can possibly bear.

HR Jargon; it makes me laugh.

My daddy had an annoying habit.

When I lost something, which was quite often, he would ask me where I had it last.

As a teenager, I always wanted to reply, “Einstein, if I knew where I had it last, I’d know where it is.”

I was a very compliant child, so I just bit my tongue in frustration and continued my search.

One day my dad and I connected in some strange cosmic anomaly. He realized my frustrations and asked me why I was so mad at him.

“It makes me so mad because if I knew where I had it last, I would know where it is,” I replied.

“No. If you know where you ‘think you had it last’ we can start from there and try to reconstruct where you went, or what you did next,” said my wise father.

The cosmic anomaly opened my eyes to a new way of thinking.

First, my daddy wasn’t trying to irritate me, he was trying to help. Second, strange cosmic anomalies do exist. Third, and most important to me is, “Where DID I have it last?”

My glasses, my phone, my keys, my sanity, my memory… when I follow the ‘where did I have it last’ method, I almost always recover that thing which I lost.

It works well for glasses, phones, and keys…

my sanity, my memory… these… ?

Where DID I have them last?

I have a grandson who is unbelievably curious.

He has an incredible gift.

He finds critters.

It is remarkable. As the rest of humanity goes about their mundane tasks, Zeke finds salamanders, snails, lizards and beetles.

He will flush a turtle out of an underground home that no one knew was there.

No one knew, but Zeke.

I have marveled at the innate ability he has. Then I realized, Zeke found, because Zeke looked.

Zeke knows of the mysterious creatures abounding in nature, so he, with childlike faith seeks them, and finds them.

It has started an inward journey in my heart that began with the question, “What am I seeking?”

Zeke’s wisdom, the wisdom of a child, spurs me on with the excited exclamation,

“Just look!”

As with the physical things, my observant grandson finds, I desire to find God.

As the rest of humanity goes through their mundane tasks, I want to find the narrow path through Life’s many uncertainties.

I believe I will.

I, like Zeke, will find, because I will look.

I will just LOOK.

My world stopped spinning when I heard.

The earth continued in its orbit, carrying me with it, but time, as I know it, stopped.

Blood froze in my veins, movement, and momentum, impossible, as I struggled to process even a simple thought.

Those around me continued in the minutia of life while I was left gasping for breath and being.

Nothing pierced the unreality.

Nothing penetrated the solitude or the incapacitating silence.

On the day you took your life, you left me with nothing but frozen tears and unbearable unbelief.

I had no idea your pain was so overwhelming.

I hate that you felt desperate.

I hate that I had no idea.

I hate that I lost an irreplaceable part of my soul.

My-Boy.

Why did you go?

I hate the idea that I have no idea.

Suicide:

I hate you. I hate the incomprehensible lie you tell. I hate your devastation.

I hate you. You took life. He was precious and valued to me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you’ve read this far:

Please make note of these numbers. Anywhere in the U.S. – 24/7/365

Suicide Emergency- call or text 988 for yourself or emergency help for another

OR:

Call SAMHSA- 1-877-726-4727 Again, available 24/7/365 (That is every hour of every day all year long.)

SAMHSA (Substance Abuse and Mental Health Administration)

I often write about Dawn and gentle breezes, of the wind and birds.

I write of these because of the deep darkness and gale-force winds I have experienced in my life.

I write of them from a perspective of deep gratitude.

I write of them for my future self, to remind her of beauty and the power of soul solace.

I have lived with mental illness, untimely death, tragic consequences, and through the suicide of one who was part of my soul.

My writings are simplistic.

I am not.

I am thankful that through my darkest night, there was meaning.

I was unaware at the time that I was growing.

I write to encourage those who need an anchor in a stormy sea.

I write for those blinded by hurricane-force winds.

I write for me, and I write for you.

Storms are not a constant.

Growth is often painful and seemingly unbearable.

There is, however, True Light.

There is Reason.

Hold tight.

Life is precious.

Even when blinded by pain, I purpose to seek momentum.

Will you?

Hold tight.

You have meaning.

Tomorrow will dawn. Please be here.

In deep darkness, as the birds still slumber, I hear the wind begin to stir.

Cool night air and wind play together with fallen leaves, tossing them up, around, and down.

Atmosphere, clearly enjoys the bright sheen of Stars’ glorious light.

Freshness and mystery abound.

Earth sighs.

Deep speaks to Deep, as soul and Spirit commune in this rare and quiet moment before the awakening Sun brings with her.

Alone with Twilight, I hear the Voice of God. The quiet, unmistakable voice of Love speaks in Twilight’s sweet breath.

I listen as leaves skitter by.

I hear, before the Wide-awake-of-our-weary-World.

I hear.

Violet was the incubator who brought my precious gift to me. I am ever thankful.

I met Violet just once.

It seems harsh to see her as a birthing machine rather than a beating heart or a living, breathing soul. However, Violet wrote the rules, and demanded compliance. Unquestioned compliance is what she was given.

Ours was a non-relationship.

She relinquished a valuable treasure, while disinterested in the rate of return on her investment. Did she invest anything?

I am thankful, yet stunned, by Violet’s nonchalance.

I am eternally grateful for the gift I received; mother and child, and the outcome; precious, unconditional love.

Violet was not a flower.

She was an incubator who gave birth to my mother.

Clyde was ninety-two years old when we buried him. He was not old enough. This earth, however, took its toil on his rugged frame.

Clyde’s obituary stated, “He never met a stranger.” I added those words. If I wrote it now, I would phrase it differently. Instead, I would say, “Everyone Clyde met was a Friend he didn’t yet know.”

Clyde was my mentor, friend, confidant, and grandfather. Clyde taught me the power of unconditional love. I learned so poorly.

Clyde was. He was slyly humorous, intentionally cantankerous, and genuinely wise, and humble.

Clyde taught me to think. I was a young girl in the 1960’s. I was supposed to aspire to baking, cooking, and mending. Clyde taught me to drive a tractor, find horny toads, and be me. He was the one person in my life who wanted to know who I was. He wanted to know who I wanted to be. He asked me what I thought, and listened intently to my answers.

Clyde acted as if my words and thoughts were important. He wanted to know what I had to say. He encouraged me to talk when other adults, encouraged me to be quiet.

I am who I am, because of my grandfather, Clyde. When I wonder what to do, and how to act, or react in difficult situations, I remember Clyde.

I remember his gift of unconditional love. It may be the most powerful tool in the arsenal of self.

Can I continue lessons which are so difficult to apply? Can I love others with the profound love that seeks selflessness? I cannot.

I will however, try. I will try because Clyde lived.

Clyde was.

Is everything always okay?

Time; was it planned before it started?

This awkward moment we had today;

it is startling, have our ways parted?

Death. Why cry? Death-of-self should I say

could we leave it hanging half-hearted?

I cry at the loss of this new day,

ending before it ever started.