Growing Things.

I’ve never really purchased tools, they were always kind of acquired through different mergers and acquisitions. After we merged our apartments, The Man and I, almost ten years ago, we realized we had lots of everything. We have two hammers, and many screwdrivers of all sizes. The Man owns several micro-screwdrivers for computer geeks. Okay, not just for computer geeks. I’ve fixed a few sunglasses with them. My screwdriver, however, was the kind where all the bits are conveniently stored in the handle – efficient. We somehow found a one and a half foot-long screwdriver in our toolbox, and still don’t know where that came from. We had two dressers, identical, funnily enough, and two pails, and…you get the point.

Since we’ve moved into our really nice condo, I’ve proudly dug my very own flowerbed which, I must admit, is really cool. I was scared. The farthest I had ever been in growing things were the flower boxes I wasted money on when we rented our apartment years ago. The balcony was way too windy for lupins and the only thing I could grow in there were geraniums. Tough little fellas, albeit sticky.

In my 20 by 4 foot flower garden, I have tulips and astilbes, and a bunch of other flowers which I vaguely know the names of in French. The other flowerbeds in the common yard are tended to by a company we pay with our condo fees. But not my garden. It’s all mine. I weed it, water it, and no one is responsible for the way it looks but me. I’m kind of proud of that even when, like today, the weeds are taking over.

So today, besides buying a nice basil plant, I purchased a tool. I think it’s called a border cutter. It will enable me to cut the grass around my garden ever so slightly, which I will do at a 45-degree angle inwards, so that everything looks neat and well taken care of. I will weed, and turn the soil over, add a little bit of top soil, and see what I can separate and what I can add.

I love my little private space, and am looking forward to this week’s nice weather.

Dust.

Sunlight is flirting with the floor, sweeping over the lines and mocking the hour and the trance she has settled into. It teases the dust into shape, making little rainbows of sparkles. Whispers of things past roll by, and the colored specks fall back down in a heap. There is hope, she thinks, half awake. She stretches, looks around, and sighs. What now?

You are not old yet, Silence whispers back. Give yourself some time to figure things out. She rolls over and closes her eyes. An unknown voice crawls into the folds and wakes ancient fears, making itself so present and pushing past the mundane. It breaks the calm: it shouts.

Wake up, now. Stand up and take charge.