Listen

Reading How to Talk so Kids will Listen... and having flashes of insight. My father was beyond the pale, but my mother effectively silenced me. Only good emotions were allowed, and so I was the good kid - seething with resentment and self reproach. She had no idea who I was. We had no relationship, I spent my childhood hiding myself from her - so that she would stay on my side, at least sometimes. I was the smart one - but with a connotation that smart was, well, good - but a problem. I was the quitter, the shy one, the messy one, the pest.

Yes, the surgical nurse who mouths off to surgeons.

Took me a long time to get over all those horrible messages. Probably not done, but nothing insistent at the moment.

One of the questions in the gardening class today was Why do you want a garden? He suggested all kinds of rather practical reasons, most of which are part of why I wanted one so much. To grow my own food - for the taste, the satisfaction, with time for the economy. To heal this small patch as a refuge for some critters. But when he opened the floor, the overwhelming answer was - to dig in the dirt. I loved digging holes last summer. As deep as I felt like. Loved finding roots and rocks, coal and marbles and the hatchet and toy Storm Trooper. It's mine, to do with as I like, and to be responsible for. A bit of earth to love, explore, and care for.

The planning begins. Mostly tomatoes, peas as a nitrogen fixer, maybe lettuce. And whatever I can find in the herbs as smelly bug deterrent. I wonder if peppercorns grow here. Lavender and basil, rosemary, geraniums again. I forget how much I did last year, that I won't have to do again this year.

Danced to Don't Worry Ma, Annabouboula -In The Baths Of Constantinople. Shoulder recalcitrant, but I moved it anyway.