Finding a Pearl

| Flower Roberts

A pearl is formed because the oyster is irritated by a tiny object, such as a grain of sand, that gets trapped between the oyster’s mantle and its shell. To relieve its discomfort the oyster secretes layers of mother-of-pearl (nacre) around the grain to smooth it and soothe the irritation.

I have been looking for a pearl. The grain of sand was shame. Layers have been formed to protect me from this event. The surprise was not the grain of shame. It was the stories I told myself to soothe the hurt.

I saw those layers this morning. That one event shifted my thinking. It changed how I saw myself. The shame sent me in a different direction. The consequence was unintended, but the result caused a shift in my identity and goals.

The term Pearls of Wisdom has a whole new meaning. I did not want this pearl, but I needed to find it to move forward.

Be careful what you say to your daughters. Pearls are made from pain.

FLOW

Pearl from cover of Tears of a Mermaid by Stephen G. Bloom, a great book

Exposed by Ink

| Flower Roberts

I am a pencil person. I even put an extra cap eraser on new pencils. I write more freely knowing my mistakes can be erased.
Why would anyone want to keep their mistakes in plain view? It seems stifling to have to be careful so as not to make permanently visible mistakes.

I did not like the Pen Only rule in chemistry lab. I was insecure enough without being forced to share my mistakes. It seemed mean to make it mandatory to keep messy marked-out methods in my lab book.

The reasoning behind the rule was that one should learn from mistakes. By examining the method used, one could correct mis-steps for a better outcome. This did prove to be of use at times, but all those corrections ruined the neat and orderly appearance of my lab notes.

I did not want anyone to know how many wrong turns it took for me to get to the right place. It was embarrassing to have my scribbles graded along with my data. I suspected that my mess was messier than other students’ messes. I was ashamed of my Pen Only work. It could never be perfect.

I appreciate preserving my methods and mistakes now. I learn more from meandering than from going straight for an answer. There is a lot of wisdom set down on paper in doodling. Mind wandering can discover covered-up treasure.

I still love my erasers. Neatness has its place. But if you are writing something important, you might want to use a pen and keep those booboos handy in case you accidently uncover something magical by mistake.

FLOW

Write to Remember

| Flower Roberts

I am grateful I have always had the habit of writing things down. I carry little notebooks wherever I go. If I forget to pack one while on a trip, there is a ‘ journal emergency’ which involves finding the nearest store to buy any strang little book that suits me.


The process of writing has always helped me remember events better.  During the years of Rose’s epilepsy trauma, I took notes on everything Rose. Having accurate records of all seizures,  drug changes and hospital stays was an important first step to writing our book, Seizure Mama and Rose by Flower Roberts.


I am using my writings again. This time I am going back over forty years. The culmination circles have called me back to my younger self. Critical choices were made at this time in my life. I was not brave enough to stand up to contradictory forces. The evidence is there on yellowed pages in my own handwriting. I let others sway my decisions because of my indecisive, pleaser self. Doors were closed.


Things in the present have circled back. I have tried to ignore this. I have other aspects of my life that need my immediate attention, but pauses keep taking me back. Something needs finishing, healing, forgiving…


I do not know where this journey will lead. I need to understand my former self and circumstances. I need to look at the past to move forward. Choices are being made. This time I want to own them.

FLOW

Page 234 from 101 Essays that will Change the way You Think by Brianna Wiest

Is Your Life a Line or a Segment?

| Flower Roberts

I envision time as a conveyor belt. Babies get born onto the belt, old folks drop off the belt when they die. The rest of us ride along on the belt. Living our lives as we move forward.

The on and off is not really an isolated event. Folks are there to greet the new arrivals. They planned and prepared for more life. Riders on the belt do things that affect others. Those effects do not end when that person drops off the belt.

So there is a beginning before the start and after-effects after the end.

That is a line.

A segment starts at a point and ends abruptly. There is no future beyond the segment’s endpoint. There is nothing else. This is a self-centered point of view.

If you live like a segment, you are in the now and focused on progress and finishing well.

If you live like a line, you appreciate the head-start you were given and feel obligated to leave a legacy for others after you are gone. This is an integrated and interdependent viewpoint. Things are never really about just you.

Which are you?

FLOW

A New Bridge

| Flower Roberts

There are pieces of pink and orange ribbon fluttering in the trees.


Trucks drive through the woods.


Workers in hardhats wave as we pass.


Holes are being drilled to find bedrock.


A new bridge is coming.

Where will the foxes go?

What will happen to the coyote den on the hill?

Coyote den

Change is coming to our woods again.

Hill above the river.

More humans mean less trees and animals.

We do not choose change, but it comes.

Uncertainity is inevitable everywhere.

FLOW

Neglect Leads to Rehab

| Flower Roberts

Do not assume you can neglect your green babies and get away with it. There will be consequences that you will have to address sooner or later.
I parked my Schlumbergera collection under a giant camellia in April and did not turn, feed or water until October, due to surgery and an accident. Did I really expect perfect shape and blooms in December?

Before bag treatment.

No. I just hoped we would all survive. I did and they did, but the results are not pretty.
I feel as lop-sided as they look. I do think their month in a plastic bag helped with hydration.


They are blooming. These are the best looking ones.

The best of the bunch.

The others are pitiful.

Plants not under bag.

It’s almost time for some rehab. I will let them bloom through the holidays before pruning and repotting.

Since I do not care for more plants, I will lay the twisted off segments back in the pot from which they came for a few days. Then dust segment ends with root-tone dust and repot the plant and its segments at once.

That way I do not mix up the colors. That’s just me being OCD.

Neglectful FLOWER

Mama’s Hobby

| Flower Roberts

Other mothers painted or shopped or played bridge,
but my mama’s hobby was daddy.
She did read and garden and play the piano,
but mostly she took care of daddy.

She covered his legs with a towel while he napped in the blue chair by the window.
She brought him water while he sat in the swing.
She handwashed his orthopedic hose.
She put out fresh linen for him in the bathroom.
She had to pester him to eat, because he said he couldn’t taste much.

Every week of calendar on the desk was full of Daddy’s appointments.
They both went.
They made trips to the shot doctor, the foot doctor, the diabetes doctor, the arthritis doctor, the cancer doctor and the dentist.

Oh, the dentist!
My daddy still had his own teeth with crowns and bridges and root canals.
I don’t think he liked seeing his mama’s teeth in a glass by her bed.
(I know I didn’t.)
I kept telling him he’d driven another expen$ive car into his mouth.
I guess he just wanted to die with his teeth in.

My daddy held up the sky,
but my mama held up my daddy.

Daddy has been gone for over three years now, but don’t tell mama.

She just saw him in the cafeteria at the home. She said he was babbling and crazy. She needs help finding him to straighten him out. He is confused, she says.

Old habits are hard to break.

Mama has dementia, but everyone else is mixed up…not her.

She calls to tell us to move her car or bring the checkbook so she can write some checks.

She is still in charge of this world she imagines. She will not be distracted from her duties. She will be the boss from her wheelchair and bed. Do not argue with the boss.

She is exhausting and exhausted. Our hearts are weary. This is a tough phase.

FLOW

My Finiteness

| Flower Roberts

For the first time in my life, I feel finite. Like I am running out of time, energy and life. My wide-open-ness has turned to conservativeness and protectiveness. I am drained. This is not my normal. I hear clocks ticking.


I do not know where this came from. Was it the hip surgery, the hurricane, the election, my friend’s death or the illnesses of my loved ones?  I cannot  perform as a Wonder Woman any more. Too many fires, too little water.

Maybe the book I am writing has uncovered things that should have been left alone. I am amazed how my mind and hand seem to go into action while I am an observer, surprised by what shows up on the page.


I know low, but this is different. I will diligently search for a way up and out. I wish that winter was not approaching. I tend toward dormancy in the cold.

I am usually a tenacious survivor. It’s just that I need a reason to rise. I am not up for the same-old-same-old. I feel defeated by multiple circumstances.

I referred to this in an earlier post as a quagmire. Several of my readers commiserated on that point. It is the feeling of being confined or trapped. I am transitioning and writing about the past and how it has affected the present. I call these events culmination circles. I have started recording these times when life seems to spiral back on itself.

I feel like I am stuck in a rut and sinking slowly. I need change. I need something new. I need a plan of action.  I hope for a flash of inspiration. I must rally and be proactive. I am considering options and thinking outside of my comfort-zone box.

I will let you know how I climb out of this hole…when I do.

I am doing my best every day.

That is who I am.

FLOW

Roots Bustin’ Loose

| Flower Roberts

This has happened before.

The roots of Clivia miniata ‘Good Hope’ busting out of the pot.

Last time this happened I thought
I had brought in a stowaway toad.
The roots raised up in a bulge and dumped soil on the floor.

This time the roots cracked the pot to make more space.

These hefty, hairy roots will not be restrained nor contained. I appreciate a plant that knows what it needs.

Now, it has room to grow and to bloom.

‘Good Hope’ puts out several pups each year.

This bush lily is worth all the work.

Its giant cluster of butter-yellow blooms will be like sunshine in late winter.

Clivia miniata ‘Good Hope’

I also have an orange one named ‘Fire Lily.’

FLOWER

My Schlumbergera collection is still in a bag. We will see how that worked next week.