greening up the indoors

I have loved plants and green things since I was young. Some of my favorite childhood memories involve going to the garden center and being allowed to pick one flower for the garden. I always picked some gaudy-bright 2 in color six pack. I'd like to think my plant taste has become more refined in my age... but I still have a hard time resisting those huge flowers and eye-burning neon color.


My latest interest (obsession) has been housplants. I have a modest collection right now, but I have grand plans.



I am particularly proud of this lovely houseplant: a string of pearls (aka Senecio rowleyanus) planted in an abalone shell. The fact that it has shallow rooting habits and tendancy to shoot roots down wherever the plant touches soil makes it perfect for such an unusual pot. Though string of pearls is usually grown as a hanging plant, I think it does even better when allowed to trail on the ground outdoors or in a greenhouse setting. It makes a thick, gorgeous textural carpet wherever it is allowed to spread.

The plan for this one is to keep with the hanging basket look and let the strands cascade down over the edge of the shell. I just potted this up though, so it may be some time before that happens.

I've had this plant so long that I don't even know the name of it. I still love it- looking at it cheers me up, especially with my plastic dinosaur standing guard at the base of the trunk.

The plants in this grouping, from front to back, include a geranium of unknown origins- my dad took a cutting from a plant. Behind that is my crown of thorns (aka Euphorbia milii). I like this plant because it is somewhat dangerous- the sap is quite poisonous if ingested or if it comes in contact with a wound created by its sharp thorns. I have heard that the sap is also carcinogenic, but the source of that information is not so reliable. Anyways, it gives me a bit of a thrill to see this plant sitting so serenely on my dresser- a danger lurking in a beautiful glazed ceramic pot. Just barely visible behind the Euphorbia is a sweet potato hanging out in some water. Soon (hopefully) a sweet potato "genii" will appear, snaking a vine up, over, under, and around any surface available.

In non-houseplant news, I have finally given up on the hope that I will have any more delicious red tomatoes this season. I ripped out the tomato plants but before I did I harvested all the green tomatoes. Hooray for green tomato mincemeat pie and fried green tomatoes, recipes courtesy of The Pacific Northwest: The Beautiful Cookbook by Kathy Casey.

In praise of mood altering substances

It's time to select classes for the fall semester, which means it is also time for my bi-annual identity crisis. Who am I? What do I want to do with my life?

All of these questions would be much more distressing if I was not drinking my catmint tea- it is slightly intoxicating and tinges my thoughts with a blissful, happy sort of feeling. I am no longer paralyzed by thought. I can slow down and smile long enough to accomplish what I need to. My homework seems to be getting itself done. I turn around and the yard has de-weeded itself, all the plants are watered, and the seedlings are transplanted and thriving.

Without the tea I'm a mess. Barely hanging on, as it were.

Thank god or whoever for these little beautiful, comforting things.

And since I am in such a good mood now...

...I figure it is a good time to share a video that always makes me happy.

Presenting: Story from North America

A little kindness goes a long way

I am so thankful that my cousin Holly is in my life. She called tonight, just to see how I was doing. She is the first person to call me in a long time. I was feeling so down tonight- so worthless, so pathetic, so awful. My mood has completely turned around now.

I hope Holly realizes what a beautiful person she is. She is kind and caring, intensely loyal, happy, intelligent, and a hard worker. I love her very much and feel proud to call her my cousin.

Thank you for saving me tonight Holly. Love you.

Universities

I've been letting my plants die. I could handle their upkeep with just school but now with classes and a job, all my work on the garden so far is slipping away. I suppose there is always next season... or the next, or the next. Right now I just want to save enough money to finance a move to somewhere quiet and alone, where I will have my plot of land and peace of mind. That's all I really want.

My cousins have been trying to impress upon me the benefits of higher education. Joe's vote is for UCLA. Holly thinks Davis is best. Danielle says UCSC could be great. I might be excited about college if it wasn't so expensive. As it is, education is a lifetime commitment, at least financially. More expensive than my plot of land and a house... and what is wrong with community college anyways? I don't feel any rush to get a degree.

I come from a middle class family. I never had any needs that were not fulfilled. I had many opportunities that those with less income would never have access to. Going to a university used to be attainable for someone with good to average grades, with an average amount of money. Now it is all but impossible to get in and afford a college education. My father went to UCSB in the seventies with a B average, and his education was paid off in five years after graduating, financed by dishwashing jobs. Such a thing could never happen now.

As education gets less and less accessible and the gap between the rich and the poor grows wider, our society will start to crumble. In my short time at this community college, I have met many others who know that going to a university is only a dream- a "maybe if I hit the jackpot..." type dream. These students are most often working full time to pay for their classes as it is. Many of them are responsible for providing for their family too.

It's time to either reform higher education or time to break away from it. We need new voices asking those in power to change. We need new ideas in the minds of the people who create the rules. And if that does not lead to any result- we need to fight back and forge our own path.

There is a lot of work that need to be done in the next decade, and a lot of change that needs to be made so the human race can survive. Let's start our fight with education so that we have a true and informed path to follow in the time ahead of us.

the damage done

There is always a different song or album or band to represent a time or place or person. That is how I know a part of my life is over and done with. The whole experience can be condensed to a single auditory signature. Not that it is as simple as all that. Listening to this song now brings up emotions that I don't know if I will ever understand or ever be able to write about. Some of the things that happened will stay inside of me, never see the light.

http://youtu.be/9HQ_MRILOfU

Tonight I'm swimming to my favorite island, and I don't want to see you swimming behind.

She approached me in the kitchen as I was baking cupcakes for a friend.

"You should apologize to me Katie. You need to apologize for running away."

I stopped mixing the batter. I looked my little sister in the eyes. "I didn't run away, Em."

"You did too!" She shrieked. "You did, you ran away from me and mom and dad. You hurt me, you hurt all of us. Do you even know how terrible it was?! Why did you come back? Why did you leave and then come back?"

"Do you not want me here, Emmy?"

"Well now that you're here..." She trailed off, looked away.

I closed my eyes. Took a breath. Tried to remember the words the counselor had said. "I'm sorry that I hurt you Emmy. It doesn't matter why I did what I did, only that it wasn't my intention to hurt you, I wasn't trying to run away from you. I hope someday you can understand why I acted the way I did and I hope you can learn to forgive me."

"I will never understand! I will never forgive you! You hurt me! You ran away!

I started crying at that point- crying tears of frustration.

"I'm sorry Emmy. I'm sorry."

She left me in the kitchen, crying in to the mixing bowl. Slammed the door of her bedroom, turned on her music.



And as I sit here typing out the words of this exchange, I realize that to some extent Emmy and my mother are the critical voices I hear in my head. All the negativity swirling around in my mind originated with them.

I don't feel at peace in this house. I feel like an intruder, an unwelcome house guest who has stayed far too long. Why is it that I feel more happy, calm, and welcome in my aunt's sister's daughter's cousin's home than in the home of my parents and sister?

Part of me, an ever-growing part of me, wants more than anything to just drive forever until I am far enough away that everyone in my former life will have forgotten me. Then I can live or die in utter peace and alone-ness and nothing I do will even matter.

Last week my sadness drove me down Hwy 1 towards San Francisco. Stopped in a quiet parking lot just past Ano Nuevo Island. I imagined swimming out there; living in that dilapidated 18th century lighthouse with just the elephant seals and gulls. Sun and salt and ocean sunsets and dead fish smell and bird poop and seaweed and animal rituals and alone-ness and quiet and no more words.

Meet Mr. & Mrs. Pistachio, Boy, and Pizzafatboy.

The stories my mother tells from her childhood should be fake. The plot lines are too neat, too hallmark channel. The names are too cartoonish, as if fate tried extra hard to make her experiences unrelatable and surreal... like her old neighbors the Pistachio family. "What's going on at the Pistachio nut house??!" My grandmother would screech into the phone. Ha, ha, grandma. Or the park ranger my mother used to work with- the one who lived in a teepee and named his son Boy. Or the man on the wharf that both my mother and father were acquainted with, known simply as Pizzafatboy.


***

My mother is in a chatty mood tonight because I opened up to her and told her how I was feeling. It was a big step for me, and it was difficult to do. Of course, she reacted in her typical way. Deny, deny, deny. Push away blame from herself. Then tell me in a pained voice that she feels my pain every day- my burden is her burden. Say maybe all my problems are her fault, then get quiet and stare at the wall.
My best tactic at that point is to stand up and get busy doing some household chore- in this case taking down all the ornaments off the christmas tree. After a half hour or so she brightens up and becomes talkative. I don't know if it is because she wants to smooth over the seriousness of our last conversation with sugary talk and overly nostalgic recollections, or if it is her last-ditch effort to be that kind of mom- the one that has an open, healthy relationship with her daughter.
Sometimes I wish she would just listen, not try to analyze but just accept my life situation and my thoughts and feelings regarding it. I feel guilty after talking to her. This is why it's hard for me to talk to her- I don't want to let her know about the pain I do feel because I know on some level she blames herself, which is not right. But as long as I keep talking, keep working, keep doing the hardest thing, our relationship will improve. Worst case scenario is that I can console myself with the fact that I really did try to be open and honest and loving.


I am working to teach myself, step by step, how to love. One little thing at a time, so I can love my family, myself, my life.

To those that are wondering: I am alive and well.

How do you decide if something you own will be meaningful or significant to you in later years? I am packing up and leaving home, and I am just now realizing just how many keepsakes I have collected. Most of my things are already moved out; the practical things are gone. Everyday clothes, my books, my tools, my toothbrush have already left. Now I am left with the mishmash and confusion of all the little tokens I have accrued. I find it hard to be sentimental about many of the things that are left. The awards, the graduation cap, the pictures on the wall. Those things will not be a part of my future life and are barely a part of my present. They didn't really make me happy even when I first got them.

So why am I hesitating to throw out all of my souvenirs of the past? My possessions are not my memories, not my experiences after all. Could it possibly be an unconscious resistance to moving out and to change? Is moving to Washington what I really want? It's certainly not the future that I had picked out and gift-wrapped, ready to be delivered from the store only a few months ago. My life has made a radical shift in direction, and it is a bit disorienting.

I like where it's going, though. I feel happy and excited to work and love and live. My present is wonderful and my future is bright... I guess I won't be needing any of my old things, those reminders of my past self after all.

P.S. I am deeply sorry to the people in my life who love me. I know I scared all of you by leaving so suddenly. It was not a premeditated act, but I suppose that is no real excuse. The only thing I ask now is forgiveness.

17 is the loneliest number

It's midnight now and I am nowhere near ready to sleep.

I feel that familiar restless late-night feeling- a feeling that I am just now realizing is nothing but loneliness and a nostalgia for happy memories that will never be actualized.

I was used to this feeling before meeting him, so much so that I didn't even know what it was. It was there- I could feel that something was off- but I couldn't see what. Since meeting him, meeting Cory, that feeling disappeared. Even when I am not falling asleep next to him, I feel protected and warm and content just knowing he is alive and safe.

But after all the fighting and hurt today, that feeling has crept back in.

He and my mother were engaged in a yelling match out on the street, with all the neighbors looking in. She dragged in her best friend who threatened to call the cops and who called Cory a child molester. "Don't go with him!" she blubbered at me, her eyes welling up with fake tears. His truck pealed as he backed up out of the dirt lot, spraying bits of organic matter and dust over me.

"You made the right choice," she says. "I'm proud of you. Now give me a hug!"

She was shocked when I pulled away.

I don't know what to do. It feels like there is a choice that needs to be made, and it is certainly not an easy one. I love my parents and sister, and I love Cory. I thought it would be possible to have all of them in my life, but it seems that is not going to be the case.

I don't know who my parents are. I don't know what drives them, what their dreams are, what their dirty secrets are. Maybe it is not my place to know, but it seems that the people I think I love are simply facades for something much deeper- something that as their daughter I am not privy to know. It was in their house and under their care where I felt so alone for so many years.

Then again, I don't know Cory either. I've known him a better part of a month now and even though we have spent almost all of that time together, I am still a long way off of really understanding him at his most basic level.

I do know that there is no moving forward with my parents. They have been the same way all through my childhood, and they are unwilling to change for me now. I will never be an adult in their eyes, not as long as I let them make my decisions for me. With Cory, however, I would be going forward. We are getting to know each other, getting to feel each other out. There is discovery and interest and deep care in every one of his actions, even his occasional anger.

My choice is to remain in comfortable and secure stagnation at home or to risk all that for someone who wants to be part of my life, not just live alongside me.

What kind of person am I? Am I really the kind of person that will turn my back on all that my parents have given me (financially, mostly) for someone else? I am starting to think that maybe I am.

I will be 18 in nine days, twenty three hours, and thirty two minutes. Hopefully I can find a way to keep the people I love in my life until that point. I don't want to be alone.

my brain has obviously liquefied... and that's okay!

I want to live with him inside of the UCSC Arboretum! I want to spend three hours staring intently at a bush; analyzing the flowers and leaves, noting colors and textures and growth patterns and other oddities.

God, I am so inspired. I am so idiotically happy!

I want to break everyone else's rules and then I want to break my own rules.

My brain soared as he explained horticultural mysteries to me and as we both agreed that all the plants are "Beautiful and awesome and cool!"

I want to drive up a steep hill covered in lupin to stare at the waves and wave at the sail boats.

I want to be a part of his world and I want him to be a part of mine.

I shuddered slightly with the happiness, the utter joy of holding his hand.

I want to make him idiotically happy!

Oh boy, this probably makes you gag... unless you remember being my age and being at the start of something wonderful. Something scary and terrifying and beautiful and oh god i am so so so happy.