Grow.

As i cleaned the kitchen last night, i thought about words beginning with G. There's green, like in the green glow right after a rain, or like the vibrant green of the English hillsides by the sea, or like chartreuse, one of the greatest colors, with an awesome name. Vermillion's a nice name, too, though...

There's gay rights, something that's always been extremely important to me. Oppression in any form is abhorant to me anyway, and to make that call based on who someone loves? Makes no sense to me at all. i think love between consenting adults in any form should be celebrated. There's enough hate out there.

There's gossamer. Hard to write a post on that. Really, i just like the word. i also love "sycamore". i love how both roll off the tongue. See how my mind works? i follow a path and then forget where i started. It's no wonder i find it more difficult to write than i used to.

i went through many a word, and then came to guilt. Ah, guilt. The gift that keeps on giving. i intended to write about it, to talk about my own guilt, to ruminate on how best to overcome it, but you know what? i don't want to write about that. To write about it feels as heavy as...well, carrying around guilt. So i won't.

Instead, let's talk about gardens. My dad is a gardener, and passed on the know-how and desire to plant, to care for and to reap the rewards of a yearly garden. i have had a garden every year for the past dozen years or so, except for that year we lived in an apartment. Every year i look forward to selecting which vegetables and flowers to plant. i almost always do a fairly small garden. As the main gardener in my household, it's easier to manage.

Dad almost always comes down to help me set up. It's like a ritual. We plan our space, till, add humus and manure as needed. i absolutely adore the actual planting. i treat the plant with care, even talking to it as i place it in the ground. Don't laugh; plants have an energy, too, and my vibrations can affect it. The best feeling is at the end of the day, when you get to sit back with a cold beer and see all your hard work. i even like getting dirty, makes me feel closer to the earth.

After tending, comes the excitement as things start to grow, then bloom, then bear fruit and thrive. Being able to pick much of that night's dinner is very satisfying, not to mention delicious. There's not any tomato in any grocery store i've found that tastes a bit like a tomato picked fresh out of your own garden and eaten straight away. 

When the thriving takes over, there's canning to be done. i don't do tons of canning, but the onslaught of cucumbers pretty much requires putting up some pickles, and i might do some salsa when the tomatoes are too many to eat fresh and not rot. 

Right now, my yard is overrun with spring perennials. i have never seen so many daffodils in one place, except maybe a public park. My landlord is a super woman, i swear. There's also hyacinths and tulips, and a couple of things i'm unsure of. i don't know yet where the vegetable garden will go; this is our first full summer at this house. Maybe by the storage building, in the side yard? i'll have to get on that, soon. Onion sets are already out. There's work to be done.

Soup's on!

F is for food, which also makes me think of family, and friends.

We all love food. Have you ever met anyone who says they hate food? "Agh, eating, what a chore..." And for many of us, food is tied in with family get togethers or meeting up with friends for a cookout.

i love to cook. i have Italian heritage from my mother's side, so many of my recipes have been passed down from my great grandmother (henceforth known as just "grandma") to my mom, and then to me. My love of food from other cultures has caused me to try my hand at cooking anything and everything. i started with Chinese cuisine, way back when, and have since tried my hand at Indian, Thai, Vietnamese, Caribbean, and the list goes on. So far, Thai food has been some of the hardest to get right, but i'll not give up! When you've lived most of your life in rural areas, you'll find a way to have at your disposal the ethnic foods you so dearly love.

But back to grandma. She came to America from Northern Italy when she was an infant. She lived a lot of her life in New York, and later Florida. She was an amazing person. If she knew my mom was coming to visit (they were very close), she made sure to stock up on my mom's favorites. When she sent mom down to the local bakery to get bread, she always gave her enough money for two loaves, because she knew on the walk home, mom would dive into one of them. Every Sunday morning, she awoke at 6 am to start her red gravy. And yes, it's called "gravy", not sauce. One taste and you'll see why. Everyone loved her cooking.

This reminds me of a funny story. There are so many good stories, but the one i'm thinking of is the time my mom opened grandma's fridge to find two eyes staring back at her. It was a sheep's head, a delicacy. It may have been the only thing my grandma made that my mom wouldn't eat.

Grandma died when i was 7. i can't really bring to mind memories of her from life, but through stories, my mom has given me a wealth of knowledge about who grandma was. To this day, whenever i make her recipes, i think of her. Basil is very much tied up with her memory, especially fresh basil from my garden; grandma grew her own basil for her wonderful meals. No matter the dish, i often feel grandma with me in the kitchen, guiding my hands to create food made with love. i have made many of her recipes for years, but the standout is her red gravy with spaghetti. It has to be simmered for hours, for the flavors to combine properly, so most of the day the house is filled with the smells of garlic, tomatoes and Italian sausage (nevermind that my house almost always smells like garlic). My better half requests it at least a few times a month, and most who try it say it's the best spaghetti they've ever had. That's not a nod to my cooking skills, but to grandma's. It's comfort food, in the truest sense of the word.

My mom is also a great cook, and taught me so much. Getting together and cooking with her is one of the best things i know to do with a day. We laugh, we taste, we fend off the questions of "Is it done yet?". One of the best compliments my mom ever gave me was saying that she thinks i'm the better cook.

Food sustains us, nourishes us, makes us feel warm all over and holds in its smells and flavors countless memories. There are very few foods i don't like, and i swear, you'll never catch me on a low carb diet. For fuck's sake (hey, another "f" word, my favorite swear word, in fact), i have Italian lineage. i mean, pasta and bread, hello? Grandma would roll over in her grave if i stopped eating pasta.

So, today, eat, drink and be merry. Share a bite with a good friend, or get in the kitchen with your family and whip up a feast, or even just an inspired sandwich. Really enjoy the tastes, the smells. Savor each bite, as if it contained within life-giving benefits, because it does, and not just nutritionally speaking, but emotionally, too.

Oh, and as William Shatner said, "Stop and smell the garlic. That's all you have to do."

E is for ebullient, yay!

This month i am taking part in theA-Z Blogging Challenge.

ebullient

-adjective
1. overflowing with fervor, enthusiasm, or excitement; high-spirited.
2. bubbling up like a boiling liquid.

My friend Barb mentioned this word as a good jumping off point for today's post, and i concur!

So, ebullient. i can definitely relate. There's no denying when something excites me. i let loose with smiles, laughter, and a voice that other moms might refer to as my "outside voice". (Which begs the question, do i even have an inside voice?) And no, i don't have an off switch. In fact, i strongly and deeply feel and show the gamut of emotions, which actually makes my battle with depression sort of make sense.

One thing that always gets my hackles up is when i am in the midst of this joyous overload, and someone says to me, "Calm down." It's almost always said with a slight hint of disgust, as if my display makes them cringe.  

First of all, this is me. i only know how to be me. Take me or leave me, i am who i am. Yes, i can be a better me, and i try very hard to do that, but what part of my off the scale excitement hurts another human being? Maybe it irritates you, and that's fine - we can't all like each other - but i have to wonder what makes you pull away a bit? Obviously, you're uncomfortable with this outburst, but why? Is it because you reign yourself in, wanting to go with the flow and not upset the fruit basket? And i suppose you want me to do the same, huh? Um, no.

Secondly ("Do you always number what you say?" What movie is that from? i think i know; tell me if you do.), i believe in living life to the fullest. What's the point otherwise? For me, part of really living is letting myself feel all these emotions, savoring the moments, be they small or enormous. There can be moments of ebullience in every single day. Relish them, because at any time, there can also be moments of hell. This is life. Try not to turn away at the scary parts. Always laugh loudly until it hurts at the funny parts. And bring tissues, too, because you will cry.

Don't be afraid of your emotions, or of showing them. i think you'll find most people, save maybe the "calm-downers", and they are downers, will in turn feel more comfortable showing theirs, and this is just another connection we can make, which is always a very good thing.

The above photos were taken in my yard in early March. My landlord planted crocuses, daffodils, tulips, day lilies, hyacinths and more back when she resided here. In July, when we moved here, these flowers had fallen back and were gone, so we were surprised to be greeted to literally hundreds of perennials popping up all over this spring. And yes, this situation provided fodder for much ebullience.

Dream a little dream...

This month i am participating in the A-Z Blogging Challenge.

i thought i'd have trouble finding the time to blog every day, save Sunday, for this challenge, but what i'm struggling with more is coming up with what to write. What a surprising turn of events. Anyone who knows me even fairly well knows i love to talk, and am almost never at a loss of what to say.

For some reason, "D" did not come easily. Sure, i thought of plenty of D words, but words beginning with D do not alone make for a good, readable post.

But, there is one very important D word: Dreams. As cheesy or cliche as it may sound, dreams are so important. You have to have dreams. Without your dreams, how would you know what goals you want to work towards? There are plenty of people out there who'd just love to crush your dreams, mostly because they've given up on theirs ever coming true.

i still carry around dreams from years ago, dreams that appear as if they'll never come to fruition. Nothing in my life points to them being a possibility, even in the distant future, but i'll not let them go. Without our dreams, our world would be empty. Without dreams, we'd never have realized manned flight, or the Sistine Chapel's painted ceiling, or even the birth of a nation called America. i know, this sounds like a bad Hallmark card, but the thing is, it's true.

Don't ever let loose your dreams. Don't ever let someone kill your dreams, or tell you you're a fool for dreaming such ridiculous things. Dreams are the mind's playground, and can lead to some amazing, never before heard of discoveries. Without dreams, our days would feel empty, but with them, life is ripe and rich and full, and the fruit is there for the picking, if only you believe.

C is for California.

This month i am doing the A-Z Blogging Challenge.

When i was 10, after my parents divorced, my dad got a job with United Airlines, working out of their San Francisco terminal. Every summer after that, my brothers and i would fly from Virginia to California and spend at least a month out there. i fell in love immediately.

Our first trip there, my dad took us straight from the airport to downtown San Francisco. We were amazed, to say the least, having only travelled before to places like Florida or Ohio. He took us to Chinatown, and we looked through gift shops and marveled at the carcasses hanging in the restaurant windows. i got my first real taste of Chinese food in the back of a little restaurant there, and it was divine. But nothing could prepare us for the magic of the Pacific.

i love the ocean, but the Pacific really has a hold on my heart. Rather than just miles of sand and hotels like you see at the Atlantic, you'll find cliff faces, succulents by the millions, beaches covered in tiny pebbles, wind and water-eroded caves, seals...and when the fog rolls in, wow... No matter how many times i've stepped out onto the Pacific's shores, it has felt magical. If i close my eyes, i can smell it, and feel the chill wind blow in my hair.

There's so much to California, specifically Northern California, that i love. The redwood forests, Highway 1, San francisco and Marin County, Big Sur, Mount Shasta, Mono Lake, Death Valley, the food, like strawberries that taste like they should and just-picked brussel sprouts, bought at a stand right by the ocean. i have lived there on and off a few times over the years, the last time being in 2003. We left because of the high cost of living, but rarely does a day go by that i don't think of it, and miss it like hell. It will always be a part of me, another home.

B here now...

This month i am doing the A-Z Blogging Challenge.

B. Well, B makes me think of many things, and it's hard to choose only one to go with, so i won't.

B is for books. i love to read, and used to devour a good book in a few days. Family life and making art eats up a lot more of my reading time these days, but i still try to squeeze a book or two in when i can. i love all kinds of books; if it's a great story, i'll read it, true or imagined. As far as authors, there are so many... Joseph Campbell, Tom Robbins, Barbara Kingsolver, Clive Barker, Douglas Adams, Roger Zelazny, Louis L'Amour, Richard Brautigan, Anais Nin, Rumi, Henry Miller...oh, i can't just pass over Henry like that. Although i had been writing long before i read his work, Henry Miller made me yearn to be a writer. More than that... He made me yearn to really live, taught me to look at the world in a different, but wonderful, way. Books have the power to make you laugh, weep, understand... They can be life-changing. Books. Are. Necessary.

And, brothers. i've got two of them, both younger than me, both awesome people that i'm grateful to have in my life. They make me laugh, a lot. They stand up for me. They are there when i need them, as i am for them. One of my brothers is having a birthday today, and as i am reminded, once again,  of how quickly the time goes by, i am thankful my family and i are close, and that we've spent the years that have passed so far together.

The letter B can't help but make me think of my friend Barb Black. i mean, the letter B begins her first and last name, and i sometimes call her just B. She is anything but "just B", though, let me tell you.

Barb and i met several years ago on the internet. We've only talked on the phone once, but she is one of my closest friends in the world. i remember when i first saw her posts in a forum we were both members of. i was completely new to forums at all, and as i read through the threads, Barb always stood out. She was hilarious, first of all, and i am drawn to those with a great sense of humor. She also showed intelligence and an open-mind, and i remember thinking, i want to know her, but i'm new here, and why would she want to talk to me? Eventually, we did start talking, and over the years, a deep friendship developed.

She is an amazing person. i have a great deal of respect for her honesty, her candor, her raw nature, her generosity, her wisdom, and ofcourse, her stellar sense of humor. i am extremely fortunate to have her in my life, and to share as a part of hers. i really wouldn't want to imagine a life where i didn't call her a true friend, for that is certainly what she is, and those you hold onto, tightly. Ofcourse, if they're a true friend, they hold back.

A is for Art.

So, at the 11th hour, i signed on to be a part of the A-Z Blogging Challenge, which begins today. i first got wind of this through my very good friend Barb, who is also taking part. i've needed to give my blog a little more attention anyway, and this is as good a means as any. Here's to hoping i can find the time to keep up with this, but i hate to not follow through on a commitment, so, yeah. Motivation.


And we begin, ofcourse with A. i think we all see where this is going. It's the reason i started this blog, it's the thing i feel a deep, unexplainable passion for. Some days, it's the light in the dark, and the thing that fills the void, the hole that empties and must always be refilled.


It's art.


i've been making art since i was little, just like everyone. As children, we may not have even indentified it as art; we just did it because we enjoyed it, it felt good. If mom wanted to put it on the fridge, great, a little validation is nice. But we did it regardless. And we didn't stress over whether it was "good enough" or not. We also didn't question if we could draw a tree or a dog - ofcourse we could! We could hold a pencil, right? And we knew what trees and dogs looked like, so, that's all we needed to produce a drawing.


But at some point, someone probably said it wasn't any good, so we put it aside for the more practical things in life. Let's all hurry to get on the wheel! Get up, shower, breakfast, go to work, take a lunch break, back to work, go home, eat dinner, watch tv, go to bed, rinse, repeat. Well, i didn't set it aside, and i never was any good at running the wheel. i stumbled often and fell off into the bedding...and then i went to sleep. Oh sure, there was a time art wasn't in the forefront as much as it is now, but i always enjoyed making things, creating something beautiful out of scraps of paper and paints, and i always had creative ideas for projects, usually several at once.


i don't care one little bit if anyone thinks my art is good or not, well, let me rephrase that. It feels great when something i make cheers someone, or brightens their day, or possibly makes them think. But, even if no one ever liked a single thing i made, i'd still be making art. i have to. i have no choice. It's in there too deep, has its hooks in and is not ever letting go. It defines me, in many ways. i used to write, a lot, but not so much anymore. i have a harder time these days finding the words to convey my meaning, but with art, it flows. i can say so much more in that medium than with words, and it's because the things i really want to say don't have any words. They are feelings, they are things to do with magic.

Like every human alive on this planet, the universe has thrown some challenges my way over the years. We all have setbacks or tragedies come our way, and we all struggle with something. For me, the one thread weaving its way through the good and bad times, through every part of my life, is depression. i've had that nasty monkey on my back since i was 13. Only once did i try medication, and that didn't last long. Mostly, i just tried to manage it on my own. It improved when my son was born, though sometimes it would still pop up at my doorstep, reminding me, "Hey, i haven't gone away. You know one misstep, one or two really bad days in a row, and i'll have a hold on you again." Then one day, after art had become a more dominant part of my life, i realized that i actually felt good, really good, content even. i paid attention and found that if i didn't create something (even a garden, or a well-made meal can be art) on a regular basis, i was more irritable and unhappy. i realized art was not only a fun way to express myself, it was also a form of therapy. i can now live a happy, full life, with depression, and without medication, thanks to art. Plus, i get to tell my story. Everyone has a story, and it deserves to be heard. We are all kicking around on this rock, trying to find our place, and the least we can do is share our visions of this world and each other with each other.

i ask that you not be afraid. If you want to make art, make it. Don't let anyone stop you. And even if you think your skills are lacking, just enjoy the process. The cool thing is, the more you do it, the "better" you get. You will find your style, your voice, because you can't not find it. It's yours, it's unique to you, and it's in there, just waiting to be heard. So, tell your story, because no one else could truly tell it but you.