Although it is usually just said as an expression of boredom, lately I have literally been watching the grass grow. I decided that this spring, my first with my very own yard, I would find out how exactly one takes care of grass. Up until recently the extent of my knowledge was that you mow it when it gets too high. But now, I am doing my research, finding out about fertilizers and pre-emergent treatments, pest control and overwatering. 

      I attended a lawn care seminar at a local garden center last Saturday, and they told me that once my grass greens up, I should bring in a sample of it so they can tell me what kind it is and what I need to do to keep it looking its best. The weeds that are overrunning the grass right now, I was told to leave alone. They are winter weeds and will die soon anyway. By next year, with regular applications of pre-emergents, hopefully they won't be so out of control. 

     I'm thankful for the wisdom of experts, for their recommendation of caution and patience. Without it, I may have just hosed down the whole place with Roundup and started from scratch. This way takes more time and effort, but I can just imagine how satisfying it will be to look at my healthy lawn and remember how far we have come.

SS

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     It’s church yard sale weekend.  Providence is participating in the Red Balloon Yard sale on Daniel Island and so I’ve been weeding out clutter to donate.  An old foot massager.  Several remote control cars.  An alarm clock that still works but isn’t needed. Books. Old vases. A CD player.  An ancient Nintendo gameboy.  More books and bric-a-brac.  Unused photo albums. Where did all this stuff come from? My daughter, Savannah, who is home for spring break, goes through her closet and donates a half-dozen posters, a baby doll, several beanie babies, giant pink monster slippers, and some random trinkets. But it’s the bears that stop me.

       In Alison’s closet, I find the bears she loved as a toddler, with the uninspired names of Pink Bear and Bear Bear.  At two and a half, for reasons known only to her, Alison pronounced Bear Bear with an affected Scarlett O’Hara accent -  “Bay-uh, bay-uh.”  Even though Alison has now married and moved to St. Louis, leaving Bear Bear behind without a thought, I haven’t been able to muster up the grit to send the bears along to a new owner.  It’s time I decide - but first, I take a picture.  

     It’s my new de-cluttering strategy.  If I’m feeling too sentimental to get rid of something - even if that something has been stored in a box in a closet for ten years - I simply take a picture of it.  The memory can remain with the picture, taking up a lot less real estate than a box full of stuffed animals in a closet.  I’m feeling brave, so I photograph Big Bear (a five foot tall bear who has lived in Alison’s room for years) and sent him off to the yard sale as well. Those bears will find new children to love them and their digital image will remain to trigger memories and inspire blog posts.  The pictures of the bears are now safely stored in a file on my computer named “Favorite Old Things.”  

      Letting go of what we love is never easy... but it does free up closet space.

AF

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FOCAL POINT

The key to success is to focus our conscious mind on things we desire 

not things we fear.                                             ~Brian Tracy

I took a walk with a photographer friend of mine who took this shot.

It's amazing what a long lens and shallow depth of field can do. Likewise in life we can change focus and reframe events.

It is said we are the stories we tell ourselves.  Can it really be that simple?

For a March day, it was.

Hello, spring.

DB

Walking, waiting and weeding in Lent

Be faithful in small things because it is in them that your strength lies.

Mother Teresa

      On a recent walk at Charlestowne Landing, I had to watch my step. It's reptile alley time as I call it, with turtles and alligators sunning themselves for hours, soaking in the energy of spring. Not warmed enough to move quickly, they are less likely to slip into ponds as walkers come along, so I've learned to watch my step. I also take time to enjoy the remaining camellia blooms before they pass out of season, and I think how in Yosemite National Park, at just this time of year, Horsetail Fall looks like a waterfall of molten lava.

      This pleases me. I can't slow down time or pause my kids at what seem magical moments of development. But I can pause and reflect. One of my resolutions for Lent is to slow down and process more, do such things as have more game nights with the kids, linger over a meal. I'm realizing life is lived in the pauses, in doing the small things.

DB

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     Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. I watched the clock in an increasing state of frustration as the last minutes of February ticked away. I was waiting for news, potentially big news for me, a yes or no answer that I had been promised would come by the end of February. And of course this just had to be a Leap Year! But even with that excruciatingly long extra day, my answer still did not come. Instead, on March 1 I got an email telling me the decision would be delayed until March 15! Another two weeks?!

     How much of my life is spent waiting. And I think sometimes I would speed through it all if I could. I remember as a child, the six month stretch between my birthday and Christmas seemed an intolerably long time to go without presents. Later it seemed as if I would never be old enough to drive, never finish high school, never get to travel, never graduate from college, never find a job, and on and on. But all those nevers did eventually come to be, and now I can hardly remember what the waiting was like, until another situation like this one leaves me powerless to do anything but wait.

     There is an element of waiting in Lent. It is a slowing down season. Those of us who gave up some cherished food or habit may find ourselves thinking, "Hasn't it been 40 days yet?!" Fast-forwarding to Holy Week sounds like a good idea sometimes. But I have to keep reminding myself that there is value in the waiting. I need those times when there is nothing I can do but wait, when I am certain that I am not in control of what happens and when. At least that's what I keep telling myself as I continue watching the clock for the next two weeks. Delayed gratification is still not my strong suit.

SS

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    I’m still weeding my way through Lent - both literally and metaphorically.  I was pulling dandelion weeds from the grass in the back yard when I flashed onto a memory of my great grandmother.  Granny was a West Virginia mountain woman who never traveled more than a hundred miles from her birthplace throughout her life.  She was a country midwife who raised children and chickens on her small farm.  She took care of me after school, feeding me homemade apple cake while we watched that old vampire soap Dark Shadows. 
      But what I remembered at that moment were the dandelion leaves.  I have a vivid image of my grandmother, barely five feet tall, bent low over the spring grass in the front yard, pulling dandelion leaves and carefully tucking them into her upfolded apron.  She gathered the leaves, boiled them and served them to me for lunch, telling me they would make me grow tall and strong. Then she pulled up the roots to make tea, noting that it was good for the digestion and the liver.  

      Today, you can buy dried dandelion root at the health food store for $12 a bottle.  Whole Foods sells dandelion leaves for an exorbitant price. Researchers are beginning to document the myriad vitamins, minerals and who knows what other good things that are present in the dandelion weed.  Granny lived to be 102, eating dandelions as a spring tonic all her life.  

     I pause in my weeding and gather some of the young fresh dandelion leaves in a basket for the kitchen.  Perhaps some of the weeds in our lives don’t need to be pulled out, they simply need to be recognized as a gift.

AF