Facing the Shadows

It's really bad. Today, Obama compared the BP oil spill to September 11th. 325 dead sea turtles, 41 dead dolphins. How many homes lost? How much permanent damage to our planet?

I hear from friends who wake up depressed, whose hearts break every time they turn on the news, who are secretly grateful that they've lived most of their lives already. Like most of you, I feel sick when I see photos of dead, oil-soaked wildlife, or when I think of the human lives lost in the initial explosion, of the jobs and homes and ecosystems being destroyed as I type this.

In moments like these -- and in a wide world of so many people, it is always a tragic moment somewhere -- I dive into the big questions: What can I do? How can I step toward light when there is so much darkness? How can I savor the good in my life in the face of such evil?

I think of the true and comforting quotes about the power of small things having great effects, or daily action taken with love. I believe them, I really do. But sometimes, I can't get to the hope without feeling the despair first. There is real death and loss here, and I know I can't will them out of existence.

I make small changes. I draw a two-mile circle around my home and commit to biking anywhere in that radius. I investigate Austin's GreenChoice energy program. I eat local fruits and vegetables. I look at Shutter Sisters' list of ways to help.

But sometimes, the magnitude is crushing. Sometimes you just have to weep.

Love Thursday: Growing

The ever-inspiring Karen at Chookooloonks started Love Thursdays several years ago. Every Thursday, she features images or stories of love and encourages other bloggers to do the same. I love this tradition, so here's my first entry into that community.

I love, love, LOVE growing things. It's in my blood; I grew up helping my mom weed flowerbeds and tend roses, and I understand the gardening bug has traveled down my maternal line. When my maternal grandfather passed away a few years ago, I inherited my grandmother's bright orange and white hair kerchief that she wore while tending okra and other veggies in their backyard. It makes me happy to wear it now when I work in my garden.

Today, Chris and I harvested our winter carrot crop:



It's a modest gathering; we're still evolving as backyard farmers. We'd pulled some little carrots in May, but now we realize that was too soon. These are real live carrots!

And because I am a sugar monster, these are destined for an orange-ginger carrot cake with orange cream cheese frosting.

Eat those veggies, y'all.

Getting Right with Your Actual Life

Louisa May Alcott, author of the much-beloved book Little Women, considered her legendary book boring; she preferred writing lurid thrillers and crime novels. After Little Women had been in print for ten years, she wrote this in her diary: "[I'm so] tired of providing moral pap for the young."

This both dismays and fascinates me, especially because that book influenced me so much as a young girl who wanted to write. How could she write something so beautiful and then reject it in that way? How could she resist what was clearly her story to tell?

I'm sure that, like me, you don't know anything about resisting what is yours to do in this life...

As a human being and a writer who longs to create a great work, I've spent a lot of my time barreling toward projects that haven't come to fruition. That's how it goes; not every idea is meant to come to pass. But in all that pushing and driving, I think about what true stories have been waiting around for me to tell; no matter how hard I resist them, they stay close by, ready for me to see them.

I read this quote over on Shutter Sisters last month and it's stuck with me:

Life is laundry.

When I say that, I don't mean that I do a lot of laundry, although I do. I just started my fifth load this week and it's only Tuesday. Still, some folks do more and some folks do less. Either way, that's not the point...

I mean life is laundry, and when you do not yet see that your life is laundry you may not see your life clearly at all. You might think, for instance, that the life you have is not at all the life you had in mind and so it doesn't constitute your real life at all. Your real life is the life you pine for, the life you're planning or the life you've already lost, the life fulfilled by the person, place and sexy new front-loading washer of your dreams. This is the life we are most devoted to: The life we don't have.*

I could fuss about and long forever for a life where I live alone, read three novels a day, and live in a spotless house. But I've made satisfying life choices that send me in another direction: living and working from home with a fabulous extrovert husband, engaging in a community of friends whom I love, and so on.

It seems like getting right with the laundry places of my life lets me relax into the life I'm actually living. And it's funny -- when you're relaxed, you feel more awake, more present, and you notice a lot more of the beauty around you...


*Excerpted from the book Hand Wash Cold: Care Instructions for an Ordinary Life ©2010 by Karen Maezen Miller. Available via New World Library, Novato, CA. www.newworldlibrary.com

Precious Things

I love it when the physical things in my home and living spaces have good stories attached to them. I'm sure you're the same way -- a plate is more than a plate when it was given as a gift for a special occasion, and a trinket bought with someone you love is more than just ceramic and paint.

All of my houseplants have these kinds of stories. One's a corn plant rescued from a trash heap on my Brooklyn street six years ago. Another is a peace lily bought by Chris nine years ago, before we were together. (I almost accidentally killed that guy off in an unfortunate repotting incident...luckily it came back, and I even grew two new plants from it, so I'm allowed to stay.)

This is one of my favorite story-plants:



Remember in elementary school when the teachers gave you a seed to plant in a cup and watch it grow? Well, decades later, my friend, Cheryl, still has that plant. (It's now named Zak. When you live that long as a plant, you earn a proper name.)

When Cheryl and I were roommates, I took a sprout from ole Zack and have been growing descendants ever since. (I name them Sara, after the Ben Folds song.) I like to give out new sprouts as housewarming gifts to my friends, spreading the Zak and Sara love far and wide. I also like the Fievel effect I get when my eyes glance on one of the Saras around my house and I think of Cheryl, miles away but underneath the same big sky (somewhere out there...).

Two Things Making Me Grin Today

1) FeministHulk's Twitter feed, featuring such tweets as:

"HULK SMASH DOMINANT GENDER PARADIGM! PUT DEBRIS IN COMPOST PILE TO FERTILIZE LITTLE HULK GARDEN OUT BACK"

"HULK STAND IN AWE OF ALL KINDS OF FEMINISM. HULK LOVE ALL FEMINIST ALLIES, EVEN WHEN WE DISAGREE. HULK HAVE PLURALISTIC SMASH!"

"IF HULK CAN’T DANCE, HULK NOT WANT TO BE PART OF YOUR REVOLUTION."

2) This charm from James Avery:



Chris and I spotted it in the store recently and both instantly came up with the same quote. "Just thinkin' of John, Jackie... Just thinkin' of John."