Progress and Challenges

Every Monday, early, I take care of my houseplants. While the computer boots up, I trim out dead leaves, look for bugs, insert the water meter and water the Boston ferns, the ZZ plants, the tri-color pothos, rubber plants, lipstick plant, philodendrons and violets.

There was a time when these plants became one of my tricks of salvation from the winter blues. Now, I simply love something green surrounding me. I’ve accumulated them slowly. They brighten my rooms and mood.

I had to learn to love the winter. November, my birth month, always seemed so gray and grim. Nothing to really recommend it. It has taken years for me to realize that isn’t true. The sun still has warmth in it as it streams through the windows and autumn color, though muted, still splashes old gold, here and there, through the silvered trees. As Dickens said, “each season has a beauty all its own.”

There was always my birthday and Thanksgiving school break going for it. Later, I was often buried beneath the preparations of the big feast. The turkey, potatoes, stuffing and pies. I took over the preparations of Thanksgiving the year after my father died.

He was in charge of getting the turkey ready to roast and carving the bird. Such simple tasks became huge holes. I was always a curious child, asking too many questions, why, where, when, how, what, can I help. I’m so glad of that now. I use to watch my father clean and truss the turkey, so there was no question that I take over and help my mother with the meal.

I kept at that until it became too much to drag my growing family to my mom’s house each holiday, so I began my own traditions, always including my mom. As my family grew and got married, knowing I had to share my married children, holidays became an every other year tradition.

This year it will be just my husband and I. I’m looking forward to the smaller, quieter meal. The time to read the fat sales ads, taking a nap with the smell of the turkey, and the fireplace to keep me company. No pressure. I might even get to read a book, or do some writing.

I’ve learned through the on and off years, a loveliness to November and the rest of the winter months. Even a gratitude for time spent closer to home and warmth.

Writing is a bit easier without the garden calling to me, whispering of neglect. The office like an isolated turret as snow falls and the fireplace blazes.

I’m at the end of a five-week poetry workshop. As I’ve been so determined to get the edits done on Ellie and the Tie-down Man, I planned to work on both. My time has been very compressed as I still have my day job: primary-care giver, chief cook and bottle washer, railroad widow around here.

The experience turned into quite a challenge in more ways than one. Is it the cosmos, chaos or me? It seems when I am most pressured for time that is just when the most, time-consuming, unable to be ignored interruptions take place. Still, I stuck with it. I pressed on.

It paid off. It really did. I don’t know if the poetry I wrote was the best, but I do know I stretched myself. I tried things I wasn’t sure I wanted to try and emotions I wasn’t sure I wanted to feel. There are five poems that need editing, but still, there are five poems.

Ellie and the Tie-down Man is on track. I’m on the downhill of that. Though once I got past the spot where I had to stop when I got sick, it’s been tougher going as that hadn’t been touched before.

Progress is sweet. Challenges make it even sweeter.