Squatting Spiders And Other Bits Of Melodrama

I was just staring out of my kitchen window at my half-completed weeding job. Yes, I was weeding in February. We had two glorious days of warm, sunny weather this weekend and I made the most of them. The weeds were brown reminders of work left undone upon the arrival of our third child in October. A month before he came I was on my hands and knees placing bricks around the garden in a mosaic footpath. I really don't like leaving projects half-completed. I like to start and finish in the same burst of energy, but babies and cold weather brought a halt to tending the garden. And again, babies and cold weather are halting the work today.

As the kitchen is a therapeutic space for me, so too is my garden. Although I have yet to develop green thumbs, I am determined to chase my fears and insecurities at least to the outside of the fence. After a good bit of searching, I found my mud-stained garden gloves in the shed. I squeezed the fingers all the way to the very tips and shook them hard. I have a fear of squatting spiders, so when I dare finally put my hands in the gloves, I press my fingertips into the seams, just to feel the emptiness. Only then can I start. Out went the crabgrass that attempted to take over my newest bed, gone are the skeleton remains of last year's marigolds and zinnias, and cleared are the dried leaves of the irises and lilies. I pruned the dead bits from the new rhododendron and inspected the trees.

It's still early, even for the south. But somehow I have the feeling that spring will never come. I saw it with my own eyes just a few months ago. The leaves fell, the blooms dropped, and all went brown. That which gave me joy abandoned me again. (Please bare with me in my melodrama...) Abandonment. What a big word. Perhaps a fear even bigger than spiders in my gloves. I love the flowers, leaves, bees and birds that make a bold display of vibrant life, but no matter how much I love them, they will not return to me on this cold, dark day.

I want to kick and scream like a child, "Don't leave, come back! Why aren't you here in this moment when I need you the most?!" But even the biggest tantrums won't make the cold turn warm. I am resigned. Instead of chopping down the trees and digging up the bulbs, I will wait...patiently. Trust diligently. I'll pour myself another cup of tea, and stand at the window a little longer.

I'll try to focus on real fears, like squatting spiders and such.