Seeing Clearly

Yesterday, I had a laser procedure on my retina. Turns out, I have a slight retinal detachment caused by the shedding of the jelly-like vitreous humour (the stuff that causes those floaters in our eyes) which created a small tear in my retina. For quite some time now, my floaters have been partying behind my eyes like college students on a Friday night. At this very moment, as I stare at my white computer screen, a mixture of black bugs and spider webs are gyrating across my line of vision. I’m told my brain will stop seeing them eventually, but I’m not convinced. Good thing I don’t have an insect phobia.

It’s happening. I’m aging exponentially faster every year. I recently renewed my expired passport, and comparing my photo from ten years ago to my recent one, I was shocked to discover I look like a completely different person. My drooping lids are almost covering my eyes, and my face looks like it’s sagging.. At least ten times a day, I walk into a room and forget why I went in there. If I don’t add an event to the calendar in my phone, it immediately evaporates from my consciousness.

When my youngest was born, I was forty-two, and I remember calculating that I’d be sixty when she finished high school. Back then, it all seemed so far off in the distance, yet I blinked for a second and now I’m about watch my little girl graduate and head off into adulthood.

Please make it stop—I’m not ready!

Many of my close friends have lost their parents recently. My own mother, while still relatively healthy, is approaching eighty-seven and starting to really slow down. She recently purchased a “state of the art” walker which she likes to joke “does not come with the motivation to walk!” We talk openly about her eventual death, and she has begun making lists to ease the process for all of us when it does happen. It’s difficult to fathom our lives without her, but there’s absolutely nothing we can do to stop it from happening.

I’m losing steam as well. Household projects get put on the back burner because I just don’t have the energy I used to. Lately, all I want to do is dig in the garden, read, and occasionally, work on my second novel, although my computer also doesn’t come with a “motivation to write.”

I’m really trying to focus more on the present moment, which by god, is a task in itself. Why is it so damn hard for so many of us to enjoy the now when it’s right there in front of our faces every second of every day?

Perhaps giving ourselves more grace is the answer. I’m just too old to have to prove myself worthy all the time. I don’t have to fold laundry to justify watching Netflix. If I want to cook a meal for my family, I can let them do the dishes. Hanging out with the neighbors on the front lawn is more important than cleaning the bathroom. Watching a corny movie with my husband is much more satisfying than organizing a closet.

As my vision begins to clear, and I will try with all my might not to blink too often. Focusing on the wonder of life, I know that the seemingly insignificant things will indeed appear to be gilded.

The hell with the dancing bugs–I’m putting on my rose-colored glasses.

 

A gallery of some of the good things in my life:

A local lake is full again after the winter rains.

My youngest daughter, Isa, posing for prom pictures with her boyfriend, Ethan.

My oldest, Nora playing with our neighbor, Maisie.

The most delightfully scented rose–Mr. Lincoln.

My garden.

Proud Mama

The other evening while I was on my knees digging in the garden, a woman riding her bike by our house stopped and circled back. I assumed she was there to admire my colorful flowers, as my “Covid” garden has become quite an attraction for local passersby as of late. Although she seemed familiar to me, with her helmet and sunglasses, I couldn’t place her.

“You’re Jessica—right?” she said, removing her glasses.

I nodded, still unsure of who she was.

She smiled. “My daughter went to elementary school with your son, (dead name)!”  

My shoulders tightened. Up until that moment, I had been relaxed and in my element, enjoying the early evening light with my hands in the soil. I didn’t want to have to stop and explain to this woman—a mere acquaintance from over a decade ago—that my former son was now my daughter. Hearing my daughter’s dead name, let alone saying it aloud, is quite painful for me.

“Oh, hey—hi!” I stammered. “So good to see you!” Before she asked any more questions, I decided to launch into my well-practiced monologue. “Just so you know, my daughter, who now goes by “Cece,” has come out to us as a transgender woman. Until recently, she hid who she really was, and our family is so pleased that she’s now able to live as her true self.” I pointed to the large progressive pride flag we have affixed to the front of our house. It waved at us in the evening breeze.

The woman didn’t bat an eye. “Oh, that’s wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I’m so happy that you’re being supportive. My mom tried really hard to fix me when I was young.”

“Fix you?” I was confused. “What do you mean?”

She looked right into my eyes. “She sent me away to a camp to try to make me straight. It almost worked, too.”

When I knew this woman, she had a husband and two small children. “Wait—you’re no longer married to your husband?”

“Not any more. I’ve been in a relationship with a woman for over ten years. We live just a few blocks over.”

Wow. What a surprise.

We talked for a while—reminiscing about our kids in elementary school and what they’re up to now—the “usual” mom-talk. She told me her daughter was about to have her first baby. I told her about my four daughters, all of whom identify as “queer.” Probably not a conversation we would have all those years ago.

Times are changing—not quickly enough, in my opinion—but it’s moving exponentially faster than it ever has before. My children’s generation is largely responsible for continuing the legacy of those brave people who strived for inclusivity and equal rights all those decades ago.

When people begin to open their minds, society begins to change.

It’s simple, really. We’re all part of a beautiful garden of varieties and colors. Unique and exceptional on our own, but so much more vibrant and beautiful when we are all together.

Happy Pride Month!

Glorious Spring!

Spring is my favorite season. This one has turned out to be particularly spectacular. The photos don’t lie! Hope you enjoy them!

Fragrant Nicotiana (Flowering Tobacco) has the most incredible scent!

These Delphinium are such a vibrant blue!

If only you could smell these sweet peas!

California Poppies closed up for the evening.

Foxglove. My favorite English Flower.

A mass of fragrant color!

Mexican Primrose and Linaria.

PINK!

Jupiter’s Beard

I’m like a kid in a candy store.

Springing

The rain is here and the flowers are singing! The caterpillars are happily stuffing themselves with milkweed leaves. I hope you enjoy these most recent photos of my garden. I have a feeling it’s going to be a spectacular spring!

Pink ranunculus 

Daffodils!

Iceland Poppies

Sweet peas and Freesia

Caterpillars chomping on Milkweed leaves

Magenta Freesia

Yellow Iceland Poppies

Narcissi

Tulips!

Change is Good

As some of you may know, I live in the house I grew up in. It’s not easy buying a home in the Santa Barbara area on two teachers’ salaries, so my husband and I were indeed fortunate to be able to purchase my childhood home from my mother (who came along with the deal.)

Last summer, after five years of a long California drought the liquidambar tree that grew in our parkway began looking a bit sad and spindly. One Sunday afternoon in July, a huge branch suddenly broke off and landed on the hood of my husband’s car. A couple of weeks later, after having insisted that the tree had been properly maintained, therefore denying our damage claim, the city arborist came out and decided the tree was pretty much dead. Next thing I knew, a crew of men in orange hats showed up and within a span of several hours cut it down, chipped it up and left me with a bare strip of dirt in front of my house.

I ranted and raved and then I cried. After spending my own childhood with that beautiful tree and then raising my four kids under its boughs, I really thought life would never be the same again.

Time passed, and life did indeed go on without the tree. Fall arrived and that there were no dead leaves or spiny seed pods to clean up was definitely a benefit. The rain came and without the tree roots, the soil became fertile again. I was immediately drawn to the potential of all that dirt. I got down on my hands and knees and planted.

Life is full of change and trade offs. Sure, the birds build their nests in the neighbors trees and I have a little less shade in my life, but now I get to watch a daily performance of bees and butterflies as they flit in and around my newest flower bed. Not to mention the perfectly unobstructed view of the mountains.

Change is good.

No Place I’d Rather Be

I normally teach Saturday mornings, but with several students out of town on vacation, I miraculously had the morning off. Not only that, I had a very generous gift card for a local nursery that one of my graduating seniors gave me as a goodbye gift. Talk about bliss! Starbucks in hand, I browsed through the colorful flower displays and went completely nuts, choosing whatever I wanted with no residual guilt about spending too much money. My trunk stuffed with color, I headed home to plant.

I started with the back patio where the zinnias were on their last legs. I pulled everything out of the pots and started over. Here’s the final result. Can you tell I’m into pink and purple these days?

Next, I tackled the front porch, where the pots have been empty for months. I think it turned out really well.

Now I’m tired. I think I’ll sit on the front porch chair and gaze out over my kingdom.

There’s no place I’d rather be than the garden. Life is good.

Friday Blooms

Happy Friday! Here’s a little color to brighten your day. Hope you all have a wonderful Memorial Day weekend!

The Miracle of Rain

Like magic, the rains came back this year. It’s been a very long drought, and although we’re not yet where we need to be in Santa Barbara, we’re definitely in better shape now than we have been for the past five parched years. The hills are green and flowers are blooming everywhere!

My garden is so happy!

Staying Put

When one lives in paradise, it’s nearly impossible to find vacation spots that compare to home. Our solution? A staycation. We explore our own community and pretend we’ve never seen it before. Yesterday, we took a drive up in the Santa Ynez mountains, had lunch downtown and took in a late afternoon movie (Get Out–a fantastic film.) This morning was breakfast at Anna’s Bakery and a walk to our local nature preserve. I am so grateful to live in Goleta the Goodland.

Here’s a slideshow of our hike this morning. Enjoy!

Now I’m off to work in the garden.

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End of Summer Beauty

As I sit and wait for the dermatologist to cut yet another basal cell carcinoma from my face (sunscreen, folks–it’s a must!) I’m thinking about how the summer sped by at warp speed. In contrast with last year’s scorching heat wave, this August has been remarkedly mild with cool mornings and highs of 75 in the afternoon. By the end of summer my garden is normally looking pretty ratty, but this time it seems to have sprung to life like a post-menopausal Renaissance. Everything is exploding with color and vibrancy! I’m hoping this weather pattern is an indication that La Niña is going to come through for Southern California after El Niño left us high and dry. Enough of this damn drought. Enjoy the flowers!