My Garden is my Life

My garden is my life. However, maybe not how you’d think.

I’m moving, I’ve mentioned before. Which usually means that you have to leave your garden, too. But that’s not the case with me. Because I take that which is important to me, with me.

Psych-girl, last session, didn’t get it.* Lately, She and I have been processing my leaving. Moreover, the transition from this chapter of my life to the next. When I told her I was going to kill my plants she was shocked. She said, “You’re going to murder your plants? that’s going to bring down some bad karma on you.” I shrugged.

Subsequently, that night, I had bad dreams. Wherein I was the bad the guy–the A-hole. That’s never happened before. And that shook me up.

Let’s take a look, shall we?

Values

are what’s important to a person. On this, Psych-girl and I agree. She couldn’t believe that I, whom she knows well, would “murder” my plants. She suggested I “donate” them. “What?” I’d said. Because that thought had never crossed my mind. Nevertheless, I’ve put off the killing.

This morning, sitting on the balcony, having coffee and looking at my garden it occurred to me the why of what was going on.

The plants are replaceable! What isn’t are all the items–the containers and whatnot. Not only in and of themselves, because they are unique. And but so furthermore – they hold memories! 

If I were to donate, give away, or sell the plants – the containers would go with them. Additionally, likely as not, all the rest, too. In essence–my garden. which reminds me of my life.

Let me explain.

My garden is my life

is reflected back to me as I look it over. It represents people and places I’ve loved dearly. If that makes sense? Some of the pieces, artifacts, if you will, date back over fifty years. There, in that small space on my balcony, I can recall good times, happy times. Moreover, the people who were there when the good times rolled. (Some of whom are gone.)*

It is my life and it has been a good life. (Lest I forget.)

The Inventory

I’ll list below. Because I’m a man who loves lists. 🙂

The round table = El Rancho Restaurant (1990-95)

Handmade tree planter = Jake, my son (1996)

Orange pot = the Del Mar Beach Club & my mother (1975)

Painted flowers on a crate = Conifer and my Jake’s mother (1977)

Shells & rocks = The Oregon coast (2004-5) My 1st novel.

Concrete cat = Solana Beach & my Dad (1998)

Walnut stump stands = Denver & family christmas parties (1980’s)

Blue pot = King Soopers &Westminster (2018)

Varied pots = Legacy Ridge apartment & FRCC (2010-2017)

Mexican painted pot = The Wild Basin, RMNP (2010-18)

Sea shell hanging planter and others = Dad

Wooden H-shaped planter = Stories Bookstore, Evergreen (2001-2)

Small handmade starter planter pot = My 1st wife (1971)

And there’s more; but you get the point. It’s not the living plants that are important to me, they can be replaced. In fact, I’ve taken cuttings and those will make the journey to my new home.

Memories

however, need a spark. Sometimes. Especially when you get old(er). Moreover in these times of trouble, it’s good to remember the good times. And also, that life has ups and downs. Looking at the containers that hold the live plants, reminds me of my life. My garden is my life.

In conclusion

next session, Wednesday, maybe I’ll toss this around with Psych-girl. See if we can’t agree that plants are replaceable; but people, places, and things – not so much.

I hold on.

What do you think? Will killing the plants bring some bad karma down on me?

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* Talk therapy doesn’t work for everyone. Which is why my Psych-girl doesn’t publish. Additionally, she, like me, doesn’t like to lie. Albeit, she’s helping me to understand – sometime it behooves you to.

* Many of the people represented in my garden- are gone. My mother, father, brother, best friends. And then, there are those who are: Someone I used to know. 

My wish is Psych-girl doesn’t become one of them. There are LAWS! I’ll keep you posted.