healing it in.

Garden Before

So much has happened recently and I have a million drafts of things I start to jot down but then think, "I'll need more time to write about that." But the other day Kati and I were talking about putting things off and how we don't want to do it, and so maybe just writing things out is a good idea.

My grandparents came for a visit. They were my first house guests (aside from Brent but I didn't give up my bed for him [he slept on the couch] and only stayed a night) and I had so much fun making them lattes with Alexi's AeroLatte (the thing is so cool!) and putting together random meals for them. We cooked over the fire, went out to eat, ate ice cream. So nice.

Before arriving, they'd told me to make a list of projects they could help me with while they were here. One of the things I'd been wanting to do was plant a garden.  So, we rented a rototiller for $18 and ripped all the weeds and roots out from around the palm tree stump in my back yard. My grandpa and I were both sweating through our shirts. We planted a ring of lettuce around the stump, followed by a ring of radishes, a ring of carrots and then some mounds of cucumbers, tomatoes, and squash.  There is a patch of Walla Walla sweet onions and another patch of green onions. When we ran out of space for the rest of the onion starter plants, my grandpa had me clump them all together in a bundle and dig a hole to place all of them in. He said that if they were planted like that, they would kind of smolder there--alive but not taking full root, and that way I could plant them later when I was ready or had the space. His father had called the technique "healing it in"--a concept I liked. (Could be "heeling it in" but we like "healing it in" better.)

My grandma refinished every piece of wood furniture I own, organized my desk and top drawer of my dresser, and the two of them pruned the trees in my yard. Now, a few days after they left, I'm missing them and still finding cute traces of their time here: a plastic gum case re-purposed to hold all of the Advil, an extension cord coiled and slipped in through an expired toilet paper roll for tidy keeping, a small doll added to my shadow box, a head of lettuce in the fridge, a handkerchief hung from my earring rack....and my windows are so clean, transparent.

My grandma hung a wooden coat hanger thing on my coat rack. On it she wrote, "A place for everything, everything in its place," which is something her dad used to tell her.

Things are feeling so much more balanced lately. I am going to have an office at work with a nameplate on my door and instead of being a contract writer I will write with regular hours and be on payroll like everyone else. I have ketchup in the fridge (along with other things) which has felt like something only a settled person would have...ketchup and a kitchen table....kitchen tables are for settled people.

Garden After

Six months ago, all of my things could fit in the back of my Subaru and now I own a bed frame, a desk, a dinner table, a couch, a set of drawers, a fire pit, a workbench, flowers, and dishes. I resisted this process of making a home for so long, feeling like if I made a home that this would forever be my place of residence. But I realize now that stuff can be given away or sold in a matter of days. Making a home is simply something that allows your heart to open to those around you. It lets you relax and feel safe.  It helps you feel less "self-protecting" and more open hearted. One thing I've promised myself is this: Never again will I go somewhere and live like I'm leaving. Who knows when I'll leave.  After talking about the transition at work yesterday, my boss said, "You'll never be able to leave now!" and I smiled and laughed but didn't let it phase me. Somehow I'm beginning to know that freedom is inside of us, and when we begin to feel free and fearless, we can really BE in a place without feeling bound to it.