Adventure #7-Preparation and Birthdays

 I have never managed to be one of those people who has their suitcase packed, ready and waiting to go the day before they are leaving on some long awaited trip. This vacation to THE NATIONAL PARKS was no exception. Circumstances, an overriding sense of duty, and family conspired against me. I had said to myself, "This trip is going to be different. The start of new habits, less stress and better planning. I am going to be packed and be ready to go the day before." Accordingly I blocked out large chunks of time. I was going to be done planting my garden by Memorial Day Week-end thus leaving myself TWO WHOLE WEEKS for cleaning the house and packing. Surely that would build in enough extra days to accommodate the unexpected. 

I knew that the first of April would be hard as we marked the first anniversary of Mark's death. My sister-in-law sent me a huge bouquet of gorgeous flowers. My kid's bought me some perennials for my gardens. I erroneously thought that as the days passed after the anniversary, one by one, I would begin to feel better, return to "normal". Unexpectedly my mourning kicked back into high gear and dictated otherwise. Day after day I felt blessed if I got the dishes done. I had cycled back to the brain numbing grief of the beginning days. 

April faded into May. I pulled the weeds and prepped the soil as I started the long process of planting: broccoli, tomatoes, and onions. Sometime mid-May I spaded, weeded and planted one row of potatoes. I started the long process of looking through years of photos and scanning the ones of Mark into the computer for his memorial service the end of May. As expected it was an incredibly emotional process but also a healing one as I relived memory after memory. Eventually I could do no more and my son Chris picked up the baton and finished the slide presentation for me. 

        

The Memorial Service, then Memorial Day, came and went and still the bulk of my garden remained unplanted. Day after day I had walked by the clematis, rose, peony, and other flower starts telling myself, "Tomorrow I will feel better. Tomorrow I will plant them." Night after night I pretended not to see the remaining two bags of potato seeds tucked in the cool corner of my bedroom. Tomorrow never seemed to come. 

Optimistically and foolishly I had accepted a large batch of  squash, cucumber and zucchini starts from a friend. I naively hoped the starts would help motivate me to get the back section of my garden weeded which was rapidly becoming a grassy meadow. I envisioned the lovely, thriving plants that she had nurtured in her small greenhouse but had no room for in her own raised bed garden maturing in my own. 

The days ticked by and my daughter sensed my quiet desperation as my departure day approached and my to do list was getting longer not shorter. She organized three friends to come over and help. She and another fellow mowed the lawn and the orchard. Another lady transplanted some of my seedlings and another weeded my rose garden. I meanwhile was removing sod to extend one of my flower beds to make room for my perennials. Of course my fur balls joined in the fun trying to help.

       

After several hours of work, we gathered on the deck enjoying an ice cream treat. As we idly chatted, we discussed the leaning tree in front of the woodshed. It was obvious that one of the trunks had pulled away from the other two leaving a noticeable gap in the middle. I inwardly groaned as getting it cut down was just one more thing I would have to attend to when I returned. 

The next morning, a Saturday, saw me up early to make a pie for my son for his birthday celebration later that day. As I was kneeling in the early morning cool cutting rhubarb, I heard a loud crack. Startled I looked across the lawn and saw the leaning trunk fall slow motion to the ground. It landed where just yesterday I had been working. A bit shaken, I proceeded to finish the pie and travel with Becky and Maddie to my son's in Puyallup. I wondered if the remaining two trunks would await my return from vacation or if I would find them on top of my wood shed

Setting aside my worldly cares, I entered into the birthday celebration. The day was idyllically peaceful with nothing ruffling the waters. There was no grand celebration planned just the joy of gathering together. We chatted. We ate elegant take out pizzas and other Italian yumminess, rhubarb pie and cake. The cousins eventually went to the park along with some of the adults and played bocce. I lazily dozed. All too soon it was time to say good-bye. 

                                  

As I reflect back on the day, I realize afresh that it is the small things, the ordinary traditions of our lives, woven together that hold us together as a family. I hope that the cousins will look back on these times with fondness as it was a missing part of my own childhood. The day stands out in my mind as a red letter day. One of those idyllic days where everything is peaceful: no hurt feelings or ruffled feathers to soothe. Just the happiness of ordinary moments fused together somehow into something magical and wonderful.