Life Lesson

There is a life lesson that has taken me too many years (decades) to figure out. Partly because I've spent the majority of my adult life renting apartments rather than owning a home. Partly because I've spent the majority of my adult life obliviously walking around, skirting responsibility and commitment. Partly because I'm a hammerhead.

Having something beautiful is a luxury, a delight.

Maintaining something beautiful is work.

This applies to many things.

A home. The picture below is the entryway of a mansion in Galveston. It was built in the early 20th century, and it is gorgeous. Hand-carved wood all over. But, it takes a team of employees and volunteers - along with large grants - to keep it up.

The Bishop's Palace - Galveston, Tx

Or a patio with flowers. Flowers have to be watered regularly, and weeds will grow through the bricks unless we are vigilant.

Cat's Paradise

Jewelry - Silver will tarnish and must be polished.

Pendant - Silver, 18K and Opal by Barry Perez

Talent - musical, artistic or any other talent you may have developed - requires continued practice, or you will lose the skill, the edge, the ease and the beauty with which you perform.

The Talented Jorge & Nicole

Friendships and relationships

Courtesy of Pexels 

Courtesy of Pexels

I was walking home this afternoon from brunch - just before it began to rain. I passed a beautiful house, a house that I would have loved to live in. It occurred to me that the bigger the home, the more there is to maintain because there's that much more to break down. A few years ago I wouldn't have considered that. I have moved in with my partner – the same one who, without my having to call, came to pick me up when it began to rain – and I have begun to learn what it means to truly be responsible for something and its maintenance. The old house we live in has a leak in the roof and it's entirely up to us to fix it. There is no office to call to come take care of it. And, we either mow the lawn or it becomes a forest, regardless of how much I'd prefer to be laying around reading. I could leave when I got angry, or I could finally figure out what it takes to make a relationship work. I have a lifetime of leaving that has become a habit, a way of life. I am having to learn a new way of life.

The lesson hasn't been easy or without tears. But, I have grown so much in the last few years that I almost don't recognize myself. Has it been worth it? As far as I'm concerned, yes. (You'd have to ask my partner for his perspective.) I have a long way to go, but I am so glad I have begun.

Thank you for reading.

Broken to Beautiful

I see us becoming such a disposable society. It's easy to get sucked into the mindset; I mean, new things rock! Gifts! I love new things. I had a friend from Brazil who wanted new Christmas decorations every year. I've always thought that memories of things that you've had for years were nice; Christmas is all about nostalgia, after all. But, he wanted brand everything new every year. Trees, lights, décor... Plastic is fine; we won't be keeping it long, anyway. A different theme every season. We have starter homes, starter marriages, first car, this year's car, this year's fashion...

At the same time I see shabby chic everywhere. What can't you make out of recycled pallets? The odd thing is seeing the shabby chic things in trendy stores. Intentionally shabby? I believe they used the word 'Distressed' for it. It's crafty without having to take the time.

But, I digress. I like the idea of reusing things. Things that are broken have a special appeal to me. I've started thinking about it and it seems that 'Broken to Beautiful' has always been my way. Broken to Beautiful means not perfect. It doesn't mean 'make the best of something'; it means 'use it on purpose'. It means, Take something broken and make it into something nice. As the song from Hedwig and the Angry Inch says, "You take the pieces off the ground, and show this wicked town something beautiful and new." There are not that many new things here where I live. It's a fabulously old home with two acres of grass that is trying to take over the world, and my head spins thinking about trying to keep up with it all. Fortunately, Nameless has been here for 25 years, so he's good at it – I get to help. I'm learning to mow grass and to trim shrubs, and I'm learning that somebody my age really needs to be careful when mowing grass and trimming shrubs. (Tennis elbow is real and it doesn't go away easily.)

A small set of wooden steps rotted and Nameless moved it to the side of the building that they led into. He moved a set of cement steps into its place, and the other ones sat on the side, waiting to be demo'd and tossed out. I had today off, and I thought it would be nice to have flowers on it. So, I turned it around and propped up the bottom step. I suppose we might go back and secure it, but for the moment I'm pleased with the way it looks. I bought some new (new?) plants and flowers for it, moved a rosemary plant that has been struggling there and put it all together. I didn't buy any new pots yet; I reused some that we already had. I'm going to buy a couple, just because we don't have any small ones and I want some that size for the second step.

I have very little experience with flowers, so who knows if they will like it in this location or how long they'll live? But, for the moment I'm pleased with it. (Hopefully, the rosemary will grow enough to hide the electrical outlet.)

e A r n i e

Home Is a Black Hole of Need

This last couple of weeks have been different in the Cat House because it's Christmas vacation and Nameless doesn't work his day job, therefore he doesn't set his alarm clock. When I get to the kitchen in the morning to make my coffee I am faced with a Very Distressed and Neglected Clarice, who vocalizes her opinion of Christmas break and how the lack of alarm clocks is affecting her life. Without the alarm, she doesn't know when it's time to sit on top of Nameless so that he can pet her, and this throws her entire schedule off. Heartbroken, she is barely able to squeak out a pitiful meow, hoping beyond hope that somebody will find her in her loneliness, scoop her into their arms and rescue her from the despair that has engulfed her life. It takes quite a bit of cooing and cuddling to console a heartbroken, neglected cat. Butterbean is more relaxed about it and simply wants her face brushed, and Charlotte can't really be bothered to get down from the bed. (Getting down from that height is actually quite a bit of work for Charlotte.) As I make my coffee I feel eyes on me from the dining room. Richella is waiting to hear the clink of the ceramic cat dish indicating that it's time for gravy, while Clarice is more vocal about breakfast and an insistent Thump Thump Thump comes from Butterbean rubbing her face against her favorite brush on the kitchen table.

What Is a Weed?

There is a spot in our back yard that seems like it could use some ground cover. It's a space that's rather enclosed between a building and some bricks lining the path from the back gate, around said building and up to the back door of the house, which is the only door that's ever used for some reason I haven't been able to figure out. Anyway, we bought some English ivy because I love it and it's like a tiny dream come true to have a house with a spot that I can put English ivy in. I've been warned not to let it crawl up the building or the tree, but it will be difficult for me. I long to have an ivy-covered wall so much that I could burst. I could melt. I could write a cozy mystery.

So, I'm pulling out the weeds that are in this space and I begin to wonder why. I mean, we were at the hardware megamart in the garden section and asking the wonderfully helpful lady about plants that could grow there, because the space gets a glimpse of sunlight in the morning and that's about it as far as direct light goes. But why? Why are we concerned about finding a plant to grow in a space that is already completely covered in plant? I asked Nameless about this and he said, much as I expected, "They're weeds."

"But, what is a weed?" I pondered. I mean, who's to say that this plant is a good plant to have covering your ground and this plant is not? It seems to me that in a field of cotton, a rosebush would be a weed. So, why are we (myself included) determined to extricate this plant that is thriving, only to replace it with one that we can only hope will do well? In answer to my spoken question, 'What is a weed?, Nameless said, "In other words, you throw it away." Well, that's that.

The plant in question is rather vine-like. Small leaves and tiny white flowers. When I pulled it up, I could grab handfuls and it came up like a carpet – only in a few places was it connected to the ground. It was easy to pull out because it's been raining so much. (Man, with this drought going on, did I ever think I'd write those words?) There was a smattering of other weeds in there, but mostly it was this one type. Clearly, this plant was suited to this environment. I see weeks, months and years of pulling this little guy out of my English Ivy bed.

I've put a few pictures below of the weed in question. It's not such a bad looking plant. I've pulled most of it out. I clearly underestimated how many English ivy plants I'd need to begin with, so I'll work on the project some more later. All of that to say why I have not included a picture of my English ivy bed. Right now it's solid ground with a few sprigs of ivy sticking out here and there. But, I was assured that it grows fast.

Yours truly,

e A r n i e