courage and compost

"Well, we're living in the time of the compost pile. Almost everything is rotten, but the compost is where the good things grow." 

James Hubbell

James Hubbell is a poet, architect, a man with a vision of beauty- necessity.  I googled his name as I had recently read an article or rather an interview, I found his thoughts abundant and quite profound.  The quote above was seized immediately by me, copied and transferred here.  To my surprise, he is not quoted enough on the net.  One has to wade through "the between the lines" ocean of information to glean a view of this man's spirit.  Seems these days, as Mr. Hubbell so aptly

puts it, the compost pile is heaped with a rotten core- but as the pile heats up, I hope in the coming year, many will find the remnants to be worthy of mighty growth.

With that said...here goes my attempt to put it in a wonder-full perspective.

2009 Compost 

Keep the faith, all else goes on the compost pile.

Add heat by remembering the joy of days gone by, of moments alive still in my veins and muscles, in my heart and very soul; those visions that made my eyes widen with wonder.

Add moisture by crying many tears, I tend to get mean when the waterworks aren't allowed to open up and cleanse the roughness of any given situation- I vow to cry more and curse less...

Add garbage, lots of garbage to the pile! For instance, past battles- fought and lost.  Past arguments- the ones where I knew I was right but would wrong another too deeply to have even mattered a pinch.  Past failures- super woman only exists in comic books,  simple woman does the best she can do with the tools she's acquired and even gets her cape a bit dirty in the end.  Past hurts- some I never saw coming and some I welcomed with open arms and then wondered, "why me?!"  Past mistakes- failure is like an iceburg to a tiny rowboat, one tip of the paddle in the wrong direction and your down in a titantic way...better to navigate in open seas, keeping one eye peeled for gigantic ice towers, and by all means- wearing a life vest that says SOS-Seek Only Solutions. 

Add grub...good food scraps, organically or sustainabley grown and most certainly local fare.  

Add yard waste and wood scraps- prune the matter that doesn't matter and pick up all the twigs, what doesn't root must be thrown on the pile so that other things might grow.

2010  Amendments

Take the good soil leftover from the compost heap and add seeds of-

Kindness

Passion

Courage

Forgiveness

Wonder

I do believe with proper growing conditons, all that might add up to the most amazing garden.  One that I am very much looking forward to...


Again, I am compelled to ask you to remember... tattoo it if you must!!!-


Fear Accomplishes Nothing


(Just look back over the last year, when you accomplished a feat- perhaps losing 10 pounds. Was it fear that got you walking every day, or was it hope?  How about when you had to confront a significant other with a problem?  Was it fear that made you take the bull by the horns and stand your ground or was it the courage that it took to stand up, knees shaky as ever- to confront the problem, thereby clearing the air so understanding could float on down clear as day to all eyes concerned?  When I speak of fear in this way, I do not mean herculean feats, I mean every-day-all-your-life, getting-on-that-two-wheeler-after-the-training-wheels-were-removed-bicycle and hoping with everything you had- that you might actually gain balance and ride.  Was it fear that turned the pedals?  Or was it faith?)


Thank you for giving a darn, listening and remembering together- as a child we remember the darkness of a closet as a fearful thing, as adults- fear all too often is let out of the closet to inhabit the whole house.  I hope to become like the fearless child I once was, many years ago- she will be the compost queen once again, riding, peddling like the courageous being she always intended to be.  Happy New Year to the courageous compost building children that we were...and can be again.


Take care.

little bird, I think...

My youngest son, my big, big boy...is 18 today. Mathew is a rare child. Loving and kind, sweet and tender all wrapped up in a thick covering of DO NOT TOUCH. Not so much when he was younger...though still, he was much more like a cat than a good old dog who lives to please. I would say, of all my children, Mathew required the greatest affirmations of love...he still does. And it is a difficult paradox when the child would rather slide down a razor blade than have a hug, when truly that is what he really wants. His sisters would tell you that he can drive a person up a wall...but- if one needs a shoulder, a strength...Mathew is the one who brings it, who innately knows our hearts and soothes them like no other. Who in one breath screams, "You're all crazy!!!", and then on the next, "I love you guys." We know Mathew, we know.
He wanted a saxaphone for Christmas, honestly- I thought it would be like the trumpet, the guitar, the skate ramp, the etc....I figured he would lay it aside, too soon, too much before he mastered it. Nope. He loves this thing. He sings too, beautifully, sandpaper silk kind of voice. I'm going to listen to him Friday night. He definately walks to the beat of his own drummer...for that, for his individualistic attitude, I am most proud. All my children have displayed this slightly off kilter trait, but Math...he excels. Which makes life all the harder...when you don't fit in so much...but Mathew, he blends, he swirls, the colors he adds, the sounds he makes- not your typical canary. He's the kind of little bird, I think...when he gets all his feathers- that will soar in such a way that makes others happy for their own uniqueness, their own shine and light.
He has struggled all his life, this one. When he was 11, he became very ill. In and out of hospitals in St. Louis and Cleveland and Springfield, too. Little was understood about his illness, he was scared, we were scared, took a long time to get him well. His faith was shakey, he still had to go to school on top of feeling pretty awful most of the time. He had to give up sports. Children were cruel. This is a small town, small minds...he earned a moniker of "bug boy", because he was always ill and a diagnosis evaded us. He did not tell us that the children avoided him, couldn't understand him so they mocked him. Then his beautiful big hero of a brother went off to war. I know Mathew prayed in such a way to trade his own life for his brothers...Beau was so healthy and strong, Mathew was not at the time. He thought it a fair trade off if God took him and kept his brother safe. Yep, that truly is how Mathew operates, loyal and loving and self sacrificing for his family. (And I do not mean to leave this on such a sad note, it will turn out fine)...then in July of 2003, Mathew lost his best friend to a heart condition-Ryan, who understood Mathew. Loved Mathew. Buddies that could look out and in for each other and just plain understood, accepted and loved anyway. And five days later, Mathew lost his hero big brother, his Beau, our Beau...and the anger and the hopelessness on top of it all have not left him, yet. Though...I can see the saxaphone and the singing drawing out trust, and hope again. I see the smiles there a bit brighter. It makes me so very happy, in and out...to notice these things of my boy, my big big boy, my almost a man and wouldn't your brother be so very proud. Yes he would son, yes he would. Happy, happy day. Take care-