Paradise Puzzling

Paradise Puzzling

Every day this week as I round the corner at the Kingshill PO, on the sidewalk I've seen a 3" square cardboard puzzle piece. I'm either looking at the back of it or it is blank, waiting for someone to project whatever they believe is missing before attempting to jimmy it into their already full life.  Pardon the metaphorical extrapolation--I'm sure I'm just seeing the back side.  

Two things are obvious:

 This object has set my mental gears to whirring & grinding, &

They must never sweep the sidewalk at the Post Office. 

Not packing a broom (though I do keep trash bags in my car when I'm beaching it daily, to do a quick pick up before my swim), I'm left with grinding gears. For mental exercise I've been thinking of what that missing puzzle piece might be for me.  

First I tried assessing the question from an outsider's perspective. Looking out-to-in, what appears to be missing?

I suppose relationships would be the obvious answer?  Yes I have an amazing Mom (who I wish I saw much more, but she is happy & healthy where she is & we communicate by some means everyday, so I'm  not too troubled by the distance between)  & wonderful friends, but when I lock my door at night there are six feet & 2 snores on the inside. Actually, Mu doesn't snore. So 6 feet (4 of which are ridiculously furry) & 1 snore inside. That hasn't always been the count, & higher foot-count years were definitely not all bad.  But for now, 6 feet & no longing for more, at least not by me. You can ask Mu yourself. 

So if not people, how about things & stuff?  Shiny stuff. New & pretty stuff....

NOPE. Lately I'm on a two-pronged mission regarding possessions & spaces. We're still at that luxurious place when the ship-less summer stretches long & languid ahead. My natural bent is to believe I'll have time to accomplish many projects, as I've mentioned in previous posts. This year I'm trying on a 'design-for-use' theme instead. Economize & mobilize to utilize is my new mantra (don't think that's ever going to catch on, but so be it).  

The 'Lawn-to Living Space' goals are a good example. Despite all the fruit trees, the pineapple beds & the orchids, I still have a lot of sloping lawn...that while I don't water still sucks up some resources in the form of having to hire bush whacking guys to mow & trim.  When I bought Mumuland in 2008 I knew I wouldn't have 1/2 acre of rolling grass lawn. Not my goal--not my thing.

 I wanted the large lot either to build or to grow. Six feet & one snore don't really merit a build in the classic definition, so grow it is.  The back yard has evolved into a growing build or a building grow, depending on perspective. And evolved is the right choice of word. 

I took horticulture one summer at Mary Baldwin College in Stanton, VA, so I know how to make a garden plan, in color & to scale, with legends & everything.  I like garden plans.  I admire their tidy ambitions.  I just never follow them. I could, but I rebel at a piece of paper with a plastic overlay bossing me around. 

Instead, I love fecund, messy, spilling-full gardens with surprises.  Don't show me everything at once.  Let me explore. Give me places to watch the stars...to drink my morning coffee or have my evening meal...to be well-hidden enough to get completely lost in a book...or find myself in music...to watch happy Mu chase lizards. 

And it's working. Right now I'm sitting out in the startlingly bright moonlight, listening to the 'plooking' frog sounds, drinking iced coffee & dreaming what the next secret garden area will be like.  Will the sound of large cardboard-textured palm fronds clatter overhead?  Will I finally find the perfect clappers for my little cast iron wren-shaped bells & hear their faint chimes?  Perhaps the breeze will carry the fragrance of sun-warmed rosemary, or heady night blooming cereus, or an unassuming looking, but delicately scented orchid.  

Seems the puzzle piece wasn't for me. I'm not lacking anything, just happy working the puzzle. And blowing bubbles for Mu to chase in the moonlight.  Goodnight!

Back Away From the Chicken Wire!

Tell me if this has ever happened to you:

It's 1am & you are standing on your sofa wagging a yardstick over your head, trying to push an electric cord into a ceiling hook.  Success! And then you realize two uncomfortable truths--

1.  The light fixture (being generous here) you just finished fashioning from a scratched sickly-green cutting board, greener chicken wire, & an IKEA hanging lamp kit possesses not one appealing feature or redeeming quality. It is, without a doubt, the fugliest such thing anyone has ever conceived of or executed. And

2.  You were in full, goldfish bowl-glorious view of the entire neighborhood while performing this unbalanced act because you're too lazy to drop the shades (a better DIY project from awhile back). 

Seriously awful DIY must be a lot like waking up next to a post-tequila epic mistake. There is no graceful exit. Just find your crumpled DIY undies, tuck your shoes under your arm, & back quietly & slowly out of the room.  In the case of a failed project, I'd also suggest dismantling it & hiding the components before you go to sleep. 

Nothing is to be gained by being accosted by your errors in judgment first thing in the morning.  And believe me, I'm talking about the 'lamp' here. Good night!! :)

How to Get There From Here?

Friday, May 13, 2016

On Creative Visualization, Completion Anxiety, & Powering on Through

Aka How to Get There from Here. 

"You don't owe anyone anything."  -Mom

"I can do anything I want or imagine.  It will have consequences.  That isn't necessarily a bad thing."  -me

'The task before us will be hard.  Then we will do that which is hard.' - possibly me, paraphrasing fictional President Bartlett, paraphrasing JFK?

When I first heard of self-sabotage, I thought, 'this is really a thing?'

Oh yea.  It's a thing. 

When I started work on the natural stone patio (107 years ago), I had energy & enthusiasm, some methods research under my belt, & most of a plan.   Aha!  You've no doubt seized upon the problem.  Half-baked?  That's me.  Ok, more like 3/4 baked...or maybe even 7/8 baked. Can we just agree not fully baked, & fractions be damned?  

It turns out unlike 99% of Americans & 110% of HGTV viewers, I don't like to see the end, the result, the reveal.  I like the process, the middle, the nittiest part of the gritty.  I also hate for movies to end, but that's another syndrome for another time.  

Having been this way for at least 53 of my 54 years (there are those pesky fractions again), I've finally discovered the key to completing anything is like the end of a relationship for me--what defines the end of one relationship is the beginning of another. And yes, I realize that is from a movie, but not having watched it to the end I can't tell you which one.  

So in order to finish, or at least DECLARE finished, the stone patio, I actually had to start another, adjacent paver patio.  

The paver patio has been really useful...in forcing me to find other projects attractive. I've recently completed several, rather than follow through with the big project. Since starting the paver patio I have:

 1.  Added several square (actually round) feet to the stone patio, and when that was (choke) finished, 

add the sloping rock gardens & natural stone 'steps' to join it to the paver patio, which I liked so much, 

2.  I doubled the size of one rock garden to wrap around the side of the stone patio, & when there was no conceivable way to extend (read 'drag out') that project further & I was in serious danger of having to resume work on the paver patio, 

3.  I extended up instead of down, & cleared underbrush from the area above the stone patio to make a level pad grilling area, surrounded by colorful plants & shade.  

4.  Again faced with the paver patio, I again turned my back & built up, composing a 'crackpot wall' out of broken pot shards, rocks, & transplanted bromeliads, up the slope behind the grilling area. 

When, in near panic, I realized the stone patio, rock gardens, grilling area & 'lazy wall' slope were, in fact, all complete, I turned to the paver patio &...

5.  Instead cleared & replanted the big planters by my kitchen door,

then 

Planted Petria vine & transplanted Surinam cherry bushes to spots in front of the blue cinder block wall, & then

6.  Cleared all the piles of stuff that had accumulated during high season on every available surface in my living/dining/kitchen area & cleaned,

7.  Took down one of my other almost finished projects--faux Roman shades that needed one more rod casing in the middle to make them less faux/more functional,

8.  Which caused me to take down all the screens & wash them...

& then the Windows, inside & out. My house thus converted into a bright & happy little fishbowl (HI NEIGHBORS!!), I started to address the remaining room of 'potential piles,' my studio...

Found it too scary & so

9.  I made an assessment of the front porch furniture, opted to give away 4 swiveling rattan chairs before I could reconsider/repaint & keep them.  Then I surveyed the orchids to decide which weren't thriving & tied the punies in trees where they should be happier. 

10.  I then realized Mu has confounded the oddsmakers & at 10 years old, learned a new trick--how to vanish through chain link fence & walk herself around the neighborhood (SIX TIMES now), so I got planks, chicken wire & fence ties & after 5 tries, believe I have finally mastered my Alcatraz project, leaving her to scrape her tin kibble cup along the bars & focus on her harmonica practice. 

Taking one last glance to be sure the studio is as frightening as I recall (YES!  NOT GOING IN THERE YET!!),

11.   I draped washed-soft canvas painter's tarps over the big red sectional sofa to decide if my plan to make slipcovers of the tarps would work (& it does--fabric feels great & the stone color will be a refreshing neutral when paired with bright toss cushions), 

12.  Cut out/sewed a marketing tote from upholstery fabric, then cut out 2 more...

Looked at the studio once more.  Shut that door once more.

13.  Stopped at Home Depot & photographed available cement block options with their prices & 

Found it too scary & so

Looked at the studio once more.  Shut that door once more.

14.  Plotted 3 large slightly raised, terraced veggie beds, 

15.  And after work, I'll stop at Home Depot & make arrangements for delivery of 100 blocks, rebar, Quickcrete & landscaping gravel,

So I can lay out the planting beds &

FINISH THE PAVER PATIO. 

It's either that, slipcover the sofa, or organize the dreaded studio.

Time to break up with the damn patio.

'Project-ing'

Mu, approving the one completed project--the sloping rock garden planted in pineapples, of course!

The accepted APA psych definition of projecting is something akin to 'the act of bestowing upon someone who is not you characteristics, traits, syndromes, phobias or obsessions that are actually yours.'   It is the adult version of the kids' taunt 'I am rubber, you are glue, what bounces off me...is surely your own paranoid outlook, colored with your predominant narcissistic tendencies.' 

OK, I'm paraphrasing. 

(It should be noted here that this concept is the basis for many marital arguments.)

My definition is very different, yet curiously related:

'Project-ing'- the tendency to plan many elaborate, epically-scaled projects with the absolute conviction that you will quickly complete every aspect of said plan in stellar fashion...despite the fact (obvious to all but the 'Project-or') you possess absolutely NONE of the requisite skill sets to even approach accomplishing same.

(And I should note here that this is the basis for HGTV.)

So...let me tell you about the exciting projects I have planned for the summer off-season!! (Because, as Charlie Brown faces a football-holding Lucy & opts to kick every time, I embrace the definition of insanity gleefully at this point every year.)

I have five big ones planned, averaging a manageable one per each ship-less month from early May through October. I have to confess that I originally jotted the notes for this post on 3/29/16, & since then I have actually crossed one of these off, having accomplished it as a step toward adding a biggie to the list. So here goes:  

1.  Studio rehab, including desk upgrade (Don't believe this one at all. I say this so often I don't even believe me.)

2.  Rock garden & natural stone steps in the back yard. This is the one I was able to check off, because I accidentally completed it while adding another huge one to the list--a 15'x15' gridded coral stone paver & grass patio...on a pretty steep slope...WHAT WAS I THINKING?!?!?  In my defense, I'm really pleased with the rock garden, probably because I didn't have to level anything...& because it was a great spot to plant more pineapples, one of my addictions. 

Also in the process of carting quarry dust down-slope to make a level (there's that foul word again) bed for the pavers, I unearthed some huge stones I'm currently using to extend the upper natural local stone patio I made a few years back. And then I'm cutting down a scrub tree, adding a bed of quarry dust & setting 2' square concrete pavers (that were in the yard under a clothesline I got rid of when I bought the house in 2008) in a shady spot above the upper patio to make a flat grilling area. On the slope curving behind the grilling pad, I'm adding some rock ledges & bromeliad babies from all over my yard. Oh, & I liked the paver retaining wall I built to retain the new patio so much that it also spawned a new project goal--raised planting beds for veggies & casual cutting flowers (sunflowers & zinnias). 

With all that, you see that 'accomplishing' a task is generally a beginning, never an ending in my manic process. 

3.   Touching up the sky-blue block wall at the back of my property & stencilling giant tropical leaves all over it.

4.  Slip covering my big red sectional sofa in stone-tone canvas (washed drop cloths that mimic Belgian linen...in low light...if you squint).

5. Kitchen facelift, including painting white all the dark wood accent cabinets that break up my funky, cozy little orange kitchen.  

NOTE:  That last one will almost surely cause me to start 'project-ing' plans for a new countertop NEXT summer. Stay tuned for before, after, & never gonna happen.

BOINGGGGGG!

Spring should come with a warning sign at my house today. "Pollinators may be closer than they appear." You take your life into your hands walking out my kitchen door. You could end up with a hummingbird up your nose, or maybe one of those big black fuzzy bees somewhere you'd rather not.  

On the porch, there is a Jets and Sharks-worthy war with a pair of young bananaquits manically nest shopping. They're fixated on the bamboo palm in the corner, seemingly oblivious to the conflict of Mu's fave nap spot being less than 2' away.  They eyeball her, dismiss her as a minor fuzzy distraction, & obsessively plunge back into the task at hand. At least no one has flown into the house to scout homesites yet, as happens every spring. 

The pair of young kestrels in my next door neighbor's Norfolk pine do all their 'he-ing & she-ing' in a ridiculously inconvenient spot atop the pointy & miserably uncomfortable-looking treetop.  Then again, I'm not a raptor & maybe that's a night at the Ritz for them. 

After the torrential (& WONDERFUL--the cistern overflow is trickling, making spring cleaning chores like washing upholstery, screens & windows much more likely--not a lock mind you, just a strong possibility) rain yesterday, the world is turning chartreuse again & there are buds wherever you look. The pineapples, no longer pining for rain, pomegranates shaking pompoms, and the African tulip managing to avoid a bad pun & is simply covered in waxy orange blooms.  

A note here regarding the Thunbergia vines, in ever-expanding, blob-style mounds around my house:  To the friends concerned I'll eventually be trapped inside by the aggressive vines, the tonnage of fat periwinkle blooms is absolutely worth it, so...respectfully...put away your machete & back away slowly & no one will get hurt. 

We don't have a ship until Monday, & though I'm making stock & filling an order, I can feel the 'factory' (me, Mu, a hammer, an anvil & a Joan Crawford movie) starting to step down activities in anticipation of the long, ship-less & hopefully hurricane-less summer. My eleven giant pots full of Seaglass start nagging for contents to be sorted by shade & shape.  I start abandoning black & white movies & move to the technicolor surroundings of the orchidy porch in front (where I am now) or umbrella tables in back for my studio. By the end of this week the shallows of West End beaches will require my presence, promising glass to fill a twelfth pot.  

And the long list of projects I've planned for the off-season will start shimmering on the horizon, a mirage of the absolutely possible, though improbable summer ahead. 

Thoughts on Spring, Renewal (including my driver's license), Eddie Izzard & Clearance Chocolate

Seasons (other than hurricane season) are a lot less dramatic here in the Caribbean. Temps don't vary much (though we freeze when the nights dip into the low 70s) and unless we're having uncharacteristic drought conditions, there is always something audaciously blooming. Orange, red, yellow and magenta are all common here, from flowering trees, shrubs and underbrush. Even our weeds are flamboyant and of course there is the red-orange Flambouyant tree. 

But during this season,the amazing status quo becomes really spectacular as so many of our popular orchid species burst onto the scene – in pots, in trees, on walls…everywhere.

So at about the time the visitors are enjoying the breezy and sunny clime, suddenly there is the annual Saint Croix Orchid Society show, the first day of spring and then WHAMMO, Easter!

Easter on St. Croix means families camping at the beaches, happy homecomings followed by rueful goodbyes (unless, as my Mom insists, fish and company start to smell after three days).  The snowbirds are starting to strategize their northern migratory patterns for impending departures.  Last dinners, drinks, lunches and beach trips are coordinated and scheduled before they trek back stateside for the summer. Restaurants require reservations, and events like the Cristiansted St. Patrick's Day parade draw evermore enormous, amiable crowds.  

In my world made of Seaglass, new ideas pop up like the spring beauties,violets, crocus and jonquils did at home when I was a kid with chapped knees from being the first to push the season and wear shorts to my elementary school. Here, I will be dreamily sorting Seaglass into happy piles of potential for the whole summer.

Also here in St. Croix, post-Easter was almost a bigger deal than pre-Easter to my friend & me. That was because the day the bunny hopped away was the same day that Kmart drastically reduced the price for bags of Hershey's eggs with their thin pastel candy shell. Never mind we were in our 40s and 50s, like two scheming kids we'd formulate all manner of excuses to hit Kmart several times during this week every year ("oh man, I forgot paper towels. Want to go back?").

And chocolate eggs always make me think of comedian Eddie Izzard's routine about how modern Easter customs evolved – chocolate eggs being the color of the wood of the cross???? As good an explanation as any, I guess. 

Anyway, however your Spring has sprung, I hope you enjoy it thoroughly. As for me, I forgot toothpaste and I'm headed back to Kmart.

Landmarks 6/2015

(I found this post I had written in June of last year, shortly before David left for San Antonio.  I can't add much.)

David gave me a tree yesterday, as a sort of parting gift. Ok, he couldn't actually give it to me because it belongs to someone else...& is too big...for pretty much anywhere. He has given me trees in the past--a lemon bay rum is my favorite, happily plugging away in my back yard. It started as a foot-tall seedling he found at AgriFest a few years ago & is several feet taller than me now.  Bay rum trees are wonderful enough, but with the strong lemon infusion in every leaf, lemon bay is something very special. The leaves, bruised & steeped, make delightful bush tea that, as a bonus makes my little house fragrant beyond reason.  

As special as that tree is, it is comparatively inconsequential against what he showed me yesterday. We were doing what we've spent a good portion of the last 17 years doing--noodling around the island accomplishing trivial errands & comparing stories of the day.  We compete to see who has the best morsel of island info that might be news to the other. We point out roadside attractions like trees or orchids in bloom, the ridiculous, sawed-off looking dogs you see all over St. Croix, buildings with new & hideously random paint colors & seemingly unplanned structural proportions (David's fave being a house with 3 arches in front, all of curiously unequal size).  We cram groceries, sundries & laundry into my already-to-the-gills-with-vending-equipment little car. If I had a quarter for every look of dismay/consternation on the face of every bag boy who, after cheerfully wheeling our stuffed cart toward my normal looking small SUV, opened the door to find the rolling equivalent of Fibber Magee's closet, I could retire now.  

So it was yesterday, with the proceeds from a trip to KMart, a huge bag of clean laundry, & even our now misshapen by compaction due to shifting objects friend Kanae packed into the already-packed car. 

So of course instead of going home to offload, we decided to press on to the rainforest where some friends sell sauces, chutneys & marmalades they make from fruit they grow in their fecund yard...and bread...did I mention BREAD, baked in their wood-fire oven. Crusty loaves & shiny braids, as gorgeous as they are flavorful. The braid is rich & slightly sweet & laced with cinnamon.  It would be great with butter, but will never get that far since you can pull it apart & eat it as you drive. 

She has her tent set up next to Mahogany road that winds through the rainforest. The backdrop is their stonework cottage, framed by palm fronds, banana plants & giant elephant ear leaves. Despite our current state of drought, the rainforest retains its welcoming shades of green.  David had pointed out there were trees lording over the road there dating from the 1700's. 

When we finished wiping out her farm stand, laden with loaves, tomato chutney & cocoa/banana butter, we turned onto the Laewetz Museum grounds to check out the promised local produce there. The end of the day coupled with the aforementioned drought limited selection, but we snagged a fragrant bunch of purple opal basil, & that was generous enough that Kanae & I could split it & each have plenty.

Standing by the car, David described one last landmark. We were facing an enormous tree, alone & centered in a beautiful field. The tree had a perfectly formed wide umbrella canopy that extended in a circle above the cushy green beneath. He said people used to call them rain trees because they believed they actually produced moisture. I'm sure the dimensions & stats would be important, but I was more impressed by the feeling. It was of invitation, but the request lacked urgency, leaving you time to appreciate quietly from a distance first. It let you fully exhale & imagine a day of reading & naps.  

I'll make whatever excuse I have to to be there again, & if I ever have another friend who really gets it, I'll show them this tree. 

But what are the odds of that, I thought as we loaded back into the crushingly packed car. 

(He also gave me orchids...& the love of them)