Walking Under the Banana Tree

Once upon a time my father delighted in devising contests for his four fabulous females; like seeing who could find the roundest stone at Ruby Beach on the Olympic Peninsula. At least I think it was Ruby, the one that has a hundred bijillion stones worn smooth and round by the wild sea. And he didn’t just eyeball the contenders, either. He measured them and performed mathematical hoodoo on them to find the winner. There are still wooden crates and coffee cans full of round stones under the carport at my mom's house. Daddy was also hellbent on one of his daughters being able to walk under the dining room table. That meant the child had to be either really short, or precocious. Rebecca won that one on both counts. Although it doesn't seem she ever really walked. In my earliest memories of her, she was always running. She’s still short. And she is still precocious. Today is her birthday. She is also still five years younger than I am. Back in the day, that was advantage Gretchen; but it has long since been advantage Rebecca.

I am thinking of that walking under the table thing today, because I can walk under the umbrella leaves of my banana tree. This is the tree’s third year, and the first year it’s tall enough to walk under. Pretty exciting. (You may know, from reading this blog if nothing else, that banana trees are not evergreen. They sprout from near ground level every year; then grow to new heights. It's never too late to start over.) I love to sit on my new patio in the back yard under the dogwood and look down the side yard at the banana fronds dancing in the breeze. One center leaf often dips, sways, and spins to music I can’t hear. And the elephant ear caladiums are doing well, too; one in its third year, and two in their second.The interesting thing about them is that they are annuals. Defying all odds. Speaking of defying the odds, it must be noted that on Friday New York declared that all people—including gays and lesbians—who are so inclined can get married. Only 44 states to go. One leaf, one inch, at a time.

Beyond the broad leafed plants, though, I am rapidly losing interest in the garden. It happens every year. It seems earlier this year is all. I don't think it will ever rain again. I sit thinking yesterday about what is good about the stage 2 (moderate) drought the county is in. 1) The yard, which crunches when I walk on it, hasn't been mowed for over two weeks, and is nowhere near needing it again. 2) The moles are in absentia. Um. That pretty much covers it. Even the plantain weeds, one of the many "native plants" that make up my yard, are puny this
year. (I guess that's three, except without the weeds I have no lawn. I don't like the plantain though, with its spiky "flower.") I'm not sure what the grackles are finding to eat in the yard, but they are welcome to it.

I water the tiger lilies, trying to keep them alive until they bloom. They have been closed up for tight for a couple of weeks. I fear they will fall off without opening. I decide if I buy any more ferns I will stick with Autumn Brilliance. Others are retreating into nothingness, but the Brilliance seems drought resistant. The balloon flower, another of my summer favorites, is doing nothing. I do nothing, either. I'm grumpy and unmotivated. Closed up tight. I finally figured out why I am so tired so early in the evening—pretty much as soon as I get home from work. It's my sofa. As soon as I sit down on it, I get sleepy. Maybe if I sat someplace else... In all fairness, last evening and this morning have been pretty glorious outside. I  pick a handful of grape tomatoes at a time now. Tomatoes and basil; avocado and mango: these are a few of my favorite things. A handful of tomatoes and several basil leaves: free from my garden. One ripe champagne mango and one ripe avocado: $1.50 at the Hispanic open air market; $6 at Harris Teeter.

The gigantic hosta and the mini one, are blooming in spite of themselves. And the crepe myrtle, when did their fireworks display erupt? I think it might have been Friday. All of a sudden the city streets are full of their show-off bloom. I love crepe myrtles. They don't exist in the Pacific Northwest. There are three eggplants in the garden, in their glorious color that can only be described as eggplant purple. I don't know how big this variety is supposed to get, so I don't know when to harvest them. Not yet, though. The first summer phlox opened

yesterday, and my one surviving volunteer sunflower is unfolding. I have several volunteer cosmos, too. I love volunteers; they are such a happy surprise. For the first time I have a whole clump of cone flowers and black-eyed susans. The pincushion plant is finally doing well. How can I stop watering now? Soon, I fear, the county will dictate that I stop. And in the meantime, I feel guilty for using the precious resource on mere beauty.

A couple of weeks ago (June 12, 2011) I posted a blog about the time being now to do what I have dreamed of doing, if I can just identify what that is. Yesterday Patti Digh (Life is a Verb) challenged me to create a criteria to use when making decisions about what to say yes to. She, and the person she got the idea from, believe that if you can answer yes to at least four—or better, five—of the things on your list, your project or opportunity will be successful in some way. Three or less and it is usually a bust. (Of course there are some things you have no choice about saying yes to that barely meet one goal, but I wonder if even those dictates can be revised in some way to make the "okay, whatever" into "YES!") So here is my list:

1. Joy—Will I enjoy doing it? Will it make me happy?

2. Learn—Will I learn something new from it that is useful now or will be in the future?

3. Teach—Will I impart some bit of wisdom to someone else?

4. Earn—Will it provide for me financially, either now or for the future?

5. People—Will I meet new people, connect with friends, or will it enrich old relationships?

6. Leisure—Will it provide rest, relaxation, resurrection?

7. Health—Will it enhance my physical, mental, or emotional well-being?

8. Travel—Will I see new places, either literally or virtually?

9. Kindness—Will it make someone else happy, or help them in some way?

10. Authentic—Does it fit my sense of who I am?

11. Stretch—Does it challenge me to expand my sense of myself?

12. Meaning—Will it make a difference?

What is on your list? (Editorial note: I think Joy should get triple points, personally. Make your own rules.) I am pretty sure sitting on the sofa, the one that causes fatigue, watching America's Got Talent, probably doesn't meet the four point criteria for a good decision. And writing this blog meets eleven of them. So there you have it, the worst and the best of what I do.

"The main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing." Larry James