DOWNSIZED

Yesterday during a quiet moment while I relaxed in my recliner, I happened to glance out my window to my backyard at my flower beds. Where there used to be an explosion of color, plants of all kinds, each one chosen for its own special character and its meaning to me, there was mulch covering the ground to discourage a crop of weeds.  It looked nice neat, barren and sad.  It used to be my pride and joy, a pet project to show my gardening skills to the world.  It was an easy place to rest my eyes and soak up the beauty of nature.  It was my very own “Gan Eden”, Garden of Eden, paradise.  Age and illness have taken that portion of my life away leaving me with two oak barrel containers where I grow Morning Glories.  There are no weeds to pull, no plants to plant, they just seed themselves.  I add water and they grow.  They are a testament to my flower gardens of days past and a small spot of color to enjoy these days.  My garden, like my life, like me, has been “downsized”.

My eyes focused on the place where I tried to grow a plant I had always wanted in my garden.  I could see its blue and lavender blossoms, the lush green of its leaves and stems and its shape.  I could remember consulting my neighbor, the renowned local green thumb, about using coffee grounds to get the most color from it, but I could not remember the name of my previously coveted plant.  My memory isn’t what it used to be.  I took a deep breath and scanned my internal “files”, looking for the name.  Four names down the list I hit upon the one I was searching for.  Hydrangeas, I always wanted to have Hydrangeas in my yard.  They just don’t grow well in our climate and my efforts were for naught.  I could not keep them alive.  Now the space is bare.  There is nothing but brown fence, brown mulch, and brown landscape timbers; a monochrome shrine of dreams unrealized and what used to be.  I miss the things I used to love to do.  I no longer have the stamina to pull out brushes, paints, palette, and easel to paint a picture.  It would be a project to big for me.  My instruments gather dust, and like my voice that was once so pitch perfect, they are silent.  My body has betrayed me.  I cannot play my instruments or sing anymore.

Between my oak barrel gardens I have bench where I will sit when the mornings are warm enough.  As soon as I am sure that the night temperatures will no longer dip below freezing I will tend to my planters.  Instead of shovel and hoe, I will turn over the earth with a hand trowel.  I will carry my watering can from plant to plant, no longer chasing hoses and adjusting sprinklers.  The task is much smaller now but the satisfaction IS still great.  Then I will sit on my bench sipping on my coffee and taking notes while I watch the world go by, gathering ideas for the pictures I now paint with my words.  In time the Morning Glories will twine themselves up the trellises.  Blossoms of red, blue, violet, and white on a background of green will surround me on both sides.  I will listen to the bees as they buzz from flower to flower, an industrious drone to accompany the music in my heart, while I write new lyrics to its tune.  Soft breezes will caress me.  And there, I will find peace, knowing that all is not lost.  The beauty in my “downsized” world is still there, just smaller and easier to see.