Friday, January 01, 2010
I Love My Plants - They Don't Act Out
Maybe, because one's home should be one's castle, a place of refuge, a sanctuary even, when instead, in my trauma-laden PTSD life, it's been filled with horribly ungrateful, angry people acting out, that's been particularly and personally stressful on me for the last 20 years. I do crave peace and beauty, flowers and silence.
A year or so ago, when I finally accepted that that's just the way it is, when I started taking back my life, fixing things up, and I totally quit expecting any decency from some players, my mood shifted somewhat. I disengaged many emotions, knowing my surgery from three years prior was totally due to stress, Grandma having a heart attack within two weeks of my own hospitalization...what a wake-up call.
Driving an 18 year old felon to a homeless shelter, refusing return re-entry to others, and shutting down emotionally to those who choose to hurt people has resulted in my not drowning totally. An 'I'm out,' tapping out mindset, since I know I gave it my best shot for way too long, there's nothing else I could do that wouldn't be enabling bad behavior.
The computer geniuses called me, "Your laptop is fixed and we saved all your information," which absolutely blew me happily away, as did my internet connection actually working this morning. Whoa Nelly! How nice is this? Dang, I miss Roy Rogers.
I thawed out two large containers of frozen garden tomatoes, doused with garlic, olive oil, and sea salt to go on last night's whole wheat pasta. Honey, you ain't lived til you've inhaled the intoxicating fragrance of summer tomatoes in late December.
I planted seeds I'd saved from last year's non-hybrid bell peppers, knowing I can use the greenhouse with it's passive solar capabilities, and I worked on almost all of my amaryllis bulbs, on my own post-Christmas timetable. This brings me joy and utter happiness.
My seed orders are almost complete, why in Sam Hill can't I find Malva Zebrina seeds in either catalog? I used to save 'em my ownself, but ran out last year and forgot to save more.
Jonathan had an untriggered rage and he tore up my laundry room, unfolding and strowing everything I'd just washed, dried and tended to carefully. "Need some help?" Chuy asked, flexing his muscles, ready to tackle down his emotionally ill birth brother.
"Nope," I just walked away, unwilling to feed into the ridicuoulsy negative drama. Who gives a hoot? Have at it. His IFI (intensive Family Therapy) Team has not vacationed, but has been coming out here regularly. I've been down this road long enough to know they are not miracle workers. They're excellent, they're intuitive, they dearly want him to improve, as do I, but really guys, what are the chances? Is it really necessary for me to have a stroke about it?
Interestingly enough Jonathan eventually picked up most of what he'd thrown without me saying a word.
The back half of my family room is filled with plants, kids are not allowed to play back there and last night I threatened to appropriate another 25 forward feet, making my home a plant conservatory as it brings me joy. This is my home.
Both Mayra and Paloma, moody and lazy, temperamental and unreasonable, have not lifted a finger to help...but I don't care. It's not worth spiking my blood pressure. Because I've been totally laid back, Paloma has hovered fairly pleasantly by my side, peppering me with comments to which I do not rise to bite the bait. We've subsequently had no warfare. OK.
I totally understand that maybe half of my children will not be able to function ever in society. I adopted some severely troubled children, with very deep-seated issues, emotional disabilities, and five with hard-time diagnoses. I cannot turn them into scholars, the best I can do is to maintain peace and order here in the home, and I'm OK with that terribly limited option. Even some of my more functioning ones are users of people, manipulators, liars and deceivers, and that deeply bothers me, but I can force folks to grow a conscience.
Sabrina was cleaning the kitchen counters as I washed the dishes, pots and pans, not even asking Mayra to help, knowing she'd just use it as a vehicle for sighing and carrying on. Whatever.
No New Year's Resolutions for me. I know what I want out of life, I'm self-disciplined and aiming forward. I will clearly accomplish what I've set out to do. I always have, and I always will do so. Nyah, nyah, nyah.