hope – robin maderich – write-brained scribbler and crafter-on-the-loose

One thing to add about Christmas…

I know I talk a lot about Christmas and how much I love it…and I do. But the past couple years, despite grasping at enthusiasm and expressions to the contrary, I’ve been a bit underwhelmed. I suppose we all have. One thing I have noted though, and I take comfort in this, is the fact that as Christmas passes into the New Year a kind of peace settles into me, a belated spiritual cognizance, a harkening back to the way I felt in childhood. It is not a scream-in-your-face feeling, not one that would make me dance around the house and sing, but one that makes me feel rooted and warm and hopeful. I’ll take it. This is Christmas to me and if it’s not falling on the actual day itself, well, who am I to question how that ol’ Christmas magic works?

The point is that it does, despite one’s best attempts to lure it in. Like a faithful old dog, the Christmas Spirit comes because you need it, not because you’ve called.

New Year’s Revolutions

Yes, that’s not a typo, nor is it a call-to-arms. It’s merely a comment on how many times we make New Year’s resolutions with high expectations, abandon them, feel we’ve failed somehow if we don’t meet them, resolve to make new ones when the next year comes around, and round and round and round between plans and, well, plans gone awry. I, for one, have not made any New Year’s resolutions for many a new year. I recognized the circling inevitability for me many moons ago. I’m not saying resolutions aren’t a good thing, because they are, and the beginning of a new year provides a wonderful starting point—what could be so bad about that? Nothing, really. Not for many anyway, because I do know there are people out there who successfully make and keep their New Year’s resolutions, but not me. So, why I am writing this particular blog? Because I’ve made a resolution which, by coincidence, happens to fall on the holiday that brings so many of us to determined expectations and long, slow tumbles away from them.

Garden Restoration, Part I

I’ve decided to document the rebirth of the front garden (for starters—I may move on to brave the shed garden, the shade garden, the don’t-sit-under-the-apple-tree garden). It’s also a tale of my own rebirthing, from a rather nasty depression into the symbolically hopeful, soul-nurturing act of gardening.

Last year was a rough year for me. I know there are many out there for whom last year (or any year) was far more troublesome than mine. But I need to begin this blog with a quick explanation as to why my gardens came to resemble the forest surrounding Sleeping Beauty’s bower. I’ll be quick…the Reader’s Digest version, abridged and leaving you wondering where the rest of the story went. Ready? Two surgeries and nearly a year of physical therapy on my right arm. And I’m right-handed. Enough said? The weeds spent the summer proliferating and laughing at me. Winter did nothing to dampen their enthusiasm for mockery. They joyfully reappeared in the springtime for a repeat performance.

But I was ready for them this time…sort of.