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.

Maybe it’s my age; maybe it’s the appalling circumstances I, we, the population of the entire world, has had to face these past two years (and it hasn’t stopped yet, folks); and maybe it’s because somewhere inside I’ve reverted to my young self, to a time where I believed in New Year’s resolutions and their power to change us.

Or, at the very least, to change me.

Not change, as in make me a different person. I’m quite happy with who I am. I’m talking about subtle changes, the ones that make us progress, move to something that better suits us, start a project, a hobby, a diet, a new direction. A new, ahem, blog—or the focus of said blog, at any rate.

I’ve been a writer my whole life. I started writing in earnest when I was seven years old and I’m not stopping now. Since my accident nearly three years ago (a tale that shall not be told here), I’ve had many issues with writing, issues which are slowly resolving. In fact, as an aside, I lost my ability to play the piano, but even that is coming back—I sat down and played a number of Christmas carols recently, with only a little struggle. So my happens-to-fall-at-the-New-Year resolution is to celebrate this integral part of me—the author. Right now, I have a royalty check staring at me from the refrigerator door (to be deposited once I get off my lazy behind) reminding me this is what I am: a writer; a published author; a wordsmith.

Therefore, starting with the New Year, I will be revamping my blog to focus on writing. These blogs will cover the writing craft, the stories behind it, the successes and failures, the successes of others, some reviews and more interviews, with regular rather than sporadic content (that is the BIG change for me). I’ll still continue with my Life as it Comes forays and will also increase the posts regarding handcrafted endeavors (one of my other joys, beyond and at a tangent from writing). There will always be my Christmas blogging, naturally. I can’t abandon Christmas. After all, it hasn’t abandoned me.

Here’s hoping this isn’t a revolving commitment but one that sticks. I guess we’ll find out. Check back and see.

Happy New Year everyone. May you be blessed with health, contentment, peace and joy.

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.

I’ve decided to document the rebirth of the front garden (for starters, at any rate—I may ambitiously continue this documentary recitation with 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 what-the-hell-has-happened-and-do-I-really-care attitude into the symbolically hopeful, soul-nurturing act of gardening. I regained the use of my right arm and, therefore, my ability to remake my beloved flower beds over.

It’s a work-in-progress that began with the simplest tasks first—the front porch. Not gardening, per se, but the lateral move of store-bought plants into store-bought planters. Enough color to make me smile, enough floral abundance to convince me I was on my way to bigger and brighter.

First thing to face and prepare: the Blank Slate. Remove all extraneous items; break out the pressure washer; wash the lovely green lichen or whatever the heck it is from the railings, front siding, windows, wherever it had appeared in its effort to taunt me. Re-hang the wind chimes (did I mention that in my state of mind last year I had my son yank them down because the beautiful, deep timber of their chimes annoyed me? Of course I didn’t. I gave you the abridged version…) Next, bring the table and chairs out of the shed, wash them down, and place pottery onto the tempered glass surface. Insert pansies—purple and white. Why not? The colors look fabulous with the turquoise glaze of the pots.

Next, hang the planters on the railings. Unfortunately, the planters themselves are too short for the hanging apparatus. But soon these little beauties pictured at right are supposed to grow to drape over the planters’ edges and none will be the wiser. Except you, now that the secret is out of the bag. I’ll have to take photos later in the summer and we’ll see if their promise of coverage comes to fruition.

Finally, for this portion of the Garden Restoration, I jammed a shepherd’s hook into the earth in front of the porch between three smashingly beautiful and HUGE light gray rocks, and hung the equally large hanging basket of wave petunias, a basket of sunny yellow zinnias and a brightly colored birdhouse (painted by moi, in about two seconds, so don’t look too closely).

This leads me to the next phase, which was backbreaking, exhilarating work. It was also where I learned, as I never had before, that gardening is a contact sport.

Check back for Garden Restoration, Part II. Thanks for reading!