Digging and Mucking and Eternal Hope

betsey: Jane, help. It’s snowing again. Make it stop.

I can remember years when in late February I could go out in my yard and see shoots coming up in the garden. Well, after the snow from the Blizzard of 2011 (20 inches!) finally melted a few days ago, we had a semi-nice Saturday, so of course we took Lucy for a good walk and then I traversed our manor, surveying the grounds, hoping for a sign of life. But all the crocuses and scylla, first bulbs to come up, were wisely hiding underground going, “You kidding? If it’s good enough for the groundhog, it’s good enough for us. We’re staying in.”

Still, it was enough to see bare ground -- and start thinking about this year’s garden.

jane: We don't start thinking about our garden until Rich has torched our ornamental grasses, especially our silberfeder. Please don't report us, but every spring Rich does an unofficial "controlled" burn of those things -- over the years they've gotten HUGE -- so the new growth can start. (I hide out in the house, cell phone in hand, ready to punch in the fire department's number, just in case.) Before Rich took matters into his own hands, so to speak, we used to go out mid-March on a  mild Saturday to hack those things down with hedge clippers. (We really need machetes.) It took forever, not to mention too many yard waste bags to count.

betsey: We got our Burpee’s catalog last week, and I love sitting and salivating over the heirloom tomatoes -- the ruby-like strawberries -- even the golden beets. I love golden beets, but in our clayey soil I have a hard time with root crops. Still, a girl can dream. It’s like baseball, which I’m also excited about as the Sox report to spring training. Everything is quivering with possibility and potential. This could be the year!

jane: I say that every year. But the problem is, I daydream about what to change but I forget to record my ideas or even what we've already planted. Once upon a time we did have a plan and I kept a garden journal that listed what we'd planted, but that was about, um, 13 years ago.

My sister-in-law was an avid gardener, and her plants always thrived. She gave me a wonderful trumpet vine cutting last summer, and I'm hopeful it takes off by the arbor near my front door this year. Anyway, Terry once suggested taking photos of the same garden spot during different times of day to obtain an accurate handle on how much sun an area really gets. I've discovered it's easy for me to over- or underestimate whether a particular corner is full or partial sun. And in spring, everything is full sun anyway!

betsey: There is absolutely nothing like that first mild day late in March when you get outdoors, maybe rake out some beds, trim the dead stalks . . . the wind is soft, the soil is redolent with earthy fragrance (and isn’t that a great word, “redolent”). Maybe an earthworm squiggles out of a hole. And by then the crocus are in full bloom.

But here’s the tension: when are you “done”? I’m already thinking about this one hidden corner . . . a path, a bench, clematis twining up the arbor . . . For the gardener, there’s always more. You never rest on your laurels. Or your lavender.

jane: You're right about that, Betsey. You can never rest on your previous year's accomplishments -- or your achillea, either. What I love most about gardening is how it's a process. With perennials, you can always mix things up, experiment, try new combinations. What fun would it be to have the garden all set and never change a thing? There's something invigorating about getting out there, mucking around, digging plants up with a spade and dividing them, then plopping them somewhere new, just for the heck of it.

betsey: You know, right now, even “mucking” sounds inviting. And thanks for the reminder about dividing perennials. That’s something I always forget about. And can we come over and watch the “controlled burn”?

jane: We could let you, but first we'd have to force you to fill out a nondisclosure form! 

betsey: I have an idea. We should, from time to time, right here in this space, report how things are going in our respective patches of God’s green earth. And I would love to hear about what’s worked for others!

Baby, It's Cold Outside

betsey:jane is taking a Snow Day! Keep warm, keep safe, and we'll see you next Wednesday, February 23.

Stuffing It

jane: Have you ever seen the History Channel's program American Pickers? I finally tuned in after my mom told me how much she enjoys watching it. And now I do, too! These two guys, Mike Wolfe and Frank Fritz, travel country back roads and comb through piles of junk, hoping to uncover that gem of a collectible or antique – such as an old barn sign or rare motorcycle – an art director or interior designer might want. Shows such as American Pickers, Pawn Stars, and Hoarders are fascinating. And they bring home in a very visual way our human propensity to amass stuff.

betsey: I’ve seen Hoarders. It’s kind of like “clutter porn.” You don’t want to look, but you do want to look. It also serves the invaluable “Thank heaven my dear ones and I are not like that!” function (although on bad days some of those dear ones skate perilously close, and you know who you are, young lady). And I admire people who can discover gems in slag heaps of stuff, so I’ll have to check out the “pickers” show. Although, being married to a man who has engaged in Dumpster diving from time to time, I’m not sure I’d let him watch . . .

jane: Dumpster diving! Yes! We had close friends from college who after graduation, when money was tight, dove for expired food items. One night we ate dinner at their house; they served a delicious lasagna, but as we noshed, they described how they'd gotten the mozzarella from the dumpster behind our local Dominicks. I'll never forget that dinner.

But speaking of stuff, right now I'm up to my eyeballs in it. Rich and I are clearing out his parents' large home, and each closet, drawer, or shelf reveals another collection of a lifetime. We're picking through sentimental items, valuable items, and then – well, items you'd simplify classify as clutter, such as countless plastic bags and Glad containers.

betsey: I’ve thought about this, because on one level, the visual, I truly despise clutter and spend inordinate amounts of time picking up, organizing, consolidating, and ensuring no pile has more than three items in it. I’m not really a saver. But there are quirky, personal things I’m attached to. The stuffed frog Fritz won for me at a theme park when we were dating. My yellow metal circa-1950 canisters that remind me of my mom’s kitchen stuff when I was very young. Our room card from when we stayed at Trump International Hotel and Tower in Chicago for my birthday a while back – I have it stuck in my dresser mirror.

jane: My treasures tend to be children's books and family photos. Oh, and dishes. I have a weakness for them. I have two sets of china (one, our wedding china, and one I inherited from my Norwegian grandma), and two sets of everyday dishes (one I also inherited – the Franciscan Rose pattern, which was very popular in the ’40s and’50s. My aunt, my grandmothers, and my mom all owned it, and I have the accumulated leftovers of those collections.

betsey: I adore children’s books. I’ve often said that if I were to seriously collect anything, it would be classic hardcover kids’ books. Johnny Tremain. Caddie Woodlawn. Stuart Little. The first Little Golden Books. The entire Betsy-Tacy series. And if anyone has an extra copy of The Hundred Dresses by Eleanor Estes, I’ll be happy to take it off your hands. Then there are those things that I don’t really enjoy anymore, like vinyl albums I can’t play, but they were such a part of my feckless youth that I can’t bear to callously toss them away. So the Moody Blues sojourn permanently in our basement.

jane: That's how I feel about my collection of Joni Mitchell albums. But this purging process we're in the thick of reminds me how easy it is to store up “treasures” – and proves the adage that one man's treasure is another man's junk.

betsey: It is depressing to ponder the fate of one’s things, like when you go into an antiques shop and see framed photos of some unknown family, people who were important to someone once. Or the endless collections of tchotchkes and old issues of Life that virtually no one wants. Plus, from a sustainability point of view, a lot of it winds up piling up in landfills. I haven’t seen Toy Story 3, but I guess it’s partly about what happens to beloved treasures that you outgrow.

jane: Have you ever seen that classic George Carlin comedy routine called "Stuff"?  Even though Carlin's language is salty, his observational humor is spot on. At one point he says, “That's the whole meaning of life . . . trying to find a place for your stuff. . . . That's what a house is, isn't it, it's a pile of stuff with a cover on it.”

As funny as that is, stuff isn't the whole meaning of life. Before God, stuff becomes meaningless. Moth and rust really do corrupt; I'm seeing that firsthand. And, being reminded daily that my turn will come. One day the stuff I possess, for whatever reason, will end up in banker boxes, waiting to be pitched or donated. The title of a John Ortberg book pretty well sums it up: When the Game Is Over, It All Goes Back in the Box.

Growing Good Women

betsey: Happy Groundhog Day, Jane! (Or did I say that before?) By now we will know if the Storm of the Century has buried our fair city. I think Punxsutawney Phil has the right idea -- just go back to your burrow and sack out for another six weeks.

On a brighter note, I have to tell you how proud I am of my kid. We were over there for dinner recently and she cooked. Oh yes she did. Delicious fajitas, nicely presented. I watched as she deftly made her way about the kitchen, chopping cilantro, draining liquid, setting out condiments in small bowls, even warming the tortillas. This is the young woman who has always insisted she disliked cooking, did not want to spend any more time in the kitchen than absolutely necessary, and viewed a bowl of cereal as a perfectly fine supper. It was, you might say, a moment. And it made me think about how wonderful it is when you see your adult children becoming, well, adults, with all that entails. Making the right choices. Living competently on their own. Thinking maturely about life and work and love and God.

I’m sure you can relate, with your two.

jane: Certainly – especially as my eldest daughter Sarah will soon be a mom! I'm very proud of the way she conducts herself in her relationships, especially with her husband, Mike, and how she lives out her faith. And I'm very proud of how Emily, who is single, has navigated so many adult tasks, such as purchasing her first car – something, I might add, I've never done solo. She holds down a demanding job and handles the inevitable work stress it creates. And for a girl whose bedroom was the messiest, most chaotic place (are you reading this, Emily? You know it's true!), I'm thrilled at the pride of ownership she exhibits in the way she cares for her apartment. A few weekends ago, she and her roommate hosted a baby shower. I wish I could have attended it; Emily has excellent taste in decorating and event planning.

betsey: Well, she comes by it naturally! But then you and I have both known wonderful parents whose kids are floundering. You always hear that there’s nothing parents do, that it’s all the child. But parents must have some effect, positive and negative. For instance, as wonderful as our daughter is, there are certainly things we could have done differently. We were probably too lax about chores. I know for sure both grandmas thought we were too inconsistent about discipline, issuing dire warnings about how when she became a teen it would be too late and she would be tyrannizing her weak-willed parents and on the road to perdition . . .

How about you guys?

jane: Well, let's just say my girls have always liked to “sleep in.” As in stay in bed until noon or thereabouts. Rich will tell me pointedly that I cultivated that habit as an over-reaction to my childhood, in which my mother used to play John Philip Sousa music LOUDLY in our small ranch home to roust the troops. To this day, I'm still not real fond of band music, except in The Music Man.

I also used to let the girls sleep in during summers while I worked part-time outside the home. Somehow, this sleeping-in habit morphed from an occasional luxury into a right. Well, now that they're grown with jobs, this lounging act is no longer feasible. But I notice they continue to sleep in when they're visiting us, and I'll admit (but not to Rich), it can be a little annoying. Oh well, shoulda, coulda, woulda.

Our parenting style was stricter than some and laxer than others. Discipline is a balancing act, and honestly, one that wears you out as a parent. It can create a lot of hand-wringing and second-guessing. In the end, you make the best decisions you know to make.

betsey: The truth is, I do know parents I think were too strict, or too lax, or too overprotective, and the results have not been pretty. At the same time, you can point to other situations where kids grew up in less-than-ideal circumstances and turned out wonderfully. So . . . who knows? But now that our daughters are grown, what do you think is a parent’s role? I know some feel you have to be very hands-off, and certainly you have to respect your child as an independent adult.

jane: I tend to be more hands off, but maybe that's a function of the fact we live in different states. What kind of a mother-monster would I be if we lived as close as you and Amanda do? I could develop unrealistic expectations and attempt to manipulate them on some level. But I work hard on avoiding this. I know I don't like to be controlled, so I extrapolate that to my daughters. I try.

betsey: Where does imparting wisdom come in? Or what if you see your grown child making a poor decision?

jane: That's a tough one. I think you can say to your child what needs to be said – but then that's it. I don't think inducing guilt or harping on the issue constantly (no matter how subtle we think we are!) is productive. And, let's face it, your adult child knows where you stand on moral choices and matters of faith. Wisdom comes from pausing before speaking, and taking the time to remember what it felt like to be in your twenties. I step back and think about how I felt as a young married woman, how I reacted to certain comments or suggestions. Then I tell myself that's exactly how I might make Sarah or Em feel if I responded similarly. I attempt to put myself in their shoes – but boy, I'm far from perfect. Every now and then I just hear that needy intonation in my voice during a phone conversation . . . as in “Aren't you coming home soon?” I have a few good friends to remind me that when I was in my twenties, my world didn't revolve around my parents, so I shouldn't expect my daughters' worlds to revolve around me!

betsey: I think mine revolved around finding a job, a mate, and the right mascara -- not necessarily in that order. So you’re right, parents don’t enter much into the equation. At the same time, those moments with our girls, whether sharing fajitas or bonding over baby gifts, are precious – and I think it’s okay if we allow ourselves an inner “pat on the back” from time to time for helping God grow such good women.