Joy

The first year I tried planting things was more experimental. I wasn't sure what would and wouldn't work. So whatever I got was bonus. Last year I had more confidence being my second year. I had high expectations, and unfortunately, most of them weren't met because the weather didn't cooperate with me. 

This year, I'm growing for the joy of it. Lots of things are growing. I've harvested some sage to grind down to use in my cooking. Everything else is slowly getting into the groove. There's been a lot of covering and uncovering because of multiple cold snaps we've had since our 90 degree February days. But so far, everything is still alive.

That's not to say I haven't failed this year. I've actually "failed" twice already. I got a grow light at the end of last year for my indoor plants. As 2024 started, I was reading about people starting seeds indoors already with their grow lights to get a head start on the season before the temperatures became too hot. What a great idea! I wanted to try it.

My first failed tray of seeds.

Honestly, my set up was okay. My mentality was good. But the execution was not good. I learned grow lights need to be placed mere inches above the top of the seedlings in order to get them to sprout. I learned more about bottom watering and figured out what I did wrong - not only was my grow light not close enough but I kept them covered too long. Mold claimed this tray of seedlings. But it's okay because my pepper seeds are plentiful.

As a result, my pepper plants are behind this year, I think. I finally was able to germinate some sprouts around March 20th but that's pretty late for growing from seed. Oh well, we'll see what happens. 

This year, I don't have expectations. What grows will grow and what dies will die. Am I working hard to protect them and care for them as best I know how? Absolutely. I might be checking the weather more than I'm checking social media. And my husband jokes I pay more attention to my plants than I do him. He's not entirely wrong...but he lives in a climate controlled building with ready-made food for him. My plants live outside and are at the mercy of the weather. 

But there's one key difference in growing things this year. I find it so joyful and I'm recognizing the joy I get from growing my plants. Would it be nice to get a great harvest? Of course. Is it sad and disheartening when things don't produce or grow like I wish? Definitely. But the process of it all excites me and motivates me to get out of bed in the morning. Also because sooner or later we'll reach that point in the year where if you want it to be less than 90 degrees out, you need to beat the sunrise. 

Here's to year three of growing! 🪴

Those Five Words

April 3rd is my daughter's birthday. But before it was my daughter's birthday, it was the day my grandfather died. Last year, I blogged about one of my dad's finer moments. I honestly do appreciate him for the way he responded in that situation, and I will forever remember it as a positive part of my upbringing. However, there were many lows, and potentially, they triumphed the highs.

The days around my grandfather's death may have been one of his lowest parenting moments that still haunts me to this day. 

I found out my grandfather died via email. I checked my email in the mornings before school everyday. It was my routine, something I liked to do before going to school. I also woke up early enough to be able to have luxury time to check my email. Rare for a teenager. And the day my grandfather died, I checked my email in the morning around 7 o'clock and saw it. I went to school in a daze that day, feeling like I didn't belong anywhere I was, even though it was what I was "supposed" to do. 

That evening, my dad received the phone call at dinner. It was brief. After he hung up, he passed on the news to us and told us he'd send flowers.

Send flowers. 

That was the moment I knew we weren't going to the funeral. There would be no buying plane tickets, no flying up, no going to be there with the rest of my family. This was my grandfather, my mother's father, who brought us back presents after every trip he took. This was my grandfather, who picked us up from school and let us stay at his house when my parents were gone getting treatment for my mother  because we had to keep going to school (🙄 I have other thoughts on this. For another time.) This was my grandfather who created a special signal when calling so we knew to pick up before caller ID was invented. This was my grandfather who is the earliest person in my memory who told me I was smart and wise. And I wasn't going to be at his funeral.

The funeral was that Saturday. My dad had other plans for us. He told us about them in the morning. I didn't get ready. When he came upstairs to tell us to get ready and leave, I didn't move. I just sat there fuming. Why aren't we there? It was all I had to ask him. He knew what I was talking about. He knew why I was mad. 

You didn't ask to go. 

These five words haunted me and continue to haunt me 19 years after the fact. Because in these five words, he shifted the responsibility, the burden, the blame onto my 14-year-old shoulders. I didn't ask to go. I didn't say anything. I didn't communicate my wishes. 

This. This was his lowest parenting moment of my life. 

***

As an adult, I understand there was another perspective where had I spoken up and said something, the events which unfolded may have played out very differently. However, there are reasons why I did not speak up when I potentially should have. I wasn't raised that way. 

I grew up learning I needed to follow instructions, do as I was told, and not to ask for unnecessary things or I'd get shot down. Ask for a toy? Rejected. Express my opinion on something? I was wrong. Not agree with an adult? Disowned. This mentality over the course of the years sank in, and I got good at being "good." So when my dad received the phone call and responded to us with simply sending flowers, I didn't verbalize anything I was feeling inside. I was being the "good" child I was taught to be - accepting the decisions of the grown-up. 

And then he blamed me for it. 

My grandfather died on a Wednesday. In the four days to his funeral, I must've grown up about a decade's worth because I rebelled and stood up to my dad for the first time in my life on Saturday. Had it happened four days earlier, the situation would have played out differently. But there's no time for what ifs.

My grandfather died less than a year after my mother died. It was unexpected and sudden. When my mother died, it was like the half of my family related to her began to drift away, too. After all, this wasn't his dad. So it wouldn't have surprised me if he didn't go. But he didn't even ask if we wanted to go. 

I've speculated over the years if my dad selfishly didn't want to go himself, so that meant he wouldn't be taking us. At the same time, maybe he didn't want us flying alone or didn't think we'd want to fly alone so he didn't offer. Perhaps if we mentioned it ourselves, he'd feel less guilty letting us fly alone knowing we were okay with it. 

I'll never know.

***

My relationship with my dad is still hindered and I have no doubt instances like this in my childhood still have an affect today. There's a lot of baggage which needs to be sorted through and hasn't. I don't know if it ever will. My dad isn't the same kind of grandfather to my children as my maternal grandfather was to me. I know he has his own reasons and thoughts. But I can't help but be sad for my children in this regard. 

I know I parent differently and this experience is a big influential factor. I'm trying to spare my children from having memories like these. I know I can't prevent all of them and I will still make mistakes as a parent. But this hindsight helps to hopefully direct their upbringing on a better path, one filled with less resentment and pain. 

I thought about waiting until April 3rd to write this, but that is my daughter's birthday, and honestly, I'd rather remember it as my daughter's birthday. I don't want to forget my grandfather, and I know I won't. But being reminded of this date as the day he died brings back this memory with my dad. I want this memory to lose the heaviness it bears. I cannot control what grief looks like after 19 years. This is a small glimpse of it. Grieving doesn't stop with the number of years which pass. It simply changes. Sometimes, it looks like a random bout of emotion during a wonderful week with my family during spring break. 

And that's okay. 

The Green Life

When I was a child, I composted for the first time. I scooped up dry, dead leaves off the ground with some dirt and put it in a bucket. I left the bucket on our back patio for years. Yes, years. The rain got to it. The elements got to it. It sat out there in an orange bucket for years. One day, my dad needed his bucket for something so he emptied out the contents on the patio and took his bucket away. 

What was left of what it started out as was a cylindrical block of dirt. I can't say it was very nutrient rich or anything because it had both been overly wet and probably dried out due to summer heat, but all the matter that was in it broke down into a giant block of dirt. After that, I've always been fascinated with compost.

In the 7th grade, our science class planted basil in a pot to take home as an activity. My basil died. Last year was the first year I grew my own basil again, and from seed. I will always grow my own basil from now on.

In the 8th grade, I won a raffle. I was at the high school being introduced to their orchestra program, and my name was drawn for the raffle prize. My prize? A rosemary bush from that evening's decoration. I took it home from the event and it sat in my dad's garage. It dried up, died, and all the leaves fell off. Our garage sure smelled good for a while. Thinking about this rosemary bush makes me so sad because I didn't even cut the branches off to dry and use. Rosemary isn't used often in Asian cooking. At the time, I didn't know what to do with it. So this poor bush died without a chance in my dad's garage. The 30-year-old version of me mourns for this rosemary bush.

Gardening and growing plants in general has become a hobby of mine. I've done the outside gardening for a few years now, but in the past year, my attention has shifted to more indoor plants because they can provide joy year round. My husband gifted me with a grow light for Christmas. I now have over 10 indoor plants, 3 of which I have spent money on. The rest have been gifted to me or acquired through our local take a plant/leave a plant group. 

Last year, I bought myself an Aglaonema. The bursts of pink throughout the leaves really captivated me and I was hooked. It has done well in the last five months and I seem to have found an okay spot for it to thrive in our kitchen. 

I haven't named my Aglaonema...maybe I should. Agnes? Angel?

This year, I got ambitious and bought myself a Calathea. These plants are notorious for being difficult to care for and even experienced plantsman have a love-hate relationship with it.  

Meet Callie my Calathea. She was getting her first drink at home. 

I might be posting about my failed attempt at taking care of her....but for now, she's alive and I love checking her out everyday. She lives in our bathroom because after doing my research, I came to the conclusion the most optimal conditions were in there. 

I'll let y'all know if I was being overly ambitious. 🙈