A few years back, a friend who shares my compulsion for projects revealed that she takes things to 96% completion. I had just commented that I can’t seem to get past 80%, or maybe it was 72%, so I was embarrassed by comparison. Now how you actually measure such things escapes me. I just know in my bones that I rarely get projects to the point that I can stand back, survey the landscape, and say, “I’m pleased”. The problem is that just about all the things I do have to stand juxtaposed to one another. Gardens, people, oh what a tangled web we weave.
For seven years, starting around the time I began converting this 2-story barn into a home, the shovel has been my best friend at times. What you can accomplish with a shovel and a wheelbarrow is amazing. During times of stress and boredom, I have dug my way through the landscape, building bed upon bed, all joined by garden paths, all of which support grass, weeds, call them what you will. That which befriended me at times has become a monkey on my back.
Feeling contempt for this garden embarrasses me and leads me to curse my lack of forethought. Why did I have to make it so big? Why couldn’t I just put down the shovel? In spite of efforts to give away plants, they do what plants do, reproduce. One of my sister’s has asked, “Couldn’t you just let the grass take over the beds and let it go back to the way it was?” Well, not in my mind I can’t. A big part of this dilemma is that old invader of dreams, Expectation. Why start a building and abandon it after erecting the framework? I can’t do like my Aunt Mary who threw her knitting into the fireplace, needles and all, because she couldn’t get the hang of it. Some people are just not cut out for knitting. Like life, gardens aren’t supposed to be perfect. Instead, they are works in progress, sometimes really messy, other times not as messy. Sometimes they’re downright cleaned up and on their best behavior, although temporary.
Recently I recommended to a friend that he read the collection of essays, PEOPLE WITH DIRTY HANDS, by Robin Chotzinoff. Among the assortment of passionate gardeners Ms. Chotzinoff includes are antique rose rustlers in Texas, a family that grows chiles in Hatch, New Mexico, a guy in California who raises and sells lady bugs, and most importantly for this conversation, an array of eccentrics, I am reminded, who eschew deadheading and weeding. So I go out and look at the 30-yard-long bed I finished weeding early this morning, and I think, “Damn, that looks good.” Relax, breathe slowly, deeply.
For some time now, I have felt an especially strong pull to brush my hands against each other, to be done with one thing or another. Given my struggle with Expectation, though, backing off from taking things toward completion is oh so complicated. I am reminded that I am overly concerned with how my decisions affect others, probably a victim of my own sensitivity. I’m also advised, “Harold, you’re hard on yourself. You agonize over how your efforts to take care of yourself affect others. It’s okay to take care of yourself. Yes, your choices that lead to gain also result in loss. That’s okay. It’s about balance. It’s okay to achieve only 70% completion.” It’s okay for the grass to take control of the flower beds. I’m thinking, “Damn, that feels good.” Relax, breathe slowly, deeply.
I can’t brush my hands against each other and magically change my circumstances. I can fall short, in my own eyes. I can disappoint and frustrate people because my choices conflict with their choices. Does that rob me of my right to choose? I hope not. Do I have the right to walk away? Sure. To change the rules? That too. Do I owe you something? Only to treat you fairly, if we choose to have some kind of relationship. You owe me fairness as well. How do you define completion? And, by the way, how do you measure it? And most importantly, how do we not use the measuring stick as a means of beating up on each other.
Taking things to Completion
Harold Hollis (Normangee, Texas—July 26, 2007)
For seven years, starting around the time I began converting this 2-story barn into a home, the shovel has been my best friend at times. What you can accomplish with a shovel and a wheelbarrow is amazing. During times of stress and boredom, I have dug my way through the landscape, building bed upon bed, all joined by garden paths, all of which support grass, weeds, call them what you will. That which befriended me at times has become a monkey on my back.
Feeling contempt for this garden embarrasses me and leads me to curse my lack of forethought. Why did I have to make it so big? Why couldn’t I just put down the shovel? In spite of efforts to give away plants, they do what plants do, reproduce. One of my sister’s has asked, “Couldn’t you just let the grass take over the beds and let it go back to the way it was?” Well, not in my mind I can’t. A big part of this dilemma is that old invader of dreams, Expectation. Why start a building and abandon it after erecting the framework? I can’t do like my Aunt Mary who threw her knitting into the fireplace, needles and all, because she couldn’t get the hang of it. Some people are just not cut out for knitting. Like life, gardens aren’t supposed to be perfect. Instead, they are works in progress, sometimes really messy, other times not as messy. Sometimes they’re downright cleaned up and on their best behavior, although temporary.
Recently I recommended to a friend that he read the collection of essays, PEOPLE WITH DIRTY HANDS, by Robin Chotzinoff. Among the assortment of passionate gardeners Ms. Chotzinoff includes are antique rose rustlers in Texas, a family that grows chiles in Hatch, New Mexico, a guy in California who raises and sells lady bugs, and most importantly for this conversation, an array of eccentrics, I am reminded, who eschew deadheading and weeding. So I go out and look at the 30-yard-long bed I finished weeding early this morning, and I think, “Damn, that looks good.” Relax, breathe slowly, deeply.
For some time now, I have felt an especially strong pull to brush my hands against each other, to be done with one thing or another. Given my struggle with Expectation, though, backing off from taking things toward completion is oh so complicated. I am reminded that I am overly concerned with how my decisions affect others, probably a victim of my own sensitivity. I’m also advised, “Harold, you’re hard on yourself. You agonize over how your efforts to take care of yourself affect others. It’s okay to take care of yourself. Yes, your choices that lead to gain also result in loss. That’s okay. It’s about balance. It’s okay to achieve only 70% completion.” It’s okay for the grass to take control of the flower beds. I’m thinking, “Damn, that feels good.” Relax, breathe slowly, deeply.
I can’t brush my hands against each other and magically change my circumstances. I can fall short, in my own eyes. I can disappoint and frustrate people because my choices conflict with their choices. Does that rob me of my right to choose? I hope not. Do I have the right to walk away? Sure. To change the rules? That too. Do I owe you something? Only to treat you fairly, if we choose to have some kind of relationship. You owe me fairness as well. How do you define completion? And, by the way, how do you measure it? And most importantly, how do we not use the measuring stick as a means of beating up on each other.
Taking things to Completion
Harold Hollis (Normangee, Texas—July 26, 2007)
1 comment:
Hi Harold: just wanted to let you know that I treat your blog like a good book. I love reading your next adventure!!
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