Marigolds and Beautiful Fear

Great weekend. I planted marigolds in pots. I can't decide if my front porch looks kitschy or hip. You be the judge. But, either way, I love the marigolds. That flower always reminds me of my mom. When I was a kid, we would spend several days in the spring planting marigolds and petunias. We would sit at the side of the house, amid clover patches, and dig holes in the dirt garden and plant. It was a patch of dirt probably three feet by twenty feet right up next to the house. Earthworms would writhe about and we always had a coffee can to put them in for my dad's fishing. The house next door had window wells and my friend Kristy lived there and we usually had a toad or something wild that we had made a house for and stuck down in that windawell. The sun would be bright and my mom would let me help. I think about that when Jay wants to help and I think, No, I Can Do It Faster (and better). Instead I try to remember that it's okay if it's not done perfect or even, always, well. I know I didn't dig good holes or plant those marigolds straight, but it was so good to sit in the green grass and have dirty hands. And now I can dig good holes. I used to like to take a single marigold flower and pop it off the stem. You could peel the green bottom away and there would be a million marigold petals with their own white little stem with the black tip. I thought if I flung them out in the air, marigolds would grow in everyone's lawn but they never did. I only realized a few years ago that they had to dry first.

Regarding fear. I am so afraid at times of so many things. I worry about driving back to Kansas. Will there be a tornado? Or a driving rain storm? Or a blow-out? Or a fifty car pile-up? Will I stop at a rest stop at the same time as a deranged psychopath? At the same time, this is the cool mystery of life. The other side is; will we see a herd of antelope against the setting sun? Will I stop at a Wendy's and find a twenty dollar bill? Will there be a light rain sprinkle that makes the air smell clean and then a triple rainbow? Will someone I know, at the last minute, say Hey, Can I Drive Back To Kansas With You? Will I buy a lottery ticket in Albuquerque and win 27 million dollars?

But still, fear is around. I think about it because I've talked to four good friends of mine in the last week who have brought it up. Fear. Of getting older, of the employment conundrum, of gas prices and how to make ends meet. Of making relationships work, and raising kids, and parents getting old. It's so real and big. It's not like a phobia. It's just that general feeling of, Holy Cripe, what if this happens? What will I do? How do I make my life work? I'm glad the people I know talk about it. I think there is no solution except that.....talk. Sometimes I think I have mild agoraphobia. I just want to sit in my house writing and painting and never travel and never climb a ladder. But then I get in my car and head out to Kingman for the Bookfestival or plan a trip to Kansas. I climb the ladder and change the light bulb (note; I'm only on the third rung) and my hands shake and I think about the screws coming out of the rungs (I am a dork) but I really want the light to work.

I see those "No Fear" stickers and I think it's such a good idea and the stickers are cool and motivating but, man, fear can be overwhelming. And it's useless more times than it's useful. There are times when it works, or could work....like in those Friday the Thirteenth movies where the girl goes BACK into the house after finding her friend skewered on a coat rack. That b**ch needs to USE her fear and get out of there. Same deal with lumps. You find a lump or a patch of skin that has turned odd and speckled and you feel fear; take that fear to the nearest phone and make an appointment to check it out. Useful fear. Actually, it was fear that made me start my one year of opus, Fear that I would waste this life. That fear motivated me to live more, take more heart risks, be more real.

But most of the others, I think you just have to dive in. Get in the car and drive. Say what you mean. Approach your parent about assisted living. Climb the F**king ladder (Uh oh, that's my second use of veiled profanity in one post). I suppose I'll always be afraid of stroking out, or people I love going away, or getting a flat tire during a tornado near an asylum. But it's not going to stop me from dancing.


Do one thing every day that scares you.
----Eleanor Roosevelt.