Gardening = dead plants

It's amazing how many people say things like "I love to garden!"  What they really mean is "Everything I plant grows and flourishes!"  If everything they planted died, their love for gardening would greatly wane or disappear entirely. Trust me on this. It isn't fun to invest in a tiny plant, put it in the soil, water it, watch it and finally see it's tiny dead body shrivel and die. 

Yes, it's just a plant but one that had five siblings in that little six-pack from the nursery and they all died! Last year I decided I was watering my tiny plants too much so this year I thought holding back on the watering might work.  Perhaps it would make those little six lettuce siblings work harder to stay alive! Sadly, that was another mistake. They all shriveled and died. Don't get me wrong, I did water them (I do know that plants need water) but there must be a magical amount of water that they needed and I failed to discern what that magical amount might be.  A couple of years ago I tried to grow zucchini, a plant that most people have abundant success with, and that failed as well. 

Sigh. It has been this way for most of my life. Growing flowers, like geraniums, works for me. (However, I am pretty sure even a squirrel could plant and grow a geranium.) A few years ago I grew some very lovely arugula which I enjoyed completely, so that is what always holds out the hope for me:  I did it once, I can do it again!

As we speak, my lettuces and arugula (yes, I tried again) are dead. My chives are holding on. The basil hasn't died but in no way has it flourished either. There is one houseplant that has lived for more than a year, so perhaps all is not lost. It isn't too late in the year for another go at lettuce, so that might be in my future.  There is something nice about picking one's own greens for dinner, or so most people tell me.  As far as growing tomatoes, don't even get me started.

Living alone: good or bad?

A  friend said to me the other day "It's hard living alone, isn't it?"  I wasn't sure how to respond.  Yes, sometimes it is difficult but other times it is peaceful and quiet. 

But  thinking about it further, there is a lot more variance than that quick sentence.

It wasn't until I was 48 years old that I ever lived alone.  I grew up in a household of 8 people, never enough room or enough money, always tension in the air from so many factors. Looking back, part of the reason I got married at the age of 20 was for a change of scenery, a chance to live a different life. (There was no way I could have articulated that then.) Married, a couple of kids, then not married, then married again.... then not married again.  That was the trajectory from 1970-1998. Then, in 1998, I was divorced and alone.  And I loved it.

There is such freedom in living alone, at least when you haven't experienced it your entire life. It was a cliché, of course, to get to eat and drink and sleep when I wanted and with whom I wanted. But clichés are commonplace for a reason: they aren't original. My experience as a newly single adult wasn't original but it was important and right for me at the time. 

Now, 25 years later, here I am, still single, still living alone (i.e. no roommates) and still enjoying it.  Mostly. To be honest, there are times when it would be very nice to have someone else around to share an opinion, to share a meal, to share expenses, to share a decision.  Living alone is hard at times.  No one to laugh with while watching a goofy movie, no one to eat with, no one to take the trash out.  No one to be part of the goods, the bads, the ups and downs. There is no regret here, and very little longing for another person, just the acknowledgement that yes, sometimes living alone is hard. 

But still, for the most part, it works for me.