Blurry and dejected.
Is how I have been feeling lately. I thought this picture to be fitting and cathartic.
I perked up in the garden this weekend doing garden things. Well, first going to the Ferry Building farmer’s market to spend a large sum of money on the following:
an Epi baguette
a bunch of wildflowers
a red pear
10 rose geranium cookies
4 smores chocolate
two old fashioned glass caning jars to add to my collection
a bunch of spinach
and two glasses of Sangria (yep, at 10:30am) that I enjoyed while talking to some guy about books, life, relationships and his upcoming 33rd birthday where he will be in Zurich and did I want to come. (I regretfully declined)
Before I left the farmer’s market, I walked by a young guy sitting by the street, in front of a crowd with an old typewriter. He was offering a poem about whatever you wanted, for what ever price you wanted to pay. It was a real attraction to the tourists in SF who love those pseudo-homeless hipsters and their crazy ways of making an income. I walked up to him in front of the crowd and shouted, “Frogs!”. He looked up a little stunned. I said, “Can you write me a poem about frogs?” Here’s what he wrote:
french citizens offended by their own stereotypes, amphibian notoriety, power animals eyelids spent ribbitting like almost reptiles of swampy prehistory, we thank your jennifer, inheritor, commissioner of poem, ode to every bodies favorite tadpole, lake the lily pad of a lady as a metaphor for
I gave him $20. since I saw the act of what he was doing more valuable than the poem itself.
Once home I gardened. The pathway (pictures will be coming soon) was never completed and stands out like a sore thumb next to my ‘Benjamin Britten’ roses, salvia, nepeta, euphorbia, borage and sunflowers in full bloom right now. I guess the flowers take no account in my mood as they are as happy and blooming as ever. Little gems reaching for the sun at every chance they get. I sat in the dirt and in my “not for gardening clothes” but didn’t really care. How dirty is dirt anyway? I sat and plopped out the 6-pack chamomile in that fun way you do when you get root bound 6-packs. Tipping them upside down and squeezing their little butts until they shoot out onto the ground. It’s kind of gratifying, like popping bubbles in plastic bubble wrap. I tossed them in my pathway, in between the terra cotta tiles I’m using for stepping stones. I planted them with bare hands, partially too lazy to get up to find my trowel and partially because I wanted to feel the dirt in between my finger.
11 Responses to “Blurry and dejected.”
Well, I always find a bit of shopping, usually in a Thrift store, perks me up. Your bit of shopping and Sangria seems to have done the same. And you even bought a poem. But the gardening seems to have been the best cure.
Hands in the dirt always help me when I feel that way. That and eating. Chocolate. Lot’s of it.Hey, hope you feel better Jenn.
I like what you bought at the farmers market, especially the old caning jars…lucky you.:) As to the poet, what a great thing to hand out poems like that…I love it.
“Let us be grateful to people who make us happy;
they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom”.
- Marcel Proust
I just bookmarked the site.
Sounds like you had a nice day
Sounds like a very good day and a trip to the farmer’s market should be soothing
Hope you feel less blurry, i think that chocolate will help.
ps: thanks for the comment on my blog
Sorry to hear you were feeling a bit out of it. Interesting pic to express that.
Fantastic blog! I actually love how it is easy on my eyes as well as the information is well written. I am wondering how I can be notified whenever a new post has been made. I have subscribed to your rss feed which should do the trick! Have a nice day!
I love gardening with my bare hands and you’re right, it’s precisely because I need to feel the dirt and roots in my fingers. I don’t think dirt is dirty at all!
That’s pretty cool story. The next time I see a hipster in Chicago asking for money, or generally looking like hipsters do, I’ll tell him to get a typewriter!
Sounds like the garden gave you some much needed time with the dirt. I have to say that garden dirt, is way dirtier than dirt. All of my “not for gardening clothes” I end up gardening, never come out looking particularly clean, even after several washes.
I don’t know what it is about garden dirt, but it is more potent than alley dirt, porch dirt or construction site dirt.
Whenever you go through hardships and choose not to surrender, that is certainly strength