Light and Shadow and A Little Bit of Hope

January 5, 2011

Ack. It begins already. No sunshine – seeping energy, good feelings and hope.

Today it is cloudy and overcast, with the sun struggling through a blanket of fog, never really clearing through. The sunshine that does make it through is strange, muted but bright. Looking up at the sun, I see it’s still behind a haze, but oddly bright. I make my round through the garden during this brief respite, trying to soak up what pathetic rays make it through for these few short minutes.

It is only 10:30 in the morning, but the twisted light makes it look like sunset. Now that we’re in the winter season, the sun has shifted and beams never makes it to the thistle feeder, the flagstone path or the bed under my office window – when the sun even comes out at all. The shadows that are cast are strange too – angled and sharp and muted and focused and blurred – all at the same time.

It’s freaking me out.

There is one bright spot and that is the beginning of Master Gardener classes in only two days. The emails from Nancy, the coordinator, are coming thick and fast now, with a joyful enthusiasm for her subject that just spills out of the computer. These communications make me happy, make me excited, make me look forward to the next 10 weeks. I’ve been trying to slough my way through the first two chapters – I only have a few pages of the second chapter to finish now – before the first class, but this is very rough going. So many things to learn – plant construction and divisions, stem construction, leaf construction and arrangements, seed construction and differences – and that is a very brief example of just a few of the things in just that second chapter! I am overwhelmed with information, but feel relieved by Nancy’s emails. She explains that Master Gardeners are supposed to be familiar with these concepts, but not walking encyclopedias. The idea is to be a resource, a place to come to find a good answer, but not to necessarily have them all in your head. Whew. Thank goodness for that.

I have to bring a lunch and asked Eliza for her Spiderman lunch box. She can’t find it. SIGH. I’ll have to bring my lunch in something boring. At dinner, I muse aloud about “school.” Eliza reaches across and touches my arm. “I’m so worried about you. What if no one sits by you?” Her eyes are actually moist. I tell her I’ll be okay, I’m sure I’ll make friends. She says, “But what if everyone else already knows each other? They won’t be friendly to you.” I explain that it’s all newbies in the class and she lets out a breath of relief. “Oh, you’ll be fine then.” Her eyes dry and she digs into her quiche.

 

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