Green Tomatoes Remind Me of Her

I've been thinking about her a lot lately because her birthday is coming up.  If she was still alive we'd already be celebrating it because she insisted her birthday be celebrated an entire week rather than one measly day.

Man! She used to go on and on about fried green tomatoes.  We had the same conversation a million times about how gross I thought they were and how amazing she thought they were. I was happy to bring them to her.  Especially this time of year when Chicago starts to get cold and the garden is still littered with all different varieties, the frost imminent. Green tomatoes are so beautiful.  Perfectly shaped, firm, blemish free.  Full of potential.  I love the ones that are real dark green on the top and how the dark green fades in subtle streaks to a softer, paler green.

The range of emotions I have when she crosses my mind is so wide that it catches me off guard.  Most of the time I think of funny conversations we've had and laugh. But now and then when I'm wishing I could talk to her about something I get teary, or pissed off that she's gone.  We worked together for 7 years but I learned a lifetime of lessons from her.  She was so vibrant and charismatic, stronger than just about anybody I know yet pathologically compassionate.  One time there was a going-away party for a temporary worker who'd been in our department over a year.  Carolyn knew of him but because she supervised the clinic and he worked in the finance area, they didn't know each other well at all.  I recall watching her as one of the managers made a short statement about how much we appreciated all his hard work and wished him luck in his new position.  So predictable. Carolyn's nose started to turn pink then tears filled her eyes and we all busted out laughing.  "You don't even know this guy! Why are you crying?"  She was moved by the speech, she told us, laughing right along with us.  All of us, even Carolyn, got a big kick out of her habitual, uncontrollable crying. But the best part was the juxtaposition of the crying to her palpable strength and confidence.

She spent a lot of time building relationships at work and as a result, she could be a bad ass when it was necessary and people responded quickly and without bad feelings toward her.  She took the time to tell people she appreciated them.  I mean she would flat out say "Gina, I want you to know that I appreciate you because of this and this and this." We should all do that more.  Just being in the same space with her felt good.  She was about the only coworker I felt comfortable confiding in.  I told Carolyn we were getting married long before I told anybody else.  She screamed, then cried.

They called a mandatory meeting that morning.  As we all gathered in the small corner conference room overlooking Navy Pier, Carolyn's manager walked in the door.  "I have some bad news..."  She said the words and as they registered I felt like I was being sucked into the ground.  I had just seen her the day before, standing by the bathroom talking, smiling, it didn't seem possible.  I am not particularly emotional but in that moment I could not catch my breath.  I cried 10 years worth of tears that day sitting back at my desk, my headphones on, the music as loud as I could stand it, every song making me think about some aspect of her personality or life or too-soon death.  And I wasn't the only one.  I don't think any of us realized just how important she was until that day.  We're all crying now, Carolyn.  

This time last year she was vacationing in Cancun. In one picture she is standing with her girlfriend, she's wearing a light colored loose-fitting skirt, top and sandals.  I was struck by how genuinely happy and beautiful she looked.  I envied her for living life so fully and intensely.  When Carolyn passed away unexpectedly last year I thought of planting something in my garden in her memory but nothing seemed appropriate.  Carolyn was a houseplant person, the window in her office a jungle of lush green healthy plants.  But I realized that what really reminds me of Carolyn is green tomatoes.  That as long as I have a garden, as long as I grow tomatoes...

White Hibiscus: Physical Representation of My Inferiority Complex

Do you have a plant in your garden that, when you look at it, you almost get embarrassed that you grow it?  For me that's my big gaudy white hibiscus.

I am always fascinated by how things going on in my garden are such tangible representations of what's going on in my head.  What's going on in my life.

The flowers on this hibiscus are around 10 inches wide.  From a distance they look like plates on a plant, so sturdy you could pop them off and use them as Frisbees.  But when you look closely at the blooms you notice the delicate crisp white ripples that draw your eyes to the center which you only notice is pink when you're face to face with the bloom.  The bloom flutter when the wind blows like the edges of a light cotton summer dress.  When you touch them it's clear they're very delicate.  But boy do command attention!  When you walk by there is absolutely no way not to notice them.  Sometimes I gasp when I see them myself, even though I know they've been in the same spots for 3 years.  I have one planted in the backyard so that I can see it from the kitchen window and one is planted in the front yard garden for the passers by to admire.

In general, I walk around trying not to be noticed.  I've definitely got an inferiority complex and body image issues.  I know it goes beyond weight because the times in my life where I've been much thinner and very fit I loved to shop for stylish clothes and although I loved the way I felt in them, I hated for people to notice me, or my clothes.  "That outfit looks really amazing on you!"  I'd cringe, roll my eyes and launch into pointing out the bad parts of the outfit or my body that may have gone unnoticed.  When the conversation was over, I'd walk away smiling, but with the same tape playing in my head.  Idiot!


The hibiscus evokes the exact same response.  Coneflower, black-eyed susan, shasta daisy, snapdragons, BIG GAUDY HIBISCUS!

Nobody has ever visited my garden while the hibiscus is blooming and not commented on it.  And when they do, I am catapulted back to that place inside me that likes pretty things but doesn't like the attention.  I'm on autopilot, rambling, pointing out all the flaws in my garden, how the hibiscus really doesn't belong here.  It comes from the same place as those "I am not worthy" feelings.  And when I walk away I'm playing the same tape in my head as before.

Where I Spill My Guts

I have a good friend who says she can always tell how I'm doing by my garden blog. "If you're blogging, everything's good!" She's right. The amount of blog posts you read here is directly proportional to how good things are in my life, or how bad.

This gardening season (well really all of 2009) has been filled with extreme ups and downs and honestly there have been chunks of time where I've struggled with regular ole day-to-day things.

Last October my now late father-in-law was diagnosed with lung cancer. We entered 2009 in a heightened state of anxiety about his health and impending death. No matter how much we tried, it was impossible to feel normal. It was a dark shadow that followed us every step.

Early in the year I helped plan and coordinate a get-together here in Chicago for a bunch of garden bloggers. It was hard work and there were a lot of bumps along the way but the worst thing about it was that, when it was over, I was simply glad it was in the past. It really changed the way I view garden blogging and if I had a time machine, I'd have stayed in my cave where everything/everybody is happy. Don't get me wrong, I met some fantastic people that I'd likely never have met, but still...

In April I married my favorite person in the world. We never thought we'd do it but somewhere along the way things started to change. I started thinking I didn't want them calling my mother to ask her what to do if I was on my death bed. His father was dying and we suddenly realized that we only had a little more time if we wanted him to be there. And we did. So we did. Surrounded by amazing flowers and the people who love us the most.

My father-in-law died in July just three short months after our wedding. He suffered terribly. So much so that when he finally passed, we were relieved because he wouldn't have to suffer anymore. That we didn't have to watch him suffer anymore. That lasted for about two hours. Since then it's mostly been hours stringing into days of sadness. Watching my husband be this heart broken is the worst thing I've ever seen. We miss him so much. We miss his laugh. He was one hilarious dude and I'm thankful that my husband has his sense of humor. The most important thing in the world to him was his family. And that has made me see family in a different way. It's so stupid that it takes the death of somebody so wonderful to see the simplest things.

I planted a garden in his memory. In it are a Japanese maple (because they are unforgettable and so was he), a sundial that I bought with money he gave me and a couple of coneflowers (a Tennessee and a Coconut Lime) because they are still my favorite, and they remind me of a good day I had this summer with friends.

The other great thing that happened this year was that J and I got our community garden going. We built and rented a dozen or so raised beds and we've gotten started on our 501c3. It really is a dream realized but I can't help but think it would feel real different were it not being filtered through 2009 crap. I've had a hard time staying motivated about it and it has shown in my dedication (lack of) this summer. I can't wait for next year. I know it will feel better.

OH - and there was that trip to Las Vegas for my tasty tomato. I still can't believe it. We're holding that trip in our back pockets until it seems possible to actually have fun again.

Just to make things a little more interesting, I also changed jobs. I'm still with the same organization. Now, I'm an "IT guy". It's a change that really needed to happen for me to be able to spend more time with my family, and my gardens (personal and community.)

These things are just a snapshot. There are more extremes but they are far too personal to write about here. I feel more guarded than I used to about what I write on this blog. A side effect of the events of 2009.

This year gardening has not provided me the peace and solitude that it usually does. It has basically dragged me along kicking and screaming. I've walked over tomatoes that fell in my path from lack of support. I hear them crunching beneath my feet and my mind waffles between the dread of the million volunteers I'm liable to have next year and wishing that I even gave a shit. It hasn't been fun. And the other morning when I looked out the window to see the first frost on my weedy backyard grass, I thought about the ripe eggplants and tomatoes still on the vine but all I could think was, thank God it's over.

It may seem like it, but I'm not sitting over here having a pity party. Outwardly I'm totally holding it together. I just don't have much inspiration to write, or grow these days. And it shows in my blogging. I'm ready to put this season, and all its extreme highs and lows to bed.

EDIT: THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR KIND COMMENTS. I'VE HIDDEN THEM AND CLOSED FUTURE COMMENTS ON THIS POST FOR PERSONAL REASONS.