Walking

Down the street, just a few blocks' walking distance from the place I've lived in now for 5 months and visited my whole life, stands a vibrant, rich haven of natural beauty in someone's backyard. White trellis boasts abundant dark green ivy, with white benches beneath. Nearby, long, intertwining lines support more vines, gorgeous and flowing. Brilliant arrays of flowers bloom and everything about that yard beckons unbidden visitor walk its paths and breathe its glory. What intensive, sweaty labor on the part of its owner(s) such a garden boasts. What caring design and diligence.

I wonder what visitors felt when viewing my backyard, when I had one of my own. Certainly, not having in my adult life lived longer than 4 years in any one dwelling, I haven't had the stability for a long term establishment of plants and trees and landscaping, but that's no excuse for the fact that none of my backyards, save the farm's (very little of which I planted or am responsible for the design of) beckoned so. And my grandpa and dad such avid gardeners; my grandma and mom such gifted flower growers, all hardworking at their gardens and passionate about passing on that appreciation to their kids.

No surprise, I suppose, that a metaphor for the soul surfaced in my mind at this contemplation. A front yard, a statement to the world of welcome or repulsion, of care and high standards or neglect and low ones, admits all: Flyer-wielding politician, wagon-pulling girl scout, needy traveler, angry neighbor, beloved friend, returning loved one...for the human being, it's the clothes and hair, expression and body language. But the backyard, a whole other story. For the average person, a certain intimacy and familiarity or invitation is assumed in entering there.

Many a soul has returned my smile, opened their heart to me, accepted my warm hug or firm handshake, and been drawn to eagerly enter the door to my bizarre inner world, only to emerge later disappointed, having visited the backyard and found the once brilliant blooms of wisdom, righteousness and spiritual faithfulness faded, wilted, or choked out by weeds. It's easy to neglect the pursuit of excellence in those areas that matter most, to let the mundane grassy lawn overtake everything else, obscure the unique stepping stones that draw one into a lengthy walk, examining this intricate detail or that symmetrical shaped hedge. Translated from Valetta's late night, muddled mind, I'm referring to the glory of deep and meaningful conversation once abundant, overtaken by gossip, foolish spouts of nonsense, and mundane recollections not worth the breath to say them or energy to recall them. Guilty, so many times guilty. But another shameful tendency I've had has been to seat a visitor on comfy bench and leave them there, having taken them on the tour and then, after a cup of lemonade and promise of some new attraction to come, not returned. The phone call never made, letter or email unanswered, intention to send this picture or that file or make that CD or send that thank you card, never materialized into action. Perhaps the sensitive, perceptive or wise have already risen and fled through the gate, but if you, dear reader, are still on a bench somewhere in my "backyard," please send me an email or comment here and kick me in the rear a little for being such an unworthy friend. Let's renew acquaintance and give this unemployed mom one more chance, if you think I deserve it, to live up to all you hoped you'd find in our friendship, be it strong, supportive shoulder, listening ear, advice giver, helping hand, encouraging word, babysitter or...you name it.

It's late so hope all that made sense! Actually, I'd even settle for 75% lucidity. :)

Blessings,
V