"Your problem," she'd tell me, matter-of-factly, "is that you spread yourself too thin. You certainly can be a friend to a great many people, but you can be a better friend if you limit yourself to a very few."

She infuriated me when she said things like that, and she did it all the time. My mother, who has had three friends total that I can name. Back then there were only two. At least she preached what she practiced, my mom. But she's an introvert, doesn't like social gatherings, congregations, or celebrations. When I, her high school drop-out, graduated from college with a Bachelor of Arts degree, I had to demand her presence at my graduation... I'm only lucky that it wasn't an all-out fight to convince her to go.

A friend of mine, and I do have several, said something to me the other day that was perhaps the most moving compliment I've ever been given. She said that being around me was like being around a great flame, that joy spreads out from me and touches everyone within my radius. She said that when someone passes through my bubble, and then out again, life seems darker, tamed-down, and somewhat dulled in comparison. She said she has "comming down" time after her visits with me.

I've always been aware of having this kind of effect on people, but I had never had someone describe it in a way that was so very endearing and warmly delivered.

However, you know, it works both ways. One of my job responsibilities is incredibly depressing some days, and my boss mentioned that I'm only allowed to have good days, happy days,  from now on, because when I'm sad, the mood of the whole office changes. It's not fair really, to ask me to be "on" all the time. But it is true that if I even have a mellow day, where I'm not sad, but not feeling insanely enthusiatic, either, people ask what's wrong all day long. It's like they expect a constant act, a constant performance, a constant on.

I suppose I have indeed spread myself too thin. I've taken on so many friendships that I don't have time to maintain any of them as well as I'd like to. Each of the people I count as important to me deserves more of my attention and consideration than they are currently getting. I have so many hobbies that I barely have time to concentrate on any of them. I've always thought that to be able to play a great many games with a little bit of skill was better than to play a very few games incredibly well. But I don't play games to win, I play them for the fun of the time spent playing.

I don't know how to weed a garden of such wonderful friends, and so I suppose I shall continue without doing any weeding at all. Rather as a bee, flittering from one flower to another, spending bits of time enjoying the nectar of life together with each, before moving on to the next, always busy, always moving right along, and on it's way somewhere, returning another time, another day. It's a bit hectic, and I tend to prefer quality over quanity, as do the people I choose as my dearest companions.

What a kunundrum--oh, how I hated that she lectured me about spreading myself too thin, and how right she always eventually turns out to be... How can I light a room when I've had no time to rejuvenate? How can I be a dear friend, the kind of person I mean to be, if I've no time to catch up? How can I be on, if I've left myself no time to be off?

How do you weed the garden of life?

There's a particular noise the rake makes as I sweep up the decomposing waste from a now long forgotten autumnal harvest, the springy metal scraping welcoming in the fresh green sprigs of spring, who refuse to be confined under snow and dark earth for even one more day. When the noise of the rake is heard, it stirs people and blooms alike. Neighbors come out into their yards, assessing the toll the winter has taken, drawing up their own rakes and tending to their own general out-door spring clean-up. People smile, wave, and chat as they walk by, calling out greetings. Of all the seasons, spring is my favorite.

The ground is still damp under the leaves, the leaves still wet with the final bits of melting snow in the spots that the sun never seems to reach through the branches of chestnut and walnut trees. It hasn't stopped the bulbs from poking their leaves up through the soil, seeking the spots of sun that now finally reaches them for longer hours, bringing their blooms out to dazzle us. Tiny bits of cheery magic sprouting out everywhere in the richest shades of heaven.

The leaves on the apple trees out back are going to burst open and provide a shady spot for dogs to lay. I've a garden out there waiting to be filled with things that fill my heart with well-being. Cucumbers, zucchini, tomatoes, and pumpkins are on this years list, as well as sweet peas, rose transplanting, zinnias and sunflowers.

The roses are going to go in the ground here. They've traveled with me beginning in Spokane, to Terrace Heights, to Bellingham, and then to Hillsboro and Albany and now it's time to let go of them. They were special, memorial roses. There are 6 surviving. They are a pain in the ass to move from place to place. This spring, they are getting new homes in the earth, where I intend for them to live out the rest of their natural lives. It's more of a statement about being able to let go of things, on my part, than it is about my intention to stay put here. Either way--it feels quite a big statement, and it has a good deal of personal meaning that I won't go into. 

The sunflowers are a new variety I've found, while shopping for my sweet peas and zinnias. They are Del Sol sunflowers, and I had to have them. I might plant some in pots after I get the roses in the ground. If they are as beautiful as I expect them to be, they could be a very cheery gift when in full bloom! Sometimes a very cheery gift is just exactly the right thing to have on hand.

My neighbor has been very helpful around the yard, lends me tools and takes my yard waste to the dump with him when he goes. He saw me battling a hill of dirt in the corner, as it kept seeping down onto my porch and a few days later I went out and noticed that he had built up a rock border around the area to contain the dirt, and he had turned the soil inside the new border and made it easy for me to plant my primroses. The other neighbor lent me his leaf blower when I was having a hard time in between the shrubs...

Life and spring are beautiful. I refuse to look at the darkness any more; it is too easy to be entirely absorbed in the beautiful rebirth of the earth. I am refreshed by it, delighted by it, absorbed in it, and twitterpated with it. Spring is a wonderful season, and I intend to go get my hands dirty!