Tag: Megalomania

A Chapbook of Grief

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

A light brown and light red pen lying on a sheet of lined notebook paper.Instead of torturing you with yet another poem this month, I’m going to tell you about a chapbook I’ve been working on with the goal of having the first draft done by the end of the year.

First of all, a poetry chapbook is about 20-40 pages long. The number of poems depends on how long the poems are. I’m a short poem writer. Most of my poems can be contained on one page. So, in my chapbook writing endeavor, I’m looking at about twenty poems just to be safe.

After my friend and roommate Carrie unexpectedly passed away last December, I ended up using poetry to channel a lot of my grief. In the immediate aftermath, scribbling my feelings down let me keep functioning. It was like a release valve. It kept me from exploding into a useless ball of guilt, tears, and snotty Kleenex (but trust me, there was still a lot of all three).

Early in 2025, I decided it would be a good idea to focus this grief and poetry into a chapbook. Purposely write my pain as a way to process and cope. In a way, somewhere in my grief-addled brain, I thought it would be a good way to honor and memorialize Carrie. She always thought she’d be discarded and forgotten, and I didn’t want that to happen. In retrospect, maybe centering an entire chapbook on my own grief wasn’t the best way to do that, but it gave me something to do.

I do believe that it helped quite a bit. I do think I ended up processing more of my grief than I thought I would. However, I also reached a point where I didn’t want to write about it anymore. I was tired of poking at that wound. I didn’t want to pick at that scab anymore. I wanted it to heal. I was afraid to touch it. I could lie and say that I was worried that repeatedly touching it might cause it to get infected, but the truth was that I was tired of the sting and I was afraid it might hurt as badly as it first did if I prodded hard enough. Honestly, it probably would.

So, I stopped thinking about it, stopped writing about it, and kind of ignored it.

I didn’t look at the poems I had written for months. I flinched just thinking about it. And I put off finishing the chapbook so I wouldn’t have to deal with the discomfort of revisiting that intense grief.

So here I am at the end of the year and the first draft of that chapbook is still unfinished. It’s looming on my To Do List and I’m more uncomfortable with the idea of leaving the chapbook unfinished than I am with making myself finish it. Because by not finishing this first draft -even if I never revise it, even if nothing comes of it- feels like I’m letting Carrie down once again.

I’ve got a few weeks until 2026 and I’m going to finish it. I’ve only got a couple more poems left to write. I can do it.

For Carrie, I’ll get it done.

The Family Word

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

An open dictionary with white pages and black text. The entry shown is for dictionary. A yellow tasseled bookmark marks the page. Image by Steve Buissinne from Pixabay.The holidays are a family time, so this is a great time for me to talk about my family’s favorite word, possibly the most versatile word in the family lexicon.

Booger.

I know what you’re thinking. What the absolute fuck? And that’s fair. Nobody is going to think of booger being versatile, yet alone a great word. Stay with me, though. I might change your mind.

First thing’s first: Yes, booger has the traditional meaning of the mucus clumps that hang out in your nose. Booger is also a character in Revenge of the Nerds. Both sides of my family acknowledge these truths. We’re not rewriting the entire dictionary here.

However, on my dad’s side of the family, booger also means an imaginary creature -usually not seen by anyone- that’s scary. For example, when one of the cats gets spooked by something -a noise no one else heard, something only they saw- we’ll say that the cat saw or heard a booger.

This use of the word is also frequently used to describe drug-induced paranoia. “The coke boogers were after him.” “He’s been seeing meth boogers.”

On the flip side, you can also be a booger. Someone who’s a booger is someone who’s easily scared. For example, one of ours cat was scared of everything when she was younger. She was a booger. Boogers have a tendency to see or hear a lot of boogers.

I realize that can be kind of confusing. “She saw a booger because she’s a booger.” Context is very helpful. Also, practice. It’s just something you know.

On my mom’s side of the family, however, booger’s alternate meaning has to do with an injury. You booger yourself up. If you fall and skin your knee, you’ve boogered up your knee. It’s almost always used (at least that I’ve heard) in relation to the skin being bruised or broken. You didn’t booger yourself up if you hurt your back or broke a bone. But if that bone is poking through the skin, then you boogered up your shin when you broke your leg.

Booger can also relate to messing things up. If I’m doing some tiny terrible art and mess up the branches on a tree, then I’ve boogered up that tree. Get into a fender bender? Boogered up the bumper. Mess up your crocheted blanket? You boogered up the stitches.

The interesting thing about this amazingly versatile word is that though my sister and I have been known to use it in every definition, our parents don’t. The years they spent together pre-divorce did nothing to influence each other’s use of the word. I’ve never heard my dad say that he boogered something up and I’ve never heard my mom call someone a booger or be scared by a booger. I find it fascinating that never happened given how folks will pick up on slang and word usage from each other. You’d think after twenty years together, they’d be using booger to its full potential, too.

Maybe their booger resistance was just another reason their relationship didn’t work out.

Patrons in the Wild

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

A picture of a row of library books illuminated by several hanging bare bulbs. Image by StockSnap from Pixabay.Please note that the title of this post is IN the wild, not GONE wild. That’s a totally different topic.

If you’re just tuning in and are unfamiliar with my lore, I live in a small town and work at the library in said small town. It’s one of those towns that there’s a good chance you know someone’s name or face if you not both, especially if you grew up here, went to school here, and/or work with the public here.

So, the other day, I went to the grocery store and ended up in line in front of a regular patron at the library where I work. As soon as he got in line behind me, he spoke, we exchanged pleasantries, and bid each other a good day as soon as I was done putting my groceries in my cart. It was a perfectly cromulent interaction.

A few days later, I had to go back to the grocery store for the third time that week (it was an ORDEAL) and I ended up saying hello to a different regular patron as we passed each other.

After spending years hermiting, I’m still getting used to this sort of interaction. I’m used to traveling through my day without running into anyone I know well enough to say hello or being recognized out of context. The context in this case, of course, being the library. I do believe we’ve discussed before how I struggle with the object permanence of myself.

Anyway, I’ve had several of these interactions in the last year since I started leaving my house more and acquiring something of a social life. I ran into one regular patron while waiting to be seated with my friend for breakfast at a popular local joint and we ended up chatting about her husband (also a regular) and his latest shenanigans. On another occasion, I said hello to a patron I knew as my friend and I were finding our seats for a showing of Men in Black at the local theater.

The funny thing was that both of those times the bestie I was with, Haley, also said hello to people, which is the norm. Haley knows EVERYBODY in town (she’s related to a good chunk of them), so going anywhere in town with her (and sometimes out of town) is like going out with a celebrity. Expect to get stopped. Usually, I just stand there patiently and awkwardly while she chats for a minute. It’s all good. It’s been the usual for decades and I’m cool with it.

So, it was a real twist to be able to participate in this phenomenon because someone knew me. I was able to chat with my regular patron while she chatted with the lady she knew because they happened to be going to breakfast together, too. It was a wild experience that I hadn’t anticipated.

For someone with anxiety who prefers her social interactions to happen in their usual contexts -like talking to patrons in the library- because I otherwise feel unprepared to people, I’m pleasantly surprised with how well I’ve done encountering patrons in the wild.

There may be hope for me and my social life yet.

Untitled Tree

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

Two trees in autumn. The bigger one has golden-orange leaves. The smaller one has red leaves and is more sparse. They stand out against a blue sky and the houses behind them.I realize the title of this post sounds arty, but it’s nothing of the sort. I just couldn’t come up with a clever title.

I try to blog here about once a week (though, let’s be honest, no one notices if I don’t), but there are times when topics are hard to come by. This is one of those times.

So, let’s talk about leaves.

This autumn has been a strange one because the leaves changed late this year. Really late. Like, if it were a woman, it would have taken ten pregnancy tests. We were less than two weeks out from Halloween and most of the trees were still green.

For context, let’s look at my neighbors’ trees.

My neighbor next door has a tree in her backyard that’s one of my favorites because it changes color from the top down, usually starting in late September or early October. In years past, it’s done almost an ombre kind of thing, where it sort of ripples down from orange to yellow. It’s so pretty. I’m in love with that tree in the autumn. It typically holds onto its leaves for the most part -it’s usually still pretty vibrant through Halloween- but in the first part of November, it drops its leaves in a hurry. It feels like it goes from full to naked in a day. I’m sure my neighbor feels that way, too. After all, she’s the one raking it.

This year, it was only a couple of weeks out from Halloween before it started to change. It went through that ombre ripple in record time and dropped its leaves on schedule, around the end of the second full week of November.

My neighbor across the street has a huge tree that I’ve loved since I was a kid. It’s even shown up in a few of my short stories. It’s been marked by the city for removal because it’s technically theirs and it’s unfortunately sick beyond saving. Until then, it continues to go through the motions of the seasons.

In autumn, it’s usually one of the first trees to turn in about mid-September, going a golden-orange, and typically sheds its leaves before Halloween, which has always been kind of a bummer. It’s made to celebrate Halloween in colorful splendor (it did get toilet papered a lot when I was younger, so in a way, it kind of did celebrate).

This year, it didn’t start changing until the middle of October. It was in full, gorgeous color for Halloween this year. I honestly can’t remember the last time that happened, or if it’s ever happened. Even better, the leaves held on after Halloween, too. It finally shed the majority of them in a couple of big winds earlier this week.

I am blessed to live in a place that has some gorgeous autumn colors painting my little town. And this year, I was able to enjoy them much later than I normally do.

Too bad it was probably because of climate change.

Accidental Local Historian

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

A picture of a row of library books illuminated by several hanging bare bulbs. Image by StockSnap from Pixabay.First of all, please understand that I am calling myself a local historian in the absolute loosest, mostly tongue-in-cheek way. It’s mainly for the purpose of illustrating that libraries and library workers do a lot more than folks realize.

My county doesn’t have a singular historical society.

We have the C.H. Moore Homestead and DeWitt Count Museum, which is a Victorian mansion that once belonged to prominent resident and attorney C.H. Moore, and features a gorgeous two-story library that still houses part of his vast private collection (the rest are housed at the library I work at). The museum features both permanent and temporary displays of county history.

We have the DeWitt County Genealogical Society, which occupies a room in the lower level of the library. With their help and resources, folks can find all sorts of records relating to family history in the area. They’re in the office, so to speak, every Thursday, and just an excellent source of knowledge and research.

And we have the library that I work at. The upper floor of the old building has been turned into our local history archives. We have a collection of all sorts of items that have been donated to the library that have historical significance to the city, county, and the people who’ve lived here. We also have a collection of local newspapers, which are available on microfilm. Many of the yearbooks, picture collections, and the newspapers up until I think 1965 have been digitized and put online.

Preserving local history is actually one of our core library values and part of our mission statement. It’s something that my director in particular is pretty passionate about because we don’t have one big local historical society. You can watch her and her fabulous dresses do Tales from the Archives videos on our YouTube page. Not everyone who works at the library ends up hips deep in local history, but we all end up learning the history of the library and we all know the value of local history.

I probably would have been content with knowing the history of the library and letting that be the extent of my involvement. Then my boss asked me to create the library’s podcast. When I finally came up with a concept, the plan was to cover all aspects of the library and its collection and services and archives, which included local history. The very first episode of the podcast I did was about the only public hanging to occur in my county, something I never knew about because, hey, it’s a small town. Nothing happens in a small town, right?

My director then came across something about a man being murdered in the county courthouse. Sure, it happened in 1855, but still! A murder in my little town? Well, as it turned out, it happened a lot back in the day and over the stupidest shit. Looking up one thing in the newspaper for one topic has led me down other rabbit holes when another article caught my eye. This was how I found a list of 22 murders committed in the county from 1855-1913. I spent months researching them, which turned into multiple podcast episodes, a program I had to do four times because it was so popular, and a video that’s on the library’s YouTube.

Not all of the local history I’ve researched has been about murder (though, admittedly, a lot of it has). I’ve researched the library building, the longest-tenured librarian, the third of the county’s four courthouses, our Friends of the Library volunteer group, tornadoes, floods, an arms bust, an infamous mayor, our first woman sheriff, a suffragette train, railroad accidents, a devastating fire, county ghost towns, a scandalous will dispute, and even C.H. Moore himself.

I now have a list of topics that I need to research for future podcast episodes.

This has also led to me hosting a couple of regular local history true crime programs, Crime Club for the teens, and Coffee and Crime for the adults. We’re going to get together, have some snacks, I’ll present a local history case, and we’ll chat about it. Crime Club starts this month and Coffee and Crime kicks off in November. It means more work and more research, but I’m excited to see how these programs go.

I never thought of myself as a history person, really. I never anticipated becoming one of the go-to people in the library for local history either.

But, if you need to know something about the history of the library or maybe a local murder, just ask.

If I don’t know, I’ll be happy to find out.

I’m Fine (Never Mind the Trauma)

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

White figure bent over with pain dashes coming from its back on a green circle background. Image by 8thBox from Pixabay.A couple of weekends ago, I went to see Dad Shorts play at a bar in a town about 25-30 minutes away from where I live. I was dead set on going because I hadn’t missed one of their gigs and I wasn’t ready for this one to be the first. In order for me to do that, I needed to make sure I had my dad squared away.

As I’ve mentioned before, my dad has been having some health problems, namely lung cancer, COPD, and congestive heart failure. The lung cancer is under control. He’s finished his chemo and is on immunotherapy for maintenance. His COPD is controlled with medication and environmental manipulation. His congestive heart failure became an issue over the summer, but adjustments to his meds have it back under control. I’ve been his primary caregiver since this started, so I’ve gotten used to configuring my life around his health needs.

So, in my mind, if I was going to go to the Dad Shorts gig, I was going to need to get a sitter.

Okay, not a literal sitter. But, I wanted to make sure one of my neighbors or friends would be in town in case something happened. If he needed someone, I wanted him to be able to get a hold of someone who could get over to him in five or ten minutes rather than 25 or 30.

I explained this to my father and he instantly bristled at the idea. He then proceeded to point out that he hadn’t been having issues with his breathing lately. He’s been getting around better, not even using his cane in the house. My rebuttal was pointing out his penchant for doing yard work when I wasn’t home and how he’d fallen twice doing that. He understood my point about having someone closer by just in case and agreed not to do yard work while I was gone and agreed to take his cane, emergency inhaler, and phone with him if he did go outside for any reason. Just in case.

He also had a point, even if he didn’t directly articulate it.

It’s been a year as of the beginning of this month that my dad’s health problems began. It’s been a roller coaster of bad, badder, better, but I’m still acting like he’s at his worst. I’m still anticipating the shit to hit the fan at any moment. Going to this gig made me realize that even though I know things are grooving along pretty well, I’m still living in the moment of 3am wake ups for 911 calls, of ER visits and hospitalizations, of endless problem solving for pain and breathing problems. Things are better, but I haven’t stopped being ready.

I’ve said before that I didn’t think I’d fully processed everything that had been happening in my world since October 1st of 2024 and that weekend really slapped me in the face with it. I’ve been wading in the trauma for so long that I don’t even realize my shoes are wet anymore. It’s become my normal.

It’s not a good normal.

There’s nothing wrong with being prepared and being cautious, but being in a constant red alert is no way to live.

Think I better get around to processing and find a way to unclinch.

We both deserve better than this stress.

Listen to the Band

~ Kiki Writes ~ 1 Comment

A white guitar and white drum kit in front of a blue starburst background.I have experienced more live music in the last five months than I have in the last fifteen years.

Here’s the thing. I love music. My love encompasses pretty much every genre. I retain song lyrics better than important information. I wish I could adequately play an instrument. I love to sing (being good at it is another story). I sing along with the radio and the songs in the grocery store. Music is my preferred background noise when I’m writing. I’m listening to a retro mix as I write this blog post.

However, I don’t go to many concerts. Living in a small town in the middle of nowhere, concerts tend to require a drive. Also, concerts have crowds, typically large crowds for the bigger acts, which does a number on my anxiety. And concerts are expensive and I’ve spent much of my adult life broke. So, live music hasn’t always been accessible to my broke-ass, semi-functioning self.

This isn’t to say that there aren’t local bands at smaller venues in my vicinity. I spent my teens going to Modern Cowboyz gigs. I’ve seen a bunch of different acts at the Apple and Pork Festival. There are always bands playing at the local bars. I have experienced local live music and I could have experienced much more if I’d left my house more often.

As it happens, I’ve recently been creating a social life for myself and this has led me to more live music.

I blame Dad Shorts, honestly.

A couple of guys I work with -one of whom is the cousin of one of my besties, Haley- are in a band called Dad Shorts. When they played a gig at a brewery down the street, I ended up going with Haley. The band was awesome, we had a blast, and the next thing I know, I’m anticipating the next show. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t be for months, and at the time, I didn’t even know when their next gig would be.

It didn’t mean that I was left bereft, though.

In the meantime, the son of another one of my good friends, Amanda, did a solo set at a bar nearby. Hunter is a super talented kid who’s played solo and with bands for a few years. I had a blast just chilling in the bar with Amanda and Haley listening to him jam, just him and his guitar.

The library I work at has also been trying to book more music during the summer months, taking advantage of our newly installed pavilion and our lovely lawn. I ended up seeing both of the groups that played the library this past summer. The first -Dick and Brad- are the father and brother-in-law of yet another best good friend, Natalie, and they come with a built in audience because their family always comes to see them, which is fab. Dick and Brad are really good, too, of course, I knew that. It was yet another night with a couple of besties, Natalie and Haley, and some music we were all singing along to.

The other band -Union Avenue- is an awesome swing band and there was actually swing dance lessons before the band played. Union Avenue also had a loyal group of followers, all swing dancers, who somehow made dancing on the grass look easy. Did I go for a swing? Yes. One of the dancers was very persuasive and a very good teacher. He took me and two of my coworkers for a whirl. It was a lot of fun. I didn’t know a single song the band played and it didn’t matter. I loved it.

And then Haley gave me the news that Dad Shorts would be playing at the Eagles during the Apple and Pork Festival the last weekend in September and I was going to be her date. One thing led to another and I ended up seeing them play three times in a week -twice in the same weekend- in three different bars in two different towns. At this point, I think I’m riding the line between fan and stalker, but I don’t care. They’re so good! I can’t wait to see them play again.

I didn’t anticipate cultivating a social life at this stage of my existence and I certainly didn’t anticipate so much of it revolving around music.

But I’ll certainly sing along.

Apropos of Nothing

~ Kiki Writes ~ 2 Comments

Black and white photo of a puddle on pavement with several leaves floating on the surface.I do not mourn terrible people.

Call it a quirk cultivated from decades of lived experience.

It doesn’t matter their flavor of terrible. It doesn’t matter how they ultimately exited this mortal plane. I do not mourn them.

Now don’t get it twisted. Don’t confuse my lack of mourning for celebration. Apathy is not glee. Just because I’m not entirely sad to see someone’s exit doesn’t mean I rooted for their departure. Think of the Loki meme. “Yes, very sad. Anyway.” It’s a similar vibe.

I realize that this sort of attitude can lead to a lot of questions.

“Who are you to say someone is terrible?”

Well, I am me. And I get to decide who is terrible according to my criteria for terribleness. Just like everyone else does.

“What about that person’s family?”

What about them? Terrible people frequently have parents, siblings, partners, children, friends. That affords them no virtue. If anything, it provides them with their mourners. Do I feel bad for them to have lost someone dear to them? Eh. In the very vague, general sense of death sucks and it’s a lot of paperwork. That’s about it.

“You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead!”

That’s not a question. Also, I do not abide by the belief that an asshole never dies. If you don’t want to be spoken ill of in death, don’t be garbage in life. If accurately and factually recounting things a dead person said or did in their life is speaking ill of them, then your problem is not with me.

“Where is your empathy?”

In my pocket where I always keep it. I sprinkle it at my discretion. I also find it wasted on those who never developed their own sense of empathy during their life. Terrible people frequently fail to do this.

“What if it was a member of your family?”

Then folks would have to get in line to talk shit because my family canonizes no one. If you were terrible in life, then they’re going to put that in your eulogy, if they go to the funeral at all. Most of the time, it’s not even said out of disrespect. We all know how someone really was, and not saying it doesn’t change the truth. We’ll just go ahead and say it.

“What if it was you?”

Gonna be honest here. Being dead is probably going to be the bigger problem for me. Also, I’ll be dead, so I won’t really care. I have already accepted that there will be people who mourn me, people who are glad to see me go, people who celebrate my demise, and people who are entirely indifferent to the whole affair. I have no doubt that I am someone’s terrible person. Maybe I’m yours, right now, for writing this. Maybe I now fit your terrible person criteria.

That’s fine. What is it that they say? What other people think of me is none of my business. Well, that applies in death, too. What other people think of me after I’m gone is also none of my business.

I don’t expect you to mourn me if I should predecease you.

So, don’t expect me to mourn terrible people if they beat me to that finish line.

Because I won’t.

It’s Podcast Season

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

An old school chrome microphone with rainbow sound waves on a white background. Image by Tumisu on Pixbay..I currently do three podcasts.

I’m in charge of the library’s podcast at the library I work at. I co-host Here, Watch This with my friend Shann. And I have Book ’em, Danno: An Old Hawaii Five-O Podcast.

The library podcast is monthly and Here, Watch This has gone to every other month due to real life obligations for both me and Shann. The library episodes range anywhere from 5 to 30 minutes and my part of the Here, Watch This episodes are usually between 15-20 minutes. Book ’em, Danno is monthly from September to July with an extra episode in December and sometimes May depending on the schedule. The episodes tend to run about an hour long because I get long-winded when talking about Steve McGarrett.

The length of the episodes doesn’t accurately reflect the amount of time put into each episode.

I’ve gotten the recording, editing, proofing, and transcribing of the library podcasts down to a science. Depending on the length of the episode, it can take anywhere from 1 1/2 to 3 hours. Since I have to do all of that at home, that’s comp time. What I don’t keep as diligent track of is the prep work that goes into each episode because I usually do that at the library. Depending on the episode, the research and script work that goes into an episode can be substantial. I might only do a few hours work on an episode about a library service, but that can easily double if I’m spotlighting something in our archives or writing up summaries for a recommendation episode. And if I’m doing a local history episode…we’re talking hours in the double digits. The longer the episode, the more extensive the research.

Here, Watch This is another deceptively easy podcast because Shann does the heavy lifting with editing the episodes (and bless her for it). I’m just responsible for recording and doing a basic edit for my part, which often times takes me less than 2 hours. But the prep work -watching the assigned episode of the chosen show, writing up the synopsis and organizing my thoughts into a coherent script- can take 4 to 6 hours.

And then there’s Book ’em, Danno.

Book ’em, Danno is the reason why I spend so much time scripting the other two podcasts. When I first started this podcast back in the long, long ago, I approached it the same way that I did my appearances on Eventually, Supertrain. I watched the episode a couple of times and then talked about it. In the beginning, I didn’t even write out a synopsis for the episode. I just worked from my notes and hoped for the best. It took me about eight episodes of the series before I wised up. I spent -and still do spend- more time doing guest cast research than any other prep work.

Which results in an editing endurance trial every single time. It takes HOURS to edit a single episode of Book ’em, Danno. HOURS.

On average, it takes me two weeks to produce one episode of Book ’em, Danno. This is because, even if I had time to do everything in one or two or three days, I would lose my mind if I tried. I simply could not. So, I spread it out over the course of ten days. Two days for watching the episodes in order to write the synopsis. Two days of watching the episodes for my notes on what I want to talk about. One day of recording. Four to five days for editing, uploading, and writing up the blog post for the episode.

That guest cast prep? The entire season is done over the course of a couple months, usually at the end of the previous season.

With all of my podcasts, I work ahead. Here, Watch This episodes are usually done the month before, or the first week of the month of the episode going live. I only have one episode left to record for the library’s podcast this year, and 6 of the 12 needed for next year done.

Book ’em, Danno’s “seasons” provide an interesting challenge. Since the new season starts in September for me, I start working on it in August with the goal of having all of the episodes scheduled to go live through December done by the end of October. This means working on 2 to 3 episodes a month. Then I can get away with only doing one up episode a month through the holidays and my birthday before picking up the pace again in February, with the goal of having every episode finished before the end of May. Throw in guest prep for the upcoming season during May and June, and I’m guaranteed to get at least July off before it starts all over again.

Could I make Book ’em, Danno easier on myself? Absolutely. I’ve gotten less persnickety with my editing over the years, but I’m still pretty demanding. I could always shift more of my hours into prep work to reduce the amount of editing I need to do. I could always talk less. I endeavor to talk less. I never talk less. Honestly, I’ve sort of fallen into my groove of how I produce the show and I don’t see a way of getting out of it.

So, if I complain about everything I have to do or how I’m stressed with my schedule or how I’m sick of listening to the sound of my own voice, just ignore me.

It’s podcast season.

Welcome to the Jungle

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

Bright, dark orange Mexican Sunflowers close to the green grass with poke berries towering over them next to a light blue sided house. Everything is dappled with sunlight.Last year on a whim, I brought home a few packets of flower seeds from work (we have a seed library at the library) and actually planted some of them. I expected nothing of a my zinnias, dahlias, and morning glories. The only thing I’ve ever successfully kept alive is an aloe plant that I brought home from the library’s garden table a couple of years ago and really, I can’t even claim credit. Aloysius is a very hearty, fertile little shit that keeps having babies and now I’ve got an entire jungle of aloe plants: Vera, Larry, Darryl (RIP Other Brother Darryl, who didn’t survive a pot upgrade), Large Marge, Sneaky Pete, Bobo and Lil’ Debil. I also have Tink, the tiny jade plant, and what remains of Cal Calhoun, my kalanchoe that was doing fine until it wasn’t, but I think I saved it. Maybe.

Anyway, my point is that I’ve never grown anything from a seed with any success before, but last year I decided to give it a whirl. And it worked out, mostly. My dahlias went nowhere, but my zinnias and morning glories grew and blossomed and made me feel like a real green thumb. I left them in their pots as I got them started late in the season and I also wasn’t feeling brave enough to try transplanting. They looked good on my patio table while I had them, though that morning glory loved to tangle itself in the furniture.

Bolstered by this victory, I decided to try it again this year. I acquired zinnias, hollyhocks, butterfly weed, Mexican sunflowers, regular sunflowers, marigolds, bee balm, and I even decided to try my hand at a couple of herbs, cilantro and basil.

It was an exercise in failure.

Nothing came of my bee balm and butterfly weed despite two tries. My zinnias and hollyhocks sprouted and then died. My sunflower and marigolds were doing great, but didn’t survive the transplant from the pot to the outdoors. My cilantro was thriving until it suddenly wasn’t and nothing I did saved it.

I thought my basil was going to be another failure. It was puny and I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to last. But as my cilantro took a turn for the worse, but basil pushed into glory. Maybe it stole it’s windowsill mate’s essence, I don’t know. But now I have an unusually tall, happy basil plant that I need to utilize.

I also thought my Mexican sunflowers were gonners like the sunflowers and marigolds as I transplanted them at the same time. I put them just outside of the “jungle”, a spot at the corner of our house that has featured hostas and elephant garlic, but has in the past few years been taken over by pokeweed. Usually, it gets trimmed up during the early part of the summer so it’s not so unruly (one year it successfully grew between the window panes and into the house), but with everything going on, that didn’t happen. This year’s crop is multiple plants and it’s huge. I’ve pruned it several times, but I was sure that since I let it go so long it would overpower my Mexican sunflowers and kill them.

However, every time I checked, my little Mexican sunflowers were still there, still growing. They grew funky because of the pokeweed, but the two plants somehow thrived.

Last month they blessed me with their pretty blooms.

So, yes. My plant endeavors were largely a failure this year, but I am cherishing the victories I did manage.

I’m taking this as a metaphor for life.