I had the best intentions tonight…the best intentions to read and write about my ever-growing garden. I planned to wax poetic about the most recent miniature rose plant I’ve fallen for*. I wanted to introduce you to my beautiful tomato trellis.
As it turns out, another evening awaited…one that involves the disappointment and frustration of having to rebuild my entire iPhoto library of 8000 photos, a task that will take many more nights than just tonight’s efforts.
And to decompress from my hard drive snafu, I did the only thing I could: step aside to pull out my yoga mat, turn on The Avett Brothers, cross my legs and breathe in and out. Everytime I listen to I and Love and You, a new line pops out at me. This week, it was the central line in the title track, “Three words that became hard to say: I and Love and You.”
Except in my mind, before the words echoed across the room, I’d already translated them to, “The three words I find hard to say.”
My mistranslation reminds me of an incredible quote from Frederick Buechner: “What we hunger for perhaps more than anything else is to be known in our full humanness, and yet that is often just what we also fear more than anything else.”
I could say much more on these two thoughts alone, but I will take the path of wisdom and instead go to bed. We humans long for intimacy and fear it simultaneously. What are we to do? I do not know, but I will plant peppers.
Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in.
Are you aware the shape I’m in?
My hands they shake; my head it spins.
Ah, Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in.
* My seduction by mini-rosebush was first documented in an email to high school friend sometime in the school year 2000/2001. I remember something so insignificant from so long ago because I remember the exact windowsill the first mini-rosebush died upon, and it was in Room 326 of Gerig Hall.