Nov 4, 2011 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
The first “storm” of the season is on its way to Southern California, bringing with it high winds and light snow. I’m hopeful (but not realistic) about seeing a flake or two this weekend. My trees are billowing as I write this, and about ready to drop their leaves.
I love this time of year: the time when the desert is a little more colorful, when people bundle in sweaters and scarfs, when the smell of fireplaces and warm cooking are almost everywhere.
And so are the traveling carnivals. You know what I’m talking about: those caravans of Big Rigs that take over the local mall parking lot for less than a week. The rusted colorful contraptions they set up when no one’s looking. It’s as though they sneak in at the dead of night and stay just long enough to play their creepy music. Then just as suddenly, they’re gone.
Every year they show up here at the end of October, and two things happen.
First, the wind blows harder and colder, forcing pedestrians to wrap their coats tighter as they scurry to and from the safety of their buildings or cars. Their eyes dart about to find what their hands don’t want to reach for unless they have to. Cold handles, flying papers. Anything the wind can play with.
Second, I always think of Ray Bradbury’s “Something Wicked This Way Comes”. I read the book in junior high, the year my father passed away. I could relate to the absent father storyline. It was fresh pain. Being raised in the midwest the descriptive book and subsequent movie seemed to add to the already imaginative thoughts I carried: the atmosphere of falling leaves, the early nightfalls, and all the What If’s… The story both scared and delighted me, creating that sweaty nervousness that only a great page can.
To this day, I count it as one of my favorite stories. It must be. It still affects how I feel at the end of October.
The desert isn’t a colorful place. Grass yards are not the norm, and rainstorms are few and far between. And so today’s storm is teasing us, saying this is what could be. Very much like Mr. Dark tempting the boys.
The winds bring apprehension and suspense. Maybe tomorrow there will be the smell of rain. At night, perhaps a snowflake or two. Full of promise… or lies.
An autumn wind always makes me think Hitchcockian. What secrets blow with it? What will it take away when it leaves? The local carnival left today. I wonder if the storm drove it away, or is following the show.
And I can’t help but recite, as the sun sets and the leaves rustle in the howling winds…
“By the pricking of my thumb,
Something wicked this way comes.”And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Aug 27, 2011
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
Life is like a garden: many different species living together; some harmonious, some hurtful. Pesky weeds try to strangle the fruits and flowers as birds steal seeds only to drop them somewhere unplanned.
I don’t know what made me think of all this, except that it’s been exceptionally hot here in the desert and I’m worried about my potted garden dying on me. As the caretaker of my garden, I do my best to nourish it and enjoy it. To accept its beauty, individually and collectively. To prune when necessary, and to give it room to grow. And as my mind wanders, I soon found myself wondering about other plants and their survival traits.
The corpse flower is a strange thing. It grows to great heights, and some consider it to be exceptionally beautiful. With its variegated shades that blend from almost ivory to green to purple and red, I find it absolutely stunning. It’s one of those things that I’m not sure I like, but I can’t stop looking at it. It’s mesmerizing.
Of course, that’s not what piques the most interest. Some varieties bloom once a year, but most corpse flowers open only once every few years (some take more than a decade!). The aroma they reveal is what gives its common name: the smell of, well, rotting flesh.
People are like plants. Some are herbal: they serve not only to keep fresh greenery to look at it, but they spice up a recipe, and can be medicinal (good for the soul) as well. Others are decorative as well as useful. Roses, lavender and mint make great tea and potpourri. Good to look at, and soothing.
Still others are like the corpse flower: They hide behind their beauty, never letting anyone in. They open up to the world only once in a great while, and when they do, it’s offensive. They tower above the rest of the garden, and scream for attention. When they get it, they offer nothing in return but their stench. They bloom for two or three days, then they go into hiding until they have the courage to come out and roar again. It’s fascinating. And ugly.
In my garden, I would desire to be sage: a culinary herb, or a wise person. I would even like to be the aforementioned lavender: soothing to the sight and smell. Whatever I am, I choose to be alive, and share this life. Not to hide it behind false beauty, or release it upon the world with an ugliness that causes so many to turn away.
What you see is what you get. Sometimes I’m reaching, sometimes I’m done for the duration. Sometimes I close up for the night. Sometimes I last for a season. But there’s always some weeding that’s necessary, and always new growth to show for it.
If life is a garden, what kind of plant are you?
Life in the Desert
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
