On Letting Go
Bowing at the Altar of Bishop's Weed
Welcome to Pocketful of Prose. If you like what you read, please share with a friend. The conversation in last week’s post was really lively. If you haven’t checked it out, I invite you to return to the comments to see what folks had to say. There’s also a really good recipe there for coconut lime sorbet thanks to Julie of Writing in Company.
Without further ado, today’s pocket.
In June, my mom visits, and we walk through my garden. She has fallen in love with the one plant that I am not sure I want to keep. I bought it a few years ago, and it has started to creep over and around everything. “I think I have to dig it out,” I say.
“I think it’s so pretty,” my mom says. “I want to take some home.” The plant is beautiful and healthy, a verdant green with cream edges.
We take a clipping and a picture to our local nursery. My mom is generously gifting me some new plants for my garden, something she often does when she visits.
I present the clipping to Sally. Sally and I have just met, but I already feel a kinship to her as I do with most people who know things about plants. “Bishop’s Weed,” Sally says and then goes on to say nothing I am surprised to hear. I have indeed planted an invasive weed, not noxious or harmful, just a little all-consuming, working its way into everything, its presence refusing to be ignored, not unlike my mom.
“I like it,” my mom practically shouts at Sally barely letting her finish her explanation of how the plant works. My mom is loyal, and she has decided to bow at the altar of Bishop’s Weed.
“You planted this?” Sally laughs in kind disbelief turning her attention back to me.
“I bought it a plant sale,” I say. “Plants like this should come with a warning label.”
Sally nods her head in agreement. “We always tag ours and let people know. It’s not a harmful plant. Some people like it for groundcover. It works really well in certain situations, but you should know what you are getting into.” It turns out Bishop’s Weed needs clear boundaries.
“Can I get rid of it?” I ask.
“You can try pulling it out, but it will probably come back. It’s a bit of an uphill battle. Once it establishes itself, it doesn’t really let go- it has tiny rhizomes that spread everywhere. It takes over. It doesn’t really respond to chemicals.”
“I don’t use chemicals,” I say, hoping to at least win some points with Sally.
At the end of our conversation, my mom clearly not concerned with scoring points says, “I was thinking of taking some home with me. Can I take it to NY?” I wonder if we have heard the same speech.
“Mom did you hear what she said? You do not want to take this plant home with you.”
My mom nods her head. We pack up our plants and leave, thanking Sally.
When we get home, and I’m unpacking the plants, my mom whispers to me, “I think I’m still going to take some home.” My mom’s desires have rhizomes of their own.
This story makes me laugh, but the reality is that letting go is hard.
Summer has once again slipped elusively through my hands. On Monday, I return to work full time as an instructional coach at one of our local high schools. I love my job, but I am grieving my summer freedom and spontaneity as I do at the end of every summer. Touching my sadness this week isn’t such a bad thing. In years past, I have forgotten to grieve. I have held on tight and rammed into Monday morning like a giant wave crashing against a brick wall. Maybe my grief this last week will allow me to better transition next week.
When I was in high school, I loved the U2 song “Bad.” Most likely, you know it. If not, have a listen here. It’s about letting go. “Surrender…dislocate…” I always wondered why it was called Bad. For me, it just served as a reminder at how bad I am at letting go. Turns out, it’s about heroin addiction. Funny, how when you are 16, you think everything is about you. Turns out, I still think that way sometimes at 43. And yet, in a way it is about me because songs and stories are how we live in them and interpret them, and for me that song was about how incredibly difficult it is to let go.
This week my 16-year-old daughter wasn’t sure if she wanted to play soccer. I knew what I wanted her to do, but I had to let go of the idea that what I want mattered. Parenting is letting go.
One of my friends divorced this summer. She is grieving her marriage, but also the house she loved. The rhizomes of her relationship feel like they are everywhere, and it is a battle to be free.
Another friend had to evacuate her house because of the fires near us. She had to decide what to pack in the trunk of her car, what parts of her life should she save, what parts must she let go of. She didn’t have much time. I wonder about what I would put in the trunk. I also wonder about what I would wish I had put in the trunk.
Thankfully, my friends’ home survived the fire. She was able to put her things back where they belong. Others have been less lucky this month. They must rebuild. They must let go and start again in a way few of us can understand.
I’m going to close out with a poem I wrote that feels like it fits with all of this. It is about our neighborhood brunch place that has sadly been closed all summer, another thing I have had to let go of. I would love to continue this conversation in the comments. What is your favorite thing to order for brunch? What neighborhood place do you love? What place, person or thing did you love that is no longer here? What are you letting go of? What are you leaning into instead?
At the Window
This morning I see a couple holding hands peeking in the window of Browne’s Bistro.
The porch is lit with white lights, soft and inviting
There is an open sign on the door, but it is not lit up
They are clearly closed
They have been closed for a long, long time.
The couple continues to hold hands, walking from window to window,
putting their hands over their eyes and peering inside
pulling the door handle
I want to shout at them from the sidewalk
Let them know it’s better if they move on
There’s the Elk right across the street. They make their own black beans.
But I know what it’s like to want something so badly
to hold on to hope when reality stares you down cold
So I say nothing, except a silent prayer
that they find what they are looking for
Beautiful, as always! I love the framing of summer ending as letting go. Here’s to trading one good thing for another.
My mom’s desires have rhizomes of their own. --- I really loved this sentence. I loved that whole aspect of the story, wanting something even if it isn't necessarily the best thing.
I'll echo your sentiments of summer slipping by. I feel that, too.