National Stress Week

It is not in my nature to handle well the stress that goes along with weeks where there are so many events scheduled that it is impossible to find a moment to breathe.  This was one of those weeks.

And it was, after all, due to my own choices.

The activities at work are converging to a point where all of the preparations we have made over the last year-and-a-half are finally resolving themselves; our final round of "formal" testing is scheduled to begin during the week after next.  And, due to a bizarre juxtaposition of events (or perhaps an ill-natured fairy), at almost the exact same time, an employment opportunity has presented itself which will prevent my completion of those activities, yet also launch me out onto a new adventure which has the promise of great reward as well as the risk of great tragedy.

My involvement with the Marching Band has also reached a climactic point: our final home game, followed quickly by the final Invitational competition.  As part of the support team, my attendance and participation in these events is critical.

Our FIRST Robotics team has been preparing for our first mock competition, which has meant hours of preparation for training sessions and practice drills, as well as the normal mentoring for electrical and software design.

And my involvement with the Middle School musical has dramatically increased in scope, requiring far more of my time and attention than had been originally planned.  Whereas it was my intent to assist in the planning and building of sets and props, it has now fallen to my lot to act as quasi-director, stage manager, assistant choreographer, set designer, and vocal coach.

In the background are the usual litany of worries and anxieties associated with having the first child in college, fixing/maintaining the house and the cars, mentoring an Eagle Scout project, dissolving a Boy Scout Troop, teaching Sunday school lessons, teaching Wednesday night lessons, and all the little things that need to be done to the house and yard as we get ready to "hunker down" for the winter.

Oh, and I'm supposed to be working on my writing, too.

Today I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed.  Maybe tomorrow things will calm down a bit.  Maybe.

Winter Eyes

The weather has been cooling rapidly as those of us in the Northern hemisphere begin the gradual slide into winter.  And this signals the start of the official 'winterization' project, which includes, unfortunately, trying to convince the stupid plants that they should stop producing fruit and instead devote their energies to hunkering down for the long, cold winter.

Tomatoes are so stupid.

I went out to the garden yesterday and picked off all the tomatoes I could see, ripe or un-ripe, and put them in a bowl.  Do you see how full that bowl is?  This is from one stupid tomato plant.  ONE.

Tomatoes are so stupid.

As you may have noticed, most of the fruit of this plant is still green.  For those of you who are unfamiliar with the fruit of the tomato plant, green means that they are not ready to be picked yet (unless you are some idiotic vegetable conglomerate who puts them into trucks to that they will ripen on the long-distance trip between here and California). Red means that they are ripe and juicy and ready to go into a salad.  How many red tomatoes do you seen in that bowl?

Do you also notice, over there on the left, that there are still yellow flowers coming off the stems?  Yellow flowers are usually located in the place where the tomatoes eventually grow.  When the flower gets pollinated, the flower part disappears and a tomato (eventually) takes its place. So this plant is obviously expecting that there is going to be some pollination taking place soon.

Tomatoes are so very stupid.

It's getting very cold outside at night.  The weatherman predicts that we're going to have temperatures near freezing in a few days.  The plants are going to get completely demoralized.  By now, they should've been hiking up their skirts and heading for warmer climes (if only tomatoes could migrate, like coconuts!).  But they don't.  Because they are tomatoes.

Because they are stupid.

So in the next couple of days, we're going to go out there and dig up those stupid tomato plants and place them in our winterization pots, and strategically arrange those pots inside the house somewhere so that the plants will (hopefully) survive throughout the winter; and then, in the spring, we're going to take them outside - this time, after we're sure that all the freezing temperatures won't be coming back - and thus restart our summer garden.

Hopefully.  If the tomatoes cooperate.

And if I can figure out where on earth in this crowded house to put the pots of plants.  Which include, aside from the tomatoes, a broccoli plant, a half-dozen watermelon plants (which never produced any fruit), two lettuce plants (which never produced any real lettuce leaves), and a couple of flowering plants whose names escape me.

I hope the other plants aren't as stupid as the tomatoes, but the fact that they haven't died back yet makes me suspect that they are.

Where's the PAUSE button on plants?

Attack of the Killer Aphids!

I came home from work after a wearying day, ready to cast my cares on the couch and relax in front of a tall, cool glass of iced peach tea, when James announced the attack.  So I went outside and down the steps and over to the planter box where the poor plants were valiantly attempting to throw off their oppressors.  And got seriously grossed out.

Aphids were completly covering one of the stems of the broccoli plant. Ewww.

I've dealt with the little blighters before, in smaller numbers. Performed one of those "home remedies" on them.  Soaped down the plant to loosen their grip, then rinsed 'em off (or squished 'em, I can't recall exactly).

But this infestation was just horrifying.  One of those things that resonates in your brain and turns your stomach.  Like leeches. 

James was fascinated with it, and took pictures (as you can see).  I stood and watched, apalled.  And queasy.  What to do?

As it was the end of the season anyway, I took the easy way out: snipped the entire stalk off and tossed it into the compost (with visions of aphids buried under a mountain of coffee grounds, melting beneath the acidic pile).

But the picture stuck with me.  Because it reminded me of the way my life feels right now.  If my life were a plant, and each of the stems an area of interest or involvement.  Home, church, office, shop; work, worship, hobby, chore. So many stems, so many activities, so many directions. Some mature and blossoming, some still struggling to reach sustainability. Filling my time as I channel the energy from ground and air into the performance of a useful function.

Imagine, if you will, that each of the aphids on the stalk of the plant is a worry or anxiety, a frustration or distraction that pops up in life and attaches itself to an area you're trying to grow.  Stealing thoughts, wasting time, draining energy.

Lately it feels as though the aphids are sucking the very life out of me.

Car repairs, house repairs, school activities, church politics, college finances, career questions.  All of these things needing attention, but there is only so much sap in the stem.  And it feels the supply is drying up.

Sometimes the easiest thing to do, is to trim off the stems with all the aphids and focus on the ones which are still clear.  Like with my broccoli.  Which thrived again once the aphids were removed.  (Until the deer came by and ate off all the leaves!)

Should I trim off a few overloaded stems?  Cut back on all the activities?  Stop doing some of those things?  Learn to say "No"?

Or should I just apply the soap (so to speak) and try to get rid of the worries without affecting the stems?

It's hard.  I'm caught between a deep-seated need to please others, and an intense desire to be left alone so that I can pursue my own interests.  And knowing where to cut things off is difficult.

We've been doing a "40 Days of Prayer" series at church and at home.  The material speaks of God prompting the Holy Spirit to prompt us to pray, even when we don't know what to pray; how we should be praying to move ourselves closer to God's will rather than moving him closer to ours.  So I'm praying to know what his will is.

And wondering if he's going to soap me down, or just do some trimming.