Patience

I walked into my business on the first floor of my home looking for the stepstool ladder. I have two of them, one for the first floor and one for the second floor so I wouldn’t have to lug them back and forth.
Where was the damn thing? I said to no one in particular. I had the floors on the first floor redone over three weeks ago and I still had not put everything back. The chaos was lingering to say the least. This was the reason I couldn’t locate the ladder.

Once again, I created a mess of stuff everywhere and trying to put it back was proving to be one big procrastination. I tend to be this way. Creating total mayhem, redoing, cleaning, renovating, changing, changing and more changing, living in the mire and then one big sweep of clean up and everything is put back fresh and new.
I have tried to analyze this behavior of mine over the years, but haven’t really come up with anything other than my symbiotic relationship with chaos, it almost soothes me. Boredom and calmness is so foreign that I instinctively run for the hills.
On or off. In or out.

It’s amazing I enjoyed the first three months of lockdown, it was so calm, quiet and consistent. Perhaps it was a dipping of my toe into an altered state of consciousness that I would spend the rest of my year to the present realizing that the quiet is actually a positive thing.
The problem with disarray is not being able to find anything, though and the amount of time and energy I waste looking for things is ultimately what forces me into finally putting everything back. This searching for the ladder would be the catalyst for getting everything back to where I wanted it. This was the weekend.
Ahh there it is. Why was I looking for it in the first place? To bring it outside so that I could rearrange my rose bush to redirect over the new pergola I added to my backyard barn.

The Rose Bush

This stunning rose bush has been on this property for over sixty years. I know this because my neighbor Dottie has lived in the house next door for eighty years and she knows everything about this house.
The roses are a vintage pale white with just the slightest whisper of the lightest pink and when it blooms the fragrance and the flowers are plentiful. The pergola is a gift to them as much as it is for me so that it has a place to bloom wildly.

I brought the ladder to the bush and tried to place it firmly on the flat part of the ground so that I wouldn’t fall as fear of falling has become part of my thinking lately. I couldn’t put off this task for another weekend as the roses needed their new home space to begin their rapid bloom and this would be the last week before their growth would become nuclear.
I covered myself in long sleeves and gloves, sweatshirt added protection zipped up to my chin. In my pocket I had the green rubbery spool of the most brilliant invention, a flexible product that allowed me to tie the branches without harming their freedom.
So I began the arduous task of retraining the rose branches to go where I wanted them to go so that I would have a shelter of roses and smell that would honor their place in my garden.

We fought and struggled. After all they were here first and though they didn’t ask for this pergola as their new expanding residence, I knew what was best for their future in my garden so I humbly and respectfully plodded along with motherly care.
After an hour of getting pricked and poked, trying not to fall, baking in the sun with my layers of clothing, earbuds propelling song after song perfectly aligned with this task, I finished pointing them in the right direction.

Progress not perfection came to my mind. Roses are messy, thorny, fragrant, stunning, time consuming treasures in a garden. They have a mind of their own as they intertwined in a nest like way wrapping around each other as if they didn’t want to do anything except what they were doing. I like that about them, they just grow where they want, how they want not asking for order and neatness.

We seemed to work together in our dance yesterday. I didn’t find myself getting frustrated or annoyed with the pain they caused the tops of my hands as my cloth gloves weren’t the armor strong enough for protection. I just moved along at the pace that was my own— staying in the moment, not feeling rushed to get it done because there was no rush. I was in my favorite space, creativity and design. This is what gives my life meaning and joy, creative power. Perhaps this is why I create the chaos of changing things around so much, because it forces creativity. My life is seldom at a standstill and neither are the roses.

Related: If you admire roses as much as I do, you will love this Rose Smoothing Exfoliating Gel.

This is my life now. No rush to get things done, to move with the flow that life presents. There seems to be a new call to order for me, and that is patience with the process. And this is a good thing.

If you need to plant your own flowers, these new pots will settle your soul.