Who am I, really?

Inner conflict...

It's what makes a great protagonist in your favorite fiction, be it in print or on the silver screen. Without it, Indiana Jones, Luke Skywalker, and Sam Spade would all be as woefully two-dimensional as Vin Diesel's character in XXX, whatever his name was.

But when the inner conflict comes home to roost in your own heart and soul, it's not nearly so interesting.

Now I'm not going to kid myself. I know that I am not the only one that faces inner conflict. In fact, I would be willing to wager that all but the truly self-aware, and the truly shallow deal with their own personal Darth Vader/Anakin Skywalker duel on a daily basis.

But, as usual, I was faced with one of my greatest inner conflicts this past weekend. Because my grandmother was in the hospital with pneumonia (she's out now and recovering well), I went to visit my family at the old homestead, rather than go to Eric's graduation from med school (that's Michelle's brother, BTW).

It was a weekend of hard work. It's hay-baling season, so the farm has more work than usual needing to be done. I got to the farm Friday evening and immediately set to work helping my dad replace the bearings on one of the sickle mowers and put it back together. And we did. Dad and I have always made a great team when it comes to fixing equipment.

And so I stood at the corner of the meadow, as the sun slipped below the horizon, and the day began to cool off, the dew already beginning to rise, bringing with it the smells of freshly cut grass, moist, sandy soil and honeysuckle. I breathed in the fresh air, felt the cool breath of wind on my face, felt it cooling my sweat-soaked shirt, better than any air conditioning unit in the world...and I realized how much I had missed this.

A part of me has always, and will always belong right there on that 150-acre ranch in Northeast Texas. But, sadly, it is not where I can be at this point in my life. In fact, I don't foresee a way that I will ever be able to be there for more than a few days at a time ever again. It will always be Home, with a capital H, but it won't ever be home again, the place that I make my life and career.

And it pains me. If I could, at least this is what I tell myself, I would be a full-time rancher. It would be a dream realized to work that land with my brother and father and grandfather, as we used to when I was young. But to do it as a man, to make a living at it, to see things grow, and build something that endures, to go to bed each night, as I did this weekend, knowing that I had truly accomplished something with my time, my sweat, my effort. That would indeed be a dream.

But it must be a dream deferred, for now. I have made my choices for the foreseeable future. I have a career, I have a life here, one that I would not give up lightly, and I have an obligation to Michelle to help her fulfill her aims in life, just as she does for me.

What does my future hold? Will I be a successful writer? Will I end up doing something entirely different? Will I ever see that dream fulfilled, of my own ranch, one that I built with my own hands?

So many questions. So many unanswered questions...

Meh...

Well, I'm at home "sick" today, so I thought I'd put something--anything--down, since I haven't been very keen on blogging lately.

I really was feeling ill this morning. Upset stomach and headache and just a generalized feeling of discomfort. I've been feeling that all too often lately, and I'm turning into a bit of a hypochondriac. I swear, I'm beginning to think I need therapy for PTSD or something. I just can't shake these feelings that I'm going to suddenly keel over with a heart-attack, even though all the tests have been clear, and there's nothing to suggest I should have any problems.

But that wasn't going to be the point of my post, except that lately it's been on my mind alot. Frankly, it's getting annoying.

No, my post is called "meh" because that's the way I've felt lately, emotionally and physically. It's not the kind of deep funk, or even depression that I've been through periodically before, it's just, well, meh. I just don't feel like I'm going anywhere or accomplishing anything lately.

It seems like all of my friends have things really starting to happen for them lately. Michelle B's got a new job, Lisa's getting all kinds of interviews (even though I know she too goes through periods of self-doubt, as do we all), Babs is living the sweet life of a freelancer, Dipu's...well, we'll soon find out, but I suspect Dipu's got new job on the way, Sarah just got married and is going to get her MBA in Seattle, JoAnn is getting married, Luke just finished up his MBA, Michelle (my Michelle) is finally starting to come into her own at CPS, even though she's the only one that doesn't realize it, and I'm not sure if "coming into your own at CPS" is necessarily a great thing.

Dammit! I just realized something. Just now as I was writing this...

I feel like a selfish git. I was about to write a paragraph saying how I don't begrudge any of my friends their success, and I don't I really don't. But as I was writing that last paragraph, I just began to realize what a lucky bastard I am. All those people. All YOU wonderful people. As I list out your names, I realize how many friends I have, scattered all over the state, and all over the country. Strong, brilliant, amazing people. And you all count me as a friend. How freakin' lucky am I?

And here I am bitching and moaning because I don't feel perfect.

I was going to wrap this post up by talking about how I feel like I'm spinning my wheels, like I'm not going anywhere, that all I have to look forward too is some half-dead petunias on my back porch. I was going to go on and on about how I can't make myself do things I want to do, like write more, or exercise more, or blah blah blah.

But as I was writing this, I just remembered what a great life I really have. Because of all of you. Because I'm blessed to know you, and to watch you all do such wonderful things, and to be a part of all of your lives, even in some small way.

I don't really have any place left to go with this post. You guys don't realize it, but you all just made me feel a whole lot better. By just being out there. By just being you.

Yeah, I'm a sap. And this turned out to be a really sappy post, and went a totally different direction than I intended. But there it is. Thanks you guys.

Just...thanks...

Peppers and Petunias

Howdy, folks!

By now, you're all wondering if I had suffered some horribly maiming accident, one that left me still with my brilliant literary mind intact, yet unable to pour forth my cogitations into the ether.

Well, nothing of the sort. My real reason for being lax in my ebullient verbiage is that, well, it's springtime...er...summer. Hell, who knows what it is? It's Texas, so you take what you can get. Whatever it may be, the weather is warm/hot, the grass is green...ish, and the flowers are blooming--and killing everybody's allergy-ridden sinuses.

So naturally, I've been spending alot of my time--time I would otherwise spend blogging--working in my yard. In fact, just this very evening, I have struggled to convert the tiny slab of concrete that passes for a back patio on my house into a veritable hotbed of soon to be (I hope) thriving vegetable matter.

So here's a short chronicle, for those of you interested, in my attempts at gardening this season.

I started out with the sure thing, my long-established antique or tea rose on the southern side of my garage. As always, it's doing well, growing like a weed, and has already put on several beautiful blossoms, most of which I harvested to decorate my mantelpiece.

My planting started with my front flower bed. I tried something different this year, some flowers I wasn't familiar with: violas and sweet williams. As always, they are sprouting well in that spot. I don't know why, but it seems to take small flowers perfectly. The same cannot be said, however, for my new rose bush. I tried planting a Shreveport rose (it has the most gorgeous red-orange blossoms) in the back corner of the bed. Sadly, it's dead. Or at least it appears so. I haven't given up hope, though. I'm watering it regularly and hoping it will come back from the roots. The vigil continues.

My real hope is for the potted plants (no, not pot plants, potted plants) on my patio. I'm trying to grow sweet banana peppers again this year, but after my miserable failure with starting from seeds last year, I started with young plants this time. I had a dozen of them crammed together, and they weren't really thriving, so this afternoon, I chose the best five, and transplanted each of them into their own sizeable pot.

Plus, this weekend, my mother gave me a whole flat of petunias that she didn't have room for in her garden. So I potted those up and I'm hoping I did it right. I'm new at the whole transplanting thing, and I'm not sure if they'll take. But we'll see.
And finally, I used my long planter to put down some catnip seeds. If I haven't waited too late in the season, they cats should get a huge kick out of them.

So, to sum up, here is this years Kimbrough Garden Starting Lineup:

One tea rose
One Shreveport rose (presumed dead)
One row of Sweet Williams
One row of Violas
Five sweet banana pepper plants
Two pots of Petunias
And a planter of lovely caaaaaaaaatniiiiiiiiiiip.
(You should have sung that last verse like you would a partridge in a pear tree.)

That's about it. I know you're all beside yourselves with anticipation to see who will put down roots and become this years garden champion. I should have pics at some point.

Stay tuned...