Change of Venue

Last year when we went strawberry picking, I bought a winged pig made of metal and put it on the front porch. At the time, the writing thing was still a pipe dream. I’d finished my first real draft, I’d pitched (and been rejected), but I was still full of hope.

This year, I decided to keep up with the pig theme and bought something called a Sproutlet – which is really just a glorified chia pet for kids. (Or for dorks like me, apparently.) But the theory is that you can cut their “hair” or put it in pony tails or whatever.

So last Wednesday I decided to give it a shot and watered it up real nice and put it in my cube. After all, the directions did say something about indirect sunlight, and my place of employment keeps making this stink about how “green” this building is. Alas, after two days, nothing happened and I wondered if maybe I just got a bad batch of seed.

I went and put it in a co-worker’s cube on Friday afternoon where actual sunlight comes through the windows and when I came in on Monday – well, you can see for yourself. My piggy sprout had a ton of hair!

The obvious writing metaphor here is that sometimes though your ideas may churn away in your mind – to really germinate, you need to get out of your cube (or office, or wherever you may be holed up at the time.) Experience life. Get some sun.

The flip side of that is that these particular grass seeds are Ryegrass – which is an annual (at least in the South).  Lounge about in the sun for too long, and the ideas may die before you get them down. Or as the Sproutlet directions so helpfully state: If your Sproutlet goes bald, clean the container and use as a mini planter or gadget holder (perfect for pens or paperclips!)

Which is just a fancy way of saying life is short. Paperclips or grass – the choice is yours.

And I’m throwing this up here today since I listened to it on the way into work and it just brightened my entire morning.

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4 Responses to Change of Venue

  1. Danica says:

    Great advice, Allison. Getting out there and experiencing life is so much better than sitting on the sidelines daydreaming about it. But I have a really comfortable chair and I hate moving more than I have to, lol ūüėČ

  2. MeredithC says:

    Warning: Totally inappropriate, half-drunken post to follow:

    Well. since I broke the fourth wall once before on this blog, I figure, what the hell, I'll do it again. I got terrible news today about my godmother a few hours ago (cancer of the lung/brain). She is someone I love dearly, and since I am two deep in BIG bottles of Ninkasi (that's delicious, effective Pacific NW beer, for those of you on the east coast), with no blog of my own, and just tipsy enough to leave this post, so here I am. But there's relevance (if only in a majorly hopped-up way) to your chia pet.

    Life is short, and it's so true that life is to be experienced and shared. Renee is 86 and has lived through some major sh** (she's French, was a teenager during the Nazi occupation, and although we've danced around her telling me her story, she demurs.  "I'm not the hero in that story," she says. "I did so much I'm not proud of." ) Can you imagine?

    She befriended my mother when they were both cocktail waitresses in the 1960s in Tucson, and she tossed a quarter into a jar when my mom feared she was preganant "yet again" (I'm the fifth of five) and said if the test came back positive, she'd be my godmother.

    Best twenty-five cents anyone's ever spent on me, let me tell you.

    Anyway, I recall from previous posts that you'd lost your mom to cancer, so right or wrong, I figured I'd lay this here, in a place where someone might understand the need to just get it out there. God bless cyber space.

    If I ever get around to creating my own blog, I suppose I can put my own angst  there. You get it for now.  Thanks for listening.

  3. Jeffe says:

    The beauty of blogs and other social media, I think, is that there is no fourth wall. It's an ongoing conversation with no barriers. I'm glad you shared that story, Meredith — it's a good one and well-worth laying before the world.

  4. mynfel says:

    There's no right or wrong to grief, Meredith. Or even in the way it's expressed. It just is.

    In the few months before my mother died, I used to break down in the car on the way home from work (very long commute due to traffic.) Sometimes it would only take a thought or a song or even something random. Sometimes I'd really cry and sometimes it was just a lump in my throat. Proactive grief, maybe. I knew what was coming and I knew I couldn't stop it and it just sorta came out of me that way.

    In the end, though – there was nothing I could do, and it's something I'm still coming to terms with, as most of you probably know by now.

    There's a lot of hurt and helplessness in your post,  but there's love too Рyou can see how much your godmother means to you in every word.

    So what you're going to do now is cry it out and grieve a bit and then you're going to go love her for the remaining time you have, as best you can, in whatever way you can. 


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