Greg GibsonTHURSDAY MORNING GARDENING CLUB - Part 2*"I think I am going to like my new primary. He actually listens to what I am saying," Ada claims as she continues to snip at the flower's leaves. "That is good. Every time I go to my doctor and complain about an ache or pain, it's like when you take your car to the mechanic complaining of a noise, and then your car suddenly decides to run properly. It's as if my pain has a mind of its own and decides to quit acting up when I get to my doctor," Phyllis adds as she stares out into the garden. "Do you complain to the car doctor as much as you complain to your primary?" Bernice jabs as she bundles a group of flowers to cure. "Ha! Ha! Ha!" Phyllis sarcastically says as she struggles to stand from her chair. "You'll need to excuse me while I go lie down for a bit. All this morning's excitement and witty humor has worn me out." She then starts walking off to the couch popping a sucker in her mouth as she goes. "I worry about her," Ada says after she is comfortable Phyllis is not in listening range. "I do, too. Her children are often busy with their own lives. Her son tries to get by to visit for an hour or two on the weekends." Bernice finishes hanging her last bunch of flowers and then pulls up a chair to the patio table. "Her son is talking of putting her in a home." "Why? She is doing so much better these last few months." "I know. If anything were to go past talk, I would seriously consider moving her in with me." Bernice grabs a paper and starts to fan herself. "It would surely kill her spirit to be put in a home." "Do you think you can handle the extra work with your health?" "It would be tough, but what can I do? Her charm has started to spread on me like poison ivy," Bernice grins as she puts the fan down. "I was reading in one of my MS magazines about how people are starting these communes. They live in separate quarters; even whole families, kids and all, can share in this. Everyone contributes to the collective what they can. This way they all can lean on each other as their health demands. I always thought about starting a place like that even before I read the article." "I can see that working. I would just be afraid of people thinking you are running a cult when you talk commune." "No, seriously. Think about it; expand that to include people with all types of disabilities to live under one roof so that no one has to go it alone. I think learning about another person's life struggles takes my mind off my own for a while. It gives me a new appreciation for the diversity of people overcoming obstacles. Plus, helping others makes me feel useful. It seems like a win/win." They both sit back deep into their chairs in silence listening to the birds sing and feeling the breeze brush their cheeks. Bernice closes her eyes for a moment and lets her thoughts drift along; Ada notices, and decides to close hers, too. "This is sure peaceful," Ada softly says after a few minutes. "I can sit here like this all day." After a few more minutes of silence, Bernice asks, "How would you feel about adding new members to our little club?" "Do you mean growing past the four of us? That's four if we haven't scared off Mr. Quiet over there." "Is there going to be tea and muffins every week?" My stomach can't help but wonder. "Yes. I might even give you one or two to take home if you're good," Bernice states giving me that grandmotherly grin. "Then count me in." With the excitement of the prospect of new members growing in Ada, she continues, "I think we should keep our focus to adding individuals with disabilities." "I am already with you on that. In fact, I have someone I would like to invite next week. Do you remember the girl I told you I met at the hospital last month while getting my MRI?" "Wasn't she in a wheelchair from a car accident she had when she was a teenager? Wasn't her name Chelsey?" "That's the one. I was talking with her over the weekend about our little Thursday Morning Gardening Club and she was thinking of possibly joining us. I wanted to run it by you to see what you thought, and then run it by grumpy pants when she wakes up." "What about transportation? Does she drive?" "She does. But since I have been telling her how wild our parties get, she is having her dad drop her off and pick her up in her van." "Her dad? Does he know what we do here?" "He does. According to him, ever since the accident she has not been the same. Besides it paralyzing her, she also lost her best friend that night. Her depression, along with her unwillingness to open up to anyone, including her therapists, has her father worried." "Poor girl. I couldn't imagine. Please do invite her." Ada sits back in her chair "Good. I figured a little grandmotherly love and my special muffins might be just what the doctor ordered. I thought later in the afternoon on Thursdays after everyone has left, she and I could chat over a friendly game of scrabble." "I don't see any problem. It will be fun to grow our little group of potheads." They both return to their thoughts. Ada begins to think of what it might be like to know someone in a wheelchair. Each day that goes by with the progression of her MS means one day closer to the possibility of her being in a wheelchair herself, something she struggles with and still tries to fight. She has a scooter collecting dust in the corner of her garage. She bought it for when her friends comes to visits from out of town and they go tour the parks. She begins to feel a nervous wrench deep in her gut as her thoughts take her from the difficulty she has now wobbling around as she walks, to the prospect of her collapsing into the permanent home of the motorized wheelchair. Then a noise suddenly startles her out of her quiet place. "Well, good morning, sleepy head," Ada says as Phyllis hobbles into the sunroom. "Did you have a nice nap?" "Woke up stiff. They are calling for rain on Saturday." Phyllis says as she sits down and proceeds to take out a partially licked sucker from its plastic. After a moment of silence, "Have I ever told you about my brush with a stigmata, Ada?" "Your what? " "My stigmata." "Oh, here we go. Phyllis's brain must be fresh," Bernice says with a grin. "This is a true story I am about to tell you. One Sunday morning I am sitting next to my friend in Holy Family Catholic Church wondering what is going on since I've never been to a Catholic mass before. My friend has asked me to accompany her to church several times, even though she knows I am Lutheran; finally I agreed. It is the part of the service where everyone is kneeling. Luckily no one would expect me to get on my knees at my age so I don't feel bad not joining them. As I am sitting there with my hands resting in my lap, I notice the red scars left in the palm of my hands from my back to back carpel tunnel surgeries from not too long before. The incision marks are still red and tender. I have not really sat back and noticed them side-by-side since the surgeries. I then look up and see Jesus on the cross, which is something I don't see in the Lutheran church I go to. I see the red in His hands where the nails went through, and I begin to stare. I then look back down to mine. Then back up to His. Then back down to mine. Then I rest in His. At that moment I fell to my prosthetic knee and hips, throwing my arthritic and artificial shoulders up in the air, praying for the forgiveness of all humanity for the pain man put Him through as remembering the pain and sorrow I now experience. That is when I became a true believer. The redness on my hands has gone away, but I will never forget that moment," Phyllis concludes as she leans back deeper in the chair. "Are you being serious? Was this an actual event?" Ada asks in disbelief. "She actually is," Bernice says as she looks over at Phyllis. "She has never been the same after her coming to Christ moment." "Are either one of you being serious?" Ada asks again as she scans back and forth between the two stoic faces looking out into the garden. "I give up on the two of you." As she concludes, she joins the two faces looking out into the garden. Suddenly the silence is broke. "Phyllis, while you were napping, Bernice was talking about inviting a new person named Chelsey to join us next week. We were also talking about how it might be nice to open our Thursday Morning Gardening Club to include whoever might be disabled and looking for a little companionship. I said it was alright. What do you think?" "Whatever you guys decide, I am fine with it," Phyllis returns without taking her eyes off the garden. "I think we should keep the group inclusive not to attract those people who might look down on what we are doing here." "Nobody is looking down at us. Marijuana has been engrained in people to mean something bad. I think there a lot worse things being done to treat what ails us. And if people are going to scoff, then let them. I just know what it does for me. What do you have to say on the matter, Greg? You have just sat there most of the morning scarfing down my muffins with that stupid grin on your face." Bernice asks. I straighten in the chair and take a deep breath to try to focus my thoughts. "I don't know if I have completely decided yet. I have tried many pharmaceutical medications to treat my pain, depression, spasms and anxiety over these last eight years, having many unpleasant side effects. I think more attention needs to be focused on the positive side of marijuana use for medical reasons, both physically and mentally. I don't think marijuana should replace pharmaceuticals completely, maybe used to complement one another; and from there, a supplement to a regiment of many different things." "How many bakey-treats have you been eating?" Phyllis chimes in sarcastically. "Not enough to go any deeper than that over the matter." Bernice's face transforms into a smile as she reaches over, passing me the plate full of muffins—"Then here, have another one."
*Part 1 of "Thursday Morning Gardening Club" 1 appeared in the September 2014 issue of Wordgathering. To read it click here.
|