This is the day; May 3, 2013. The first official deck night of the season.

We’ve left the cold behind and it’s nothing but weekends outdoors until October. Unless it rains.

Or gets too fucking hot.

And perhaps not if it’s unseasonably cold.

But other than that deck night is fucking on.

Last year was a bust. I blame it on a snake. My very first day out in the garden resulted in me getting within a few feet of a snake. And I was on my knees. Gardening was pretty much over for the season when that happened. We did NOT dress up the deck.

Dressing up the deck is a big part of the fucking point.

This year? This year has been in preparation for a while. I discovered motherfucking Pinterest, bitches. I’ve been spending my cold rainy spring painting flower pots and they are the SHIT.

Every. Single. Pot. Has a splashes of color on it. Except for one. One that is predominantly displayed is a rectangular plastic planter than has seen MANY better days and is spray painted a pine green color. Kind of spray painted.

I’m not touching that one.

I started out intending to think of nothing but dressing my deck up. I had no idea my old green planter would make me think so hard.

My childhood was fucked up. My mother was extremely depressed and my father was psychotic.  Not psychotic in that ‘he was a difficult and somewhat erratic person’ He was fucking psychotic. He had electric shock therapy when I was 4 years old.

My mother had an Aunt and Uncle who were brother and sister. Neither had married and they stayed together until they died.  My Aunt Marg and Uncle Vince. If it weren’t for my great Aunt and Uncle, I would have very little to recall from my childhood with fondness. I don’t know any different, so I don’t know for sure. But I think I’d endure it all over again if it meant growing up a different life without them in it.

I guess that says enough. You all have people. Maybe you feel the way I do about a relative or friend. I hope you do. My aunt has been dead for 31 years and I still miss her. I miss her often.

My Aunt and Uncle gave me the only solid sense of security I had as a child.

We were transient when I was a kid. Like an army brat without the military. My father was restless and we moved.

By restless, I mean he gambled and we had to keep a steady downward mobility to stay under roof.

I’ve felt my whole life that I’ve missed out on something because I don’t understand what it has to have roots. I am 50 years old and I’ve lived in 28 different houses or apartments in my life. I think. I’ve counted a few times but I always seem to forget a place or two.

I don’t get the ‘this is my friend I’ve had for 40 years’ thing because my friends are very nearly always new friends. Not that it’s bad. I have some new friends these days that have made me very happy. I am extremely grateful for the friends I’ve made over the past few years, they been some of the best friends of our lives.  Also, I did manage to hold on to a few old ones from our previous town 6 years ago, so THAT is growth. Fine, maybe not fucking much, but it’s something.

I meant to just work on the deck. I didn’t mean to think about my aunt and uncle. I didn’t plan to ponder whether or not I’ve missed out horribly on the whole ‘I’ve had this friend since childhood’ thing.

Then I looked at this flower pot. The one that used to be my Aunt Marg’s flower pot. I’m pretty sure she is the one who spray painted it. She always grew Geraniums in it. I’m going to do pots of Petunias in all the painted pots and I’ll plant gardenias in my old green planter.

I like to think my Aunt Marg  is the one who spray painted the planter. Realistically, though, my mother is probably the one who painted it. She had it for years.

I’m going to go ahead and believe that my Aunt is the one who painted it. I will be thankful that she reminded me that I do have roots that run old and deep. I’ve taken that for granted for far too many years.