sowing tender_square he came into the living room to set up the tray tables for dinner, interrupting her as she was starting at her phone. “you look distraught.” “oh?” she looked up. “i was just reading something beautiful and it affected me.” he gave her a look of disbelief. in her horoscope there was a 21st century proverb rob brezsny quoted that reflected the mood of american culture: “never reveal all you know, confess everything you feel, show how much you care, or give all you have.” and he challenged readers to prove that proverb wrong by embodying its opposite: “cultivate power by revealing all you know, confessing everything you feel, showing how much you care, and giving all you have.” and she was moved in two ways. in her secret life, she knew she was embracing that very ethos, living without fear, living inside the fullness of love, and the beauty of that approach renewed her daily. but in her actual life, the one where she spent the vast majority of her time, she was upholding several limits: never saying aloud what her inner wisdom whispered to her; hiding the pain and preemptive grief she was experiencing whenever possible; withdrawing into herself because she was exhausted and vulnerable; and protecting her time because, by extension, it allowed her to protect herself. she wished she could let those limits go, yet she recognized they were there for her protection and she was being called to honor them. as they ate their meal, she could feel him studying her face for subtle changes in her expression. after they finished eating, she stood at the sink washing pots and pans and the hot tears streamed like the hot water from the tap scalding her cheeks and her hands. she was anxious and wanted to be anywhere but inside the house. she wanted to walk, alone, to center herself. but doing would only invite more of his attention, which she was desperate to get away from. she stood at their bedroom door. “i need to walk,” she said. “and i can go alone. you can come with me if you want, but i know you don’t have your stuff on.” he was alarmed. “what’s wrong?” “nothing. i just need to be outside right now.” it wasn’t a satisfactory answer. they walked their street and he pressed again. “is everything okay?” they hadn’t ventured far enough from his suspicious questioning of a few nights prior. she didn’t want to sow more doubt in his heart than she already had. “it’s nothing,” she said, linking her arm with his, “sometimes my mood just changes.” she knew she could not step comfortably into the silence. he left an opening for her to answer like her therapist did. “i’m worried about my family, after everything mom told me about.” “okay…” it wasn’t going to be enough to weave a narrative around. she could not discuss the real reasons why she was upset, the surface act of living being incongruent with how intensely she felt within. “well, i also think that talking to my girlfriend upset me some, though it’s nothing she said to me specifically…” “what about?” “her husband is looking for new work, which is surprising given his seniority at their company,” she began. “my friend doesn’t think he’ll take on a new job, even if offered one, because it means starting all over again.” they turned a corner and walked uphill. “it’s just…” she began to cry, “i know i can’t go back to my old job and i don’t have the energy to look for something else and start all over again at a new place, it’s too overwhelming.” it was true, she did have anxiety about her employability, but the anxiety was intertwined with her desire to leave; she needed to save up money and build up her self-worth again so she’d have the courage to return home without him. “if anyone can find work, you can,” he assured her. “you kick ass at these things. and if you’re worried about there being a gap in your resume, you can point to covid.” “i’m not worried about the gap, i have my editing business to fall back on,” she said. “it’s more that i want to be able to find a job like i had so i can keep writing. and i worry about being a woman nearing 40 in the workplace.” “how many resumes did your previous boss get for that job?” “i think she said 98.” “and you were the standout amongst all of them and they hired you.” she smiled. “thank you.” the conversation veered back to family, and he brought up his brother’s mental illness. “i feel like he has the wrong disposition toward things, and that has contributed to him feeling worse.” the more he spoke of his brother, the more she saw how alike they were, though her husband was not nearly as severe in his temperament. her mood shift that ignited the anxiety began earlier in the day, when they were cooking spinach pie. she had made two “mistakes” (her words): first, she’d bought a shallot instead of onion, and he complained that there wouldn’t be enough to match the ratio of the spinach. second, she neglected to wash the green onions (she didn’t want to add more water to the mix when spinach sweat so much) and he caught her and commented on it after she'd already begun slicing. later, she stood at the counter, brushing sheets of phyllo with olive oil next to the sink. he was at the stove picking through spinach leaves, scoffing every few seconds when he found bits that had been spoiled. he kept marching over to the sink and forcefully flinging the wet leaves from his fingers, she watched through her peripheral vision. her shoulders were tensing with his every move and she willed herself to breathe and relax. at one point, she turned from her task and walked over to him, put her arms around his waist and kissed his cheek, whispering “it’s okay.” she wanted to calm him down because he was making her uncomfortable. “it’s a pain in the ass because it looks good but then you get these parts hiding in it that are bad.” he always had this thing about spinach, it happened nightly when he made his smoothies, this parade of sorting and scoffing. he was far more particular about it than she was when she made salads with the same mix in the afternoons. after their post-supper walk, he sat on the couch and continued to encourage her about her job prospects. “i just don’t feel like i have the libido to take this on right now,” she admitted. “then maybe you should take that as a signal that you shouldn’t force it.” she cried. it was exactly what she needed to hear. she had been wanting her life to shift so she could feel grounded in herself again, but she couldn’t will that to happen on her timetable, she had to wait patiently. covid was still an issue and it could be some weeks until mass immunity was reached. “still reach out to your other coworkers in the meantime and maybe start scanning the university job board,” he suggested. “you’re planning seeds, and that will bring about results at some point.” she moved to the couch to hug him. “and it could be that that libido won’t get activated until you’re offered something and need to begin, and that’s okay too.” sometimes, she got so caught up in external action that she forgot that all the quiet, behind-the-scenes work she was doing would propel her to take on the next challenge. and she thought about her secret life and all the seeds she had been planting, and took solace in the bountiful harvest to come. 220114 ... unhinged i still remember the family affair that was helping gram sow her victory garden that was on the upper part of the backyard closest to the sliding doors of the walkout basement. she was the commandante; she knew the battle plan and directed all of us in the raking and hoing and rowing. i remember being old enough to realize that we were making food and my cosmic impatience was awestruck that my gram knew which plants to coax into little shoots before we laid out the garden, which seeds could go straight in the open dirt. 'come here nic. help me plant the corn.' she stuck her finger in the dirt and made a hook, pulled enough dirt out to make a deep narrow hole. she dropped the seed corn in my hand and i was surprised that it was so mundane, looked like a dried up version of a single pearl of corn on the cob, but also like a tooth. i wanted to examine it, brought it close to my face. 'no messing around nic. put the seed in the hole and cover it back up with the little pile of dirt.' her sure hands showed me with such quick motions i wasn't sure i was doing it right, looked up at her. she snapped on her wintergreen dentyne and nodded at me and laughed. 'follow me kid. we are gonna finish this row. by the middle of the summer the corn will be taller than you. since you helped gram plant it, you can take whatever you want when it's ready.' the middle of the summer seemed like it was a year away. but eventually the sun and rain and seeds did what they do and gram was in the backyard pointing at which peppers and tomatoes i should pick for her because she didn't want to bend over from the ache in her back. 220115 what's it to you? who go blather from