Yesterday, while I was at work, the hundred-degree heat slowly melted my shitty be-vinyled windowsill. Hot, soft vinyl tore away from the house under the power of relentless sun and the weight of my favorite window box. Finally, the basil plants I grew from seed went plummeting down to the landlord's stinking garden below. The molded plastic box cracked open, and the fragile plants died on the cement among the dog doo, weeds, and garbage.
But then. One of my very favorite people in the whole world left me a phone message, saying that she won a huge huge grant for her beautiful work. Her work, which is so genuine, intrinsically and vitally links the making of art with the growing of gardens. The work is alive, it's growing, it looks like alchemy. I appreciate the karmetic loss of my sad mini-garden in trade for a true and ecstatic garden lover's gain. I am so totally proud and excited for her.