Trees

Watch a tree. Seriously, grab a seat, kick back for a century or so and revel in how it’s long arms stretch and clutch to the sun while avoiding the shadow.

 

Wanna hear a math joke? You’ve got 3 seconds to say no.  What?  I can’t hear you!  Great! Way to reach for the light!  Here goes:

 

What did the acorn say when it grew up?

Gee-I’ma-tree!

 

Hey!  Where did everybody go? That one killed at Slide-rula-palooza. Even Steven Hawking laughed.  Although that was kinda creepy. I think he’s a Math Sith Lord.

 

I can feel your anger. It gives you focus. It makes you stronger.

 

That’s just me hawking a bad joke.  I need to get back to pruning my tree—so to speak. That’s what I’m talking about today: trees and pruning.  Won’t that be fun?  Jump into your small world craft as the children lull you with their world of laughter and world of tears. I’ll ready the rope and the shears.

 

That’s one of the things I’ve learned about divorce:  It’s one great pruning; everything goes.

 

Relationships-clip-clip.

Material positions-clip-clip.

Emotional security-clip-clip.

Dignity-well, the next sound you hear will be the courtroom chainsaw priming for your big chunks.

 

When it’s done, all that’s left is a Charlie Brown Christmas twig surrounded by piles of dog poop and detritus.  Don’t worry, you’ll get to keep that; it’s a little smelly, but it’ll create a great mulch and will form a topiary template for how you see your future relationships. Whatever you do with it, it’s your baggage, and it’s really just the same ol’ crap.

 

That’s all of us after divorce, even me: a twig in the sand.  The good news is that if the over pruning doesn’t wipe you out, there’s nothing left but growth.  You’ll flourish. A strong tree sprouting new limbs you least expected.  We’re the same way. Me, I’m just a little thicker in the trunk.

 

The important thing is that good trees stretch towards the light; good limbs sprout leaves and bask in the new warmth.  It’s a time of regeneration.  You can hear the sigh’s of “ahhh” from all over the D360 orchard, as the over-pruned start anew.

 

It’s what makes the next step even harder.  See, a pruning is a process.  Good limbs grow, but so do bad ones.  They’re weak, or they’re twisted like ingrown nails. Bad limbs inhibit growth.  We never know they’re bad until it’s too late usually—until somebody comes back with the pruning shears.

 

I read a news article today.  Some woman was afraid she’d married a cheating willow, so she doused his…uhm middle limb…in alcohol, and set it on fire.  Surprisingly, he leapt from bed and ran around the house screaming.

 

Now, I’m guessing that this happened in the middle of the night.  What would that have been like? You’re there sleeping, dreaming of a perfectly good ham sandwich.  Now your body recognizes that something is touching your happy regions in your sleep so it gets all excited.  In your dream maybe the ham sandwich turns into a blond sandwich or something equally as cheesy, and your tiny acorn turns into a mighty oak. Then, just as things get good: FWOOM! 

 

AHHHHHH!! Now you’re running around the house screaming like a little school-girl with singed cookies.

 

What about anybody watching?  I’m sure your dancing flashlight is one nobody will forget for quite some time.

 

Goodness-gracious! Great balls of fire!

 

So what does his wife say after she’s scorched her husband’s tree to the ground?

 

“I just wanted to burn his penis so it belongs to me and no one else. I didn’t mean this to happen.”  Yeah, well that’s another case of fruits of victory turning to ashes in the mouth—so to speak. This woman is a serious over-pruner.

 

I’m happy to say I kept my tree in my divorce.  Some mornings I look down in the shower to make sure it’s still there.  It looks back in confirmation. 

 

Good to have you still with me!

Right backatcha, Rob!

 

That was not something MyEx pruned.  

 

But like I said, pruning is a process, and as I grow new dignity, things, and relationships, some well intending gardeners will prune.  That hurts.  Nobody likes to lose their limbs. Yet, it’s necessary.  It’s a natural part of growth, and it keeps us from becoming overburdened and self-conflicted with destructive things.

 

This knowledge doesn’t make it easier.  My limbs grow slow and cautious, so when the few sprouts I have get clipped (ok, no penis jokes please.  Just put down the penis and watch my other limbs, thank you.), I fret.

 

When pruned, it’s easy to forget our purpose and wilt.  I’ve gone through lots of secondary pruning lately, and It’s hard to see the mighty oak twig for the felled forest.  I see broken relationships, and personal branches ending short, cut away.  I can’t see the new growth. Still, I have to look.

 

The thing is, in the heart of winter things look bleak, but summer is coming, and I’ve learned that I have strong roots.  Even now, this nubby twig feels the twinge of growth. Maybe this year I’ll experience pollination, and grafting from other trees.

 

And what’s in store for you my sapling friends?  Well if this ashy white twig can survive prune happy gardeners, I’m sure that you too can grow to be big and tall. Just look out for the wacky lady with the alcohol soaked rag.  She’s a little crazy.