The Mint Patch Monologue

Category: Gladys Taber Tribute Series

writing inspired by Gladys Taber

  • Te amo

    “All you have to do is write 1 true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.” Ernest Hemingway

    On an uninspiring February weekend I turned towards the greats for some direction. Although not favored by all I love the story of Hemingway’s swashbuckling life and his writing. What is the truest sentence I know, I wonder, and who is my true self. The truest thing I know, besides what I have come to understand about love, is what happens if you plant a seed. The knowledge and ability of Mother Nature and her natural world could never mislead us, even in her harshness she has been honest. Truer things are those that appeal to the senses, the smell of the lilac and the sound of the cello. These offerings are sacred, they ring the same bells as the libraries, museums, national parks, and theaters. During a time of such distrust going on in our world, I’ll remind you of where to find the truth. It’s at the bottom of a steaming bowl of salty chicken noodle soup, enjoyed beneath the soft weight of an old quilt. It’s in the attempts to speak Spanish with your local Mexican servers who brings you rounds of chips and salsa, and fat margaritas, the goodness of sharing culture. There is truth that the heart benefits when we accept people that are different than us, diversity is healthy for the human ecosystem, just as it is for the wolves in the wild.

    We can see hatred on the faces of the hateful, their expressions curled into ugliness over time comes to the surface so they can’t hide forever. Those folks are not the sacred ones, instead listen for the voices of Mr. Rogers and the characters from Sesame Street, watch John Candy inspire Olympic athletes to finish the race, or find the picture of the Kentucky Governor posing with drag queens because he believes that ALL of us are children of God. I think I saw the truest sentence ever this weekend in bold letters above the performing stage of the Super Bowl “the only thing more powerful than hate is love.” The trueness of this sentence is freedom, how free we all are to decide who we’re gonna spend our lives being, and a warning of the power of hate and the destruction it can lead to.

    May this lend a flutter of hope into your hearts the way the Latin American culture has fluttered within my heart tonight.

    Please, reach out because I DO love to chat!

    readnwrite11@gmail.com

  • Do not fight the old man

    I am under the winter spell, as much as I swore to avoid it this year. It seems today when I can adventure outside, how late I can sleep in, and what ends up on my plate. I am not working with winter, I am trying to survive it. The bitter cold has found its way into my bones, and they ache with longing for a warm breeze through my wet hair. The wind has taken the breath from my lungs and left me gasping for anything that can return my spark. I remind myself that a day like today is only good for caramelizing onions, and hiding. I look into the eyes of those around me and notice they too are taking a beating from the season, everyone looks heavy, and weak. Tonight, the forecast warns of temperatures as low as 10 degrees. There is this presence in my lower back, something that feels like a boulder, wedging itself deep against my spine, forcing my ribs to slump over and my shoulders to round. Even my blankets feel tired and worn through, the folding and the unfolding ages a quilt past its soft stage as it thins. Just like aging skin, something that old can tear easily and must be considered delicate now. My spirit is brittle like the trees that drop their branches, they shatter against the pavement with whipping sounds that are startling and remind me of pain. I say all of this to remind you that the struggle is collective. As much as we may try to avoid the punch of January, to outsmart it or to conquer it, our bodies seem to power down to conserve. We do have 2 choices, I believe. The first choice is to honor the season with prioritizing rest, to sway in the benefits of surrender, to trust in the process of hibernation, to keep its ancient secrets revealed to you in the dark. Intention for these days will wave your lack for productivity, and your mission for stillness and quiet will honor you in return. The second choice is to rebel, to adorn yourself in fur and jewels and paint the bars and theaters with your finest efforts in resistance. Whatever that quest means for you, a chance to look old man winter in the face and say to him “not now sir, I will not be moved against my plot for today.” If you only muster the courage to battle the cold until YOU decide it’s time to shiver, stand up to that little voice that says to run inside and instead remind yourself you are stronger than the wind. Our ancestors instilled in us a stubbornness to the elements, they had little choice in order to survive but we have the luxuries of modern comforts. Maybe we could avenge their efforts by channeling the spirits of those who had to endure an unforgiving winter by confronting it ourselves. Maybe a portal to the past would open, and our bodies could take on the grit of those who were once on the Oregon trail. We can honor nature, but we can also challenge it. The freedom to choose between rest and resistance is a lucky endeavor, whatever we choose we must only avoid fighting it. The bleak and bitter January is inevitable but never permanent. Soon the color shall run back into our complexion as the frost melts and waters run again. Until then, hold steady mate.

    Thank you for reading and as always please reach out, I DO love to chat!

    readnwrite11@gmail.com