Feeding My Soul

I grew up in a household in which the magazine du jour was Reader's Digest. Being even then an avid reader - the kind who will read the backs of cereal boxes if need be - I read them every month. Having the type of mind I do - the garbage can kind that holds all kinds of small bits and pieces of useless information thrown into it over the years - I still remember a few articles from way back when.

One of them was written by a wife describing her husband's purchase of a lavender Cadillac, despite their financial insecurity at the time, and how she overcame her concerns about paying the rent and feeding the kids to enjoy the joyous inauguration ride. The author cited a Hindu proverb: "If you have two loafs of bread, give one to the poor and sell the other to buy hyacinths to feed your soul."

Many years later, the proverb still resonates with me. (The story still sticks with me too, but for different reasons. Did they pay their rent or were they evicted? What did the kids eat? Did she eventually grow tired of the lavender Cadillac and his irresponsible ways? Did they stay married?)

I always liked the image of feeding one's soul with flowers. I always liked the realization that sometimes you need more than bread, or need something other than bread, to keep going.

That quote has been on my mind a lot in recent weeks. It has shadowed me all day today. It swam alongside me this morning at the Y; it accompanied me as I walked to and from a midday downtown coffee date. I kept turning the quote over in my mind, and before I got home, I figured out I'd better be finding some hyacinths.

Lately, I have been dealing with a touch of depression. Not so black and suffocating that I cannot draw a breath that is not raggedy, not so omnipresent that I cannot do anything other than stare out the window, but depression all the same.

Depression and I are old friends. I have been fortunate not to suffer heavily from it; we have a respectful relationship at this point in my life. Generally I have found my bouts with it to be times of self-reflection, albeit times when my world has the sound turned off and the color missing.

Right now the colors are merely muted and the sounds turned down.

It has been a busy spring - too busy in some ways, and too tiring in others. Between work and the Symphony and our respective children and Life in general, both Warren and I have had overfull plates for weeks on end. As of late, Warren has been building a shed - 12 x 14 - and that has dominated our free time. I am helping on the periphery of the project, not as much as I would like but as much as I am capable, and that along with gardening and other homefront tasks has hit me hard in the exhaustion and overdoing it departments.

Exhaustion and overdoing it are depression triggers for me.

Another trigger is Sam, who has now been out in Oregon for about 7 weeks. We talked today and he is struggling a little at his end: looking for work, worrying about putting food on the table. I am so proud of him for making the leap. All the same, I miss him tremendously and worry about him as he moves into adulthood.

Warren does a wonderful job taking care of me. He is concerned about my mood and trying hard not to hover too much. I have explained to him that for this type of sadness, I have to work through it on my own at times, as it keeps its own schedule and its own company.

And working through it brings me back to the opening quote about buying hyacinths to feed one's soul. I recently learned that there is a very similar quote in the Koran:

If of all your worldly goods you are bereft,
and two loaves of bread alone to you are left;
sell one, and with the dole,
buy hyacinths to feed your soul.

I like the Hindu version better. Giving one loaf to the poor fits more with my own beliefs. Still, I appreciate that two world religions found caring for one's inner needs to be of such importance that it triumphs over food.

It's not hyacinth season in Ohio. The days are turning hotter and more humid; the stores are selling flats of summer annuals. While driving out of the Westfield parking lot yesterday, I glanced over at the Kroger seasonal garden center. The petunias were in tiers of colors: pink, red, white, blue, purple, lavender. The colors were so crisp that they sliced through my muted mood sharply and quickly, so much so that I wheeled back into the lot and jumped out of the car.

There are now three flats of petunias on the rear deck. In a moment, I will pick up a trowel and head outside. There are flower containers to fill.

And my soul to feed. Petunias will do so just fine.