Dear Hildegaard

Goo job, mom!

Dear Hildegaard,

There is an abandoned schoolhouse in Jenner, California. It slouches in the dry summer heat, floorboards creaking, dust holding it together in places that used to be secured by wood and nails. I just had to see the inside. Luckily, your grandma is daring and not afraid to break some rules, so we made grandpa park, then hiked back into the straw-colored weeds until we found an entrance. 

Something you should know about your grandparents is that they love a good adventure, and they are always willing to pull the car over if you ever want to take a picture of something. That day, I took pictures of broken desks, old chalkboards covered in graffiti, and tried to capture the juxtaposition between shoots of new green grass growing between moldy floorboards. This was about ten years ago. 

I used to watch depressing movies back then, too. And listen to songs that would make me cry: on purpose. I was fascinated by broken things. Smokey eye-liner and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Then, one day, I was the one breaking in half. And suddenly all that hipster crap just didn’t seem as interesting anymore. Instead, I was starving for beauty. For color. For laughter. I watched The Office over and over and painted in the brightest, primary colors I could find at Hobby Lobby. It’s not that the melancholy, dusty parts of me were gone, it’s that I saw the unromantic underbelly of true suffering. 

I still love to blast old Dashboard Confessional albums in the car when I’m driving alone to the grocery store. I still like to spot contrasts - stark ones - where I can find them. I still watch Wes Anderson films and write some of the saddest poetry you will ever read. But you know what I enjoy more? Repotting plants with you out back. Watching you scoop dirt into your hands, still dimpled with youth, to transfer it to another pot. I say, “Good job, Hilde!” every time you put dirt in the right place. Then I busy myself again with re-potting and am startled to hear you say: “Goo job, Mom!” back to me. You smile like you are proud, my 21 month old baby,  encouraging her momma in an ordinary task. It felt extraordinary. I don’t have a word for it yet but you, Hildegaard Mae Welcher, are the opposite of angst. 

As far as repotting goes, it is always a good idea to let your indoor plants stretch their roots in the summer sun before another winter sets in. Treat them like hermit crabs and give them a bigger “shell” each summer. I like to frequent thrift stores because you can find beautiful old teapots, handmade pottery, and fun brass cookware for just a few dollars that make the most beautiful flower pots. Use the smaller, abandoned pots for your starter plants, like basil and spearmint, that you propagated on a window sill for a couple weeks in water. They can start there and grow later. 

You can, too. Listen to all the saddest songs you want, and borrow my black nail polish. Write poetry and read J.D. Salinger. But know that laughter is not shallow. It is not cheap. It is perhaps the bravest act of pushing back the darkness there is. 

I love you.

Cover image by Chris Anderson.