Essay

SYMBOLS

By: Gloria Sinibaldi, 09/15/2018

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BLADE OF GRASS – symbol of vitality- life
WIND CHIME – symbol of change -shifting, flexibility
TROWEL – symbol of toil - value of work

Blade of Grass

Tilled soil, hardy seed, fertilizer and water; ingredients needed to nurture a blade of grass. The sun provides sustenance and warmth. If in its early stages the blade is trampled, it may not thrive. Its roots must extend like fingers deep in the earth for secure anchoring. If healthy growth elements are absent from its life, or if harsh factors are introduced such as neglect or bitter cold it will struggle, perhaps wither and die. It may emerge as a weed, not fully formed.

In my growing up life I was not nurtured. A child needs acceptance, love and security, elements that eluded me during my early years. My parents were not equipped to be parents because of their own hurts and hardships, and shouldn’t have been. But I was born and like a blade of grass without adequate water or warmth I withered at times but did not die. There were choices I made that were weedy and wrong, had weedy ideas, no clarity or goals but eventually my roots grew stronger and spread to safer ground. With my health restored, I began growing tall and hardy like a blade of grass should.

Wind Chimes

Blow in the wind - that’s what wind chimes do. They gently chime in summer’s soft breeze and clank loudly when stronger winds rush in. During times of no wind they are motionless, without a sound. On those days they can be admired hanging gracefully from a tree branch, a decorative feature to a garden. Wind chimes are at the mercy of a force beyond their own power.

I’ve spent much of my young years blowing in the wind. Marrying the wrong person at age 20, not listening to my screaming inner voice that told me I needed more. Like a wind chime without wind I stayed quiet when things went wrong. On occasion I would clank loudly when a hurricane blew through but even then nobody heard. I didn’t attend to my own needs or treat myself with kindness. I learned it was safer to chime softly or not at all. I lost my music, my rhythm, my sway; like the wind chime with no wind I dangled, a mere decoration for too many years.

Trowel

A simple hand tool used for digging in the earth. It works the soil - planting, becoming the means by which a garden reaches its full potential and beauty. But a trowel is a small tool with limitations. It must work in harmony with other garden tools; the larger shovel, the hoe, the rake. If the trowel doesn’t have partner tools it shovels harder and stronger - digs deep and deeper - driven by commitment, enthusiasm and devotion on its own. In the end the trowel succeeds but only because of the person who holds it in his or her hands – the master who works magic using the attributes of the sturdy trowel.

Through hard work and determination, I’ve raised three kids, all who have college educations (my eldest son a PhD at Kaiser managing a genetics testing lab, my daughter a nurse and mother of four, my youngest son a freelance sound editor for major motion pictures in LA). Many times I worked without helper tools. Positive role models were not at my disposal and never had been, a tool I needed. The father of my children was a helper and deserves credit, but often he was elsewhere, managing his career or chasing other women. Would I be enough? I wondered. While digging with my trowel in the garden of parenting I hit large granite rocks buried deep in the soil. Dirt and pebbles popped up sometimes hitting me in the face. My hands ached and bled; the metal on the wooden handle threatened to bend and crack under the pressure. But I, like the trowel, pushed on until my flowers were firmly planted and had strong roots. My children are the fruits of my labor as the flowers are the fruit of the trowel’s labor. They came up in beautiful colors. My Master did the heavy digging with his hand on mine, working his magic with skilled grace. It was in God’s hands all along.

Changes In Life

Becoming the woman you were meant to be

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