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Mother Nature's Son

By

Paula Wilshe

   I wish I could explain what it is about this greenhouse of mine that means so much to me. It's the one place where I usually feel peaceful and quiet which, for me, is saying a lot. I have a tendency to think too much, to try to find meanings and solutions in situations where there aren't necessarily supposed to be any, or at least none that I can fix.  Starsky calls what I do "fretting."  He may be right, but I try not to admit that in front of him.

   But even Starsky will tell you that this year I had a lot to fret about.

   Most of last year was like this awful avalanche, picking up speed and volume as it chased me down the side of a mountain like heavy snow, trying to bury me. For the first time since I've been a cop, since I've lived in Los Angeles, I lost my focus.  It's so hard to explain, but to me it felt like we were working the same cases over and over and over again. It felt like we were doing all the things we were supposed to be doing, but we weren't making a difference any more.

   Starsky tells me that he's not sure we ever really made a difference.  He says it's just that we felt better about what we were doing, we were younger and fresher, and that I shouldn't let it bother me so much, oh, and whose turn is it to do the dishes?

   But it did bother me a lot that year.  I was overwhelmed, and I took things out on him, and everyone else around me, all because I was so frustrated with myself.  In some ridiculous way, I think the fact that he wasn't feeling the way I was made me even angrier.  I realize now that it wasn't that he didn't feel the same things I was feeling--it's just that he handled them in such a very different way.

   I'm a brooder sometimes, you know?  When I'm feeling unsettled I growl, and I seethe, and I sulk.  I'm pretty miserable to be around when I'm like that, I'm afraid, and to this day, I don't know how Starsk put up with me for all those months. He's like--when he gets mad, it wells up quickly and he explodes, all thunder and flash like a summer storm--and then it's over as fast as it started, and he's back to sunshine again.

   Sometimes I can't keep up with him.

   But then, suddenly, everything changed.  First we were cops, then we weren't going to be cops, then we were cops again, and then my--Starsky was almost killed.  I know you've heard all the details of that before, so I won't bore you with them now, but what a hell of a way to be forced out of what we used to call a "blue funk" in college.

   In that few moments, our lives changed irrevocably. God, nothing that we'd ever taken for granted was a certainty anymore.  But somehow, between the two of us (and a little help from the medical profession, the support of our friends, and the kindness of the gods) we managed to pull it off.   I think our world narrowed until it was just the two of us, for quite a while there.  We found that together we could face any challenge--just like we used to do on the streets, except this was here, in his recovery, in our lives, in our hearts.

   We found a couple of other things in our hearts that we're working on at the moment too.  I won't go into detail, but I will say that we were a couple of pretty dumb saps to not have realized some of the stuff that must have been obvious to other people over the years.  Starsky says I shouldn't think about why we didn't discover it years ago, that I should just be happy we figured it out now, and let it go at that, and why don't we pick up Chinese food for dinner?

   I'm trying, with a little help from my friend. It's getting better all the time.

   Last year I got approved for a home improvement loan during a rare forty eight hour period of positive attitude adjustment.  I had all these great plans to expand the greenhouse, and someday I still would really like to do that.  The shooting happened before I'd done much more than get a few estimates, though, and, well, disability pay isn't all that great, and I had to take some time off, a family leave, but that was only partial pay, so I used a little bit of it to help pay our bills.

   I've still got a good chunk in the bank, but I wouldn't have cared if I'd had to use it all. The way I looked at it, I was expanding the greenhouse that exists inside me, and helping living things to heal and grow and root themselves firmly again, it's just that the living things were Starsky and me, and not a couple of philodendron. But it's the same deal, essentially. I've never told Starsky about that in so many words, but I can guarantee you he understands.

   Anyway, so tonight it's Christmas Eve. It's just starting to get dark now, the afternoon shadows are coming long and thin through the greenhouse windows.  Starsky's gone off to the store for a bit of last minute shopping, I know he's picking up some things for dinner, and God knows what else he has planned in that curly head of his. In all honesty, I don't think he needed to buy anything at all, he just wanted to be out and about in the last minute hustle and bustle, he loves that stuff.

   I also suspect he figured it would be good for me to have a little time alone too, maybe. Peaceful time, not to brood, but to reflect. So that's what I'm doing, out here in the greenhouse.

   All of the bigger plants and tree things in here have Christmas lights on them, courtesy of my partner. Hey, what the hell, it makes him happy, then it makes me ecstatic. You want to know the truth? It looks beautiful. He picked bright, vivid colors, "None of that pastel crap, Hutch," he told me, and this whole place is just glowing.

   He doesn't know it yet, but for Christmas my dad sent me some money with the sole admonition that I was not to pay bills, or do anything sensible with it.  Actually, I think what I'm doing is really sensible, and when I told my dad what I planned to do with the money he laughed and said he thought it was an excellent idea.  My dad's the original "penny saved is a penny earned" guy, so his reaction surprised me, and I said that.  He told me he's "mellowing out" in his old age. Go figure.

   So Starsky and I are going to spend New Year's up in Oregon, at this really great lodge we've been to a couple of times. I may do a little skiing, and Starsk will take some great pictures, as he's not quite ready to strap on the skis yet.  He's not that nuts about the sport anyway, but he loves the snow and the cold and, well, we'll just have five days to be away from everything that reminds us of the doctors and the hospitals and the precinct and the uncertainty of our lives--because now is the time for us to savor the things we can count on.

   Ah, I hear the unmistakable sound of the Torino parking down on the street. A few more minutes and my partner will be up here, all full of cheer and wonder and that exuberance that is uniquely Starsky.

   You know, there's something about messing around with the plants and the pots and the trowels out here that just feels right to me.  I look around, at the greenhouse, at my life, and I'm overwhelmed by the realization that this year, at least, I've made a difference.  We've made a difference.  And you know, it feels terrific.

Mother Nature's Son

   Born a poor young country boy--Mother Nature's son
   All day long I'm sitting singing songs for everyone.

   Sit beside a mountain stream--see her waters rise
   Listen to the pretty sound of music as she flies.

   Find me in my field of grass--Mother Nature's son
   Swaying daises sing a lazy song beneath the sun.

   Mother Nature's son.

THE END