At the end of Voltaire’s Candide, another book I should read again, the characters determine that they should each tend their own gardens. In other words, they should just mind their own lives and not worry about the rest of the world too much.

Well, due to some unforeseen delays, we’re not getting our little garden to tend just yet. Not today, at least. Hopefully some time this week. In the mean time, I am continuing to fantasize about the life we will have in our new house. Mostly, these fantasies focus on the joyful ripping out of stained carpet, but there is also the prospect of my new writing room and a garden that, if I get my way, will likely resemble my favorite photo of  Kurt Vonnegut.

Mr. Vonnegut wouldn’t mind, right? I guess this isn’t what Voltaire had in mind, but I really would like my garden to resemble Vonnegut’s in more ways than one. I admire his directness and simplicity, his humor, and his hydrangeas. I want more than anything to do what he did, which in my opinion, was to build a career and a life out of speaking the truth. He did it with such love and humor that you couldn’t fault him for it.

Maybe, in a way, that is exactly what Voltaire meant — to tend your garden isn’t just to mind your own business but to live your life and speak your truth with the utmost love. If you could just do your best at your life, whatever that was, you could be happy, and you might even get lucky and bring happiness to others.

Well, hopefully very soon, we will have our house, and with it comes our garden. Wish us luck.

Tags: home buying | Monday-Night-Nonfiction

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