My cousin-in-law got us cat grass for Christmas. Our cat has few teeth, is rotund, and incredibly friendly. We weren’t sure, however, if she would be open to salad.
Whenever you get gifts at Christmas, it’s always a gamble of getting the same thing bought en masse for everyone (we did Amazon gift cards last year, don’t judge), or that one random weird object that you can’t understand why someone went to the effort to design, manufacture and ship it, let alone decided you should be the rightful owner of a banana shaped lantern.
Side note: I did actually see a banana shaped lantern recently at a high art gallery in the Mission. It was disappointing. The highlight of that night was when a fuse blew in the building, and the banana’s light snapped off. A suddenly less exuberant phallus, it became even more disappointing.
Anyway. Grass. Pet grass! We got it. And I was game to grow it. I give you Exhibit A.
Whenever I try out a new low-key hobby, say gardening, for example, it is oddly exciting; I never know what to expect. And because the stakes are low, I can enjoy the soft unknowns of what’s to come.
So, there I am: instructions say the seeds poured onto the coir soil will grow. The coir soil pellet instanTANEOUSLY grew when the water hit it, so I feel a boost of confidence. Maybe I am secretly a green god? But, it’s hard to imagine how putting a dry thing into a slightly moist-er thing will result in anything happening. Don’t I have to do something to it? Nurture it? Give it a pep-talk at halftime? Post about it online? Analyze its feelings? No, no. Set it. Forget it. Walk away.
Nothing happened for a day, and another day, and then another. I honestly forgot about it.
And then:
Sometimes Change Sneaks Up On You With Your Favorite Bag of Chips And Guac. And You’re Like, “Oh Hey Change. Thanks! You’re Kind Of Cute.”
There is something incredibly kind and heartening about positive change over time. I’ve been thinking a lot about change recently, as I find I’ve hit a couple markers this weekend. Yesterday marked four years since I first met my wife. And serendipitously, we realized it while sitting in the very same restaurant we met at while out with my mom, having just watched a play I had been wanting to see for literally 20 years since I missed its first run at Berkeley Rep in 1999.
While the play didn’t live up to the expectations of a 13-year-old in love with hyper fantasies, now a 32-year-old that has worked in the arts for ten years, I am so grateful I can mark that item off the bucket list. I am so grateful I got to experience that bucket list item with my partner and my mom, who inspired me to love stories and mythology and storytelling in the first place. And I am so grateful for this stinking cute cat grass plant as it re-invigorated a small love I have for macro-photography.
Slow Progression, Incredible Results
When looking at the grass, victoriously green and hearty, I saw the tops of several of the stalks had a single droplet of water. I found that odd, as the instructions clearly stipulated that I stay away and not to overwater at all. How could this liquid be here? Who put that there? Did the grass seep water? It then dawned on me after staring at it for a while that the droplets were probably originally on the soil. With the grass’ slow determined progress upward, the water kept to its spherical shape, didn’t evaporate, and rose with it. Perfect synchronicity.
If I had tried to make this happen, if I had tried to set it up to catch water just so, it wouldn’t have worked, I don’t think. The weight of the water would have dropped down, the stalks would have bent or been inundated and died from being overly watered. This was purely a moment of serene progress and beauty lifted up on its own merit.
Taking out my macro lenses, I decided to document it. Because this is why one goes into macrophotography: you want to take pictures of tiny things like droplets because they’re magical and now you are magic.
I’m going to make sweeping metaphors Now
But, it rings true. And every time I have a peaceful meeting of my past and present, I feel the urge to document it. The future always feels scary, particularly when my family’s health is under threat, climate change is getting personal, and our political system is more violent than ever. But, it is important to recognize that there are probably many more grass plants growing underneath me without my noticing right now.
A personal example comes to mind: I have been working as a designer and storyteller for a decade. It has taken me a long time to get to the point of doing it at the level I currently am. You can see my latest works on a 20 ft screen at The Strand Theater in downtown San Francisco. My portfolio is regularly being updated with those and other works I’ve made online at www.act-sf.org. I am very proud of these projects and the others I have accomplished as a freelancer, particularly in the last year.
I feel invigorated by the challenges presented each day I go to work. I have had to ask questions like, “Can I film a rehearsal of a pianist on a Friday and the performance on Saturday and use footage from both to create the illusion of a five camera shoot for a final music video?” and “What if we animated the credits of the costume designer for the Christmas show so that it was snowing? What are the physics of snow falling?” and “If we have the title treatment sitting on top of a dimmed theater light, can the title treatment start off hollow and then get opaque and brighten when the light turns on?” Every time I’ve been presented with a design question like this, I have come up with a solid product in response. For the record, I did indeed make it snow, the title treatment is currently being approved for publication, and I filmed Alfredo Rodríguez two weekends ago, and could sync up his hands moving across the keys on Friday to the same song shot as a wide-shot on Saturday. (It helps when you’re filming a world-class piano player whose internal rhythm is so good he sticks to the same bpm.) When we are cleared to publicize that project, I will be sure to show it here.
I’ve grown so much over the years. I am so grateful for the opportunities that have presented themselves. And simultaneously aware that growth has happened with or without me nurturing it or paying attention at every juncture. It’s hard not to be constantly self-aware, constantly questioning how I got to where I am, and where I am going to.
Another positive thing about growing pet grass, though, is that it helps give a moment of true distraction and break from those thoughts.
Please enjoy the final photo shoot of the day with the grass, taken by my wife:
