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One of the things that I had convinced myself that I don't miss is having fresh flowers in the house. After all, I have my potted plants. I have a couple plants outside every spring. I have the tissue paper flowers that Page made me in RE... Real flowers aren't necessary.
Besides which, there's the knowledge that cut flowers are no longer alive. As soon as you cut them from their roots, they are just slowly loosing life until they collapse into either a puddle of goo or a pile of dust, depending on the humidity levels and plant species.
So, walking by the display of flowers in the grocery stores, I can look, but say without regret, "No, I don't need them."
Which is, of course, perfectly true. I don't need them. However, that does not mean I don't want them.
Every now and again, I'll suffer a twitch of something that could be considered covetousness. I'll see a particularly beautiful bouquet of pink roses that are just the right shade of candy floss that makes them so very sweet, and yet their barely opened forms are so elegant, so they escape being cloying, and I'll notice the want.
I do not get them, because they are both expensive and something I know I'm allergic to, but I want them.
Tulips also get me. Red tulips that are tightly closed, that I know are going to slowly open to reveal a soft, delicate form, so simple and perfect and yet almost the embodiment of passion, as they open further and further to reveal their black stamens and the coy hints of yellow at their base.
And I want them.
I do not get them because they are such fleeting blooms that I can't justify their expense with myself.
I turn instead to my little plot of land and try to get flowers to grow there. Except, well, sunlit space is at a premium with all the maples around, and the vegetable garden is more of a priority. We need food. We don't need flowers.
Despite that, I have had limited success. The association's landscape guy complimented me on my lavender this spring, saying he hadn't seen such a nice turn out in this region. (The secret is that I made sure they were planted into 8" of sand for drainage). My bearded irises, until this year, were beautiful and HUGE (I need to divide them, and then they will be again). And, of course, there were always the buttercups that were trying to take over the grape's territory - little yellow harbingers of summer.
And yet...
I want the tree out front to go away. The fact that we've been teased again and again about its imminent removal has been driving me from elation to disappointment, because without the tree there, I could have flowers. With a flower garden of my own, I could conceivably look at the displays in the grocery stores with appreciation, but know that I have no emotional need for them. I have my own flowers at home. I could go out and cut a bouquet for myself (even though I won't)!
But... the tree is still here. It is now a sadly misshapen tree, as the power company people hacked away more than half of it. It was looking sad even before that happened, as it was under major stress from having half (a different half) of its roots severed over the winter. Now it just looks... pitiful.
And pitiful it may remain. I don't know.
I have told myself that I will not go looking for sunny, flowery plants until I know, once and for all, that the tree is coming down. I don't want the disappointment to be any worse than it has been during this see-sawing of possibilities. So, today, on the way to the CSA farm, I did not stop at Lowes to see what they have. I did not stop at Walmart. I did not stop at the nice, local nursery right before the farm's turn.
But I wanted to.
However, there are flowers at the farm. This week and last I have said, "Potential allergies be damned! I want flowers!"
And so I have got myself flowers.
( Four pics of two bouquets )
And now I am off to bed. Hopefully tomorrow will be a less achy day.
Besides which, there's the knowledge that cut flowers are no longer alive. As soon as you cut them from their roots, they are just slowly loosing life until they collapse into either a puddle of goo or a pile of dust, depending on the humidity levels and plant species.
So, walking by the display of flowers in the grocery stores, I can look, but say without regret, "No, I don't need them."
Which is, of course, perfectly true. I don't need them. However, that does not mean I don't want them.
Every now and again, I'll suffer a twitch of something that could be considered covetousness. I'll see a particularly beautiful bouquet of pink roses that are just the right shade of candy floss that makes them so very sweet, and yet their barely opened forms are so elegant, so they escape being cloying, and I'll notice the want.
I do not get them, because they are both expensive and something I know I'm allergic to, but I want them.
Tulips also get me. Red tulips that are tightly closed, that I know are going to slowly open to reveal a soft, delicate form, so simple and perfect and yet almost the embodiment of passion, as they open further and further to reveal their black stamens and the coy hints of yellow at their base.
And I want them.
I do not get them because they are such fleeting blooms that I can't justify their expense with myself.
I turn instead to my little plot of land and try to get flowers to grow there. Except, well, sunlit space is at a premium with all the maples around, and the vegetable garden is more of a priority. We need food. We don't need flowers.
Despite that, I have had limited success. The association's landscape guy complimented me on my lavender this spring, saying he hadn't seen such a nice turn out in this region. (The secret is that I made sure they were planted into 8" of sand for drainage). My bearded irises, until this year, were beautiful and HUGE (I need to divide them, and then they will be again). And, of course, there were always the buttercups that were trying to take over the grape's territory - little yellow harbingers of summer.
And yet...
I want the tree out front to go away. The fact that we've been teased again and again about its imminent removal has been driving me from elation to disappointment, because without the tree there, I could have flowers. With a flower garden of my own, I could conceivably look at the displays in the grocery stores with appreciation, but know that I have no emotional need for them. I have my own flowers at home. I could go out and cut a bouquet for myself (even though I won't)!
But... the tree is still here. It is now a sadly misshapen tree, as the power company people hacked away more than half of it. It was looking sad even before that happened, as it was under major stress from having half (a different half) of its roots severed over the winter. Now it just looks... pitiful.
And pitiful it may remain. I don't know.
I have told myself that I will not go looking for sunny, flowery plants until I know, once and for all, that the tree is coming down. I don't want the disappointment to be any worse than it has been during this see-sawing of possibilities. So, today, on the way to the CSA farm, I did not stop at Lowes to see what they have. I did not stop at Walmart. I did not stop at the nice, local nursery right before the farm's turn.
But I wanted to.
However, there are flowers at the farm. This week and last I have said, "Potential allergies be damned! I want flowers!"
And so I have got myself flowers.
( Four pics of two bouquets )
And now I am off to bed. Hopefully tomorrow will be a less achy day.
