This one always kills me. It is halfway through Tuesday and I realize that I have not posted my most sacred post of the week. I have been blogging for four years now (crazy, right?) and Tuesdays have always been the days I stop and smell the roses, the coffee, or maybe even the not so clean sponge that I can smell from the garage as I walk in the house. It is the day I have vowed to myself to always take stock and find something that touches me. A little break in the crazy week that makes me present.
And here I am, at 1PM on Tuesday and I realize I forgot to do this last night.
So today’s post is about time. And how we get caught up in how important we are. How our to-do list is sometimes magnified to the point of absurdity. When you break your own rule for taking a moment, it is not the end of the world for anyone else but yourself.
Better late than never; here is my list of things that made me grateful this week. The things that made me feel like me:
1. My very first peony of the season. When I left the house that morning it was a bud, when I came home it was in full bloom. And it was the only one in the gar den.
2. Planting for my mom. This was a bittersweet task because as much as she loved me doing it she wished she could do it herself. She told me she remembered doing it for her mom and I told her I was screwed because Jana did not like to garden.
3. Puppy on the beach. You can never beat this one, even after she chewed THREE pair of prescription sunglasses in one week.
4. Son home for 36 hours. Hopefully when he returns from his little post-finals excursion we will get a little more of him. A lot more would be asking the impossible.
5. Full house Sunday dinner with dear friends and all 4 of our kids… a true rarity and a gift indeed.
With the holiday weekend marking the unofficial start of summer, I vow to try to chill when I can.
And just BE.
Back when I was in college there was an iris farm not far from where we lived. Going to school in the snow belt of upstate New York, things like The Lilac Festival and iris farms were one step more magical than they would normally be for their juxtaposition to the brutal snow dumping of the long winters. It was always so hard to reconcile all that color after living in a gray and white world of visual deprivation for such a long period of time.
An odd place to go to art school, indeed.
Growing up in the more populated west end of Long Island, iris farms were not something I had ever seen. One late spring morning I came across one and had to pull over. It was like a floral candy store; rows and rows of the these elegant multi-colored flowers. On some level a flower farm seemed comical. You know, being downstate suburban jaded and all. But it was also enchanting. Every year after that I made sure to stop by this farm for the sheer joy of walking down rows of blooming irises.
A simple pleasure.
The other morning on my walk I realized that all the irises in the neighborhood were starting to bloom at once. This particular solitary flower took my breath away and gave me a strong flashback of the upstate iris farm. From the angle of the shot it looks like I had fallen down and was shooting from the ground. No worries, I was upright. (for those who know me that is not too far-fetched) Dog leash in hand, I was still able to capture this one perfectly. I love the color of the house behind it as a backdrop.
The point of this post? I guess it is the same as the point of my morning walk everyday. To stop and take pictures of the flowers. Wait isn’t that stop and smell the roses? No, it is wake up and smell the coffee.
Actually… it is all of them.
There is something about that first weekend of warm weather that can all but break your heart. One minute you are shoveling obscene amounts of snow and a few short weeks later you are trimming back the perennial garden and marveling at the crocus blooming all over the neighborhood.
Ok, a little corny. But honestly, I never tire of those first warm days when nothing can seem all that bad if you can be outside and feeling the sunshine. One day walking around the city, drinking beer at an outdoor cafe and people watching, and another in the ‘burbs doing what we ‘burbanites do was the perfect cure for anything that ails.
I suppose my elation with spring is because I come from a family of garden junkies. My earliest memories of my grandfather were of him tending to his garden, which in my youth was beyond magnificent. My mom’s love of the garden was passed down to both my brother and I. And although in the past few years her bones have fallen victim to a couple of, what shall we call them, garden mishaps, she still plugs away out there and her garden shines for all the attention she showers upon it.
Even though this weekend was a fleeting tease of spring finding ourselves thrown back into a stint of miserable rain, it was just enough of a taste to keep us hopeful that the warmer weather will be here to stay before we know it.
Spring. It almost makes you feel like anything is possible.
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