All About the Flowers

I love flowers.  At home, I grow zinnias, begonias, geraniums, and impatiens in the Summer.  On occasion, I’ve been known to indulge in a store-bought bouquet.  Most years, I threaten to buy myself an enormous Costco bouquet on my birthday, though I have actually done so only once.  A few times in my life, someone has brought me flowers and once or twice, I’ve been the recipient of a delivered bouquet.  Such treats feel especially extravagant.  

Of late, my flower admiration has happened in nearby gardens - the tulips at a local tulip farm, the daffodils, roses, hydrangeas, and magnolias blooms at Colonial Park.  There are two enormous magnolia trees in the park and I like to visit them and breathe in the scent of the flowers, which last late into July around here. The ivory blooms look almost artificial but they are velvety to the touch and the scent is heady.

In the rose garden, the hydrangeas are blousy and beautiful.  I have a hydrangea in my back yard but it blooms infrequently; I have never discovered the magic sauce for regular flowers so I admire those at the park instead. 

On Sunday, I happened through the rose garden after a rain storm. Many blooms were still wet from the rain, making for some splendid photos.  At least a few of these photos will make my bulletin board for the new school year, to keep me company in the months that do not feature fresh flowers.  

Style Journal: My Summer Shoe of Choice

 I love flip flops.  

I know that love is a big word and I mean every bit of it.  Between-the-toe flip flop sandals (known to me as “thongs” when I was a child...and that word is a story for another day) are literally a source of never-ending joy to me.  Everything about them is splendid - the way they are casual; the way that they ensure my feet get maximum sunlight and outdoor space; the fact that they are so easy to slip on, the way they stay on as because of the toe post…I could go on and on.  

I wear them all year, though in Winter I only wear them inside.  Come warmer weather - and for me that is any day forecast to bring temperatures over 60 - I wear them indoors and outdoors for as much time as possible.  In the Summer, they are my style of choice and my diverse collection ensures that I am have a pair that match every outfit I choose to wear.  And in my estimation, that is the very definition of happiness.   

Real Life Conversations with JT: The Art of Listening

The backstory: JT is training to run a 100 mile race and so nearly every day is a running day.  Some days, there is rain in the forecast and he’ll tie on his shoes and then stand on the porch and announce he doesn’t want to get wet.  Every single time, I respond, “Why? You aren’t made of sugar.  You won’t melt.”  It’s sensible and it’s true.  

Today, we went to Colonial Park so he could run and I could go for a walk.  We set off in the same direction and heard thunder in the distance.  

Me: I hope it doesn’t rain.  

JT (as he ran off): Why? You aren’t made of sugar.  You won’t melt.” 

I guess that he does hear me.

The Joys of Hand Lettering

When I was in 6th grade, I had a friend with the most splendid handwriting.  I've never forgotten her beautiful script and early in the pandemic, I took a class on hand lettering in an effort to have my own kind of lovely handwriting.  I enjoyed the class and then life returned to some kind of normal and I - mostly - forgot about hand lettering.  A few weeks ago, I read an article on fonts and thought about hand lettering and since then I’ve basically been obsessed.  I’ve written notes, made endless book marks (some of which I sneak into my library books when I return them), I practice for hours in my sketchbook.  It’s absolutely delightful.  I like to send hand-written notes and I pride myself on having nice handwriting so it’s no surprise that I love hand lettering.  I’m even toying with hosting an after school club for middle school kids come the Fall.  We’ll see if that materializes.  In the meantime, if you need a hand-lettered item, I’m your gal.

Among the Trees: On the Journey to This Moment

It’s no secret that the last year in my life has offered a seemingly steady stream of unexpected challenges.  I’ve found a core of resilience that I didn’t know that I had in me.  I’m proud of that strength and I continue to do the work to sustain it.  

Last week, I spent an afternoon in Colonial Park and had the time to reflect on how far life has come since last June, when my freshly-minted college-graduate son was struggling to sort out the meaning of his life.  It was a hard journey for me as a parent and far harder for him.  During those difficult weeks, JT and I spent a lot of time together, much of it in the rose garden, tucked under the wisteria wrestling with his demons.  

That difficult summer was before the end of my 11 year relationship with T and the passing of my father.  I won’t say that by now I am battle scarred, but I have arrived at a point where I don’t take anything good for granted.  Every day, I look for gratitude and from it I find grace.  I take the time to be grateful for the peace of that grace, no matter how small.  

My memory of the struggles of the last year made it all the more sweet last week when JT was offered a teaching job at a nearby school.  The position is a terrific opportunity, with a chance to do some things he knows he enjoys - coach middle school sports - as well as the prospect of trying something new - working as a third grade teaching assistant.  He’s excited and proud of himself.  I am so glad for him, perhaps as proud as I’ve ever been.  I know the work that got him here.  Last week, as I walked the paths of this familiar and beloved park and sat in the quiet shade of the wisteria to read my book, I thought of how far we’ve come.  I felt at peace in all the ways I've longed for over the last year.  I reflected on my blessings, all of them, but chiefly my immense gratitude that my boy is here to turn his beautiful face to the light and the sunshine. 

Let Freedom Ring

For most of my life, I’ve been the sort of person who reads the Declaration of Independence and gets teary-eyed at the ideas expressed by the preamble.  I’m aware that the founders fell far short of the notions being embraced; I know very well our history of slavery and vast inequality.  Still, the words - and their promise - have rung true to me as powerful aspirations that represent what the United States can become.

My belief in the words of the Declaration have made the last few years especially difficult.  A great deal of the problem seems to lie with the Supreme Court and their 2022 decision to cast aside 50 years of precedent and declare that bodily privacy was no longer protected by the Constitution.  It’s true that the Constitution did not explicitly declare body privacy.  It was document written in the 18th century, when such a notion did not exist.  But it’s equally clear that a group of men who would not house soldiers in their private property or permit a search of their homes without sworn warrants clearly understood the notion that a home was private.  The human body is the penultimate of home.  It houses our soul; the very core of our being.  That body should not be regulated by the government with no limits; it cannot be invaded.  It took women more than 140 years to gain the right to vote and that struggle is symptomatic of all that women endure in our aspiration for equality. Last year’s invalidation of the right to bodily privacy for women, a ruling that effectively denies certain kinds of medical care to half of the nation, is clearly a decision that puts men squarely back in the driver’s seat when it comes to women’s bodies.  It’s inexcusable.  I’ve spent the last year frustrated and angry, wondering what other rights marginalized groups might lose. 

Last week provided the answer.  On Thursday, a majority of the justices of the Supreme Court struck down affirmative action, the 50 year old effort by America’s colleges to correct some of the inequities and injustices wrought by our history of racism and exclusion.  That the majority opinion used the 14th Amendment’s guarantee of equal protection under the law to do so is especially appalling.  The 14th Amendment is one of three post-Civil War Amendments to the Constitution.  The 14th made former enslaved people into American citizens due the “equal protection of the law.”  It was added to the Constitution in 1868 but for many years equal protection was merely an unfulfilled promise, as Jim Crow laws and legal, social, and political inequality continued apace.  Not until 1954’s Brown v. Board of Education ruling was equal protection under the law applied to Black school children.  That opened the door to end the most aggressive forms of de jure inequality and segregation.  But de facto inequality continued apace.  Affirmative action began to be used in the late 1960s to ensure that historically excluded groups had the opportunity to have a seat at the table of power.  It benefitted white women more than it helped people of color and was an imperfect remedy to a nation whose original sin was the protection of slavery while claiming rights to liberty and equality it would not extend to everyone.  In her dissent to the ruling which invalidated affirmative action, Justice Kentanji Brown-Jackson said it best, “With let-them-eat-care obliviousness, today, the majority pulls the ripcord and announces “colorblindness for all” by legal fiat.  But deeming race irrelevant in law does not make it so in life.”  

A day later. the majority on the Supreme Court declared that business owners could discriminate against gay customers because of the business owner’s religious views.  This ruling turns a blind eye to state or federal laws which enshrine equal protection under the law as some state governments and the federal government seek to prevent overt discrimination against gay, lesbian, or trans Americans.  Coming as it did after the rulings on the right to privacy and affirmative action, it was no surprise.  

But that doesn’t mean it’s not a sucker punch…it is, especially in the midst of so many states bent on limiting the rights of trans people to freely live their truth.  It also makes it hard for me to get emotional or teary-eyed about the 4th of July and celebrations of independence.  Until we recognize that each and every one of us are created equal and are entitled to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, none of us can truly be free.  That painful truth is evident every day, but especially today as we celebrate a national independence that is yet incomplete. 

July 1: Christmas (Cactus) in July

Nearly all of my houseplants are outside on the front porch for the Summer and that includes the tiny transplant from my Dad’s Christmas cactus.  It held its own after I returned from California in February, though it did not grow.  For obvious reasons, this particular plant is special to me, so I put it on the porch with some reluctance and in a spot where I would be sure to see it every day.  In mid-June, I saw red growth on the end of all four stems.  This is the first Christmas cactus I've grown and I wondered if the spots of red meant a bloom was coming.  Turns out that the red was the start of new growth.  

Those red buds buds grew into four new stems and then four more red buds followed.  I know now that means more stems are taking hold.  Huzzah!

I check in on the cactus every morning when I drink my coffee on the porch.  That the plant is an offshoot of my Dad’s is a source of comfort and peace to me.  The new growth feels like a message from him and I am best pleased to see it.

Monthly Book Report: Wheel of Fortune

For most of my adolescence, I loved to read historical fiction.  I consumed books about Eleanor of Aquitaine and Queen Elizabeth and read the entirety of the historical biography section in the school library.  I read other books as well but books set in another place and time were my personal sweet spot.  Weirdly, I did not enjoy history in school, where the subject was most often boring and crusty; taught be a series of teachers who were the same.  Only in books was history splendid.   In college, I discovered that academic history could be amazing; soon after that I became a History and Political Science double major. 

The subject of this month’s book report - all 980 pages of it - is historical fiction.  The story begins  in the late 1800s.  the story of a family - the Godwins - and their Welsh estate, Oxmoon.  Loosely based on the real-life story of The Black Prince and his wife, Joan of Kent, the novel is utterly compelling. I had read the novel before - back in the 1980s when it was originally published - and all I could remember was that I loved it.  When I saw it on the shelf at my local library, I grabbed it right up.

Told in six sections, each narrated by a different member of the Godwin family, the story moves from the 1880s to the 1960s.  Each narrator explains their version of the events unfolding and they layer on information about events that have already happened.  The result is a rich and compelling story about one family, but they are people who stand in for families everywhere, with their truths, those that matter in the long run as well as those that don’t.   Howatch writes beautifully and richly.  The leisurely pace of the story matched the relaxed pace of Summer for me.  I have hours to read and the novel offered hours of reading…that is my perfect (and happy!) sweet spot.  

The Scent of Summer: Magnolia Flowers

I first came to admire magnolia trees and their velvety blooms when I lived in Nashville.  The trees were abundant in the area, tall and full with branches that reached the ground.  In May, those branches were heavy with the luscious scent of the blousy magnolia flowers that perfumed the month of May.  I could walk right up to the trees and breathe in the scent.  Here in the North, magnolia trees blooms later, from June into July.  Most people trim the lower branches of the trees and so the blooms are high above.  They are still fragrant and beautiful, though not quite the magnolias that I grew to love.  But in Colonial Park, there are two grand magnolias with branches that sweep the ground. 

The flowers abundant, with many at face-level and there are so many that the scent fills the air around them.  

It’s lovely, an unearned treat of the Summer.

Real Life Conversations with JT: Weather edition

The backstory:  We’ve had some heavy rains in the last few days and, like many gardeners, I’ve been glad to see the storms.  Naturally, I mentioned to JT that we needed the rain.

JT:  Every single person over the age of 35 says the same thing when it rains…..”good thing it’s raining…we really needed it.”  No one under 35 ever says that. 

Me:  You’re not wrong.  But we did need the rain. 

JT (heavy signs with eye rolling) 

Me:  Now you can look forward to turning 35.