The paradox of a perennial flower border is that it's not about the flowers at all, it's about the leaves.
I spent over 15 years on mine, fussing about flower colours, heights, textures, and blooming times before I finally came to realize that the flowers are like fireworks, gaudy short lived eye candy that you see from a distance, but mostly when you're up close what you see is the leaves.
I guess with time comes perspective, with time you see things more clearly.
In a week it will be the 21st anniversary of my baby sister's suicide. We, her friends and her family, we knew she was troubled but none of us knew how deeply troubled. We looked at her, but we did not see her. She must have been telling us, but somehow we did not hear her.
The worst part of her suicide is that I will always wonder if I could have loved her better.
When she died I thought I would never get over it, that the pain, grief, guilt and anger would consume me. They almost did, but I had a young baby. Babies are selfish and oblivious to all but their own needs, babies demand.
Then they are toddlers, children, teenagers and suddenly 21 years have passed. The pain you thought you could never survive is almost imperceptible except for the special days. I will always remember my sister on her birthday, the time around the anniversary of her death, and Christmas.
It has been so long, though, that I can no longer recall her voice. Time is so slippery.
Time. The spring palette of mauves, purples and blues is finished now, my garden is beginning to put on the yellows of summer. Those of us who live to run our fingers through the earth, to paint with plants, are forced to bow to time, to face change. Gardens are all about time, too.
There is one yellow plant I will never ever grow, that I will never ever buy for a bouquet, and that's yellow gladiolus. When Jan died the funeral home was awash in them. Until then, I don't think I had ever much thought about this plant, don't think I would have especially noticed it in a bouquet. And now ...
It's amazing how much of my life I've looked at things but not seen them.
Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -
.:Adventures In Oz:.
.:12% Beer:. .:Links:. .:Host:. .:Archives:.
This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine. Kids, don't try viewing this at home without Netscape 6 or IE 4.5+, a screen resolution of 800 X 600 and the font Mead Bold firmly ensconced on your hard drive.
©2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.