With Spring Flowers Come Hope. May, 2016. Flower Power Vol.2
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As I age, present reality dwindles in importance. I am no longer interested in
so many of the great questions that bedevil our human species in this Year
of Our Lord, 2016. I can no longer abide the yap yap yapping of even my closest
friends. They little know how I favor them by listening to what can interest me
in no way at all.
The "must read" book. The "must listen to" music. The "must new rage" poem,
The "must titillating" sporting achievement. All these shrink with every season
into nothingness.
However, there is one thing that never loses its impact for me... a thing I cannot
view with equanimity, and without regret. A thing that comes but once a year,
and stays but briefly. A thing that little children and yearning poets, unkempt, love
to distraction, and that thing is flowers.
In one unflinching explosion of color, this little thing, seemingly so vulnerable
and frail, shows us what determination can do, for they do not prate on about
beauty, they create it. They give it. They thrust it to our wayward attention, and
say, "Look at me! I am the way... and I do it all for you. Everything I do, I do for
you." And that is true.
This tiny, challenged, seemingly helpless thing has spread itself and its gospel of
happiness around the world and back again. It is a burst, not just of vegetable
matter, but of an essential element crucial for our survival: love, unconditional, given
without expectation of any kind. It is determined, it is committed, it will stop at nothing to bring its message to all of us. Whether all of us are ready to hear it or not is another question.
In my case, I think of the daffodils. Their role in my life is more important and
more sustained than most of my love affairs, so important at the time, so unutterably banal upon conclusion.
Upon seeing a daffodil, I am always glad. Unrestrained by any obstacle or condition, I am glad, and can count upon being glad every springtime until I can be glad no longer.
The daffodils have comforted me my entire life. They will comfort me at its end, too.
No recriminations, no false expectations... nothing but the daffodil and me, for all
eternity.
Tulips
In my elementary school tulip time was greeted by dozens of busy little hands, finding and cutting out pictures of tulips, of the great fields of tulips, not just from the old country of Holland, but from the new country of Holland, Michigan.
Bit by bit, a sizeable stack of tulip pictures emerged, for many such were needed to
produce the desired effect. Over the course of many hours, many days, the pile grew, thence to be summoned for the Great Tulip Project. In this, pictures of tulips were carefully affixed to all the walls and windows until the job was done.
Each year, the Tulip God stopped to breathe beauty upon a prairie village, where beauty was infrequent, fast passing, snow, ice, and mud more prevalent. This occasional deity said "Remember, not just the tulip, but the love, for even the stoutest tulips will come and go, but the love can be maintained forever." We little knew as we affixed our tulip pictures to the great glass windows, how important that pledge would be... but I know now.
There was another place where tulips were especially venerated and maintained.
My grandmother, Victoria Burgess Lauing, had an eye for beautiful things. She knew
what was alluring, and what was ersatz. She carefully trained me to see beauty
where beauty might not be immediately apparent. However, she made a particular point to arrange beautiful things for maximum impact. Of these, she cared for nothing more than her much beloved, gaudy parrot tulips; these needed coddling and careful attention. As my grandmother's special assistant, I provided the extra help she needed with her much loved parrots. They made my grandmother happy, and that was all you needed to know.
Then there is the iris. A single iris can enliven and redeem any space.
Within these pages you will find more.
so many of the great questions that bedevil our human species in this Year
of Our Lord, 2016. I can no longer abide the yap yap yapping of even my closest
friends. They little know how I favor them by listening to what can interest me
in no way at all.
The "must read" book. The "must listen to" music. The "must new rage" poem,
The "must titillating" sporting achievement. All these shrink with every season
into nothingness.
However, there is one thing that never loses its impact for me... a thing I cannot
view with equanimity, and without regret. A thing that comes but once a year,
and stays but briefly. A thing that little children and yearning poets, unkempt, love
to distraction, and that thing is flowers.
In one unflinching explosion of color, this little thing, seemingly so vulnerable
and frail, shows us what determination can do, for they do not prate on about
beauty, they create it. They give it. They thrust it to our wayward attention, and
say, "Look at me! I am the way... and I do it all for you. Everything I do, I do for
you." And that is true.
This tiny, challenged, seemingly helpless thing has spread itself and its gospel of
happiness around the world and back again. It is a burst, not just of vegetable
matter, but of an essential element crucial for our survival: love, unconditional, given
without expectation of any kind. It is determined, it is committed, it will stop at nothing to bring its message to all of us. Whether all of us are ready to hear it or not is another question.
In my case, I think of the daffodils. Their role in my life is more important and
more sustained than most of my love affairs, so important at the time, so unutterably banal upon conclusion.
Upon seeing a daffodil, I am always glad. Unrestrained by any obstacle or condition, I am glad, and can count upon being glad every springtime until I can be glad no longer.
The daffodils have comforted me my entire life. They will comfort me at its end, too.
No recriminations, no false expectations... nothing but the daffodil and me, for all
eternity.
Tulips
In my elementary school tulip time was greeted by dozens of busy little hands, finding and cutting out pictures of tulips, of the great fields of tulips, not just from the old country of Holland, but from the new country of Holland, Michigan.
Bit by bit, a sizeable stack of tulip pictures emerged, for many such were needed to
produce the desired effect. Over the course of many hours, many days, the pile grew, thence to be summoned for the Great Tulip Project. In this, pictures of tulips were carefully affixed to all the walls and windows until the job was done.
Each year, the Tulip God stopped to breathe beauty upon a prairie village, where beauty was infrequent, fast passing, snow, ice, and mud more prevalent. This occasional deity said "Remember, not just the tulip, but the love, for even the stoutest tulips will come and go, but the love can be maintained forever." We little knew as we affixed our tulip pictures to the great glass windows, how important that pledge would be... but I know now.
There was another place where tulips were especially venerated and maintained.
My grandmother, Victoria Burgess Lauing, had an eye for beautiful things. She knew
what was alluring, and what was ersatz. She carefully trained me to see beauty
where beauty might not be immediately apparent. However, she made a particular point to arrange beautiful things for maximum impact. Of these, she cared for nothing more than her much beloved, gaudy parrot tulips; these needed coddling and careful attention. As my grandmother's special assistant, I provided the extra help she needed with her much loved parrots. They made my grandmother happy, and that was all you needed to know.
Then there is the iris. A single iris can enliven and redeem any space.
Within these pages you will find more.