Sunday, February 27, 2011

Blooming in Spite of It All

I purchased my current house for two reasons. One because of all the windows. They reminded me of the house I grew up in. Our house had lots of windows. Twenty-two to be exact, on the first floor alone. I know because every Saturday it was my job to clean the narrow venetian blinds that bent and twisted with each wipe of the dust cloth. Slat by slat. No cheating by closing them and dusting the top slats only allowed. Regardless of my being so abused as a child, I still love windows. They allow the beauty of the world to come inside while still protecting me from the perils of the world. Which, in my case, are bugs.

The second reason I fell in love with my house was the beautiful landscaping. The previous owner had every inch of the front and back yard covered with flowers and trees. Again, another factor to remind me of my childhood home. Our back yard was an oasis of roses grounded in green grasses and framed by a white picket fence. I forgot a few important facts though. My folks had a gardener. I know nothing about flowers or gardening. And I am allergic to insects.

So, seven years later in this house that I bought and love, the venetian blinds have been replaced with wide faux wood slats. Much easier to clean and kinder to my hands. But you will still find plenty of dust on them if you are prone to check, which if you are a true friend, you won’t. My time and energy are limited these days and the dust bunnies on the floor shout louder.

It’s the yard that embarrasses me and makes me feel like a failure. All the beautiful flowers the previous owner planted and nourished are mostly gone though not totally all my fault. Gardeners are expensive I learned and other priorities fought and won the battle of the pocketbook. The bulbs grew older and weaker and less productive. (Hum, sounds like me.) Storms attacked and felled the two breathtakingly beautiful Bradford pear trees that bordered the street and sidewalk. (Hum, sounds like life.)

Yet, in spite of storms, life, neglect, and age, these daffodils refused to give up. Am I embarrassed by their tenacity? You betcha. Will I allow them to be mowed down or risk death by uprooting them to a more appropriate abode? No way. They are inspiration to me! I'm hoping that every once in a while I can still bloom too.

1 comment:

  1. Continue to be, oh Eliz, a Shakespearean bloom: not of an age, but for all time [to steal from Ben Jonson].