Flower Power

I've always loved yellow daffodils blooming at Easter time,

picked and presented to my Mom, but the pleasure was all mine!

Black-eyed Susan's stole my heart with sturdy golden faces,

not in pristine manicured beds, but the edge of wild places,

like Grandpa's field where Queen Anne laced her intricate blooming doilies,

freely waltzing with the breeze at a ball of floral royalty.

Many the daisy picked and stripped of petals one by one,

"he loves me, he loves me not", school girl playground fun

.Dandelions gone to seed, buttercups and clovers,

stir the childhood heart of wildflower lovers.

Lilac bushes swaying in a warm summer breeze,

none filled our home with springtime more fragrantly than these.

Tall Iris' that seemed to nod "good day" as I would pass

poking their strong stalks up through the soft green grass.

Lily of the Valley, like lovely ladies bend,

in a "secret" spot of a wooded "fairyland".

Along the edge of cornfields, meant to "scare" the crows,

sunflowers bow their mighty blooms to the corn rows.

Brightly colored pansies firmly make a stand

to offer hope that winter's days are numbered in this land!

Gardenia in the morning, Jasmine in moonlight,

scent the air around them with a perfumed delight.

Roses on a bush or vine, or in a crystal vase,

favorites however they are, perfect everyplace!

Flowers convey a message all can understand,

silently testifying to the Artist's hand.

pj

Flora Immortal

The variety of flowers used by the Design Studio for high society Palm Beach events is mesmerizing! Not only specimens, but also colors, and names for each, like "Black Velvet", "Lipstick" and "Blizzard", "Chocolate" mums and "Lambs ears". The arrangements that are created with these beauties are stunning! As individual stems they boast the Creators artistry. Combined with complimentary blooms in a dish set atop a tall glass flute or crystal candelabra and voila! Magic! Arranged as a centerpiece on each finely clothed table, with flickering candles, sparkling tableware and stemware, and artfully folded napkins; add music, ambient lighting, guests in tuxedos and gowns, snap the shots, pop the corks and let the festivities begin! Sometimes, when I'm tired, have aching feet, and need something to eat, when it's time to go home, leaving the fruits of my labor for others to enjoy, when the prototype has been shown, or when the party's over, I bring home the "bounty", the "spoils", the "treasure". For a few fleeting days it is I for whom the petals pose, my humble table they grace, I am the flower's guest of honor. Maybe that they are temporary is what makes them so indulgent, luxurious, and appreciated. No matter, they command attention and admiration, even immortality through photographs! I'm happy to do it for them, the pleasure is all mine!

Antique Curtains

It's interesting how each step taken in life leads farther from where we thought it would when we started, whether it's along the intended route or not. So many things divert attention along the way that sometimes, before you know it, you find yourself looking around wondering how you got there, and where the time went. How is it possible to have thoughts, emotions, and recollections that transcend decades?!
A few years ago I awoke one morning, opened my eyes, and briefly but certainly was back in a different place, a different time, 25 years removed. The emotions that moment of incomplete consciousness stirred within were penetrating to the heart of me. As I came into full consciousness I was completely emotionally exposed. I cried the entire day! I called my Mom. I called my dear friend who shared so much of my life at the time. I wrote. I remembered, and wept with an intense longing for those days again. A do over that would offer me a chance to do it better, and not forget anything, and appreciate everything. A second shot at not allowing the ugly realities of that time to steal away from me the beauty of that time. The beauty of my sweet friendship, the beauty of my precious children, the beauty of the dream that could have unfolded were it not for the ugly.
It was the antique curtains. The way the early morning sun from just the right spot in the sky filtered through them, highlighting the cream, dusty pink and pale green of the cabbage roses set on a long blue bed of satiny old fabric. Those same curtains had hung in far away long ago windows just as they hung that day. I saw them, perhaps without seeing them, every morning, every time I entered that room, still this time, I saw them as so much more than a decorative covering for the window. They represented a part of my past, one that was once filled with the hopes of a life that would have been very different than the life that in fact was. It was not that the life my steps had taken me to was not good, but that the hopes and dreams of that long ago far away time were never fulfilled, and at that moment, a brutish reality forced me to admit that they never would be. Those opportunities had presented themselves for a season, and when the season passed, so too the opportunities. I willingly veered in a different direction all those years ago, seeing a fresh beginning, adventure, change, my vision had a new focus. I had not obtained enough life experience to know that the new direction would lead me so far from the old that there would be no return.
That day, and for the next few to follow, I mulled over in my mind the things I left behind, most importantly the people, and then the possibilities. It was hard. I retraced steps and saw along the way where I had to set some things down because the arms of my life were filling with other things, thinking I'd go back for it when I could, but never did, I never could. Some of the things I had to shed were best left by the side of the road, given the opportunity I would not have retrieved them anyway. All along what had become the road of my life there were hopes, plans, dreams and wishes that had been cast off to make way for new ones. It's true for everybody. One can only juggle so many things at any given time, some simply must be set aside.
That day I mourned the cast offs that were as much a part of me and my past, as my present. I did not let go easily, and I would only ever let go to the extent that I could not pick up where I left off. But where I could, whether on paper, or the re-telling of stories, or just in my own thoughts, I would, and do, pay homage to the yesterdays that have shaped today, to the antique curtains that I still own. They're folded up in the linen closet right now, I can't part with them, one day I'll hang them in a window again. They will be part of a "new" decorating plan as they serve also to remind of the old.
My son called the other day to tell me he'd found out that our old house on Sherman road is abandoned. It's the house my Grandpa built when my Dad was 10 years old. After Grandpa and his family lived their lives in that house, I and my family lived a portion of ours there. My son remembers. He remembers his uncle teaching him to ride a two wheeler on the tar-tab driveway, he remembers turning over the giant railroad ties that lined it, to hunt for snakes, he remembers.
The antique curtains hung at the window facing the field that Grandpa farmed, and my Dad's horse grazed when he was a boy. The field where I'd always hoped to see my own horse lazily indulge in the grasses and sunshine. Sunshine filtered through beautiful antique curtains from just the right spot in the sky. The spot where the present intersects with the past in a glorious unforgettable burst of life.
P.J.

Hpy B-day MSG

Dear Matthew Stephen,
Happy 34th Birthday #1 son!
We sure have been through a lot together you and I! A 34 year relationship that began for me, with much apprehension, total uncertainty, complete inexperience, and fear because of it all. How ever would I do this? And yet I went charging ahead with a youthful ignorance and bliss into the unknown, and with a stubborn rebellion toward all who dared stand in my way. It was not in my plan at the time to have a child, in fact I was so unprepared that I didn't even have time to see the need for a plan, of any sort. Plans are overrated! In my mind when I thought about it, I figured I'd have the 2.5 kids 1 boy and 1 girl, (I don't know what the .5 would have been) the cat, the dog, and the white picket fence that statistics of the day indicated for the average family. Well, who wants to be an average statistic anyway?!
We started with 2 strikes against us, in the bottom of the 9th and 2 outs, but we were in the game, and there's no point to being in the game if you're not in it to win. We were in it to win! It wasn't always pretty, it wasn't always skillfully executed. There's no way to know how to proceed except by proceeding, one step at a time, on the path that seems like the one most beneficial for all concerned. That's what we did, and here is where that path has led us after 34 years of steps!
I've always had a little trouble making decisions, which causes me to be at a stand still sometimes. When you were given to me it was a decision that was made for me, the only thing I had to do was say yes, ready or not I'll do it, and I did. It was a process learning how to allow you to be more important to me, than me. Until you came there had never been any reason that was necessary. It really wasn't a difficult process though, because you were "simply irresistible". Studying you watch and observe, reach and succeed, discovering new things daily. Hearing your "little guy" voice use for the first time, every single attempted word as your vocabulary grew into understandable intelligent communication. The smiles and hugs and kisses of my blue eyed blond curled beautiful #1 son had the power to transform an ordinary, unfocused, haphazard young girl, into a young woman who learned to develop strengths and characteristics that shaped her into a Mother. A position that has been, quite happily, my most satisfying achievement.
Children don't get to pick the birth order with which they enter a family, neither in fact do their parents, and so it should be. Better left to the more capable hands of the Master planner. There are benefits as well as pitfalls to being the #1 son. Parenting techniques are tested on the first kid, sometimes they're right, sometimes they're wrong, really wrong! On the other hand, the honor of being #1 is exclusively yours always, you can never be bumped out of position. You were the first to melt your parents heart, the first to break your parents heart. The first to be photographed, walk, talk, ride a bike, tie your shoes, go to school, earn recognition for outstanding character, go to camp, start youth group, drive, graduate, move out on your own. You get to be the big brother. All the younger ones wished they got to do what you did, and dreamed of the day when they would. The #1 child sets the standard for each one after him, for better or worse!
I don't think it's possible for a parent to love one child more than another, at least it is an impossibility for me. You and each of your siblings are equally loved to my maximum capability, there is not one molecule of my being that is left empty waiting to be filled by the one I love most. There is no fluctuation dependent on your performance, successes, status, or achievements in life. My love for you each just is. There is one slight difference for you though, my #1 son. No one else in this line up is the oldest child, the #1 son, 34 years old. So while I do not love you more than the rest, I have indeed loved you longer, and will have always loved you longest. You alone are and will always be, my #1 son.
Happiest of birthdays to you #1, and may you know the joy with your own family that I have known with you.
<3 Mom

December 21

Happy Birthday Andy! 27 years of "Andrew-ness" has been fantastic!
Nothing does a mother's heart good like sons who honor her with admirable character, a strong sense of responsibility, and the desirable qualities of a "real man", especially in a culture where all the lines have become blurred and political correctness intimidates, keeping the weak from saying it like it is, succumbing to the bullying of the "offended". Spine up! Frankly, I want to have men in my life who aren't concerned they'll appear "whipped" when they care what their wife thinks more than what their friends think. I want to say "thank you" to a man who holds the door allowing me to go ahead, or even any one else willing to conduct themselves with manners considered to be "old fashioned". I wish to be in a world where men don't need to be coddled when they've been self sacrificing for the good of their families, instead considering it what should reasonably be expected of them because their families happiness and well being is what they consider their most important contribution of themselves to the most important recipients, and it is their most rewarding investment. Bravely defend my and my children's honor. Courageously stand against anyone who intends harm. Boldly speak what is correct based on irrefutable truth. Admit remorsefully when wrong. Reject injustice inflicted on the helpless and assist however possible. See life through eyes of compassion, and be willingly productive and useful, even if it means doing it alone in order to make a positive difference for others. Don't be be a "taker" sucking the life out of everyone else, be a life giver, a life enhancer, someone who draws others into their refreshing, oxygen filled "aura". Don't speak of intentions, demonstrate goodness. Smile. Laugh. Listen.
It's Andy's birthday, he is one of those men, and while I relish the uniqueness of his effervescent personality, I would be remiss to neglect that I am the joy full mom of 5 more sons. I've done my part, offering to the world that those sons will influence, my most valuable treasure, one that has only been lent to me for a short time by the God who knew them and formed them in my womb, men, the kind that earn the right to be called "real men".
The family gathered to celebrate Andy, we gave him some cards and presents, sang the birthday song and blew out candles, but the truth is, Andy is the real gift!

Chistmas time

Christmas time is here. 2009 continues it's determined departure. Emotions run so high for me during this season, against my will, as though I were in a car going downhill with no brakes, I want to shout NO! STOP! I'm not ready, not enough time, not enough money, didn't get to do all I'd hoped to. I'm reminded of such need among so many and I can't make it better, how I wish there was a way to... if only...
I have a sore throat, no it's not a cold or sinus trouble, it's more like a lump, it's difficult to swallow. My nose is drippy, my eyes seem to have that same condition, and my vision is blurred. The problem is not just in my throat and head, it's in the pit of my stomach, way down deep where the serious issues churn. My thoughts have leaked out of my mind into my stomach, throat and eyes, my heart breaks as I try to grasp and hold what isn't even mine to hold on to. Time, like air impossible to grab ahold of, like water seeping through fingers, just slips away, taking with it opportunities missed.
There are so many "ifs", if only, what if? Just 2 small letters combined to become a word upon which all of life hinges. Everything could change, be something else entirely if... it would all be different had even one if been acted on alternatively. I would not even be me, or you, you, or anyone who they've become if... The intricacies and minutest elements count, everything is significant, everything matters.
Christmas presses me to consider what I've contributed, and what I've taken, and what I will do to improve at this thing called life. Christmas quietly tugs at my heart like a child on his mama's skirt, persistently, longingly, asking me to look into the cradle and see the baby of the first Christmas. The baby who for my sake became poor so that I could become rich. He, Jesus, did not have to leave the splendor of heaven, but He saw me, and you, and His throat hurt, and He ached deep down in the pit of His stomach for wanting to give us everything good, the best life, to know Him and His abundant love, tender mercy, and far reaching compassion, to give us fullness of life. I am compelled to give something of great value in return, and this is the dilemma. I have only this one short life, with all of it's flaws, faults and shortfalls. It seems so inadequate, but it is all He asks me to give. I can, and will make every effort to add value to someone, somewhere, somehow, each day, because He added such great value to me and mine, and offers this to you and yours.
Have you unwrapped this most special gift, and claimed the Christ of Christmas for yourself?

The Jar

This time of year always stirs up feelings of nostalgia and sentiment. Try as I may to re-create the moments that were, that are now only fond memories, it is an effort that generally proves to be impossible. I can choose the same decorations in the same places, the same tasty treats served on the same special dishes, light the candles, pipe the music, and wear the clothes, go to the special events, mail the cards, exchange greetings with strangers, and when all is said and done, it still just isn't the same. The same people are no longer the same. They look different, they are grown up, they are older, there are new additions, and some are missing.
I have a jar filled with unpopped pop corn kernels, beads, pearls, buttons, marbles, and even tiny rocks, each representing one thing that we have been thankful for. Each Thanksgiving for about 20 years, every person at the Thanksgiving table received 3 items dropped one by one into the jar as they said what they were thankful for that year. We were privileged to have friends join us, there seemed to always be someone who would be alone if not a part of our family"s gathering, or maybe it was just an especially close "buddy" of one of the boys joining us, and then later for round 2 at his house, and of course the girlfriends! Some years we all met in North Carolina at Grandpa and Grandmas house. From the south and from the north, we all converged in a flurry of excitement upon arrival, cousins, aunts, uncles, parents and grandparents with all their antics and activities, culminating into good times, wonderful memories, and too soon, tearful departures. The moments of togetherness were rare and precious. The jar was there with us, prodding us to stop long enough to think about and mention what was important. One year we enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner outside on the giant picnic table, joined by friends. That's the year we used the pea rocks under foot to represent our 3 things to give thanks for. Last year our number was small as now holidays have to be divided between two or even more families, so we had our together time for those who remained, at my sons house. He did all the shopping, and cooking, which was a special treat for me!
We have been thankful for Jesus, jobs, possessions, healthy able bodies, home, food, and always everyone has been thankful for each other, family and friends.
The jar and the activity it required us to participate in, made us say what we wouldn't normally put into words. It prompted the baring of innermost thoughts and feelings of gratefulness. We are better now for having done that then. Now being thoughtful and caring is not so difficult to do, we practiced.
That jar seemed so "empty" for the first few years, it's not a big jar, and even with 3 items each there was far more space unfilled than filled, but it grew, and now it is full to the top! I could transfer it all to a bigger jar, I could start a new jar, or I can start a new tradition. I like the idea of a new tradition, after all, nothing stays the same, it can only be re-created to mimic yesterday. Yesterday's Thanksgiving's were good, and the memories are savored often, but today is new, and we are a bigger family with new members who bring with them their own experiences that add flavor to our traditions.
That little jar of "seeds" first planted years ago, grew and developed into a family tradition providing memories to harvest for all the Thanksgivings that are ahead. It's once vibrant red cap is faded dull now, but it never was about the jar, the container, it was and has always been about what's inside, specifically, what was represented by what's inside that mattered. When I look back in my minds eye there are a lot of little boys, and a little girl, who were thankful for bikes, skateboards, go-peds, or other things that may have seemed frivolous or silly at the time, and who timidly admitted their thankfulness for each other and the lives we had then. I see how that simple activity was a stubborn, persistent seed that has become an admirable characteristic in who they have become as adults.
As another season approaches we will begin it with a new Thanksgiving tradition. My family doesn't know it yet, but my request will be for everyone to think of one word or phrase for each family member that we think describes them, or of some act of kindness or sacrifice we are thankful they did. It's good to know we are loved, and appreciated, and what others find lovable about us. It's affirming in a world that daily beats up and tears down! Now we are ready for just such a tradition because now we are grown from strong healthy seeds. For these things, and many many more, I am so very thankful! No jar of any size could hold all the things I'm thankful for, but the one I have is a sweet reminder of a few of them, and it reminds me always, to count my blessings!
Happy Thanksgiving!