Since I’ve been a bad, bad blogger for a while now (only blogged twice in April?), I’m going to try to be a superblogger and blog every___! (If we were playing hangman, you would be really wrong if you guessed the letters D, A, Y.)

‘kay, it’s spring and what am I thinking of? I’m thinking of all the times my former would pull the car over from wherever we were headed if I spied FLOWERS (wild) anywhere. Like anywhere (legit). I’m thinking of that scene in Sense and Sensibility where the younger sister, recovering from an injury, gets that wildflower bouquet from the wrong guy and how she’s so swoony about it (he picked it himself) vs. the wrinkled nose she gives the haute purchased bouquet from the (legit) guy. I don’t know if the two thoughts are related in anyway except that they both involve flowers. And guys?

Flowers. How can you not believe in a beautiful, benevolent God when you see such creations? Like the afterthoughts, embellishments that make the raison d’etre of a work of art truly reach hearts.

I was an active flower child – my mother would plan in advance to shield my sight from them if she saw flowers before I did; otherwise I would be in the midst of a field, lot, jungle, bull-grazing ground etc gathering them. I’ll never forget the day my grandfather’s mighty strong bull decided to give my flower-love a test run. I’ve never run so fast in my life and don’t think I ever will again. And all for a single vivid exotica-specimena of the type-I-don’t-knowus.

Since I’m not good with the holding-memory (i.e. I can’t remember boring detailed stuff), I often never knew what the names of my favorite flowers were. I just knew I loved the full-beautiful-rose-looking-ones-with-a-million-soft-petals; you only needed ONE of those to gaze at and be happy. So what a gift from God when at a very sad time in my life, I discovered, in the garden of the house we bought in the fall…poking their strong green foliage up from the ground in May (and every May after), bushes and bushes and bushes of…my favorite flowers. I decided then and there to become better at remembering boring detailed stuff (become a gardener) and found out it was peonies (paeony) that I had loved for so long.

Taking part in the work of planting and tending to of flowers brought me to a new space in terms of enjoying their beauty. Now I’m okay if I’m not trying to reach for that tiny lily-looking flower in a shallow swamp while swatting at the leeches crawling up my legs. Just because something is utterly beautiful doesn’t mean you need to hold it or have it or have your blood sucked out for it. Somehow that last statement didn’t sound as Zen as I wanted it to sound.

If you wanna know, some of the best flower shops in Toronto (in terms of price, variety) are on Avenue road. I discovered this when I was in charge of making the table arrangements for a friend’s wedding. He was on a tight budget and yet wanted something artsy, different. I worked all night to deliver something different and because I forgot that I was allergic to a certain type of different flower (that holding-memory problem again), I was shocked when my sister woke up to look at my handiwork and instead of ooohing and aaahing, looked alarmed. I had to go to the wedding armed with artsy, different table arrangements and an artsy, different face – one decorated with hives and the biggest-puffiest (anjelina jolie-ish?) lips. But, yeah, stop by the Avenue road shops if you’re thrifty and love flowers.

And, I leave you with that important reminder: just because something is utterly beautiful doesn’t mean you need to hold it or have it or have your blood sucked out for it.