new thoughts on peonies

I have written ad nauseum about peonies–so much so that I myself am beginning to tire of the subject. Yes, they do remain my favorite flowers, but… so what? You see, I have come to the conclusion in the past year that… well… Oprah was right.

For anyone who has not read every word I ever wrote, I remarked on the eve of 2008 that Oprah had a little blurb in her magazine about taking care of your own needs, buying your own flowers. I mocked this idea, resolving that I would not give up on the idea of someone who would care for me. How wrong I was.

Now, I was never quite so helpless as to think I could not dream my own dreams; I just wanted to be pampered, quite notably, by someone else. There is a poem or quote about the whole notion of growing our own flowers. I cannot quite remember it off the top of my head, and I am too lazy just now to Google. The idea is that we women–I say women, though it really could be any of us out here–tend to wait around for whatever is tossed at us in life, pawing at whatever happiness gets thrown our way, when we really could take a little more responsibility in the outcome: how much much more fulfilling it might all be if we only speak up. Or if we plant our own gardens.

I was late and lazy this fall, so I did not set out peonies in my yard, but there may be hope for the spring. Yes, this is a new year on its way, and I resolve to cease this hoping and hinting for the heartfelt gift of cut flowers that I forever (sniff) wished that some wonderful someone would ever have the heart to give to me. All those wishes have seemed a recipe for disappointment, or worse: martyrdom.

Now, those of you who did read that peony piece for 2007’s December 31 will undoubtedly note that flowers were never really my main concern. Better than I could express, Kathleen Edwards sings, in “Asking For Flowers” the thought that I have considered in past years: “Asking for flowers/is like asking you to be nice.” Thoughtfulness is a gift we cannot ask for. We are never asking for niceness or flowers, not really; we are asking, in fact, for nothing material at all. We are not asking, we are wishing for someone who loves, respects and cherishes us as we all deserve… indeed, it may be worth wishing for.

In the past year, though, I have wondered how far we get in wishing for anything. A wish may plant a goal in our head, but wishes left in dreams accomplish little, I am sure. And goals themselves can even be a bit too specific, striving to have a certain job, or to win the affections of an certain person. I don’t imagine it does any more good in the long run to “wear your hair just for him” than it does to spend time “wishin’ and hopin’ and thinkin’ and prayin’.” Remember Vertigo? A lot of good a hairstyle did that time. But I digress.

In the end, all the trite advice about finding our own happiness seems to make sense to me now, not such a lonely resignation, after all. I wonder at the trials of the last year, what changed that made me reconsider my long-held conviction in refusing to “give up” my wishes for true love. It was not disappointment, quite; more, it has been the realization that finding a life that fits me is no match for making a life for myself.

Searching for happiness is a strange pursuit. Instead, I make this resolution for the year: I will slow down this year, and just stop sometimes. I will find whatever bliss comes along the way, collect it and care for it. I will live on, despite the sorrows that wash up, let them wash back out.. even as tears transform the appearance of what I thought I knew so well. I will write the words, the gifts, and create beyond my present dreams. And maybe, just maybe, this creation will prove itself to be the deepest sort of love I could honor.

P.S. In this last note for the year, I send my best wishes and farewells to friends who have moved on in their lives. To everyone, I wish you peace in 2009.

hnt, the floral edition

The peonies (the self-bought version, alas) were full, round buds when I went to bed last night. They smelled good, but you never know how supermarket flowers are going to fare. The birthday bunch was none too satisfying, but I am never one to give up hope too easily. I stuck the buds in a vase and traipsed off to dreamland, exhausted at the prospect of the busy work day ahead.

This morning, lit by clear sunshine spilling through my dining room windows, the flowers were open: beautiful and naked.

And I caught them! Happy Thursday, everyone.

tabula rasa

Against my own resolutions, I bought myself peonies. They are hot pink, and not yet open, full of the promises of the coming year.

It is a new year, a new number, full of the hope and empowerment that do-it-yourself projects like window repairs can bring. I see through a clear pane of glass now, a bit more protected, and no longer avoiding the jagged edges that I had simply covered with a board. I can see, and the window can be broken again without the helplessness I felt before. Repair is possible. Only… would I want to do that again?

At the end of 2007, I said I would not buy myself flowers. With a new sense of self-sufficiency, I wonder if I should amend my previous thoughts. Peonies are in bloom now, as they always are right about now, and I need them. I need the beauty, and I want the things I wanted when I wanted flowers to be given to me. Only… those things are not in my control. It would be much nicer not to want. Or would it?

It has been a year of heartbreak and hereafters. Perhaps I have worn my heart on my sleeve too much, allowing myself to be an open target for criticism or misuse. I have indeed been criticized, but praised sometimes, too. As for the misuse… well, that was a bit harder to bear.

Still, I have met special people in the past year, and learned many things about myself, about the world. There are still so many wonderful souls wandering, and a world still left to find. Love remains, in children, but also in hopes. And perhaps once, there will be some safe place, visible in the distance, so I can take my sails down, coast in, throw an anchor. It is no island I seek, but a protected harbor on the edge of life, a warm harbor full of lights and sounds and spices and splendor. A good place.

But for now, I’ll enjoy my peonies, and the new summer sun. I will navigate through the waves and wind, and also through still waters, quiet moments left just to watch the stars.