Blooming Flowers

The snapdragons have begun to bloom. Planted in November, they did nothing for months. They were green, leafy stalks, which never drooped and never flowered. They were just there. The same can be said for the amaryllis. The bulb went in before Thanksgiving; the stalk arose last Monday. The wildflowers are erupting, covering the yard with blue and white mini-blossoms. Individually, they aren't that impressive. Collectively, it's a marvel.

Publishers Clearing House sent us an entry form, and TBG insisted that I open it and send it in. My luck was sure to win us the big prize, he insisted. Unfortunately for our bank balance, there were offers in the packet. An unkinkable hose is now proudly attached to the bib under the front window, just behind the bougainvilla. They, too, have begun to sprout. There are little red leaves nestled amidst the woody stumps Ernie pruned back.

I spent the morning watering, soaking, drowning the containers. The carnations are happy with soil that's a little bit too dry; they smiled up at me as I prepared them for my absence. It's Spring, Tucson is a-bloom, and TBG and I are on a plane to visit Big Cuter in San Francisco.

My suitcase is filled with sweaters and long sleeve shirts and jeans. Their time has passed in Tucson, but San Francisco calls for warmth. I always think of our first visit with HDK and Zanner; she and I refused to do anything else unless the boys took us to a store and bought us sweaters. Lots of sweaters. We were young, we had no dependents, money grew on trees, and we were cold. There was nothing they could say; we found a boutique and clothed ourselves appropriately. Even Chicago didn't chill us to the bone the way the wind whipping off the ocean did in Baghdad by the Bay.

The flowers on Lombard Street were amazing that weekend.

Auntie Em's test results were happy news, and so were the Big Cheese's. Getting good news from the doctors is cause for rejoicing these days. Everyone I know has something.... even those who never get anything. New babies with tumors-the-doctors-are-watching, husbands with heart attacks and blocked arteries, the human race is falling apart at the seams..... at least those who are close to me.

And yet, the snapdragons are blooming and the amaryllis is about to burst forth. Life goes on.

After pilates and a massage, I was moving gracefully across the living room last night, as TBG tried to breathe through allergies... or a cold.... or just the gods conspiring to get in the way of his visit to his boy. He's looked forward to this all year long... watching sports, watching his son, eating delivery pizza, feeling the love. The fact that his ears are ringing and his eyes are watering is bothering him, but not enough to cancel the trip. He's a trouper, my husband, I'll give him that.

I wonder if the amaryllis had issues, too. It's blooming much later than it should.

Raylan is back to shooting people. I can't figure out why his brand of violence doesn't upset me; can it be that he's just so damn good looking? Last night, I decided it was his attitude. “Don't you get up every morning looking forward to messing up some bad guy's day? I do.” I kept that phrase in mind as I made my morning calls to my Senators, reminding them that I was still as opposed to gun violence - and their lack of interest in the issue - as I was yesterday. I smiled to myself at the irony, though I didn't share it aloud. Some things are best kept to oneself.

Congress can't manage to keep weaponry away from those who have no business wielding it, and the snapdragons are still blooming. They don't seem to care. I'm hanging on to the notion that I can learn something from those blooms. They waited for the right time to make their appearance. Not my right time, but theirs. I did what I could with fertilizer, but they move at their own pace. I'm around, but I'm not significant.

I think that's my underlying dilemma. I know that responsible gun legislation's time is now... but I don't seem to be able to move the issue along. I know that my family and friends are suffering, but there is nothing I can do except send love. I'm awash in good intentions, but my actions are small and feel meaningless.

On the other hand, perhaps the lesson the flowers are teaching me is that “all things come to those who wait.” I don't know. I don't have a choice. I can only sit and watch, doing what I can do, hoping for the best.

It's not much, it's just everything.