Legacy of Flowers

It's never occured to me before, but today the simplest question today provoked some great thought and introspection on my part. 'Why are irises your favorite flower? Why not tulips or something else?'


















-- Well, why are they? I started to answer before I really understood the importance of what I was saying. 'Well they're just so beautiful, so full of color, and my grandma has always had them.' That last part there, 'my grandma has always had them', there's something important in that. I've never felt sentimental about flowers, though I've always enjoyed them. But this really hit home. I love them so because they remind me of my grandma. And the more I talked about it freely and really verbalized why I love them so, I heard myself explaining a very important part of why I am who I am - Legacy. My grandma dug up flowers, irises, from her own yard and brought them to mine: a tender and loving gesture in and of itself. She shared flowers from her own yard to beautify mine. Then I remembered that my grandma dug up flowers from her own mother's yard, my great grandma, and has moved them with her everywhere she has lived. Then, she shared them with me. While the flowers that I have him yard may not have come directly from my great grandma's yard, the legacy is there. My flowers came from the flowers that came from my great grandma's yard. That sharing of flowers and the sharing of the joy of flowers and the beauty that they add to our homes is a truly beautiful legacy, and quite frankly I'm feeling rather sentimental about it. I'm truly grateful to be a part of such a warm and wonderful home-making legacy.























Me, my grandma (Vicki), and my great grandma (Orpha), December 25th, 1985.

Onward, October.

This year, this season, is different than any other that has ever been, and if we are smiled upon by fate, there won't be many more like it. October is usually when it starts, when we begin to plan and prepare for the holidays and for our family events. We start thinking about our needs, our wants, and the things that we would like to see one another accomplish. But this year everything has disassembled at an unexpected and alarming rate.

Shit fell to pieces. This promises to be the most trying and tear-filled holiday season that my family has seen in my adult life. I say 'my adult life' because I'm certain that there have been difficult holidays when I was younger; however, I've come to find that in some ways we voluntarily wear the bliders of convenience when we're young.

If I don't get to bring some smiles and laughter and happy times to my family this Christmas, I'm not really sure what I'll do. I can't imagine a holiday without showering them with gifts and affection. I can't bear to hold back when this is really the only time of year that we insist on doing things for one another and expecting nothing in return. The rest of the year, we do without and go without as part of the normal course of economic turmoil. We expect it, and we embrace it, and the Lord always provides for us; sometimes in the most unexpected ways. But Christmas is the one opportunity to do for our family without reserve. To give and give and give and smile so hard our faces hurt. It's our only chance to throw caution to the wind and get someone something that they truly need or desperately want. And this year, it promises to be bleak.

I think that we were prepared for this to a degree; however, that doesn't mean that it won't be a shattering experience when it comes down to the wire, and I've not been able to rush out and buy every single thing that I want my brother to have. Or everything that my mother wants but would never buy for herself. Or all of the crafty goodness that my grandma wants but can't make excuses to buy for herself. Or all of the great and wonderful things that I know Leslie would truly appreciate. This year will be different. It will be difficult, and I don't think that I'm yet prepared for how difficult it will be.

It seems so small and insignificant, but I feel like the lack of doing and giving has pulled me apart at the binding and revealed my tender, soft, vulnerable spots to the world. If I can't do Toys4Tots, I don't know what I'll do with myself.