by jphilo | Jul 7, 2010 | Family
Four days until the wedding, and what did I find? A dandy patch of Queen Anne’s lace, swaying tall and graceful, in an easy-to-reach spot by old Highway 30 east of town.
The flower lady, also known as my sister, plans to gather the the lovely weed, to use as an accent when she creates bouquets and boutonnières on Sunday morning.
She sees an accent flower, but I see my three-year-old daughter standing on the pew at a long ago wedding. Looking like she’d died and gone to fairy tale heaven, my little girl watches the first bridesmaid glide down the aisle. My little girl leans toward me, her eyes wide, and whispers, “She’s a princess.” As bridesmaid follows bridesmaid, she whispers the same words.
“She’s a princess.”
“She’s a princess.”
“She’s a princess.”
Then the organ music swells, the guests rise to their feet, and I lift Anne into my arms so she can see the bride, lovely in her white gown. My little girl gasps, clasps her hands, and her sweet, high voice floats above the rustle of the crowd and the music.
“Mommy, look. She’s the queen.”
Her voice swirls around the Queen Anne’s lace beside the road, and the memory of her childish face shifts, I see a bride, wearing my wedding dress and carrying a bouquet trimmed with small, delicate white flowers. A sweet, high voice floats out of the past and across the meadow to where I stand beside the road, staring at the patch of wildflowers.
“Mommy, look. I’m the queen.”
by jphilo | Jun 14, 2010 | Daily Life
These days, I’m worrying about the yard. First, the warm April weather fooled the summer flowers into blooming two weeks early even though May turned cold. Now, a week of heavy rain and predictions of more to come put the whole state under a flood watch. So I’m looking for someone or something to blame for my daughter’s unshakable decision to have her wedding in our yard on July 11.
You see, the wedding has become a constant source of yard angst for me. Will all the flowers be done blooming before the wedding? If the rains continue, will the yard be a yishy, squishy mess? Will the creeping Charlie be too noticeable? Will the weeds in the flower beds take over? Will the weather be too hot, too cold, too wet, too dry, too windy, too still?
I found the perfect outlet for my yard angst. It’s the young red oak in our yard. We planted in during Anne’s childhood. She waited year after patient year for the sapling to get big enough to climb, which she did frequently once her dad declared it a tree. Since then, it’s gotten big enough to cast a respectable amount of shade on hot, summer days. And on cool fall afternoons, it glows red and glorious. Despite its usefulness and beauty, between now and the wedding, I plan to blame it for my yard angst every single day.
After all, it’s a perfect whipping post. When I start railing about the wedding, it can’t walk away. It can’t spout off a snappy comeback or argue with my logic. It’s too flexible for straight line winds to snap it, too deeply rooted for a flood to wash it away, and too far from the house to fall on it during a tornado.
Ahh, I’m beginning to understand why Anne fell in love with her tree. Not enough to climb the darn thing (no need for height angst to keep the yard angst company), but enough to go along with her romantic whim. At least until the next round of yard angst sets in.
How much longer until July 11?
by jphilo | May 31, 2010 | Walking Down the Gravel Road
It rained last night, after a week of unseasonably hot and windy weather. Though the flower beds looked good – the peonies heavy with blooms, the iris all sweet perfume and color, the daisies cheerful and crowded along the west fence – the ground was rock hard beneath them. I gave in to gardener worry. Am I going to have to water every day between now and Anne’s wedding on July 11. Will the flowers be past their prime by then? Will the lawn be brown and crunchy?
Yesterday, as my worries escalated, storm clouds gathered in the west and north. The sky grew dark, the temperature dropped, lightning flashed, thunder boomed, and the rain came. Not in sheets, but in showers, all through the night. Enough to wash away the dust on every leaf and blossom, enough to put the hose to rest at least for Memorial Day.
The air was fresh and cool along the gravel road while I walked, everything the bright green that comes after rain and lightning. The birds sang as my spirit drank in the beauty, and I wondered why God has allowed us to live in such loveliness when so many go without it.
I walked up the driveway, and the sweetness of the daisies welcoming the sun as it peeked over the treetops made my heart swell with gladness. Are the raindrops still clinging to them? Could I find one and take a picture?
I approached them hopefully, and immediately saw one droplet tenaciously clinging to a flower. Then I checked the fence to see if there were more, but no. Just one, out of hundreds of blossoms. Just one.
God, you have heard my prayer and answered with undeserved grace yet again. You have made me brave to presume upon your kindness once again. We need just one bright day in July, not too hot and not too humid. When I called, You provided one raindrop on one daisy out of hundreds. Could you give my sweet daughter and her husband one day? Just one?
by jphilo | May 21, 2010 | Book Updates
Two things happened recently that have me simultaneously dancing with joy and worrying about my compulsive tendencies.
The first thing was the completion of some really cool planning charts for my latest book projects. There’s a chart for each of the six sections of the books. Each chart is neatly divided into five boxes, for the four chapters in each section and the corresponding appendix. The charts have neat, centered titles, summaries of each chapter and bold-faced headings followed by blank spaces where I will jot down important information and ideas. Of course, from past experience, I know how unlikely it is that I will remember to use the charts throughout the project. But for now, the completion of the charts makes me feel industrious, and their existence make me very happy.
The second thing makes the charts seem like child’s play. A school teacher friend of mine has agreed to coordinate reception preparations for our daughter’s wedding. This is a woman after my own heart. She loves to make plans and check off lists and label tubs as much as I do. She will not laugh when I give her a ten page, reception instruction list, complete with a perfectly centered title and lovely little check off boxes. She will be as thrilled as I am.
It could be because:
- We bonded 22 years ago, when we huddled together in the corner of my classroom each noon hour, pumping breast milk for our babies who were born just a week apart.
- God knew I would need peace of mind during my daughter’s wedding weekend and provided someone able to give me such a gift.
- Compulsive people naturally come together and arrange themselves into neat rows and columns.
I can’t choose A because it explains our friendship but not our innate personality traits. I can’t choose C because I’m in denial about being compulsive, and I hope she is, too, at least until after the wedding. We can face our demons later, I always say.
So that only leaves B, which is the best, most comforting answer. I’m not compulsive, but my God is a God of order, not chaos.
Me and my friend, we’re just trying to be more like him.
by jphilo | May 19, 2010 | Walking Down the Gravel Road
How can my early clematis be blooming already? Sure we’ve had an early spring, but last week was cold again and slowed things down. The peonies put on the brakes, the irises held still, the spirea went into sleep mode for several days, but the clematis? It started blooming.
Let me tell you, the whole deal has me shook up. Why? Because if the early clematis is blooming, and looking quite lovely in the process I have to admit, the others will soon follow. Next will be the light purple blooms of early June and the red and white candy stripe. Before I know it, the dark purple one by the garage will burst into glorious flower, and when that happens, it can mean only one thing.
July.
And we all know what July means at this house. Wedding.
Wedding?
Already?
But the cake hasn’t been ordered, the reception decorations aren’t planned, we’re still negotiating on the Photo Booth, the bridesmaids need their final fittings, friends have to be pressed into service, Anne’s dress needs to be shortened, Hiram and I need to argue about what he’ll wear to the ceremony, and so many other details are swirling around, I can hardly see straight. Except for one thing.
The clematis is blooming…already.
