My mom said something to me a few months ago, right after I had made the leap to move into my own place and try to start a new, better life.
She said, “Linz, you don’t know what it’s like to have a man love you. You’ve not had it yet. When it happens, though, you’ll know it.” She said it with frustration. Not toward me, but toward all the men in the world who’ve hurt her baby girl.
And at the time it was sort of like Ouch, Mom, but I knew what she meant.
And she was right.
I had no idea what it was like to feel completely comfortable in my own skin while in a relationship. To feel my own agency and worth but to want constantly to be a better person, a better partner, because I want to make his life better too. The feeling of being a team.
Not to say insecurity isn’t always there, creeping around and poking its head in periodically. But to live without the constant drumbeat of anxiety and instead have it replaced by a safety net of love and acceptance? Incredible.
I am grateful.
I’ve been in Nashville three years now and I still miss growing my own flowers. There’s nothing keeping me from it, really, except time and money. I’m real short on both these days. Some day I hope to get back to having my own little flower beds and array of potted beauties that will collect the morning dew and sit still while I point my camera at them in the early morning light.
At least I get to hang out and get close to the lovelies in my mom’s garden when I visit. Remember the Friday Flower feature I used to post here ages ago? Here’s an honorary addition, thanks to a trip to Saltillo last weekend:
… and broken health and a hope tree that has lost the faculty of putting out blossoms.
— Mark Twain
I have to brag about this.
Last weekend I was a bridesmaid in Kristin and Lonnie’s wedding, where I accidentally ruined every picture by
making having a stupid face. Anyway, Kristin sent me home with my bouquet and a piece of hers. Sadly, the few hours the bouquets spent in the car in the scorching 100+-degree heat when I ducked in to Opry Mills pretty much sapped them of their ability to stand up and be pretty and quasi-alive in a vase. But they did start to have that delicious dried-flower smell on the drive home. I don’t know if Kristin picked the variety of flowers she picked with their decay qualities in mind, but I would not be surprised if she did; she is very clever.
Anyway, today I was trying to figure out what to do with my lovely, dying bouquets, and I couldn’t stop smelling them. But I had to dismantle them because my fat orange cat was making insane noises trying to get at them once he realized what they were. He is plant crazed. So I got one of my huge wine glasses (a gift from Ashley K many years ago) and set about plucking out bits of the bouquet and arranging the pieces in the glass.
There was enough foliage to do two but I knew that would be tempting cat fate, so I just did the one. I think it turned out really nicely.
… and I laid on the pavement and took pictures of a bouquet of flowers I got for Valentine’s Day. As you do.
… but in reality it’s always a welcome addition to the scorched, dead-earth-looking yard in late summer/early fall.