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photo by Sheri Dixon

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

...And What a Lovely Bouquet I'll Make

We have a board game, a silly board game called "Imagine If".

You write the names of people in your family on the board, and roll the dice. Once a person has been chosen, one of the question cards is read. For example-

"Imagine if __________ were a food. Would he/she be
a) ice cream
b) t-bone steak
c) potato chips
d) broccoli

The agreeing majority get to move ahead, while the rest must stay put.

It can actually be a pretty fun game, especially since at least one of our family members listed is not human, and it was an interesting exercise in imagination to decide exactly what crime best described Conrad the sheep (most awesome answer was Ward's- tax evasion).

So that's what I was thinking of when I started thinking about flowers today.

If I were a flower, which one would I be? Or like to be?

Now in a previous life I was a florist, so I'm reasonably up on those domesticated objects d'amor- the roses, carnations, daisies, orchids and the less known but even more lovely alstromerias, wax flowers and stock. They're all pretty...except one.

Madame Delbard roses. Every year those damn things are pushed to the max as the ultimate expression of capital L Love and they are AWFUL- huge trunks of stems several feet long crusted with the most vicious thorns created and to protect what? Giant bullets o' blooms more clenched fist than flower. It's not unusual for them to not even open- just sit there all balled up and angry looking, then one day shrivel up and fall off the stem in spite of the green wire impaling them and holding them in a garishly natural position.

And they're not even red. They're this evil smoldering maroon-with-a-black-varnish shade.

The worst part about them?

They don't smell. Not one bit. How the hell can anyone buy a rose that doesn't smell like a rose?

So people would come into the flower shop and say "I want some of those Madame Delbard roses I saw on the TV- nothing but the best for my sweetheart". And I'd say "No. If you care even a tiny bit for this person there are a thousand flowers more deserving of being a symbol of your affection- here- let me show you a few".

But I digress...

What kind of flower would I be?

I love the old fashioned flowers- the Grandmother's Garden flowers- hollyhocks, peonies, tiger lilies, morning glories, columbines...I can't choose.

I love the wildflowers- bluebonnets, indian blankets, honeysuckles, trumpet flowers, wisteria, trilliums, may apples, jack in the pulpits...I can't choose.

I love the weeds- goldenrod, dandelions, clovers, day flowers, thistles, milkweed...

...wait a minute.

There is one. One flowering plant that thrives everywhere, especially in poor soil, that laughs at drought and grows green and lush while even the cactuses wither and disappear,that possess both delicate white flowers and deadly poison-tipped hairy leaves.

That one. I choose resilience, beauty, determination, wildly effective defensive protection despite being rooted firmly at the lower end of the food chain.

I'd like to be a bull nettle, please.

2 comments:

  1. I think it fits you...strong, resiliant, tender, lovely, can put down roots anywhere, stubborn, beautiful and precious all at the same time...oh yeah! Those roses ain't got nothin' on you.....

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  2. aww, sweet- but you forgot if a bull nettle stings you the only 100% cure for the sting is to have someone pee on where it got you. I think the boys get stung on purpose sometimes *~*

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