Marigolds have a strong connection to my mom's mom. Her name was Anna Marie, but all of the grandkids called her Honey. I realized later that was probably because that's what her husband called her, so we thought it was her name. It was ironic though because she was anything but sweet. Despite her roughness, she loved to garden and marigolds bordered every garden, probably because it was practical. They repel most animals which protect the other plants. Anyway, it's the smell that takes me right back to my five year old self in her yard, holding her rough hands. If you squeeze a marigold flower, it smells a little peppery. It isn't sweet at all, but something more earthy and savory. It is a perfect juxtaposition from their riot of joyful color. Just like Honey.
My my! This is so special! My Mother loved a certain little pale pink rose—the Cecil Bruner. She also loved lavender. I carry lavender with me daily, and wear lavender oil. I think of her so often. Thanks for sharing this lovely, lovely “Sunny Optimist”!
Ann, I really enjoyed your sunny optimism this week. As I get older, my stories about my memories seem to become stronger and I know that stories are so important to remind us about who we are and the journey that we have been on. It is this time of the year when the wild orchids flower that I remember my father (Ronald) and his love of them. He became the keeper of a field in the Yorkshire dales where very rare orchids grew. He agreed with the owner of the field that they would delay cutting the wild meadow for hay and he would make protective covers for the plants to prevent the rabbits eating the orchids. He was quite a craftsman making these covers as well as a variety of furniture. The garden at Dawyck has lots of orchids which is so reassuring that the diversity of life can be sustained if we take care of it.
Wow, Ann. What a provocation! We need to meet more often! For me, plants are not so much about association and memory, but the power of exchange of breath, allowing my cells to wake up and remember that we are part of nature in a deep and sensual way. I breathe its beauty. I share its breath and wisdom, and feel part of the vast web of interwoven vibrations of light, colour and sensation. In energetic flow, the plant will start sharing its spirit with a nonverbal transmission of energy. Thank you Ann for the pin prick!
This piece just went straight to my heart Ann. It's been only a week since father's day and my dad went through an episode of heart attack. I have been holding on strong and he is recovering. But the lurking fear of loss randomly knocks at my heart's door every night when the world wraps itself up into silence.
You acknowledging your father so beautifully and remembering him, breaks my heart in all the right ways. With tears and love we remember what it means to be a daughter. Stay blessed. 🌼💜
Marigolds have a strong connection to my mom's mom. Her name was Anna Marie, but all of the grandkids called her Honey. I realized later that was probably because that's what her husband called her, so we thought it was her name. It was ironic though because she was anything but sweet. Despite her roughness, she loved to garden and marigolds bordered every garden, probably because it was practical. They repel most animals which protect the other plants. Anyway, it's the smell that takes me right back to my five year old self in her yard, holding her rough hands. If you squeeze a marigold flower, it smells a little peppery. It isn't sweet at all, but something more earthy and savory. It is a perfect juxtaposition from their riot of joyful color. Just like Honey.
Thank you Ann.
A very happy birthday to you and a very happy anniversary to you and David.
March is my month - lots of birthdays including my own.
Daffodills (for hope) do it for me as spring is my favourite time.
My my! This is so special! My Mother loved a certain little pale pink rose—the Cecil Bruner. She also loved lavender. I carry lavender with me daily, and wear lavender oil. I think of her so often. Thanks for sharing this lovely, lovely “Sunny Optimist”!
So much love to you, dear heart, ♥️
Ann, I really enjoyed your sunny optimism this week. As I get older, my stories about my memories seem to become stronger and I know that stories are so important to remind us about who we are and the journey that we have been on. It is this time of the year when the wild orchids flower that I remember my father (Ronald) and his love of them. He became the keeper of a field in the Yorkshire dales where very rare orchids grew. He agreed with the owner of the field that they would delay cutting the wild meadow for hay and he would make protective covers for the plants to prevent the rabbits eating the orchids. He was quite a craftsman making these covers as well as a variety of furniture. The garden at Dawyck has lots of orchids which is so reassuring that the diversity of life can be sustained if we take care of it.
Wow, Ann. What a provocation! We need to meet more often! For me, plants are not so much about association and memory, but the power of exchange of breath, allowing my cells to wake up and remember that we are part of nature in a deep and sensual way. I breathe its beauty. I share its breath and wisdom, and feel part of the vast web of interwoven vibrations of light, colour and sensation. In energetic flow, the plant will start sharing its spirit with a nonverbal transmission of energy. Thank you Ann for the pin prick!
This piece just went straight to my heart Ann. It's been only a week since father's day and my dad went through an episode of heart attack. I have been holding on strong and he is recovering. But the lurking fear of loss randomly knocks at my heart's door every night when the world wraps itself up into silence.
You acknowledging your father so beautifully and remembering him, breaks my heart in all the right ways. With tears and love we remember what it means to be a daughter. Stay blessed. 🌼💜