"Although (MY) garden is a lovely place, was it worthy of so fine a guest?'

A dragonfly came to see me — or my Autumn Clematis — in my urban terrace garden earlier in the week, and since (A) summer is closing in on us (the season of autumn begins at five o'clock in the morning tomorrow) and (B) I live in a city, this was an unusual occurrence. Although the city I live in is New York City, and perhaps the creature had heard Frank Sinatra crooning, "If I can make it there, I'll make it anywhere. It's up you New York, New York . . . "
In any event, the lovely insect permitted me to take its photograph with the Autumn Clematis's flowers; and my seeing the creature enjoying itself prompted me to think of the 1971 Fleetwood Mac Golden Oldie known as Dragonfly, a song which was inspired  by "the tramp poet" AKA W. H. Davies, who wrote a poem about dragonflies which inspired the following lyrics from Fleetwood Mac:

"And when the roses are half buds half flowers

 And loveliest the king of flies has come — 

 It was a fleeting visit, all too brief

 In three short minutes, he had been and gone

 He rested there upon an apple leaf

 A gorgeous opal crown set on his head

 Although the garden is a lovely place

 Was it worthy of so fine a guest?

 Oh . . . 

 Oh . . .

 Oh . . .

 Oh . . .

Dragonfly, dragonfly, dragonfly . . . "

Long before this surprise and much appreciated visit, I had read (for full article click here) that the visit of a dragonfly is designed to remind us "that living is the moment, the breadth of now. Happiness is the spark within, new beginnings are possible, transformation can happen. There is hope and there is change coming." 

Well, change is imminent since today, Thursday the twenty-second of September, will be the last full day of summer for the 2011 season. Some gardeners, such as  the infamous (and recently departed) Eleanor Perényi, did greet the season of autumn with a "feeling of suspense"; in her book, Green Thoughts, in a chapter titled Autumn, Perényi pondered the season's onset in the garden as this :"When will the final curtain fall?"   

As for me and my gardening endeavors, I am too busy enjoying my fall blooming perennials and the bees playing with my Hyssop as discussed in this past Tuesday's blog entry to ponder "when the curtain will fall", and besides, my Autumn Clematis (a vine I have written about in a number of blog entries which you may refer to by clicking here as well as here and here) and I have just been visited by a dragonfly!


Hopefully, the dragonfly's visit a visit, that supposedly (as indicated in the aforementioned quote) is a symbol that "beginnings are possible, transformation can happen. There is hope and there is change coming" will prove to be prophetic: As many of you know, I have added my services of producing virtual stories and visual presentations to my on-line brochure, where information about my greeting cards that are about more than communication, invitations that preserve a moment in time and event program covers that enhance any occasion has been available.


I am very excited about the response I have received regarding my new endeavors, and, dear reader, if you'd like to visit my redesigned on-line brochure, please click here. Meanwhile, as an introductory offer, I will be giving boxed sets of my note-cards (including shipping and handling) to any referrals which result in a booking of my new services.

HAPPY LAST DAY OF SUMMER!

P.S. As always, dear reader, I appreciate it when you weigh in with your comments, thoughts, ideas and reactions. If you are new to posting this type of thing, you may click here for directions.

"Perfect love sometimes does not come until after the first grandchild." (Welsh Proverb)

According to a Welsh proverb, "perfect love sometimes does not come until after the first grandchild". Does this mean that perfect love comes immediately — or soon after — the birth of the first grandchild? Or, does this mean that after the first grandchild is born, perfect love does not come until after another grandchild is born?
I imagine perfect love probably comes with any grandchild, or child for that matter (although I have neither, and my maternal instincts are mainly exercised in the extreme care I offer in tending my terrace garden). In any event, whether perfect love comes with the first grandchild or not, the fact that I am my maternal grandparents' first grandchild causes me to like to believe that the first interpretation offered in the aforementioned questions is true. Not only am I my grandparents' first grandchild, but I was born on their wedding anniversary, a fact not lost on my grandmother, who can be seen holding yours truly in the black and white photograph posted at the top of today's blog entry, July 23rd 2011.


My grandmother (whom I have referred to in posts which you may refer to by clicking here as well as here and here) is on my mind and in my heart this hot and humid July 23rd afternoon, for she was born on this date in 1900, and in the listings for bizarre holidays that occur on this date, both Gorgeous Grandma Day and Hot Enough for You Day are included. (I confess that I often refer to this listing because I design invitations that preserve a moment in time, event program covers that enhance any occasion, and greeting cards that go beyond communication — including unique selections which can be found within the pages of my down-loadable brochure as well as in the store-front pages of my web-site, Patricia Youngquist Photo-Art where purchase information is available). 


The latter of the aforementioned bizarre holidays for today  — Hot Enough for You Day — feels like an understatement, what with the oppressive heat wave that has been enveloping New York (which I have referred to in a few blog entries that you can find by clicking here as well as here and here). Consequently, I find myself on the subject of weather once again in today's blog entry. For at 3:30:12 EDT, when I was in my terrace garden, giving my containers of herbs, vines, plants, flowers, shrubs and trees their much needed third watering of the day, the thermometer registered a little over 100 degrees as seen in the photograph posted below.

  
I hope, dear reader, that I am not a photo-artist, writer, blogger, gardener, that is turning into someone obsessed with weather, but the fact remains, in prolonged periods of heat I am concerned about things dying in my garden. Hopefully, my fears are unfounded. At least the bees seem non-plussed in the brutal heat, and they are thoroughly enjoying my Echinacea plants as evidenced by the photographs posted below.

I can certainly understand why the bees love the Echinacea's flowers: they look lovely even after the petals have fallen off, as seen in the photographs posted below.

The petal-less Echinacea flower adds a unique touch to most any cut flower arrangements that you can create to celebrate a number of occasions, including today's unusual ones of Gorgeous Grandma Day and Hot Enough for You Day, introduced to you, dear reader, at the beginning of today's blog entry, along with the Welsh proverb, "perfect love sometimes does not come until after the first grandchild". 


However, upon my reflection of that proverb, I must say that, for me, perfect love sometimes occurs in witnessing the miracle of how things grow in a garden.  

Happy June!

Well, dear reader, according to the comic strip Mutts, created by Patrick McDonnell, which is an animation that I adore (and one that I have sighted in a previous post that can be found by clicking here), we are in "half time", and, while I appreciate this animation (and often the sentiment that goes with it); I do not think "half-time" officially begins until the end of June, as that is the time the calendar year is half over, or perhaps, and maybe even more important, is the time of the onset of the remaining part of the year, and a chance to begin again.
I have had soirées in the past to celebrate the half-year mark (as evidenced in a previous post honoring last year's half-year mark, which you can refer to by clicking here), and many of my clients have found the line of invitations that I create (and that preserve a moment in time) quite suitable and elegant for such an occasion. Many selections are included in my on-line brochure, downloadable brochure, as well as the store-front pages of my web-site where purchase information is also available. 


Whether today, the first day of June, or the end of the month signify "half-time", the month of June and all the wonderful celebrations (and reasons to send cards —which can also be found within the aforementioned links — to those near and not so dear to you) are on the way. This year they include ones associated with religious observations such as the Jewish celebration of Shavout and the Christian celebration of Pentecost, as well as many confirmation celebrations. Some other festivities in June that are enhanced by sending cards and invitations include graduations, Father's Day, and the Summer Solstice, so I encourage you to "get out and reach out" with my unique snail-mail forms of communication, and roll out those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer!

No Friggatriskaidekaphobia (Fear of Being Born on Friday the 13th) for the H.F. Clematis! (27 Flowers were Born Today!)

This past Monday, my post attempted to challenge the adage which states, “bad things happen in threes, and today’s date, of Friday the 13th, is one that so many folks have superstitions or fears about that their phobia has been given the name Friggatriskaidekaphobia Day.

Friday the 13th is a date that occurs three times a year, and perhaps that is how the rumor of bad things happening in threes got started—that is if you are someone who thinks that Friday the 13th is a bad thing, and, surprisingly enough, many people do fear this date.

For example, one of my closest friends, whom I love dearly, lives in the building across the courtyard of my apartment. This is the building you can see in the photograph at the top of this blog entry—just behind my SODA sign—and it shows the view of my urban terrace garden when the camera is pointed north. The picture was taken on April 19th 2011, when my garden was shyly coming back to life for another season, after having been safely winterized from December until the third week of April.


In any event,  my friend lives on the Fourteenth Floor of this building; however, if truth be told, he lives on the Thirteenth Floor, because, when the owners of his building were numbering the floors and assigning numbers to the apartment units, they did not want to use the number thirteen. Hence the building’s elevator goes from twelve to fourteen, but, of course, there really is a Thirteenth Floor, disguised with the name Fourteenth Floor—a fact that my friend pointed out “is not too wise” should there be a fire, “particularly if a fire occurred and firemen were counting flights of steps as they ascended them to save a life”.

Another fact related to Friday the 13th is this: When any month begins on a Sunday, the thirteenth of that month will fall on a Friday; and, dear reader, I am sure this piece of information will be useful to you in planning your activities if you suffer from Friggatriskaidekaphobia, but you need not have any more fears about that this year,  because this calendar year of 2011’s Friday the 13th only occurs in May. On the other hand, next year, 2012, there will be three Friday the 13ths (January 2012, April 2012, and July 2012), which is the maximum amount of times Friday the 13th can occur in a calendar year.

But what if one is born on Friday the 13th? Does this mean he/she is destined to a life of bad luck? I have heard an array of answers to that question, and my favorite answer is, “aren’t you lucky just to be born?”

My H. F. Young Clematis apparently thinks this to be the case: its buds have been waiting to give birth and have been basking in the northwest corner of my terrace garden for a few weeks now,

and today, at least twenty-seven magnificent flowers were born. (A few of the new arrivals can be seen in the photographs posted below).

You may recall how this vine just keeps on giving from what I wrote about it last year, which you may reread by clicking here —  a vine that obviously has no qualms about Friday the 13th and whose mission in life is about bringing beauty and joy to anyone fortunate enough to behold it.

If you do not live near such a vine, please consider bringing it to you and your friends by choosing it as an image to be rendered into an invitation that will preserve a moment in time, or for an event program cover that will enhance any occasion, and even to use for a greeting card when you want to reach out to those who are dear (or maybe not so dear) to you by sending a card that goes beyond communication. Although an image of this vine has not been rendered into a card at this time, you may always custom order it by choosing a size and format from selections in the store-front of my web-site.

"The best thing one can do when it's raining is let it rain."

The photographs posted above are of one the many flowers that only recently bloomed on my Paeonia suffruiticicosa (Tree peony) . These pictures were taken only two days after the flowers had bloomed. Flowers that took much longer to open than the beautiful flowers my beloved Paeonia suffruiticicosa produced last year. Flowers that inspired the image for the the back page of my downloadable brochure, where I feature selections from my collection of invitations that preserve a moment in time, event program covers that enhance any occasion, and greeting cards that are about more than communication. Flowers that inspired a variety of blog entries by yours truly, as evidently my Coppertina plant reported in yesterday's blog post.

And Flowers whose images I posted a few days ago in my blog entry, Blessed are those who mourn . . . , where I mentioned my concern for my dear friend KM, whose sister, MH, had suddenly died, and whose surviving family members were not letting her know of the occurrence. Soon after that blog posting, New York City, where I live, and have my terrace garden, experienced an unusually heavy downpour that had me thinking that I had it all wrong when it came to quotations. I thought it was the April showers that brought the May flowers, not the May showers that drowned the flowers.

I found myself tempted to treat my plants like the actions of an over-protective mother: I wanted to go outside and place umbrellas around the newly born Paeonia suffruiticicosa flowers, so that the heavy rain would not knock off all of their petals — especially since the flowers had just bloomed a couple of days prior, however, I did not go out and place umbrellas over my Paeonia suffruiticicosa, because my rational mind kicked in, reminding me that rain is good for flowers. 




Reminding me too of the American poet, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's quote, "The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain." Longfellow's quote has a "let-it-be" ring to it, and so as it continued to rain, I thought about my Paeonia suffruiticicosa's seemingly vulnerable state — newly born and subjected to an intense  downpour — but I also knew that my Paeonia suffruiticicosa would find a way to endure the rain, and that no matter what happened to it, I would love, nurture and appreciate it anyway.

There's something about rain that stills the mind, and, during the downpour, I thought about my friend KM, and of her not knowing that her sister had died, and also of how I might handle visiting her while keeping the surviving family members' confidence. My thoughts turned to JH, KM's surviving sister, and as I reflected on her, I thought of JH's granddaughters — whom I'd met on a number of occasions. I hadn't gotten a chance to speak to them at MH's funeral, but they were certainly on my mind.

The relationship that they had with the departed MH was probably not unlike the relationship that I had with my Great Aunt Grace — my grandmother's sister — someone I've referred to in previous posts which you can read by clicking here and here. In any event, upon thinking of those young girls, JH's grandchildren (which makes them the great nieces of the departed MH), I phoned JH to once again express my condolences to her, and, to share my concern for the well being of her grandchildren. It was with this phone call that I learned that JH had finally told KM that their sister MH had died. "I was on Metro North on my way to visit KM in the nursing home, " JH explained, "and I was determined in my resolve to not tell KM of MH's passing, but something was lifted when I entered KM's room, and I told her. Told her that MH had died, and, KM's reaction was accepting and beautiful." If you knew KM dear reader, you would not be surprised at this, for she is a strong woman with great faith.

This morning, when I stepped out onto my urban terrace garden to see how my herbs, plants, shrubs and trees survived the torrents of rain I was delighted to see my Paeonia suffruiticicosa was unscathed, and back to its business of flourishing, as seen in the photographs posted below:

In fact, dear reader, one of the flowers seemed to be playfully winking and waving to me (as seen below) as if to remind me that KM would endure the probable rain in her heart caused by the passing of her sister MH.

Blessed are those who mourn . . .

"It's May! It's May!"  

My peony opened today!

"It's here! It's here!" 

I am still thinking of the lyrics posted above this blog entry that are from a well-known song in Camelot.  (I posted the lyrics to it on May 1st.) Consequently, what a nice surprise to go out on my urban terrace garden this morning and find this little guy, my first peony flower of this season, from my Paeonia suffruitcosa (Tree Peony) as seen in the photograph at the top of this post.

The peony flowers are appearing much later this year than last, but it appears that they will be just as lovely. As you may recall, last spring my Paeonia suffruitcosa (Tree Peony) flowered in April, and provided the inspiration for many posts including, The Peonies Are in Bloom Again, posted on April 24th, 2010, as well as earning the bragging rights for being featured on the back page of my downloadable brochure, where I feature selections from my line of invitations that preserve moments in time, event program covers that enhance any occasion and greeting cards that are about more than communication in both venues.

Today's peony, which appears to be playfully peeking out on to my garden, is especially precious: a nice sign of life and hope for me, after having attended a funeral Mass yesterday for Ms. MH, a sister of a dear friend (KM) of mine who has very advanced multiple sclerosis, is legally blind, and was recently moved (not her choice) from her apartment — which she loved — to a nursing home on the Upper Eastside of New York City.

Although KM has severe health issues that have rendered her wheel chair bound and unable to see much of anything physically, she still managed to find joy in listening to music, and was always on top of every breaking (and non-breaking) news story. However, for now, KM is not on top of the "breaking news" story of her sister's death, because her surviving sibling, and other family members, have decided not to tell KM, that her sister MH has died.Although, it is none of my business, the family's decision to not tell KM of MH's death, and their request to me that I do the same, has deeply disturbed me. While I hate being the bearer of bad news, I abhor harboring secrets, and I am not sure how I will be able to visit KM — until she is made aware of what has happened. I don't want KM to feel that I conspired against her if she finds out I knew and did not let her know.



I was put in this position as a child by my father and his wife — in different circumstances — with the same "don't tell" rule. After moving out of the family house to be with (and to eventually) marry his secretary, my father and his wife adopted her grandson, Eric, and raised him as their own, a generous act (given that the child's mother wanted to pursue endeavors other than motherhood) that became a dark secret when they forced other family members to keep the fact that their son was adopted confidential. My father's hold over me on this matter was that the few times that he did visit would be taken away, and so because I wanted to see my dad, I kept the secret but never felt right about it during the times I was in Eric's presence.

The truth about Eric's being adopted came out nearly sixteen years ago, right after my father died, when his wife had an argument with him in which she retaliated by telling him about his adoption and that she was not his mother — but that her daughter — the woman he had believed was a sister — was his mommy.

Admittedly, this was an awful way for Eric to find out the truth of his past; however, the secretiveness in the grandparents- raise-a-kid-as-your-own (including let the child think its mother is his sister) is not uncommon. In fact, the actor Jack Nicholson was raised by his grandparents and told that the woman (who was his birth mother) was his sister. Nicholson only found out about his past when "a journalist for Time Magazine, who was doing a feature on Nicholson informed him of the fact. By this time, both his mother and grandmother had died."

Evidently Nicholson has not chosen to pursue the matter of finding out about his real father, and I don't know what Eric has done as I have not seen Eric or my father's wife since my father's funeral, but I do recall while at my father's funeral that I was wondering how would Eric feel towards me for keeping this matter secret? And yesterday, at MH's funeral, I could only imagine the betrayal KM might feel if she knew that I had knowledge of her sister's death when she knew nothing of the matter.

I am sure the surviving members of KM's family have made their decision out of what they perceive as love and protection, but who are they protecting really? Themselves because they may not be able to cope with KM's grief? Or KM who is very depressed and has not been eating much of anything since she was moved against her will into a nursing home?

"Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted " is a promise made in the faith both KM and I practice (a faith that the deceased MH also practiced actively). KM may have lost the use of her limbs, and most of her eye-sight, and now her apartment, but she has not, has not, lost her right to mourn.

A sensitive subject, I realize, dear reader, but I certainly welcome your thoughts on it but will leave you with a more promising thought, or at least promising image and here is what it is: whilst I was writing this post, my early morning peony opened up and embraced the day, providing some comfort, as promised, for those who mourn. (Check it out below);

Just a reminder, dear reader that most of the images from this season's garden growth will be rendered into my collection of invitations that preserve a moment in time, event program covers that enhance any occasion, and greeting cards that are about more than communication, so please continue to check my web-site  for details and feel free to download my paper brochure.

BTW, if you have an immediate need and want to use a certain image for your communication needs, arrangements can be made for exclusive, custom made orders.

Remember, Sidney Lumet, darling: "Great work lives on with us forever, much more important than an Oscar. Ya-dig?"

In yesterday's post I expressed my appreciation for the sentiment expressed in the comic strip, Mutts, (hinting that if one was quiet, they could hear the flowers singing in the rain), and early this morning I was greeted in my garden by a few more new visitors, including the tulips that you see in the photograph posted at the top of this blog entry. They are at the northeast area of my terrace garden and almost a direct diagonal from the tulips that I wrote about in a previous post which included Sylvia Plath's poem about tulips,and it may be read (or reread) by clicking here.


I had come outside in the wee hours of the morning to water my urban garden and to write my Saturday morning blog entry. I had planned to write about Sidney Lumet, because he died four weeks ago today (after a battle with lymphoma), and I have been meaning to acknowledge his memory — or more honestly, my memory of him). However, when I saw these new tulip arrivals, I became very quiet within my heart, and I realized that not only could I hear my flowers singing in the rain, but they were also willing to act as a muse, so let me, without further ado, proceed with my recollections of  Sidney Lumet, the acclaimed film director whose last film, ironically, was Before the Devil Knows You're Dead, a film that took its title from an Irish saying,"May you be in heaven a full half-hour before the devil knows you're dead." 


I met Sidney Lumet in 1989 on the set of Family Business.
This was a film starring Sean Connery, Matthew Broderick, and Dustin Hoffman (whom I'd auditioned with in the past, as indicated in a previous post which you may read by clicking here). Bill McCutcheon also played a role in  Family Business, and yours truly's big moment on the silver screen was with hiI had been cast for a silent-bit — in the "role" of a nun — to play in a scene at a wake and to guard the coffin where Dohney (played by Bill McCutcheon) had been laid to rest. The thrill of having a S.A.G. (Screen Actor's Guild) card had already worn off (a feeling I touched upon in a prior post), but I was grateful for the assignment. At least the fun of creating cards, based on a given role, to send to casting directors and talent agents, so that they would consider me for subsequent jobs (an exercise in futility, in a way, since I did not enjoy the work) was still strong. Perhaps this endeavor in card making was a forerunner for the greeting cards that I create now, with my philosophy to design communication materials for folks who want to send invitations that preserve a moment in time, have event program covers that enhance an occasion, and send greeting cards that are about more than communication, as evidenced in the selections I've created which are available in the store-front pages of my web-site.

Therefore, my work on Family Business was certainly no exception when it came to creating cards, and what is posted below is the card I came up with on the set of that film.

As you can see, yours truly, habit and all, is standing at the far left of the casket, and Bill McCutcheon can be seen in the casket — winking. Hearing my plan for the text on top to read, "They're Dyin' To Work With Me", brought a lot of smiles to the film set, especially when Mr. McCutheon and I posed for the card I envisioned. Sidney Lumet, upon seeing Mr. McCutcheon and I pose for my card, remarked to Dustin Hoffman,"Dusty, darling, they are having fun over there! " 


Everyone on the set was "darling" to Mr. Lumet, even an extra, who was peeved that Lumet needed the entire cast and crew (including all extras) to return to the set the other day. This extra was peeved because she had scheduled an appointment with a psychic, and complained bitterly that she'd have to pay a hefty cancellation fee.


I took one of those theatre "pregnant pauses" and replied to her,"Must not be a great psychic or he'd of known you were going to be called into work and would not have scheduled the appointment."


Mr. Lumet roared with laughter when he heard this and quipped, "Did you hear that Dusty darling? The nun said get a new psychic!"


My recollection of Sidney Lumet isn't the most prolific but I am thankful to have had the opportunity to meet and work with him, even though it was at a time that, when it came to show business, "I'd had enough and couldn't take it anymore!"*


* FYI, this line as you may know, is from the film Network, a film which was directed by Sidney Lumet, and one of several films for which he was nominated for Oscar's best director: a reward he never received. Perhaps that is because he was critical of Hollywood, saying, "New York is filled with reality. Hollywood is fantasyland." Lumet did win a "consolation" prize from The Director's Guild, and he had this to say about never receiving an Oscar, "I wanted one, damn it, and felt I deserved one!"


It is written that Spike Lee's reply regarding Lumet's sentiment about not winning an Oscar was, "Great work lives on with us forever, much more important than an Oscar. Ya-dig?"


And I cannot think of a better way to leave this post dedicated to Mr. Sidney Lumet, but I welcome your thoughts on him and his work.

It's me "the lone white tulip" : Did Sylvia Plath really say "mouth of an African Lion"?

Hello, it's me, the white tulip, writing to you on Wednesday, April the 27th, (sneaking in a posting, since The Last Leaf Gardener "normally" only posts on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays). I have opened up a bit since yesterday as you can see in my photograph posted above, and now, what I want to know is in that poem, Tulips — the one by Sylvia Plath — that was posted yesterday, did Ms. Plath really say, that when open we have a "mouth of an African Lion"? It's no wonder we are slow to open at times . . .  even the buds next to me seem to be apprehensive, they are not opening very much at all, and I'd love some company.


And, BTW, if you do tip-toe through tulips that are like me and my friends, (I mean my friends, and me) as Tiny Tim and those Gold-Diggers seem to advocate, puh-lee-za be careful. We aren't as tough as we look. However,  I do encourage you to tip-toe through the store-front of this blogger's web-site;  there are some wonderful selections of invitations that preserve a moment in time, event program covers that enhance any occasion, and greeting cards that are about more than communication. (See my blogger's philosophy about this).

Sylvia Plath and Tiny Tim. Even The Gold-Diggers. The Tulipas (Tulips) Speak to Everyone — yours truly included — during this Easter Tide

Easter, which was celebrated this past Sunday, is not just a single day, but an entire season known as the Easter Tide, which lasts fifty-days from Easter to Pentecost. Easter Tide is a time of new life, and, on this second day, I was blessed with the appearance of new life — a single white tulip (as seen in the photograph above). Its delicate petals against my thick rustic brick wall was not a contrast lost on me. This is just one of the nuances that makes urban gardening such a joy. However, I have never grown tulips in my garden before, and at the end of last season, Juan V suggested that bulbs be planted.




Just three weeks ago their leaves began to peek out from their winter-gear (as seen below),

the winter-gear  that they had been "dressed" in this past December, as discussed in my post on Garden-Winterizing. From the looks of the buds in the photograph at the top of this blog entry, the lone tulip, will soon be joined by other tulips, whose colors remain a mystery to me, although the buds are providing subtle hints (tufts of magenta? pink? lilac?) as seen on the bud tips below,

however, for me, the not knowing what color they will be is another pleasure of gardening — urban or otherwise. Perhaps, the mystery of the tulip's color is like being pregnant, and not knowing if the baby will be a boy or a girl, but knowing it will be loved no matter what it is. But, for today, the white color of my tulip is another detail that is significant to me, as the white color of tulips is a symbol of forgiveness, and one of  the Easter season's celebrations is knowing the power of forgiveness.

Tulips, of course, come in many beautiful colors, including a striking "purple with the color  symbolism of royalty and nobility", a stunning "pink associated with happiness", a vibrant "yellow associated with friendship", as well as a magnificent "red associated with expressing love". There are many, many more varieties of tulip colors, as most everyone knows, and if they are truly blessed have also seen; however, for purposes of this blog posting, I've included these more "common" colors along with their associations, which were presented in this link, because of the writer's other observation, that "if you visualize a tulip flower, the first thought/feeling that engulfs the mind is that of comfort and coziness". The "comfort and coziness" of the red tulip was something the poet, Sylvia Plath, deplored as evident in her nine lined poem, Tulips, which has seven stanzas that total sixty-three lines, and, for your convenience is posted below.

The tulips are too excitable, it is winter here.

Look how white everything is, how quiet, how snowed-in

I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly

As the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands.

I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions.

I have given my name and my day-clothes up to the nurses

And my history to the anesthetist and my body to surgeons.

They have propped my head between the pillow and the sheet-cuff

Like an eye between two white lids that will not shut.

Stupid pupil, it has to take everything in.

The nurses pass and pass, they are no trouble,

They pass the way gulls pass inland in their white caps,

Doing things with their hands, one just the same as another,

So it is impossible to tell how many there are.

My body is a pebble to them, they tend it as water

Tends to the pebbles it must run over, smoothing them gently.

They bring me numbness in their bright needles, they bring me sleep.

Now I have lost myself I am sick of baggage ----

My patent leather overnight case like a black pillbox,

My husband and child smiling out of the family photo;

Their smiles catch onto my skin, little smiling hooks.

I have let things slip, a thirty-year-old cargo boat

Stubbornly hanging on to my name and address.

They have swabbed me clear of my loving associations.

Scared and bare on the green plastic-pillowed trolley

I watched my tea set, my bureaus of linen, my books

Sink out of sight, and the water went over my head.

I am a nun now, I have never been so pure.

I didn't want any flowers, I only wanted

To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.

How free it is, you have no idea how free ----

The peacefulness is so big it dazes you,

And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets.

It is what the dead close on, finally; I imagine them

Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet.

The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.

Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe

Lightly, through their white swadlings, like an awful baby.

Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds.

They are subtle: they seem to float, though they weigh me down,

Upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their colour,

A dozen red lead sinkers round my neck.

Nobody watched me before, now I am watched.

The tulips turn to me, and the window behind me

Where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins,

And I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow

Between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips,

And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself.

The vivid tulips eat my oxygen.

Before they came the air was calm enough,

Coming and going, breath by breath, without any fuss.

Then the tulips filled it up like a loud noise.

Now the air snags and eddies round them the way a river

Snags and eddies round a sunken rust-red engine.

They concentrate my attention, that was happy

Playing and resting without committing itself.

The walls, also, seem to be warming themselves.

The tulips should be behind bars like dangerous animals;

They are opening like the mouth of some great African cat,

And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes

Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.

The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea,

And comes from a country far away as health.

Not wanting to leave you with such dark thoughts, dear reader, (although they are understandable), you can also bear in mind that performers, such as Gold-Diggers and Tiny Tim, perceived tulips in a different way, as you may know from the lyrics posted below of

Tip Toe Through the Tulips.

Tiptoe through the window

By the window, that is where I'll be

Come tiptoe through the tulips with me

Knee deep in flowers we'll stray

We'll keep the showers away

And if i kiss you in the garden. in the moonlight

Will you pardon me?

And tiptoe through the tulips with me.

And with that dear reader, I invite you as spring progresses, to come tip-toe through the store-front of my web-site, where  I offer a collection of invitations that preserve a moment in time, event program covers that enhance any occasion, and greeting cards that are about more than communication, using images that are inspired from my terrace garden.