The day God decided I would exist in this world is the same
day he also decided not to bless me with a green thumb. While I can appreciate and admire a beautiful
landscaping project or enjoy the smell of blooming and vibrant flowers, I have
this uncanny inability to take care
of all things green and growing. In
fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve heard plants whisper, aahhh...go away, whenever I am near them.
And for some reason, I always find myself confused at the difference
between annuals and perennials. I feel like annuals should mean that plants/flowers come back every year…annually…right? Doesn’t that make sense to you as well? But I guess it actually means that you have
to re-plant them, annually.
Huh. Odd.
I have a soft spot in my heart for traditions, which might
explain my fascination with the whole concept of annuals vs. perennials. Traditions are the same over and over
again...annually. They begin a certain way and with
each year and the passing of time, they grow to have a deep and almost magical,
meaning, to them. During my childhood,
birthday’s had many traditions, one of them being that my mom would make any
flavor of cake requested by the person celebrating (my favorite was chocolate
cake with chocolate frosting...yes, all the chocolate, please). We would
typically have dinner, open presents, and then
have cake. It was familiar and known and set it stone. I found great solace and comfort in that
stability.
However, as I’ve gotten older, it seems as if things are
changing and traditions are slipping away.
We are all busy and there are families and kids and meetings and all the other things on the schedule to
work around. Life is no longer moving in
an annual, or I should say, perennial-type fashion. And so that
stability, at times, feels fleeting.
The first year I was separated, Christmas morning brought a
jolt of unfamiliarity into my world. In
the past, I was accustomed to waking up early (Santa had come!) with my husband
and two dogs, making a warm cup of Christmas coffee to sip slowly on, turning
on the TV so that 'A Christmas Story' could play in the background ceaselessly, and then
sitting on the floor to open presents. I
was surrounded by all sorts of festive Christmas decorations and those I loved
the most. Peace. On. Earth. I could look
out my large picture window and see the cars driving by, splashing the slush of
the snow off their tires. And I could
place my hand on the cool, dewy window, yet feel the warmth of the furnace and
a soft, cozy blanket.
But that first year away was…lonely. I woke up to an
empty bed in a basement with no windows to the outside. It was still cozy and warm and my Christmas
tree was still bright, but everything else was missing. My perennial-life had now become an annual-life...no longer the same year after year. I would need to make new memories and new
traditions going forward. The known had become the unknown.
But here’s what’s important to remember. Not everything is sustainable. Not everything will stand the test of
time. This summer, I lost my beloved,
stubborn and precocious four-legged friend, Chance. He passed away at the wee age of nine, much
too early in my selfish opinion. The day
we put him down, I couldn’t begin to imagine how my heart would recover from
such a loss. He was my constant, every
day, love and laughter. He was there…and
then just like that, he wasn’t.
We lose things and people and pets and our hearts mourn for
the perennial-life; the life that wishes for things to forever remain the same;
unchanging. But things and people and
pets and you and me are just here for a short
time. This is not all there is, and oddly enough, I am comforted by that.
I am reassured by the changing times and the ways we must morph into new
and better-beings when the situation calls for us to do so. We can cherish our traditions and hold them
with precious and lasting hearts, but we cannot expect this life to stay the
same year after year. We must realize
that the framework of our lives is not set in stone.
Annuals and perennials.
I still mix them up from time to time, but that’s ok.
I’m learning to adjust. In all ways of growing.
