I woke up thinking about healing. The definition of healing that I dig is growing sound. Grow- increase, mature, come into existence. Sound- free from damage, firm, solid. Healing is a process. Certain conditions must take place for healing to happen. Healing is also an abstract idea that encompasses more than the eye can behold. Two more thoughts came to my mind. At what age did I get the idea that I was no longer growing? I am now grown up. What does that even mean? I don’t know and have decided I don’t want to know. Instead I want to be healing or growing sound. Coming into existence free from damage. That is what I will reach for. That is a concept I can truly wrap my mind and heart around.
My feelings about poinsettias swirl from thinking they are so very cliche to appreciating plant breeders working their tails off to provide fresh colors and styles. What’s a lady to do when she adores the simple beauty of the plant, but lived the labor of love growing this crop, often wishing they would just go away like the proverbial monkey on the back? No matter how I feel I always buy one. I am a poinsettia snob so it takes me an eternity to select the one I want. I hold them up, set them on the ground and check them from every angle. Mine must come from a local locale. Lucky for me I work at a top notch nursery. This year pink is the color with fat, slightly drooped bracts. I knew exactly where I wanted to showcase this princess. Towering above my monkey on an over turned pot. Every day I see this beauty and smile at the hilarity of the arrangement. My monkey offering a pot of fragrant pinyon pine to the plant gods and a pretty in pink poinsettia towering above.
I walk by this gardenia multiple times during my work day. I always take a moment to inhale its intoxication. I instantly feel content and at peace with whatever is going on in my day. It has become my secret love. This is fitting since secret love is one meaning for gardenia. I would never own one to grow in my home. Gardenias are too fickle for me. My experience with them is droopy, dingy flowers, bud drop and spider mite infestations. My opinion may be lightening up a bit with the spell this one has cast over me, and a story a friend relayed to me. She said her gardenia blossoms made more than one appearance. She purchased the plant in bloom and when the first show was over, more buds popped up and popped open. The leaves on her plant are a rich, shiny green just as they are meant to be. Hers sits in indirect bright light on a pebble filled tray to boost the humidity. And she mists it. As far as I am concerned, misting is an act of pure love and commitment when it comes to a plant. Although her story gives me immense hope, I will continue to admire and smell my secret love until some unsuspecting fool falls for it and takes it home. There will be a sense of loss when this happens, but I heard the greenhouse manager ordering a new plant shipment the other day. I am sure there will be a heart-breaker in the mix. A beauty that catches my eye, a new secret love to stop me in my tracks every time I walk by.
My Mama gave me a worry stone years ago. She told me whenever I have a worry whisper it to this little guy, then rub the smooth spot on the back of his head and he will work on making it go away. Some people carry worry stones in their pockets. I hang mine in my bathroom so I see it every morning and night. Many of the stones are pretty, polished gemstones. Mine is a dollop of clay with a seriously cute face.
This year it struck me that this stone would make a nice ornament for the holidays. I am not decorating a traditional tree this year so I hung him on the hibiscus tree that lives indoors during the winter. He dangles from a sturdy stem, peaking out from the leathery green leaves catching a glimpse of almost everything that happens in the house. How could there be a worry in such a lively spot? This season he will act as a symbol of healing all the worries of the world.