My boyfriend and I have been together for nearly five years now, and as anyone can attest, the concept of what constitutes a romantic gesture in a long-term relationship tends to evolve from roses and candy to dishes and laundry in remarkably short order.
And so it is at my house.
But he did surprise me recently with a box of paperwhite bulbs for winter forcing, and since narcissus is pretty much my favorite flower, I was understandably excited.
Because the only thing more fun than GETTING my favorite flower, of course, is demanding that it germinate at a truly unreasonable time of year.
I have a bit of a God complex, clearly.
So sue me.
Thus, five or six weeks after immersing the bulbs in the magic creepy-expandy peat pellet mixture they were packed in, my little darlings have finally started to bloom today, and I could NOT be more enthused about it.
Just look at them, staring out the window at the snow in utter bemusement, wondering what the heck they’re doing up at this ridiculous hour, and smelling exactly the way I imagine Heaven will smell, if I behave myself well enough to get there eventually.
That’s if the good Lord isn’t too miffed about the whole God complex thing, I suppose.
But if anything has gotten me to stop and appreciate the flowers, in the midst of all the vastly more sensible and productive things I have to do today, it is this very thing.
Because there they sit, in all their glory, and will hold that fragrance for only the briefest of magical moments. And what a wildly blooming fool I would be to miss one fleeting second of it.
They teach us everything we need to know, if we’re willing to listen.
Grow strong. Stand up straight. Get some sun. Drink lots of water.
Bloom where you’re planted, even if you have to wake up early to do it.
Look out the window, laugh at the winter, and make your own world a Heaven.
Because really, what else can you do?