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Tag Archives: peony


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tiny cup. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

this flower looks like Love to me.

it is our new elsa sass peony, grown from a root that was gifted to me last fall.

we planted it carefully, following every instruction, with the eyes of the root system facing up, in exactly the right depth of soil. it was all new to us and we were eager to learn how to properly care for this amazing flower. i placed painted rocks at the site of this root and an amalia olson we also planted. and then we waited. and through fall and into cold winter and then, finally, spring, we waited.

and then, in later april, the maroon sprouts appeared. there were a plethora over by where our one other peony is – the one with hot pink blooms, a transplant from a friend’s garden that zealously grows each spring. and there were a couple tiny sprouts by our painted rocks, indicators of at least the possibility of a little success. i took photographs and was pretty excited.

these are small plants this year, only a few stems. yet they each had a couple buds – tightly wound – promises of blooms. and so we kept a watchful eye and carefully placed fencing to prop them up – these fragile stems against the spring storms.

the pink peonies exploded into being. their scent wafted through our backyard and into the open windows of our house. it is an amazing display of color, a celebration of flower!, a double peony orchestral reminder of beauty.

and then, ever so slowly, the elsa sass opened to the sun. the white bloom – like a cup of petals – in slow motion, responding to a few warmer, sunnier midwest days.

i would have been absolutely content if this bloom had simply stayed exactly like this. i was taken by its sheer beauty, its purity, overwhelmed by its sweet fragrance.

maybe it’s the state of the world, the tenuousness of our land. maybe it’s an inventory of time – both that which has gone by and that which is ahead of us. maybe it’s simply presence – the moments gazing at something so beautiful you can hardly believe its perfection. in any case – for whatever the reason – i was obsessed with this stunning flower.

this one blossomed peony – this one bud that slowly unwound its way into the world – was a light for me. it filled me up. it reminded me to breathe. and – in the most-amazing way – this tiny cup of petals lay bare the lesson to hold gently all within me.

*****

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peonies in the sky. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

i have sixty-three recent photos of our peonies. to say i love them would be an understatement. they have endeared themselves to me and i’m craaazy about them.

the other photos are more “normal” – they are taken at eye level with the peony or a photo of their generous flower – they are moments capturing raindrops on fragile hot pink petals. they are pictures of tightly-wound buds and sunlight escaping from an early blossom. they are peonies in full regalia.

because i have so many photographs of them it seems obvious to look for a new perspective. “the real voyage of discovery consists, not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” (marcel proust)

so i knelt down and put my iphone on selfie mode, held the camera under the peony flowers and clicked peonies in the sky. because our world tends to be a from-the-top-down, house-stage world, it seems prudent to look from the bottom-up sometimes. it changes things.

the juxtaposition of color is intense. it takes away the denseness – and the greenness – of the whole plant. it focuses on the individual flowers, on their stems.

i’m not really fond of this photo shoot so much. i prefer the other 57 i took up-close-and-personal with my precious peonies. but it’s a good reminder to step back and look at peonies from many aspects. they will look a tad bit different depending on the surroundings, depending on the background. they will blend in and they will stand out. they will be one-of-many and they will be the star-of-the-show. each peony may be appreciated in different ways, in different contexts, for different reasons. with new eyes.

not unlike people.

*****

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in the same way. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

in the same way this peony bud waits – tightly budded – absorbing the sunshine and the rain, glomming onto every gift nature offers her – i write this ahead, in great anticipation of being in the mountains.

i am a peony bud – wrapped up and waiting to unwind. ready to stand in the sun, soak it in, my breathing a little off as i adjust to altitude, weeping at the first sight of the range in front of us.

and in the same way this peony will soon glimmer in blossoming, i can feel it in anticipation. i can feel standing on a crest or tucked into the aspen forest along the trail or sitting in the brook on a rock. i can feel the petals relax, unwind. i can feel the air brush past me. i can feel my heart beating.

“i am here now,” i will remind myself, “stay here in each moment. don’t go anywhere else but here right now.”

and all that will come – all that will happen – whether ants or good weather or bad – i am nevertheless a bud that will open, unfurling petal by petal. nature and time will have its way. no matter. unconditionally. like goodness and love.

and i will stand today in the mountains – grateful – for peony lessons, for patience and fortitude, for all things unconditional.

*****

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damn prickly. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

there are people like this. prickly. 

and, just like thistles, prickly people tend to stick together. at least that’s been my experience. 

one wonders what the point of thistles are in the world. what good might they do? the nectar and pollen are of nutritional value to pollinators; the seeds are feed for songbirds. but ouch! the packaging is a bit rough.

sandspurs were a way of life in florida. any time you stood on the swale of the road you would expect to encounter them. they were present on the coast of hilton head too, sticking to the bottom of your flipflops as you walked to the water’s edge. we encounter them on the trail – particularly if you step off, into the underbrush. sandspurs, like thistles, are unwelcome hitchhikers on socks and the bottom hemline of jeans, backpacks you laid down, beachtowels. they are about as prickly as thistles – and about as nasty.

i suppose if people were to assign flora to our personalities, none of us would prefer to be “thistle” or “sandspur”. i’m thinking more along the line of peony or daisy, sunflower or orchid or even cattail or meadow grass. definitely not thistle. definitely not sandspur.

and yet, there are people – out there – who seem to relish their prickliness. maybe it’s to stave off other people. maybe it’s a protective shield of some sort. maybe it’s the result of others’ prickliness to them. or maybe it’s the truth – they are just damn prickly. 

and, as we know, thistles attract thistles. nasty attracts nasty. mean attracts mean. sandspur and thistle posses can be powerful, keeping out – repelling – anything softer, anything into which they can sink those stickers.

each day – as we continually learn of the challenges of others – i think that there is not enough time to be prickly, not enough time to be nasty like that, not enough time to be unkind, not enough time to be uncaring. we barely have enough time to be loving, to be kind, to care about those around us, to have compassion for those we don’t know. 

and despite the many advantages of the thistle, the many advantages of the sandspur, i’m thinking that an outer shell that may or not may belie inner goodness is kind of a waste of precious time. it may be good for the underbrush, good for the meadow, but it’s not so good for humankind.

let’s not be thistles.

*****

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peonies in perpetuity. [d.r. thursday]

the time for our peonies has passed. they have been momentary, ephemeral. yet, even in their briefest of moments, their impact has been profound. their sweet fragrance wafted through the backyard, their stunning pink punctuated the green of the garden, their blossoms – from bud to full bloom – have been enchanting. and now, the green remains. i understand the plant is in full working mode – storing up energy for the next season of blooms. i already can’t wait to see them.

we planted a small herb garden on our potting stand this past weekend. basil, rosemary, mint, parsley. we added one dwarf indeterminate cherry tomato plant. and we placed a potted citronella on the deck. there is something infinitely satisfying about going outside with kitchen scissors to snip off the herb i need for a recipe. caprese salads or skewers, mint tea, parsley because heidi’s mom said everything is lifted with a little parsley, and rosemary – it reminds me of the brunch we had one day a couple years ago on the porch of the gingerbread house bistro up west of milwaukee. we split a steak seasoned with rosemary – i can still taste this delight. i’ll be using the rosemary today with roasted baby potatoes. all from steps away, an extension off our patio.

i wrote the album this part of the journey in 1997. piano-based instrumentals, a few of the pieces on that album had their moment on adult contemporary radio. and then, like all good peonies, they faded a bit, stoking up energy in the plant for next. but as i pull up the album and listen – last i saw you, the way home, good moments – i can still hear the pink, can still feel the peaceful wafting, can grasp its relevance. i still hear about this album from people out-there listening. it’s steps away from now, but it’s on an extension of the patio of my discography.

instrumental music – like peonies – has no half-life. both evoke emotional reactions – visceral reactions – both are steadfast in their passive zeal to just be. both wrap one in the right now. both go on.

i suppose, in a rare moment, i might one day put this album – or as it is – or any of my instrumental albums – on the cd player. i might sit down in an adirondack chair next to the peony within the concentric scent-circle of mint and basil, and simply listen.

i might be reminded of the moments in composition, the moments in practice, the moments in recording, the moments in concert.

and i might be able to see the peonies that will surely arrive next season.

*****

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peonies and babies. [two artists tuesday]

they will bloom pink. hot pink. soft pink. their scent will waft across the backyard and fill the patio with sweetness. peonies are this graceful gift of spring, blooming once a year and stunning the universe with rich layers of soft petals. were there to be a time-lapse camera on the peony, what would be the soundtrack of this wondrous flower?

this peony (and a smaller one next to barney) is truly the star of the yard. without much help from us, its beauty will reign supreme over all the grasses and all the hosta and all the day lilies. it is – despite all efforts by dogga – a survivor. and every year we marvel at how much bigger it is growing and how healthy it looks.

a quick google search reveals that peonies symbolize romantic and non-romantic love, as well as friendship and happiness. ours, blooms waiting, was a gift from dear friends, transplanted from their yard, a haven of flowers. it is stoking up energy; its gorgeousness is innate.

there is a new baby coming into the family. a baby girl. the other day i had the absolute delight of seeing the ultrasound of this baby merely four months from her premiere appearance. stoking up energy, dreaming about wearing hot pink onesies and puckered vintage polly flinders dresses. yes. wondrous stuff.

i remember that feeling. thirty-three years ago yesterday my daughter was born. pink quickly became her color. i know now’days there is a movement to have babies in monochromatic tones, beiges and earthy tones, greys, muted colors, gender-neutral. but back in the day, i celebrated this beautiful beloved baby girl with the pinks of the rainbow.

and so, each year, right about the time the peonies are getting ready to burst forth, i am celebrating her birth-day, celebrating the hot pink of her zeal in life, celebrating the opportunity this universe gave to me – to be her mother. to be the mother of her little brother, whose toddler color was blue-jean-oshkosh-overalls. the fragile blooms a dominant force in our yard, their presence in the world a dominant force in my heart.

peonies and babies. miracles.

*****

listen to car, the garden’s instrumental interpretation of PEONY.

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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pink. [k.s. friday]

there is a single tiny pink tulip stenciled in one corner of my daughter’s room. when i repainted her room as a surprise for her during her college years, i could not bear to paint over all the tiny tulips i had stenciled along the ceiling for my little girl’s room what seemed like five minutes before, so i left one. there is something about pink.

just looking at this peony – in full blossom – you can catch a whiff of the sweet scent of this flower. my niece sent me a picture the other day of her peonies with a note, “i wish they lasted longer than five minutes.”

our peonies sat tightly in bud for a few weeks until – suddenly – they exploded into glorious bloom. five minutes later – or maybe a split second or so – petals were scattering onto the patio but we could still catch whiffs on the breeze. but those five minutes…wow.

the botanic garden had all varieties of peonies, in all stages of bloom. you could stand in one place and twirl to see peonies in lush green growth, peonies in bud, peonies in bloom, peonies with blossoms wide, petals falling. there was something about these pink peonies.

my dear sister was recently diagnosed with breast cancer. a devastating blow, she has ridden the coaster of emotions and arrived at warrior. her surgery was a couple of weeks ago and she is waiting now – the interminable wait – for the pathology results. when she found the lump and the dimpling on her breast, she felt pretty sure it was cancer. but it was in the moments of biopsy results that her life changed. the five minutes during which she became a pink ribbon holder.

soon she will know more. she’ll know about the margins and the treatment going forward. she’ll know about how her recuperating pain will change over time. she’ll know about limitations and about percentages. she’ll know about genetics and maybe why she was diagnosed with the same – rarer – cancer our sweet momma had.

right now, she knows about these moments. the moments of abrupt change. the moments of gearing up for a fight. the moments of absolute vulnerability. the moments – from the very first one – of being a survivor. the moments of leaning on others to garner strength and hope. the moments of desperately trying to stay grounded. the moments of grabbing onto now and holding onto the gossamer ties.

there are no right ways. this is cancer and the journey is brutal, unfair, f-ed up. she is one patient in a world of patients. i desperately wish that was different.

my sister. she ordered chocolate ganache cake for lunch. she’s thinking about a pink ribbon tattoo. she is being a beautiful peony.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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well and stinky. [merely-a-thought monday]

hash marks are kept somewhere, keeping track of the days we do it well and the days we just basically stink at it…life. the generous thing about it, though, is that, for the most part, no one is waving those down-down-down-down-across-hatches at us. each day, we get to do it again, the best we can. and some days we do it well and some days we stink at it. sleep and repeat.

after six decades of doing life – which admittedly, isn’t really all that much – i can still say i am a newbie. every day i learn something new; every day i sort out a little somethin’; every day i adjust the on-the-dirt-attitude-indicator which, funny thing, is the same as in the air: keeping you relative to the horizon and making you aware of the smallest change in orientation. every day, on this fluid axis, i hope for a little grace – from others, from the universe, from myself.

and i try again. my sweet poppo would remind anyone who was listening, “if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.” and so i do.

yesterday marked forty years since the day of my first marriage. it was a sunny warm day in florida; i was wearing my sister’s gown, my sister-in-law’s train and white stiletto macramé sandals. i carried a silk flower bouquet and the tiny white beaded purse i had gotten for my sixteenth birthday. i had little time in front of the mirror, trying to share getting-ready-time with my lovely big sister, my matron-of-honor, who has a more perfected and lengthier getting-ready practice.

at twenty-three, just three weeks after my college graduation, full of anticipation and excitement and hopes and dreams, a little unresolved trauma and not-just-a-little naiveté, i walked down the aisle to the good man who would become the father of my beloved children. and somewhere, the hash mark collection started. we did things well. we were stinky at things. and i absolutely take responsibility for my own stinkinesses, things that disrupted the horizon.

it’s been years now since i have seen him. time, in its wisdom and flow, has softened the ending, blurred the rough edges. i am grateful for the decades we spent together and for the unique and powerful children we raised. and i only wish the best of health and happiness for him and his wife. someday i hope to see them and share laughter and stories and memories of our daughter and our son as they grew. no one does this life all perfectly and sometimes it’s all much clearer as we reflect back, look at the shadows. grace lingers in the air, waiting.

this past week has brought its own challenges and it has brought its own bits of devastating news for people in our concentric circles. the circles widen and widen and we see the turmoil and angst and tragedy of others. the horizon wobbles under us and we try to adjust, to straighten up, level out. life is flying by. we wake to another day to do it well or stink at it. either one.

and desiderata reminds us, “in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul…” because some days we do it better than others.

“…be gentle with yourself.”

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY


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blooming. [merely-a-thought monday]

as i stand with david, together with his mom and siblings, watching his dad walk down the path of dementia, i am deep in thought of my own parents, missing them. elusive complexities become simple and unimportant as i think about my sweet momma and poppo and their stamp on the world. though certainly worthy, they will not be detailed in history books or in record-holding guiness lists, nor will they be featured in paintings in state buildings or referenced in periodicals, footnotes of prestige. but, just as the life that columbus is forgetting, a life rich in experience and love, so were the lives of my parents. their lives had purpose, their stories were and are important. their dreams counted and their voices mattered. and, though it need not be said, they made an impact.

there are moments when i gaze around and marvel at the rapid movement around us. i feel as if i step back away from the edge of the chaos that is everyday life in a society that values ‘more’ and i just wonder. i wonder about how we all fit in, how, from beginning to end, our lives – in the swirl of everyone’s lives – play a part in this world. i wonder how our very molecules affect other molecules, how permanent or impermanent this effect we have.

pat said, “it’s why you’re here.” she seemed much more certain of that than i. middle age, or maybe it is later middle age, as ross pointed out the other day, is complicated. there is a bit of that elusive complexity whirling around, waiting for us to reach up and cup it in our hands, like catching fireflies on a muggy summer night. holding memories close, we glance back at our lives, pondering the rights and the wrongs and the joys and blisses and the mistakes and the regrets and the happies and the sadnesses, and we watch the glimmering light, surprised at the time that has gone by, stunned by the arc of life that even the tiniest path-choices brought us. in the looking-back we notice the insignificant. in the looking-back, we notice the significant. and sometimes, when we are lucky, we realize how absolutely preposterous it is that we are here at all, how miraculous that we can feel, that we are breathing in this very time.

and i think about my mom and dad. though perhaps generations from now – even possibly just a few – there may be no more out-loud mention of their names or their stories, but they will have been here and, for that, the world is different. i think about columbus, who, though forgetting, is still here, is still holding to life and the filmy stories he can access, his innate and unspoken courage on that path – so painful – moves us, brings us to tears, yet, inspires us. his forgetting reminds us to remember – to live.

we are all on our way to changing the world. each and every one of us, despite our differences, despite anything. it’s why we’re here. it’s ridiculously simple and ridiculously complex.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY