I have been standing over my sink, pulling shriveled leaves from the red and pink tulips that my Beloved sent to me on Valentine's Day, along with the same message she always sends: I love you so. I have been trying to steal another day, another half day for these gifts which are by nature ephemeral.
They arrived last Thursday while I was at work, and I didn't find them until I'd returned from our date, late at night. My daughter had put them on the piano, still enshrouded with plastic. They were not arranged, but strewn in a red glass vase, a rectangle that flared outward from its base. They were breathtaking. Now, even stripped of their greenery, their earlier glory, they still are.
Beloved called me this afternoon. She'd found a quote that she just had to read me. It was from Julia Child.
I think it's a shame to be caught up in something that doesn't make you tremble with joy.
It reminded me of you, she said. Which is funny, because it reminds me of her. It reminds me of both of us... how we feel about our work, how we feel about our children, how we feel about one another.
Sometimes I want to weep with gratitude for all of it, the wonder of it.