How To Raise A Flower

 

Life is tumultuous and as you age, the days turn into months, months turn into years and decades.  Take a look over your shoulder for just a minute, let your eyes gaze lovingly and the memories will swell from your brain straight up into your soul, reflecting many emotions into your misty, knowing eyes.

Love is a flower that you plant, gingerly, as a seed. You caress it, you whisper encouragement to it, place it with a couple of brother and sisters, gently into the little opening you have made for it, prepare it for it in the warm, raw, earthy ground.

You feel the warmth of the soil through your fingers, meditation, for your mind and your body, you gently cover the mound with loving fingers, with sensitivity and quiet blessings.

You learn patience, consistency, respect, work ethic. You must nurture every day yet give these flowers the opportunity to blossom on their own.

Allow them every chance to help grow with some assistance from Nature’s wily forces. You are a caretaker now.

The sun chuckles and smiles brightly, water is given to quench the Earth’s soil, keeping in mind, the right amount of water, not too much, not too little. Life, as you are learning, is about balance.

You talk to the buds starting to flourish with gratitude, thanking them for their presence in your life, for their gift to you, as they murmur their silent thanks to be alive.

Everybody brightens, the flowers flourish and your soul is filled with happiness and gratitude. Every day you say hello and good-night. Take a photograph, show your loved ones, perhaps sit next to your flower with your favorite book. You already know that it will only last a short time so enjoy every second it is alive. Their lives, like ours, live for only a short time. Embrace that time with gratitude.

Soon, when the buds dry up, we understand things don’t last forever, in your heart you will carry a picture of your journey.

Loving the process all the way through, knowing you helped nourish it, all along, having a friend.

Thank you, dear flowers for your place in our lives, in many people’s lives, for the absolute joy of watching you grow, for the perfumed smell of sweet ecstasy that slips into our hearts and whose memory lasts forever.

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Haiku Horizons, Retreat

I saw a sea shell on the sea shore {explorer}

I saw a sea shell on the sea shore {explorer} (Photo credit: Andreas-photography)

Soul, curled up, retreat

Brittle shell hides swaying womb

Orange, sand-blessed time.

 

 

 

 

 

Lovers cling, shadows

retreat, red velvet couches

red davenport

red davenport (Photo credit: sushiesque)

Anger, sex, lying.

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Plinky Prompt: Favorite Smell

  • Humans have strong scent memory. What’s your favorite smell, and what does it make you think of? See all answers
  • Sniff, Sniff
  • Delicious
    vanilla-scents-perfumes-coconut-oil Pachouli Oil or Vanilla Oil.
    Makes me thing of college, being young, free, listening to music with friends, not having any responsibilities. Flirting, dancing, being a young adult, not a hippie but close enough. We would wear the oil on our wrists and feel cool. It’s so old there is no photo of it here! This was in the seventies, many years ago. But, the memory of it still makes me smile. After that, I moved on to Vanilla, which made me feel like I smelled like sugar cookies all day long and people would comment on that all the time. Once in a while I still wear a vanilla scented oil or perfume and it still makes me happy.

‘Oh Lola’ Perfume – Dakota Fanning

'Oh Lola' Should be NO Lola

I just saw an advertisement for a perfume called Oh Lola by Marc Jacobs. There was a picture of the actress/model Dakota Fanning, umm, holding, urrgh, placing it, (the bottle of perfume) between her legs. Oh, she was clothed (barely) but I hate the campaign. There was a comment section after the photo which I believe you can see by googling all the information; I am not positive but I think that this was in People magazine. See photo above (with my caption.)

Oh Lola, Oh Dear. Really?  It’s like kid porn and I am not at all a very conservative person. I don’t like overly suggestive, in your face advertising that  looks sleazy. You want to use Dakota Fanning, a very beautiful young woman in your advertising? Go for it. But, have a little common sense, this ad is offensive to me and I would not buy the product because of it. Nor would I let my 16-year-old daughter buy it and I certainly wouldn’t buy it for her. It just makes Marc Jacobs look like a dirty old man. You wanted a comment about the new campaign? Disgusting. Kid porn. Change it or make it go away. There, that’s my comment. What’s yours?

Oh Lola should be NO Lola.

Scents that Evoke Memories…

Nivea products

Image via Wikipedia

Cream And Cologne

The scent of Nivea cream brings back immediate memories of my young mother dipping her delicate fingers in the beautiful blue jar of white, fluffy cream. She would dab it on her face, while I, a young girl, looked on. My mom looked like a movie star to me as she blended the sweet-smelling cream on her cheeks and forehead and smiling face. The beautiful blue jar alone looked pretty and special and the lotion smelled like almonds and ocean and fresh air. It felt rich and luxurious, like heavy cream and velvet blended together. I grew up calling it Ni-vey-ah and of course, thought that was the name of it. It wasn’t until I saw a television commercial years ago that I realized it was pronounced Niv-ee-a.

I didn’t know, growing up, that my parents had European accents and that my sister and I were brought up with European manners, which was a big deal to our parents and apparently different from our American friends. We also repeated things that we heard from our parents as our friends giggled mercilessly; we didn’t know any other way. To this day I still mispronounce some words to the merriment of my own children who, of course, know everything better and correct me right away.

When I smell a man’s cologne (or shaving lotion as my dad called it), I think of my father, when he was alive, picking an after shave cologne from his collection of 13 different bottles that stood on a shelf like soldiers. Sometimes, he put on so much we said he smelled like a “perfume factory” which didn’t bother him one tiny bit. He was proud of his distinct, and different scents from all over the world. Even though he has been dead ten years, I still miss the smell of his cologne. It’s like the world is only one dimensional now, the scent of smell forgotten. Sometimes I will dab on an old cologne of my father’s on my wrists but it doesn’t smell the same. That smell, like everything else that made him my dad, was lost and buried years ago.

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