flower crown moments

A few days ago Dave offered to take Nettie to the zoo for the morning, and I decided to stay home and make flower crowns. Another mom might have waited to do that when her children were home to help, but I wanted to enjoy it. So I did it by myself. I'm not even going to qualify that.

I was inspired via Instagram by a lovely friend from the Netherlands, who shared photos of her boys in their flower crowns. They were celebrating solstice. I was late to the party, as usual. Actually I just never go to parties. But, as my friend pointed out, with all my garden flowers, I would be able to make a very nice crown for Nettie. I have what I'm calling a "cutting garden" this year, which means that I have flowers that look good once they are removed from my poorly-planned, overcrowded, mess of a garden. I have been bringing in and giving away as many as I can, because they're not particularly picturesque where they are, except from just the right angle.

My hollyhocks, circa June 6-7, 2017.

The same hollyhocks, circa June 30, 2017. Rest in peace.

My beds looked good for oh, I'd say about two days, after which time a string of thunderstorms toppled, crippled, or maimed all but one of my hollyhocks, which are now also ravaged by rust or scab or some other horrifying derma-botana-logical condition which has made them so unsightly that even though they are still blooming in an amazing variety of colors, I'm very close to cutting them all back and being done with the whole thing.

My herbs are out-of-control, which is apparently the state of herbs. You either don't have them or you have scads of them and have to start pulling out everything you see. I found mint in my sweet peas yesterday that was four feet tall. I think that must be some sort of record. The Bells of Ireland, which I was so happy to see coming up on their own this spring, are lying in the most unsightly way, their stems splayed in every direction, the bells coated with mud. Cilantro has gone to seed everywhere and the poppies have popped and popped until frankly, I'm sick of their weak, bobbing heads and their petals dropping all over the place. I've pulled thousands of volunteer morning glories. Thousands. They just keep coming, winding their sneaky little tentacles around the spindly necks of my phlox and autumn clematis.

But flower crowns.

They're so romantic and whimsical, like something from a fairy-tale or a dream. Because who, in real life, has time to make a flower crown, and who, in real life, is going to wear one? Outside of a wedding or something, I really don't know. They seem so frivolous. You can only wear one once, and then the flowers shrivel up and all you can do is maybe hang it on the wall for nostalgia. And honestly, I knew there was no chance that Nettie was going to wear hers for more than a few minutes, hopefully just long enough to snap a few photos. So it's kind of a flaky way to spend your time, right?

That's how I felt about my "flower crown moment" for most of the week. A little flaky. I mean, I wanted to have fun, but most of the time I was working on the crown I was feeling guilty that I didn't go to the zoo with Nettie. And then Dave called me from the zoo to tell me that one of my very best lady-friends was at the zoo with her three little boys who are under four, and I felt a whole lot guiltier. I mean, there she was momming it up hardcore, and here I was at home in my quiet house, making a blasted flower crown.

Actually I didn't stop with Nettie's crown. Despite the guilt, I ended up being so inspired that I made a few tiny crowns for some little felted mice, (talk about frivolous), and I shared photos on Facebook and Instagram. People really liked them. Like, a lot. More than they've liked anything I've posted recently. And I'm pretty sure it was the flower crowns that people liked, not so much the mice. Strangely, not a single person complained that I was being flaky.

So I've been thinking about why a flower crown has so much appeal, what it is that we're responding to. Then I looked at the photos again and thought, "Oh, Rosanna, stop making everything so complicated. They're just pretty, that's all." And they are pretty, even beautiful. Not in a complex way. Not because of composition or lighting or design. They're just pretty flowers that will be faded tomorrow. And sometimes, that's what makes something beautiful: the transience. The impermanence. The frivolousness of something spent just for beauty's sake. That's why I garden, and why I'll try again next year, even if I only enjoy my beds for two days. I have spent so much of my adult life working toward something, and never stopping once I get there, to enjoy it. It's such a sad way to live, never celebrating, never being frivolous.

I'll be making more flower crowns, for Nettie, for felted animal friends, for myself, maybe others. And I'm going to try not to feel guilty. We don't need more guilt. We need more flower crowns, or at least flower crown moments.

This is a picture of the little katydid that came in with my herbs for my salad and kept hopping on me and waving his antennae around like he was trying to talk. He has nothing to do with the blog post, I just like this photo.

Last night my mom comes into the kitchen and sets a little rock in front of me. "Do you know what this is?" she asks.

I look at it. "Yeah, it's Nettie's little 'watermelon' rock. I mean, it's actually a piece of a glass marble I think, but we call it a rock."

She nods. "It was in my cupcake at the birthday party," she says.

I stare at the rock-marble. Then I stare at her. I remember, fuzzily, that Nettie helped me make some of the white cake batter. "Oh! She helped me make the cupcakes. She must have dropped it in...... Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Well, I didn't know if you could handle it right away," she says. "I didn't want to shake you up."

I consider this a moment. I mean, I am a little horrified and definitely shocked. But I think I could have handled it. I wonder how tenuous my sanity seems to my mom. It's strange that out of all the people at the party, and all the cupcakes (I think I made almost 100), she picked the specially-filled cupcake, and here I'm assuming that my sweet little helper didn't have any other small objects in her hands.

"I think it was God," she says.

I roll my eyes. "Nettie will be glad to have her watermelon rock back. She really likes this one..... Oh, and I'm really glad you didn't break your teeth out or eat glass shards," I say. It's only what any loving daughter would say to her mom after feeding her a half of a marble in a cupcake.

A very small portion of Nettie's rock and tiny thing collection

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An excerpt of a conversation Nettie and I had a few weeks ago:

R: Please take those sprinkles out of your pants.
We don’t put sprinkles in our underwear.

N: We do! We DO put binkles in our underwear!

R: No, I don’t think that’s a good thing to do.
Please take the sprinkles out of your pants.

N: I willn’t! I willn’t take them out! I like them there!

R: But Momma doesn’t like them there. 

N: But I do? I want to put them in there and walk around?

R: No, please give Momma the bottle.

N: I willn’t. I keep these binkles in my pants!
(runs out of the room with the sprinkles in her pants)

end scene

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The world's first pygmy white-tailed deer fawn

Also a few weeks ago at our house. After dinner, Dave is washing dishes and I am picking up the living room.

D: Sweetie, come here!

R: What?

D: Come in here and look at this!

R: What?

D: There's like the tiniest baby deer in the yard!

R: What?

D: There's like the tiniest little fawn I've ever seen out there! You won't even believe this!

R: Where?

D: (pointing) Right out there under the pear tree. The mom must be someplace close. I don't know how it even got there. It looks too tiny to walk.

R: (looking out the window) No way! It's like the size of a kitten! Is that how small they are when they're born? That can't be right!

D: (both looking out window) I don't know. Maybe it's like a dwarf or pygmy or something.

R: Does that happen?

D: I don't know.

R: (going out the front door, standing on the porch) Do you think it's okay?

D: (going out the back door, with the camera) I don't know, I'm going to take a picture. (creeping closer, taking pictures.) What? What the - - (a pause while he puts down the camera) Oh my god! It's D.D.! It's effing D.D! ((D.D. is Nettie's stuffed deer toy.) Bent over double, laughing hysterically)

R: (also starts laughing hysterically, comes out into the yard) Holy crap. We're the biggest idiots in the world.

D: Yep, the biggest.

R: (looking at the camera) You got some good pictures of D.D., though.

end scene

D.D.'s glamour shot

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We're keepin' it real here, people. Hope you are, too. And remember, sprinkles are a festive topping for tasty treats, not for putting in your underwear.