For the love of orchids

I haven't found a good name yet for the condition I suffer from. Well, suffer isn't exactly right either... it's more like an overwhelming desire that threatens to have victory over common sense, but when common sense wins the thwarted desire turns to pouting or obsession.
Floral obsession. Orchid Lust. Garden addiction. Flower fixation. Green thumb weakness. Potted-plant junkie. Take your pick, they all describe me to some extent. The thing is, my weakness for plants -orchids in particular- is not harmful to me, just to my savings. It is a rather innocent habit/addiction to have, and could be considered a hobby or fascination. Some folks have a weakness for gambling, narcotics, technology, television shows, soda pop, you name it. Me, I see a beautiful amaryllis, tulip, calla lily, orchid, etc. and I am hooked! Enchanted!
I love to help things grow, to watch cloaked beauty emerge, to discover the delights of something easily overlooked by the rest of the world. Someday, I wish to have a piece of property where I can garden to my heart's content, where I will never run out of space to plant things. A place with trees, fresh water, birds to coax to bird feeders, space for two big dogs to run around and kids to explore, trails to walk and places to get lost in thought.
For now, I am confined to the present container gardens indoors and the few bright things that come up outside in the spring. Among my potted greenery are four orchid plants, each a different variety. Two have bloomed once before (a year ago or more), and two remain that have not yet flowered. One of them, however, now has a flower stalk with two buds and the promise of more to come. I am thrilled! When I got this orchid it was a mere child, bought from the grower down the road. The mature plant on display was such a beauty that it was love at first sight. My own little Cymbidium is soon to remind me why I have invested two years in its care...Two years of anticipation. When it flowers, I will put its picture here as if I were a proud parent and this my first child.
Now, with winter well on its way and the weight of many exhausting days pulling me towards melancholy, this unexpected orchid bud is a living piece of hope. (If it dies, I will be quite depressed!) It may seem silly to fuss about such a thing, but think of it in metaphors; it is like a first kiss that one never knows when it will be given, or how beautiful a moment that will be.
Thus, for the love of orchids and other flora I pay a pretty penny and invest little bits of myself in their growth, their presence like that of good friends.
The store has a new shipment of orchids in, all of which are tempting (bonsai trees too, but they are a bit too expensive to trigger compulsive spending along with desire), but I will have to choose only one.... It would probably be better to go back to the grower in the spring and get some more babies for less expense. But right now, common sense will probably lose to Orchid Lust. And I will be delighted with the company of a new friend, a new jewel to care for. I will have to strategize about a place to put it though...there's a shortage of open space not already occupied by a green tenant (or books).
A note to the future Mr. Right: if you arrive at that romantic crossroads that calls for a dozen roses, get me an orchid instead! If it lives for 15 years, imagine how often I would think of you...

Expectations

The holidays.
When mentioned, the thought of Thanksgiving and Christmas can bring joy to some, dread to others, and stress to many. I realized that familiar traditions create these expectations, whether it be the expectation that you must make/eat a turkey dinner, or the expectation that having many family members together in one place is bound to cause fireworks. Traditions can bring the comfort of good times, things to look forward to, or possibly bad memories, or empty formalities that no-one seems to want to break out of. It all comes down to how meaningful the holidays are to you and your kin, because your expectations will only be as high as the amount of significance you've invested in those traditions and in the people you will be obligated to spend time with. Families will have their dysfuctions, but if there is something in common that draws all together, then there is at least potential for positive expectations. After all, if you don't have anything worth celebrating, you've gone to a lot of fuss and effort to celebrate nothing.

Some folks do break away from the herd occasionally, if a thing that "we always do" is something that causes dread instead of holiday cheer. For instance, an accquaintance I saw at the store before Thanksgiving told me of her mode of polite rebellion: if the big dinner is at her house, she is cooking ham. It's easier and she likes it better. If Significant Relative #2 prefers turkey, well, dinner will be at that person's house and that individual will prepare it.
As for me, I have fond memories of holidays past. Of course, I have not yet been in charge of cooking the turkey...

Contact

Ever stop to think about all the things you touch during the course of one day? We use our hands for so many things: lifting, holding, grabbing, comforting, sensing texture, writing, typing, washing, using a fork or chopsticks, and so on. I can also use my hands for playing the piano, for conducting, and today for scanning groceries at rapid speed, bagging them like puzzle pieces, typing in produce codes, and handling more money than most people will see in a month (unless they have a good paycheck, entirely in cash). Hands do a lot of work for us; they are the part of a person’s body that connects with the world most often, communicating with gestures, relaying information about the environment, and coming in contact with other people.
Touch can hurt or heal, and of course be significant or insignificant. When I am working at the store, I end up brushing hands with people a lot when I take cards or money, give receipts, and pass them bags. That sort of insignificant touch is somewhere between “eww” (germs), and “sorry” (I didn’t mean to invade your personal space) and “whatever” (it’s nothing). Healing touch, on the other hand, is a remedy for isolation as well as being good for the physical being. For me, healing touches are things like petting the cat (or dog, if I get the chance), wearing comfy slippers after painful work shoes, hugging friends, a visit with the massage therapist (painful, but good pain), sitting on good furniture after a day of impersonal and uncomfortable break room/desk chairs, a pat on the back from a coach that means “good job,” and of course any sort of touch that is built on a connection of love and trust. What kind of contact could we have, if we didn’t have hands? How many marvels would have gone unmade, and scientific advances undiscovered? What lonely, limited creatures we would be, if we didn’t have touch.

Self-discovery

Today was one of those rare days off from work, so after church services and some household chores (including sparring with windshield wiper blade refills, a small thing that can nevertheless make me feel inept –probably because it has to do with cars), I went for a short walk. The smell of winter is on the air, my breath is visible in puffs, and my face gets numb from the chill. Yellow leaves cling to branches and dust the ground with gold, and the dusty pink sunset spreads above the water while I look out over it from the quiet hillside.
Walks help me think, air out my mind of everyday things, absorb some beauty, and let me focus more clearly on deep thoughts. I’ve had a lot of deep thoughts lately, as I am being stretched and made more self-aware. In some ways it is strange to talk of self discovery; after all, if there is one person we should all know well, it is ourselves. However, I am learning that the future self I am getting closer to with each day I live, is a self who has the same unique skills and interests but who is putting them to use in a way that is more satisfying and more aligned with what God intends for me. It is a mystery that transports my mind to the future with many possible scenarios, and it is a promise that keeps some hope alive in me for those days when I feel stuck in the wrong place in the world and can’t wait to be free of it. Pieces of that future self are occasionally moving into focus, as I am reminded of what I love to do and do well, even though I do not know the answer to “what for” just yet. I know that I am a visionary with lots of ideas, a musician who loves to make others happy with a good performance, and a writer who does not yet know what she should write.
As for self-awareness, I daresay there are many people who have not taken enough time to examine their own strengths and weaknesses, personality, and purpose. Some have a job, hobbies, and a profile on MySpace perhaps, but do they discover what they are made of, and made for, a little more every day? Are they defined by what they do, or can they say “this is who I am, so this is what I do”…? I hope that someday when I say “I am a ______” I can say it with the conviction that I have found my truest purpose, and that I do what I do because I love it. It will be interesting then to look back and understand more clearly the things that have shaped my identity.