Alicia asked me to talk about my Happy Place. This being fairly close to Zombie Jesus Day, I actually have a pictorial answer:
That’s my much-beloved Easter lily; my Happy Place is not “in the sex organs of an aggressive holiday flower,” but “around flowers.” I don’t have a specific mental happy place, but I spent a whole lot of my childhood in my great-grandmother’s garden, so flowers have some deeply happy associations for me. There’s no place I’d rather be than in a garden, really. Good smells, pretty colors, silky textures, tasty edibles, and funny bugs everywhere? I’m in.
Michael got me this Easter lily last night, right when I was feeling particularly cranky and sleep-deprived and what-a-waste-of-a-spring-nightish, and I was up until nearly four this morning enjoying the fresh air from the windows and the scent of live flowers. I could just close my eyes and pretend I was stretched out in the grass by the flowerbeds with nothing to look forward to but more of the same. Today I am still sleep-deprived, but noticeably less cranky.
I’m hoping to plant the bulb outside and coax it into a natural summer bloom, but our soil is crappy and our neighbor’s dog is assy. I might try winterizing the bulb in a pot and forcing a bloom next year, but that’s fairly difficult to achieve with Easter lilies since they’ve already been forced once. I think what will end up happening is this: the plant will die, I will be a little sad, and then I’ll go get some delicious yellow tulips. I could spin this out into a big Good Friday allegory, but… I’m busy snipping anthers here, okay?