Gifts to oneself needn’t ask much of the giver.
I tend to keep something, some small, seasonal, visual treat on the windowsill above my kitchen sink, year round. This is not done in some effort to impress, or to call attention . . . it is not a display area for the ‘Grand Gesture’ of a more formal type bouquet. Instead it is a delicious little habit that developed without my really noticing it, a chance to mark and honor, to really appreciate the seasonal comings and goings in my little garden world that might otherwise tiptoe in and out of existence without my proper regard.
This week, as you can see, my windowsill is especially full. There is the tiny little bouquet of pink Kaffir Lily and prostrate rosemary that Mary picked from my side and front yards before company arrived, posies to populate that tiny blue vase she gave me more than a year ago. And next to it, a bouquet of Beauty Berry and fragrant garden roses that her gardener sister, Gail brought as a host’s gift on Thanksgiving Day. Next in this Thanksgiving line up, and very much a surprise and continued delight are a few stems of this year’s most prolific tomato plant from my garden, Juliet. Can you believe that after nearly a month in water sitting there on my windowsill, these saved remnants of her much larger, garden presence are still blooming, still ripening tomato fruits and now . . . throwing roots?
Finally, in that beautiful little gift of a green vase my friend, Julie Chai sent me as a surprise a few months back, are clusters of miniature, White Meidiland roses that grow over the front wall of my garden and a couple of fronds from an autumn fern. This beautiful little rose, the surest winter blooming rose I have, came to live in my garden as a rooted cutting, a gift from my gardener pal, Mike Go, whose own White Meidiland lives just two doors down the street.
So many colors, so many textures and layers of meaning. So many touches and reminders from so many people who are dear to my heart. All of these things, drizzled generously atop the pure eye candy that these simple, seasonal bouquets bring to my late-November kitchen window, less-than-grand gestures, to be sure, yet invaluable, healing treasure, nonetheless.