Seriously. I've learned so much about myself and this word enough.
I've found I worry. Too often. About not having enough.
I have enough.
The perfect example is these beautiful Sweet Peas. From the first bloom, at the end of February, I worried somehow that the five seedlings and all the seeds tucked in the ground in November a year ago wouldn't produce many bouquets.
My friend Bob at the gardening store reminds me each time I see him to get the blooms off the plant within 2 days. I do and all the time I'm concerned the plants just won't produce more. This idea holds firm in the face of a 6-ft bush of Sweet Pea vines in my back yard, along with the small meandering vines from those tucked seeds, climbing up my ficus wall, a rose here or a trumpet vine there. I even stuck a few seedlings into the ground out front late in the season. Each time one blooms I'm conflicted. Cut it? Save it? And then my friend asked for a big bouquet and I was so glad to gather, but all the while I was panicking.
I need to let go. This is truly an important confrontation with truth, grace and my whacked thinking. Breathe. Think. Cut.
To prove how nutty I am with all this, let me say, I've cut a big bunch twice for Mary, for Bob, for Mrs. A, for the receptionist at the orthodontist (1 Gigantic bunch, 1 smaller), for Mary Ellen, for Alice, for Di, for Mom, for Margaret, and well more than 20 for the house. I didn't grow up in the depression. I don't need to horde. But here I am.
I went out this morning to cut a few from the front. They are astonishing. Deep, deep almost black purple, a coral with blue streaks and a blue/lavender. Again, like the pansy, as long as the weather remains invitingly cool and dampish, they'll bloom if you cut them. And cut I did. Trembling.
Is it change? Fear of loss? Holy cow, what ever it is, meet the word enough. There are, we have had, enough bouquets. Enough. Beautiful, wonderful, comfortable enough.