I’ve finally stopped waiting for some other time, but you made me stop and reflect, sat at my desk looking at one of my orchids which constantly flowers despite the experts saying they only flower once a year. This little beauty is in its 4th flowering and like it, I’m not waiting any longer 💕
Are you trying to kill me? There is only so much beauty a man can take. This gorgeous piece brought me back to my twenties when, for about three months, I did nothing but read the novels of Zola. He conjured Paris as vividly and beautifully as you do. I only wish he were alive so he could enjoy my high praise. I would say to him, "No, Emile, I mean it. I am not just kissing your ass. You are that good!"
Gorgeous piece. I too am guilty for waiting for the right time to do things, sometimes there isn't a right time, we just need to be brave and plunge in and do it.
The ghosts emerging from the trees, of lives not lived, in more ways than one, I feel the haunting of this grief unspoken, so so terribly painful, and the continuing on to the flowers no longer there, my god, the beauty and the sorrow and the loyal return to uphold its unique scent even long gone. 💔 the quiet elegance of the carrying on, life just goes on and I hope you get your orchid in every way someday
What a poignant window into your world, Summer. There’s a wistfulness to it all, but my favorite part was the “I guess Zebras aren’t good to ride anyway.” It gave me a smile in an otherwise melancholy piece. I so appreciate those little moments of levity and have been noticing them in your pieces lately. You have a wonderful ability to find a spark in the darkness 💕
Wow, I'm walking stride-for-stride next to you. My senses taking everything in. This piece is so natural and flows just like an easy walk. I can hear the laughter and conversation bouncing with each step. Connecting smiles everywhere.
Simple, perceptive, evocative. I would add crystalline, but unlike orchids, crystal has no scent. The mystery, for me, is how your prose inspires me...and makes me wonder why that's so.
This is truly a stunning piece of writing... I have no further desire to try orchids. I was gifted black orchids on a random birthday in my thirties. He said he bought them for me because they were exotic... all I could think about was impending death, it was a few hours later I had to have my appendix out. Now about peonies... loved this read, you are gifted.
Lovely, poignant essay. It makes me consider how often I wait as if waiting will get me to where I need to be when, in fact, waiting keeps me from moving forward.
This is such a great piece I came back to read it again. I went down a rabbit hole with your writing. How did I not know before this week you wrote The Oyster War? Serendipity in that I am working on a piece about a February 1914 oyster stew party my great-grandparents attended near Warroad MN on the Canadian border and I had no idea Swedes were into oysters and that took me down a deep dive of flat oysters along Sweden's western coast and then back to you. You who capture a feeling about waiting for some other time, to be worthy...made me think about worthy of oyster stew in the middle of winter in Minnesota. Evidently my great-grandparents thought themselves worthy.
"I still go out of my way for the orchids, even though they aren’t there anymore. I still pass by expecting to see them. The façade is still painted the same deep purple, but there are no flowers inside. I never felt I was in a position to buy one. I travel too much. I was waiting, for some other time, for some other life, to be settled, to be ready, to be worthy. I never even went in." - such a beautiful paragraph. Thank you for the story!
I’ve finally stopped waiting for some other time, but you made me stop and reflect, sat at my desk looking at one of my orchids which constantly flowers despite the experts saying they only flower once a year. This little beauty is in its 4th flowering and like it, I’m not waiting any longer 💕
Are you trying to kill me? There is only so much beauty a man can take. This gorgeous piece brought me back to my twenties when, for about three months, I did nothing but read the novels of Zola. He conjured Paris as vividly and beautifully as you do. I only wish he were alive so he could enjoy my high praise. I would say to him, "No, Emile, I mean it. I am not just kissing your ass. You are that good!"
Gorgeous piece. I too am guilty for waiting for the right time to do things, sometimes there isn't a right time, we just need to be brave and plunge in and do it.
So lovely; sent me down pathways of memories; thank you.
Sounds like there is grieving going on and, at the same time, a renewed openness to life - the contrast creates new energy, propelling us forward.
This part: "I was waiting, for some other time, for some other life, to be settled, to be ready, to be worthy." Love this so much. Thank you!
The ghosts emerging from the trees, of lives not lived, in more ways than one, I feel the haunting of this grief unspoken, so so terribly painful, and the continuing on to the flowers no longer there, my god, the beauty and the sorrow and the loyal return to uphold its unique scent even long gone. 💔 the quiet elegance of the carrying on, life just goes on and I hope you get your orchid in every way someday
What a poignant window into your world, Summer. There’s a wistfulness to it all, but my favorite part was the “I guess Zebras aren’t good to ride anyway.” It gave me a smile in an otherwise melancholy piece. I so appreciate those little moments of levity and have been noticing them in your pieces lately. You have a wonderful ability to find a spark in the darkness 💕
Wow, I'm walking stride-for-stride next to you. My senses taking everything in. This piece is so natural and flows just like an easy walk. I can hear the laughter and conversation bouncing with each step. Connecting smiles everywhere.
Simple, perceptive, evocative. I would add crystalline, but unlike orchids, crystal has no scent. The mystery, for me, is how your prose inspires me...and makes me wonder why that's so.
This is truly a stunning piece of writing... I have no further desire to try orchids. I was gifted black orchids on a random birthday in my thirties. He said he bought them for me because they were exotic... all I could think about was impending death, it was a few hours later I had to have my appendix out. Now about peonies... loved this read, you are gifted.
Lovely, poignant essay. It makes me consider how often I wait as if waiting will get me to where I need to be when, in fact, waiting keeps me from moving forward.
Breathtaking writing… and truly, you will always be worthy of orchids.
*sigh* A lovely, immersive read.
Lovely that orchids prompted you to walk with your ghosts of lives unlived.
This is such a great piece I came back to read it again. I went down a rabbit hole with your writing. How did I not know before this week you wrote The Oyster War? Serendipity in that I am working on a piece about a February 1914 oyster stew party my great-grandparents attended near Warroad MN on the Canadian border and I had no idea Swedes were into oysters and that took me down a deep dive of flat oysters along Sweden's western coast and then back to you. You who capture a feeling about waiting for some other time, to be worthy...made me think about worthy of oyster stew in the middle of winter in Minnesota. Evidently my great-grandparents thought themselves worthy.
"I still go out of my way for the orchids, even though they aren’t there anymore. I still pass by expecting to see them. The façade is still painted the same deep purple, but there are no flowers inside. I never felt I was in a position to buy one. I travel too much. I was waiting, for some other time, for some other life, to be settled, to be ready, to be worthy. I never even went in." - such a beautiful paragraph. Thank you for the story!