Dear Chris & Mary:
Some years ago a relative presented me with a beautiful selection of bulbs as a hostess gift. It was October, the month when all hell broke loose in the cancer diagnosis department. It was a month I feared and would have avoided entirely if at all possible. It was (and still is I guess) a month I tiptoed through with baited breath.
Anyway, I appreciated the gift, thanked the giver and put the bulbs aside . Weeks later I found the bright packets and examined the chubby little corms. It seemed miraculous that the magnificent flowers pictured would spring from these homely little orbs. It became my miracle.
I decided that I would indeed plant these bulbs and that I would also be there when they bloomed in technicolor. Down on my knees in the snow (I am definately a procrastinator) I dug and planted and wheeled and dealed with the gods and the bulbs and the powers that be. I would witness the blooming of this miracle. And I did!
Every October since then my relative presents me with more bulbs. I really don't think she is aware of all the implications of her gifts. She would probably be surprised to know that they have become magical symbols to me - symbols of hope, of endurance, of love and kinship - of all the things that really matter.
Please find a place for these bulbs in your garden (even in a pot). Try to beat the snow. Watch for them in spring and be thankful. Next fall we can all start planting again!