One would think, given the title of this post, that the content might be related to… y’know… bottoms.
And it is about bottoms.
It’s just NOT about derrieres.
If you get my drift. 😉
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WISTERIA
Just sharing something that makes me smile.
This wisteria is original to the house we live in (which is about 20 years old); it grows over an arbor and comes up from the left to arc over the top. On the opposite side is clematis — which has decided it’s not yet ready to bloom this year; I presume it is protesting the cold — and normally the two climbers overlap each other. This year, without its twining counterpart to keep it in check, the wisteria has overhung the left and, additionally, is crawling down the fence line toward the road.
Those of you who were around when my husband got his gonorrhea might remember this fence. The gunnera remains; it is a prehistoric-looking giant leafy thing by mid-summer each year, but at the moment it too — like the clematis — is stubbily refusing to show its finery.
(And what is WITH the plant names that sound like tropical diseases, anyway? Clematis, gunnera… I also have crocus, phlox… *laugh*)
A n y w a y
The bloom cycle on wisteria is incredibly short, at least in my clime.(It is pretty hardy though, and if you “train it” you can get it to bloom a second time during the summer. You can check out info here if you’re into that kind of thing.) As you can see, the purple snow of fallen petals is already littering the ground, even as the top buds on each cluster are barely opening.
But to me, this is a beautiful thing.
The growing, the climbing. The budding up and falling down.
And next spring, the resumed short-life growth and sprawl.
Sometimes it is important to remember that beauty is not temporary; it is cyclical.
And sometimes it is just delightful to temporarily behold a beautiful thing.
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What delightful beauties are you beholding today?
I’d love to hear what is lovely in your world.
Poly-Cystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS)
The road to a PCOS diagnosis — for me — was one fraught with pain (in more ways than one). There were medical appointments and blood tests, questions and non-answers, ultrasounds and hormone checks and the gut-level knowledge (knowledge that medicos refused for years to validate) that Something Is Not Right; there were medications that had horrendous side effects and hormone therapies that did not work (which both came after the pregnancy that did not work because, clearly, my body does not work); but I think what stands out the most to me as signifying The Beginning of my travels down the PCOS road was the pain.
The first — and in terms of physical agony, the worst — came shortly after I was married.
It was urgent. Acute. Sudden and unexpected. Piercing. Prolonged. Stabbing, sharp, twisting.
Unrelenting.
The pain was intense enough that I was doubled over — literally doubled over, folded at the waist; I was incapable of standing up straight — with a clenched jaw and held breath, trying not to cry.1
It was bad enough that I called my mother. (I never do that, especially not if/because I’m sick. And most especially if that ‘sickness’ has anything to do with being incapable of Manning Up.) And she gave my husband orders to take me to the emergency room, pronto.
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This transitional time of year — with the yoyo-ing barometer wreaking havoc on my head — I console myself through the migraine pain with the fact that the light is, though erratic in its success, pushing back the darkness.
Bit by bit, the gloom fades.
Slowly, surely, the warmth comes.
And I am once again in springtime-love with the sunlight on my skin.