Without a doubt I want to say thank you to my first love. If you read this, I loved you the day I saw you walk up Copthorne Road. I had no idea who you were but I had decided you were going to be in my future. If I close my eyes I can still see you and what you were wearing: a pale blue jacket that you bought from the super posh men’s shop that used to be next to Barclays bank, opposite the main post office on St Mary’s street. It was called Harry Fenton’s, white shirt and jeans. Well it was posh to me then. I was wearing my brother’s hand me downs, as most things, new clothes were either out of my realm of thinking or grasp. I used to wait in the shop doorway to meet you if it was raining. Either there or more often than not at the bus station in Barker Street. It would not be unusual for you not to show up and I would walk home or get the last bus with a heavy heart, feeling rejected. Or assuming that you had way better things to do with your time than turn up as promised.
So so sad to leave Florida this morning…truth be told, it really has nothing to do with Florida, its because I feel so sad to leave my kids, their partners and my grand baby behind.
I spent most of my day delivering fliers for the short sale part of my real estate business. With temperatures typical of the deep south and a humidity to match, I stepped out at seven thirty and three hundred and something fliers and a dozen conversations later, I got home at two thirty, hot, sticky and sore.
I’m acknowledging the internal struggle I’m experiencing between work, maintaining a home and garden which I love, juggling my life to accommodate my husbands travels and schedule. I don’t have to make myself available and he would never ask me to put him first. I want to spend time with him. Hell, I could have stayed in the UK if I wanted to live alone. His job is extremely demanding, anything less would leave him bored.
Why write this book?
My friend Danna has been in receipt of my letters, cards, phone calls, e-mails, passions and grief for the past 20 years. Throughout all my misfortunes and catastrophes, I have somehow kept her amused and in stitches. She has been nagging me to write a book for so long.
I have been cutting and bagging the dead daffodils, tulips and irises and clearing the early spring debris so as the Asian lilies can reign in full glory. Consumed with juggling new plantings in the window boxes and dusting the cedar lintels over my windows to prevent a further infestation of carpenter bees, I didn’t notice, my kids were hurting. Of all the flowers in the garden, none are as important to me as watching my children bloom. They are not babies and do not live within walking distance, in fact if I have any discomfort in my life right now, it would be the distance I am from my kids. I learn a lot from watching my garden. Seeing the plants establish, in awe of mother nature and the beauty she affords us all. I have learnt so much from my children and my granddaughter. This week’s epiphany is no exception. I see how my mistakes have impacted their choices, My protectiveness has allowed them to adopt “prince or princess” behaviours that is hard on their partners. In my quest to build their self worth and teach them to accept nothing but the best, have I neglected to teach them humility? Have I given to ease my pain rather than help them grow? I understand they will no longer “do” because “I am mum and I say that “I need you to do this for me”. Just like I cannot control the bloom time of my flowers, just be ready for the moment …and enjoy it, when it comes, I cannot control the curve balls that are bouncing in my direction this week.