Tulip Bulbs

Last fall I planted eighty tulip bulbs and hoped that ten would bloom. Winter in almost nearing her end and I counted fifteen tender heads already peeking through the ground.

The slanting strips of gorgeous rain has been pouring all day and I asked for five whole minutes of quiet just so that puppy could take his walk. We got four and in the fifth we came back drenched but with our job done.

The house smells of the lilies that he bought and the dishes that he forgot in the sink – it was his turn. The girls are excited about their lives and future and I will not break the news; heartaches happen and losses will have to be borne.

Today my mother turned down my phone call, she was too busy playing with her grandchild and I laughed at her willfulness hoping to resemble her someday. Today I heard from all of my old friends, apparently, time and distance has not fully kept us apart.

There are reminders all over and everyday of the arbitrariness of the rules that bring but temporary order into our chaotic and out of control lives. I too have pretended long enough to assume responsibility and bear my consequences without excuse.

Yet when I plant eighty tulip bulbs and ask for ten, I feel extraordinarily blessed to count fifteen shoots making their way through the ground.