Category Archives: Photographic Memories

Orchids Ablooming

I attend the Meijer Garden’s Orchid show every year, if I can. This year I was exceptionally lucky in more ways than one–in having child care and in running into the nicest couple who helped me take even better pictures (with much less swearing at my camera) than usual.

To Vicki and Lou, many thanks! You may take credit for any of the flower images that follow!

Orchid Paph. Henryam

It is hard to narrow down my choices to just a few special interest pictures. I took over 350 shots and did stop to tweak a few digitally. (Which sounds much worse than it actually is.)

You’ll notice that there is a yellowish cast to many of the photos. I blame the lighting that is intended to enhance the floral display, but plays havoc with getting a true color capture.

BCD Gilded Tower ‘Mystic Maze’

Sometimes it is hard to capture an image for more reasons than lighting. (Operator incompetence springs to mind, for example.) So cropping is the next best thing to actually getting a good shot the first time.

BCD Gilded Tower ‘Mystic Maze’ (crop)

I was struggling mightily with my Canon EOS (I can only assume EOS stands for Exceptionally Obstinant System) when Lou offered a few hints. And then, when I still couldn’t manage to get my camera to ‘point and shoot’ for me, he fiddled with about a half-dozen settings until he figured out the problem. Honestly, I can’t tell you what he changed, but it was like he put the fear of Kodak into the thing, because it stopped hiccuping afterward. Yay Lou!

CH Wolteriana

I tend to prefer a nice crisp image. I liked centered shots, but sometimes, the size or arrangement of the flowers made this nigh impossible.

How do you center on a flowering bush, for example? I chose to close crop the surroundings so that you could ‘feel the profusion’ of the yellow flowering orchid with about the longest name I’ve ever seen.

Dendrob. C hercoglossum monilform x Lamyaiae x Fredericksianum

The next image, I only snapped one photo. Fortunately, I got most of the massive bloom in focus. But shooting from a distance and trying to avoid all the other glamorous contenders makes photographing them a challenge.

Cymbidium Dorothy Stoctsill

I particularly liked the name of the next flower–though I took about 8 shots, none really captured the drama of the beauty which was a cross of a Victorian Bride and a Speciosum.

I aimed for the mystery implied by the name, instead, my picture is more of a question unanswered. It was like photographing a herd of children–each face looking in a different direction.

Den. Victorian Bride x Speciosum

How can you not love the pinkness of the Vanda Princess Mikasa? There should totally be a Japanese Anime character in a frilly pink frock to go with this.

Vanda Princess Mikasa

The next flower I had to finesse the shot from an angle, because taken head-on, you got a lot of background noise in the way of giant tags dangling from other flowers. You could try to move the pesky things, but then you ran the risk of damaging someone’s priceless petals. I am many things, but a bud abuser is not one of them.

Paph Micranthum Var Ebureum 2

How many pictures is too many? I suspect you will judge for yourself. Perhaps you glide past them in quick processional to get them over with? (As if you see things like this every day!) Maybe you do.

I, however, get a two hours span once a year. That means every single flower deserves its moment in the digital sun.

Paph. Fairrieanum

The orchid show runs through Sunday, January 26, so I am racing to get these online in time to lure you down the garden path to orchid indulgences.

How can you not when such tongue-twisting temptations abound? A quick search on the internet will tell you some of their secrets.

The unpronounceable Phragmipedium Kovachii below, for example, is particularly tricky to produce. It can take 8 years of growth from seed before this shy flower blooms. That does tend to increase one’s appreciation knowing how rare these pink petals are.

Phragmipedium Kovachii…

Sometimes it can be hard for a particular lovely to stand out in a crowd.

So many winners…so little time.

But it’s worth it to single out the bloom, or blooms, that catch your eye. Even if you have to crawl around getting the perfect angle.

Phalaenopsis Lioulin Purple Violet definitely shines in a close-up.

How the displays are set up can make a huge difference. One of my favorite arrangements was actually incredibly hard to shoot–due to the small size of the dangling flowers and the driftwood base that was their platform. It was phenomenally crafted, but annoying to photograph.

Windswept in Time took many awards

Petals so fragile and delicate could be easily overlooked:

Vanda Lamellata reminded me a bit of these star-shaped flowers that grew on the hill behind our house in springtime. You could never pick them, for they would close up and die immediately. You could only admire them in situ. A quick search of the internet suggests they might have been Trout Lilies.

In fact, if I hadn’t run into Lou and Vicki, I might have missed the tiny sparkler that was easily overshadowed by its surroundings.

Not to be missed, but incredibly hard to spot, the Bulb Gracillimum

Other arrangements were difficult to capture because of the number of branches or direction of growth. Such was the case with the Oncidium Cheirophorum.

It was a beautiful plant–but with blooms so far apart as to appear a bit drunken and in danger of falling over–unless you cropped the focus to one spray of blossoms.

Oncidium Cheirophorum

Such as here:

Oncidium Cheirophorum (Cropped)

It just goes to show, you don’t always see the whole picture no matter how well a subject is photographed!

I’ve always loved looking at the world through a lens. I don’t know why. I just do. Maybe it is because I can crop out the messy bits that just don’t fit; I can focus on what I find beautiful and take it home with me.

Howeara Lava Burst “Puanani” AM/AOS – the name is quite a mouthful, but it was a tiny blip on the corner of a display.

I’ll throw in a few more favorites before toddling off to bed. I can’t show them all, you’d never stand for that sort of nonsense, but I’ve tried to capture the essence of the show.

The unusual:

Bulbophyllum Picturatum.

The congregate:

Phragmipedium Amitabha ‘Tika’

The confused blooms that seem made up of many colors and patterns:

Zigo Hybrid

Some I could not put a name to–either because my snapshot was blurry or the flower was an orphan without parentage delineated.

Unnamed, unknown, and unsung.
“Phal Uknown (Yellow with Markings)”
Phal Unknown ‘Yellow Peach’

There are vendors providing all sorts of sales regarding orchid paraphernalia, but one stood out as an artistic eyeful:

Keramika – A novel way to display your orchid in one-of-a-kind, hand-thrown pot by Yuliya Kononova.

You might not be able to buy these pieces just yet, but you can find and follow Yulia Kononova on Facebook.

As for my favorite this year? I couldn’t name just one to tower over the rest…but the yellow explosion called Vanda – Fuchs Gold x Pralor at the header of my page was a top contender.

Here is another shot of the same plant. Just gorgeous!

Also rans:

Tsubotaara Melinda Marie

Another nameless favorite–it just photographed so well–is this purple and white number:

Nothing beautiful lasts forever, but you can hold onto memories captured in image for long enough to make them more real, more permanent.

For some, the Orchid Show is a small world, easily forgotten:

Orchid art installation: “It’s a Small World.”

And for others, it is a beauty only captured in dreams…butterfly dreams.

May we all be “Butterfly Dreaming” soon!

You don’t have to love orchids in order to enjoy the show. Go to the Meijer Gardens to people watch. It’s equally fascinating, and I’ve never run into a single grumpy person while I’m there.

Some people will even let you take a picture of their hair just because it is so pretty.

So come on down. The orchids are waiting.

And you just don’t want to miss these fleeting beauties.

Calanthe Vestita – whose name translates to “Beautifully Dressed Flower”

Can GISH Cure Cancer?

It is kind of hard to write something funny about getting a diagnosis of breast cancer, but it helps if you were signed up for G.I.S.H. (W.E.S) before even a hint of trouble arose on the horizon. GISH(WES) stands for The Greatest International Scavenger Hunt (the World has Ever Known.) It may not cure cancer…but it sure cured getting the diagnosis.

Continue reading Can GISH Cure Cancer?

Potty Training on the Spectrum

Recently someone asked me how I managed to potty train my autistic child. I said something like, “I went through hell and back, that’s how.” Without blinking, they asked directions for the road map to hell. I finally found the notes I used back in 2010 on a back-up drive (whew), and in reviewing what I went through, I decided this might make a better post than my review of Men In Black: International. Though, with fewer references to poop. For all the autism parents out there, this one’s for you.

Continue reading Potty Training on the Spectrum

Taking a Bite Out of Art

Before I went on a diet, there was the Grandville Chocolate & Art Walk. My annual attempt to be artsy as well as fartsy.

And then when I came back to WordPress, they’ve up and changed the editor on me. Gads. I hate upgrades.

Enjoy my struggles to learn a new system and, oh yes, the art. Let’s not forget the art! Continue reading Taking a Bite Out of Art

First Words

rock garden words 2

Cave paintings tell the oldest tales.

Charcoal impressions of a Neolithic age.

Ancient stone stories echo authors past.

Symbolic of the writer’s rocky path.

Once pried from cold, hard stone

You ask yourself, were they there all along?*

*-*-*
rock water melt snow

First Words

by K. L. K. Salazar

 

What siren song do fissures sing?

Elusive, mutable—so close, yet out of reach.

Can anybody hear you? See you?

Or do you speak only to my soul?

 

 

Hidden deep, in crevasses unknown.

Only found in shadows, on lichen-crusted clefts.

Under a winter’s sky—cold and blown.

A resonance of stone.

Falling, hitting, frozen things.

Echo shots creation brings, broken and rebuilt.

 

Etched in deep, where all words hide.

Unexpected meaning lies, unrefined,

Inside. Pitched to black and deeper reaches

No one knows what they may find.

 

When broken from the rock, words flow.

Released like melting snow

Warmed by sun’s beat.

Through erosion, exposition unfolds.

 

While I am weathered

Glacially slow.

Imperfections reveal

Dreams fragmentary and unreal.

 

 

Part hope.

Part defeat.

Cemented with faults.

I am stratified

Awaiting metamorphosis.

rock garden

 

Asterisk Bedazzled Footnote:

*I wouldn’t ordinarily have a footnote to my poetry. But I’ve never had this happen before. I don’t know what to call that little slice of word jumble at the top. I tried leaving it out and that felt wrong. I tried putting it in…even wronger. Is it a foreword? A prelude? A prequel? I’m not sure what to call it. So, I’m not calling it anything. It just is. And I hope that is enough.

Bunny Town Show Down

While I was surviving the past six months, fun events still happened. They just were overshadowed by the dark cloud looming. Now that the storm has passed, everything is sunny skies…or should I saybunny skies?

*

It was high noon in Bunny Town.

When trouble showed its floppy ears.

Some folks might say, he was itching for a hare-raising fight.

Others believe, the dastardly bunnies had it coming.

The lone bunny rider looked honest…honestly dangerous.

He dressed all in white…except for the mask.

Clemson Cadbury
Quite a quiet furry fury, indeed.

 

Clemson Cadbury—Clem to his friends—rode into Bunny Town one fine day.

He was wanting to put up his lucky rabbit’s feet and ease his saddle sores at the only hopping joint in town:

The Rabbit Hare Saloon

IMG_8281
Where the phrase “Hare of the dog” takes on a whole new meaning.

The girls at the saloon were of the heart of gold variety.

They made a rabbit want to sit up and pay attention.

To push his fuzzy-tailed luck.

Bugs Bunny Drag
“Who was that masked rabbit?” The girls at the saloon swoon as he goes by.

But Clem only had eyes for the sweet, sloe-eyed school marm who taught the A, B, C’s of being a bunny.*

His heart belonged to that fair damsel–Flory-Dory Flopsalot.

Flory-Dory Flopsalot Headgear Bunny
A fragile flower of the Topeka, Kansas Flopsalots.

Clem would have happily laid his hat—or his heart—at Flory-Dory’s feet for her taking or stomping there upon.

But Flory-Dory’s uncle was the local sheriff and he put no faith in lone rabbits who just moseyed on through his town.

So Clem spent his lonely hours, pining for his true love, and sipping dandelion sarsaparillas at the Bunny Bar Saloon.

Until the day he tangled with the Black Bunny Banditos!

Peter Rabbit School
Who knows why town founders put the Peter Rabbit School right next to the only bar in town? You’d think they’d have thunk that through a mite!

Clem didn’t know, when he entered that bar that fateful day, that a gang of hardened thugs were also looking to play.

They were bad bunnies with bad attitudes.

And they didn’t care what kind of mask a bunny hid behind.

The Black Bunny Banditos
The Coney Brothers: Bippity, Boppity, and Beauregard—were wanted county-wide by the long-ear of the law. They were trying real hard to live down the sweet names their momma gave ’em. Particularly Piebald Beau—who threatened anyone who tried to tie a ribbon around him come Easter time!

Clem was nursing a carrot-infused herbal tonic and the saloon honey-bunnies were taking his orders—hopping to get whatever he wanted.

The three black-hearted bunny banditos entered the saloon.

Their tail spurs jingled as they hopped.

Bippity tried to snag his favorite coquette–Odette.

But Odette was batting her lashes at Clem.

Boppity yelled for his bunnymondaine—but Desbegonia had no time for the ruff-necked, lop-eared cur.

No, Desbegonia was dancing to and fro, making Clem watch her as she’d go.

Then Beauregard stepped through the door and stood there watching a minute or more.

He waited. He wanted. But his flowery filly—Daffydilly—was not to be found.

Except, wherever Clem was around!

Daffydilly sang sweet serenades to woo her beau…

(But not the rabbit by that name, no!)

Beauregard spit out his cheroot and hollered at his boys to scoot!

“No interloping jackalope claims our pieces of fluff!” Said he.

And off behind the saloon went the three…

Bippity and Boppity waiting outback

Clem had no clue when he stepped outside

An ambush awaited his white-tailed hide.

But Flory-Dory knew!

From her chair near the window, she’d watch and sigh, whenever the handsome buck went by.

So, when the school marm saw her rabbit in trouble, she called for the sheriff on the double!

Sheriff “Lefty” Cottontail.**

@bun_the_rabbit_619 Websta Instagramer
Sheriff @bun_the_rabbit_619 courtesy of Websta Instagramer

Sheriff Cottontail was none to keen to confront the three rapscallions—despite their lawless ways.

He was a laid-back lawman who let other people’s bullets do the talking.

Sherrif Piebald McGee
Sheriff Cottontail demonstrates his floppy philosophy of ‘laying down the law.’

But Flory-Dory wasn’t letting her lily-livered uncle get away with that!

“I’ll take on those ne’er-do-wells myself, iffn I have to!” Said Flory-Dory.

If she’dve had a spittoon nearby, she’dve spat in it for emphasis.

With this incentive, Sheriff Cottontail, decides it’s better to fight like a rabbit, than to be shown up as all fluff and no tail.

He hops to Clem’s side in the nick of time.

Sheriff Lefty (pictured right) and Clem 

Bunny Duo
This weirdly appropriate duo brought to you by #Bunnyfest #Ameliaisnothavingit # Deskgram

The dastardly Coney Brothers had trussed Clem up in baling wire and dangled him by his stubby tail over a vat of sugar syrup.

“We’re gonna dunk you neck-deep in this here sassafras barrel.” Piebald Beau promised Clem. “When they find your sorry sack of fur, all will think that you fell in to get a drink.”

Then in flopped the Sheriff, long and fat, and squashed those Coney brothers flat!

It warn’t no time at all before the bad bunny brothers were rounded up and thrown into the hoosegow.***

But Sheriff Cottontail knew, it wouldn’t be long before those bunnies were back bearing a grudge.

The Black-Hearted Bunny Banditos

IMG_8290
Bippity, Boppity, and Beauregard Coney were hardened by a life of crime and no amount of time spent stamping state license plates could sway them from their cattle-rustling ways.

 

So the sheriff hired his niece to be his stalwart deputy!

police bunny
MissBunz Policing Bunnytown! Care of the SchertzPoliceBlotter

Flory-Dory rescued her hero from a sticky fate and cut him free.

Clem caught Flory-Dory up in his fuzzy embrace and they nuzzled noses.

It was quite the scandal.

And into the sunset, as he rode away, Clemson swore that he’d come back and marry that gal someday!

Asterisk Bedazzled Bunnynotes:

*The bunny head mistress taught the children their A.B.C’s: Always. Bring. Carrots.

**Sheriff Lefty was so named because, if you weren’t careful, he’d let himself get left behind in a gunfight.

***Hoosegow—to all you city slickers out there—is the clink, the slammer, the yard, the pen or, as it is otherwise known, jail.

_____________You read this far bonus____________________

Honestly, I’ve never had so much fun as writing this post.

Here’s a few oddities I discovered while looking for bunny-related miscellany:

Bunny Cowboy Soundtrack performed by Neptune Bunny here:

Long-Eared Drifter

I won’t even try to explain this. You just have to watch it to believe it.

Bunny Wedding Trousseaus available at Grandma’s Originals

And if you want to know where I captured the pictures that I didn’t pilfer online, check out Klackle Orchards in Greenville, MI when fall rolls around again.

 

Pier Review

IMG_2896
Anemic sun halo captured at Holland State Beach, July 19, 2018

 

Walking the public pier along the Holland State Beach allows one to appreciate both an exercise in free speech and the quasi-felonious joys of graffiti expressionism.

I have never been so brave or confident in what I had to say that I was willing to risk a $250 fine and possible jail time to tag a public edifice in order to say it.*

Vandalism is, at the very least, a misdemeanor offense, but what I want to know is…is it art?

And if it is art, what is it saying?

Based on my hour spent cataloging this year’s liberal art tributes on the rusting canvas of the masses, the message depends on the viewer:

Positivity Abounds:

Travooo
Travooo captures the elusive qualities of LOVE  in swirling suggestions while boldly stating that it is all underscored by the balance to be found in the harmony of Yin and Yang.

 

If you look hard enough, you can find answers.

Although….you may also be left wondering what the question was.

Thoughts from Danny Duncan!

Danny thinks “It’s fine!”

But, he scrawled his sentiments in a tucked away place on an overhead pipe, so I suspect he’s playing it cool.

I Think It's Fine Danny Duncan
I bet Danny knows where the milk is!

 

Some people put themselves out there, courting ridicule…possibly unaware that a Tinder Date may be using a pseudonym.

Steve and Edelweiss Sipipill 4 Ever
If you know of anyone actually named Edelweiss, I will retract my skepticism.

Everyone has an opinion…whether that opinion is worth scrawling on a pier support is in the eye of the beholder.

Dude She s hot
Watch out, Amos Kiks.Palmbos, you have an admirer. 

Dreams are apparently dictated with impermanent ink scrawled on a blue-green background and will melt with time and the coming rains.

This is What Dreams are Made Of
Actually, this was one of my favorites…googly eyed smiley face not withstanding.

Lacking the words to express their deeper emotions, some fall back on a classic:

!!!HIGH 5!!! 

Friends slap high fives (or low ones) wherever they can.

Hands and Names
The Green Hand Gang numbers at least five!

 

Some HIGH FIVES bury the headline:

img_2921.jpg
Amos Kiks.Palmb Strikes again.  

OTHER HIGH FIVES come with best wishes from ON HIGH!

IMG_2931
Apparently the Green Hand Gang are followers of the BIG PINK HAND IN THE SKY.

 

Emotions run high…leaving some confused…knotting their hair with suspense.

Will Jeffrey or Won’t Jeffrey?

Will Jeffrey or Wont He
This strange smokestack-like object serves no discernible purpose. Does someone out there know what this does?

 

Perhaps the message echoes an earlier time—a plea for Peace, Love and Hope symbolized by a badly divided pie chart?

Hope
All you need is a Sharpie marker and an earnest sentiment and the sky is your oyster.

The VEGANS were a bit demanding and psychedelically so:

IMG_2912
Spred Luv…and dictionaries!

Go Vegan - Hallucination
Cock–the other white meat. Now comes in vegan flavor. (This is where we find out who really reads the subtitles.)

 

Some pier polluters promote poignant pleas:

Kiki Do U Luv Me
Ignore the scrawled ‘Anus’ overhead. Focus on the question, Kiki!

Perhaps what you take from the message boardwalk is only that which you brought with you?***

For example.

FORSOOTH, FIE, ALAS

One word scrawled among the masses stood out. I was astounded that classics such as Shakespearean language describing a two-week time frame have made it to modern vernacular (even if the spelling hadn’t):

Fortnite

Then, later, during a rare session of live tv watching, I was bombarded by a commercial which dispelled my illusions. (And possibly also my allusions.)

I almost despaired to have lost a belabored delusion of the persistence of language.

 

But then, after watching King Lear drop bodies at Grand Valley State University, I decided that Fortnite actually is a modern variant of Shakespearean storytelling—if only Shakespeare had lived in the age of the rocket launcher.


GOOGLE FAILED ME. WHEN I TRIED SEARCHING THE TERM ‘SHAKESPEARE’ AND ‘ROCKET LAUNCHER’ I GOT AN ARTICLE FOR THE ROYAL SHAKESPEARE COMPANY LAUNCHING A NEW VEGAN MENU:

I TOLD YOU THOSE VEGANS WERE PUSHY!

It seemed an obvious thing to me that there should be an image of Shakespeare with a rocket launcher…SO I MADE ONE:

Shakespeare with Rocket Launcher
I make judgments about people writing graffiti but, apparently, I have no problem stealing copyrighted images to abuse my own artistic license.

Z’WOUNDS…that was a long way to go for a laugh.
Now, back to the boardwalk…

IMG_2967
Lost in a Sunset

If art is a medium of expression, then I believe those who congregate at the water’s edge to exchange selfies and tag nearby crumbling infrastructure are at least trying to get a message out.

Or, maybe they are all just succumbing to…

Pier Pressure
I wanted this for my title, but that seemed like cheating.

Maybe this isn’t art.

But I say, “Let he who is without talent, shut the hell up.”

And let it be what it is.

Breathless

Endless

Speechless

Timeless

*-*-*

THE BEST

Artist Face
I too will be “Forever Faffi”

The need to express ourselves, our souls, may be the most human characteristic.

That we do it in a destructive, transitory medium is even more so.

Will words someday become anachronisms?

After digital communication leaps past verbal utterances to an all-emoticon communication system—how will we express nuanced emotions?

The phrase a “picture is worth a thousand words” takes on a scary new meaning when all you have is a demented smiley face to look at.

CREEPY SMILEY FACE
Be grateful it’s not an eggplant.

Until that day, cherish words, however they are conveyed.

Whatever cryptic message they share may be just for you!

Maybe the mystic words will heal what is broken. 

Release what is hidden.

Find what is lost!

OR MAYBE NOT…

Maybe a body just needs to scream into the void and hope that someone, somewhere, is listening:

IMG_2898
I’m sorry?

 

Asterisk Bedazzled Footnote:

*I vandalize the internet from the safety of my blog instead.

**The internet laws have not yet caught up with the violations of free speech rampant in the digital stratospheres. When I become dictator of the universe, trolls will be hunted for sport.

***I suspect I’m stealing this line from Yoda. Or Harry Potter. A writer somewhere is feeling a sharp pang of plagiarism.

 

Watching Plants Grow and Avoiding Murder

Annual Heirloom Plant Sale

For anyone not neck-deep in the hat-phantasmic hoopla surrounding the royal wedding, allow me to present a less drama-soaked alternative: watching plants grow!

*

It occurs to me, that I have watched too many episodes of Midsomer Murders–a British television show on air since 1997 that refuses to die no matter how many casting changes occur.*

If you know the genre, there typically is a picturesque village holding a Medieval Faire with costumed residents oozing quaintness and exhibiting occasional homicidal tendencies.

If you are unfamiliar, I recommend a movie by Simon Pegg called “Hot Fuzz” that crystallizes the best and worst bits about the deceptively serene English countryside:

The thing that captures my attention more than the body count, is the number of community fêtes thrown. There’s like, what, one every episode? It makes me wonder if it is a national British pastime to dress in Ye Olde itchy togs and con people into playing cheesy parlor games for the sake of the church roof fund!

This brings me to today’s topic: American Block Parties.

Most block parties are an organized potluck gathering on barricaded side streets with no other function than to bring a community together to eat. Saturday gives me the opportunity to attend one that is equal parts British Fête Fundraiser and old-fashioned American street festival.

The occasion calls for a gathering of myriad talents to raise awareness and funds for the aptly named Wellhouse. The day’s event is the 6th Annual Heirloom Plant Sale.

Wellhouse is a community program that buys local houses, renovates dilapidated neighborhoods, and provides housing and skills training for formerly homeless residents. They also promote a ‘growing’ community with an emphasis on sustainable practices and energy conservation along with farm gardening.**

Wellhouse hosts a plant sale each year. You go for the plants. You stay for that little something extra you won’t find at your local greenhouse: community!

At first, I beeline to pick up the greenery I want to fill out the barren landscape choked with crabgrass and despair that is my backyard.

Community Plants
Sadly no one was dressed in a jester’s motley with tinkling bells on their pointy hat. On the upside, no one was murdered either.

Per usual, my teenage son has a trajectory of his own.

I keep dragging the man-child away from one table in particular. (I need to ogle flowers with exotic names like ‘Clemson’ and ‘Hyssop’, don’tcha know.)

Coco Renee Specialty Baking
Even better than they look. Seriously dangerous baked goods by Coco Reneé.

I promise my child a specialty cupcake just so I can plant shop. (Twist my arm.)

I don’t know how good the chocolate cupcake with chocolate whipped frosting was, I just know it took my son less time to inhale said cupcake than it took to remove the wrapper.

I pick the one with the raspberry garnish.

I have no regrets.

If you want more rib-sticking eats, you might hit up the royalty-hued catering provided by Purple Blaze, a hybrid of Southern and Ethiopian cooking.

Purple Blaze

Sadly, I have no time to sample their fare, mostly because the boy-child is pushing me to go, however, even I as a non-meat eater have to say the wafting odor of barbecue is positively mouth watering.

Purple Blaze BBQ
Smelled good enough to make me question my vegetarian leanings.

You wouldn’t think there is be more in store at the festivities, but you’d be wrong. The gray, overcast sky can’t put a damper on the upbeat spirits.

There are white-tented tables with various arts for sale. My arms are mostly full of greenery, but I stop to admire the selections.

There were some truly amazing prints to peruse courtesy of Red Hydrant Press.

Calligraphy Art
Putting the ‘Press’ back into printing.

And fabulous arts of the crafted clay variety provided by WMCAT or the West Michigan Center for Arts & Technology.

Here’s CC showing off her colorful floral-designed Pot:

CC - Clay Pot

Before long, my son is dragging me toward our Prius in a desperate bid for freedom, but I chat and take pictures as if this isn’t killing him slowly.

CC Alayna and Teacher
From left to right: Teacher Jo Nicholson with students, CC and Alayna, kindly posing for no reason or explanation at all. Really, they are lucky I’m not a serial killer.

Moving between lazy droplets of rain, it is possible to find your smile while listening to The Fabulous Vans.

The Fabulous Vans
From left to right: Ryan Gravelle (wearing the cat shirt his girlfriend gave him), Timmy Van on guitar, and daughter, Sierra Van, on ukelele and vocals.

As I am packing up my car to go, I chat with the guitarist who is setting up for a performance. We exchange brief biographies, the way strangers do.***

I point to my kid who is slumping, hang-dog, in the car since mommy isn’t hopping to like he hopes. Timmy points to his daughter, Sierra, still polishing off some ribs at a nearby picnic table. He brags about her musicality and involvement in local choirs.

You wouldn’t be biased about her talents at AlL?” I joke.

Her dad laughs and denies partiality, “Of course not.”

We talk about kids and music for a bit.

I bemoan my teenager’s rebellion against piano and ask whether he has to badger her to follow in her father’s footsteps? He assures me that she’s the one who wants sing.

He can’t say enough great things about her. Apparently, she’s even influenced the music they play.

“We usually play classic rock covers–like Led Zepplin’s “A Whole Lot of Love” but Sierra sings from some of her favorites: Twenty-One Pilots or One Republic.”

“I’m sorry,” I interrupt him. “Did you say Twenty-one Republics?”

He corrects me without laughing, much. By now, the rest of the band has loped over, and agrees to stage a picture for me. I hear them play as I drive away. Their enthusiasm isn’t in the least dampened by the drizzly venue.

*

I spent the rest of the day trying to plant things while simultaneously killing as many weeds as I can.

In the spirit that embodies fine British murder mystery programming, there’s been a summer fête, someone has to die!

Asterisk Bedazzled Footnotes:

*Regarding Midsomer’s Suspicious Death Rate: I do wonder how a fictional hamlet apparently no bigger than Rhode Island can survive quadruple homicides on a weekly basis without running out of people?

**I totally stole the Wellhouse information from a flyer available at the front table.

***Even though we all know about serial killers, no one expects them. They are like the Spanish Inquisition this way.

 

Keeping it Arboreal for Mother’s Day

If mothers were trees…would they be like these?

A speculative look at the similarity between maternal instinct and cultivated bonsai architecture.* 

Seeing the forest for the trees.

Forest for the Trees
Five. Five is the perfect number. No more. No Less. Unless you are speaking of children, and then five is just an insane amount. Any more than five is asking to be committed. (Ahem…Cousin C–I’m looking at you!)

Birch trees, with their snow-white bark always make me think of the Robert Frost poem–Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening–the last lines of which could be an anthem for motherhood:

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   
But I have promises to keep,   
And miles to go before I sleep,   
And miles to go before I sleep.”
I invite you to explore with me some leafy-themes of being a mom.
Into the woods we go…

Some mothers are worth-less.

Shaky Legs
“I feel like they’ve put me on a pedestal. But I’m one broken-string away from a complete collapse.”

It is very hard to know your own worth even when people are kind and reassuring.

Mom 1: “Of course jelly beans can fit up the nose–the manufacturers designed them that way. “

Mom 2: “Oh yeah. It’s a nose-picking conspiracy all right. The sugar syndicates are in cahoots with the emergency after-hours clinics, I’m sure of it.

Even with an abundance of fertilizer, it can be hard to feel like a properly formed fir.

It helps to surround yourself with like-minded trees.

Join a collective–be unique in a crowd

Collective 2
The kids may be driving us toward deciduous anarchy but we are firs. We stay green!  (Except for the one one in the yellow pot. But, don’t worry. She’ll be back, ready to tackle the seedlings in spring.)

Real friends let you know it’s okay to be a small tree in a big garden.

We grow at our own pace and, yeah, some of us have perky petals, but most of us are just clinging to our own mossy kingdom trying not to kick out the dirt holding us together.

 

Other mothers are hard to miss–always the belle of the ball.

Razzamataz
Look at me! See, I’m special and unique and you must admire me!

It’s hard not to compare yourself to the mom who looks like she’s got it all under control.

But maybe, she only let’s you see her when she is at her best.

I like to think this bonsai goes home to put on a pair of sweat pants and binge watch Dancing with the Stars while eating Chunky Monkey straight from the carton.

Lean into parenting sharp edges

Uncomfortable Balance
“Just one more load of laundry and then I can sleep….”

Sure, lean into the wind.

Face your battles.

But also, be willing to admit when you are unbalanced.

All work and no play makes mommy a crab apple.

Dwarfed by expectations

 

 

David and Goliath_Inked
“I am mighty…” said the tiny bonsai tree. 

I measure myself against an impossible standard: the mom I want to be versus the mom I am.

Sometimes, it’s okay to just be the cute-little-mom-that-could.

Be at peace with your adorable limitations.

Postage Stamp Bonsai
“I am Groot.”

The tiniest seed still blooms if you give it enough attention.

That rule applies to you as much as your children.

Fake it until the glazed pot fits!

Blue Bowl and Bonsai with Rock

You may feel like you are coming apart at the seams.

You need a solid foundation and a rock to lean upon.

That’s okay. Go do something nice for yourself.

Buy a glazed ceramic pot to squat in.

Sometimes, all it takes is a pretty package.

Never give up!

Never Give Up Never Surrender
“Is it chilly in here, or is it me?’

Just when you are suffering root rot…

That’s when it’s your time to find that inner strength to keep blooming.

Even when you feel dead from the crown down.

 

Moms meltdown too.

Burnt Bonsai
After a fire, the forest is reborn in the ashes.

It happens.

We all lose our cool.

Try not to burn any bridges while you blaze away.

Remember: Spring returns each year.

Floral and Rooted
Even when your roots are showing–there is still beauty there. Share the joy.

Whatever your parenting challenges…

If you just can’t pack one more lunch or pick up one more pair of underwear…

Those tangled roots that are tying you in knots and weigh you down?

They are also the ones that lift you up and make you an absolutely beautiful mom.

 

Asterisk Bedazzled Footnote:

*Bonsai Parenting Archetypes–an excruciatingly root-bound analogy.

 

Bonsai Moms
To my very own Bonsai Mom. 

My mom agreed to join me at my favorite place on earth for mother’s day.

The bonsai show was such a nice surprise!

Mom admired the petite jardins–even if she was drawn to the biggest brutes on the lot!

Majestic Pine
Mom’s favorite dominated the competition. I wonder what that suggests about her bonsai traits?

 

__________________________________________________________________

Thank you for joining me for a retrospective of the Mother’s Day bonsai bonanza at Meijer Gardens. I highly recommend you attend the special exhibits like these, or, failing that, stopping by to enjoy my obsessive photography habit.