I wrote this post over a month ago. I promise I will post regularly, but until then I am just catching up. This evening (October 10) we went to this great hidden rose garden I had been trying to find since I moved here in June. Exceeding expectations, the garden held hundreds of different hybrids of roses. Despite being slightly past season, we found blooms from Redleaf to Cajun Sunrise to roses named after people to something simply called "Playboy." I came across a rose which was a deep cream color and one of the best blooms in the whole garden. It just begged for me to smell it, so I stepped up onto the mulch, carefully leaned in, and inhaled deeply. It sounds so prosaic, but it was one of the most wonderful smells I have experienced in recent years, maybe ever. I thought of all the American and French and any other attempts at recreating this joy, but to this day, my experience proves nothing can come close to the beauty of nature.
The best part of beauty in nature is its ability to surprise. After I moved in June, my commute went from 60 minutes all highway-straight across New Jersey-to 45-50 minutes through farms and small towns. My commute now is much more aggravating, but much better on my car; I just have to get used to it. About 5 minutes from my work, when my aggravation has reached its peak, pink roses line a cream-colored fence of a typical mansion in Old Money Town. Miraculously (well, to me at least), they have been blooming to create an impeccable color scheme since before I moved in June. Those pink roses have consistently and persistently lifted my spirits in a time where it hasn't always been easy to feel joyful.
In addition to lifting my spirits, roses lately have managed to open my eyes. I understand this post is one big cliche, but I'm just going to continue. This week I realized when I get married, I won't be losing my identity by taking his name. I'll still be me, but just Mrs. Me, and this week for the first time, Mrs. Me sounded pretty good.
1 comment:
Hopeful is a good feeling to have.
And of course, you know, that it's not necessary to take his name. You can stay Colleen Crowley (fabulous alliteration, and so easy to pronounce!)
But taking his name gave me the feeling that we were really a family.
Then your kids in the future will have the same name as both parents. Shit, make him Mike Crowley, if it's important to you! But having the same name, at least for me, made me feel like we were truly partners in crime. Truly a new little family. And every time he calls me Mrs. Parrag, I melt!
Just my two cents.
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