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The Morphing Memoir

| Flower Roberts

What happens when the storyline falls apart and you are left looking at a completely different tale. In my digging through family artifacts to write a book that was supposed to be about paternalism and over-reaching parenting in past generations of my family history, I have discovered evidence to the contrary that was never mentioned.

The thread that joined the parts has been broken. The stories have shifted. How do I piece this history back together. No one is left alive to ask about any of this.

Does every family clean up their past and hold the next generation to higher standards? What do I do with this mess?

It is funny how one conversation or one letter can change everything.

Envelope with a surprise inside. No date stamp.

I found this last night as I purged another box of letters and papers. I may have seen this letter before in the box of letters from my Gran to my great, great aunt Ethel. I got up in the middle of the night to check for a date stamp on the envelope. There was not one.

Inside this envelope was a letter from my mom’s sister thanking her for sending the copy to be copied.

So my mom found this letter after my Gran died and thought enough of its contents to mail it to Canada to be copied and returned.

Box of letters that looks like a book on bottom shelf, far left, bottom of the stack.

This flagged that letter for me. Upon closer inspection, I realized a new part of the story was in there. How did I miss this? My cousin now has the originals. I am anxious to see if this letter is in the box and if it has my sticky note attached to it. This will confirm my craziness!

I must add a side story here. I found the box of letters from my Gran to Aunt Ethel in 2024 as we were cleaning out the house to sell it.  I took pictures of everything in the house in 2022. I did not know that the box of letters was actually a box, because it was disguised as a book. So to find photo of where it was all those years, I had to go through thousands of photos, mostly plants, to find a picture of the bookcase in my parents’ bedroom.

It has occurred to me that I am the only one who can carry this through.  I am the one with the photos and memories. I would never have had the time to do all this if bad things had not happened to put me in the right place as the world has shifted around my family.

I will continue until the universe stops me.

Stay tuned.

FLOW

Proud of the Beauty Queens

| Flower Roberts

I cried in my favorite Mexican restaurant tonight. I was trying to tell the woman working there how proud I am of Miss Mexico in the Miss Universe pageant for standing up for herself.

Her son came to translate. We both teared up and clasped hands. There we were, two mothers from two countries standing in solidarity against sexism. Will this ever end? Not if it is tolerated anytime, anywhere.

I am not a fan of beauty pageants. I did not grow up watching them. I have watched the clip of Miss Mexico rising from her seat as she was being scolded and called dumb. I witnessed the contempt of the organizer as he called for security to remove her.

I felt pride to see so many other contestants rise in support of their fellow contestant. All women should walk out on this type of disrespect.

Women do not get to choose when to stand up against it. It must be addressed every time it occurs. Zero tolerance is the only solution to such misbehavior.

The president of the strongest country in the world sees females as objects to be used and abused. The Gatsby-themed Halloween party is just the latest display of this attitude for the whole world to witness.

These Miss Universe contestants walked out wearing sashes bearing their country’s names. They chose to represent the women in their country and all women.

Pretty, sweet and kind are no protection from the bad behavior of the sexist beasts. Stand strong beauty queens. Little girls are watching.

Thank you Miss Mexico

Flower

New Wisdom from Old Memories

| Flower Roberts

I realize that wisdom must be waited for. Time needs to season events into lessons worth learning and a brain needs to be mature enough to receive the lessons.


I have always spent an inordinate amount of my time in watchful, thoughtful silence. I like to think of myself as invisible. I did this in a crowded room just this morning.

I have filed away mysteries and hoped that some day the missing pieces would show up. I did not expect eureka moments to dramatically present themselves at the proper time. I was just hoping to eventually have enough epiphanies so that some of those lingering questions could be laid to rest.

My job, as I have seen it, was just to pay attention. Most times I did not even bother to ask questions for clarification. I was too busy and confused. I also did not want to interrupt my observations. I figured the missing pieces would show up later.

This silence and lack of participation has come back around lately. I guess you could say now IS later, and I still feel almost as dumb and numb as the days of the confusing events.

When a new clue shows up decades later and causes neither a eureka nor an epiphany I feel a bit befuddled. Maybe the clue needs to sit a while to smolder?  OR Maybe my brain is not quite ready to fully grasp the lesson?

Now that I have circled the subject several times I am just going to come out with what I think about a saying that I keep coming across in my reading.

“You can’t go home again.”

(Book title. Thomas Wolfe sort of. I know. If I die and leave piles of notes, I hope someone will trash my ramblings instead of posthumously assuming I would want them released.)

This whole time I have thought of this title/saying as a sad way of saying your home changes and you go back and things are different and some things you really miss are not there anymore. Yes, this is true and a bit sad.

I spent eight months in 2023 and 2024 living in my childhood home and going through every itty bitty item to save or sell to pay my mama’s bills. I spent many hours sitting at our kitchen table in silence wondering what the fuck Thomas Wolfe (or his editor, or They) was/were talking about. Every damn thing was still here. I was sixty-three and hauling my Mama’s wedding dress down from the attic. Nothing ever left BUT me and my sister!

(If you scholars want to wander off with the fascism hypothesis here…go on without me. That’s NOT where I am going.)

That house was emptied and sold.  More losses … more deaths and more time. I am now spending time in another place I spent parts of my childhood in.  It’s been like haunting myself. So you could say I have gone home again and again. Same furniture, same photos, same piano.

BUT (it’s a big one)

I am not the same. I am the one who changed. I am in the same places, but no longer that person anymore.

YOU Can’t Go Home Again!

I must say, I am NOT sad about that at all. That makes so much sense. I guess I had to be sixty to season that enough to get it. So it really isn’t about HOME at all.

It’s about YOU.

This is an example of what I mean about wisdom. I was looking for one answer and something completely different showed up.

Eureka!

FLOW

Building a Bridge

| Flower Roberts

I have been constructing a bridge from the past to the future. This bridge is not made of the usual materials. There is wood, but also words. There are metals, as well as medals. I am trying to carefully craft a legacy for my children that will not involve the purging of  thousands of useless papers and hundreds of unnecessary objects.

Something about that tedious purge process cluttered my brain. I am grateful we did not have to rush through this sorting. We also hired help which made it less overwhelming. I think clutter and chaos come from postponing decisions.

I now live in the house with all the books, dishes, photos, tools and jewelry that were kept. This is where I am building the bridge. I am sorting items that mean something to us and adding labels to them. Sharing explanations of why these objects are still here. What meaning do these have in our story?

Time is running out for this sort of task. We must write while we can remember. We must leave lessons for our future family. These objects and photos have significant stories. If these are not preserved, they will be just knickknacks and old photos of dead people.

We are just now discovering some tales from the past. There have been surprises. I think it is important for young people to understand the history behind what makes a home and a family. Parents try to be perfect, but that is never possible. Why not share the struggle? That is where wisdom comes from.

So as winter rolls in on my mountain I will be sorting, labeling and writing. I have contacted another family about a crossing of paths. I am sending things they may want to put in their bridge they are building.

There must be a crystalization and connection of past events that lead to a future. The time to build your bridge is now.

Holding these artifacts connects me to treasured memories of people and events that shaped me into the person I have become and I have influenced the character if my children based on these experiences.

I look forward to this process of preserving our significant family events for folks who have been or may be influenced by our legacy.  I will be slowly sorting and selecting the materials worthy of forming our bridge across the generations.

I plan to share steps as I go through the process. Maybe this will inspire you to cull your collections and record your favorite memories.

FLOW

My New Left Hip and My New Attitude

| Flower Roberts

Today was the day! I now have two new hips with double balls. My right hip was first replaced in August 2024 and then  revised in June 2025, after three dislocations which involved three ambulance rides to three different Emergency Rooms.

I have been in almost constant pain for ninteen months, due to an arthritic right  which was replaced with a faulty prosthetic hip and an accident which jammed my left hip just three weeks before schdeuled first replacement of the right one.  Blah!

I am not a graceful person. I have spent my life focusing on the physical work I was accomplishing. I used my body like a machine, or maybe like a man does, or like  fool does? Well that habit has backfired.

This is my sixth joint surgery; one shoulder, two knee replacements, two hip replacements and one hip revision. I am only sixty-four.

I am lying in the hospital bed tonight thinking and blogging between nurse visits, because there is no point in trying to actually sleep in a hospital.

What lessons have I learned from this long, painful journey?

First, I have always tried too hard. I will NOT place blame on Daddy who wanted a son, or Mama who wanted a little lady, or even my sister who wanted a playmate sister instead of an introvert who dug in the dirt. I have continued to try too hard through adulthood. Maybe I felt I needed to prove my worth as the youngest child or earn my value as a non-boy. I am still trying to figure all that out. Do not hold your breath for the answer.

Daddy and his girls.

I have finally stopped this over-achieverness because I could not be Wonder Woman while waddling around with canes and walkers,  grimacing and crackling like an old crone.

My friends and family have warned me NOT to fall back into my go-for-broke patterns after my new left hip heals.

Next, I treat myself like somebody else now. I have tried to be kind to my body and mind after years of mis-using them like appliances that can be fixed. There will be more careful planning and pausing from now on. I will be spending funds to hire others to do things I should not have been doing at all, much less solo. I will work smarter NOT harder.

I will stop with one LAST epiphany that I noticed about my new self today.  This may also be of value to you.

“To be part of a team, you must be part of a team. “

I have tried to be the whole team, instead of team a member. I have no super powers nor am I a genius. WTF Flower?

NOW,  I will focus on doing what is essential and needed. I will ask for help when I need it. I will tell folks what I need. They are not mind-readers and neither am I. Flower will quit showing off!

I have always been determined to be independent and do things without the help of others while also insisting on helping others.  Who do I think I am? I feel compelled to improve conditions wherever I am. That is not admirable. It’s OCD! Why is this true Biddle Boo?  I have usually refused help that was gladly and lovingly offered out of stubborness and pride.

It has taken ninteen months of brokenness for me to realize that the ebbs and flows of life are natural. I can quit shoveling sand against the tide like a maniac.  I can stop trying to prove I am as tough as my Daddy,  or as smart and pretty as my Mama or as extroverted and popular as my sister.

I will be just me…no pearls, no curls,  and no merit badges, but I will wear a shirt. Ha

The ladies and me.

I plan on thinking more and hiking more.

I will be pausing to observe and enjoy.

It’s about damn time!

FLOW

Surviving and/or Thriving

| Flower Roberts

Yesterday was the day of the potted plant migration into my workshop. I am pleased that there is a lot more room in there this fall due to the purging and adoptions. I can easily get to my art supplies. I am able to walk all the way around the workbench to water and preen my green treasures.

Once I had every plant in an optimum spot, I took an assessment of the condition of each. These are the survivors. I have given many away, but many also died during my absence. I do not push my plants with strong boluses of fertilizer. I am a coaxer. This type of care gets them ready for the long game. Slow and steady gets them ready.

After I prepped all plants, I asked myself if each was thriving or just surviving. I made mental notes of which ones did not bloom this year. There were quite a few.

The hoyas did not bloom. These long arms should not be shortened,  because the blooms form on the ends. This one is going to a new home today.

Hoya

The two surviving woody hibiscus plants from the Hibiscus Circus did not bloom. There was one bud on each now. I wemt ahead and chopped it back mercilessly.

Hibiscus

My precious Night Blooming Cereus plants did not bloom. I am glad I could enjoy the many blooms on my friend Palmer’s miraculous plant that he adopted from me years ago.

Night Blooming Cereus

The Bird of Paradise has never bloomed. It requires a greenhouse or a conservatory to thrive in. It needs a new home. A big, warm,  new home. Its blooms are supposed to be white. Any takers?

White Bird of Paradise

My precious Clivias did not bloom. Neither my yellow ‘Good Hope’ nor my orange ‘Fire Lily’ put up a stalk this year. These will be spending the winter with me. I count on those glorious blooms in early spring.

Clivias

To bloom well, plants must have optimum conditions for thriving.  But do not take surviving for granted. It takes grit. Picky, needy plants are greedy plants.

I think this country is going to learn some lessons about grit like it did during the dust bowl and the depression. The lessons will be difficult. Some may not survive. Maybe we need to read Steinbeck instead of Epstein.

FLOW

More Relief and Less Grief

| Flower Roberts

I have just done a potted plant and garden inspection with a walking stick. Not my usual shovel. I did not need the temptation!

I ate my first and last tiny tomato from the garden today.

Tommy toe snack

There is still a good crop of jalapeno peppers to be harvested. We make crazy hot poppers that make folks cry.

Jalapenos

I am proud that I have found new homes for so many of my potted, green babies. The migration of pots going inside today will be so much easier. Mr. Flower and my son will be in charge. They know the drill.

Ric rac/ fish bone cactus

The Schlumbergera survived and benefited from a nip of cold. Some are even budding up. My collection used to be 3x this size.

Schlumbergeras

Some of my pickiest plants died in my absence. I have mixed feelings about these losses. I regret their demise, but not a tear was shed. No guilt was felt. My attachment to them was not strong. There was more relief than grief.

Epipyphyllum and black elephants

Some tiny treasures disappeared. I do not know if they died or were eaten. Many hypertufa troughs are totally empty. My  fences were breached in several locations. We have deer, rabbits, raccoons, foxes, possums and ground hogs at the lake house. It has been a thirty-year battle to garden here. I am not up to it anymore.  My efforts are best spent elsewhere. Boundaries is my new mantra!

Fence corner pushed apart.

I was happy to see the little Chinese Dunce Caps blooming. These are treasured and tucked in a safe spot in the rock wall, but still need some attention.

Chinese Dunce Cap

I will accept the fate of my plants. No matter relief or grief. I have been shoveling sand against the tide for too long here.

It’s time for relief!

FLOW

Using Fear

| Flower Roberts

I know how fear is used.

I have seen it.
I have felt it.
It is not love.
It is not safety.
It is a power play.


Fear is used to get what you want.


But when the fear leaves.
All that is left is distrust, angst and anger.


Who won?
No one

FLOW

That Little Lantana

| Flower Roberts

This Lantana is a ball of color. I love that its buds, new blooms and mature flowers look like a bouquet.

Hot Blooded Red Lantana

The red could not be redder. No wonder it is named ‘Hot Blooded’ red. It is an annual. I will remember this winner when I look for plants in the spring.

Really red!


I am in Zone 5. I have been learning a new landscape. I picked this plant for its deer resistance.

I save all plant tags to help me find the best performers again.



FLOWER