Uncategorized

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

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

Life with Wheels

| Flower Roberts

First comes the walkers. Just to keep them steady and vertical. Carting two walkers  around is better than a fall or not going at all.

Mom and Daddy with training wheels.

My dad had rheumatoid arthritis for decades.  He hobbled around determined to keep going. He finally ended up with a bright red rollator, so he could keep moving, and cart things around.

Racy red rollator

We only used a wheelchair when necessary. It was during one of those times that I felt the pain of inaccessibility.

Daddy in his chair.

We planned an important outing with friends. There was not a close parking space available. The rest of the group went down the steps. I wheeled Daddy back and forth along the back of the parking spaces. I was literally running by the third pass with tears of fury in my eyes. I saw no break in the curbing to get up to the sidewalk. I finally saw that someone had parked in the space between the two handicapped spaces.

A car was parked in the marked out space between the two handicap spaces blocking the ramp.

I pushed his chair up to the curb. He lifted himself out of the chair by holding on to a car. I popped the heavy chair up over the curb and helped him settle back in.

It is such a small barrier, but is too big for a wheelchair.

Then we went down a looooooong, steeeeeep ramp to get to our destination and rejoin the group.

Looooong, steeeeep sidewalk. A worker helped me get him back up the hill. Grateful.

Wheels help, but it is still a hardship

Mama got weaker and needed wheels. Her rollator was smaller and blue. Sometimes she would be confused and push it with one hand and have her walkingstick in the other. Later she used Daddy’s red one.

Mama with Daddy’s wheels.

We would walk up and down her street. She was still in charge of the world then. She would lock the house and put the keys in her pocket. Sometimes the cordless phone from the house went in there with her cell phone.

Mama and her wheels

We would put Mama in daddy’s wheelchair for outings. One of our favorite places had a dirt walking path. We had to carefully navigate the twists and turns on a slope to get down to the flat path. There were trenches from washing in the curves. My sis and I had to strain to keep mama’s chair from flipping. Sometimes strangers would help us. Mama would shriek when she was scared. We were quite a spectacle on those outings.

Better access for strollers and wheelchairs

Wheels help, but it’s still a hardship.

I caught myself wishing for my own wheels last weekend. Each step is painful. My hip  surgery is six weeks away. I wanted to go to an art show. I knew by the time I parked and walked there, I would be in too much pain to enjoy it. The same thing occurred with an outdoor concert two weeks ago. There will be other events after I am fixed. I will get to go places then. My problem is temporary. I can console myself with thoughts of a more mobile future.

Safe access is crucial.

BUT what if that wasn’t the case? What if this is as good as it gets? What if wheels were my new normal…forever?

What if loooong, steeeeep ramps and washed out curves, and curbs remained obstacles and barriers for the rest of my life? That would be challenging sometimes and impossible other times. No art shows, no tours, no concerts, no picnics…

Accessibilty matters.

Not being able to go to places you love and do things you have always done is disheartening.  Others must go and do without you. It is isolating and lonely.

The new sidewalk to the walking path.

Wheels help, but it is still a hardship.

Please, respect the signs.They are not there for convenience. They are necessary, so that someone with wheels and their loved ones can keep living their lives together.

And do not be shy about stepping in and preventing some fools from tossing their elderly mama into a ditch, on a hill, in a curve near a lake.

FLOW

After the Water

| Flower Roberts

I wondered if Alice was concerned about some special plants that she treasured most. Her answer surprised me. “No” she said “I will miss them all being together.”

Drowned garden after the water

This is why her garden glows. She sees the plants as part of a mosaic. Alice designs a living,  green community. She makes tapestries of flowers and leaves.

Alice and her Mexican Sunflower.

I have to admit I have never thought this way. I garden one plant at a time. I guess that’s the biologist in me. This thought is so new! I am glad I am not on the river right now. I would be tempted to hobble out with a shovel to rearrange my colors and textures and heights.

I did finally get Alice to name several plants that she was happy to see come up after the flood. A Lenten Rose from her mom survived. It is small with crumpled leaves, but is putting out new leaves. She was also glad to see the white Clematis that she rescued from a construction site. This photo is my favorite from all the ones I took. It looks like a shining star.

Rescued White Clematis

A redbud and dogwood came through unaffected. An azalea survived but looks sick.

Dogwood thriving

Two pink Star Gazer lilies came up in pink profusion.

Looking at Alice’s garden gives no hint of the past disaster. She said she bought bags of wildflower seeds and threw them everywhere. Alice healed her garden, and maybe herself, with bulbs and seeds. I would need that, too. I have said many times “My hope is green!”

Queen of the Night

I bet Alice and Palmer would say that, too. I know ‘My Friend the Fairy’, Madge would second that. She gave me the Cereus. All this is probably her doing.

My Friend the Fairy, Madge

Talking with Alice and Opal has filled my head with stories that came back to me as I marveled at the many changes that they have navigated through. I thought of changes in my own life that I neither caused nor expected. We all have our own hurricanes and floods. We all must survive hardships that show up uninvited. I guess that’s why Alice’s garden and Opal’s lamp meant so much to me.

I get it. This rising up after a storm. Do you?

FLOW