18 July 2010

an open letter to my flowers

Dear Flowers,

Why do you hate me?

I realize this may be an unorthodox way to begin a letter to you, my dear, dear flowers.  You're probably used to receiving sonnets and other such things in iambic pentameter.

I don't mean to alarm you or to make you sad.  I really just want to know:  why won't you grow for me?

I love you.  I take care of you.  I give you water and sunshine.

Ok, you're right:  I don't actually give you sunshine, but I put you in places where you get sunshine.  I even kept your little cards that explain how much sun you should get every day, and I was careful to buy part shade flowers only.

You see, I was choosy with you.  I wanted you.  I spent an afternoon at Home Depot looking at you, imagining how you'd look on my balcony, thinking about color combinations for you and your friends.

I won't mention the money I spent on you because that is crass, mixing friendship and money.  But suffice it to say, I didn't steal you.

But you seem to be rejecting my kindest advances.  Please be gentle with me; I'm not used to such rejection.

I bet you think you're teaching me some sort of lesson, but all I'm learning right now:  Kamiah, you can't take care of pretty things.

Is that what you wanted to teach me?  
I can't imagine that such an ugly lesson would come from you, but your wilty petals and sagging leaves seem set on reminding me that pretty little things are not my domain.

You had one job going into this summer:  to be yourselves.  I think that sounds like a cushy job.  You don't have to attend meetings or have Outlook give you dinging reminders about something you forgot to do.

You just needed to be you.   Beautiful.  Blooming.  Colorful.

Maybe you're not aware of how you look.  I mean, I don't have a mirror out on my balcony, and I doubt that the robins are taking the time you fill you in on your appearance.  They're new parents, after all, and their time is obviously occupied with other concerns.

You have let yourselves go.  This "let yourself go" concept can be a good one.  It can bring about destressing and true relaxation and the ability to laugh at your own silliness, instead of being wrapped up in uptightness.

However, you're taking the "let yourself go" concept in the negative sense.  In the slovenly sense.  The dead leaf sense.

I took some pictures of you so that you can see just how far you've let yourself go, despite my best intentions to take care of you.  Maybe this will make you start doing your job again, which, may I remind you one more time, is simply to be beautiful and yourselves.  Your natural beauty is all I want.  I don't need made-up charm and facade in any part of my life.

I put this picture in the midst of the disappointing ones on purpose; I'm hoping to motivate you.  See how pretty the yellow flowers still look?  See how they're lifting up their beauty?  That could be you, other slackerly flowers.

My dear, dear flowers:  I expected more of you.

Sadly yours,


  1. In honor of your plight, I've dedicated a blog entry to you. :-) Hope this helps!


  2. I learned some time ago to buy plants that weren't really supposed to flower but were guaranteed to live. Eventually they flowered all on their own! Granted, this took several years...but like you I couldn't seem to keep flowers alive. And I like my little plants! Remember how we have now had to move them twice? :)

  3. Our mint died randomly, and then we have a plant that has died repeatedly, gone into hibernation, and started growing again in earnest. I do NOT have a green thumb, but Rob (husband) does. Whenever he goes TDY, I worry everything will die.... Best of luck with your plants, perhaps they have a self esteem problem? Perhaps you need to bolster their confidence :)

  4. Jennifer, I was just thinking about that self-esteem problem! I'm writing a little something about that, so we'll see if this theory pans out. Also, I'm very impressed that you kept a plant that has died repeatedly; I get so frustrated by the ugliness that I usually just throw it out. Ah, I see that patience IS a virtue.

  5. This letter sounds very "toad-like" and not your normal frog self. On the plus side: you are much more articulate than toad!



Related Posts with Thumbnails