Packing the Vases

There is something very intimate and personal about the vases I've collected over the years; each tell their own story -- where I was when -- who I was then, and so on.

Most of the year there are some kind of blooms in the yard and consequently flowers in my kitchen window, on the table, and always on the altar.  Of course, we are sneaking a few of our special bulbs into our moving boxes -- our wedding calla lilies, some of our favorite iris, and of course some tower of jewels seeds.

Chips and scratches, dings and all; as I wrap each one I am grateful for all the flowers of our yard and the people and memories they recall.  The yellow azalea that we planted when Kimbre died, the camellia my mother gave us when we moved in, the contorted filbert I bought for Phil for his birthday.  Donna Mae's azalea and the bulbs we bought with Carol and Jerebob, Walt and Jenny at the bulb farm one autumn.  All are sweet remembrances -- "of people and things that went before - I know I'll often stop and think about them." The old Beatles song comes to mind as I tuck them safely between bathroom towels.