Where I'm from the peony flower grows during that somewhat ephemeral time when spring fades into summer without regard to the calendar. When I think of them, it's in large pink and white blooms that feel waxy to the touch and are covered in busy ants seeking nectar. The flowers fade quickly, their petals turn brown and topple to one side like doll's heads until they fertilize the ground.
The scent of the peony is soft pink, just on the edge of white. Blush. Baby fine, but sensual. Distinctly female (if scents have genders, I think they do)...Aside: I started writing this yesterday and kept wanting to describe the scent as embarrassing, but kept thinking
that sounds weird. Until I quickly scanned Wikipedia, which says that in the
Language of Flowers the peony means shame or bashfulness. In the words of my dear Grandpa Dean (Papa): Well, I'll be!
Bushes of peonies grew outside my grandparents' house when I was young (maybe still do). I used to call them "pennies" and bring them indoors to fill the large, cut glass vase. My Grandmother would cut their stems with her sewing/coupon clipping scissors, which were silver and heavy and made a distinct squeaking sound that is one of many auditory treasures from my childhood that I still hold onto.
Enormous magenta peonies grew on bushes in the last apartment my former husband and I shared together. So many times those flowers caught my eye from our 3rd story balcony and I promised myself I would go down and cut a few to bring indoors to pay homage to where I came from. Yes, I am that sentimental. But. I never did. We lived there for two years and I never once cut any of those flowers. Each year they drooped, browned, and crumpled into the grass before disappearing altogether.
Funny that with everything that transpired between us when I think about it now, it's the peonies I didn't cut that bother me. I guess we all know that's not entirely true. It's easier to talk about the peonies than it is my shame (appropriate, given the flower's meaning) at having failed in my first marriage. Yes, failed. That's the way I see it. That's the way it feels and that's the way I have been made to feel by friends lost, words spoken to my face and behind my back, waiting in line for a quickie divorce with all those other sad girls...standing before a United States judge to say "yes, my marriage is broken, there is no chance it can ever be repaired."
My first husband and I used to buy peony-scented candles and perfumes for his mother. They were her favorite flower and grew outside her home in Southern Canada. I still love her and I still care about...well, all of them, really. I have learned that my heart can be broken, and there can be a billion excuses and reasons for that, but in the end what matters is that for seven years they were my family. It would be disingenuous to say now that it was all a big, loveless, childish mistake. It wasn't. And it didn't work out anyway. And that's life, and that's okay. No one could ever possibly judge me more harshly for this than I have judged myself.
I have a second chance now. In less than a week I will be a wife again. I am wiser now, more ready for the challenge. Being a wife is no joke and it's not easy. It can be wonderful, though with the right person by your side. This time I have someone who understands my ups and downs and knows how to communicate with me. I do the same for him and we are in agreement about the path to our future. That, in part is why this will be different and why this has been different for the past 2 years.
If you think it's weird and depressing that I'm examining (publicly, no less!) my previous marriage just days before my new marriage, then I would have to disagree with you. What better time than right before you commit your entire life to another human being than to examine your feelings for the first time that happened? If you cannot learn from your past, how do you expect to have a better future?
I am doing so publicly because I
am not don't want to be ashamed anymore. And I don't want you to be ashamed either...for whatever it is you're ashamed of. We're all ashamed of something, aren't we? I'm no less human and I don't have a less valid story to tell just because I choose to do so on a public blog. I will never apologize for being an honest, genuine person, even when it may publicly cast me in a negative light. I can, have, and will continue to admit my failures and flaws as readily as my achievements. I don't consider myself a hero for that, it's just my way.
Having a second chance at love is a rare gift. I will not neglect to pay homage to where I come from this time. I will consider and honor the places I have been and the people I have had the divine gift of being able to spend time with. I refuse to enter this new marriage with an ounce of bitterness in my heart. I let it go and it makes more room for happiness and love. I will fill our new house with flowers. The peony is also known as the flower of honor and considered by many cultures to be an omen of a happy marriage. I feel that is appropriate, too.
 |
Credit: you may purchase this beautiful print for framing
at this great Etsy shop: earlybirdsale |
xoxo,
Ashley
