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short trip to the compost bucket

After the show, bouquets took over the apartment, preening above my life’s neglected minutia. Delphinium trumpeted above the half-written birthday cards and half-read letters; gerbera daisies flounced atop books and script pages and the city census.

fancy floral arrangement

I would love to love fancy floral arrangements. Indeed, I welcome them into my home with the cordiality I’d offer a shiny-shouldered dignitary. They preside over my apartment with a gravity that befits their glory. I go about my business with the occasional deferential glance.

more fancy flowers

But no one feels at ease. I don’t want them towering over my messy apartment, looking superior. They don’t want me abandoning them for eight, nine hours at a time. What’s the use of such splendor with no one to take it in?

glorious gerberas

After a week the niceties wear thin. I haven’t watered them daily as their labels demanded. They’ve begun drooping in what seems to me an unnecessarily accusatory fashion. I want to give up, to haul them to the nearest compost pile.

drooping flowers

How easily I am overwhelmed. Not only by stress and sorrow but also by beauty and joy. Lately my life feels like a fancy floral arrangement. Performing my dream role for two weekends of sold-out shows. Finding a wedding dress. Choosing reception hors d’oeuvres and making guest lists for bridal showers. Gearing up for an unknown future. “How exciting,” friends say, and I smile weakly.

Take it apart, Hannah. Pull it to pieces stem by stem, the way you dismantled the bouquets. Nobody says you have to keep the vase the florist sent. Nobody’s forcing you to behold all that beauty in a single glance.

Slide a rose into the old aluminum can and set it next to the kitchen soap.

rose in the aluminum can

Nestle gerberas in wine glasses on the hutch.

on the hutch

Divide the mums into champagne flutes beneath the white board.

mums beneath the white board

And as the petals shrivel and the glowing faces nod, take each one into your hands and give thanks. It’s a short trip to the compost bucket. Why not glide your fingers over the silky petals and inhale one last whiff of sweetness on your way?

last touch

This life so often feels like a series of chores. Each one is a scrap of possibility, never-before-seen footage from a singular existence.

Right now your fiancé is singing a silly song for you. Right now the lamplight’s shining in his lashes. The desk is finally clean; the floor could use a sweeping. And life is beautiful, one blossom at a time.

drooping blossoms

4 thoughts on “short trip to the compost bucket”

  1. Just beautiful, Hannah. There is so much here. I love the flow of your thoughts and the accompaniment of the images. The blossom in the soda can is perfection.
    I have an urge to cry, but I also can’t stop grinning.

    Thank you for such a lovely post.

  2. Hannah, this is so true. “It’s so exciting!” we all say, and there is a good bit that’s scary and strange, too. Flowers strewn around the room are definitely my way of doing it! 🙂 Lovely.

  3. Well I can relate my dinnig table looks very much like this photo managed to find past Christmas list of friends, realized needed to buy cards, now have them but is it getting too late to send (especially overseas); should I do an email letter instead, do I have time to include notes in the ones I send by snail mail??? .I think my cards will be New Year wishes instead!

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