Lilacs in Bloom
Simple traditions that blossom from everyday memories.
Early this morning, I glanced at the lilacs blooming outside my office window. From my desk, I'm able to see the seasonal changes that range from stark to full—like the lilac buds that form as the snow falls then blossom to their fullest as the days brighten and warm.
The bushes are at their peak right now. The fragrance they emit is bold. The memories they evoke are strong.
As I looked at my lilacs, I was bemused by the influence certain memories hold over little things we do day to day, by the simple traditions that blossom from ordinary, seemingly insignificant events.
The rear property line at my childhood home had a full hedge of lilac bushes separating our lot from the neighbor's. The boundary was long. The trimming endless! Oh, how I hated that chore. Well . . . I hated chores. Period. But that hedge created serious manual labor that included some poking and prodding, from the bushes and my brother(!), along the row.