Growth

I’m not sure what’s growing is in fact a hydrangea bush. It could be that this plant that was dying last fall is in fact something different. The four homes that surround us all have ladies with green thumbs in them, and they have the same flowers in front of their homes, and they tell us they’re hydrangeas. However, a few have said that this is something different, and since I can’t tell the difference between poison ivy and a maple leaf, they could be right.

Whatever this plant is, Jesse decided to cut its stalks. He’d done some research, and figured that we couldn’t let the plant die and hope it would grow again. It needed some help; a mercy cut, I suppose, so the same week I turned in a resignation letter, Jesse cut all the flowers, and all winter we’ve been looking at pointy, headless, hollow stalks, and I’ve been wondering if we did the right thing.

I guess it was the end of March when Jesse noticed things were different.  Something was growing, and even though neither of us is certain what it is or what it will do, he and I look out our living room window almost every day and smile at that plant like we would a baby taking her first steps. Now, it is lush with heavy green leaves and the night of one of the high school’s PROM Hadley and Harper peeked out the window just above the plant and watched the girls in their fancy dresses dance and take pictures in the street.

“That’s going to be you someday,” I said, and Hadley rolled her eyes, and Harper held Bear’s hand and I wondered if the flowers will bloom by the time they’re in dresses and twirling in the middle of the street with their friends.

 

It’s summer now, for all we’re concerned. School should be out, and that’ll be the mentality for all of us the next few weeks. We’ve spent the last 72 hours walking back and forth to this pool that we can see from  our home. We’ve played soccer golf, signed up for swim lessons, and swim team, and we all have that glorious heat filled twinge you get from being in the sun longer than the SPF says you should.

We ate dinner on our deck, and Jesse showed Harper how to throw a ball on the roof so it bounces back while Hadley whipped up a key lime pie for us to eat for dessert.

“I don’t think we had any idea about this place,” Jesse said this weekend, pulling out the smoker from the garage. I know he meant the pool and the golf course behind our house, but the statement applies for what we decided to do almost twelve months ago. (Well, truth be told, it’s been longer than that, but that’s a story for another day.) It was a risky move, what we did. I think things are growing, but I’m not sure what it is they’re growing into, yet.

We still see our beloved piano teacher every week. Last week, she and Hadley danced a waltz together in her music room so Hadley would feel the music before she played it, while her older son who must be home from college put the casserole in the oven this time, and her house filled with garlic and potatoes and whatever else that goes into a casserole (I don’t know; I’ve never made one). I still wonder about the beach house across the street from her house, and I peek over at it when we’re there for lessons, but mostly I spend that time writing or reading a book.

There are signs of growth everywhere, and that’s a good thing, I think. There’s lots to wonder about and to look at, and no matter what it is that we grow into, I’m thankful that what was dying last fall has another chance today.