tamarjacobson

During our anniversary the house was full of flowers. Daffodils of course, the symbolic flower of the day for us. Freesias that were ordered for the table at the romantic restaurant dinner, and then a bunch of carnations and such as a gift just because the day was the day. It was all so pretty and festive. Wherever the eye fell there bloomed another flower. After a week they all started to wilt. That’s what happens with flowers. It’s the nature of things. They herald the aftermath, the clean-up after the party, or the farewell-it’s-over-time-to-move-on-to-the-next-thing. Sometimes I try to salvage a few remaining live flowers and create a new arrangement to last just a few more days, but they always look different somehow. Not quite right. Like holding-on-to-the-past-too-long …

Celebrations are like that. The build-up, the festivities, and then, the clean up and move on. Cyclical. Come and gone.

Not quite gone though. For they leave behind a trail of memories that stay with us, sometimes, forever. My old friend, Mary sent me an e-mail once after we had danced together all night at a conference. She wrote:

tamar

memories are moments that refuse to be …

ordinary …

A year ago at Tamarika: The gift of early childhood