Also, deer don’t like them.  They don’t appeal to gophers.  And the foxes and wild turkeys seem to leave them alone as well. Which means they’re perfect for our garden on the edge of open space.  We planted eleven different varieties of daffodils  (poets would call some jonquils, others paper whites or narcissus)–specifically Avalanche, Barrett Browning, Carlton, Cornish King, Ice Follies, Las Vegas, Ma Bell, Merels Favourite, Pink Charm, Pipet, and Thalia. They all had staggered bloom times.  But on those weeks where they were pretty much all in bloom, every time I opened the front door it felt like I was being serenaded with the Hallelujah Chorus.  (Did you know that Handel’s “Messiah” was originally performed in April?)

Daffodils belong to the genus narcissus which gets its name from the Greek god Narcissus.  According to legend, Narcissus was so taken with the image of himself as he gazed into a river that he drowned trying to capture his reflection.  The reflected image of daffodils growing along stream banks inspired the association with Narcissus.

We planted them along the dry stream bed in our garden where except for a few exceptionally rainy days no treacherous reflections are cast.  We planted them on a sunny day in December when my family had just started to gather for Christmas.  Though the sun was out it was still cold and it took some gumption to get out there and plant All Those Bulbs (we put 100 tulip bulbs in the back pots safely out of reach from the deer as well.) But once we got started the work was pretty easy and fun.  And boy was there a big payoff.  I’m thinking this will be an annual Christmas tradition.  Some daffodils will return but to ensure we always have plenty I’ll want to plant more.

Here you can see our daughter Claire planting daffodils  (now that they’ve bloomed, I’m thinking the elegant white on white Thalia?) near the leafless variegated dogwood draped with Christmas garland.

And here’s the rest of the planting crew — our pregnant daughter-in-law Lori, Claire, landscaper Keeyla Meadows, son Will and M.J. Right after we planted the bulbs we scurried off to a matinee performance of The Christmas Revels that happened to feature a daffodil as a magical symbol of healing and rebirth!

It’s an act of faith to plant anything but especially homely little bulbs in the dead of winter.  But look what our faith hath wrought!

Happy Weekend All!

For years now I’ve thought about buying a cross necklace.  But though I’m a Christian, wearing crosses is not part of my faith tradition.  In fact, growing up—back when Mormons were feuding with Catholics—I was told that Mormons did not wear crosses.  That we emphasized Christ’s resurrection not his crucifixion and that wearing one would be something pretty close to a sin.

What my people did wear were CTR rings.  CTR stands for Choose The Right and just before you were baptized at age eight you were given a little ring with an adjustable one-size-fits all band topped with a miniature shield emblazoned with the letters CTR.  The band was a little pinchy and the metal eventually turned your finger the same green as the enameled shield.  I’m not sure what happened to mine.  But I do know that by the time my kids were old enough to wear CTR rings you could buy nicer versions that were made of silver with a solid band in specific sizes.  One daughter wore hers up through high school.

My impression is that many Catholics wear a cross necklace throughout their lives—that it’s the one piece of jewelry they wear consistently.  I wasn’t looking for that.  I can’t even commit to an Apple Watch (and my son now designs for Apple!) because I like to change things up regularly.  But I wouldn’t mind wearing a cross now and then.  And wearing one at Easter seems particularly appealing.

So today—Good Friday—I decided to buy my first cross necklace.  I went to Sagrada—a lovely little “sacred arts” bookstore in the hip Temescal neighborhood of Oakland—and considered a number of options.  There were ornate medieval crosses (too fussy), bedazzled crosses (too glitzy),  and crosses made out of Fimo clay beads (too funky).  I lingered at the First Communion crosses since they were the simplest but they also seemed too small and delicate for grown-up me.

Ultimately I ended up with this mosaic cross.  After seeing a photo of it my San Antonio sister said I’d fit right in in Texas.  I actually thought it looked less Tex-Mex and more Viennese Secessionist a la Klimt.  (Though his art was often collected by Jewish patrons, Klimt was Catholic so I guess that’s not that far-fetched.)

So why do I want to wear a cross? At least sometimes? Style-wise, I like the classic shape of the cross.  Symbolically, I feel more comfortable than I ever have about being an openly spiritual person who would like to applaud and emulate Christ–someone who always did Choose The Right.

Do you wear any jewelry that has spiritual significance to you? If so, I’d love to hear what you wear and why you wear it.

Let me introduce you to my new pink dogwood tree—isn’t she a beauty? She went into the back garden yesterday along with a bunch of climbing vines and two fruit trees–a Kieffer lime and a “Panache” fig (classy, huh?)  I spent a few peaceful moments last night watering everything in, grateful to have some new living things to nurture.  Then I looked out into the open space beyond our fence to the area that technically belongs to PG&E but has plantings from a previous owner that we’ve now supplemented with some shimmering pittosporum. I laughed when I saw a large potted cactus I inherited when we bought the house now draped in leftover Christmas garland and transplanted in the field of Mexican salvia.  Welcome to the beginnings of my goofy, glorious garden.

Whether you’re celebrating Passover or Easter or Spring in all it’s glory this weekend, I hope you, too, find a quiet moment to marvel at new life and unexpected juxtapositions.

Here are a few other marvelous things that caught my attention this week.

This temple went up in flames for all the right reasons.

How to make an attractive city.

A trippy light to offset seasonal affective disorder.

Frogs at the Passover Table.

For your Easter Basket, a classy set of cards.

The story behind the annual Peeps Diorama contest.

Happy Passover and Easter Weekend All!

When I was a little girl we sang a children’s hymn about “little purple pansies touched with yellow gold.” The message wasn’t particularly religious, just an admonition to “try, try, try” to gladden whatever corner we found ourselves in–whether dark or sunny, warm or cold.  This Easter season I’m grateful for the people and beliefs that have gladdened my dark corners.  Wishing you all some bright spots of hope wherever you find yourself today.

Happy Easter!