Twelve Months of Flowers

If only it were true. Unless you count holly berries, there’s really not much in the way of floral color during northeastern winter months.

But “Twelve Months of Flowers” can be had via art prints, from the series published in 1730 by renowned British horticulturist and author Robert Furber. Mr. Furber’s name is the one most highly attributed to these exquisite prints, and while I’m grateful that he provided the insight, substantial research and knowledge (and, no doubt, the funds) to produce the collection, I’m mostly interested in the artistry.

Two of these prints hung in our dining room during my growing-up years – one May, one November, the months of my parent’s birthdays. Much admired, they gave a rich, subtle elegance to a modest space (and now that I think of it, may have influenced my own interest in drawing things botanical) ~ but in all those years, strangely, I don’t remember talking about the artist. So I went looking.

I discovered that the meticulously hand-colored engravings were created by English engraver Henry Fletcher, based on the paintings of Flemish-born artist Pieter Casteels, and that Twelve Months of Flowers was originally produced as a gardening guide in catalogue format and sold by subscription. (They also produced an equally stunning second series, Twelve Months of Fruits.) The images were aimed at wealthy landowners interested in growing plants for beauty more than functionality.

Each work is a glorious detail of plants in seasonal bloom, with each plant numbered, and, at the time, a list of the corresponding names. More than 400 plant species were featured. This was no small project. Huge talent. Enormous dedication to both botany and craft.

And so, a few centuries later, I thank them the three of them: Furber, Fletcher and Casteels ~ for their luscious collaboration of study, talent and skill. They are so beautiful, I would even venture to call them a labor of love. But that’s what art is.

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Some Love & Literary Candy

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Two Tulips / © Patricia Saxton

 

Ah, Cupid, Roman God of Love ~ fickle, passionate, whose darting arrows don’t always hit the target ~ every year on February 14th we celebrate you nonetheless. And we celebrate love: the language of poets, songs of the heart, threads that bind us throughout time, the essence of life itself.

While I can count a few especially thoughtful, and even romantic, Valentine’s Day experiences, yea, well, those went all wrong in the end (beware the man who writes you poetry, a friend once told me…), so instead I turn to the unscathed memories of shared Valentines from grammar school, or the hand-made kindergarten cards we gave to our parents, with big red construction paper hearts and white lace around the edges, filled with unabashed adoration. And those we give our own children, marked with a thousand x’s and o’s.

And yet, despite what might seem a dose of romantic cynicism, I am a true believer. In love. Love is everything. Every task we do, everyone word we utter, every hand we shake, is made better if there’s love in it. Love is the root. Love is the cause. Love is the purpose. Love is all.

So I welcome any reason to honor love. Let sweethearts swoon. Let the day be thick with roses and chocolates for all who’ve ever felt the exultation ~ or the sting ~ from Cupids’ arrows, all who’ve felt their heart swell, their color blush, their energy soar and their selfishness cease.

And with or without a “Valentine”, fill your hearts with love. Love for self, love for others, love for your pets, for your garden, for your books, for your bicycle, for your favorite chair. Even for the guy trying to make a left turn on a busy street. Raise up the heart quotient all around, and feel the peace that settles in when tension is replaced by unbridled love.

Celebrate love. Read some poetic literary candy. Smell a rose. Give someone a cupcake. Smile because love still exists in this mad world.

Love is Not All (Sonnet XXX), Edna St. Vincent Millay

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.

 

18th Sonnet, William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

 

How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43), Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

 

Love’s Philosophy, Percy Bysshe Shelley

The fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the ocean;
The winds of heaven mix forever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In another’s being mingle–
Why not I with thine?

See, the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister flower could be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea;–
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?

Week #24, 52 Weeks of Peace

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A Plethora of P’s / #81, 82, 83, 84, 85 & 86

proactively punctuating life with the plausible, powerful possibilities of positive thought presented through a plethora of “P’s”.

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#81: Purge

saxton.P_purgeClutter is not our friend. Clutter = chaos = confusion.

So get rid of it. Toss it. Shake it off. Wipe the slate. Clear the way. Cleanse! Have a purification ritual if you must, but do part with doesn’t serve you. “Stuff”, relationships, situations, behaviors and unproductive emotions ~ all can weigh us down or tangle us in a snarled mess.

That said, there’s no need to go for an all out, bonkers-mad purging frenzy. No need to be reckless. Even just a bit at a time feels good; enough to lighten the load.

Consider your peace of mind. We all accumulate some chaos, whether internal or external, mental or physical,  a lot or a little, and boy does it feel great to purge!

– ♥ –

#82: Plumbingsaxton.P_plumbing

I don’t know about you, but I’m a big fan of plumbing. Having traveled quite a bit, I think I can say with some confidence that here in the good ol’ USA, we have some of the best plumbing in the world. Knowing this makes me flush with pride.

It also makes me thank my lucky stars to live in modern times. Indoor plumbing didn’t come about til end of the 19th century, when its wonders were heavily promoted by London plumber Thomas Crapper. (No kidding!) According to Wikipedia: The flushing toilet was invented by John Harrington in 1596. Joseph Bramah of Yorkshire patented the first practical water closet in England in 1778. George Jennings in 1852 also took out a patent for the flush-out toilet. In a time when bathroom fixtures were barely spoken of, plumber Thomas Crapper heavily promoted sanitary plumbing and pioneered the concept of the bathroom fittings showroom.

And now you know.

 

– ♥ –

#83: Pulchritude

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Some say it was Cleopatra; some name the woman who played her part in film, Elizabeth Taylor, as the most pulchritudinous woman ever to roam the earth.

Beauty is, of course, in the eye of the beholder and there are far too many examples of pulchritudinous women to list. And yes, the word is generally reserved for female beauty ~ but it can also apply to the physical loveliness of grand landscapes, majestic mountains, breathtaking sunrises, sunsets, and perhaps a simple, elegant rose.  …Ah, sweet pulchritude.

 

– ♥ –

#84: Pomegranate

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Move over, blueberries; the mighty pomegranate has one-upped you in the Superfruit category. Not your everyday apples and bananas, superfruits are more exotic varieties with higher than average levels of antioxidants and nutrition, and the crimson seed packs nestled inside a pomegranate’s tough skin are the latest pièce de résistance in the fruit world for both taste and nourishing goodness.

Which reminds me, I need to make some pomegranate muffins. Mmmm.

 

– ♥ –

#85: Perception

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It is not what we see, but how we view it. Not what we hear, but how we listen. Not what we sing, but how we feel it. Life is all about our perception ~ how we perceive, intuit or understand any given circumstance or subject matter. It can make the difference between a good day and a bad one, harmony or confusion, truth or uncertainty, agreement or misjudgment. If something doesn’t feel quite right, it’s a good idea to step back and check our point of view, and then decide if rose-colored glasses might serve us better on or off.

 

– ♥ –

#86: Ponder

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I ponder the stars, that I may feel part of this grand universe. I ponder the sea to soften my nerves. I ponder a tulip, to feel amazed at God’s artistry. I gaze into a fire and ponder the depths of my soul.

Sometimes I get answers. Sometimes not. But the pondering in and of itself is satisfying. Short or long, it takes one’s mind on a vacation from ordinary things, from problems that need solutions. Like meditation, a good ponder can leave you feeling inspired, energized and fresh.

Let your mind wander in wonder now and then. Ponder that.

 

……………………

(until next time, you can see the ongoing Plethora of P’s here)

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