Don't Say it With Flowers! By Sharon Flood Kasenberg

Don't Say It With Flowers!

My attitude's pragmatic
where romance is concerned -
I'm not a "love fanatic"
but through the years I've learned
that there's a certain sweetness
in tears and laughter shared;
a feeling of completeness
in knowing I am paired.
The rituals of dating
seemed complex in my youth,
thus I'm now educating
by sharing gems of truth:
No girl with sense supposes
when he ceases to spend
on candlelight and roses
her happiness will end.
Love isn't tabulated
in flowers that are sent.
Blossoms are over-rated
and reek of sentiment.
Affection lasts far longer
than flowers in a vase,
and love will just grow stronger
once you've embraced his flaws.
Infatuation passes,
it isn't meant to last.
You'll shed rose-coloured glasses
once that first thrill has passed.
Then you'll dispel old notions -
ignorance isn't bliss,
and negative emotions
don't vanish with a kiss.
If somehow you've concluded
your mate will always please,
then you, friend, are deluded
love has no guarantees.
Flies land in ev'ry ointment,
love isn't always grand.
There will be disappointment
when things don't go as planned.
Romance? It will come and go
like waves upon the shore -
ignore "the ebb", enjoy "the flow"
and you'll enjoy life more.
Flowers? They may come - or not.
They're pretty for a while.
But in time they'll fade and rot
and land on compost pile.
So when it comes to flowers
this moral may be learned -
cherish instead the hours
love's given and returned.

Sharon Flood Kasenberg, August 2014

Tomorrow is my 26th Anniversary, and I'm not expecting flowers. It isn't that I don't like flowers - because I do. I'm just happier enjoying them in my garden. It isn't that my husband is a cheapskate, because he's not.  He just knows that I'm not all that excited by floral arrangements. The scent is too cloying, the flowers fade too quickly and the pragmatic side of me has a hard time receiving expensive bouquets that are bound to end up in the trash.

I know women who brag about all of the flowers their spouses bring them. I'm not envious - in fact I think that a lot of thoughtless (or perhaps lazy) husbands use flowers as a very handy, unimaginative gift to mark every single occasion. Bring home a nice bouquet for the little woman and you're off the hook. Give your favorite flower shop all the significant dates, into their data base they go, and you, my friend, will never be in the doghouse for missing an anniversary or birthday again - right?

Well, I suppose that works fine if your wife isn't all that bright and hasn't picked up on how easy flowers are as a fallback gift - one that says, "I thought about you for the three minutes it took me to order a bouquet online from my chair today!" (Or maybe she crossed your mind for the thirty seconds that you panicked in the check out line, realizing that today was her birthday - before you spotted the grocery store solution to the dilemma.) I guess it's also okay if she really loves flowers and prefers them above any other gift you could ever give her. And while all you "romantic" guys may accuse me of being terribly unsentimental, I'm finding it hard to believe that there are many women out there who never want anything but flowers.

No - there will be no bouquets tomorrow, and I'm fine with that. We will celebrate as we do most years, with a quiet meal out at a nice restaurant - a meal I don't have to cook! (More of a thrill to my practical soul than flowers any day.) There have, of course, been years that we celebrated with more fanfare - on our tenth anniversary I got a ring and a weekend on the shores of Lake Michegan. Last year we celebrated 25 years with a trip to Europe, which I'm not looking to top any time soon. This year a meal out will be fine.

My husband has given me some great gifts over the years. One memorable Christmas when my sons were young he gave me gift certificates to a spa. It was bliss - quiet moments of pampering without a child in sight! He's also given me jewelry and clothing and lingerie - and miraculously I've liked most of it. The lingerie even fit! (I was pretty astounded by that last part, but when I marveled at that fact he shrugged it off by telling me he just looked at the sizes on the items I had.) Nice thoughtful gifts every now and then are wonderful, and I appreciate the many he's given me.

In the end, it isn't the flowers that matter. A good marriage isn't determined by how lavishly occasions were celebrated, or whatever tangible gifts were received.

The best marriages are counted in hugs and kisses and good memories of days spent together. They come wrapped up in good and bad shared experiences - laughter and tears. The best spouse is the one who is ready with a hand to hold, a shoulder to cry on, a listening ear, an appreciative eye, and yes, even a figurative - (lest someone seize the opportunity of accusing me of promoting domestic violence!)  - foot ready to give you a kick in the pants if you need it.

Stop counting - and buying - bouquets. There are so many things that cost less, and matter more.

Prescription: Nature! - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg

The Green Cure:

Along a busy street I plod
where dirt and dust have left me parched -
teased to my left with wooded lands
'til path appears 'neath branches arched.
So under leafy canopy
I follow this meand'ring trail
into the solitude of green
where urban sounds cease to prevail.
And suddenly I feel refreshed!
The forest acts as healing balm,
as scent of greenery gone wild
repaints my day in shades of calm.
Oasis in my desert, this -
a haven made of chlorophyll
where nature slakes thirst of my soul,
inviting me to drink my fill.

By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, May 22, 2010

In Victorian novels those of weak physical constitution were often told they needed to "take the air" in the mountains or by the seaside. When I read about these "prescriptions for nature" in my youth, I thought it was quackery - or perhaps merely a good excuse for a tired Victorian-era doctor to get a hypochondriac off his case. But I was young then, and all too often in those days a visit to the family cottage interfered with some urban based pursuit - a trip to the mall or seeing a movie with friends.

And yet, even then there were times when I needed a dose of Lake Superior - times when my spinning mind was calmed by nothing except sitting on a rock and staring across the water at Maple Island. There were also times when a solitary walk down the camp road left my lethargic teenage self feeling oddly rejuvenated.

There is something both calming and restorative about being near a body of water or a glade of trees. I've discovered that a ramble through a park or a few minutes in a flower garden can have the same effect. When I learned about colour theory in college, it came as no surprise that blue and green were calming colors. Experience had already taught me that lakes and trees had a tranquilizing effect on jangled nerves.

I used to take my sons to a playground near a tiny lake when they were toddlers. The play equipment near our co-op bored them quickly, but they seemed content for quite a while when they could count ducks or toss pebbles into Minnow Lake. (The sound of small stones hitting water is calming - I think that's why so many people like to skip stones.) Wherever we lived, we always found "nature spots" - places near water or woods. During the Lively years (yes, Lively is the name of a town we used to live in), we used to go to Meat Bird Lake to swim or visit the playground, take walks in the woods behind the public school, or pick blueberries on the ski hill.

Now the boys are grown and I usually commune with nature on my own. I'm not complaining - I enjoy a little solitary time in my flower garden or on the conservation trails near my house. Sometimes on weekends, my husband and I drive into the countryside for a "Corn and Beans Tour", stopping here and there to mosey along Main Street in one of the small towns or hamlets en route. We hope to move to one of those charming villages someday, so we can take a short stroll and be "in the country" - and live in a place where we can hear the crickets and see the stars at night.

Nature cures - I'm certain of that now. I think we'd see fewer deaths from stress-related ailments and heart attacks if doctors went back to prescribing a dose of the sea shore or a trip to the mountains. Maybe there would be less depression in our society if psychiatrists prescribed fewer tranquilizers and more tranquil stays at a cottage or farm, drove their patients past fields of corn and beans, or took them walking on a forested trail. There is something completely soul-satisfying about breathing in the scent of trees as you walk through the woods - even if  "the woods" in question is nothing but a swath of green space in the middle of a city.

Since cities are always "biggering", farmers fields and stands of trees seem to get pushed further back from our urban centers every year. People in these growing cities are becoming increasingly busy, busy;busy. They seldom get out of the city and under-utilize the parks and trails that are designated green spaces. They get stressed and cranky, honking their horns when you don't move fast enough. They sail on by with a one finger salute when you drive the speed limit. A good dose of nature could help cure so many of society's ills.

A visit to the mountains would perhaps cure narcissistic tendencies. (See those little bitty things waaay down there? Those are houses filled with people - like you.  Mountain - Big. You? Not so much.) Claustrophobic? How about a trip to the desert or a secluded bit of coastline? Lonely or depressed? Perhaps you need to visit a petting zoo. Stressed out? I suggest sitting near a babbling brook or waterfall - or doing some birdwatching or even stopping to smell the flowers from time to time. Exhausted? You need a cabin near a small lake, preferably with a dock to sit on and a tin roof to make even rainy days relaxing.

I don't know if I've convinced you to write yourself a prescription for nature yet, but I'm tired of sitting here typing, sooo -

I'm off to "take the air".