The Problem with Petunias

This year I gave up on petunias. While I love their happy faces and scent, the upkeep was not worth the trouble. By late summer they would be leggy and spent looking. Besides, keeping up with dead heading their mushy spent flowers was a daily chore and more work than I want to do these days.

We noticed however, sometime in July, little rosettes popping up in the garden. At first, we thought they were weeds. But they looked vaguely familiar. By Jove, petunias had self-seeded where I planted them last year. And not just one or two- a whole bunch. I didn’t think that was possible here in New York (zone 6).

Within a couple weeks, we had blooms. All manner of pinks and purples. And with the late start they don’t seem to be near as needy. I even moved some around.

Don’t you just love when things are easy? There’s so many tasks and responsibilities that vie for our attention that when we come across something so easy, so simple, there’s a kind of joy in that. Whether the blooms last for a month, a week or even just a day

Simplicity is a gift that is often evasive. We want to be present in the moment, but the very active of arranging circumstances to make things simple can get in the way. This conundrum was well articulated by the famous physicist Albert Einstein:

“Everything should be made as simple as possible, but not simpler.”

How do we capture that rhythm?

I went to visit my sister last week and kept the plans as simple as possible. I wasn’t sure what the situation would be like since she has been moved into a memory care facility. It’s been a difficult decline for all of us who love her. Frontal Temporal Demetia (FTD) is the diagnosis. The reality is that completing tasks has become nearly impossible for her in the matter of a couple of years. My older, smarter, faster, sister is content to sit and look out the window now. She’s not thinking about setting up a bird feeder or mowing the lawn or washing the window, she’s just there, soaking in the sunshine. And in some ways, it’s completely unfathomable. It’s a loss. It’s not at all what someone our age should be reduced to. But then there’s also this innocence that has replaced a striving spirit. There is a side of uncomplicated simplicity. We sat and sang songs with a few of her housemates. We laughed and loved and prayed with no agenda of when and who and how to start or stop. It was joyful.

I don’t know why or how the proteins in her body lost connection. Just as I don’t know how a tiny seed survives the winter and grows into a beautiful flower.

I don’t know how the heart beats or a vegetable grows from a flower or a thunder cloud announces the lightning. And the older I get the more I know that I don’t know. And maybe that’s not the point, for what I do know, what I have learned in this life, is that I can trust God. When I walk in rhythm with God and do not force my will but rather seek His, a simplicity and joy can be experienced. Not created, mind you, but there for me to step into.

Sometimes the simplest things assure us the most.

 "Be still, and know that I am God." Psalm 46:10

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These resources are created by Natali Edmonds, a board certified geropsychologist. She is a clinical psychologist who specializes in working with older adults.