Remember me? I'm the "lone white tulip" who wrote a blog entry (three weeks ago tomorrow), which you are welcome to review by clicking here, where I expressed my concerns about Sylvia Plath, the poetess, and of her accusing members of the Tulip family of having, "the mouths of an African lion", in her poem, Tulips.
Tulips is a poem which Youngquist included in her April 26th post which you can reread by clicking here. My aforementioned concerns have been somewhat alleviated, because Youngquist addressed them (as she does with all of my needs) in her May 4th 2011 posting, Dearest Tulip, even you could not console Sylvia Plath, which you can read by clicking here.
That being the case, I want to take the opportunity to express my thoughts about what my life has been like in Youngquist's urban terrace garden — a terrace garden which is tended by her (your blogger under the title of The Last Leaf Gardener), as well as Juan V, a man she admires very much.
First, I want to express my thanks to Youngquist, and I hope you will still hear me out. I am most grateful that Youngquist explained to me that sometimes you humans do not want to be be consoled when in certain instances grief or despair have taken overcome the individual. I appreciate Youngquist not only sharing the sorrow which Ms. Plath surely experienced, and by doing so, letting me know that Plath's feelings were beyond anything us tulips could do in terms of consolation (or anything else for that matter). What a relief it was for me to learn this information, and on behalf of my tulip-community, I'd like to say how relieved we, the tulip-community, are to know that our fellow-tulips did not fail their mission, yet I still feel sorrow that anyone was in such a depth of despair.
where a few of my petals can be seen on the black-topped surface which supports Youngquist's container-filled terrace garden), I am keenly aware that my borrowed time is closing in on me. What you see in the photographs above (in addition to my white petals), are yellow fragments (that were blown by the wind from where they were resting inside a peony flower from my gardener's Paeonia suffruiticosa, also known as a Tree Peony).
and you might have surmised this to be the case because, the Paeonia suffruiticosa, in addition to being the cover girl for the Welcome Page of the on-line brochure and featured on the back page of the downloadable brochure, has been written about on so many occasions, including a DOZEN features: as evidenced by the following links:
May 6th, 2011
May 3rd, 2011
May 1, 2011
April 16th, 2011
April 13, 2011
May 29th, 2010
May 22nd, 2010
April 24th, 2010
April 23rd, 2010
April 17th, 2010
April 10th, 2010
So there you have it, dear reader, an inkling of some of the awesome moments we tulips have had in this terrace garden, appreciating life; knowing we only have a limited amount of time here. It's a hard concept to grasp, I realize, especially for folks who bear many burdens, but it can be done.
Maybe I am just a tulip, but I've come to learn a lot in the time I've spent in this terrace garden; however, I didn't come by this "borrowed time" insight on my own. I must confess that I came to it vis a vis a story I've often heard Youngquist tell her clients and friends about a woman who was the mother of Jennifer Mahoney. Jennifer is the subject of one of Youngquist's original Black and White photographs (which can be seen in the photograph posted below,
as well as in the Black and White Print Collections posted on Youngquist's web-site. In the photograph, Jennifer is with the man she loved who is blind. The photograph was taken of him by Youngquist at the request of Jennifer. Unfortunately, Jennifer, who suffered from a case of Spina-bifda, died before the photograph was printed. She died while in the throes of living — "running" around Manhattan in her motorized wheel chair — with her blind boyfriend in tow, in an effort to do her Christmas shopping. In the holiday rush, she misjudged the height of a curb which caused her wheel chair to topple upon her — killing her instantly.
"I always knew I was on borrowed time with Jennifer," her mother evidently told Youngquist when she attended Jennifer's wake, "and so I let her do what she wanted to do." This is a quote Youngquist recounted in one of her first blog postings in 2010 in relation to her own attitudes toward her endeavors in Black and White photography (which can be viewed here, but the quote is apropos today, as I, your blogging-Tulip, attempt to share the blessing in knowing the value of "borrowed time."
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