It always seemed to me that the herbaceous peony is the very epitome of June. Larger than any rose,
it has something of the cabbage rose's voluminous quality; and when it finally drops from the vase, it
sheds its petticoats with a bump on the table, all in an intact heap, much as a rose will suddenly fall,
making us look up from our book or conversation, to notice for one moment the death of what had
still appeared to be a living beauty.
Vita Sackville-West
Rain is on the way, so I picked my maternal grandmother's peonies and placed them in her maternal grandmother's pitcher.
Her grandmother was gifted a name hard to forget, Wealthy Ellen and rather impossible to pass down. Her only daughter was named Lulu Ellen and my mother, Ellen. My grandmother Nora missed out on the name, possibly named for a paternal relative. I missed out too, my first name, Betsey, is from my Scottish grandmother and great grandmother on my paternal side. My middle name is my grandmother Nora's as well.
For the Record,
This day came in sunny and beautiful.
I retired from public school teaching after happily spending twenty eight years playing in Kindergarten. Now I fill my days watching cat antics, taking endless...
