Cleaning out flower pots and buckets and other containers takes me to my mom.
Each year we had the same ritual. She had a set number of containers - we didn't add - why change what works.
She always had that talent. The ability to know what was "enough"...what worked and what she could handle. I wish I had that talent. I'm a bit more of a dreamer, perhaps, and I'm continually blessed with or plagued with visions. I have big dreams.
Not of the vacation home in Hawaii variety, but dreams borne out of seeing life in combinatinos and colors and seeing new use for old things. It means I've never lived in a home, since being married, that felt "finished". I think a finished home is a place of contentment. Where the residents walk in and sort of sigh and sink in.
I don't have that. Never have. I hope I do when I'm finally too old to act on my dreams.
My mom always planted geraniums.
Always salmon pink.
Never red. Never magenta. Never white.
In grey wooden "buckets". Always at the front porch.
Never the patio.
Never the sidewalk.
The geraniums were expected. And I'd walk the garden center with her ogling the yellow flowers. The purple pansies (I had a thing for pansies). I dreamt of a rainbow.
We bought geraniums. Salmon pink geraniums.
She will be gone 9 years next week. It will be time to plant things. I will plant salmon pink geraniums in wooden "buckets" on my front porch. I will walk past them all summer and feel a little contentment. And I won't dream of rainbows of color - I'll be smiling over my salmon pink geraniums.