Green - Just One Color Of Spring

Top o' the morning to ya on this fabulous St. Patrick's Day.

The sun is shining down on me here in the formerly frozen north, I've got my green on and the thought of beautiful blooms fill my brain. There are so many different varieties of flowers available to fill me with the blissful happiness of natures smiles. Which do I choose?

Tulips - their stately beauty and gentle lines take my breath away and leave me softened and ready to be filled with love.

Guarded within the old red wall's embrace,
Marshalled like soldiers in gay company,
The tulips stand arrayed. Here infantry
Wheels out into the sunlight. What bold grace
Sets off their tunics, white with crimson lace!
A Tulip Garden by Amy Lowell

Crocus - Delicate blooms of the gentlest color carpeting the ground, proceeding the grass to herold the coming of spring at last.

First a howling blizzard woke us,
Then the rain came down to soak us,
And now before the eye can focus -
Crocus. ~Lilja Rogers

Daffodils - The sunny yellows and pure whites beckon us to come enjoy a spot of tea.

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
Daffodils by William Wordsworth

Impatiens - The excited overachievers of the flower world, spreading their glorious colors.

Primrose, Lilacs and Peonies - Beauty in shrubbed form to brighten my day, but what to choose to line my way?

Sadly, the shrubbed flowers are not available to me this year, simply no room for them so I will have to enjoy them from a far. Darling Diva and I shall, however, indulge our visual needs with potted plants. Though the fields shall be reduced to bits, we are grateful to have the area to do something rather than nothing. :)

How about you out there, what flowers must you have in your gardens? What flowers make you smile?

Have a wonderful day and remember, anyone not wearing green today gets a pinch. Here's to hoping we all find someone sexy who forgot! hehe

'A Rose of Midsummer '- a seasonal short story

Susan looked up from stitching the veil as her tenant entered. All men were out of place in a bridal shop, she thought sympathetically, and this one more than most. Stooping under the ceiling beams, red hair and lean features glowing in the June sunlight, Michael was hopelessly conspicuous. Quite unlike David had been. Steady David, who had taken on the old house she was now subletting to Michael.
Putting the veil down, Susan rose to her feet behind the counter of tiaras and ballet slippers. After David had died, people wondered how she could bear to keep working in a bridal shop. It was only part-time, because of the children, but it took her out each day, made her face the future in each bride's happy plans. Taking trouble for them, making their day special, was something. David would have understood, thought Susan, comforted by this reflection.
And now here was Michael, striding into the shop with that hunted air men reserve for boutiques. Steering a desperately careful course round the racks of shimmering white gowns, he stopped a metre short of the counter. Susan smiled up at him to set him at ease, her heart jolting as Michael smiled back. His artlessness always startled her, as did his sinewy body, which seemed incongruous in a university librarian, too physical.
'Is the maypole up yet?' she asked.
'Finally, yes - and the main refreshment tent.'
Today was midsummer's day and on the village green that evening there would be a mock pageant: dances round the maypole, spit-roast suckling pig and for more modern tastes, barbecued spare ribs. Stephen and Jane, her twins, were dressing up with the rest of their class as little Jack-in-the-Greens. For the adults fancy dress was not compulsory.
Michael certainly wouldn't be going in doublet and hose, reflected Susan, and the thought struck her that the jeans and checked shirt he was wearing now suited him very well. Roped in as historical researcher and general strong-arm, Michael had taken the day off work and was busy helping to erect the tents and position the stalls.
'I don't want to lose you sales, but if you're not busy right now - Join me for a goblet of mead?' A quirk of humour tugged at Michael's mouth. 'Or perhaps just a cup of tea?'
Susan glanced at the veil she was stitching, the empty shop. Then liberation took hold and for a moment she was a little alarmed, because she was glad no one was there and she could steal this time with Michael. 'I'd love to,' she said, stepping nimbly out from behind her counter of silver crowns.
The bell jangled behind Michael. Stephen and Jane stampeded in, little faces wild with glee.
'We've got the afternoon off!' bawled Stephen.
'Today in class Miss Taplin said our house is really old -' Spotting Michael, Jane stopped short. Ever since Michael had appeared on the scene to take up the tenancy, nine-year-old Jane had been smitten by him. 'Oh! Hello.'
'Mike!' Stephen cannoned against Michael, who swung the boy up towards the rafters. 'And which do you want, Stephen, tea or lemonade? I'm taking your Mum for a drink.'
'Lemonade!'
'Lemonade, please,' put in Susan.
'Can we play football afterwards on the green?' Losing her initial shyness, Jane claimed her share of attention.
'Sure - if your Mum can play too.'
'Mum? But she's -' A gleam of calculation entered Jane's dark blue eyes. Glancing at Michael, then her mother, she announced: 'Mike's got a smut on his chin - aren't you going to wipe it off for him?'
'I believe Michael can do that himself,' remarked Susan, frowning at her daughter as Michael rubbed his square jawline. Every now and then, Jane tried to speed things up between her and Michael: this was another ploy. Susan sighed, wishing she could be so blatant. For the last few weeks, she and Michael had been hovering somewhere between friendship and attraction. She looked at Michael.
'Tea?' he asked her again, setting Stephen down. 'I'd like to be sure.'
Susan nodded.
As they strolled out of the shop, Michael remarked, 'Their teacher's right about the house: I've been doing some checking. By rights we should really be holding our medieval fete in your garden. The place is mentioned in a fourteenth century covenant, when it passed from the old knightly family of Montford to one Alice of Godman, for a sum of money and a rose at midsummer.'
'A rose?' Susan was intrigued. Stephen and Jane were scrambling over the green towards the big white refreshment tent: she and Michael had a few moments. She paused on the newly mown grass and looked closely at her tenant.
'A rose of midsummer,' said Michael. 'It was more than a courtesy for Alice. It was a way of agreeing to keep faith between the former owner and the new tenant, a way of showing loyalty.'
Unaccountably, Susan found herself wishing...
'May I come for you and the twins this evening?' Michael interrupted her thoughts.
'Of course!'
Michael grinned. 'I like to be sure,' he said again, and seemed on the point of saying more when Stephen and Jane shouted to them from the maypole, demanding that they look.
Later, after work, Susan dressed with some care in cream sandals and a cool cotton sundress: shell-pink to show off her tan. No jewellery except her wedding ring - David would have understood. She brushed the twins' silky black hair and sent them out of the small, two-storey cottage to play in their tree-house. Then she opened the door and stood watching for Michael, inhaling the scent of honeysuckle wafting down from the gardens.
He came with the sun at his back and a white and pink rose, half open, in his hand: Rosa Mundi, sweetly fragranced. A badge of loyalty and faith. A rose of midsummer, for her.
Smiling, Susan went out to meet him.

Happy Midsummer! Lindsay Townsend
http://lindsaysbookchat.blogspot.com

Romantic Roman flowers

Since it's spring where I live, and with my Roman books in mind, I thought I'd talk about some romantic Roman flowers. Some are surprising. Some are popular even today.

Sweet violet is a pretty, sweet-smelling flower used, like the anemone and the madonna lily, in garlands at Roman banquets. The scent was believed to ward off drunkenness! The Romans loved the scent of violets and even drank wine infused with violets and honey.

Vervain is a dull-looking plant but one which the Romans believed held magical proprieties. Believed to bring good luck, it was used in love potions.

Roman brides used mint for their garlands, and their faces may have been cleansed with a facepack made from the juice of yellow elecampane, because it was believed that Helen of Troy was collecting the flower when Paris abducted her.

Then as now however, the most popular romantic flower was the rose. Roses were grown in Campania for sale and the streets in Rome were red with rose garlands. They were known as flowers of seduction - Cleopatra was rumoured to have seduced Mark Anthony with rose petals. I'll leave it to your imagination as to how!

(Painting by Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema and drawings of sweet violet, elecampane and mint from Wikimedia Commons.)

Lindsay
http://lindsaysbookchat.blogspot.com

Daffodils and Pink Roses

The scene is a classic in romance novels: the hero, smitten with the heroine's charms, presents her with a bouquet of flowers.

Ah yes, flowers. Every woman likes to receive them--I know I do. They're pretty, they smell nice, and they mean the presenter has been thinking of you.

But why do flowers figure in courtship? According to sociologists Alan S. Miller and Satoshi Kanazawa, authors of Why Beautiful People Have More Daughters, there may be a genetic basis for the behavior. Genes' survival depends on passing themselves to the next generation. A woman needs to know if a man possesses the resources to support their children. A man has to proclaim he is a good provider. Voila, flowers.

Pretty as they are, flowers have no survival value. You can't eat them, wear them or save them for the future. When a man presents a woman with flowers, he shows he has sufficient wealth to spend valuable resources on something nonessential. The behavior also demonstrates his generosity. He is willing to part with his hard-earned money to buy those worthless flowers.

But then, we are more than our genes. I like daffodils and pink roses. My husband buys me pink roses all year long. Now, in February, the first of the cut daffodils have arrived here in New England. He goes out of his way to find them for me. For as long as we've been together, he's brought me flowers. Why? We're married. He no longer has to prove anything. But he still brings me those flowers, and the specific flowers I like--because he wants me to be happy. Is love part of our genes, or beyond them? Do we care?

And I do enjoy those daffodils. Happy Valentine's Day.

Thank you all,

Linda

Linda Banche

Regency romance--most with humor, some with fantasy, and occasionally a paranormal

Lady of the Stars--A legend spanning time, and the man and woman caught in it--Regency time travel, available from The Wild Rose Press

www.lindabanche.com