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About Maggie C

Stained glass artist, writer, respecter of life.

A Symbol by Any Other Name

“As a child, I always knew it was springtime when I opened my bedroom window and caught the subtle, heartwarming aroma of the season’s first blossoms wafting across the swamplands of home. Yep, if the skunk cabbage was blooming, summer was just around the corner.”

~ Spring is in the Air

Skunk Cabbage

If you were to ask me my favorite flower, I might tell you it is the Lysichiton americanus. But that would be far too pretentious. You know that whole “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet” line? A Lysichiton americanus, by its other name, smells like… well, like its namesake.

“Skunk cabbage” didn’t get its name from any black-and-white striped color scheme. It’s named for its distinctive “skunky” odor. So am I joking that it’s my favorite flower? Nope.

Growing up in a “wetland” area (formerly known as a swamp), the smell of skunk cabbage was indeed a harbinger of spring, which meant warmer weather and maybe just a tad less rain. Or maybe it meant warmer rain and a tad less weather. I forget.

But the symbolism of the skunk cabbage doesn’t just stop at being a seasonal reminder. Despite its stinky name, the plant is quite beautiful. Large, lush green leaves, bright yellow flowers. It livens even the fustiest of swamplands. And it does so by rising regally out of its surrounding mud and mire.

Somehow I find that inspiring. More so than a hothouse rose or a pampered orchid. It is raw no-fuss nature at its best. Simple beauty despite its odoriferous moniker. To me it symbolizes dignity, poise – maybe even grace – while amidst the muck of worldly living.

So, come Mother’s Day or my birthday or any other day one might be compelled to send me a bouquet of flowers, let it be roses. Come on, you didn’t expect me to say skunk cabbage, did you? Symbolism only goes so far.

Skunk Cabbage 2skunk cabbage painting

Weekly Photo Challenge: Symbol

Coming to my Senses: Touch

About five days into a summer cold and partway through my evening meal, it dawned on me that I couldn’t taste or smell the food I was eating. I was too congested from the cold. How long, I wondered, had I been impaired in those senses without even noticing?

I began to think about how I really take my five senses for granted, and I decided to try focusing on one sense for an entire day and see what I noticed that I may have otherwise missed. I chose the sense of touch since it wasn’t being effected by the cold.

I think of all the senses, touch would be the most dangerous one to lose. Feeling pain helps me pull away from potential harm, helps me realize that I need to realign my back when I am sitting improperly, helps me enjoy my pets, and helps me connect with others. Just for starters.

Here are some observations from my day:

 

Too hot, too cold? Shall I take my tea warmed or iced today? (Trick question; I only drink coffee).

Too hot, too cold? Shall I take my tea warmed or iced today? (Trick question; I only drink coffee).

 

Some branches are better for swinging on than others.

Some branches are better for swinging on than others.

 

It might behoove me to wear gloves when pulling this weed.

It might behoove me to wear gloves when pulling this weed.

 

Feeling the spiral wiring on my notebook, the ridges caused by my pen on pages I have used, the smoothness of clean pages waiting to be used, all adds to the pleasure of writing my daily journal entries.

Feeling the spiral wiring on my notebook, the ridges caused by my pen on pages I have used, the smoothness of clean pages waiting to be used, all adds to the pleasure of writing my daily journal entries.

 

Parched? Waterlogged? I talk to my plants on occasion, but so far they have suffered my neglect in silence. If the brown leaves aren’t a giveaway, I can feel the soil’s saturation level.

Parched? Waterlogged? I talk to my plants on occasion, but so far they have suffered my neglect in silence. If the brown leaves aren’t a “dead” giveaway, I can feel the soil’s saturation level to determine their needs.

 

Petting my soft cat is comforting and pleasurable. Plus I can catch him when he tries to use my leg as a scratching post.

Petting my soft cat is comforting and pleasurable. Plus I can catch him when he tries to use my leg as a scratching post.

 

Some water temperatures are more conducive to singing in the shower.

Some water temperatures are more conducive to singing in the shower.

 

I discover sooner rather than later when I should scream and do the get-that-creepy-thing-off-me dance.

I discover sooner rather than later when I should scream and do the get-that-creepy-thing-off-me dance.

 

Soft carpet, soft hair, soft skin.

Soft carpet, soft hair, soft skin.

It’s been an interesting experience to focus on the sensation of touch. I’ve decided to try this with each of my five senses (maybe even my sixth sense). Stay tuned!

Triumph (and a promise)

[Editorial note: Yes, it’s another dog post, but I promise to swear off dog posts for the rest of the month, maybe even longer. Promise. Cross my pawsfingers  — heart.]


Triumph is when you are doggedly chasing after a goal,

triumph4

and you finally catch up to that thing you’ve been chasing,

triumph2

but you manage to come away with a smile

triumph3

in spite of it.


Photo 101 Assignment 20: Triumph

Pillarteration

pillars

A plethora of pillars perch on a porch,
planks peeling paint that past periods parched.
Partitioned panes perfect the perception,
perhaps prim proprietors previously peeked
past the posts to preening patrols on parade.

Hold on a minute! Are those pillars or columns?

A column of columns congregate on the…

oh, never mind.


Photo 101 Assignment 18: Edge and Alignment