The Easter Daffodil

© Cindy Beck, 2009

(Keywords: Cindy Beck, Easter, daffodil, Peruvian daffodil, Star Trek, Death Star, humorous writing, humorous blog, humor blog, funny, smile, laugh)





In these days of shifting moral values, declining economies, and cheese that comes in a can, I thought a blog on finding ways to make Easter a spiritual experience would be a welcome change. Therefore, I wrote an insightful, never-to-be-forgotten but soon-to-be-overlooked entry called "Easter Lost, Easter Found" at my other blog.

Okay, I know that Easter is a distant memory for most of us, but this story has just finished playing itself out in the past few days, so I wanted to tell you about it.

After posting "Easter Lost, Easter Found," I felt perfectly content to ignore the sage advice I'd given others in the article. Then, just hours later, a little angel showed up on my shoulder—like in the old Bugs Bunny cartoons—and said, "Aren't you going to practice what you preach?"

After ignoring the meddlesome thing for a few days, I finally gave in, decided to follow my own suggestion, and went searching for a flower to plant that would bloom as a symbol of Easter. Unfortunately, other people must have had the same idea, even without reading my blog, and the choices at the garden center consisted of Peruvian daffodils or Peruvian daffodils. What, hadn't they ever heard of Easter lilies?

I purchased a sack of two for $20.00, which seemed a little expensive, but hey, they came all the way from Peru and somebody had to pay for their flight. I drove through the dark, envisioning the beauty of my flowers in the weeks to come. When I arrived home, I hauled out an old clay pot. It didn't look very Eastery, but I refused to rummage around in the shed—where at night spiders morphed into creatures the size of hippopotami—to find another flowerpot.

After accidentally dumping half the potting soil in the sink, and the other half on Corky Porky Pie—who thought it was some kind of dog treat from heaven and proceeded to eat it—I managed to get a cup of soil in the pot.

Russ looked dubious as I shoved in the bulb and added water. "What's that actually supposed to do?"

"It's supposed to grow into a fragrant, white daffodil. It'll be a reminder of Easter and increase our spirituality. Just like I wrote about."

"Looks more like it'll be a reminder not to let the dog eat dirt," he said, as Corky Porky Pie burped up a mound the size of Texas.

A day later, a tender green stalk pushed its way through the soil. Two days later, the stalk grew to six inches. By the end of the week, the plant practically touched the ceiling and Shaquille O'Neal could've used it for pole vaulting.

Russ made me put it in the closet at night, for fear it would come after us.

Finally, it bloomed. Russ came home from work, took one look and did a double take. "What kind of plant did you say that was?"

I reached over to smell it before answering, and yellow pollen stuck to the end of my nose, making it look like I'd been snorting butter. "It's a daffodil and it's supposed to be fragrant."

"So, is it?"

"No, but it's supposed to be."

Russ shook his head, probably in wonder at my gardening expertise. "It doesn't look much like a daffodil. It looks more like something you'd see on Star Trek."

The thing bloomed for several weeks, growing taller and taller. I only wished I'd taken a picture of it, so you could see it. However, by the time I thought of that, it had finished blooming.

I wouldn't say my little horticultural experiment was a failure. After all, I do have a plant that sits on my deck, entwining itself about my roof. It's not exactly what I had in mind, though, so next year I plan to pick something that will remind me less of Star Trek, and more of Easter.

I wonder how "Death Star Tulips" would look.


What's playing in my head: Theme from Star Trek.

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