I know I said the next one would be happy. Sorry, I lied. This one is not happy, but I think it is sort of fun at least.
I am killing two birds with one stone today. Who throws stones at birds? Seems like a rather silly way to get dinner. Anyway…The story below was written both for Trifecta and inspired by the peach blossoms that are stubbornly blooming in my garden, even though I begged them not to. They are so lovely and charming that I can’t help but take joy from them. But they are also fleeting and delicate. This weekend there might be a frost, and if there is, all of the flowers will wither and die overnight. If not, they will stay a short spell longer gracing my garden for few weeks before floating away to make room for summer’s peaches. I enjoy the fragile blossoms while they last, but I adore peaches. I appreciate that something so striking can be transformed into something delicious and that not everything that is lovely is just for looking at. Beautiful and practical is the best of both worlds.
Then again, some plants are not very pretty at all and they make great fruits or vegetables. Beauty is not everything, and when it fades, which it will, I hope that I have plenty of canned peaches to last me through the winter.
“A fairy tale is a story, a pretty vintage lie handed down from mother to daughter across the generations. As we grow up, the lies slough away, washed off our brains by science, reason, and experience. No 100-foot tall beanstalk could support its own weight. Clouds are puffy water, unsuitable foundation for a giant’s castle. Horses are noble creatures; we can’t blame them for lacking the whimsy to evolve a single golden horn. Fairies don’t flutter by on gossamer wings, nor do wicked witches sell produce door-to-door in this age of grocery stores and farmer’s markets. There are no magic lamps with jinn in residence or talking animals, unless you count the brutish groomsmen.
Why do we insist on holding out for Prince Charming, doing our best to freeze our bodies with creams and botox, so when he finally comes to rescue us, our skin is smooth and our cheeks blush prettily at his chaste true love’s kiss.
By the way, you look lovely, my dear, fresh as a peach blossom.
Many cling to fantasy, unwilling or unable to doctor their expectations with a pinch of reality, a dash of practicality. They try every magic they possess to find and capture, or if all else fails, create their prince. He is kind, manly, strong, gentle, clean, yet unafraid to get his hands dirty. He will stand up for you, but never stand up to you. He loves what you love, is respected by his peers, successful in business, and must make an excellent father, to raise the pretty princesses and handsome princes you spawn.
Then some minor thing goes wrong, an errant sock, less than convincing interest in rose gardening, an unslain spider. You start to question. Is this really my soulmate?
Each mundane day the magic will erode, slowly turning your prince into a frog.
Anyway, I wish the beautiful couple happiness, of course cursed to be temporary. Please enjoy the open bar my husband is paying for.”