Each May, the tree blooming in front of my house reminds me of boyfriends I’ve had over the years.
Beautiful, sticky, messy and annoying.
If you have a jacaranda tree, you know exactly what I’m talking about.
It’s a love-hate relationship. You can’t help being swept away by the glorious carpet of periwinkle blossoms. Until you have to clean them up.
Or park underneath them. Then, you find yourself mumbling under your breath a lot.
“Oh, how beautiful,” my friend from out of town gasped the other day, when she saw my tree and the purple snow on the street beneath it.
It was a good reminder to me to enjoy the sight, because I was grumpy that day, and all I could see was the sidewalk full of sticky blooms that were hard to sweep up.
I’m basically lazy, and I hate sweeping my sidewalk on principle. Even I have to do it, though, in May, because otherwise it’s too slippery to walk and my neighbors give me the stinkeye.
It’s like when you have a boyfriend who’s really handsome and takes your breath away every time you see him, but who never cleans up the kitchen and leaves his towels on the bathroom floor.
Pretty soon, you forget that he’s so darn good-looking and only consider the aggravation.
I’m trying to reform, though, and appreciate the natural beauty around me that many people who live in other places would envy.
That includes other things as well, such as not griping about sand on my feet from the beach. (Hello, you have a beach nearby and you’re complaining about it?)
The annual flowering in May reminds me of springtime, which most people who’ve always lived in Southern California don’t even understand. When you live in a frozen, monochromatic world, those first few buds of green and then the subsequent flowers set forth an explosion of feeling in your heart.
It’s like the moment when Dorothy…