The Power of Lilacs
As I write this, the scent of lilacs whispers its way into my office. The bushes were planted a long time ago (in the 1970s) by the family who lived here before us. I am grateful.
Their perfume sends a whirlwind of memories through my mind. Mama. Always her. She loved lilacs and gently passed that on to me. She would stop along the way to sniff a beautiful bunch on the bushes in the park or wherever. She ordered Avon lilac lotion and talc delivered by our friend Gladys. Avon deliveries were a big deal in our house because of the friendship and the scents.
Mama lined dresser drawers, hers and mine, with lilac scented paper sold for that reason.
Sometimes there were big bouquets on the table cut from her bushes or given to her by a friend. A few in my bedroom seemed to make sleep easier in my teen years when the right outfit mattered way more than Math, and my eyelashes thick with mascara had to clump just right and if they weren’t a stick pin would be used to separate them. The sweet scent overpowered fears that I’d said the wrong thing or too much. It also calmed the tears that came and went with little or no warning but with teenaged frequency. Everything mattered so much. Feelings were welcome and felt.
Lilacs in the dining room almost made piano practice enjoyable.
Open windows in our elementary school carried the scent of lilacs from the park across the street. I want to say that made Math easier, but that would not be my truth. Their lavish scent did inspire daydreams, though. I could be a poet or writer of stories or any of the other things inspired by the wafting of wonderful fragrance.
The aroma still has the power to stop me, and after a glance at the blossoms to be sure they are bee-free, I take in a few deep breaths. I almost always walk away with a moment on my mind, a smile on my face, and a prayer of thanksgiving in my heart, even on the harder days.
That’s the power of lilacs.
Until Next Time,