“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose/ By any other name would smell as sweet.” Shakespeare’s Juliet was right, neither her love nor the season of flowers depend on a name, but oh my goodness these last days of May is extraordinarily sweet. I invite you to scroll through this post and linger over each botanical image. You will be elevated. You might even be inclined to find your own blooming spring beyond your doorway.
Irony interests and excites every AP English Literature teacher I know. The defying of expectation in character or plot, the twists of deception, the nuance of regret, the way shadows fall against the backdrop of romance, each singular thread pulled to create the tapestry within a novel, play or poem is what we feed upon from August to May, what we present to those hopeful students who plod through Dostoevsky and gasp over Miller, who acknowledge the majesty of Woolf and Ellison alike irregardless of their divergent settings. This week I ushered my students, those brave souls willing to sit for three hours of an exam to sift through metaphor and imagery and opposition and unlock both literal and emotional meaning and then craft their own response to texts. It is a lot to ask of anyone. I tell them I love them as I leave them under their proctor’s watch, and in that moment, I am so proud of their resolve to crack open this test and shine onward, for they are readers, now a rarity residing in our republic.
Sending love to all my Vermont friends who are restoring home and hearth after the flood, with the belief that united you are the strongest community I know. xxoo
From backyards to front gardens, park landscapes and sky scapes, all over Santa Monica one can find an array of beautiful blooms. For me, and perhaps you, summer is synonymous with flowers. What a treat to see everything blooming, from drought resistant cactus to delicate lilies, brightening up one’s view in every direction.
Nine Cent Girl 