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Subject: THE DAFFODIL PRINCIPLE
Several times my daughter had telephoned to say,
Mother, you must come see the daffodils
before they
are over." I wanted to go, but it was a two-hour drive
from Laguna to Lake Arrowhead. "I will come next
Tuesday,
" I promised, a little reluctantly, on her
third call.
Next Tuesday dawned cold and rainy. Still, I had
promised,
and so I drove there. When I finally walked
into Carolyn's house and hugged and greeted my
grandchildren, I said, "Forget
the daffodils, Carolyn!
The road is invisible in the clouds and fog, and there
is nothing in the world except you and
these children
that I want to see bad enough to drive another inch!"
My daughter smiled calmly and said, "We drive
in this
all the time, Mother."
"Well, you won't get me back on the road until it
clears, and then I'm heading
for home!" I assured her.
"I was hoping you'd take me over to the garage to pick
up my car."
"How far will
we have to drive?"
"Just a few blocks," Carolyn said. "I'll drive. I'm
used to this."
After several minutes,
I had to ask, "Where are we
going? This isn't the way to the garage!"
"We're going to my garage the long way," Carolyn
smiled,
"by way of the daffodils."
"Carolyn," I said sternly, "please turn around."
"It's all right, Mother, I promise.
You will never
forgive yourself if you miss this experience."
After about twenty minutes, we turned onto a small
gravel
road and I saw a small church. On the far side
of the church, I saw a hand lettered sign that read,
"Daffodil Garden."
We
got out of the car and each took a child's hand,
and I followed Carolyn down the path. Then, we turned
a corner of the
path, and I looked up and gasped.
Before me lay the most glorious sight. It looked as
though someone had taken a great
vat of gold and
poured it down over the mountain peak and slopes. The
flowers were planted in majestic, swirling
patterns-great
ribbons and swaths of deep orange,
white, lemon yellow, salmon pink, saffron, and butter
yellow. Each different-colored
variety was planted as
a group so that it swirled and flowed like its own
river with its own unique hue.
There
were five acres of flowers.
"But who has done this?" I asked Carolyn.
"It's just one woman," Carolyn answered.
"She lives on
the property. That's her home." Carolyn pointed to a
well kept A-frame house that looked small and modest
in
the midst of all that glory.
We walked up to the house. On the patio, we saw a
poster.
"Answers to the Questions
I Know You Are Asking" was
the headline. The first answer was a simple one.
"50,000 bulbs,"it read. The second answer
was, "One at
a time, by one woman. Two hands, two feet, and very
little brain." The third answer was, "Began in 1958."
There
it was, The Daffodil Principle.
For me, that moment was a life-changing experience. I
thought of this woman whom
I had never met, who, more
than forty years before, had begun-one bulb at a
time-to bring her vision of beauty and joy
to an
obscure mountain top. Still, just planting one bulb at
a time, year after year, had changed the world. This
unknown
woman had forever changed the world in which
she lived. She had created something of indescribable
magnificence, beauty,
and inspiration.
The principle her daffodil garden taught is one of the
greatest principles of celebration. That
is, learning
to move toward our goals and desires one step at a
time--often just one baby-step at a time--and learning
to
love the doing, learning to use the accumulation of
time.
When we multiply tiny pieces of time with small
increments
of daily effort, we too will find we can
accomplish magnificent things. We can change the
world.
"It makes me
sad in a way," I admitted to Carolyn.
"What might I have accomplished if I had thought of a
wonderful goal thirty-five
or forty years ago and had
worked away at it 'one bulb at a time' through all
those years. Just think what I might have
been able to
achieve!"
My daughter summed up the message of the day in her
usual direct way. "Start tomorrow,"
she said. It's so
pointless to think of the lost hours of yesterdays.
The way to make learning a lesson of celebration
instead
of a cause for regret is to only ask, "How can
I put this to use today?"
So, stop waiting...
Until your car
or home is paid off
Until you get a new car or home
Until your kids leave the house Until you go back to
school
Until
you finish school
Until you lose 10 lbs.
Until you gain 10 lbs. Until you get married
Until you get a divorce
Until
you have kids Until you retire
Until summer Until spring
Until winter
Until fall
Until you die
There is
no better time than right now to be happy.
Happiness is a journey, not a destination.
So work like you don't need money,
Love
like you've never been hurt,
And, dance like no one's watching.
FW: Chocolate Sings!
I have a new delightful friend, I am most in awe of her. When
we first met I was impressed, by her bizarre behavior.
That day I had a date with friends, We met to have some lunch Mae
had come along with them, all. When the menus were presented, we ordered salads, sandwiches, and soups, except for Mae who
circumvented, and said, "Ice Cream, please: two scoops."
I was not sure my ears heard right and the others were aghast.
Along with heated apple pie, Mae added, completely unabashed. We tried to act quite nonchalant, as if people did this
all the time.
But when our orders were brought out, I did not enjoy mine. I could not take my eyes off Mae. The other
ladies showed dismay, they ate their lunches silently, and frowned.
Well, the next time I went out to eat, I called
and invited Mae. My lunch contained white tuna meat, she ordered a parfait.
I smiled when her dish I viewed, and she
asked if she amused me.
I answered, Yes, you do, but also you confuse me.
How come you order rich desserts,
when I feel I must be sensible?
She laughed and said, with wanton mirth, I am tasting all that's possible. I try to
eat the food I need, and do the things I should.
But life's so short, my friend, indeed, I hate missing out on something
good. This year I realized how old I was, she grinned, I've not been this old before.
So, before I die, I've got to
try, those things for years I had ignored. I've not smelled all the flowers yet, there're too many books I have not read.
There're more fudge sundaes to wolf down and kites to be flown overhead.
There are many malls I have not shopped,
I've not laughed at all the jokes. I've missed a lot of Broadway Hits, and potato chips and I want to wade again in water,
and feel ocean spray upon my face.
Sit in a country church once more, and thank God for It's grace.
I want
peanut butter every day spread on my morning toast.
I want UN-timed long-distance calls, to the folks I love the most.
I've not cried at all the movies yet, walked in the morning rain.
I need to feel wind in my hair, I want to
fall in love again. So, if I choose to have dessert, instead of having dinner.
Then should I die before nightfall,
I'd say I died a winner. Because I missed out on nothing, I filled my heart's desire. I had that final chocolate mousse, before
my life expired.
With that, I called the waitress over, I've changed my mind, it seems. I said, I want what she is
having, only add some more whipped-cream. Here is a little something for you all. We need an annual Girlfriends Day! Money
talks, but Chocolate sings.
Author unknown
Where
we live, on the Eastern shore of Maryland, the gentle waters run in and out like fingers slimming at the tips. They curl into
the smaller creeks and coves like tender palms.
The Canada geese know this place, as do the
white swans and the ducks who ride an inch above the waves of Chesapeake Bay as they skim their way into harbor. In
the autumn, by the thousands, they come home for the winter. The swans move toward the shores in a stately glide, their tall
heads proud and unafraid.
They lower their long necks deep into the water, where their strong
beaks dig through the river bottoms for food. And there is, between the arrogant swans and the prolific geese, an indifference,
almost a disdain.
Once or twice each year, snow and sleet move into the area. When this happens,
if the river is at its narrowest, or the creek shallow, there is a freeze which hardens the water to ice.
It
was on such a morning, near Osford, Maryland, that a friend of mine set the breakfast table beside the huge window, which
overlooked the Tred Avon River.
Across the river, beyond the dock, the snow laced the rim of the shore in white. For
a moment she stood quietly, looking at what the night's storm had painted.
Suddenly she leaned
forward and peered close to the frosted window.
"It really is," she cried out loud, "there
is a goose out there." She reached to the bookcase and pulled out a pair of binoculars. Into their sights came the figure
of a large Canada goose, very still, its wings folded tight to its sides, its feet frozen to the ice.
Then from the dark skies, she saw a line of swans. They moved in their own singular formation, graceful, intrepid, and free.
They crossed from the west of the broad creek high above the house, moving steadily to the east.
As my friend watched, the leader swung to the right, then the white string of birds became a white circle. It floated from
the top of the sky downward.
At last, as easy as feathers coming to earth, the circle landed
on the ice.
My friend was on her feet now, with one unbelieving hand against her mouth.
As the swans surrounded the frozen goose, she feared what life he still had might be pecked out by those great swan bills.
Instead, amazingly instead, those bills began to work on the ice. The long necks were lifted
and curved down, again and again, it went on for a long time. At last, the goose was rimmed by a narrow margin of ice instead
of the entire creek. The swans rose again, following the leader, and hovered in that circle, awaiting the results of their
labors.
The goose's head lifted. Its body pulled. Then the goose was free and standing on
the ice. He was moving his big webbed feet slowly. And the swans stood in the air watching. Then, as if he had cried, "I cannot
fly", four of the swans came down around him. Their powerful beaks scraped the goose's wings from top to bottom, scuttled
under its wings and rode up its body, chipping off and melting the ice held in the feathers.
Slowly, as if testing, the goose spread its wings as far as they would go, brought them together, accordion-like, and spread
again.
When at last the wings reached their fullest, the four swans took off and joined the
hovering group. They resumed their eastward journey, in perfect formation, to their secret destination.
Behind them, rising with incredible speed and joy, the goose moved into the sky. He followed them, flapping double time, until
he caught up, until he joined the last end of the line, like a small child at the end of a crack-the-whip of older boys.
My friend watched them until they disappeared over the tips of the farthest trees. Only then, in the dusk, which was suddenly
deep, did she realize that tears were running down her cheeks and had been for how long she didn't know.
This is a true story. It happened. I do not try to interpret it. I just think of it in the bad moments, and from it comes
only one hopeful question:
"If so for birds, why not for man?"
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