Rough week, and now my computer is freezing up. My long-planned next post is delayed yet again, because I need to “put the oxygen mask on first.” (ie, take care of myself.)
The snowdrop flowers below have lived through down pouring rains, sleet, hail, numerous snows, and 16 degree nights. Tiny white jewels of inspiration.
Take care of yourselves, see you next time.
Alice R. says
You will need that oxygen mask frequently for a while. Please be kind enough to yourself to reach for it early, and strong enough to demand it when necessary. Sending warm hugs, and prayers for healing and peace.
Margo says
Snowdrops are so beautiful… yes, inspirational during this very difficult time for you. My heart goes out to you, Trish.
Judy says
I’m sorry that you aren’t well at the moment. What a tumultuous time. Take care and receive what you need.
Linda says
Sending you healing thoughts and warm weather to awaken the beauty of your fabulous flowers. You have inspired so many of us through you blog and your books. Take care and God Bless.
lak says
Like a speck of water in the desert. Wishing you and your family peace during this difficult time.
Charlotte Kasner says
Wishing you all the best – from a fellow galanthophile
Kamila says
I’m at loss as what to say except I’m sorry and take all the time and care you need.
Nel says
Dear Trish, I sincerely hope you take all the time you think you need and double it… and yes, there will be flowers and sun and good times – for now, just breathe, preferably with one hand resting on a dog. Everyone here loves you <3
Diane says
Trish, I didn’t know you are not well. I so look forward to your posts, suggestions, trial tribulations and just good vibe. I hope you’re back in the tack soon.
Patricia Anderson says
Even while you are not well, you are still giving beauty and hope of spring. I loved the phrase “tiny white jewels of inspiration.” Take care.
Carrie V says
I hope you feel better quickly. The Snowdrops remind us to never give up. It’s amazing they can survive all that.
Ayn says
Oxygen mask? I missed something. Do whatever it takes to get better. You are a treasure. We will all wait patiently for your recovery.
Linda Bitner says
A good friend of mine gave me the book “It’s OK That You’re Not OK” after my sister died last year. It was months before I could open it but it helped. I’m sorry that your life is so hard. Thoughts are with you.
Gayla says
Oh my gosh, I missed hearing what this is about!?!
Alice, why do you say she’ll be needing oxygen frequently for awhile? Can you elaborate, please?
Rebecca Ruggiero says
Thank you for being so honest (as always) about your sorrows. This winter has been a tough one for so many. Please treat yourself as kindly and patiently and generously as I am sure you would treat a valued friend.
Laura Glaser Harrington says
I was just quoting you to one of my clients (I do that often). Hope you feel better soon!!
Louise says
Best wishes. Good luck!
Trisha says
Oh dear, I’m sorry I wasn’t more clear. When I said “put the oxygen mask on first,” I meant it as a metaphor for “taking care of myself first.” Ironically, I have been ill, more on that later–but don’t worry), but I didn’t mean it that way.
Wendy Katz says
You have been in my thoughts. I hope springtime soon makes its way into your life and your heart.
Gayla says
Thank you for taking a moment to clarify. I was hoping it was a metaphor, – tho even that makes my heart feel heavy for you.
No one here would want you to consider this blog an ‘obligation.’
You’ve given us so much! If you never post again we’ve already been blessed beyond measure…
Cheryl Figg says
holding you in my heart and wishing you comfort!
Debby Gray says
I’m so sorry you are not well but also so happy you don’t need a literal oxygen mask. Please take good care of yourself.
LisaW says
Take good care, and here’s a poem honoring snowdrops by Wadsworth (in honor of your grace, persistence, strength, and the hope-you-share)
TO A SNOWDROP
Lone Flower, hemmed in with snows and white as they
But hardier far, once more I see thee bend
Thy forehead, as if fearful to offend,
Like an unbidden guest. Though day by day,
Storms, sallying from the mountain-tops, waylay
The rising sun, and on the plains descend;
Yet art thou welcome, welcome as a friend
Whose zeal outruns his promise! Blue-eyed May
Shall soon behold this border thickly set
With bright jonquils, their odours lavishing
On the soft west-wind and his frolic peers;
Nor will I then thy modest grace forget,
Chaste Snowdrop, venturous harbinger of Spring,
And pensive monitor of fleeting years!
Karen says
Thanks for all you’ve done. Please take it easy and go slowly until your spirit is ready to emerge again.
Margo Harris says
Thinking of you today, because I heard spring peepers last night and I know you love frogs etc. Such a wonderful sound of Spring.
Losing someone close to us is so terribly hard. In some ways, it seems to me that it’s a time when we have to sort of redefine ourselves. That’s how I felt after my mum died — like I was now a slightly different person (don’t know if that makes sense…). I know we never really get “over” the loss, but I hope time will soften the pain. You hang in there Trish!
Martin says
I don’t really know what to say, but wanted to let you know I care.
Alice R. says
Gayla, she just loss her dear sister, and the oxygen mask is a metaphor referring to the fact that you have to take care of yourself at such times before you can take care of anyone else.
Cathy Baier says
I hope knowing so many care about you gives you a bit of support in times when you need it. You give so much to so many and are a constant inspiration of how to navigate this challenging world we live in.
Suzanne Elshult says
Sending you healing thoughts. That must be so tough. Hang in there.