If you could see my desk right now, you would see a pair of tan gloves that are fuzzing and pilling, The Left Hand of Darkness with a bookmark at page 61, and two full-bloom Gerber daisies.
These daisies deserve a sentence – and a long one – unto themselves, because they are Really Something. So, here it is:
One daisy is yellow, classic margarine-sunshine-banana yellow; the other daisy is red, more the orange-red of a pepper than the blue-red of a fire truck; both daisies are wide open and beautiful.
They are from my parents. Every two weeks or so, my mother mails me five dollars. It can only be used to buy cut flowers.
It was a Christmas present. And the best kind. Because I would never buy cut flowers for myself. It seems indulgent and impractical. Money better spent on band-aids or kept in a savings account. Cut flowers don’t fit into my straight march forward to achieve, attain, accomplish.
But the roses I got in early January, the daffodils I had during the blizzard, my daisies today have put beauty onto my desk. Beauty that if I don’t appreciate it now, will be changed, wilted, or gone later.
After six weeks of flowers, I’m convinced that desks and the lives we live around them need space for beauty, for pauses or detours from our march forward, for the things that don’t fit in. Except they do, because we delight in them.
And there must always be space for delight on our desks and in our lives.