When I tell others that I have been married four times, I usually hear, “Will you marry again? or is there someone in the future?” I smile as I respond, “I’m open to a fifth marriage on the spiritual level, not necessarily legal for I have learned a truer love is not a commitment on paper.”

I left my fourth husband in 1998; for the first time I truly felt I was being my SELF. I no longer depended on a man to make me feel happy and secure. I could trust that I am . I have been single ever since except for one year (2004-5) when I lived with my boyfriend Steve. Of course I was triggered into tears of my childhood hurt, as we all are in intimate relationships so I continue to learn what truer love is.

Being single does not keep me away from such growth opportunities, as my family, friends, and clients continue to trigger me as well. Thankfully, no longer into anger, (what an unexpected gift) always into tears which I am so greatfull for like the heavens raining down into my beautiful flowers. I didn’t wish this essay to be a lesson to be told, but I can’t help but write what I AM, a lover of tears. Replacing fears.

At my best friend’s, Gayle’s memorial for her daddy yesterday, another one of her friends, Clare, told me a story, as I had just said that I wouldn’t sing Amazing Grace as indicated in the program during the line “who saved a wretch like me.” Webster’s dictionary’s definition is “a base, despicable, or vile person.”

How can anyone look at a baby and think or believe we are born a wretch?

Anyway, there was another song on the program, “How Great Thou Art,” that is Gayle’s favorite, and I like as well from my growing up church days, that prompted Clare’s  memory of her seven year old student asking to sing: “How Great We Is!”

Like being single… fancy as a breeze, loving as I please!

For the past 13 years I lived in a pleasant renovated chicken coop, next to my landlord’s farm house, with gorgeous waterfalls within walking distance. Ed and his wife Helen allowed me to plant four different flower beds: one circled my home exhibiting Daises, yellow and orange Calendula, white Moon flowers, multi-colored Snapdragons, A sweet William (dianthus:), Forget-Me-Nots, Cone flowers, purple Spiderwort, pink Cleomes, and many colors of Impatiens. Also, light green Solomon’s seal, Lily of the Valleys, orange Touch-Me-Nots and Tiger lilies. A single orange Poppy. Opps, I almost forgot the window box of fanciful-faced Pansies.

A second flowerbed welcomed us home at the entrance of the circular driveway that joined our homes:  Tulips, Crocuses, Forgetmenots, Impatiens and several pots of Petunias made me smile. Also, I planted an Azalea bush and Oriental lily. Marigolds accentuating.

The third flowerbed evolved as a rock garden where flagstones provided a walkway along Daisies, a crowd of Day lilies, Phlox, Corn flowers, May Apples and wild Geraniums all taken from roadsides in the wild. The invading Goldenrod I did not allow to take over. Sunflowers grew for a few years when the ants didn’t eat them.

The fourth flower area was shaded by a large maple tree grove at the rear of my home, where I planted more and more myrtle each year I lived there, now a blanket of dainty blue beauty each spring and fall. Adding a few wild white trillium to nature’s design. Of course I weeded often, even around Ed’s home.

When I moved out in March I could not take my snow buried plant containers, nor my moped. When the weather warmed I went back for my few things left behind. I had left on a friendly note despite being evicted because I would not pay the raise in rent due to the continuing freezing pipes and drafts through the walls.

I enjoy planting and caring for flowers so in early May, I felt the need to embellish my new apartment with a few of the flowers that I had planted at Ed’s.  They were prolific and would not be missed. So I dug up a few Forget-Me-Nots, Daises, and Calendula. As I was putting them in the back of my moped, Ed drove in, immediately flying off the handle: “Are you taking my flowers? They are not your property!”  (None did he buy.)

I calmly reply: “They are prolific and won’t be missed.”

“I don’t care!” he shouts back.

“I’m even willing to come back and help weed your gardens which I did some today.”

” I don’t care!” spit flying out his truck window.

“You don’t need to yell at me,” I say, wanting him to hear of my generosity.

“This is not your property: get out!!”

“I thought we were friendly,” my voice full of sincerity.

“I don’t care!” his red face seeming threatening.

Off I rode with ‘my’ few flowers cradled inside my moped while wondering where “flying off the handle” originated. I learned from googling that it comes from the pioneer days, when hatchets were easily loosened with aggressive use so that the flying ax would make others have to duck unexpectedly. Times when neighbors shared their produce.