The Bougainvillea

The first time I saw a bougainvillea flowering bush, I was visiting Puerta Vallarta, Mexico. My husband had just finished a grueling MBA program, which he worked on obtaining, at night, for three years, after working all day at his regular job. We were celebrating his graduation, and our growing family. We had our two-year-old son with us, and I was very pregnant with our second son. Our eldest son has curly, red hair and the older Mexican women were convinced that his rare hair meant good luck. They made a point of coming over to us to pat his head for the transfer of good luck, wherever we went – the beach, the stores, the restaurants, the pool, the bus. My son loved the attention, and we found it amusing and endearing. I’ll never forget it.

Back to the bougainvillea – I became as entranced with the plant, as the women were with my son’s silky red curls. The bougainvillea was everywhere I looked. It was so robust and beautiful and apologetically flowing. I had never seen such a bright, vibrant, cascading waterfall of flowers. I honestly fell in love with a plant, for the first time in my life.

Now I grew up in Pennsylvania, and that is where we were living at the time. We had a townhouse with a large window on the second floor, directly above our front door. Despite the fact, that Pennsylvania does not at all have a climate that suits a bougainvillea, I decided, against all odds, that we would have one. I found a lovely wrought iron window box and somehow, somewhere in Pennsylvania, I was able to obtain a small, hopeful twig of a bougainvillea plant. I proudly planted it, in that showy window box, as an homage to all of the gorgeous window boxes, filled with bougainvilleas, everywhere I looked in Mexico. I couldn’t wait for the window box to overflow with flowers.

My bougainvillea plant did okay. It half-heartedly made it through the summer, with a couple of sparse blooms. It tried its best. The bougainvillea inherently knew that it’s a naturally, hardy plant, so it soldiered on, but honestly, the plant just wasn’t “at home”, at all, in the northern state. It’s a tropical plant. Before the first snow, the bougainvillea was nothing more than a few leafless sticks, sitting like a plant cemetery, unwelcomingly on top of our front door. Here was another lesson in life, learned by me, the hard way.

In retrospect, this was one of the many times in my life, when I didn’t let what was coming to me, come at its own accord, and in its own divine timing. I impatiently tried to push my own agenda, before it was time. It’s a lesson in which I have had to repeat again and again and again, many, many times in my life. It sometimes seems impossible for me, to learn to surrender to the higher forces in my life. I am still trying to learn to trust that what is meant for me, will arrive for me, when the timing is right, and it will be even more wonderful than I ever imagined. (I should trust this fact. It has been proven to me, again and again and again.) If I am honest with myself, at the ripe old age of 50, I am still learning to trust the process of Life. I am still learning to trust God/Universe to provide for me in all of the ways in which I have imagined. The Higher Forces do so much better for me, than I do for myself, but alas, I’m a stubborn fool (again and again and again).

Today, we live in Florida. When we purchased our home, one of the first things we did, was to go to the local nursery, which is filled with inexpensive, overpowering, over-flowering bougainvilleas. Bougainvilleas are so common here, that I think that some people may consider them to be giant, overbearing weeds. We purchased two small potted bougainvilleas, and we planted them on either side of an arch, which leads to our front door. In less than a year, the two small potted plants, furiously grew and came together at the top of the arch, becoming one with each other. The plant has flourished ever since. Our bougainvillea is so healthy and happy, that it has survived over-zealous tree trimmers, being split in two during a hurricane, and being roughly pushed around by painters and plaster repair people. In fact, we have to give our gorgeous bougainvillea “a haircut” more often than we get our own haircuts. This plant is the bougainvillea that I always dreamed about since the minute I laid eyes on bougainvilleas in Mexico. It is perfect. I knew that I would have this beautiful bougainvillea to gaze upon whenever I need a shot of inspirational vigor and exuberance. I just had to wait for my bougainvillea to arrive in the perfect way, at the perfect time, just as my deepest self knew that it always would. When will I learn?

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.