"But you may have a flower..." ~ Jane Eyre

Yesterday morning I sat on the windowsill in S114, sipping coffee and listening to my brilliant (and I mean brilliant) T.A. Brenda present a lesson on WWI as a means to introduce the next novel I am teaching, The Sun Also Rises.

I peered out the window for a moment, and my eyes became fixated on a perfectly bloomed yellow daffodil. It is the first flower of this spring for me. My classroom windows face a beautiful courtyard that is taken care of by the Botany Club. I stared at the daffodil longer than I should have, while I was hearing about the devastation and destruction of a war.

The Spring has never been an easy time for me. A paradox, for lack of a better term from an English teacher. There is beauty all around outside: new flowers, bright green grass patches, buds on the trees, and pastels decorating homes for Easter.

As this has surrounded me all, pain an devastation has been inside. My two grandfathers and my grandmother died in the spring. I would pass flowers with new buds en route to the Calvary hospice in the Bronx, where two of them died. The last thing I remember doing before my grandfather Krikor's casket was lowered was kissing a red flower and throwing it into his grave; the only time I remember being so hysterical in my life that my father had to take me for a walk in the cemetery away from everyone else.

The most beautiful of relationships ended in the spring; one that filled me with warmth and hope. Driving north to spend the weekend together, I would open the windows and feel the warm breeze on my face; a face that was smiling. I walked towards an Armenian church one afternoon in the warm sun, and when I got there I lit a candle after I looked towards the alter, adorned with flowers. Please let this continue to grow. Please. Let. This. Grow.

Staring at the daffodil yesterday, I felt a surge of energy and inspiration. I know that this spring will be different than all others. It already feels different. There has been so much emotional growth this year, that approaching this season shall be like no other. I took this weekend to myself: no tutoring, no going out, not a thing. It is spring cleaning for the mind, soul, and apartment. Yoga, jogging, scrubbing, washing. A Renaissance weekend...

Oh, and squeezing and hugging, too. This afternoon, I am meeting Missy at Clark Garden. Jack Krikor will be taking a stroll today in a garden for the first time. I cannot wait; an afternoon in the warm sun, looking at flowers and being immune to any kind of pain. There is no paradox here. This is the purity of Spring. This is a pure Spring.

I hope that your spring is beautiful.