I recently roadtripped to Teaneck, NJ to visit my dad. He took me to Costco to shop for some of the lil man's favorite foods, so that we would be properly stocked for the weekend. It was a kind gesture. It's always nice to have some familiar foods on hand - a comfort-thing, I suppose.
I saw this orchid - and it stopped me in my tracks.
Now, I am not usually an orchid kind of girl, but it was lovely. And, keep in mind, it was only one in an entire display of them. It's beauty was powerful, overwhelming.
My dad noticed that I had fallen behind. When he looked at me, I am sure that he saw stars in my eyes. I felt like I had been hit with some kind of beauty-potion, a character paused-in-play until it would wear off.
"Let's get it. You can take it home," he said resolutely.
His words broke the spell...and in a way, my heart.
"Are you kidding?! This is beautiful. It would not be once I got it home. It won't survive the roadtrip back to NC. I promise."
(I have a small Saturn. It's usually packed to the brim with things to distract the kid en route.)
"Are you sure?" He really wanted to get me something. My birthday was close coming, and I could tell that he wanted to spoil me rotten.
I looked at him. I was sad. I would have loved to have admired this beauty for as long as it would survive under my care. But, 9 hours stuffed in a crevice in a car with a looney and careless Latina and a clumsy-though-well-meaning 6 year old. I sighed deep. It had no chance.
"I'm sure."
I snapped this picture to remind me of the beauty that exists in places that I cannot be...beauty that cannot travel with me.
