avatarCarol Labuzzetta, MS Natural Resources, MS Nursing

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</figure><p id="d15c">But I was having trouble even doing that. I started cheating, letting the reminder go off and then tapping it “complete” without doing anything. My husband would give me occasional reminders, but he never pushed hard, and I was grateful for that. I would hate for him to start resenting me for not trying hard enough. He always thanked me when I told him I was going to drive, so I know it meant a lot to him. I felt I was letting him down by avoiding it so frequently.</p><p id="17d3">The thing was, I was still doing the best I could, even when that meant I did nothing. Maybe I wasn’t doing nothing though. I was <i>thinking</i> about getting in the car every day, which was difficult in itself. But I knew that was insufficient. The whole point of making a recurring calendar action was to prompt and inspire me to at least get into the car, even if I just got out again. I didn’t want to just think about it.</p><p id="d70e">Was getting into the car once a day too much to ask of myself? I hated to think of myself as lazy. The word is so dismissive and has such a negative connotation about the worth of a person, not just their ability or willingness to act.</p><p id="6ae3">Was I unwilling to get into the car or unable to? Both? Was my desire to avoid stirring up memories of past driving-related trauma outweighing my desire to drive? Probably. Stuff that happened decades ago was so vivid in my emotional memory bank that it was crippling my functioning in an aspect of life that most people get to take for granted.</p><figure id="b840"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/0*0gx_JW0juZED_Jo2"><figcaption>Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@bastianp?utm_source=medium&amp;utm_medium=referral">Bastian Pudill</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com?utm_source=medium&amp;utm_medium=referral">Unsplash</a></figcaption></figure><p id="2466">I would go for such long periods of time without driving or even turning on the ignition that, when I finally had the courage to do so, my car usually wouldn’t start at all. I wanted to hide this from my husband, so I bought a jump-start device that can be charged up with a USB cable. It worked like a charm, which was both a good and bad thing.</p><p id="1d57">Good, in that I didn’t have to rely on someone else to get my car working again. Good, in that I could hide the ridiculous extent to which I was avoiding getting in my car and turning on the ignition. But not-so-good in that the device served as an enabler.</p><p id="8669">When I was able to build up my resolve enough to get into the car, turn the ignition on and pull out of the parking space, I often would just drive up and down the street of my housing development and pull back in. That was all I could bear.</p><p id="66a9">About once every two or three weeks I would venture out on the road. The speed limit on our street was 30 mph and I had read somewhere that the police don’t give speeding tickets unless you’re driving 12 mph over the speed limit. But other drivers almost invariably drove faster than that and tailgated.</p><p id="75de">When I would see a car close behind in the rear-view mirror, I was presented with a dilemma: Either speed up more than 42 mph, risking getting pul

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led over, or, continue driving at 42 mph and anger the person tailgating me. This would invariably bring back the memory of being chased, cornered and <a href="https://readmedium.com/cornered-at-gunpoint-my-fear-of-driving-amaxophobia-45c79ae4baa9">having my life threatened by another driver</a> and/or being accused of <a href="https://readmedium.com/i-hit-a-pedestrian-fear-of-driving-amaxophobia-e42aebed8f0c">running over a pedestrian</a>. And then there was the ever-present fear of having a car crash that would kill someone, which was ingrained in me from the moment I started learning how to drive.</p><p id="8c49">I was in a no-win situation.</p><p id="5db1">A friend once told me he was uncomfortable with my driving because he could tell I was nervous. He said I always white-knuckled the steering wheel, which was true. I did it without being conscious of it, and I didn’t really become aware of it until he told me.</p><p id="54c5">Full disclosure: This is a difficult, embarrassing topic and I used the past tense to describe my struggle. I would have written in the present tense if I was being truly honest. I am struggling with this <i>now</i>. I am writing about it to put it outside of me, to externalize it, hopefully in a way that will help me process it better, to tell my brain that what happened then is unlikely to happen again.</p><div id="c7f9" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/cornered-at-gunpoint-my-fear-of-driving-amaxophobia-45c79ae4baa9"> <div> <div> <h2>Cornered at Gunpoint: My Fear of Driving (Amaxophobia)</h2> <div><h3>The aftermath of being chased and caught</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*mxT-Euno_l4PeMD6)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="7b62" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/i-hit-a-pedestrian-fear-of-driving-amaxophobia-e42aebed8f0c"> <div> <div> <h2>I Hit a Pedestrian? My Fear of Driving (Amaxophobia)</h2> <div><h3>Nightmare in a Parking Garage</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*zGv8g6UjHfqZ2081)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><h2 id="7b70">Follow me on Substack for more content:</h2><div id="6130" class="link-block"> <a href="https://substack.com/@douglaskwon"> <div> <div> <h2>Douglas Kwon | Substack</h2> <div><h3>I'm a queer, biracial survivor of...stuff. I write about my not-so-great experiences as well as things that bring me…</h3></div> <div><p>substack.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*fAQNieJuEiCpHYfv)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Easter Lilies: History, Lore, & Memoir

The time around the Easter Holiday has always signified special events in our family — not all of them are happy memories.

Photo by British Library on Unsplash

When I was a little girl, Easter was a big deal. My grandmother made my sister and me special “Easter outfits” that were complete with new Maryjane shoes, sometimes purses, and hats. The outfits were handmade and beautiful. I remember going to church and seeing the sanctuary filled with white Easter lilies — most bought by parishioners to adorn their homes after the holiday religious services were done.

My grandfather participated in Maundy Thursday and spent a half hour in the sanctuary alone, as did others that were more devout. I used to wonder what they did during that time. Now, as an adult, I think I know.

Events Associated with Easter

As I aged, the Easter holiday brought some sad times. When I think of these times, it is hard to separate them from the holiday.

First, when my oldest son was two or three, my sister and I were signed up for nursery duty on Easter Sunday at the church we had joined as young adults. My oldest son, the only grandchild at the time, was three.

We never made it to the services that Easter Sunday, nor did we watch the babies in the nursery. Early that morning, we got a call that my father had been hospitalized upon the return from a Caribbean cruise and was in critical condition in ICU. My parents lived an hour and a half from us. My sister and I called the church to say we had a family emergency, hopped in the car, and drove to be at my dad’s bedside with my mom.

That was 25 years ago now, and my Dad is still with us. He survived a Norwalk Virus infection, contracted on the cruise, that shut his kidneys down. He was lucky. And so were we.

We had a happy Palm Sunday surrounded in the church by Easter Lilies and palms when one of our sons was baptized with his cousin on that day, over twenty years ago. The lilies were so lovely and made the sanctuary welcoming and colorful — even though they were white.

Fast forward to just a few years ago when my father-in-law passed away during Lent. His funeral was on Palm Sunday and the church was gorgeous, with easter lilies surrounding the pulpit and altar. My father-in-law was a Master Gardener and inspired me to be one as well. He would have liked the mass gathering of lilies in the church.

Teaching Children About Plant Lore

When I taught garden club, I developed a unit on Holiday Plants. However, the Easter Lily was never included. The holiday plants I had the students learn about were the poinsettia, paperwhite bulbs, Christmas cactus, and mistletoe.

The lesson was conducted by having the students rotate through “centers” that featured one of these plants. By the end of the club meeting, each student had information on every plant, collected it in a booklet, and planted a paperwhite bulb to take home.

Not only did the students learn about the plant characteristics and growing needs, they learned about the lore and legend surrounding them. The poinsettia has a long history of folktales or fables about blooming on Christmas Eve.

Lore and Legend of the Easter Lily

Similarly, the Easter Lily has such stories. Mentioned in the Christian bible many times, the lily has come to symbolize rebirth, purity, grace, new beginnings, and hope — all those things that symbolize the resurrection as well (source).

Some of the lore surrounding lilies is that they are a symbol of motherhood, perhaps relating back to a story of Gabriel the Archangel handing the Virgin Mary (purity) a bouquet of lilies upon the birth of Jesus. Not Easter but lore, nonetheless. A lily is sometimes given to mothers as a gift of gratitude (source).

There’s also another bible story of lilies springing up in the Garden of Eden from Eve’s tears when she and Adam were cast out of the garden (source).

I found that the flower is called the Easter Lily because it blooms in the early spring when the holiday, Easter, falls each year. And it is used to decorate churches at Easter time — hence the Easter Lily (source).

The plant which has white trumpet-like blooms is actually a Bermuda Lily or Trumpet Lily. The scientific name is Lilium longiflorum. The plant is native to Japan. But was grown in Bermuda in the latter part of the 1800s after General Hastings, from the US Civil War, retired there with his wife and established a nursery for growing the lily — over 300,000/year were produced and exported (source)

Today over 95% of all Easter Lily bulbs are cultivated in Northern California near the Oregon border (source).

For more on the Easter Lily’s history and how to care for it, you can check this article:

I haven’t owned an Easter Lily for years. Perhaps, I’ll go and buy one today. It’ll remind me of both good times and bad, and the power of hope, grace, and motherhood.

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