Something objective...or at least an object

So, I was going to blog about the Bhagavad Gita (yet another book), when I thought to myself that I am tired of talking about books and ideas.

So, I was looking around my house for something concrete to write about. I don't have any flowers. I never do. Charles has never bought flowers for me and I rarely buy them for myself. Part of that is because I hate to think of them dying to stay in my kitchen for a few days. But, they die anyway, so that's a silly excuse.

I only recently made the connection that we send flowers to funerals (traditionally) because they mask the smell of death (thank you Dostoevsky). I also understand the connection between romantic love and flowers -- the sex/reproduction connection is obvious. So, why do we plant them in our yards and cut them and bring them inside? The smell? The aesthetic?

And, why don't I buy flowers for myself? I look at them almost every time I pass them in the grocery store florist. They seem like such a luxury. Yet I allow myself other luxuries ... lots of them. Why not flowers?

So, while I spoil myself in many ways, what I am noticing is that I don't spoil my aesthetic tastes. I don't buy art even though I love it, and I don't buy flowers even though I love them. I somehow think that these are things I am not "worth." But I'm beginning to disagree with myself.