Daffodil Women

Women are fascinating but mysteriously unfathomable beings.

I couldn't help but think that once again last week when a certain female to whom I am endearingly bonded experienced a rather emotional meltdown. Let me hasten to add that neither I nor any family member was the culpable cause of said meltdown, which is probably the only reason why I durst blog about it.

The meltdown was triggered by a vexation that barely registered on my radar scope. Although it was something that I found annoying and something that I knew would have to be rectified, I was hardly on the verge of curling into the fetal position.

I couldn't help but ponder the nature of the feminine gender, which will forever remain enigmatic to those of us who are blessed or cursed (take your pick) with the Y-chromosome. The double-X gender is amazingly paradoxical to us. If my double-X mate is any example, there are times when women seem to assume spines of kevlar. They stand strong amidst the most tumultuous gales that the winds of life can summon. I have beheld this miracle more than once: beheld the strength of the kevlar spine as my own stamina and resiliency forsook me. However, I have also beheld the flower-like fragility which somehow co-exists with that kevlar.

Owing to the time of year, my mind likened it to the daffodils which have just begun to poke above the ground. In front of the house, by the street, they are subject, almost without respite, to the howling winds of April. Last year, for example, I never found one calm moment to take a photo of these gorgeous flowers, for every time I cast my glance in that direction, I saw their sunny faces being bent backwards against the cruel winds. I have seen them not only withstand the winds but also snow, sleet, and cold rain.

Yet, they thrive! They return every vernal season in greater numbers and with greater resplendency.

However, daffodils are also tender in their own way. It is remarkably easy for a careless clod to pick a flower, bruise a bloom, uproot a bulb, or crush a plant under heavy foot.

How alike are women and daffodils: strong, resilient, and becoming more beautiful with the passing of years. How alike are women and daffodils: fragile, tender, and easily crushed.

I was thinking that I had stumbled onto an amazing truth and congratulating myself for being a rather clever and in-touch kind of guy. Then I remembered that others have noticed this before. The movie was called Steel Magnolias.