Marigolds

The smell of marigolds isn't completely pleasant. It's not completely offensive either. It's somewhere in between. It's a smell all its own. Hours after my hands have moved their long stems, cupped the blooms in wonder, I have to pause what I'm doing -- making the bed, vacuuming the house, hanging up clothes that had been unceremoniously dropped on the bedroom floor -- when the faint whiff of marigold drifts up to remind me of my time with them. Marigolds are just lovely.

Whenever I see a marigold or smell a marigold, I'm taken back to my childhood. To a movie that for some reason became a part of who I am. I was only eight when the movie came out, but I remember having a very strong reaction to it, and every summer when I plant marigolds, I think of that movie: The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man in the Moon Marigolds. I try to watch it at least once a year, and since the marigolds I planted this summer are blooming, I thought the time is perfect to watch the movie. 

There are so many moments in the movie that make me pause it, rewind, watch again. It's the only movie I've ever willingly watched over and over and over. The scene when Betty returns home from trying to secure money for her business idea and talks to Matilda about having a "half life" is such a powerful scene. Heart wrenching. 

The one word that comes to mind when I think marigolds is resilient. Poor soil Very little water. Too much water. Blazing heat. None of this fazes the beautiful marigold. To me, they are a brave, hardy flower.