There’s something special about Sunday mornings. It’s a time that’s built for reading each section of the newspaper, undertaking the crossword puzzle, and lingering over a breakfast that’s a bit more intricate than an eat-and-run weekday meal. It’s a moment to pause and breathe.
For today’s Sunday breakfast, I’m serving up some flapjacks.
When I first spotted Kalanchoe luciae “Flapjacks” in the nursery, it was love at first sight. Symmetrical. Structured. Succulent. There was a place in the new front bed, the section that runs along the edge of the driveway, where they would work.
It never occurred to me that they would grow — I mean, why would a plant grow? And if it did occur to me, I didn’t have a clue about how it would grow. Fuller? Wider? Longer?
Taller. The Kalanchoe grew taller. And taller. And taller. My symmetrical, structured succulents became silly Seuss-like silvery-green stalks.
Each passing day, I was given the chance to look at my Flapjacks from new angles, to look at the structure and form of the plant, to gaze down the the length of the stalk. . .
To wait for the small flowers to bloom . . .
To imagine myself much smaller, walking through the valley between the fleshy leaves . . .
To play with the camera settings to see how the plant looked saturated with color . . .
To wonder if this was a new plant budding . . .
To debate keeping the offshoots here or to move them about the yard. . .
Even the neighbors marveled at the plants, asking me what I planned to do. My response each time was the same: “I don’t know. I’m just going to let them be and see what happens.”
In other words, I’m going to pause and breathe — because these flapjacks, just like a Sunday morning dish served with a side of crossword, are a daily reminder to do just that.