Last Sunday I bought myself a bouquet of red tulips.  They have shown me their bright smiling blooms for the past week, and they are cheering during these cold March days.

As the week has gone on, the blooms have begun to wilt a bit, and some have turned a darker shade of red as the petals curl and lose their vitality.

I was throwing away some of the most faded flowers since the bouquet was quite large, but today I thought—no.  Even though these flowers may not be as fresh as they were, they are still beautiful.

Theirs is a different kind of loveliness.  As stems begin to tire of holding their heads straight and petals shrink and close up, these stalwart tulips yet retain their dignity and raison d’etre .  Their colors remain beautiful and my bouquet, in various states of fading, still delights.

In a world where all seem to be on the search for the next new, shiny thing, it is good to search out and treasure the old and imperfect.  Things (and people) that may seem past their prime can still delight and instruct. 

 I had a wonderful theater professor who once said that nowadays we know many things, but understand little; in the past, less was known, but more was understood.

We carry around little computers (aka our smartphones) that can answer any question you may have.  And we are told that artificial intelligence can solve problems for us. Yet here’s the thing: If we want wisdom, we’re not going to hear it from Alexa or Siri or even from Chat GPT. 

But remember, as Oscar Wilde observed, “With age comes wisdom, but sometimes age comes alone.”

Nevertheless, if we want a crash course in wisdom, we just may want to revisit the Golden Rule:  “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”  It can be as simple—and as sage—as that.

And with that timeless gem, my beautifully fading bouquet and I send you peace and love.