More lately, it seems, even though most of the flowers they’re using at the shop are growing outside on our property, the colors a petal-filled rainbow floating on island wind. But they’re inviting friends over to see the greenhouse, too. They wander in and out, laughing and chatting.

They must have some pretty new plants growing in there. Maybe new orchids?

* * *

I live in the “carriage house,” which is a short distance from my mother and aunts’ home. It was never a carriage house, but that’s what we call it because we like how it sounds. It used to be the groundskeeper’s cottage when my mother and aunts were young. It’s near our small beach, to the right of the greenhouse, and to the left of our red barn. I planted roses all around the perimeter, heavy on light purple, yellows, and reds. I also have a trellis over my front porch, where a pink climbing rose practically drips when it’s in bloom.

It’s a light blue jewel that had been vacant for years when I moved in. There’s about 600 square feet, with a sleeping loft above the main area, accessible by stairs. There used to be a ladder there, but my animals can’t climb ladders, hence the stairs. The dogs and cats sleep with me, so that would be a problem.

When I moved in seven years ago, after a van trip around the country to different national parks, and camping in the woods and at the beach, alone, I was broken. I don’t like the words “nervous breakdown.” It sounds old-fashioned. It sounds like once you have a breakdown, that’s it. You’re done. You’ve fallen apart. You’re broken permanently.

I was hoping I wasn’t broken permanently, but I was a wreck, that is not in dispute. After college, where I majored in English and business because I like both, I went to work for a major book chain. I had worked for four years in the university’s bookstore while I was going to school, so I knew a lot about marketing, working with customers, and managing people. First I worked as a clerk at the chain, then assistant manager, then manager, and I was up in corporate in three years. I even wrote a column about books for them, which was in all of their newsletters, because of my book obsession.

I lived in a studio in Seattle, a small space with a view of Puget Sound and the ferries, with Sundance. I’ve had Sundance since I was twenty. I was volunteering at an animal shelter and fell in love with that dog. He was missing a front leg because someone thought it would be a good idea to shoot it off. He could hardly lift his head, he was so beaten down. He was slow and scared and shook all the time. He was skinny and hobbling, his ribs sticking out.

Sundance wanted to disappear at first. He would sit in a corner of the shelter curled up tight, whimpering. But slowly, he let me pet him. Then he let me hug him for small amounts of time, and finally he trusted me and we became best human/animal friends. I bought him a pink blankie and a stuffed green lizard, and he loved both of them.