THERE IS LIFE AFTER DANCE

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They came in limousines, private vans, 7—800 of them to my garden at $175 a ticket, I couldn’t believe it. They loved gardens, those jewels of the universe. I couldn’t believe how beautiful my garden was May 18, 2007. The peach verbascum stunned, even the hardest to perform irises leapt into place. They thrilled at the Peruvian lilies, like snowy fire crackers. People would bend forward under the Japanese maple to find the source of my water feature, the quite seductive mood modulizer inside the front gate. They did not see the bedroom walk, nor the 5-foot Thunbergia Mysorensis vines in the bathroom. But what a success! The team of Bradley Bontemps, Gary and Tim had outdone themselves.

“A true garden,” were the comments, “The others were just houses.” The “others” were mansions in Holmby Hills and Bel Air for the rich and powerful, but without the soul and the passion of a true garden; vision and mystery were missing. How did it feel to be the best? To have so many people make a bee line during and after the luncheon to tell me, “You were the best.” No question, they saw my vision. When you get it right, people see your vision. They get it. It was a flawless experience. The work was acknowledged, inspiration was their’s. “I’ve got to go home and try this.” Even the docents, and this year’s president Maralee Beck, thanked me for elevating their reputation, sourcing to them the luxury of positive attention. There is life after dance, choreography with plants rather than people. It was definitely show time, including the exhaustion from the day before. There were dinners before and after to celebrate, there were memories that other people had given me, and those to come. I have been swarmed . . . with gratitude.

June 12, 2007

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