Hydrangeas always make me think of my sister - not because she particularly favoured them in any way or was a keen a gardener (she wasn't) - simply because she came back drunk one night as a teenager and chose the hydrangea bush growing in a dark place between our concrete coal bunker and an oversized filbert tree as a suitable location to violently empty her stomach. Dried sick clung to the blooms and foliage of that poor hydrangea for far longer than seemed physically possible.
My mother in law has hydrangeas growing in her front garden. This year they have looked spectacular. I guess the wet July suited them much more than it suited the rest of us trying desperately to believe in the possibility of summer.
My life has seen more than its fair share of metaphorical rain falling in recent months. There are some things that are not how I would like them to be and I can't fix them. However, like the hydrangeas flourishing in adversity, my underlying happiness and contentment continues to deepen. I feel truly blessed.