Grandma Shepherd always had two things on her great front porch. Cacti and red geraniums. How is that for diametric opposition? The cacti, much like her, were armed with sharp needles for protection, but were so resilient that they could withstand months without nourishment. She was a woman with so much pain, she had to put out sharp barbs for her own preservation, but she was so tough that she could survive the long months without grandpa to give her emotional nourishment. Grandpa Shepherd worked the railroad and was so rarely home that she pretty much lived the life of a single mother.

One of her cacti was this behemoth creation with huge spines that she kept out in the middle of her front yard. Why she place this cactus in the middle of the area where all her children, grandchildren and eventually great-grandchildren played remains a mystery to me to this day. I guess maybe I don’t want to think why she might have put it there. But, predictably, there was many a large spine pulled out of many a throbbing and aching knee.

Then there were the geraniums. Geraniums are so pleasing to the eye, with their bright, colorful blossoms. Hers were always bright red. But geraniums, for all their glorious showiness, are extremely delicate and frail. The petals bruise easily and then wilt when touched. They require fairly regular care and attention. Could this be the “she” that she dreamed of being? Stunningly beautiful, bright and cheery, admired by all who looked upon her, but requiring constant care and attention.

I remember most fondly those lovely geraniums. With those bright scarlet petals. We would pick up the ones that had dropped and squeeze them until they finally relinquished a few drops of bright red “lipstick” which we applied generously to our young lips. Grandma would tease us about being “painted ladies,” but in our blossoming minds, we were glam queens just waiting for the opportunity to attract prospective kings.

I guess if the truth be told, we are all part cactus and part geranium. We arm ourselves with spines to prevent emotional injury inflicted by others. But all the while, we are trying to use our beauty to attract and please others. Finding balance between our beauty and our barbs is one of our greatest challenges.

I know I am not alone in the fact that I struggle in a world where beauty is paramount and I esteem myself grossly unqualified. I get heartsick when I hear of children literally dying to look like those in the media. Maybe its time to let go of the prickles and re-define beauty. Someone I was chatting with online asked me if I was sexy. I hit him with a barrageof defensive parameters of real beauty, much like one of my favorite heroines from TV sitcomdom, Dixie Carter of Designing Women. She had the ability to formulate rebuttals in realtime. In contract, I divine the most eloquent and heartfelt rebuttals approximately 45 minutes after I should be sleeping, but am, instead, lying awake kicking myself for not being able to spew meaningful soliloquies “on demand.” Anyway, my reply was, “I am a single mother who has had a hand in raising over 50 children and now have a handful of grandchildren. I work full-time to support the remainder as they complete school. I cook our meals from scratch. I spend time with them. I laugh with them. I listen to them. I’m a righteous mother in Zion, chaste and striving for purity. I uphold the commandments of God as diligently as I can. I am a kind of sexy that you may never comprehend.”

So, for all those who struggle with cacti and geraniums, here’s to us. May we be more comfortable with our own beauty and try a little less hard to fit the mold that is presented to us at every turn. And may we find the men who will see it.