It’s also some sort of metaphor. As a recent college grad attempting to figure out “the rest of my life” (or at least what is acceptable to wear to work and where on earth one of my six roommates hid the ¾ cup measure), I like the idea of having someplace (read: this blog) to store my thoughts, which will ideally turn into something to look back upon and laugh at once I have figured out this whole “gainful employment” thing.
Hence, the artichoke. “What’s that?” you may be thinking, “why an artichoke of all things?” Well, the answer would be that it’s just something that popped into my head late one night (read: before midnight but still long after what has become my bedtime). Artichokes are kind of ugly, and prickly. Sometimes the prickles get caught in your mouth when you’re trying to eat an artichoke, especially when you get down near the heart of it. But artichokes are also kind of beautiful, albeit in a unique, thistly sort of way, if you just let them alone and allow them to continue to grow and bloom. I know all this because I’m a master gardener (read: I have managed to keep the plants Alexis left me alive for almost a month and one has even produced new leaves).
In other words, a blooming artichoke is sort of like life. It can be tough at times, and just when you’ve almost figured it out something unexpected pops up just to keep you on your toes. But it’s also a wonderful, surprising thing, and fascinating to watch unfold. A little bit silly, too. Just like a blooming artichoke.
So relax, grab some melted butter, and bear with me as I let my thoughts unfold here. I promise to pepper it with book recommendations and pie recipes to make it worth your while.