Peonies are gorgeous flowers. I can see them now, painted Still Life, from some unknown French artist’s canvas. They are full of bright pastel Easter colors: Pink, Light Purple, Light Blue, Green, and Yellow; Perhaps Teal and Turquoise and a dash of Red somewhere. The brush strokes follow a pattern. In this scene, painted so expertly, rendered so expertly, I the viewer, from my POV, there is a an open window across and to my right. The curtain, thin and breezy, flutters lightly with the wind. This white, sheen sheet like a benevolent ghost in greeting. Dividing us is a large wooden dinner table. It is rectangular and closer to me. It is wooden and polished. You can tell the table has known life and spills and drama, and hands slamming on top of it. The table has a lot to say, if you look at the grains closely enough. If you put your hands on top of it and have the energy catapult you back to some family argument. But it has remained stoic and steady and useful; So it stays. On the corner of this table, closer to myself, is a red vase of flowers. These peonies, which are so much marvelous of nature that they hardly look real when in fact they are. Some triumph that makes you want to believe in God, even if you don’t. What engineer, what mathematician, has dipped his palm into to Holy Water Genius and crafted this? I know I couldn’t have. And these flowers are fresh cut, and lovely to behold. The numerous petals smugly smiling, this family, knowing no drama, gladly sits in this vase on the kitchen table, knowing the peace offering it is, and balances it out, this pervasive sense of drama and leftover rage from the night before. Forgiveness flowers. White dove stand-in. A love letter without words. Apologies. Reconciliation incoming. Before the whole cycle starts again. This will not be the last time, and this scene is not the first. We see the TV off and to the left, and it will stay that way. There are so many other ways to numb the senses that you don’t necessarily need a remote to do it.