When I was a little girl, my grandmother lived across the street.
Well...really, across the driveway.
She had these three beautiful gardenia bushes that grew beautiful flowers every spring.
Each year, when the buds blossomed, I would take a wet napkin and a sandwich bag, or a piece of celophane (sp?) to grandma's, and pick a flower from the bush.
Just one, so as not to get a scaulding from Grandma.
And, each year, I would wrap my wet napkin around the flower and place it in the sandwich bag, or celophane.
Each year I would take said flower to school and give it to my favorite teacher.
Now, each year when the gardenia bushes bloom, or I walk down a gardenia scented isle at a store, it takes me back to those warm spring days when gardenias fragranced the air.
Each year, when I smell that gardenia, I think of my grandma, watching me pluck yet another flower from her bush.
1 comment:
You showed much more restraint than I ever did. I used to cut all her hydrangea flowers and take them in as a gift. She was always so angry, and I was always so pleased to bring her flowers.
Did you know that Grandpa planted all the plants around the house for her amusement and managed the garden just to please her. I used to wake up early and watch them walking in the garden together, holding hands. He would take her to each of her favorite flowers, so she could enjoy them. It was sweet and intimate and beautiful.
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