Dandelions

A few summers ago, I waged war on the dandelions in my yard. Looking back now, I can clearly see how outnumbered I was. But at the time, I wasn't exactly seeing red...... I was seeing yellow..... everywhere, and I was bound and determined to get rid of it. The first casualty of war was my long-handled dandelion picker. A particularly feisty weed which refused to be uprooted made quick work of snapping the wooden handle in half. This left me with a much lesser weapon; it was a short-handled plastic picker. This one did not break, but my back felt just about like it had. Hunching over like an eighty-year-old woman day after day was making it increasingly difficult to stand up straight. On top of that, my hands had become two giant blisters. I was spent. The dandelions had won. So why, oh why, one may ask, after all of the trouble I went through trying to get rid of them, do I have a small vase of the conquering weeds adorning my counter at this very moment? Well, you know what they say, "If you can't beat em', put em' in a vase." No. Any mother reading this knows the real answer. It is because I was greeted at my front door by two wide-eyed, gleeful children clutching my "Mother's Day flowers." In came two out of breath bloom collectors and out of tiny yellow-stained sweaty palms tumbled their offering. So, out came my Beleek china vase from Ireland, and in went my Mother's Day bouquet. I can see it now, still sitting on my counter. Since dandelions begin to wilt the second they are picked, they are looking pretty sad by day two. But, I can't bring myself to get rid of them just yet. These weeds, which to me can be a constant annoyance when they crop up in my yard, are to my two precious children the first miracle of Spring, and they wanted to share that miracle with me. And just as swiftly as plucked dandelions loose their luster, so swiftly in the scheme of things does childhood pass away. All too soon the sweaty dandelion-yellow palm will give way to the slender corsaged wrist resting on the arm of some tuxedo wearing young man. And the corsaged wrist will make way for the diamond-adorned hand clutching a bridal bouquet. All too soon, my baby boy will want me to help him pick out a bouquet made of something more elegant than dandelions for some other girl. All too soon, I will look back and wonder where the dandelion days have gone.

There have been other, more elegant displays of flowers in my life. The first flower Dirk ever gave me was a single long-stemmed red rose. We were dating, and he had driven up from Utah for a surprise weekend visit. He showed up at my bedroom door with his single-dimpled smile and handed me the rose. Not too long after this, Mr. Dimple had won me over, and it was time for a bridal bouquet; sterling roses, white lilies and ivy. My mother and grandmother had it preserved for me as a wedding gift and it is beautifully framed and hanging on my wall. In the past eight years of marriage, I have recieved gorgeous arrangements for anniversaries, Valentine's Days, Mother's Days, as well as a few used as peace offerings after a tiff. I don't remember what all of them looked like. A few I have dried and stuffed in a little memory box containing letters and other special things from Dirk. I do vividly remember the peach and white striped roses that he brought home the day of my miscarriage. Not many words were exchanged. He just handed me the roses and held me until the tears stopped streaming. Flowers appear in some form at just about every major event in our lives, at times of celebration, as well as times of sorrow. I love to have fresh flowers in my house because they remind me that any day can be extraordinary.

When I try to imagine myself in the stage of life where I will be approaching that final bouquet, I see myself surrounded by my children, and hopefully some grandchildren too. As I look back over my life and remember the roses and lilies, and all of the flowers that have marked special occasions in my life, I think one memory may just stand out above the rest. Two tiny sets of hands clutching a bouquet of Spring's first miracle........ "Is there anything I can get for you mom?", says Morgan. "Maybe some of those dandelions you used to bring me. Yes, just some dandelions."