ROSE COLORED GLASSES

The rose bush bloomed in spring.  Rejuvenated, despite my hatchet job cutting the foliage to the root and disturbing its winter hibernation, the roses came back – gloriously!  I was discouraged in December after my amateurish pruning of the branches resulted in a plant that looked like sticks poking out of the soil, but God revived the plant and restored my soul with this lovely visual reminder that spring is a wonderful, revitalized time of the year when all nature is replenished to rightfully glorify the earth’s Designer.

 With renewed inspiration that grace supersedes inexperience and even stupidity, I visit the local garden center in pursuit of a transplanting adventure.  I love the sensory experience of a nursery – the colorful blooms swirling together in baskets, the texture of the foliage, the chirping of the visiting birds, and the heavenly aroma of the intoxicating fragrances of the plants.  I’m lured into thinking that I am a gardener and join the conversations of other shoppers comparing the growing seasons of different species, discussions about shade/sun tolerance, and I ask them which plants would tolerate drought because outside vegetation doesn’t get much attention from me in the dog days of summer.

 I hurry home from the garden center in anticipation of beautifying our yard with my carefully selected purchases.  Arriving home I survey our property and of course, the weeds have returned from their slumber as well.  They are everywhere!  Weeds are blooming in the yard and in the flower beds.  So tenacious is a weed that it will even break through concrete to prove its vitality.

 I begin weeding, and weeding, and weeding the flower beds.  My back aches, I’m hot, and it’s really slow going pulling handful after handful of greenery out of the ground by the roots.  Weeds are deceptive – some are big with shallow roots and others are small with very deep roots.  And a small thorny one must be hanging on in China because I never could dig down far enough to get it out.  All this work made me a bit contemplative and I remembered a verse I learned in my childhood from a book written by Dale Evans:

Dear Lord, my life is a garden

Each deed is a tiny seed

Help me to grow lovely flowers

Not naughty, ugly weeds

 It is funny how being outside brings things inside my head.   In the solitude of the garden I find myself thinking about my life and taking time to feel the gentle pull of the Lord “weeding” my heart.  There it is – gardening is not for wimps!  It is labor and as we all know, you get what you work for in life.  I am joining the ranks of those that appreciate the sweat of the brow and farsighted enough to prepare for the sacrifices involved in clearing, planting, watering and waiting. 

 Maybe my son and BDIL (beautiful daughter-in-law) will notice the blooming roses and pretty flower beds when they come to our house.  One day I plan to give my BDIL cuttings from the iris plants from our yard to plant in their home garden.  In Greek the word iris means “rainbow” because of all the showy color.  I have had the beautiful flowers in my yard for over thirty years and I want to share the joy with my BDIL by passing to her a living legacy as part of the family inheritance.  I added some new flowers to my garden and I am especially proud of the calla lilies I planted this year.  Now if only the calla lilies can survive my lack of attention in August – she can have some of those cuttings too!  

CLOUD NINE

I recently developed my Christmas pictures which included photos of my husband’s first flying lesson. The lesson was a gift from our thoughtful son and BDIL (beautiful daughter-in-law).   My son told us that he had read an article that explained it’s the “experience” associated with a gift that makes the present extra special.  Using this idea he thought beyond the wrapping paper and in a gesture of kindness, he gave his Dad something every father values – the gift of spending time with his son doing something fun.

So it came about on a sunny Saturday morning my husband’s dream of becoming a pilot came true.  He spent an hour soaring with the eagles and navigating the clear blue skies around fluffy white clouds.  My son and I sat in the backseat of the little Cessna 172 enjoying an aerial view of our hometown.  It was a wonderful day and my husband did very well at the controls.  He was especially pleased when the instructor exclaimed over his exceptional landing; and it would have been flawless landing except for the little wind bump that caused the plane to swerve slightly when touching down on the tarmac.

It is enjoyable watching father and son share many of the same interests.  They both like the same activities and their experiences continue to bond their friendship in our son’s adult years, too.  However, raising a boy was a unique experience for me.  I am the oldest of my parent’s four daughters and became familiar with the notion that the male perspective was a birth right after I married and became a mother. 

When my son was a four-year-old we joined my sister and her children at the local movie theater to see the rerun of Disney’s Cinderella.  As we were watching the lively animation of cute animals frolicking and fussing about as they dressed Cinderella for the Ball my son suddenly stood up and announced, “Let’s get out of here.  There are too many girls and too much pink in this show!”  My sister laughed and asked me what I had done to produce such a reaction from him.  I told her that comment was the Campbell side of the family talking.

His protests were overcome when Prince Charming came on the scene and presented a male presence amongst all the pastel images and flowery songs.  My husband and I enjoyed raising our son and now we are on “cloud nine” because we are enjoying a bit of a fairy tale story ourselves – our son married “Cinderella” and the newlyweds are living happily ever after!

LEFT HANDED COMPLIMENT

I enjoy shopping at the mall and so does my BDIL (beautiful daughter-in-law).  The mall is full of magnificent items that you didn’t know you wanted until a beautiful display entices, and then you just have to have it.  My BDIL purchased a darling sparkly case cover for her phone the other day at a mall kiosk and I just can’t wait to get a case just like it for my fancy new phone. My phone has apps (whatever that is) and I am learning how to text, but the dreary thing really needs some glamour.

When I’m at the mall I’ll check to see if it is “gift with purchase time” at my favorite fragrance counter; although, that department does have some tricky mirrors.  I think the mirror in cosmetics must be rigged to make women look older since right next to that mirror is the display for anti-aging cream!  That’s a very smart marketing technique because when I look at my reflection it’s obvious that I need a product that can counteract the “laugh lines” wrapping around my eyes and mouth.  Nothing is really that funny to etch such a humorous testimony on my face.

Thankfully, there is a part of my body that shows I imbibe from the Fountain of Youth on occasion.  My manicurist thinks I have very youthful hands.  Vicky is from the Philippines and we have known each other for fifteen years so she would be the one to notice how well preserved I am.  While working on my nails she told me that my hands were as soft and young-looking as a girl of seventeen years.  I was enjoying the pampering in word and deed when she continued saying that if only we could – take away my face and take away my body - then somebody might really think they were looking at a much younger person’s hands.  At this point of the conversation I looked away from my “ageless” hands and told Vicky that she had just paid me the nicest left hand compliment I had ever received.

It is nice to think my hands are not in the same perpetual state of decay as my face and body but I agree with Oliver Wendell Holmes when he said “Old age is fifteen years older than I am”.  With renewed vim and vigor I will call my BDIL and ask her to go shopping with me because I really need a chic jewel encrusted phone cover – holding all that sparkly vivaciousness will certainly be a“handy” way to make me feel younger!

OH, GOOD GRAVY!

Many of today’s modern conveniences have become staples in my life such as the instant stain remover stick that I carry in my purse.  It does a fantastic job of eradicating the inevitable coffee stains that dribble onto on my clothing during my morning commute to the office or removing an accusatory blot of barbeque sauce after visiting the local rib joint.  Isn’t technology grand?  Modern know-how has come up with a chemical compound that can take away the evidence of our careless consumption of fast food!

I didn’t have an instant spot remover several years ago when I stopped for lunch at the local chicken shack.  The chicken was good, but the restaurant’s gravy was delicious!  This event happened in my younger days (when I actually thought people wanted to know my opinion) so I shared my zeal for the meal with the teenagers working behind the fast-food counter. I extolled poetic admiration about the wonderful gravy while waiting for my beverage refill.  After thanking the young servers I left the restaurant and went to my car.

I placed my drink on the hood of the car and retrieved my keys from my purse to unlock the door, and that’s when I caught sight of it – the big glob of gravy on the front of my shirt!  Yeah, I was taking some of that scrumptious gravy home with me.  I bet those teenagers smirks turned into side-splitting laughter after I left.

I had to go home to change clothes and decided to stop by my sister’s house to tell her the story.  She laughed so hard I thought she might wet her pants (understandable since she had four kids and almost forty at the time).  After that historic day my sister’s family often paid tribute for a delicious meal by enthusiastically mocking me as they proclaimed to their mother, “We really love your gravy!”

It is embarrassing to have egg on one’s face or gravy on one’s shirt.  However, I am now a bit savvier when planning dinner outings.  When we go out to eat with our son and BDIL (beautiful daughter-in-law) I carry a stain stick remover and I ask the waiter for a to-go box after dining – it is so much more couth than carrying a portion of the meal out of the restaurant on the front of my shirt!

COFFEE KLATCH

Don’t you enjoy that first cup of coffee in the morning?  Isn’t it something enjoyable to look forward to each day?   The aroma, the warmth, the exotic taste of roasted beans that came from Kenya or Brazil, it’s all just so wonderful!  A delicious brew is my motivation for waiting in line at the local coffee shop.  My coffee house of choice is an ingenious store that serves charisma in a cup.  The baristas make me feel sophisticated and important as I order my extra hot skinny vanilla latte with foam.  They assure me I have made an excellent decision to purchase my morning beverage with them by providing me with a logo cup that includes witty observations of life from socially aware individuals.

One morning I was in the process of joining the queue winding around the coffee shop and totally unaware that a confrontational woman was waiting for me.  The parking lot has a convoluted traffic pattern and it can become bewildering trying to decide who is in line or who is just trying to get out of there.  I was caught in such a dilemma when not being able to discern the intentions of the lady in a large pickup truck – was she waiting in line or parked?  I chose the latter option and proceeded to take my place in line. 

I rolled my window down in anticipation of placing my order and an angry fifty-something year old woman blasts toward me yelling “Hey, dumb ass, I was in line here!”  I had cut in front of the lady in the pickup and now she was letting me have it for delaying her morning jolt of caffeine, not that she appeared to need any additional fuel!   Instead of asking the woman to stand in front of the car and call me a name again, I chose to quickly apologize and offered to purchase her coffee; but I was talking to her backside as she huffed and puffed into the store.

This would be a good place to bemoan the loss of civility, but I have also experienced the kindness of people at this very same spot.  On the National Day of Prayer the woman in front of me bought my coffee and my BDIL (beautiful daughter-in-law) told me someone had purchased her coffee before, too.  So on that positive note it’s good to remember misunderstandings happen and expressing kindness matters – especially since that coffee drinking “dumb ass” that is cutting you off could be me!

A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME

My husband hums Taps when I bring plants home.  His humorous recognition of my inability to keep vegetation alive is painfully true.   Occasionally, a plant will overcome my lack of nurturing and actually survive.  So, I trimmed the rose bushes the other day.  Okay, I scalped the rose bushes!  I don’t know what came over me!  The incident started as a simple housekeeping task motivated by an artistic desire to “improve” their natural beauty.

I was in the backyard with the dog and noticed the potted rose bushes were looking a bit scraggly although, one bush had several blooms on it.  I was in a hurry to go run my errands, but the dog was taking her time so I went in to the house, set my coffee cup on the counter and brought the scissors outside to trim the bushes.  My caffeine inspired creativity took hold - just a little off here and a little more taken off there.  You know how the rose “sticks” look at the gardening centers in the spring?  That’s how my bushes looked when I finished the job.

One of my favorite movies is Steel Magnolias because the dialogue portrays the essence of a woman’s good intentions.  I love Dolly Parton’s Truvy!  She has some wonderful lines:

Shelby: Truvy, you know what you need in here? You need a radio, takes the pressure off of everyone feeling they have to talk so much.
Truvy: I had one once, but I threw it up against the wall when I couldn't figure out where the batteries went. I know now I was suffering from pre-menstrual syndrome.

Yes, it was probably a female syndrome that inspired my ingenious impulse – forcing me to cut the rose bushes to a nub in the coldest month of the year.  I told my sister about what I did and she related to the incident by telling me about the time she cut her son’s hair.  The haircut started as a trim and it became a buzz cut.  I didn’t tell my husband about the rose bushes, but he noticed and asked why I cut the roses.  I tried to explain how I meant to trim a little off the top and then suddenly the task took over and it turned into a mission to make the rose bushes look prettier, but he just couldn’t relate to my story.  He slowly shook his head in dismay and commented about the trimmings left around the pots.

I’m curious if the newlyweds will cultivate an interest in horticulture because I could be helpful to them – I’m a regular Edward Scissorhands when it comes to gardening!

DREAM CAR

My husband and son drive F-150 trucks.  The guys are in their “truck” phase now.  They go through different vehicle stages – sports cars, motorcycles, SUVs, and classic cars.  We had a Corvair when our son was in high school, not for driving around, just for cruising.  I don’t know much about cars, but I do like the way some cars look.  In the ‘70s my divorced Dad had a 1966 Thunderbird.  I was in high school and I thought the car was beautiful!  It was powder blue inside and out with a curved back seat made of pleated vinyl.  I drove it to school one day.  All the kids were honking and waving – Wow, I’m cool!  That’s what I thought until my friend let me know about the sticker on the back bumper announcing “Honk if you’re horny”. 

Obviously, coolness is in the eye of the beholder whether reading a car’s bumper sticker or truly admiring the automobile.  I don’t really care what kind of car I drive and it’s probably a good thing since I usually drive my husband’s hand-me-downs.  In the 1980s I drove our Corvette because we lived five miles from my office and my husband wanted to keep low mileage on the car.  I was really cool in that car but let me tell you; I was eight months pregnant driving a small car that sits about ten inches from the ground and it was really not that easy to squeeze in and out of the car therefore, this may have negated some of my coolness.

My BDIL (beautiful daughter-in-law) and I drive practical vehicles and it’s probably a good thing since the guys enjoy their automobiles so much.  My son’s truck was their getaway car at the wedding last summer.  My husband and I have pictures of our wedding car too.  The 1966 Thunderbird was in immaculate condition except for a few marks on the back bumper – where I had scratched off the “Honk“ sticker with a sharp knife!