LifePundit

A Visit from the Collard Claus

He comes in the middle of the afternoon when you're not at home. (Maybe you're napping in the carpool line. "He knows when you are sleeping, he knows when you're awake," etc.) He leaves a pile of collards and cabbages by your door. Or rather, around the corner from your door, so you don't see them at first, and when your eyes do take them in it takes a moment to process.

What's that stuff? Green leafy piles of.... what? Brain whirs and searches. Collards! Cabbages! Piles of them. I've been visited by the Collard Claus, AKA my father. Ninety-five years old and still delivering collards.

Hmmm. Might be a good idea to eat a lot of them. Collards must be the energizer bunny of nutrition. They're just so hard to wash. And wash. And wash. And then find a spot for them in the refrigerator because they're so big. I can't fit them all in. I can hardly fit some of them in.

Fortunately, my neighbors like collards and cabbages too. Which the Collard Claus told me was his plan.

Looking forward to the Tomato Claus.

Kindness Can Look Like a Tomato Plant

My father's room in assisted living has a window that looks out into an area with bird feeders and raised flower beds. The staff there knows of my father's love for gardening, and last week when they were planting summer flowers in their gazillion raised flower beds they did something different for the one my father can see from his room. They planted it with tomato plants.

One of the staff came to him and said, "Mr. C., do you see what they're doing?"

"What?"

"Look out of your window. Do you see what they're planting?"

He looked. "Tomatoes," he said. Then he went outside, dragging his oxygen with him. He watched for a minute, then asked the lady planting the tomatoes, "Where's your lime?" he said.

She looked at him strangely. "I don't have any. What do I need lime for?"

"Blossom end rot," he said.

I wish he had said things such as, "pretty plants," "good job," "thank you." But no. It was "Where's your lime?" You're doing it wrong. Oh well. He is who is he. The lady managed to change the subject to her divorce problems. From here on I'm pretty fuzzy about what happened. My parents have been married for 72 years and a stranger confessing things about her divorce was more surprising to him than planting the tomatoes without lime.

Honestly, I think it was hard for him to perceive the kindness behind this act of planting tomatoes where he could watch them from his room. Or maybe he did perceive the kindness, and was lost on how to respond. Plus, he just planted 150 tomato plants in his garden in the country (with much help and all the right ingredients). What does a man who get three meals a day in assisted living need with a giant garden? Gives him something to do. A place to go. Life bursting with life.

He planted 150 tomato plants and he doesn't even like tomatoes. Seriously. Won't eat them.

I am touched that the people who care for my parents are that insightful and kind. Lime or no lime, I think it is beautiful.

He Promised Me a Rose Garden

I've been buying myself flowers but that may end because I'll be cutting flowers out of my own yard. Roses! Paul has promised me this rose garden (the roses in the photo montage). He's going to plant the roses, put in a drip or soaker system, and then I get to do the rest. (Which I hope will be growing roses and not killing roses.) I used to grow roses before Lily was born. I was covered over in roses of all kinds, from antique roses with packed, curled faces (and heavenly aromas) to experimental roses I got to report on to tree roses to about 25 hybrid teas.

All you have to do to grow roses is start with good stock, plant them correctly and in full soon, water them regularly, spray once a week and feed them. I'm a little worried about the sunshine here -- so many trees (except in the pasture, and horses eat roses so that won't do).

I can smell them already. Will be reporting back.