About a Rose
Summer 2020
I moved recently.
It’s a familiar area where my kids grew up. Not far from the ocean, a cool breeze moderates the temperature, and being outdoors is quite pleasant.
A lot has happened since I was last here, little of which has any relevance to this story other than this is “The Time of COVID”. This dreaded virus has all but confined everyone to their homes and getting out is a cherished activity. Grocery stores have remained open and my local one is within comfortable walking distance.
And so, my story begins…
I gather up my backpack and keys, put on my walking shoes, and head out the door making my foray into the wide-open neighborhood oblivious (as I often can be) of what will be unfolding over the coming weeks. The view outside my door was spectacular. To the west the ocean glimmers in the distance, in the other direction the mountains beckon. I head east towards the mountains making my way past houses that line familiar streets.
Down sloped roads, then another steeper street, that drops to the flat leading to the grocery store. An apartment complex sits to the one side and, as part of their property, there is a long flowerbed running along the perimeter. Creepers drape the fence and bush after bush of white roses lines the sidewalk. They are very pretty as they are in bloom. A garden variety rose that has many buds on a stem, gets fairly full, but not over when they open.
I admire them as I make my way up the street to the shopping center that houses the grocery amongst other stores, many of which have had to close due to COVID.
Mask on, I wander around the store for a while gathering a few items, mostly killing time in a place that is not my house. It’s no easy task. The mask inhibits my breathing and my glasses keep fogging up making it difficult to see anything on the shelves let alone read those ever-comforting Nutritional Facts.
I find this extremely frustrating. Note to self — get some of that anti-fog spray. Bill paid, groceries stuffed into the backpack, and off again this time back home with the steep hill looming. (Ok it’s not that bad but walking uphill is not my favorite.) Fortunately, I can dispense with the mask so that is a plus.
The roses are still there, looking as pretty as ever, and I think to myself. ‘There are so many here they wouldn’t miss it too much if I helped myself to one little stem?’ On my keychain is a handy, often confiscated, mini Swiss Army knife.
With some dexterity, steel denting my skin, I use the scissors to clip off a stem with three buds in the very early stages of blooming. A little white can be seen on the leader that sits atop the stem holding court over the brood below. This way, I confidently tell myself, I’ll get a good week or so out of these, watch them bloom.
I was wrong. Even though I trimmed the stem to allow water to be drawn up, the buds pretty much turned brown and never opened. Undeterred, I knew I’d have another opportunity and, given my newfound rosebud knowledge, I would pick a stem that was already underway, and at least get to enjoy the bloom.
This transpired a little while later as I, once again, headed home from the grocery store, one rose stem, with a few opening buds, safely tucked in my backpack along with my groceries.
COVID has brought families like mine back together as the kids, who are all in various stages and locations in college, have been sent home with everything closed down. After a few months one decided that she was ready to head back to her home and, as I was going to go over and wish her a safe trip, the roses caught my eye.
I wrapped the stem in a wet paper towel with some tinfoil over that and took it along as part of her goodbye gift. Not very practical for a cross-country plane flight but a nice gesture I thought.
The rose went over well and, as you would suspect, didn’t make the trip. It stayed in a little vase looking pretty for another day or two.
Yes, I had now taken two stems from the many rose bushes lining the street however I was okay with this as it had made people happy getting to enjoy its visual beauty and gentle scent.
I’d not taken mini scissors to the rose bush for some time even though I had passed them on several occasions. Guilt? There are still plenty of beautiful white roses but, for some reason, I decided that they should just stay where they were for now.
Days pass and I’m driving home, where my other daughter is spending a few days with me while attending school remotely. Her siblings are all done but her college is on a different system so they have a few weeks more to go. I’d taken a slightly longer route to avoid a traffic light, I do not like them much anymore with all the turn options making it seem to take forever before one can move, and pass the roses.
I look at them out the passenger window, admiring their beauty, which never gets old, and approach the stop sign where I’d turn up the notorious hill, a thought occurs to me — it would be a nice gesture if I brought a stem to my daughter. Great idea. Look around a bit, only a bit as I didn’t recall anyone being in view as I approached the stop sign. Into reverse and suddenly a screech of desperation, I slam on my brakes.
On the driver’s side, a man and his dog, he’s yelling telling me I nearly ran over his dog. I didn’t see him. I wondered why he had tried to go around the back of me and not cross at the stop sign. I was ready to yell this back at him when I realized it was not the way to go in this situation. I could go into the effects of COVID on our mental health but then this isn’t about that — this is a story about a rose.
I apologized profusely, to the man and his dog. Not long after he said he was sorry that he had yelled but that I did nearly run over his dog. I accepted this as I felt he’d attempted to make peace but was still in a state of shock, so I apologized one last time and drove off. Wondering about the rose? I too was slightly shocked and I decided that this was some sort of omen, it told me that I should not go and take a rose to give to my daughter this time around.
The episode stuck with me for a while, I pondered why it was that I wasn’t to give my daughter a rose. I found an answer suitable to me while rifling through a pile of books at a local thrift store. Books are not moneymakers for them I’m sure, so they tend to get put in obscure places with minimal thought to organizing. Sifting through one of the many piles I’m drawn to an interesting poetry book, she’s a poet, and I take this for her in lieu of the rose.
Turned out to be an interesting find and the author had signed this copy. She was thrilled. Mission accomplished.
But back to the episode with the man and his dog. Yes, I was shaken up a bit but that’s not why I didn’t do what I thought would be a nice way to mend things with my almost victims. I didn’t do it because it’s something I’d not even considered a while ago but have lately spent more time contemplating. It occurred to me midway up that hill. I should go back and talk to the man and relay the story to him about the rose. Would that make him feel better, different, empathetic, or anything?
Things happen and they impact people in different ways. Will you be bold enough to share your story should the need arise? I sure hope I can go forward.
Wondering about the Rose? There is one now sitting on my island looking as a rose looks — perfect…
The story didn’t end there.
A few weeks later….
It’s my daughter’s birthday — the one who denied the rose. I’m walking home from the store, which seems to happen a lot, and once again the roses catch my eye. I recall that she did not get a rose so I look around to see if anyone is in the vicinity, since all is clear I snip a stem and gently stash it in my backpack.
She, and her boyfriend, had been staying with me for the past few nights and were due to leave within the hour. I took the rose and placed it under the windshield wiper of their van on the passenger side where she would likely be sitting. Just a small token to honor her on her birthday.
Just the Rose — nothing else.
She has never brought it up to me, she wasn’t aware that it was me who put it there. She had mentioned it to her mother so I know she found it, she’d said it made her smile.
That is good enough for me…
