A rose by any name.. | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: A rose by any name.. | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jesus Puppy
10/03/05
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A rose by any name..

Deborah was truly feeling her age, bent down digging in the soft soil of her garden. She always kept it tilled fine for the smaller planting, which she changed every year for variety. But it was not the work that was getting the best of her, it was over an energetic grand child.

When her daughter had called that morning, saying she had a special meeting to get to, and the sitter couldn't make it, Deborah was more than happy to help. Then the child arrived, and pandemonium broke loose. The child was a mass ball of energy, with no outlet, but to run her grandmother to the ground. Inside board games would not work, for this child of only five, it was run or run, and up to grandma to keep up.

Finally giving in at noon, she just lit the child run and play in the yard, while she got some well needed weeding done in her small plot of a garden. She could keep a close eye on the child, and still get something done for the day. Or so she thought.

Every few minutes she would her the child's squeaky little voice shouting out, "Look Grandma, a caterpillar," the child would say, "Grandma, I found a bird’s nets, see it up in the tree?" And then the most dreaded of statements, "Can I help you dig, Grandma?"

"Oh no, child," Deborah told her, trying to sound gentle, "this is very hard work, you just run and play." And off the small ball of energy would go, skipping across the yard. After only moments, a mere three weeds pulled, the child was back yet again.

"Here Grandma, I picked these just for you." In her hand was a mess of weeds pulled from the fence line, wild lace, yellow buttercups, and dandelions. "Better put them in a vase," the child said with a smile, "so they don’t die right away."

Rising slowly to her feet, feeling more than her fifty five years of age, Deborah headed for the house, wondering how long before her own daughter would be getting back. Just as she reached the kitchen she heard another voice call out, "Deb, you home?"

"In the kitchen, Karen," she called out, though thinking to herself, that all she needed now was the nosy neighbor to come by, demanding attention she couldn't give at that moment. She just kept digging in the cupboard for a vase, but all she could find was an old dirty coke bottle.

"What are doing with a hand full of weeds," Karen asked, "you should get rid of those, only cause your allergies to act up." She turned and looked at her neighbor of more than fifteen years, and felt at a lost as to what to say at first. Then standing at the sink, rinsing and filling the bottle with water, she saw her grandchild chasing a butterfly across the yard.

“Those aren't weeds," she said, as matter-of-fact as she could, "those are the most beautiful flowers, hand picked by an angel, from God own personal garden." With much care she arranged the weeds in the old bottle, and placed them on the window sill. Seeing the child's energetic wave, she smiled and waved back.

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