A Weed by Any Other Name…
As I type this, within my line of sight is a heart-shaped glass container full of dried flowers. At first glance they’re not that remarkable, time has rendered them mostly brown, the type now unrecognizable. Not roses, tulips or daffodils. These were free, yet you couldn’t pay me to part with them and if the place catches on fire, they’re among the first things I’m grabbing.
They’re dandelions, yes that common “weed” some people spend money and time trying to eradicate so their lawns will be perfect. I must push back on the word “weed”. Weed implies a bother, something not valued or wanted. I recall a book by Robert Fulghum, wherein he talks about how he doesn’t mow or kill off dandelions, he just considers them free flowers. I’m with him. Because this glass jar contains way more than dry flowers. It’s a reminder of a time I cherish deeply, a nearly daily gift I received during a springtime way too long ago. These aren’t weeds, they were a ritual by my then kindergartner who insisted on picking one for me each afternoon at her school carpool. Foolishly, I would sometimes try to rush her as the line of cars was moving and it was almost time to go. But she was undeterred, bless her for that. My car at the time had a slide-out change container and I kept every single one, pushing them back with each new addition. Over time they dried out, the drawer packed with a season full of these dear gifts for nearly a year. Fast-forward to the following spring. The car was, sadly, rear-ended but initially thought to be repairable. But in the end, too much damage to the trunk area it was decided it was a total loss (I still miss that car!). Driving to the body shop to retrieve my belongings the first thought was those flowers. The rest is just paperwork, those “weeds” can’t be replaced. To my initial shock the change drawer was empty! About the time I was going to ask “who the f…” a good ol’ boy came out with the envelope from the glovebox, my CDs, and a sandwich bag full of dried flowers. “I wasn’t sure when they were towing your car, so I grabbed all your stuff.” he said with a smile. I seriously could have hugged this total stranger. I asked him about the bag and his reply said it all; “I’ve got kids”. Yes indeed, two proud dads who got each other. Thank you kind sir, wherever you are. Thanks for taking that extra time to preserve those weeds.
Another spring in the DMV. March is finally letting go and it almost feels like I can put away the long golf pants. So this lovely Easter morning found me in the place that soothes this soul; a quick nine to start the day. Topped one off the teebox and it landed among these lovely flowers. Spying my Callaway among this patch of yellow took me back to those afternoons with a little girl who’s now all grown up and no longer needs a ride. She’s always with me, of course, but I love how something so commonplace can mean so much and instantly evoke the five-year-old version of her. A reminder that we decide that which is precious, that there is treasure literally under our feet if we just keep our eyes and minds open.
So give these little yellow beauties a break, okay? They’re free after all, and in some cases priceless. Plus, when they’re done growing you can blow them into the wind and make a wish to stop topping/slicing/hooking. Sounds like a win/win to me!
Hit ’em straight my friends,
