Things Remembered: June 9, 2000

When I was little, I could fit under the bushes. I hid under the berry bushes and picked berries. One by one I ate them warm from the sun, ripened on the bush. I ate all I could find. This secret place, safely hidden from the too big world, was just right for a three year old. Safe and cradled in nature's bower. In sun dress with crossed straps and sandles without socks, secure to return to the family which waited my return.
When I was older, I smelled the fragrance of lilacs. How I loved their fragrance. I picked armfulls and put the blossoms in a vase in my room, then closed the door and went away. When I returned, I opened to the scent of lilacs. The lilac season wasn't long enough. I was too big to sit under the lilacs and too busy. Mom wanted housework done, and there was schoolwork. Schedules prevented me from lounging under the lilac bush.
I am dismissed now. My daughters are grown. They no longer need me. No husband, no dog. Both dead. Dismissed from my job. Downsized, they said. I am cut lose from responsibility to other people and to schedules. This takes getting used to.
Retired. Time for a garden of my own. I planted lilacs. (Berry bushes will come next.) After the heavenly wave of the scent, I prune the spent stems and shape the bush, remembering those times long ago when one bush was a house for a child. As I prune, I let the pieces fall. To pick them up, I kneal beneath the bush.