Post by whitealice on Mar 1, 2015 17:47:53 GMT -6
Carefully pinching the thorn strewn stem, Sandra measured it with her eyes before clipping the stem of the rose bush. She stopped for a moment to bring the soft apricot cluster of roses to her nose and inhaled the sweet and pungent scent of it. Then she snorted as she always did as she recalled the rose’s name. “Just Joey”, she thought. Who’d name such a beautifully scented rose something like that? Still sounds like the name of a mechanic’s shop to me.
Sandra set the stem gently in her basket along with a collection of other cut blooms that she was going to use to make an arrangement with later. The sun was beating down on her and she carefully wiped a gloved hand across her brow to mop up the faint sheen of sweat on it. Behind her, she heard her 5 year old daughter, giggling and chatting happily away to some imaginary friend and smiled. Hmmm, it must be getting close to lunchtime, she thought, as she glanced upward at the sun’s position above her in the garden, shielding her eyes below her broad straw hat from the glare with a gloved hand. Sandra dropped her pruning shears into the basket and stood.
“Come on, Ana...let’s make some lunch,” she said, turning to look at her daughter behind her. The girl was playing near the sunflowers in the garden with her golden hair looking bright in the sun.
Ana looked up at her mother and nodded, grinning and scrambling up to her feet to follow her mother inside. Then, Ana stopped short and turned around to whisper with all the loudness of a toddler, “I’ll be back soon!” in the general direction of the sunflowers. Sandra rolled her eyes and tried not to laugh.
Ana scampered over to her mother, her face beaming as she grabbed one of her mother’s gloved hands. Together they walked through the English garden that Sandra had lovingly built just off their kitchen patio in the small pocket of space that was their backyard. If Sandra had had more of a choice, she would’ve chosen a larger backyard to build such a garden but living in suburbia had its perks, too, she thought to herself. As it was, she was pleased with all of her hard work as she surveyed the playful interplay of color around them--lavender, orange and yellow--sometimes clustered in large heaps and sometimes in small portion, all interlaced together on a background of green. Her garden made her happy and she squeezed Ana’s hand for a moment, grinning down at her as they stepped into the kitchen.
Once inside, Ana broke free and sat down at the table, opening her hand to reveal a half crushed daisy in her grip. The girl lifted the bloom up to her nose to smell the flower and then, crinkled her nose at the pungent scent. Sandra laughed a little and said, “Mhmmm, not all flowers smell very good, do they? Do you want to put the flowers in a vase? Many of those smell much better.”
Ana nodded and Sandra grabbed the large crystal vase that she’d set out earlier in expectation of filling it with flowers. She turned on the tap at the kitchen sink and filled the vase with water. Then, she set it down on the table before Ana and pushed the basket closer to them both. “Now be careful--the roses have thorns and you don’t want to get pricked. And don’t knock over the vase!” Sandra warned her daughter as she removed her gloves and took the pruning shears out of the basket, laying them on the counter where they’d be safely out of reach.
“I’ll be careful,” Ana said absently, shifting to her knees to start sorting through the blooms carefully and picking out the first one to put in the vase. Sandra watched her for a moment, smiling, and then turned to start making lunch.
By the time lunch was done, so was Ana’s floral arrangement so together the mother and daughter sat with the gigantic display of blooms entered in the middle of the small kitchen table. Ana nibbled away at her peanut butter sandwich but her brow was full of deep thought. Curious, Sandra asked her what she was thinking about.
“You know, Mommy, they don’t like it when you take their flowers,” she said in her small voice filled with consternation.
Sandra laughed. “Who doesn’t like it?”
“The bees,” Ana replied in a matter of fact tone before taking another bite out of her sandwich.
“The bees?“ Sandra asked, humored. “Don’t the bees know that it’s our garden and they are just guests in it?”
Ana looked at her mother with her sky blue eyes and gave out an exasperated sigh. After she drank a bit of milk, she replied, “The garden isn’t your garden, Mommy. It belongs to the bees. They said so. Besides, they need the flowers more than we do.”
“Oh? “ Sandra asked before popping a grape in her mouth.
“Yes. They said that the flowers are getting harder to find and that, without them, they might get hungry.”
“I see,” Sandra, replied, suppressing laughter. “But I’m the one that planted the flowers, so doesn’t that mean that, if I want to, I can cut the flowers and put them in a vase if I like it since I planted them?”
Ana frowned at that and finished eating her lunch in silent contemplation. After she was done, she looked up at her mom and asked, “Can I go back outside and play?”
“I suppose that there’s more that I can do in the garden so yes, go on ahead,” Sandra replied and watched her daughter as she tugged open the sliding glass door before running back outside.
After Sandra finished cleaning up their dishes from lunch, she dropped the pruning shears back into her gardening basket and slid on her gardening gloves. Once back outside, she found Ana had set herself down again in front of the sunflowers and appeared to be intently building something beneath them. Humored, Sandra asked, “What are you building?”
“I am building the bees a little house so that they have a place to stay when they are in our garden. Don’t we have a guest room for when people come to visit here? If the bees are guests, then they should have a room, too.”
Sandra laughed and, feeling a little proud at how smart her little girl was, replied, “Well, that’s very true and very generous of you.”
She left Ana to her “work” and set down the basket on the small plot of grass within the garden before surveying the yard for what to do next. I suppose I can divide the daisies, she thought and she stooped down to pull out her small trowel. After several minutes, the phone began to ring in the kitchen and Sandra got back up, quickly pulling off her gloves. She looked back over at Ana and said, “I’ve got to get the phone, Ana. You stay in the yard and be careful, okay?
“Yes, Mommy” she heard Ana as she went inside to answer the phone. It was her mother. Oh boy, Sandra thought. This is going to be a while.
“Am I busy? Oh no, I was just working in the garden with Ana,” Sandra said as she glanced out the sliding glass door to see Ana still sitting in the same spot, still working away at her construction efforts. Almost as if she sensed her mother’s eyes upon her, Ana looked up at her and they waved at each other. “What’s up, Mom?”
Several minutes passed as Sandra’s mind began to drift as she sat at the table listening to her mother’s incessant complaints about how a cashier was rude to her, dotting the conversation with carefully timed “mhmmms” as the story went on. Suddenly, a shriek from the garden split the air. Sandra, in a panic, said “Gotta go, Mom--it’s Ana!”
Sandra quickly hung up the phone without waiting for an answer and dropped it on the table before making a mad dash to the sliding glass door. Outside, she could see Ana’s back, standing above Sandra’s gardening basket with her pruning shears at her feet.
“Oh no,” Sandra gasped as she ran the short distance to her daughter, who was now quietly sobbing. As she grew closer to the girl, she stopped for a brief moment with her own scream splitting through the air. Her eyes were wide as they absorbed the image of her daughter’s little hand being completely swallowed up by a swarm of bees. “Ana!” she screamed as she scooped the girl up into her arms and started swatting away the bees, getting stung herself in the process.
Sandra dashed inside and quickly sat down at the table with Ana in her lap, checking the girl’s hand for stings. There was a small cut on one of her daughter’s fingers. Probably from the shears but Sandra felt relieved as it didn’t appear to be bleeding and continued to check her daughter for bee stings while ignoring her own.
“Did they sting you anywhere?” she asked as she checked her daughter’s arms and then pulled up her shirt to check her daughter’s chest. “What happened?
“No, they didn’t sting me. I was going to use your garden scissors, Mommy, to cut a stem for the bee house but I got cut. The bees were just trying to help,” Ana said, sobbing and sniffling a little.
“They were trying to help?” Sandra asked incredulously as she continued to check her daughter’s body for bee stings. “How on earth could they be helping? Honestly, Ana, bees sting people. Look at my hands,” she continued, showing her daughter the bee stings on her own. “You can’t think that bees all over your hands is okay.”
“That’s not true!” Ana shouted at her mother, defensive. “They were helping. They cleaned my boo boo and put medicine on it just like you do! See? Look, Mommy!”
Ana thrust her hand out in front of her mother’s face so she could see the cut there and for the first time, Sandra noticed a faint yellow sheen on and around the cut. She tentatively touched the stuff and it was sticky. Perturbed, Sandra tasted it and it was sweet. It was honey.
“They only stung you because they were afraid cuz you were trying to hurt them. The bees were screaming and scared, Mommy,” Ana continued and then buried her little head into her mother’s shoulders to sob. Her mother was quiet though in response because there was only one thought running through her head:
“It’s honey.”
Sandra set the stem gently in her basket along with a collection of other cut blooms that she was going to use to make an arrangement with later. The sun was beating down on her and she carefully wiped a gloved hand across her brow to mop up the faint sheen of sweat on it. Behind her, she heard her 5 year old daughter, giggling and chatting happily away to some imaginary friend and smiled. Hmmm, it must be getting close to lunchtime, she thought, as she glanced upward at the sun’s position above her in the garden, shielding her eyes below her broad straw hat from the glare with a gloved hand. Sandra dropped her pruning shears into the basket and stood.
“Come on, Ana...let’s make some lunch,” she said, turning to look at her daughter behind her. The girl was playing near the sunflowers in the garden with her golden hair looking bright in the sun.
Ana looked up at her mother and nodded, grinning and scrambling up to her feet to follow her mother inside. Then, Ana stopped short and turned around to whisper with all the loudness of a toddler, “I’ll be back soon!” in the general direction of the sunflowers. Sandra rolled her eyes and tried not to laugh.
Ana scampered over to her mother, her face beaming as she grabbed one of her mother’s gloved hands. Together they walked through the English garden that Sandra had lovingly built just off their kitchen patio in the small pocket of space that was their backyard. If Sandra had had more of a choice, she would’ve chosen a larger backyard to build such a garden but living in suburbia had its perks, too, she thought to herself. As it was, she was pleased with all of her hard work as she surveyed the playful interplay of color around them--lavender, orange and yellow--sometimes clustered in large heaps and sometimes in small portion, all interlaced together on a background of green. Her garden made her happy and she squeezed Ana’s hand for a moment, grinning down at her as they stepped into the kitchen.
Once inside, Ana broke free and sat down at the table, opening her hand to reveal a half crushed daisy in her grip. The girl lifted the bloom up to her nose to smell the flower and then, crinkled her nose at the pungent scent. Sandra laughed a little and said, “Mhmmm, not all flowers smell very good, do they? Do you want to put the flowers in a vase? Many of those smell much better.”
Ana nodded and Sandra grabbed the large crystal vase that she’d set out earlier in expectation of filling it with flowers. She turned on the tap at the kitchen sink and filled the vase with water. Then, she set it down on the table before Ana and pushed the basket closer to them both. “Now be careful--the roses have thorns and you don’t want to get pricked. And don’t knock over the vase!” Sandra warned her daughter as she removed her gloves and took the pruning shears out of the basket, laying them on the counter where they’d be safely out of reach.
“I’ll be careful,” Ana said absently, shifting to her knees to start sorting through the blooms carefully and picking out the first one to put in the vase. Sandra watched her for a moment, smiling, and then turned to start making lunch.
By the time lunch was done, so was Ana’s floral arrangement so together the mother and daughter sat with the gigantic display of blooms entered in the middle of the small kitchen table. Ana nibbled away at her peanut butter sandwich but her brow was full of deep thought. Curious, Sandra asked her what she was thinking about.
“You know, Mommy, they don’t like it when you take their flowers,” she said in her small voice filled with consternation.
Sandra laughed. “Who doesn’t like it?”
“The bees,” Ana replied in a matter of fact tone before taking another bite out of her sandwich.
“The bees?“ Sandra asked, humored. “Don’t the bees know that it’s our garden and they are just guests in it?”
Ana looked at her mother with her sky blue eyes and gave out an exasperated sigh. After she drank a bit of milk, she replied, “The garden isn’t your garden, Mommy. It belongs to the bees. They said so. Besides, they need the flowers more than we do.”
“Oh? “ Sandra asked before popping a grape in her mouth.
“Yes. They said that the flowers are getting harder to find and that, without them, they might get hungry.”
“I see,” Sandra, replied, suppressing laughter. “But I’m the one that planted the flowers, so doesn’t that mean that, if I want to, I can cut the flowers and put them in a vase if I like it since I planted them?”
Ana frowned at that and finished eating her lunch in silent contemplation. After she was done, she looked up at her mom and asked, “Can I go back outside and play?”
“I suppose that there’s more that I can do in the garden so yes, go on ahead,” Sandra replied and watched her daughter as she tugged open the sliding glass door before running back outside.
After Sandra finished cleaning up their dishes from lunch, she dropped the pruning shears back into her gardening basket and slid on her gardening gloves. Once back outside, she found Ana had set herself down again in front of the sunflowers and appeared to be intently building something beneath them. Humored, Sandra asked, “What are you building?”
“I am building the bees a little house so that they have a place to stay when they are in our garden. Don’t we have a guest room for when people come to visit here? If the bees are guests, then they should have a room, too.”
Sandra laughed and, feeling a little proud at how smart her little girl was, replied, “Well, that’s very true and very generous of you.”
She left Ana to her “work” and set down the basket on the small plot of grass within the garden before surveying the yard for what to do next. I suppose I can divide the daisies, she thought and she stooped down to pull out her small trowel. After several minutes, the phone began to ring in the kitchen and Sandra got back up, quickly pulling off her gloves. She looked back over at Ana and said, “I’ve got to get the phone, Ana. You stay in the yard and be careful, okay?
“Yes, Mommy” she heard Ana as she went inside to answer the phone. It was her mother. Oh boy, Sandra thought. This is going to be a while.
“Am I busy? Oh no, I was just working in the garden with Ana,” Sandra said as she glanced out the sliding glass door to see Ana still sitting in the same spot, still working away at her construction efforts. Almost as if she sensed her mother’s eyes upon her, Ana looked up at her and they waved at each other. “What’s up, Mom?”
Several minutes passed as Sandra’s mind began to drift as she sat at the table listening to her mother’s incessant complaints about how a cashier was rude to her, dotting the conversation with carefully timed “mhmmms” as the story went on. Suddenly, a shriek from the garden split the air. Sandra, in a panic, said “Gotta go, Mom--it’s Ana!”
Sandra quickly hung up the phone without waiting for an answer and dropped it on the table before making a mad dash to the sliding glass door. Outside, she could see Ana’s back, standing above Sandra’s gardening basket with her pruning shears at her feet.
“Oh no,” Sandra gasped as she ran the short distance to her daughter, who was now quietly sobbing. As she grew closer to the girl, she stopped for a brief moment with her own scream splitting through the air. Her eyes were wide as they absorbed the image of her daughter’s little hand being completely swallowed up by a swarm of bees. “Ana!” she screamed as she scooped the girl up into her arms and started swatting away the bees, getting stung herself in the process.
Sandra dashed inside and quickly sat down at the table with Ana in her lap, checking the girl’s hand for stings. There was a small cut on one of her daughter’s fingers. Probably from the shears but Sandra felt relieved as it didn’t appear to be bleeding and continued to check her daughter for bee stings while ignoring her own.
“Did they sting you anywhere?” she asked as she checked her daughter’s arms and then pulled up her shirt to check her daughter’s chest. “What happened?
“No, they didn’t sting me. I was going to use your garden scissors, Mommy, to cut a stem for the bee house but I got cut. The bees were just trying to help,” Ana said, sobbing and sniffling a little.
“They were trying to help?” Sandra asked incredulously as she continued to check her daughter’s body for bee stings. “How on earth could they be helping? Honestly, Ana, bees sting people. Look at my hands,” she continued, showing her daughter the bee stings on her own. “You can’t think that bees all over your hands is okay.”
“That’s not true!” Ana shouted at her mother, defensive. “They were helping. They cleaned my boo boo and put medicine on it just like you do! See? Look, Mommy!”
Ana thrust her hand out in front of her mother’s face so she could see the cut there and for the first time, Sandra noticed a faint yellow sheen on and around the cut. She tentatively touched the stuff and it was sticky. Perturbed, Sandra tasted it and it was sweet. It was honey.
“They only stung you because they were afraid cuz you were trying to hurt them. The bees were screaming and scared, Mommy,” Ana continued and then buried her little head into her mother’s shoulders to sob. Her mother was quiet though in response because there was only one thought running through her head:
“It’s honey.”
