Happy Times are Not Forgotten
I love Spring time. I hate pollen but I love Spring time. I love the flowers blooming and I love reclaiming my yard after ignoring it all winter. Saturday, we started planting pots around the yard in preparation for a wedding shower that will take place at my home in a few short days. We dug out the pots that had been stored over the fall and thankfully no slithering snakes had taken up residence in the stacked pots! Once every pot was planted, we stood back and admired our work as if we had just planted the beds at the Biltmore.
Now for the hard part . . . keeping all the beautiful flowers alive for what will soon be a hot summer. The first old hose I pulled out had a huge hole in it so off to the trash pile it went. Fortunately I remembered a nice heavy duty hose that I had relocated from Norman Drive (my parent’s house) back in the fall. It was perfect. No holes. It was nice and long and would be just right for watering the plants on the driveway and the side of the house leading to the porch. At the end of this study hose was a fancy nozzle. It really is fancy!
My dad loved to play in the water! Don’t all little boys like to play in the water? Dad purchased top of the line hoses while I picked up whatever I saw at Walmart. I did not look for a hose that would provide me with years of use but instead I bought a hose that was “a good deal.” Dad felt the same way about the nozzle. He bought a nozzle that did more than just stream the water from the hose to the desired flower pot. He bought a nozzle with at least 5 different spray features.
I will admit that I smiled as I untangled that hose and hooked it up to the faucet on the side of my house. My nose tingled as I smelled the smell of wet cement as I turned on the hose. In my mind I could see my dad playing in the water. He would hose off the driveway and the blue stone patio. He played in the water while enjoying the time outside.
It is the little things that make us happy. I get to enjoy little memories as I begin to use the treasures that I brought from my parents’ house to my house. Sunday, I will get to pull out three china patterns that I now have from my mom. I will get to tell the guest at the shower about how these plates belong to my mother and the yellow plates belonged to my dad’s mother. I will get to pull out serving platters that bear the name of great grandparents that I never knew. I will be watching to make sure that mimosa glasses are not putting rings on the drum table that belonged to my grandmother and now holds the pictures of my children in my living room. It is the little things that help me get through the sad times.