Serendipity, an epiphany, and "Merry Christmas!"

 

On Wednesday evening last week, during a respite after the rain, I decided to put on my work shoes-and-socks and weed-eat the highest grass. I changed into work jeans, too, but before going out, gathered the wastebaskets’ trash to put in the bin for next day’s pick up. As I wheeled the nearly-empty container to the roadside, the rain began again, very, very lightly. No weed-eating, but could I deadhead the roses? Yes. Taking up the work scissors, I headed to the north roadside. Suddenly, I was humming—like I always do; like (maternal) Grandma Flossie always did.

            What was the tune? What were the words? Then it came to me: “Love, Mercy and Grace,” a favorite hymn of my (paternal) Grandmother Mabel. Where in the world had THAT tune come from? How many years had it been since I’d sung it? Or heard it? Serendipity? Subconscious, knowing I had a section in my upcoming memoir on “grandparents”? I’ll never know. But I’ll certainly use it.

             Thursday was my six-month dental checkup. After x-rays, cleaning, the dentist checking, then making a late February appointment, the doctor wished me a “Merry Christmas,” and the hygienist said, “Happy Valentine’s Day.” How about that for thinking ahead? A poem took shape:

AUGUST 18:

My first
“Merry Christmas!”
“Happy Valentine’s Day!”
from those who won’t see me for
six months.

            Finally, Friday, the rain stopped. For a while, the sun peeked out. It was good to get back in the yard. With the push mower loaned out and the riding one disabled, and after all the rain, the high grass was lush and full of seedpods. I weed-eated one battery’s worth, then began the task of pruning back the ten-year-old hedge of variegated privet, spirea, yellow bell and euonymus. The branches had spread into the neighbor’s property. Robert is putting in a board privacy fence to shut out the backs of his several outbuildings, plus a lot of “stuff” that sits out in the weather. I needed to trim back my hedges so his boards could be nailed into place.

              After filling two wagonloads but emptying only one, darkness crept in and so did I. Only I didn’t creep. After shedding the sweat-wet work clothes and shoes/socks, I cooled off. It was only 82 degrees.

             Then I had an epiphany: I had been pulling weeds from our old barn lot! Something I didn’t do those sixty-some years ago. I’d merely waded through the weeds from the lot to the dairy barn when I had to milk the cow.

             Saturday’s intention to continue trimming out the fence row was stifled by—guess what? —rain! But I did sit on the porch swing and read the two papers—the Saline Courier and the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette. An interesting but prosaic writing idea from a local clergyman in the spot where Terry Mattingly’s religious column usually was: “What I’ve Learned at the Age of Forty.” Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.

           What I could write about turning eighty!

           But I won’t.