Daisies in the Field

Every time I go outside my neighbors magically appear from nowhere. I can look outside the back and front windows and see not a neighbor in sight and try to make a mad dash to my car to make my grand escape. However, when I go out the door and I am almost to my car a neighbor magically appears. I think that all of my neighbors have cameras that broadcast all of the neighborhood activity on a 65-inch 4K Ultra HD LED Smart TV. This is so they can sit in their favorite chair and watch the neighborhood activity of who is coming and who is going. Suspicious vehicles are another favorite pastime. Their weekly favorite is when spooky neighbor Randy receives boxes from Amazon. What is really in that box? When they see me coming outside, I swear they strain their muscles from getting up from the chair fast enough to run outside and find out what is going on with me. And I hate it! 

You see, I live in a subdivision where all residents are at least 20 years older than myself. Most of them are retired, living the good life and have nothing better to do but spy on their neighbors. One of the neighbors have been having a spunky but bald gentleman friend who has been spending way too much time over at the house. That female neighbor, who I will not name, has allegedly left the local Catholic parish and has been going to the Lutheran Church where her new “flame” attends! It is the scandal of the neighborhood right now. I would also like to note that about 60 percent of the subdivision is made up of Lutherans who seem to always be cooking and making pot luck dishes to eat after Sunday service. The Catholic neighbors on the other hand, have signs in their yards advertising Bingo, Fish Fries and the Active Catholic Enthusiastic Seniors club, acronym ACES.

I live in this neighborhood of retirement riches and geriatric hanky panky because my mom and dad lived here. They both died last year a month apart of each other. I inherited the house.  Of course, I could have sold it. But this house was the pride of my mom and dad. Happy memories fill it.   Memories of putting up the Christmas tree and wrapping presents at the kitchen table. Memories of making turkey for thanksgiving and throwing out stuffing mix for the birds to eat. Memories of the Fourth of July when we grilled and watched other neighborhoods shoot off fireworks. To this day I remember the smell of citronella candles burning to keep the mosquitoes away and spraying mosquito spray just for good measure. I am really depressed now during the holidays since my parents are gone. 

Two days ago, I was getting ready to go to the gym because workouts have been helping me cope with my depression when my next-door neighbor Zelma was in the front yard.

 “Hello, Zelma,” I said with as much cheer as I could possibly muster up. “It is a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Zelma said politely, “but I just don’t like what these voles have done to the front yard. Since the winter was so cold, they burrowed deep in the ground and they have made trails in the front AND the back yard.”

 “Oh, I have seen them,” I said very nonchalantly, “but I just figured it was not something to worry about.” 

“Not something to worry about,” said Zelma, with a little louder voice as if I might be hard of hearing. “I probably got them from your yard. You know they start out in one yard and if they are not dealt with, they go onto the next property and the next property and they wreak havoc to the grass that comes up in the spring.” She glared at me with iced eyes and a frown that would even make a clown depressed.

 I responded with a little louder voice also, just for good measure in case she did not have her hearing aide in. “Well, I really am not a vole expert, I do not think my mom or dad had this problem when they were alive, but then again, I never paid much attention to what they did in their yard.” 

Zelma seemed to snort like a bull ready to charge after it’s victim and said “Yes, it clearly shows that you do not care about the yard as your parents did. They are probably rolling in their graves right now with what you HAVEN'T done! They spent so much time and so much care in maintaining the lawn and the flowers and the landscaping.  Why they had the most beautiful rose bushes that were the pride of the neighborhood.”   

“Yes,” I said simply. “I do remember that mom used to put them in vases and had them sitting out when I would come over on Sundays.” 

Zelma smirked, “That is because she was proud of the fruits of her labor.  Last year you did nothing to those rose bushes and now they are all diseased, over grown and if you must know, all of the neighborhood has been talking about the neglect. Are you trying to bring our home values down?”, Zelma said in a challenging manner.

 “Zelma,” I said defiantly and softly,” I am so sorry that I have not maintained the roses. I admit that last year was a challenging year with both of my parents passing away within one month of each other. And I think you know that I am still dealing with the pain and trauma of this, although it is slowly getting better.” 

“Well there are some other things that I want to point out that other people in this neighborhood do not have the courage to do but I think you need to know them,” said Zelma not willing to relent or back down. “It is not just the roses or the voles. It is the concrete at the bottom of your driveway. It has cracked from the harsh salt that you used this winter on your sidewalk to melt the snow. You really should buy the melt that pet safe, you know, the chloride-free and salt free kind, that does not damage the concrete and does not irritate animals’ paws.   You know how many people walk their dogs around here. I heard one neighbor had to buy paw gloves for their Yorkie because of the irritating salt melt you use! We pride ourselves in this neighborhood and you really need to get that fixed before it cracks more. Again, we are talking home valuation here and pet safety,” Zelma said scrunching her nose and forehead like the wicked witch from the west.    

By this time, I just wanted to get in the car, reave the engine and screech away and pound out my frustration on the treadmill running to oblivion. I started to say “I really need to go” and then she started up again. 

“You did not rake your leaves last fall. Margo next door asked you at least 3 times when you were going to rake you leaves and you kept on putting it off and putting it off. She even went so far as to tell you she would have her grandson could come over and do it if you paid him. And remember, I told you it needed to get taken care of before it snowed and Kevin across the street said something to you as well,” Zelma said in satisfying tone.

 “I never talk to Kevin across the street,” I said in defense.

“Well, I am glad you mentioned that because that brings up the next problem,” said Zelma. “This is something that Kevin brought up to me the other day when we were talking at the mailbox.”

 “How many problems are we going to talk about?”, I said as if hot lava was gushing out of my mouth and nose ready to kill anything that stood in the way.    

She let out a sound that sounded like a swine snort and said “You always put your garbage can out the night before the garbage collector comes. And there has been more than one occasion when it was windy and your trash has blown in other people’s yards. And you do not have the decency to go and pick it up. We run a very nice neighborhood here and we do not need to have tampon boxes and GOD only knows what else blowing around for other people to pick up.”  

“So,” I said rather slowly and deliberately, my face turning three shades redder then it was before, “Is there anything that I have been doing that is actually right, that is good, uplifting, beneficial to this neighborhood?”, my voice grew louder and louder as I talked to where at the end it came out as a scream.

 Zelma stood there very silent and looked at the ground for a long time. Then she turned to face me, tears in her eyes and said in a soft voice “You know, you remind me so much of your mother. You look just like her and you have such a care free spirit like she did. I really miss her so much and I miss playing cards with her on Monday nights, and sitting on the patio and drinking ice tea, and talking about the soaps on TV and Oh, I just miss her so much!”  And Zelma began to cry harder.

At that point, my heart became very soft and compassion rose up within me.  I went up to her and I put my arms around her and patted her back. “Zelma, it is ok. I miss her too,” I said trying to comfort her. “I know how you feel, believe me. She was not only my mom but she was like my best friend.”

 “She was my best friend,” said Zelma. “That is why I miss her so much. And I am so sorry that I went off with you on all of this stuff”, she said repenting. “It has been a very lonely day for me and I am just not feeling myself,” Zelma said softly and almost ready to start crying again.

 I said really softly, ‘Mom spoke such kind words about you all of the time and I and you were such a good friend to her. I know this is not how you normally act.” I continued, “When I went to church last Sunday the priest talked about the parable Jesus spoke of regarding the wheat and the tares,” I looked at Zelma and continued to speak in an encouraging voice. “He talked about that many times in gardens we do not know what are weeds and what are valuable plants. So sometimes weed out the good plants and leave the tares in the garden. It is all about the seed that is sown. A flower named a Daisy cannot change but a woman named Daisy can change. People sometimes look like weeds but then they turn into beautiful blooming flowers. Once a daisy blooms it is very carefree. It shows up in the field one day like it is nobody’s business and nothing bothers them. People on the other hand may start out like a daisy flower but then our lives become so complex with problems and worries and they rip at us. But if we hold firmly planted in the soil that GOD has given us, we will not have any worries at all.”  

 Zelma thought a moment and gave out a big sigh. “Well I guess there is something to what that priestly man said. I have to admit that I have been more like a thistle weed lately then a flower.”

 I smiled at Zelma and said,” Yes, I have been a thistle weed too but as of now let’s be daisies together in the field and help each other during the hard times.” 

And with that Zelma looked at me and gave a soft smile, “I do not think you are a daisy at all. I think you are like your mother’s roses, so beautiful, fragrant and full of life. That is how I see you. Well, I better go back in, you have somewhere to go.”

 I thought for just a moment and then said to Zelma, “Actually, I was going to ask you if you want to come into my house and have a glass of ice tea. I just made it before I was getting ready to leave. I could really use the company right now. And you can give me ideas on how to correct all of the wrong things that you pointed out.”

 Zelma laughed from deep inside and said, “I would like that, I would like that very much.”