As we drove to my family’s Christmas Eve party last Saturday afternoon, Mike told me, briefly, about Brother Huband; an elderly neighbor whose lawn he used to mow. Brother Huband would always come out half way through the mowing and give Mike a root beer. They would sit on the porch and drink their root beers together before Mike would get back to the job of cutting the grass.
There was a small spot of wild Daisies right in the middle of the lawn that Brother Huband would never let Mike mow down. Out of place though they were, a young mother had once stopped and asked if she might take a picture of her baby in those flowers, and who knew what other mothers might stop by with the same sweet request.
Brother Huband is long gone, and who knows what brought the memory to Mike’s mind as we were driving off to celebrate a holiday far displaced from summer, lawn mowing and Daisies; but we do have a little baby just now and something about that memory made me want to cry, made me wish very much that I could go knock on Brother Huband’s door and ask to please use his perfect little spot of flowers to take some pictures of my own little baby. It would be nice to tell him that no other patch would possibly do.
My mom said something to me later about the veil seeming extra thin at Christmas time. I almost wonder if even the memories that others had while they lived here are more free to drift down and settle on our own little minds. Who knows, but this summer maybe I will go take some pictures of my baby in a Daisy patch and send that little moment skywards – hoping it might reach Brother Huband and bring him a smile.