Mr. Russ Gibb this is for you.
I recall a story from my youth about one of
my neighbors. A divorcee who's only son had grown up and moved away. Her name
was Helen.
You see, before my Mother had died she grew a
garden with an array of fruits, flowers, and vegetables. And in our harvest, I
fondly reminisce visiting each neighbor and sharing the bounty for we always
had too much and too many.
Years had gone by and one day as I had passed
the old neighbor's house I had caught her peering at me from out of the corner
of my eye with a somber sorrowful gaze that had pierced my innermost being.
I could not bear to turn away. I promptly approached her and said "What
seems to be the matter?” (I'm not really sure I talked so properly at such a
tender age, but let's go with it.) "What seems to be the matter?" I
asked. And with no hesitation she replied, "You don't bring me tomatoes
anymore! Your Mother used to bring me tomatoes!" And without really
knowing what to say, I woefully walked away.
There was nothing that I could do. I did not
have any tomatoes to give; because, you see, when my Mother had died the garden
had died along with her. And I often had wondered was it truly the tomatoes that Helen had desired,
or was it the company, the interaction, the love?
So I think of Helen and many others like her
today and the words that she had said to me...
"You don’t bring me tomatoes anymore."
An encouragement comment from a friend: Tim Styszko Thank you.
ReplyDelete"You don't bring me tomatoes anymore" conveys a deeper understanding of the human condition than host people attain in their younger age. Along with your drawing skills, I am just as much if not more impressed with your story telling here. In many ways it really hit home. You go girl!!