He prattled about soothing nerves and drinking a brew that I instantly prayed she wouldn’t try out on me. It was a lot about rounded flowers and wings and the subtle differences between the pink, red, or white flower in terms of which was the indicator of the best for her purpose. She gently placed her hand on his forearm and talked of things I knew nothing about. Mind you, I was only about ten years old and at that time constantly being drug around to flower shows, garden centers, nurseries and the like – well that just wasn’t for me. She had been so fussy earlier in the morning about what dress and shoes she was going to wear, ever so conscious of her overall fashion statement when visiting this particular girlfriend that I was dumfounded to see her willingness to get down and dirty when it came to another dumb old plant. At first, I watched in revulsion as my grandmother took off her new shoes and joined him on the blanket. The ragged and weathered man sat on his hunches among his plants that were humbly spread out on a dirty blanket.
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