As
a kid around my house on Sunday mornings, meant waking up early, having
breakfast AND digging dandelions. Bucket in one hand... dandelion digger in the
other... and off to work I would go. At first I was paid was just a penny for each
dandelion in the bucket, but then I got wise and asked for a raise. I’m not
sure it ever got up to 10¢ a weed ... but perhaps it did because my faithful and
persistent “digging” resulted in a yard nearly dandelion free.
Nope!
Dad did NOT like dandelions. N.o.t. o.n.e. l.i.t.t.l.e. b.i.t. And now, all these years
later... you will still find me on a Sunday going back and forth in my yard in
a grid-type fashion... bucket in one hand, and dandelion digger in the other.
Not as faithfully as I did as a kid... obviously... as our yard has its fair
share of golden beauties. But I too, get annoyed by these pesky weeds that
always seem to find a nesting place in my yard and flowerbeds. I guess in some ways the dandelion digger
doesn’t fall too far from the tree... (so to speak!)
Today
would have been my father’s 91st birthday...
And this afternoon I saw this healthy beauty tucked safely between the patio
bricks in our front walkway. A colorful reminder of my past. A reminder of Sunday mornings. A reminder of my father.
Happy Birthday Dad. This one’s for you!
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