There are two bunches of flowers on our kitchen table: four roses
that have just opened up, and a large bouquet of assorted cut
flowers.
Roses
Sunday morning the band One Tree Hill, of which I am a member, played at a small church. As usual, Patrick told the story of his life before and after the wreck that paralyzed him from chest down, interspersed with his original music. It’s both sobering and inspiring.
The church people were all welcoming and friendly, but one woman stands out in my memory. She’s one of those “background” people that would be easy to ignore. She was in the kitchen when I went looking for coffee after sound check. She was putting out pastries and cups and spoons for coffee and juice, and she told me how she had bought some cups because the church was almost out, then she proudly told me about her daughter, who plays euphonium with the church worship team, and works at a music store. It was a particularly heart-warming conversation for several reasons, not the least of which is that it included the word “euphonium.”
After the event, as we were stowing gear, wrapping cables and hauling speakers (one of my favorite parts – seriously), the coffee cup lady came up to the stage with four roses, stems wrapped in foil, for Patrick, Brian, and me. None of us would be considered “flower guys,” but it was a sweet gesture, and I took them home and put them on the kitchen table. They were pretty on Sunday, but by this morning they had opened up and are perfect and gorgeous.
Bouquet
On Christmas Day, 2000, we brought a German Shepherd puppy home as a
gift for my youngest son. We had no intention of making her a house dog, but Greta had other ideas. Over the past 8-plus years, she has been a dear member of the family, contributing to our joyful chaos in many ways.
In late December of 2008, she was diagnosed with lymphoma. Her symptoms gradually grew worse, including decreased bowel control and difficulty breathing. Last Sunday, while my son and wife were home, and I was having lunch with Patrick after our gig, Greta had an attack of diarrhea in the house, which, typically, upset her. That, coupled with other clear indications that her quality of life was rapidly diminishing, led us to decide that her time had come. It was the culmination of a long and difficult decision process. All of the kids came home Sunday night for a final visit. On Monday morning, my sons and I took her to the vet to be euthanized. We returned to an emptier, dogless house, and sat with one of my daughters eating chicken biscuits, drinking coffee, and trying not to think about Greta too much.
A couple of hours later, I was facilitating a focused brainstorming session at work, glad to have something to occupy my mind.
Monday afternoon, my wife’s sister brought over a bouquet of cut flowers from her and her crazy husband, with whom I share an affinity for deviled eggs. For several reasons, they understand the impact of Greta’s absence.
In retrospect, maybe I am turning into a flower guy after all. I guess it could be worse.
Carl, this made me cry a little, but you absolutely shouldn’t feel bad about it, especially because the line at the end made me laugh out loud.
It’s especially funny because I bought Bo a $3 little bouquet of irises before I left Athens and set them up in his kitchen, “so he wouldn’t forget about me” this week while I’m up here in this crazy NYC.
All my love to you and your missus and your house which could never feel empty to me, even if Greta isn’t as obviously there right now.
Comment by marilyn — March 12, 2009 @ 8:03 am
Well, here we go, one more thought on flowers:
One of the big proponents for my decision to move to NYC (or Paris, but I decided NY would be less logistically infuriating) was seeing the movie The Hours. Don’t know if you’ve seen it, but one of the opening scenes involves Meryl Streep buying flowers for a party. (Like Mrs. Dalloway, which the movie and novel The Hours was inspired by.) The idea that a woman could just walk into a flower shop and buy $50 worth of flowers — exactly the flowers she thought were the best for that day in her life — was so delightful that I figured out that I had to become more like that. Ha! And now I totally buy flowers whenever I desire (and/or whenever I feel like I have an extra $5-10 to spend on something a little bit extravagant).
Comment by marilyn — March 21, 2009 @ 10:36 am
Carl,
for the last six or so months, we have been adoptive parents to an old dog that ambled up to our house obviously in need of a meal and any TLC that be mustered. After the first week of care, this collarless, malnourished, and hard-lived dog showed some pep and we named her Maggie. She wasn’t a pretty dog like Jake or Greta, but had a tender and appreciative personality and made herself right at home on our porch where her sweetness endeared her to Jake and the two cats.
Last week, she looked particularly uncomfortable, and on examination she had a huge, hard mass on her abdomen. Since it was late Friday afternoon (isn’t it always?) I called the vet and the earliest appointment was this morning (Monday).
After returning from the appointment, I had to clear my head. I went to your post about Greta. I got lost in your writing and it is now an hour and a half after I began.
You see, I had to put Maggie down after hearing the dreadful diagnosis of breast cancer, ear lesions (causing her to be mostly deaf), arthritis, possible worms, etc. The list goes on.
I thanked the vet for ensuring me it was the right decision for her. I was more emotionally shaken than I could have anticipated and returned to an empty house, at least if we don’t count animals. Your writing is lovely and strangely, cathartic. Greta was a lucky dog to be in your family.
Comment by Carol Cole — January 10, 2011 @ 11:07 am