I checked in on Jon the other day and found him right where we’d left him. He was pushing up a daisy. Just one.
Jon’s grave is in the shade of a cypress tree, which is why just one.
Across the way where the sun shines all day long, masses of the homely white blossoms speckled the lawn, heads ducked to stay clear of the lawnmower’s blade.
Call it daisy, erigeron or fleabane, it’s no bigger than a dime and a common wildflower native to California. It’ll grow all over your yard if you let it.
Some people pull it out. Try to. Others smile and let it stay. No matter what you do, this homebody will stick around. It’ll be in your yard, keeping you company till you downsize and move to another neighborhood. Maybe this one.
More thoughts on the flora at Cypress Lawn Memorial Park at “There’s a Dandelion Growing on My Grave.” More about those vegetables on Jon’s grave at “I’ve Been Widowed Two Years. Now What?”
that’s jon, subtle and funny.
Good to know you got the joke — and that Jon would have. See my comment today to Oakland Tribber Bill Mann.
Your usual worthwhile, graceful posting. Jon was one lucky guy!
When the priest who married us asked what I saw in Jon, I said, “He makes me laugh.” As soon as I said that, I was embarrassed at what seemed like a shallow response. But all these years later, I’m thinking laughing together signals a nice meeting of the minds. We were both lucky.