Recently one of my Facebook statuses caused a “flurry” of questions:
“Yesterday, while I was cutting the grass, a wishie came and landed in my hand. LANDED. IN. MY. HAND. Yes, I am taking this as a sign that someone will love my SEQUIN manuscript. Because it features a sequin, a wishie, and a sad little girl’s heart. Because it’s one of the stories of my own heart. Because I need someone to love it and bring it to life. ‘I wish…’ *whoosh*”
“What’s a wishie?” some asked.
I was surprised this wasn’t universal knowledge. “One of those wispy seeds, usually from a dandelion that’s gone white,” I answered. “You make a wish and then blow them around. If they fly, the wish will come true.”
I could almost see the nods through cyberspace. “Oh! We know what you mean now!” Only some people grew up calling them “babies”, while others referred to them as “Santa Clauses”.
Aw, so the sentiment was the same. It was just a different name.
The conversation made me smile…and remember.
A couple of years ago, a lawn professional knocked on our door. With a not-so-subtle look of disdain at our yard, he shoved a brochure into my hand and said, “We can fix this.”
I glanced at the neighbors’ yards. On both sides. Across the street. All of them rich, lush, green. Impeccably trimmed. Without one weed.
Martha Stewart perfect.
Our lawn wasn’t -okay, full disclosure – isn’t. It’s dotted with weeds. Spotted with dandelions. I took his pamphlet and slunk back into the house. The shame of it all. For a moment or two, I felt guilty. I even agonized. How could I have let our lawn go like this?
Then I remembered exactly how our lawn got this way.
What seems like only days ago (but is, in fact, years) two sweet little boys liked to pick “the pretty yellow flowers” for their mommy. And when those dandelions turned to white puffs, this mommy taught them how to make a wish and blow them into the wind so that their wishes would come true.
They shared this passion with their friends. Sometimes, there would be a blizzard of wishes in our yard.
Our boys and their friends are now grown. But I look at those pretty yellow flowers and I see little sprouts of precious memories. Each one representing a wish from the past. Wishes that I hope – for all of them – are coming true.
But if any of those kids should need them – those precious dandelions that cradle wishes for the future, they’re still here. In our yard.
Oh, and that brochure? I shredded it.