I tell a friend whose mother lives near us how much I miss Mrs. Jacks. At 85-years-young, she was a firecracker who still cut her own grass with a push mower. She recently sold her home to move into an assisted living community near her son.
“She was our go-to neighbor for our random acts of kindness,” I confess. The boys and I often left her secret treats simply to bask in her reaction. Wild waves. Big smiles. Gosh, I miss her.
“I wish you’d do my mom,” she admits.
That’s who I’m thinking of when we’re at the farm for our weekly pick-up. The farm allows CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) members to cut gorgeous flowers from the cutting fields along with choosing fresh vegetables, organic eggs and free range chickens.
I hand F. and I. a pair of clippers and walk with them towards the field.
“Any ones we want?” F. asks.
“Pick the prettiest ones,” I say. Then add, “Cut a bunch.” It never hurts to give kids specific directions.
Flowers in hand, I drop the boys in my friend’s mom’s driveway. “Just ring the bell and tell her to have a great day,” I say before backing up and turning the car towards our house.
I wait and wait in our yard but see no sign of the boys. My friend’s mom only lives three houses away.
“Are we missing a few?” Chaz asks as I pace the front porch.
“I worry they don’t have enough sense to come home if no one answers the door. I’m going to go check.”
I’m right. The boys stand statute still patiently waiting for someone to answer the door.
“We’ll get her another day," I say and point across the street. "Let’s bring these to Mrs. Gluck.” At 85, she’s another oldie but goodie.