I wrote about the summer Randy and I met in 1969. You’ll find that post here in case you want to read it again, or maybe read it for the first time.
One thing I didn’t put in that post was where Randy first kissed me. He was a smoker back then. He found a picnic table nearly buried in a field of black-eyed susans down the road a bit from the cottage properties we were staying in. A few days after we met, he showed me his secret place (which we still refer to as Smokies). We’d go there so he could sneak a smoke and steal a kiss.
Today I went to Home Depot to buy some plants to replace the hibiscus that simply won’t grow for me. I chose a hardier shrub called a Maui Yellow Ixora which I’m fairly sure I can keep alive. I also began looking for one plant to replace a small shrub that my sister-in-law had lovingly named “Little Guy” and replanted from a weird place in the yard to near my front door. Sadly Little Guy was also on his last leg, a testament to my black thumb.
In spite of my tendency to kill plants, when I saw a pot of black-eyed susans, I knew I wanted that symbol of the endurance of mine and Randy’s young love (54 years already!) trying to take hold and prosper outside our front door.
Pray for my plants, will you, please?
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