The Garden

     Several years ago, a good friend gave me a beautiful, blooming plant, with a cluster of delicate, pale pink blossoms and dark green leaves (a plant perhaps related to the African violet, though it came without a name). Family and friends alike have delighted in the beauty of the flowers over these years.

     There once lived a brilliant, young man, who lived in a small town, in a lush hamlet, in the midst of rugged mountains. He had grown up in a family, with a hard-working mother and father and six siblings, three sisters and three brothers. His father was a carpenter, who was known for solid construction and the graceful beauty of the furniture he made. His mother was a caring wife and mother, who sewed clothing for her family and organized a large garden to feed her family.

    Recently, my daughter and son-in-law moved to another city. I offered to help them with their move, but, considerately, they hired men to do the necessary lifting of furniture and boxes. However, they accepted my offer and invited me to visit them in their new apartment and help them unpack.

    We recently had an exciting event in our family: One of my sons got married, after an nine-month engagement. We endured the months of waiting and planning and shared the excitement and anticipation of this lovely and respected young couple, as they made plans to spend their lives together. They had to plan their vows, pick someone to perform the ceremony, decide upon the type of wedding and where it would be. Bridesmaids and groomsmen and family and friends all joined in to plan and arrange different aspects of the event.

    As I was waiting for my trolley, sitting on a bench by the tracks, I had time to step back from the busy routine of life and reflect on other things. As I peacefully perused the surroundings, I caught sight of a little chipmunk, who was perched upon the ramp, that goes over the track. He then darted off the ramp and disappeared underneath the ramp, between the tracks. I was musing about why a chipmunk would make a home in such a dangerous and noisy place, where there are so many other quieter and safer places to live. What could possibly draw him to such a place?

    As part of my daily work routine, I keep records. At one time, there was a disagreement among people that I was doing work with. My co-workers wanted to have some items changed and felt that I had not done things, in accordance with instructions that were originally given. At one point, my overseer checked my records and told me that she felt that I had been instructed to do things in a certain way and that I had, for some reason, not followed those instructions. She said that my records verified this. I asked to see the records that she had looked at.