Wating for my coffee to kick-in this morning, thinking I should call DA and set up a breakfast, my eyes laze around my world, out the window to the lilac bushes that need a trim.
Flashback to 1993 standing in DA’s driveway surveying her broad front yard. Oh, you have a great collection here, perfect for easy-care gardening, I say. Yes, the hosta, the vinca, the shrubbery were all here when we bought the place – all we do is mow and trim and mulch, says DA. Neat, I say, and you have lilacs too – what color are they?
Mind you, this is one of my first encounters with DA. I am new to suburban momhood, where we bond over diapers and coffee, and DA was a friend-prospect, a member of a babysitting cooperative/club where I would sit for her kids, she would sit for mine. Trust and caring needed to be built between us, precious cargo of children at stake, and all that.
We were also standing with another coop member – musta been a meeting at DA’s house that was dispersing. Oh, no, says DA, these are not lilacs – they’re some other SPECIAL plant, she says, these never get flowers or anything.
Hmm. Heart shaped leaves, grey bark, suckers shooting up – plus the fact that the rest of the yard is so not-special, how could this shrub possibly be the one standout in a crowd? The better part of valor dictated that I defer, let the matter drop, move on!
“I think you cut them back at the wrong time, they just haven’t set any buds yet,” I say. “This is definitely a lilac bush. I have two in my yard, and I do not believe that there are any other plants with leaves like the lilac.”
My stance was based on 1) the fact that I had seen 6 or 8 other lilac bushes, 2) I had two different kinds in my suburban yard, and 3) I had no impulse control and would basically say the first thing that popped into my head.
Both DA and the other one protest immediately.
“Well, my dad is a landscaper, I know this is NOT a lilac” says DA.
“Oh, no, I have these in my yard and they never get flowers either,” says the other one.
Ok, DA I didn’t know well then. But the other one grew up ON Manhattan. Her exposure to plants was in her family’s produce distribution warehouse (can’t remember her name, as I have developed a mental block against idiots I have met. Well, ok, this block is toward anyone I haven’t seen in a long time, you know, two weeks, say, not just idiots, so don’t get insulted if I don’t know your name next time I run into you.) She was the one at the Newcomer’s Club who wanted to know the name of a good plant place, because her pink flowers in front of her house were dying and she needed to know what to do to keep them alive. (Duh. Pick off the dead ones and forget it, that’s what rhododendron blossoms do: bloom and die.)
My memory insists I dropped this, but I suspect there was more insulting insistence on my part, being sure, well, 90% sure, these shrubs were lilacs. Being as there were two against one, and these two were not my younger siblings, I did not win this argument. Plus, at a certain point I was fascinated by these special plants, and determined that I would go home, figure out what they were, and then get me some, too.
Fifteen years later, I was again standing in DA’s driveway looking at her garden. Purple bunches of fluffy flowers poked up here and there over the top of her shrubs. Now, you are thinking, DA and Delamonda have been friends for a long time. Delamonda has not said anything about this lilac business all that time. Such a nice friend! Coulda said “I told you so” 15 times by now but didn’t!
Uh, no.
In reality, what with two growing children upon whom to lavish my attentions, a full-time job sucking up chunks of hours week in and week out, and the Internet being fresh and new and dial-up, I did not get far in my search for The Special Shrubbery. In reality, I don’t go to DA’s house (too many kids) and DA doesn’t come to my house (too many pets and some kids too). Plus, she trims all her shrubs at the same time of year, so if she does get around to trimming them one year, the next year there aren’t any flowers. She is at my house fall and spring, and I am at her house summer and winter, so the opportunity to see the flowers are few and far between. The likelihood is small that I was at DA’s house at the right time to hang in her driveway long enough to notice lilacs in bloom.
Therefore, Delamonda said to DA: “Looks like your lilacs are doing well. Remember that time Manhattan was here and I told you I thought these were lilacs and the two of you swore up and down that these were not lilacs?”
And this is why DA is my friend: She laughed. She didn’t remember, she did not care that I had insulted her, she did not care that she had been wrong or that I had pointed it out – or if she did, she really did just laugh, out loud.
“Yeah, they get flowers if I don’t trim them in the spring, I think. And whatever happened to that woman? What an idiot!”
Being friends is not one of those things that I do well. My friends carry me, maybe because I try hard to be a good friend. I have moments: occasionally I send a card on time, most of my party guests get Thank you notes, I go out for coffee when I am perfectly happy to drink the coffee I make at home. If anyone actually called me in the middle of the night, would I get up and go help? I haven’t ever had to find out.
I appreciate people who befriend me. I like to think I am amusing. I admire people who go places and do things that maybe they wouldn’t do if their friends weren’t there.
