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Thursday 19 September 2013

Flower Computer Wallpaper

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Source:- google.com.pk

On the way to my brother's farm in Southwestern Nebraska, I sometimes stop in at a small town where my parents used to live. It's just about two miles off my route, and is worth the little step back in time that the visit affords me.

Mom and Dad moved to this small, rural town in the early 1980s from a large Midwestern city. They had both recently retired and Dad wanted to move back to Nebraska, the state where he was raised. Mom hated to leave her friends and social life, but she followed, determined to make the best of the situation (truly, a “Bloom Where You Are Planted” lady). Mom experienced “culture shock”, but being the outgoing, social lady she was, she quickly made friends and became involved in the Historical Society and the Garden Club (where she was the “youngster” at age 62). Both parents became active in the Senior Center.

Mom spent most of the summer days working with her flowers. She planted cannas and marigolds, had pots of petunias and geraniums, and even one summer, had morning glories clinging to strands of string, twisting and vining up her front porch. How pleasant it was to sit on her porch swing on a summer evening and be hidden from the view of passers-by. Neighbors from all over town commented on the evidence of her green thumb, and Mom had always said that her flowers and digging in the dirt, were her “therapy”.

As I entered town, driving past the grain elevators, a car dealership, and the long-ago closed laundromat, I traveled slowly through “downtown” (about four blocks), passing the family owned variety store and the “Mom & Pop” cafe that my mother used to patronize. She’d meet up with a friend at the cafe for a much-needed outing, or, when I visited, we’d both dine on thick hamburgers and fries, fully aware of all eyes being on the “out-of-towner”. If Mom happened to spy a friend, she wouldn’t hesitate to bring them over for introductions and a little chit-chat. Of course, small town cafes are usually full of “friends’, or at least acquaintances. Mom spent most of the summer days working with her flowers. She planted cannas and marigolds, had pots of petunias and geraniums, and even one summer, had morning glories clinging to strands of string, twisting and vining up her front porch. How pleasant it was to sit on her porch swing on a summer evening and be hidden from the view of passers-by. Neighbors from all over town commented on the evidence of her green thumb, and Mom had always said that her flowers and digging in the dirt, were her “therapy”. As I entered town, driving past the grain elevators, a car dealership, and the long-ago closed laundromat, I traveled slowly through “downtown” (about four blocks), passing the family owned variety store and the “Mom & Pop” cafe that my mother used to patronize. She’d meet up with a friend at the cafe for a much-needed outing, or, when I visited, we’d both dine on thick hamburgers and fries, fully aware of all eyes being on the “out-of-towner”. Neighbors from all over town commented on the evidence of her green thumb, and Mom had always said that her flowers and digging in the dirt, were her “therapy”. And small town grocery stores are a unique lot... each one having their own quirks, but all seeming to have several things in common: just a few small grocery carts, a few aisles, products stacked and piled everywhere due to a lack of storage space, and invariably, a limited inventory.

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