SWEET MEMORIES

Many years ago I used to sit in the Missouri Botanical Garden and the Teahouse Garden sketching in pencil, charcoal, and Sumi ink. After several months of sitting along the path and drawing, one of the horticulturist staff asked me to be a volunteer artist. I drew depictions of many features of the Japanese Garden. It was a very wonderful time of my life because I was surrounded by beauty which I could express in my drawings.

Now, I haven't been there in years, but last winter a friend from church took me. The Christmas decorations were still up, and there were so many wonderful additions since I had last been there. It was fascinating and beautiful. The Jack C. Taylor Visitors Center is totally redesigned with many more attractions which enhance the guests' experience. We spent time in the Japanese Garden which looks different now, but I could still follow some of the paths I did all those years ago. It was a very special time of my life and I was grateful my friend took me there.

My original visits to The Botanical Garden were in the 1980's. My apartment was located close by. It was a lovely two bedroom which had very little yard. That is when I started going, almost daily when I was working part-time jobs. I became good friends with Greg, a horticulturist who helped take care of Teahouse Island. He allowed me to spend time there. Normally, it was off limits except for every August during The Japanese Festival. This was a very interesting eight years back in the eighties.

Greg was a handsome, kind, spiritual and knowledgeable. I would have liked to have had a deeper relationship with him outside of that which we shared at the Garden, but that was not meant to be. We remained good friends for eight years. We often spoke of our philosophical and spiritual beliefs and how those blended with the beauty and sacredness of the Japanese Garden. My mom visited one time while I was there drawing. She finally met Greg and  thought he was as handsome as Rock Hudson. I think he was even more handsome than Rock Hudson. Generational differences ... I was just delighted she finally got to meet him.

My mom was an amazing woman. We had had our issues in childhood, but as adults we were best friends. When she died the Sunday after Thanksgiving in 2005, I felt like I had lost my best friend. I remember everyone else had left and I remained behind to wait for the funeral home to come and pick up her body.  The nurses came in. They were so kind to my mom and to me whenever I visited her. I remember them gently warning me that when they deflated the mattress she was lying on, it might look like she was still breathing. That really didn't alarm me. I sat next to her holding her still warm hand until the gentleman from the funeral parlor came to pick up her body. Those extra, last moments with her meant everything to me.

My mom loved roses, which is probably where my love of roses comes from. Our long narrow backyard bloomed with rosebushes and lilacs ... lilacs all across the back yard, down the side yard and almost to the street. I used to watch her work in the garden and sit outside, and use twigs to build "houses" in the grass. It was so much fun. I even had a tent at one time, and a little playhouse my dad had built. The property had been an orchard many years before, so there were still peach trees and grape vines. The grapes were the sour kind used to make wine.

There was one unusual but amazing incident that happened in 1984 when I was dating a man whose parents had this huge house in Kirkwood, Missouri. I was sleeping in the downstairs bedroom. I had been sick all night after we had stopped at McDonald's to have a hamburger after one of his graduate classes at Maryville College. I was terribly ill that night. He was not. I couldn't go to work the next morning, so I stayed in bed. It was quiet down there in that little bedroom, and I was tucked in warmly all by myself. At about 9 am I was dozing on and off, and finally feeling better. Suddenly, though I had my eyes closed, I felt someone kiss my forehead and pull the covers up to my chin. I knew it was my mom, and I knew I was not dreaming or hallucinating. I'll never forget that beautiful moment for as long as I live.