Revved Up

Straw Four - The Block Party Embarrassment

Straw Four – The Block Party Embarrassment

When the weather improved, Officer, and the children were out of school for the summer, we returned in order to participate in the annual block party that’s always held in my parents’ neighborhood. 

It’s always great fun, what with the handmade crafts, the baked goods and the educational displays about birding in the area. And then, of course, there’s the judging of the flowers. 

My poor mother was horribly distraught and so she – for the first time ever since even before my birth, apparently – she excused herself from the proceedings. She provided a cherry pie and a blueberry tart, naturally, as a minimum degree of participation. Plus her keen observations of the blue-winged warblers seen on Memorial Day weekend were published in the neighborhood gazette as always. All of that was as it should be. 

But she was simply unable to attend. My father – he told me that she even said D-A-R-N about it. I’m certain that she meant no blasphemous disrespect, but instead was still distraught about her missing petunias. We did try a few more times, you see. We had tried replanting, yet the same thing happened as before. There would be flowers until the night and then, in the morning, there would be a horrid ragged gap and, in its place, would be mud or dust with that mysterious reversed U-G-G print in it. 

Well! You won’t believe what happened. Oh, don’t smile at me, Officer, for this is a serious business. You see, my mother’s petunias have always been a great source of pride to her. They’re a bit of a comfort in her golden years, I imagine. 

And so it came time for the flower judging. The lady who lives directly across the street from my parents – she brought forth her usual ho-hum African violets. They’re pretty, if you care for such things. And there’s a lady from down the street, on the north side, and she brought her camellias. They were a bit ragged and brown around the edges, if you ask me.

But the next time – oh, my stars! It was the lady of the POJ family house! And she had this box. It was, well, it was certainly no proper flower box. It was a cardboard affair and it seems to have originally held a commercially-prepared breakfast cereal for children. I’m not certain of which type, Officer, does that matter? 

Well, in that box, which smelled a bit, truth be told, there were uneven clumps of dirt and a mishmash of petunias! And there was also – and here’s where it gets interesting, Officer – there was some Jimson weed. See, I could have understood if it was only petunias. After all, they grow so very nicely. But the Jimson weed – that was truly purchased in error. And therefore I got to wondering if the Jimson weed’s appearance was at all accidental. 

I do not mean to accuse my parents’ neighbors. But the coincidence was rather interesting, wouldn’t you say? 

So she presented her unorthodox box of flowers. But they were a bit spindly and dying, and there were cigarette remainders smashed into the soil. The prize, for the first time since my mother began showing and displaying her petunias, went to the lady on the other side of my parents and her overly gaudy and vulgar, pedestrian tulips. 

D-A-R-N indeed, if I may be so bold, Officer.