A most beautiful rose
My roses offered their first blooms this week. Every year, my little patch of garden spurs me to a blog post. The acts of pruning and tending to delicate flowers always spark associations for me; rich connections to life and death.
But my rose post this year turns out to be about another rose, from another source. Here’s the story.
At the exit to my gym, a man has been selling roses. He stands there for hours, roses in one hand, now-standard cardboard sign in the other. He has a funny little hand gesture, a combination wave and “lookie here” that is, presumably, an invitation to engage and buy a rose. Cars merge from several lanes to exit, so there tends to be a jam up as cars wait to leave the parking lot. The rose vendor sometimes moves forward a bit to offer his roses, but he is not pushy.
Over many weeks I see only the rare purchase, and I wonder how many roses he sells in a day or a month. But he keeps returning, so I figure perhaps the purchases add up.
One day I wave at him as I pull into the parking area. He starts to move toward me, thinking I am signaling a desire to buy a rose. I am not at that moment, but when I leave the gym, I have my mind made up. I pull my car near him and call him over. I say hello, tell him I see him all the time and he is so pleasant, smiling and waving. I pay my $3, and he says, “God bless.”
I put the rose in water, and it opens gradually over the week. My husband and I agree that it is a particularly beautiful rose. I am so glad I bought it and made a tiny connection with this man. After that I often make eye contact and smile at him. I expect I’ll buy another rose one day.
* * * * * * * *
I haven’t been to the gym in recent weeks because of my neck problem, but I recently went over for a sauna. The rose man was not there. I drove by another time and again, no sign of him. Did the purchases dry up? Did he find another spot? What life does he have beyond his sign and his roses?
Part of me was relieved he was gone. Every time I drove by I had an internal debate about whether to buy another rose, and I always felt guilty for just wanting to drive away. I didn’t want to think about him standing out there so long, and I didn’t want to think about whether people bought roses. I struggled with boundaries — what is the right amount of caring?
I wonder if he will be back. If I see him, I will say hello. I will ask where he’s been. No matter how generous my roses bushes are with fresh blooms, I will buy a rose, and I will expect it to be the most beautiful rose of the summer.
Questions for Reflection: How do you make decisions about making a connection with people or staying distant? What is your approach to dealing with people on the street who want money or who are selling small products? How do you maintain both compassion and boundaries?
Writing Prompts: “When I see someone on the street in need, I ______” (then keep writing); “I strive to stay compassionate to those who struggle by ______” (then keep writing); “This post reminds me of how I feel when ______” (then keep writing); “My best boundaries help me ______” (then keep writing).
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