Wooden Roses

I have the most wonderful Grandmother. We have been dear friends for quite some time. We like to call ourselves the “Odd Couple” after the old sitcom with Felix and Oscar. . .two polar opposites. She is elegant and classy, where I am loud and clumsy. She entertains with fine china and gourmet meals, where I eat on paper towels and whatever can be heated in a microwave oven. She practically lives in the Garden of Eden, where the only green thumb I have is when I color with a leaky green marker. She has a house of order and beauty, where mine is creatively ordered chaos. She was a dignified hostess for the Church Office Building, where I played in the Nursery and boisterously sang songs with puppets in the Primary. Though we are oh so very different, we have grown to appreciate the diversity in each other as it gives us reason to rejoice and to laugh.

My Grandmother is the youngest 93 year old woman a person could ever meet--driving in her sleek, silver jaguar, regular bouts to the Temple, a calendar dotted with engagements and appointments, keeping her mind sharp with Forbes and Stocks, thrice weekly jaunts to rehab to maintain her strong and vibrant body. . .there is nothing holding her back.

(visits to Grandma's House for Halloween)

(Three Generations of Wmoen)

My Grandmother and I have been meeting once a month for dinner over the last 11 years. I have missed that as of recent. Finally, the opportunity presented itself and it just so happened to be the Monday previous to her 93rd Birthday. One should know, she mingles in high places with famous people and so I was thrilled to have the occasion to celebrate this special evening with her. 

President Monson and Sister Haight at Grandpa's 90th Birthday

(Tonight, Howard excorted her to the dance floor at Maddie's Wedding Reception)

My Father was her escort to the Red Butte Cafe.

My Grandmother’s Birthday, surely a celebration deserving a touch of class and elegance. . . set my mind in motion. I stopped for a card with just the right wording, a balloon to emphasize the event and the most beautifully, perfectly shaped red roses. I could scarcely believe that nature could produce such perfection. Out the door I went with my gifts in hand and a smile in my heart.

My Grandmother and Father were patiently waiting at the table where good food and fantastic company were only moments away. I presented her with the gifts and she was a gracious receiver, even a few tears in her eyes. She expressed her love and appreciation most tenderly. My perception was, that she had been emotionally touched. For a moment, my head began to swell. . .that even I could pull off an act of class.

We ordered. We ate. We laughed. We visited. We reminisced over the “pink keds” that my dad had given my mom decades ago. We indulged in rich memories, company and food. It was a celebration.

My Father reached over for the tiny, red roses. He put the roses to his nose to breathe in the glorious scent that only perfect roses could bring. I watched closely for that look of approval. . .Rebecca. . . well done. Instead, I saw the “one eyebrow rise” which was the gaze of confusion and question. “What was he doing?” I thought. His next move was bold and revealing. He gently reached  down to touch the roses. The facial expression shouted what was evident now. . . those roses were NOT REAL! ! !  Not only were the roses not real, they were WOODEN ! ! !  

My mind set about on it’s own private conversation, “Are you kidding me? Did I really just select WOODEN ROSES for the most quintesscential woman I know? Oh crap ! How will I get myself out of this one? My dignified, elegant Grandmother deserves the very finest and I have just given her WOODEN ROSES. . . in which she would probably get a sliver trying to put them in one of her vases.”

I wanted to run away and hide. I wanted to carry the roses to the car for her and then accidentally take them home with me . . . anything to keep her from discovering that they were not real. She had made such a fuss over them. . . as did I in recounting the story of how  I very carefully selected the “cream of the crop” Well, this cream of the crop just got whipped and soured. I thought “Ding Dong. . .Rebecca . . .you classy?” No. I couldn’t even do that. I felt it would have been better to have done nothing at all.”

Dad carefully placed the flowers back by the card. Our eyes met and I couldn’t read whether he was thinking, “Oops . . . I can see how you were misled,” or “Why on earth would you buy WOODEN FLOWERS?” Either way, I came out appearing much like the Scarecrow in the Wizard of OZ. . .”if I only had a brain.”

As we were getting ready to go, I knew that honesty would be the safest way out (I couldn’t even buy, let alone remember any of the scenarios that I had concocted in my head.) She made a comment about how lovely the roses were and I retorted rather spirited, “Lovely ? ? ? Just let me tell you how lovely they are. . .have you ever heard of any such thing as WOODEN ROSES amidst real roses in a florist?. . . neither have I? “ She  was utterly amazed, shocked, and absolutely speechless and then the awkward pause followed with laughing hysterically. Sometimes it is just plain old good to have a reason to laugh and laugh we did. . .and then laughed some more.

We parted ways and my negative self talk kept me company the rest of the way home. . .but my Grandmother on the other hand did the most marvelous thing. She took those WOODEN ROSES and with her class and elegance, made them something special. She took them home and put them in with the most beautiful bouquets of REAL FLOWERS the others had sent. She didn’t hide them or throw them away. She displayed them amongst the best. Yep . . . that is my Grandmother. Even in my disaster, she brought out their beauty.

Over the next couple of weeks, my dad told me that of all the bouquets received, mine were the only ones remaining. Pure symbolism embraced my mind:

   My Grandmother is a woman of strength and character. Like the  WOODEN ROSES, she stands firm and steadfast, in perfect form and beauty, in principle, the gospel, and elegance. Like the WOODEN  ROSES so  carefully carved, she has carved a life of generosity and set

an example of truth, knowledge, and a zest for life. Like those WOODEN ROSES, whose petals won’t drop and colors won’t fade, her life is eternal.

I thank my Grandma for bringing Life and Beauty to the WOODEN ROSES.

(Grandma celebrates the Christmas Season Opening at the Lion House 2012)