Sweet Dahlia Memory

My colleague’s 94 year old father brought in 3 big bunches of dahlias the other day. He raises them on his 4 acres of property and delivers them to his remaining friends. He joked that most of his friends are gone now and that his stops include their kids and grandkids along with several “old people homes”.

His comments reminded me of a good friend in high school; his grandmother doted on her dahlias, bragging about them regularly and showing off her garden.

Which reminded me of a walk this time last year with my mom and grandmother (98 years old now).  We meandered through the gardens in the retirement area of the home she lives in. There were yellow dahlias as big as my head and she liked feeling the petals and talking about the colors. We reminded her of the house in Tacoma on Vassault, that grows the most gorgeous flowers every year and has a sign that reads, “Dahlias for Sale”.

Dahlias remind me of when I was volunteering at The Children’s Center in Salt Lake City and one of the girls in the class was the cutest, sassiest, little thing named Dahlia.



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