I was musing to my wife that sometimes it’s difficult to hit on a topic for a blog. “It’s not as though you can write, ‘An acorn turns into an oak tree.’ Where’s the narrative?”
My wife says, “You know that oak tree that’s in the backyard?” It would be difficult not to. It’s about a meter from the fence. Our absentee landlord neighbor complains about the occasional branch that falls into his yard. And I’m sure that he’s annoyed by the leaves he has to rake every autumn.
“That tree began the year that our daughter was born.” Huh. I did not remember that. Some squirrel undoubtedly got an acorn from somewhere else but dropped it onto our lawn. Now it’s the largest tree in our yard, bigger than the spruce and maple. That’s not unlike the fact that our daughter is now taller than her parents are. The little acorn we had is becoming a mighty oak.
About five years ago, my wife called a tree service to trim back the older trees. She asked the guy if he thought the oak tree also needed tending. He said, rather effusively, “Oh, no. Let it grow freely.” NOW, all of them need to be cut back, lest they interfere with some low-hanging wires.
Here’s an odd thing. My daughter and I often communicate on Facebook Messenger even when she’s IN THE HOUSE. And it’s not, “I’m home” or “You’ve got mail.” The discussions are usually some sort of philosophical treatise. Would she become lazy if she could take advantage of nepotism? Or a bizarre conversation comparing Jerry Maguire with Jerry Seinfeld.
Texting is not my preferred method of communication. I prefer to talk. It’s mostly because I’m more likely to mistype what I meant, which confuses her. But one must meet people where they are, and for her, it’s on the cellphone.