My wife walks somewhere between 3 and five miles each day. She’s developed three or four routes through our neighborhood that she follows depending on the length of her desired walk.
One of these routes takes her by a home that has a beautiful garden in the spring and summer months. By fall and into winter, it is cleared out of dead and dying flowers and such.
This year the homeowners left a couple of dozen hand painted multicolored ‘Ladybugs’ rocks, with a small sign reading: “Take one and give it a good home.”
Over the last few weeks Mary has brought home eight of them, placing them in our front yard’s flower bed. She has also kept me informed on the progress of the rehoming.
Finally, Mary’s told me there was one rock left, saying, “Every time I see it, I think how lonely it looks and I want to bring it home.”
“So do it,” I said.
“Okay,” said Mary, “If it’s still there Monday afternoon, I’ll bring it home.”
“Good,” I said.
Sunday morning, Mary has returned from her walk.
“Someone took the rock,” she said.
“Great,” I said.
But I could tell she wasn’t as happy as she sounded, so I asked, “How do you feel about that?”
“I think we could have given it a better home,” Mary said, adding, “I simply didn’t want to seem too greedy.”
“I understand,” I said, smiling and trying not to snicker.
“And don’t you write a word about this,” said Mary, “I already feel silly about all the fuss I made over it.”
“I think it’s sweet,” I shout back, “So I’m gonna write about it anyway.”
“Well, don’t forget to take their picture,” she said.
Well played, Mary, well played…