The Flowers Strewn in our Path

We were already a quarter of an hour late for the Andre Rieu Concert when we made our way through security and past the great glassy doors of the Nassau Coliseum. Now face to face with the snack bar (after leaving home without dinner), the sports-fan fare of popcorn, peanuts, and pretzels was irresistible.

With little cash in my pocket, I asked the man behind the counter, “Do you take American Express?”

“Sorry, M’am, no credit cards.”

“OK,” I said, widening my wallet to reveal a twenty dollar bill and a couple of other singles.

A swelling stream of requests flowed from the mouth of the girls, blissfully unaware of their mother’s shortage: “Can I have a pretzel?” “Mommy, I don’t like pretzels—may I have popcorn?” “Do you think we could order hot dogs?” “Do they sell French Fries?” “Can we bring home candy for Patrick and Maureen?”

The man stood waiting as I dammed the stream with one quick, “Mommy doesn’t have much money,” ordering three pretzels, three waters, and one bag of popcorn. Boxing the snacks in an instant, the man said, “Twenty-seven dollars, please.”

It was quite a bit more than I expected, and I presented the twenty and the stray bills counting out a mere twenty-four. The man stared while I took one last desperate glance inside the wallet, finding (joy of joys) a tightly wrinkled group of bills under a crumpled receipt—three more dollars! “Well, what do you know?” I said to him, laughing, “I have exactly twenty seven dollars.”

If I could paint a picture for you of the look on that man’s face, you would see before you the personification of human kindness, empathy, joy, and relief. He was beaming and thanked me heartily. It was only then I realized the poor man had been waiting anxiously, dreading the possibility that he might need to take back a water or a pretzel from that thin cardboard box.

We found our seats—mercifully on the aisle—with the concert already in full swing. Andre Rieu and his vibrant young orchestra, oddly out of place in the drafty sports arena, succeeded in warming it to the rafters. The girls were captivated, but there was one young one even more appreciative than my four. A small boy with Down’s Syndrome three or four years old—impossibly cute in a long-sleeved plaid shirt—sat two rows in front of us. He kept time to the music with his hands, thrilling to every note. Putting an arm around his father, he received a prompt kiss, before turning to smile toward the couple in the row behind him.

I watched that boy a long time, wishing—and this kind of thing never occurs to me with so many of my own—that he was sitting with us. My lap was strangely empty, and there was something undeniably compelling in his gestures and expression. I was not the only one who noticed it, for he had a circle of fond admirers round about him—not only his family, mind you, but smiling concert goers whose pleasant faces and hearty waves showed how their night was brightened by his unspoiled delight.

Intermission came, and, with the lights turned up, the girls began scrutinizing the aisles and floor of the arena, searching desperately for their two grandparents. We had found out earlier that day that Gram and Pop would be at the concert (just by chance—we hadn’t planned it). I warned them a sighting would be highly unlikely given the enormity of the crowd, yet somehow we managed to spot Gram who was wearing red. If you could mount an enormous Buccaneer ride in the very center of the Coliseum and set it rocking at full tilt, we would have been at one high point on the arc, and my in-laws would have been on the other. The moment they spotted Gram, the girls were elated, adding, “Look, there’s Pop! He’s coming back with coffee!” Even from that impossible distance all four reflexively waved and smiled, stretching high up in their seats in hopes of being noticed.

What is it about grandparents that can turn a cold and crowded Coliseum into a familiar living room? One sight of Gram and Pop and four Heidis begged to be allowed to descend to the deep valley and scale the Alps to pay a visit to the Grandfather and Grandmother, eager and determined as if bent on delivering an apron of fresh-picked flowers or sack of soft white rolls. Unfortunately for my high-spirited lasses, their mother was on hand to play Fraulein Rottenmeier, making short work of the plan, yet I smiled to witness their deep love and affection.

All too soon, the concert hummed to a close. Andre Rieu, as is his custom in every country he visits, played a final selection meant to capture the essence of the place and its people. At the first strains of “America the Beautiful,” the crowd was on its feet singing in one voice, in a tone at once insistent and proud, “America, America, God shed His grace on thee.” A bagpiper entered blasting the first throbbing notes of Amazing Grace and, instantly, thousands of people who had just faced the new American reality of stadium security checks, remembered our firefighters, police officers, and soldiers. This homegrown hymn breathed through old world lungs spoke its wordless message of Brotherhood, Hope, and Longing. In two simple selections, Andre Rieu had grasped the American Spirit—the immortal soul of a faithful people.

Making our way out through the crowd, I was already reflecting upon the good people blooming all around us like blossoms bursting forth from a garden well-tended—the man behind the counter, that happy little boy and his admirers, our Gram and Pop, and Andre Rieu himself—who with bow and fiddle and bagpipe had pierced through to reach the all too often hidden heart of a nation. With these thoughts still playing in my mind, I turned the key in the ignition and put our van in reverse, wondering for the first time how I would escape from the tight spot in that unceasing flow of traffic. Before I had even a moment to wait, a white-haired woman in a sedan paused and waved me on with a friendly smile.

“What a nice woman!” I exclaimed to the girls, turning my wheel instantly and flitting to freedom as readily as a boy who hears the final bell at school. Raising a hand out my window, I waved the driver’s salute of gratitude, offering up a heartfelt and heart-lifting prayer of thanksgiving for all the flowers strewn in our path.

Comments

[Paula in MN]

What a beautiful story. I love your writings. May you always have flowers!

[Kimberlee]

Thank you for sharing your lovely day so we can smile along with you at the blessings God showers on your path, even when you're away from the Cottage. And thank you too for 'categorizing' your posts. It is such a gift to your readers when we come back to The Cottage for refreshment to be able to find the posts we seek. xo

[Jennifer]

You are an artist. This story was so beautifully told. What a treat!

[Margaret Mary Myers]

I was just doing a quick bloglines check between outings and hadn't mean to stay for anything longish. But you captured and held my attention throughout! Thanks for sharing so beautifully.

[Cheryl M.]

Great story! And what a fun outing!!

[KC]

It sounded like you all had such a great time. I felt like I was there with you.

[Karen E.]

What a lovely day -- full of gifts indeed!

[Marjorie]

Beautiful, simply beautiful!

[Beck]

Wonderful story! And what your wrote about kids seeing their grandparents in a crowded space was so true for me - my own kids have been known to bolt across a crowded arena to get to theirs!

[Therese]

Thank-You Alice

[Beate]

What a wonderful, joy-filled post Alice :-) Thank you for sharing!

[Maria Ashwell]

Alice, visiting you is always a flower in my path. Thank you for my smile this morning.

[Kristen Laurence]

Thank you for the beautiful reminder, to notice the flowers around me. And ditto on what Maria said!

[Heather - NY]

Alice, I feel most of the time, our experiences in public life are cautionary tales for my children. It was wonderful to read such a positive story.
Love to all, Heather

[stef]

This is why I love coming here, Alice. You always lift up my spirits with your stories filled with so much joy and thankfulness!

[Kerri Roberts]

Thanks for your post. I don’t know if you’re familiar with Maya & Miguel, a show on PBS in the afternoons -- http://pbskidsgo.org/mayaandmiguel -- that emphasizes cultural diversity and language learning but I’m reaching out to talk to parents about the program as part of a marketing project I’m working on with Scholastic.

I found your post and thought I’d reach out to say hello and ask if you’d like to receive a free Maya & Miguel DVD. If you’d like to receive the DVD just email me at Kerri at boldmouth.com with your address and I’ll have it shipped it out to you.

If you do choose to blog about Maya & Miguel show or episodes on the DVD, please make it clear how you received the information. Our goal is to be open and honest with everyone we reach.

Kerri Roberts, BoldMouth

[Theresa ♥]

Your outing sounds so wonderful Alice. I would haved to have been there along with you all.