Incomer's Musings

By Louise Froggett

The flowers are starting to droop and fade, not surprisingly, since they’ve been in the vase on the bookcase for weeks now.  Soon I’ll discard them, but, in the meantime, I smile every time I think about their origin.

It was the evening of the Lighted Truck Parade.  The best of intentions went by the wayside and we didn’t manage to watch much of the parade from our balcony. All the time in the world suddenly morphed into stuffing down dinner and then flying around grabbing shoes and coats to go outside. Looking down from the eighth floor, the trucks seemed too far away, so I rushed down the hall, waited for the elevator, scurried out of the building and stood alongside Dallas Road. Wonderful, the trucks are right beside me now. Huh? It’s over…how can it be over, I just got here! Miffed, I went upstairs, washed the dinner dishes that were flung all over the kitchen, then prepared to go downtown.

The ground was shiny from an earlier rain and it was a lovely evening, just windy. We walked happily along Government, heading for the parade route where it would turn the corner beside the Empress. Music filled the air. Really. We came upon the “choir” marching up the street, boisterously (drunkenly) singing some sort of Christmas carol. There must have been 15 of them spread all over the sidewalk and part of the road. We smiled and stepped off the curb to go around them, offering greetings as we passed.

A young man rushed over to me and handed me a bouquet of flowers that he was carrying. “Here, you can have these,” he said. Surprised, I stammered, “Are you sure?” thinking he must be taking them to someone. “Look at these guys; you think I’m going to give flowers to one of them?” There were a few snickers in the background, so I guess I could see his point. I thanked him and we continued up the street, now taking flowers to the truck parade.

It was quite a juggling match, trying to take pictures and hold the flowers in the wind. Their little heads whipped all over the place and I envisioned arriving home with nothing but stems wrapped in cellophane. But, they survived, even though we walked all over downtown long after the last truck had passed. My hand was pretty cramped by the time we made the homeward trek from the far side of Chinatown. But the carnations and mums and some other I-don’t-know-what-it’s-called pink thing got home in one piece.

So, I’ve had a nice little bouquet on the bookcase, courtesy of a happy fellow singing with his friends.