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Mrs. Sasina's Magic Zinnia Seeds
We cut down the lilacs in front of our house this week. They were planted years ago, little ‘suckers’ brought over in our kids’ wagon along with other flowers given us from a 90 year old neighbor lady, Emily Sasina. She lived in a little house on the alley a few steps away from us and we referred to her as the ‘flower lady’ because her tiny little house was surrounded by plantin
gs and seemed to be in constant bloom from the first growth of Spring to the onset of winter. When my girls and I used to pass her home on our walks up the alley to the grocery store, she would beckon us over to pull a weed or water a shrub or come in for a cookie. Her television blared away next to the front door letting us all know when the evening news had come on. From her chair facing the doorway, she kept tabs on the neighborhood, chuckling at the antics of everyday humanity. Above her chair was a clock that always read 5:17, the hour of her husband’s death. Despite private sorrows, hers was a cheery nature - maybe because she was always surrounded by flowers. She was one of those depression era holdovers who were skilled in making do with little and needing even less. On visits to her simple home, my children would practice their early social skills - sitting politely while we chatted, admiring her old lady collections of ceramic bunnies and greeting cards, fetching items, watering plants and later purchasing things at the sto
re for her on our errands. She walked less and less as she got older. I would see her bent figure on trash day hobbling with her cane, kicking a bag of garbage down the alley to the curb in front of her home. One summer day she made it all the way over to my house for a surprise visit. I was sewing in the kitchen and she sat and cooled off while telling me tales of the neighborhood. She admired the colorful Hawaiian shirts I was making at the time and I was glad to fashion one for her and
tickled to see her wear it. Every fall we clip and save the faded blooms of ‘Mrs. Sasina’s magic zinnias’ – sharing them with our friends and family. How better to honor her spirit than with such simple hardy flowers that bring color and joy year after year after year.
gs and seemed to be in constant bloom from the first growth of Spring to the onset of winter. When my girls and I used to pass her home on our walks up the alley to the grocery store, she would beckon us over to pull a weed or water a shrub or come in for a cookie. Her television blared away next to the front door letting us all know when the evening news had come on. From her chair facing the doorway, she kept tabs on the neighborhood, chuckling at the antics of everyday humanity. Above her chair was a clock that always read 5:17, the hour of her husband’s death. Despite private sorrows, hers was a cheery nature - maybe because she was always surrounded by flowers. She was one of those depression era holdovers who were skilled in making do with little and needing even less. On visits to her simple home, my children would practice their early social skills - sitting politely while we chatted, admiring her old lady collections of ceramic bunnies and greeting cards, fetching items, watering plants and later purchasing things at the sto
tickled to see her wear it. Every fall we clip and save the faded blooms of ‘Mrs. Sasina’s magic zinnias’ – sharing them with our friends and family. How better to honor her spirit than with such simple hardy flowers that bring color and joy year after year after year.
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