Mary [Ekholm] Francis
(c) 1994
The tiny tree grew in a landscaped tray on the window ledge where it had set for as long as she could remember. Lyn always thought of toy poodles when she saw the tree all clipped and curled and bushed out in puffs here and there. She would rather have something real to pet and play with. �Grandfather?� she called toward the kitchen.
�The tea is almost ready. Sit down, Lyn. Sit down.� When the old man said her name it sounded like Lee-ann. She shook her head. He was a dear old man, but he wasn�t part of the American 1990s.
�Let me help you with the tray.� She took a step toward him as he came out of the kitchen.
�No, Lyn.�
There was that Lee-ann sound again. She gave a mental sigh and sat on the low couch. "Grandfather, you have been sick again. Why won�t you go to the nursing home? Then you wouldn�t have to cook or clean or any of those things.�
�I have to take care of my family.�
�They�re just plants, Grandfather, bushes and funny little trees.�
�They are my family. They are your family. It is time you learned how to care for them.�
Lyn tried to picture herself fussing with watering, fertilizing, and repotting. She was fairly successful until she got to the ancient tree in the front window. As she imagined herself clipping that strange, green poodle, she almost giggled. �I don�t have a green thumb, Grandfather. I can�t take care of your plants.�
�You do not need a green thumb.� The old man frowned at her. �You need more respect for your ancestors.�
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