Gnomes

I gave blood a couple weeks ago. The Red Cross frequently has a blood drive at the Kroger grocery store about a mile away. They pull up in their special RV, park in front of the store and a couple donors and a couple staff people can be inside at once, masked and safely distanced.

Krogers often have tons of plants out front for sale and those change with the seasons.

The young, Black nurse who was checking me in for my donation and I were sitting in a private room at the back of the RV. They ask quite personal questions before donating, hence the need for privacy.

She had a perfect view of the array of plants for sale in front of the Kroger through the little RV window.

“Are those gnomes?” she asked me, pointing toward the front of the store.

I leaned over her and peered out.

“I don’t see anything?” I said, having been expecting to see the little garden gnome statues.

“My dad told me I needed to get some gnomes to have on my porch for Fall.”

I looked again and saw the beauty of the “‘mums” spread across the displays in front of Kroger.

Then we had a glorious conversation about their beauty, and that they were actually “mums,” but in that way the mind does when it has decided something is called a certain thing, she continued to call them “gnomes.” And now they will forever be gnomes for me too because it makes me smile every time I think of it.