After spending the morning opening and the afternoon in full bloom, our lovely wide-open peony witnessed the kindness of strangers. A woman in our neighborhood had seen my son fall on his bike, and she bandaged him up, put his bike in her car, and brought him home with his bike. What a sweet lady! I thanked her, we introduced ourselves — she told me her name was Innie (like the belly-button).
A while later, after the bike had been put back in the shed and the boy had been attended to, it occurred to me that I had flowers to offer her. So, I went to the garden and cut three flowers, one was the first bloom of the season. Into a mason jar they went. I packed up some freshly made lavender mint goat’s milk soap, and headed off in her general direction.
Once on her street, I drove slowly looking for a white minivan. I turned around and made another sweep, a woman out mowing her lawn gave me a few nervous glances. (I was wearing my crazy Wizard of Oz sunglasses, oops, I guess I was a bit suspicious.) I stopped at a house with a white minivan and got out with my gifts. Rang the doorbell.
A man answered and I told him my mission. He said, “I’ve got a wife named Annie.”
I latched on to that, put the clues together, and said, “I must have heard her wrong, then. She just helped my son, and I wanted to thank her.”
"Oh, no, that couldn’t have been my wife. She’s been deceased for over a year now." Silence. Wrong house.
"Here, sir, you enjoy these flowers in honor of your Annie. And have a good rest of your evening, sorry to bother you." He looked at the jar of flowers, a bit surprised, but took them and smiled, thanked me. I watched the peonies go with him into the dark house.
I did end up finding Innie, and she loved her soap.