Last Friday night, fast on my way to Friday Night Nesting, I made an impromptu visit to a local wine shop for some Nesting Nourishment. Dandelion Wine in Greenpoint… it’s artsy and small and unassuming in a trendy we’re-not-trying-too-hard-because-we’re-Brooklyn kinda way.
Growing up I lived in a neighborhood where all the houses matched and the streets had real dead-ends (cul-de-sacs were for, like, the rich side of town). Our home was next door to a house that was rental property, inevitably leased by Virginia Tech grad students. They always loved us, we usually loved them. Very copacetic. However, one summer afternoon (I am 5-7 years old I think), the female roommate comes a’knockin. She’s making dandelion wine and wants to know if she can pick all the dandelions in our front yard. My mother, embarrassed they exist to begin with, overzealously approves, “Yes! Yes! By all means!” Wee frowning Pance, not too keen on the situation, is thinking… “She’s going to take all our FLOWERS away!” Mom recalls that I sat at the front door and cried the entire time, watching her pick every last one of our pretty yellow flowers.
Sigh. Grown-ups. They just can’t see the flowers for the weeds.
(Or maybe we’ve just had too much too drink.)