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Simple, clean, no complications.
Well, you can’t really call what happened in June a complication. Some might even call it poetic justice.
“My, your garden is beautiful, sweet pea.”
“It is, isn’t it. Look how nice the beets are coming up.”
“Your roses are as beautiful as you are, real prizewinners. I sure am puzzled, though. How did those forget-me-nots get in the rose beds? Did you plant them?”
“Yes, ah-h, they’re Mother’s favorite.”
“Too bad she isn’t here to see them. Have you heard from her lately?”
“Yes, got a letter from her yesterday. She loves Garden City. I guess you could say she’s blooming where she’s planted.”