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I Love Dandelions

I Love Dandelions

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Published by jules
well... i do!!
well... i do!!

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Published by: jules on Mar 28, 2009
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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I love dandelions! I remember my Grandmother showingme how to blow their soft fluffy heads and make a wish. Iused to wish I could stay with her forever. The idea of living with her in her tiny house making cakes, walking tothe small village exactly one mile away and returninghome with more books from the local second hand bookstore was compelling. We would gather sheep’s wool fromthe barbed wire fence and she would help me spin theseinto tiny skeins of wool. My dolls had tiny sweaters shehelped me knit.I remember my mother explaining the word dandelionmeant ‘tooth of the lion’ in French and showing me thebeauty of the flower shape that recalled that name. It wasa short step from there to ‘coeur de lion’ and the story of the troubadour’s love for his golden headed king. Mymother believed dandelions should be called lions headsnot lions teeth and I believed her.I love dandelions because of a gloriously beautiful GreatDane puppy named Molly who loved them as well. Shewould hunt them on our walk, always surprised by themwhen she found them and a little worried they mightattack. She would creep up on them and nuzzle them withher huge lips until the fluff came free and then she wouldblow. I’m sure she giggled as she watched them floataway. Sometimes a few would get stuck under her lip andshe would stalk crossly until I realised what was wrong andfolded up her lip to release them. Great Dane lips areanother reason to believe that god ((assuming theexistence of such a being)) has a sense of humour andprobably enjoys the idea of banana skins as well.My mother peeled a banana when she was driving onceand released the skin from her window. It floated elegantlyfor some little distance until it landed spread eagled onthe windscreen of the car following behind us and intofamily legend for all time. At dinner conversations in lateryears when the banana skin was mentioned my motherwould always grin wickedly and state emphatically theman driving the car behind was obviously too close andhad nobody to blame but himself for what had happened.

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