Crepe Myrtle? Go Ask Alice.

Jerry's mother's name was Alice.  She's been gone since 1999 but she lives on in every single experience we have.  If I am limited to only one word to describe what Alice meant to me, that word would be "joy."

NORWAY 1998.
I ONCE SAID I LEARNED HOW TO APPRECIATE LIFE THE DAY I MET ALICE.

Ever since we began planning our move to Sevilla, we have often commented on how excited (and nervous) this entire adventure would make Alice and how supportive and happy she would be for us.  A sighting last week of a flowering tree in Sevilla gave me another reason to smile and feel Alice's presence.

Alice visited us everywhere we lived. We took vacations together a few times over the years and even took her back to Norway in 1998 to see the country her parents had emigrated from.  But this post is not about the return to Norway (which was magical), this is simply a story about flowering trees.  And the story began for us in Washington, D.C. in 1984.

It was Alice's first trip to see us in Washington, D.C., and her first visit to the capital.  We decided to take a drive (about 3 hours south) to Williamsburg, Virginia.  As we drove out of town, Alice noticed a beautiful, small tree covered in pink flowers.

"What's that tree?" she asked.

We had no idea.

We headed down to Williamsburg, checked into our hotel, and began our walking tour of the historic park.  A few minutes after we entered the park, Alice exclaimed excitedly, "There's that tree again!  I'm going to ask one of those guides if they know what it is."

She hustled over to two women in traditional (18th-century) dress and then came hustling back to us.

"It's Crepe Myrtle," she said.  "Or was it Grape Myrtle.  Oh, shoot!"  And she hustled back over to the guides and asked again.

"Crepe Myrtle," she confirmed. In typical Alice fashion, she now knew both of the guides by name.

We continued our walking tour, visiting each historic building along the way.  The trees were everywhere.  "What's the name of that tree, again?" Alice asked every time we spotted one.  I finally said, "Alice, maybe you just should use some kind of trick to remember it."

She said, "Good idea.  It's a fabric and a woman I bowl with."

IT'S EVERYWHERE.

About five minutes later, we passed another tree.  "What's that tree again?" asked Alice.

"What was your trick?"

"I don't remember," but she smiled so I knew she did.

"It's a fabric and a woman you bowl with."

"Oh, that's right," she smiled again and then announced, "Polyester Ethel!"  Cute.

Jerry said, "Mother, why don't you just write it down."  She did so.  Problem solved.

The next day, during our drive back to Washington, D.C., we could hear Alice in the backseat frantically searching her bag.  "Oh, shoot!"

"What's the matter?" Jerry asked.

"I threw out that empty box of film I wrote the name of that tree on!"

SIMPSON'S NURSERY, JAMUL, CALIFORNIA. (FROM THEIR WEBSITE)

Twelve years later, Alice was visiting us in San Diego (we had moved four times since that drive to Williamsburg).  We were living in a wonderful old (for San Diego) house and we were spending most weekends landscaping and gardening.  Our favorite nursery was Simpson's, about 20 minutes outside San Diego in the town of Jamul (pronounced Ha-MOOL).  We were there at least once every weekend.  The place was so huge that you would drive the lanes of trees and shrubs, load up your car, and then drive up front to pay.  We were looking for a smallish tree for our front yard.  We headed up one row and Alice spotted a tree she liked.  "What's that one?" she asked.  Jerry pulled up so I could read the tag, but before I did we burst out laughing and Alice said, "Oh no!" Of course it was Crepe Myrtle.

THE WORK IN PROGRESS, SAN DIEGO IN THE '90s.

Monday, while we waited outside the Office of Extranjeros, I noticed some small trees just beginning to display their puffs of pink flowers.  Crepe Myrtle.  Alice is here.

EARLY MONDAY MORNING AT THE PLAZA DE ESPAÑA.