My Grandpa's Roses

"So, I walked for an hour through two feet of snow just to get to school in the morning, and those were some of the finest times." My grandpa was always telling me stories from his childhood when I'd make even the slightest complaint about one of my daily routines.

"You kids drive all those gosh darn fast cars all the time and do a million things a day. Sometimes I wonder if you'll ever stop to smell the roses."

"Oh, Grandpa. I know, but I had to walk so far to get here, and now I'm going to have to walk all the way home when I leave," I said. But for some reason, the overused cliché Grandpa brought up struck me in a curious manner, and I pondered over it for a few seconds. "Well, what do you mean?" I asked him.

This was only the third time in almost five months that I'd come by to see my grandpa. He lived two blocks away.

Grandpa then related back to all the exciting experiences he'd once had during the earlier years of his life. He reminded me of many stirring encounters that occurred on his way to his friend's house as a child, like the spine-tingling shortcuts he would take through the old cemetery on the hill above his house. I realized that this was something that the astonishing transportation of today would most certainly eliminate. He reminisced about the days when time progressed without the speeding assistance of technology.

"All those new gizmos and gadgets out there are sure making life a whole lot easier and convenient for everyone, and I'm certainly glad to have them. But then again, time just races by because things can now be done so effortlessly. If you're not careful, you might be missing out on some of the best times in your life, honey. Heck, you hardly have anytime for your old Gramps anymore,...

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...ed stood just in front of me. I smiled, bent over, and took a gigantic whiff of the beautiful scent. Glancing back toward the house, I saw Grandpa from his window. He was motioning for me to wait there, so I immediately looked in my backpack for my cell phone, pager or anything else I could have possibly forgotten.

Just then, Grandpa came out of the front door with a pair of old pruning shears that were aged in rust. Without saying a word, he slowly staggered over to the garden by where I was standing. Carefully avoiding the thorns, Grandpa clipped off three of the roses and placed them into my backpack. At that moment, their radiance seemed to completely mask the clutter surrounding them.

Touched by the situation, I looked over at Gramps.

With a quick wink, he said to me, "There, honey. You didn't just stop to smell the roses. Now you can keep a few too."