It was during the time that my wife and I were raising our children, well, not really our children, but our vegetables. We were growing tomatoes and bell peppers

near the front porch.

 

 We had decided to plant a Q tip and see what it would grow. With great optimism, we pre-staked the Q tip: That is what you do with tomato plants when they get so bountiful that they need extra support for their stems in order to hold those great big beautiful tomatoes; which, with one slice, will completely cover the mayonnaised bread of a BLT sandwich.

 

We placed a two foot wooden stake in the ground and then wound some string around it to carefully hold the Q tip near the top of the stake. We cultivated the ground all around the stake, mixed in some peat moss, and saturated the area with Miracle Grow. Then on a daily basis, we watered and talked lovingly to the Q tip. We even learned to pet him; ever so gentle on his top daub.

 

After only a few days, we became so attached to the Q tip that we simply had to

give it a personal name. We decided on Sir Quincy Velvet Tongue. Nick names

were bound to result from such pomposity. Carolyn called him Cue Cue; I tended

 to call him Tungey.

 

Each morning I would run to the front door and say, "Good morning Tungey, did you have a good sleep?" or "Hello Tungey, you’re looking good." Carolyn, waking up about an hour later, and knowing that I had recently checked on Tungey, would stretch her arms over her head and sleepily say, "Good morning sweetheart, how

is Cue Cue doing?"

 

Then one glorious morning, while I was greeting Tungey, I noticed that a vibrantly green tomato-plant-like runner had woven its way through the string, up the wooden stake, and into to the base of Tungey. There were shades of green life in both ends of Tungey's slim double dauber body. Upon closer examination, it was clear that the runner had entered Tungey's base and then had begun to sprout out into the air; with obvious plans to flourish and then bloom tasty rewards for its creators.

 

Ah, "creators". We were creators. The very word had such a nice ring to it when spoken with an upper-class English accent; a la Richard Burton.

 

As the plant flourished through and around Tungey, we learned to communicate with him in more ways than simple greetings. However, these simple greetings, by themselves, were awe inspiring. We would wave at him, and, he would wave back by leaning his head outward from the stake and then returning it back from whence it came. We soon learned to interpret his messages, not by his verbalization, but by the way he waved at us.

 

For example: If he waved hurriedly two times in a row, it meant that he had good news for us in the form of new tasty tomatoes. If he waved his top daub out in the air and held it there for a while, it meant his soil needed watering. If he waved his

top daub sideways it meant that he was having a so-so day, but he was hanging in there with some optimism.

 

Then one horrible day, not the day, but the event of that day:

 

A friend of mine came visiting. He had brought his 8 year old granddaughter.