by jphilo | May 5, 2011 | Daily Life
Most of the year, the view from east our bedroom window is run-of-the-mill.
Our lawn.
The neighbor’s driveway.
The rise of a hill and woods in the distance.
But for a few days each spring, our view is a thing of beauty…
If a warm March doesn’t lure the magnolia buds to become vulnerable too early.
If a hard April frost doesn’t destroy the emerging blossoms.
If a wayward May frost doesn’t nip the delicate, fully opened flowers.
This cold spring held the magnolia tree captive until the end of April.
When the sun finally coax the timid blossoms into bright and glorious bloom.
When my mother was here, sleeping in our bedroom with the magnificent view.
When we slept upstairs, the lovely flowers out of our sight line.
“That magnolia tree is lovely,” she said.
“I like to lay in bed and look at it,” she said.
“It is so pretty,” she said.
The wind blew on the day she left.
The tree limbs waved in greeting as we moved into our room with the view.
The next morning I photographed the sight.
The morning after that a glittering, May frost covered the ground.
The magnificent view was gone for another year, maybe longer.
Except for in my mother’s world.
For her, the view is still unsullied.
For her, the tree still blooms bright and pink.
For her, the sun still streams through the east window.
In her memory, perfection remains.
May it always be.
by jphilo | May 3, 2011 | Daily Life
Today’s recycled post revisits a controversy that caused great excitement during it’s first airing in May of 2008. The whole issue is a moot point around here, because it the last three years, the spruce trees around the former asparagus patch won the battle for supremacy. The patch pictured above is no more (insert my happy dance here), and though I graciously suggested starting a new one, Hiram decided against it.
So, my only reason for broaching the topic is to stir up controversy. I’m curiously waiting to see if my asparagus-loving friends will notice and make rabid comments either here at the blog or on Facebook. Let the fun begin!
In Pursuit of Truth – Recycled
A certain percentage of this blog’s readers are vegetable activists. If you’ve read their comments in defense of asparagus, you know what I mean. So you may be thinking I took this picture of emergent asparagus in order to curry the favor of this small but very vocal minority. That’s simply not true.
I took this picture because I figured someday I may write another recipe column about asparagus. Most of the column will be a hoax. The recipe will be tested months in advance with alien asparagus, beamed in from who knows where. And I’ll be lying through my teeth about how delicious asparagus is. The least I can do is use a my own, personal file photo of Iowa grown asparagus.
Now you know why I was prone on the dewy grass in our yard early yesterday morning, camera in hand. I was not pandering to vegetable activists. I was pursuing truth and justice, at any price.
And if anyone knows how to get grass stains out of sweat pants, please contact me immediately.
by jphilo | Apr 28, 2011 | Daily Life
Yesterday’s Time Capsule Opening was a strange mixture of endings and beginnings. The graduating seniors who gathered were Bryant Elementary fourth graders in 2002-2003, my last year of teaching. Until this spring, the students returned to Bryant to open the capsule.
But not this year because Bryant School is no longer open. So we gathered in the new, bright, and sunny lunch room at Franklin School instead. The seniors were so busy thinking about graduation and parties and new beginnings, they barely noticed. Plus, they were having too much fun looking through old pictures, sharing memories, and discovering what they put in the Time Capsule to get all mushy and maudlin.
I, on the other hand, felt like a kid in uncomfortable, new clothes that didn’t quite fit. This place wasn’t the well-worn school where we made fourth grade memories. Seven years older, the little children I taught and loved for nine months barely peeked out from beneath whiskered cheeks and prom sun tans.
Their eyes are on the future.
Their hearts are full of hopes and dreams.
Their lives are full of beginnings, not endings.
For me, this spring filled with endings: the end of time capsules, the end of graduation invitations from former students, the end of Bryant School, which will soon be demolished.
I am ready for this ending, as ready as these brave young people are for the end of this phase of their lives. I just need a moment to cry and savor these sweet and tender endings. Then, I’ll learn one more lesson from these fresh and lovely students.
With them, I’ll look at the future,
examine new hopes and dreams,
concentrate on beginnings rather than endings.
With them, I’ll finally graduate from public school.
by jphilo | Apr 19, 2011 | Daily Life
Last week’s stay-cation was not a rousing success. One thing after another nibbled away at the time set aside to think and dream and relax. Not exciting things like being whisked to New York for an interview on the Today Show or a call from a publisher begging me to sign a multimillion dollar contract to write books about whatever tickles my fancy.
No, some of the nibblers were expensive things,
like getting new tires on the car after Hiram said the old ones were a bit dangerous.
Some of them were sad things,
like sitting with a friend who received devastating news.
Others were necessary things,
like grocery shopping and picking up the dry cleaning.
So here I am at the start of a new week, not feeling one whit refreshed, rejuvenated or inspired. In fact, I was tempted to pout – okay, I did pout – this weekend. But at this morning’s Community Holy Week Service, something drove the pout right out of me.
During the service, a woman stood up to sing her solo.
The person in charge of the sound system punched the button to start the accompaniment. No sound.
She tried again.
No sound.
Someone from the congregation went to consult.
No sound.
The soloist made a phone call for more instructions.
Still no sound.
Finally they gave up.
No solo.
What did the members of the congregation do while all this was going on? At first, they chuckled nervously. Then they started visiting. Soon, every pew hummed with subdued, good-natured conversation.
Wide-eyed, I watched this display of civility. Why weren’t the guys throwing spit wads and the gals passing notes while the teacher tried to resolve the technical snafu? Why weren’t the kids complaining “No fair, no fair,” when instead of watching the promised movie they read then pages in their science books? Why weren’t they passing gas and faking flu symptoms in vain attempts to be excused to go to the restroom? Why weren’t they trying to eat their teacher alive?
I remembered the hard and wonderful days of teaching elementary school,
how my students’ needs left me drained at the end of each day,
how I was too tired each evening to write the books growing inside me,
how by the end of the week, it felt like my creativity had been eaten alive,
again and
again and
again.
My stay-cation pout ended.
I left the service grateful for last week’s unmet expectations,
grateful for this week when I can write to my heart’s content,
grateful for every teacher in every classroom,
grateful for their sacrifices at the altar of our nation’s children,
grateful no one was eaten alive this morning during the technical snafu,
grateful.
by jphilo | Apr 18, 2011 | Daily Life
I’m not very happy with God today.
Several dear friends are hurting deeply,
and they will continue to hurt for a long, long time.
I spent part of today with one of them,
but couldn’t make the hurt go away.
Last night, I spent a long time on the phone with a young mom.
Her infant son and only child is hospitalized, unable to stop retching.
Her heart is broken, her sobs were wrenching,
and I couldn’t make the hurt go away.
Another mom emailed today about her five-year-old daughter who has PTSD.
She wanted advice about what course to take,
where to seek treatment,
how to make her daughter’s hurt go away.
This poor mom thinks I can give her a glimmer of hope.
But how can I help her when I can’t make my friends’ hurts go away?
When I can’t mend a mother’s broken heart?
When I can’t shield a child from pain?
Through it all, the source of my hope remains silent.
His word says he will bring good from what was meant for evil.
His work in my life confirms that promise.
But when will the hurt go away?
I’m not very happy with God today.
Still, I will trust him.
by jphilo | Apr 11, 2011 | Daily Life
A couple weeks ago, I took a meal over for a friend of mine – a mother of 6 who broke her wrist quite badly. Now, I stand in awe of this woman even when her wrist isn’t broken. I barely survived raising 2 kids, but she makes caring for her 6 kids look so easy. And she’s still sane.
Amazing.
Over the years, I’ve learned to listen when this woman talks. Still, she surprised me when I dropped off the meal. “Thanks so much,” she said. “This is a really busy time for you.”
Though she was right – that week, the book deadline and the speaking engagement were breathing down my neck. “So,” she persisted, “After your book is in, are you going to take some time off?”
Though I couldn’t see my expression, I’m pretty sure it was a blank stare. ‘Cause all I could think was, That’s nothing compared with what you do every day of the year. I am such a slouch and a whiner to boot. “A break?” I stammered. “Why would I take a break?”
She smiled. “In the last 12 months, you’ve had two weddings and written a book. You need some time off.”
Told you she’s an amazing woman.
If anyone else had given me that advice, I would have scoffed. But not this one. If she says I need a break, I need a break. So I am officially declaring this as my week off. I’m gonna
do what I want to do around the house,
spend some time shopping,
visit a book store,
frequent coffee shops.
One year ago today, I was dancing at my son and new daughter’s wedding. Today I’m kicking off my stay-cation by cleaning my car and buying humus and pita chips for lunch.
What would my amazing woman friend would think of the agenda? I don’t know.
All I know is that it’s not two weddings and a book. Which makes it the break I need. Let the fun begin!
