Yesterday afternoon we met some friends for lunch. Looking up through the large plate glass windows to the east, I could see Hope crossing the parking lot. Hope America is our three-year-old. Currently she is the baby of the family. I jumped from the chair and ran to the door. She was crossing the parking lot to get to her older sisters who were leaving for a little shopping. I called to her as I ran out the door.
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Lunch Hour in Utica
If my life were a movie I would fast-forward though Junior High. My Junior High years were painful. Like every Junior High kid I was dealing with awakening sexuality, and struggling with who I was and how I would make my mark in life. But I was sure I was alone with these strange feelings.
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Heidi’s Swing
Today I took Hope for a walk in the Arboretum near out house. We watched the water run over rocks beneath one of the little stone footbridges. We saw butterflies and listened to new birdsongs. We saw trees in the bud and in the blossom. (The Dogwoods opened this weekend. That calls for celebration). I held Hope’s soft chubby hand and we looked at tiny violets and dandelions. Hope thinks dandelions are beautiful flowers and gathered a bouquet for mom. She doesn’t know that most people consider them a nuisance.
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Missing the Point of Life
Have you ever heard of Keith Drury? He teaches at Indiana Wesleyan and every summer he goes on an adventure. Sometimes he goes alone, sometimes with his wife, often with students. It is tiring just to read about his adventures. He has hiked trails in America, Scotland, Greece and Turkey, rode bikes, paddled streams, last summer he even took a moped tour of the Smokies. Here’s a link if you don’t believe me.
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The Wisdom of “Old-Timers”
Last week was summer in Fremont. This week we are back to winter. Don’t you love Michigan? No time to get bored with the weather around here is there? I was out on a call last week and with the sun roof open getting sun on my head and enjoying the first natural warmth since about last September and noticed the brilliant yellow Forsythia blooming. Whenever the Forsythia bloom I remember something the old-timers used to say: “Three snows after the Forsythia bloom.”
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Dogwoods in Blossom
I love Dogwoods. They grow indigenous on the hillsides and in the woods where my people are from. Every spring the snow melts, the birds return, the violets spring up wild in the woods and in early May large white dogwood blossoms join the Trillium and pale green buds of the forest. Here in our part of Michigan they usually blossom around the second week of May. About the weekend of our annual men and boys camp-out and canoe trip you see them peeking through the wood on the way up north.
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