Well, hello..

It’s my day off, so I thought I’d check in (and stop bloggily riding Wrong Hands’ coattails)!

Had a wonderful if brief weekend with eldest granddaughter who flew in from the midwest. We toured the harbor of Portsmouth out into the Atlantic toward the Isles on a cute little boat, and not only did we see history and lovely lighthouses, but also a harbor seal, a bald eagle and some sort of dolphin. We came back into harbor behind an enormous tanker being aided by the tugs. I have to wonder how much (little!) anything down there has changed since the late 1800s.

Our lilacs are nearly but not all the way in, so I had to bury my nose in one of our clients’ lilac clusters where no one could see, yesterday. O, lilacs…

Daughter has been coming to Mass with me on Sundays, lately, so we made a stop at Burlington’s new store after to spend our Mothers Day gift certificates from my son/her brother. New Balance walkers for me and some lovely perfume for her with change left over!

I’m not wild about being in Memorial Day traffic, so I’m thinking we’ll keep all of it local — Mass here, then a picnic/laze on the river I pass by each day on my route. It’s just so open, so serene, and perhaps not so on Sunday — we’ll see! I/we will go to the cemetery the following weekend; I’m pretty sure everyone will still be there (unfortunately). Perhaps I’ll get some grass seed into the ground, here, on Monday.

I hope you had a great weekend and have really exciting plans for the coming 3-day. Got family coming over? Ah, I hope so.





May fair

Now, a happy new-Spring shining;
piney cheeps and chirps abound
‘midst the early windless Sunday
blessed with little other sound.
Hopeful plans begin to beckon,
but if they should fail to flower,
there will still be all these lilacs
and God first, the brightest hour.








Had a wonderful Mothers Day — hope you did as well!  Middle daughter went with me to Mass in my old hometown, a place she has experienced but never lived in. She hadn’t been to this church since 1994 from which we buried my mother. It is even prettier, now, and I am thrilled to see that the choir loft and pipe organ and all the wood is the same as always. It has gained statuary, that’s really the only difference in prettiness.

After Mass we headed into downtown for a popover (and for me, lemon biscotti from my purse) and a coffee. The Irish store visit will wait until Saturday after our boat tour of the historic harbor — eldest granddaughter, now grown and very nearly a Skipper herself, is visiting from Thursday onward.

Everyone gathered here later for cookout steak tips, homemade potato salad and slaw, corn on the cob, and a dessert surprisingly good for all its dietary fatlessness — angel food cake slices with either cherries in syrup or vanilla pudding (or both..) and whipped cream. Someone brought rice crispie squares (some dipped in chocolate!). We all had fun — weather cooperated very well!

Today as I headed into my work site’s building, I saw the same ol’ sign on the bulletin board out near the gym. I always try to read it, but I am always never concentrating on reading it, as I’m not from that town. The header of the announcement says

Church without God? Believe it!

It went on to say there’s no God allowed in this church, etc., so freely come and enjoy, yada yada.

Hmm, I thought, a *church* without God?

Isn’t that the town bus?

Fortunately, my crabbypatty got sweetened by a bumper sticker I saw on the way home:

I used to be cool.

(I hear ya, buddy.)





Do whatever He tells you

The winter was not as harsh as some (most), but it was too long to be so mixed with the stunning, numbing state of the village — mixed with Trump’s constant anger, non-solutions, and this conscienceless Administration; mixed with cancer’s realities breaking into happy thoughts and too many plans; mixed with a dozen other heartward maladies in the family; mixed with a dozen other heartward maladies in a vanishing Christianity, America, and world.

It got to me.

I’m glad it did, but it has to be countered. I am trying to love the lilacs long, trying to be thrilled with the many clusters visibly forming now and fixing to bloom as always these many decades. There seems an awful imbalance to everything this year, but the blooms and birds and beasts and waterfalls seem unaffected by it all. Maybe there comes a day when, like a child, one has to learn equanimity from them.

Or, one could turn to Mary who also saw the world up close and devastatingly, who was swarmed by it yet never let it get to her but twice — once when He was 12, and once when He was 33. As I drove around my route on Friday, I thought of how the water is a number of shades of blue and the sky as well — and how it is that we associate the prettiest blue shades with Mary. Did He intend that — a reminder every day that there is a real, human (if Assumed) Mother to all this earth? Surely.

I don’t know what it is to others in the world or even in this one country, but May is the Church’s idea of Mary’s greatest month. I do know she never gives up on her children whom she received at the altar of our redemption. Has she a hope for this world, this nation, this family?

She is a mother, so, yes. Surely.




How do they know??

I’m flummoxed. I could tell that most clients on my route wanted to, but three or four of them wished me a very happy Mothers Day — confidently — though they don’t know for a fact that I have children!

What tipped them off? Is it the little convent car? The exhausted look in my eyes? Do I come across as motherly, somehow?? (Cyborgs are motherly?) Anyway, I’m mystified!

I was holding some work-related items for one of my deliverees until she got out of the hospital. She got out yesterday, but only into a hearse.  😦  I wasn’t expecting that. I hope she was, but I doubt it. She was only in her 90s. She has adult children… (Actually, there’s no such thing on a day like yesterday. No such thing.)

We’re having a 9th birthday party tonight, his big crazy one tomorrow, then we’ll all gather here on Sunday eve for Mothers Day festivities. The weather will cooperate better than today, at least! Another rainy, gray, hear-old-songs-and-moon day. Kinda fun.

I’m wishing all you moms and aunts and grandmothers and godmothers and caretakers a wonderful Day this weekend. (Two, if you can get ’em!)

❤ God bless you






Call your mothah

Mothers Day is creeping up on T-rex feet.. don’t let me see scores of you studiously perusing the greeting card section in every store this Saturday (AGAIN)!

Write her your own verse on a blank card (or computer paper), but more importantly, BE there. Just be there. She already knows you love her and that you mean well. Unless your mom is sitting in a nursing home or hospital, a card isn’t going to do much for her.

Go see her. Just be there. Even if she’s in the graveyard, now, be there. Smile for the blessings; and even if you didn’t or don’t get along, you’re here because of her.

Be there. Even if it has to be by phone call, yes.

Are we good?





Dresden? French? Sky?

The color blue I would like to describe is actually closer to the Google search bar’s Gg, and the rest of her sweater was edged in a bright white. Her hair and her teeth match that white, and with her pink cheeks, oh my, she looked exquisite.

She smiles always, all teeth all the time, her Dresden/French/Sky/Gg eyes lit up like you’ve just said something delightful, or she’s just thought something delightful, or maybe like God has said something funny.

She’s in her 90s, is my guess, and recently returned from the hospital. She’s getting around with one of those sit-down walkers (or walking sit-downers), and I was blown away by the color, style, and mind-sweep of her sweater contrasting with all the rest of her prettiness. I said as much, as I touched her sleeve. She said, “Well, we have to do everything we can to help ourselves heal.”

Back in my car and on the road to other deliveries, I repeated it to myself.

I’ve noticed that a lot of folks do something nice for their sidewalk strip of grass — tulips, daffys, sometimes whole little gardens of irises and lilies (and everything else I kill dead just by buying a plant) — and of course, that is for all of us. Toward our healing. Toward building happy children, too, and taller dachshunds.

However, what do we do to help heal ourselves? Can it be as simple as wearing something that utterly compliments our appearance, something that bounces into our peripheral vision off the cabinets, and perhaps off our very cheeks? Something we don’t mind answering the door in?

I never really think about healing myself, other than some big plan for being near/in/under water, which happens comfortably only a few weeks a year. Though I have indeed been longing for some long-stemmed something I always call cyclamen in my mind, but isn’t, in a lovely, ridiculously expensive, big understated hand-crafted vase on a plain wooden table. No cloth.. just Nature and Art. Mm-mm.

And I have indeed been planting things this year. Highly unusual. I wish I could say I’m planting them for others. My primary reason is me.  One Spring, I took a white tulip petal and felt it — with my face, my lips, my ears, so smooth and cool. Heavenly cool. To this day, I can recall every moment of it.

And sometimes, just the slatted morning sun making the kitchen floor fancier than usual, or the afternoon sun playing with lilac leaves behind a rice paper shade — all but making a Japanese painting — is deeply calming. Calming is always healing, isn’t it?

What effort toward bodily or spirits healing have you been secretly mulling over this Spring? It’s alright to take care of ourselves now and then. No, really — it IS! It’s actually crucial. We aren’t whole unless we’re whole. And surely only the healed can help lesser-healed others.