A few snippets. It’s been a while.

OUTSIDE THE WINDOW of a friend’s kitchen on Monday, forsythia! She says it never stopped, the whole winter. That’s how mild it’s been.

* * *

I’VE BEEN ASKED the same question several times this week and I don’t mind one bit, but in case anyone else is wondering, here’s the answer: “Very well. His counts have returned to normal ranges.” After the weekly runs to Columbus ended in January, it slipped off main stage.

I plan to rewrite all the leukemia posts, tighten them up.

* * *

TWICE in one week I find myself in situations where I am “in my element.” It takes me by surprise, both times. I think it would nice to be able to wrap that feeling up and give it as a gift to people. It’s something a lot of people could use and I would like to tuck several instances away in my bag, to pull out and distribute, as needed. Just a random thought, that. (And gifting is not even my love language.)

* * *

ON THE LEVEE yesterday afternoon, a car pulled in so slowly I wondered if the driver was coasting on fumes. Heads barely visible above the dash. I went back to my book. But later saw they’d come to feed the ducks. An outing. A date. A bag of bread. They held hands going down and climbing back up. Sweet.

* * *

SUN creeps up earlier and earlier these days and streams across a just-made bed. Photo opp.


The Plants in the Sink and a Marriage Retreat

THIS IS ONE OF THOSE ACTIVITIES that goes on here that nobody else sees, the plants gathered together at the kitchen sink, brought from all corners of the house.  They always seem to look healthy enough without effort, but there is this intentional tending, the every-now-and-again 15 minutes of looking-over, trimming and feeding. A small slice of time.

I think they are happiest here, close to water and light, but it’s impractical for them to remain.

Living things benefit from on-purpose attention.
We’re off to a marriage retreat this weekend. Same basic idea.



under her grade school team photo
and prepare to address invitations.
Looking forward.

Oh, there will be
extensive pen wrestling
(until the right one is found)
and practice
on pads of paper off to the side
and then…
…then I’ll fiddle some more
before putting pen to envelope,
holding my breath.

I glance up at the photo,
looking back,
remembering afternoons spent on gymnasium bleachers.
And then I return to task.

All this looking forward and looking back,
it’s all part of the process,
an important part.

All this pen and paper
in a quiet room
at the back of the house
is part of my
and turning
and looking back
and watching for her, looking forward, to appear,
to make the long trip down a short aisle
across all the years that have gone before.

Already for me,
the sounds of that day,
the first chords.
I hear them.

I am savoring every bit of it.

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