What a glorious time of year this is! We have just had a generous helping of the beginning blooming season here in Tennessee. But now the recent storms have de-frocked the fruit trees and forsythia blossoms. What’s left behind is a teeming multitude of tiny leaves bursting forth on trees, bushes, and even in the monkey grass, too.

You can almost hear things growing. And there is a fuzzy green tint to every landscape view. The clean scent to the air helps everything feels soft and comforting, even when there’s a bit of a chill in the morning air.

I’m grateful for this renewal of life. The dormant winter season is not my favorite, but it does offer a counterpoint and a perfect set up for this rejuvenation of Spring.

Difficult seasons of life are not my favorite, either – health issues, financial concerns, relationship struggles. But again, once they are past, the “better days” are more appreciated in contrast to the trials that often precede them.

I am always grateful to Two Writing Teachers for sponsoring and organizing this Slice of Life gathering, and I continue to be encouraged (and challenged) by the slicers who observe, reveal, and respond so eloquently each day.

Congrats to all leaders and participants for another wonderful month of March writing!

Our granddaughter started soccer when she was three. Started, not started playing. Her gentle sweet spirit would not let her be comfortable enough to get out into the fray of running and kicking. So she spent that first season on the sidelines, or collapsed in tears on the field on the occasion when her parents encouraged (forced) her to actually go into the game.

She is ten now, and in the intervening years she has become quite the soccer player. She often plays goalie, and does very well. Her anxiety level is MUCH diminished, and her confidence has allowed her to truly enjoy the sport.

Her younger brother has spent many soccer games rolling around in the grass and even wandering off the field mid-game to find the snacks. But that is a story for another time.

Now our granddaughter is also playing softball. She is an accomplished first baseman and doesn’t let much get by her. She is a strong batter, too. Last year she pitched some, but that made us all nervous, especially her. She is leaving that to her teammates these days.

This year she “moved up” and is playing in an older, tougher, BIGGER league. Even the softball size is bigger. And now the runners can steal bases. She has left her anxiety behind and loves the competition (although it keeps us on the edge of our seats).

Last week she played her first game in this older league. A double header in fact, and her team won both games, so it was a good start to a new season.

And at the end of that second game, with the score tied, she stepped up to bat. There were two outs and the bases were loaded.

This girl – our confident, skilled granddaughter – this girl hit a GRAND SLAM!!!

Here’s something to think about:

Most of my life has been spent doing what was expected, thinking what others were thinking, striving for conformity and blending in. I spent years teaching children and trying to instill in them a desire to also – and always – do the “right” thing. Follow the course and stay on track.

And for the most part they did. They followed orders and tried to learn – and I was told to teach only what was prescribed. Now, alas, choosing the right multiple choice answer is considered much smarter than any critical thinking. So sad! I bemoaned this long after my retirement.

Then five years ago the world took a different tilt, and that’s when all my thinking started to change. New ideas slammed their way into my head, and I spent a lot of time trying to reason things through. Cultural sameness seemed more like an echo chamber than real life.

The Pollyanna in me had trouble confronting these ideas, yet deep inside I knew there had to be substance here. Being mainstream no longer was my goal: instead, I just wanted to find more of that truth.

I am now amazed at how many people take things as they come, at face value, without question.

Without thinking.

Others would probably say I am someone who always has an opinion. Which is true. (And that indicates that I am thinking!) And yes, I believe my opinion is right. Honestly, if I didn’t think certain ideas were correct, why would I have that as my opinion? But having an opinion doesn’t have to be the same as being a contrarian, does it?

Here’s an example of thinking through something commonly accepted: I encouraged my children to consider “tolerance” when they were younger. Against the grain, I would tell them that tolerance is highly overrated. Everyone was speaking it, but who actually lived it? And was it truly the right thing to do?

Webster defines it as “the ability or willingness to allow the occurrence of something without interference, in particular the existence of opinions or behavior that one does not necessarily agree with.” I would propose that if you truly believe someone is doing the wrong thing, then “tolerating” them is merely saying, “I know you are wrong but I don’t care enough about you to try to show you another, better way.”

Recently I heard it said that the church’s job is to bring truth into the culture. I totally agree – we are told to do just that in the Bible. But are we, as the church (people) doing our job very well? 1 Timothy warns against church leaders who, “set themselves up as experts on religious issues, but haven’t the remotest idea of what they’re holding forth.” As we listen, we must think – and pray.

And there’s the news. Mainstream Media as they are called. It’s gotten to the point where I don’t watch or listen at all anymore. I no longer choose to be lied to and talked down to. There are other ways to find out what’s going on in the world.

So I guess I have always been a bit of a different thinker, though not quite a conspiracy theorist. But in a way I’ve always been willing to consider new ideas, even when I was working hard to maintain status quo with the rest of the world around me.

And yet, especially now, I really do like to listen to or read others’ ideas and I am open to new ways of looking at things – strongly defended views that bring about good rather than evil. My mind isn’t always made up. I have learned many new things this way, and yes, even changed my opinions from time to time.

When I encounter someone who shows evidence of a life well pondered – and since I am a Christian, I would also say a life being Spirit led – and especially when that someone is well-spoken (much more eloquent than I am), I am encouraged and enlightened.

Let’s all think on these things.

An example about the importance of thinking:

When a teacher once said to me (I was the reading specialist), “Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it,” I was stricken.

We had some “reading wars” going on in the district at the time, with expectations swinging on the pendulum between phonics and comprehension instruction. Unfortunately no middle ground was allowed, and the new director was trying to impose his almost religious views across the system.

So I answered her with an emphatic, “No! You have been teaching for almost 30 years. You know what is right and what works with your students. THAT is what I want you to do – what you believe is best and not what someone else tells you to do.”

I believe it is so important to be a participant in our own belief system, not just a recipient of others’ ideals. A friend once commented to me that a group we knew was just a bunch of sheep, wandering without a shepherd, not able to think for themselves. A sad state indeed.

On the table beside my bed I keep a collection of pictures of the special “girls” in my life.

These are photos of grandmothers, mothers, aunts, daughters, and granddaughters. All family, all precious to me.

I could add pictures of girlfriends who are like family as well.

(Our son “made the cut” as the only male because he gave me that box when he was young, and had it inscribed “From your loving son,” even though the young clerk at the store where he purchased it said, “You don’t want to do that.” To which he replied, “Yes, I do.”)

There’s a gift in each twinkle of an eye, each gentle smile. Blessings upon blessings. I am so thankful!

The “things of this world” have an appeal to (almost) all of us, in differing degrees. The culture of today exerts its influence powerfully, with advertisements and enticements. Some are almost irresistible. And not all worldly things are inherently bad.

I am guilty of focusing on material things – probably most all of us are. But in times of illness or concern, those quickly take a back seat when we are forced to realize what really matters.

Recently I have had a mental image of Gulliver when, in his travels, he found himself bound by tiny Lilliputian strings that, by their number and placement, held him tight.

My thoughts have been that the things of this world – such as houses, decor, fashion, wealth, status, and knowledge – become like those strings and can be tying us down. Even good things, like service, health, and even friends and family, can bind us in ways we don’t even realize.

Yet beauty and truth lie in things beyond us, things we haven’t created and idolized. The Bible tells us to, “Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things.” (Colossians 3:2) The beautiful old hymn says that when we turn our eyes upon Jesus, “the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace.”

So today, and each day as it comes, I am striving to focus on the more important things. Being in nature helps with that, as does spending time with loved ones, and taking every opportunity to give thanks for the bigger blessings that have eternal value.

I am grateful for my time here in this beautiful world, and that is a gift – as long as we keep it all in perspective.

More and more as I get older, I find that many of our friends and acquaintances are getting replacement parts. So far all I have are some crowns on my teeth, but you never know when things can change.

My aunt got her first new knee in her 80’s, and she said she would never do it again. But a few years later the pain in the other leg caused her to “never say never” and have the second knee replaced. I have a friend who has had two replaced hips, one replaced knee and one replaced shoulder.

Many of our friends have children that are all grown up now and are in the business of promoting these new parts. Several of them go into the operating room with the doctors to demonstrate how the “product is installed.” It’s a brave new world.

Today I have a friend receiving a new shoulder and another getting a new knee. Later this week a “writing friend” is getting her second replacement knee. It’s a busy week for updating body parts.

Also today I learned that a friend is in need of a heart transplant, and will remain in the ICU until one is available. This is a whole new level of new parts. I find it hard to imagine.

I am praying for all these friends – for their doctors, for their surgeries, for their days following these procedures, for their peace of mind, and for all those who will help them on the road to recovery. Lord be with them and heal them as only You can.

I was a little late this year, but I always like to get a good look at an area near our home that makes me think what it must look like to live in the clouds.

This is a spot next to an entrance to the interstate that has not yet been built on. Just like everything else in our growing county, I am sure that someday – hopefully not too soon – it will succumb to development along with so many other places nearby.

But for now, it remains intact. During most of the year it looks simply like a slightly wooded area, but in the spring it becomes simply magical with oodles of many blooming trees.

Like living in the clouds!

It has been three years now since we bought our current home. Before we moved into it, we did a thorough remodel. It needed it! The former owners, who had lived here for 40 years, kept things well maintained, but they did not update the inside spaces – floors, counters, etc.

We were blessed to have a competent and talented craftsman to lead the construction work. When there were tasks he could not do himself, he called on friends or work acquaintances to complete them. He was as careful to choose good workers for those jobs (tile, drywall, etc.) as he was meticulous in the work he did himself.

From time to time I like to look back at pictures from that time and see “where we were” on the same date in 2022. Although I don’t have any pictures dated March 23, here are two from early April 2022. At the time, when we saw this, we were delighted with the progress being made. Now, looking back, we are thankful we are far beyond these stages.

It’s all a matter of perspective.

There’s an old dogwood tree in our front yard. It is not very healthy looking, yet it endures. The buds are swelling these days, with the promise of prolific flowering. But each year we clip off dead limbs, and during the summers we sadly watch leaves shrivel in different areas of its branches.

Its location in the yard is off-center and its shape is far from symmetrical. Someone once planted buttercups around it, but only their foliage reappears in the spring. The bark is moss and lichen covered, and there is evidence of insect invasion in places. And still… it returns to life each spring.

Each year we wonder if we should cut it down, but we can’t bring ourselves to do so. The bluebirds love to perch there in the mornings and late afternoons and sing as they watch the world go by. Recently our grandson demonstrated his tree-climbing skills in its branches. Our yard would not look right without it there. As long as it remains, it is part of who we are.

Carry on, old friend, carry on.

A good friend of mine has a loved one going through cancer right now. If you have ever been there, you know what a tough spot that can be.

This young loved one, let’s call her “Jill,” had surgery for a very serious form of cancer. While the procedure was successful, she was told there was a 95% chance it would return. There is no treatment, and she will have to have scans every 3-6 months for the rest of her life.

Understandably this has thrown her into a tailspin, a downward spiral devoid of hope, a real test of faith.

Ten years ago I received a breast cancer diagnosis, a much less serious situation for me than for Jill, as mine was “barely stage one” according to the doctor. My treatments included a lumpectomy, radiation, and a preventative medicine I took for eight years. I am thankful to say all has been “clear” since that time – something I never take for granted.

The hardest times for me during the process were the times of waiting – before the biopsy, before the surgery, before the radiation treatments, before every next step. But the worst time, the almost paralyzing state of mind, was before the first six-month scan. I knew what I had been through, and I was so thankful it was behind me. But what if the scan showed that the cancer had returned? Would I have to go through all that again? Or would I be encouraged to have more invasive procedures done?

Following the numbing initial cancer diagnosis, you find yourself doing what you are told, one step after another, depending on the knowledge of others more familiar with the process, just getting through. But what if there is more, what if IT is still there?

Jill has just had her first scan (at three months post surgery). Thankfully, it was clear. I pray every day for her that it will always be clear – the next time, and the next, and the next…

I also pray that this ray of light – a clear scan – will push away some of those clouds and help her see a healthier future. Jill has demonstrated acts of self-isolation and despair, and who wouldn’t under her circumstances? After this encouraging result of her first scan, I pray she believes that the light will get brighter, and I ask God that her days in this dimness will start to glimmer with “strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow.”

God bless Jill.

And this:

After posting this today, I discovered that my daily devotional was about Hannah in the Old Testament and her patient waiting for God to answer her prayers for a child. Waiting. And then I “happened upon” this song. Be Still, My Soul. I’m thankful God is with us in the waiting.

Happy Birthday, Mama! It was 104 years ago on this day that you came into this world, and 22 years ago (in April) that you left us behind and went to your heavenly home. I miss you every day.

You were (and are) the best mother I could have had. You were always encouraging, and you often “encouraged” (pushed) me, your extremely shy and quiet daughter, to try new things and get involved. Thank you.

You were outgoing and sincerely loved other people, making friends and bringing out the best in those who needed a friendly face, an open heart, or a helping hand. Thank you.

You were stylish and fashionable in every way. You had dresses, suits, pants, coats, and shoes – so many shoes – that always looked “just right.” You set that bar high for me, and although I have never measured up, your granddaughter has followed in those footsteps. Thank you.

You were talented and energetic – making hats, bridal veils, church program costumes, lingerie, dolls, doll clothing, my clothing, and even hats and “stoles” of fur. You owned your own business for years and taught classes so others could be creative, too. Thank you.

You were a cook beyond compare, be it a dinner with ten or twelve side dishes or pots of soup when the sledders used the hill in front of our house. You set a beautiful table and loved to entertain by candlelight. Thank you.

You were devoted to our family, small as it was. You and Daddy had a long and happy life together. You opened your home so both his father and your mother could live with you in their elderly years. You spoiled your only child (me!) and yet always expected my best. Thank you.

You were the fun grandmother to our two children, and you loved them without measure. You spoiled them, just as grandparents are supposed to do, and a weekend at Camp Meemom and Granddaddy required some deprogramming afterwards. They never doubted your love or your belief in their potential. Thank you.

You never met our children’s spouses, or held their children, your great-grands, which is still hard to believe. More importantly, I’m sad they never knew you. But I believe you love them from afar, and in many ways live on in them. Thank you.

Your sister, my dear Aunt Rosie, has been thinking of you a lot lately. She told me the other day that she believes you are in heaven wondering where she is, as she is now 101 (and 1/2) years old and still with us. I told Aunt Rosie that you know exactly where she is and what she is doing, and that you are glad Aunt Rosie is still here taking care of all of us. Thank you.

Above all, you were (are) a strong believer in God and you were always living and working for your Redeemer. You passed that faith along to your family, and it remains strong today. Thank you.

How appropriate for you to have been born on the first day of Spring – both you and this new season have always brought life into a cold and barren world. Thank you.

Happy Birthday, Mama. I love you.

Mama (right) and Aunt Rosie (center) serving GaGa (their mother) her 90th birthday cake in 1985 (40 years ago).

I truly am a happy homebody and not much of a traveler, but there are some days when I would like to blink my eyes and find myself in another place for just a bit.

Today is one such day. Where would I go? I’d like to visit the mission at San Juan Capistrano, in California, because today marks the traditional return of the swallows there.

These small birds migrate each year between California and Argentina, a 6,000 mile trip. In earlier days, the villagers gathered expectantly to be the first to spot the blur on the horizon that grew to be a large number of birds returning for the summer. The regularity of their arrival on (or around) March 19 is one of nature’s many amazing occurrences.

There have been parades and other happy events in the past, but now there are far less swallows that come to the mission, and fewer celebrations as well. A popular song was written about these faithful birds, and a children’s book, Song of the Swallows by Leo Politi, still evokes a bit of magic with its sweet story and colorful illustrations.

When I visited The Alamo in downtown San Antonio, I was surprised to find it surrounded by high rise hotels and busy streets. Yet the inside still retained a sacred stillness. I hope that’s true of the Mission at San Juan Capistrano. Perhaps I’ll go there one day to find out.

Meanwhile, I remain intrigued and inspired by the swallows. I am uplifted by this quote from an article I recently read: “While 21st-century science has solved a lot of mysteries, we have no choice but to acknowledge there are just as many that remain unsolved… We cannot answer every “how” or “why,” and I’m okay with that. When we leave these answers in God’s hands, it reminds us to fly by faith—just like the swallows do.”

I saw this fun quote today – “Spring is like that friend who says, ‘I’m on the way,’ when she hasn’t even left the house yet.” So true! A bit of sunshine and a little warmth and we just can’t wait for Spring to come. Even if the season hasn’t really started its true approach.

Along with whetting our appetites for spring days (and nights), the warm luscious weather last week has stirred a lot of activity in our corner of the natural world.

Along with a “hairy” yard, we have buttercups blooming, flowering trees coloring the air, redbud clusters starting to cover their tree branches, leaf buds opening on numerous trees, lily foliage bursting forth, and dogwood buds growing.

There’s a lot of overlap here, things growing in concert that don’t usually appear together, but the temperatures and abundant sunshine have started a mass uprising of sorts. The Bradford pear blooms are already falling away and being replaced by the new green leaves (not their prettiest moment.)

I admit I am a little concerned. Although I know there’s not a thing I can do about it. Last year some late cold weather froze the azalea buds and eliminated the flowers-to-be on the bridal wreath spirea that I love so much.

Slow down my friends. It isn’t time for some of you just yet! There is cold weather to come (like night before last and yesterday) and winter isn’t gone from our land just yet.

It’s hard for me, too – but just wait…

The luck o’ the Irish to you today!

The Scots-Irish settled in and have left their mark on much of Tennessee. Especially in the eastern part of the state, the geography and landscape is much like their home country. We have SO many rock walls (or rock fences as some call them) that remind you of the Irish countryside.

And our Tennessee land is green. Once when I visited the western US, I couldn’t get over how brown and barren everything was. It made me long for something I never knew I loved; the green green grass (and hillsides) of home.

My mother’s favorite color was green (“The color of money,” she would say), and my daughter’s favorite is also green. Her designer’s eye brings beautiful verdant shades to life in her home (although her daughter will often say, “Not more green!”). I also like green – in my home, in my clothes, and all around!

And isn’t the thought of leprechauns fun? They are cute but mischevous fellows, with quite a sense of style. And what about those pots of gold? I’d like to find one, but I guess I’ll have to settle for those tasty foil wrapped chocolate coins instead.

I have never investigated my ancestry, but I’m sure there’s some Irish in me somehow. And besides, on St. Patrick’s Day we are all a little bit Irish, right?

The Irish are very welcoming. Céad míle fáilte! Come on along and be Irish today!

I follow Southern Living magazine on Instagram, and I continue to enjoy reading the hard copy, as I have done for many years. The concept has evolved over time, as all publications do, keeping up with trends as well as upholding Southern traditions.

The recipes are hard to beat, many becoming staples that have lasted through years and through changing tastes. The gardening sections are always so informative, and the home décor is inspiring. I give it all a thumbs up.

Sometimes I find inspiration, and other times I discover confirmation that some things that I like actually look good enough to be in magazines (or online) for all to see. One such recent feature was about plate walls. Definitely something I can relate to.

I have several collections of plates, and yes some hang on the wall. At one time wooden plate frames were easily available to buy, and I have several. They really dress up the look. Plates are good “fillers,” as you can hang them across a space, or up and down, depending on the area.

I have a collection of blue Spode plates, some dessert plates that were a wedding gift, and even two that have artwork that remind me of my children when they were young. I recently added some pretty green plates “just because.”

This is definitely an inherited trait. My mother hung plates – mostly antique china patterns – but my aunt is the queen of us all. She has various collections – one set has buildings in Williamsburg, another set was Royal Copenhagen Christmas plates, and so on. Her daughter collected and displayed Hummel plates. We are all old now, keeping up a tradition. So it made me happy to see this idea featured in a current Instagram post.

My plates hang in lines, mostly vertically, but I have never filled an entire wall with them.

But who knows… a plate wall someday?

When we cleaned out our fencerow, we found an abandoned bluebird house. The grapevine had grown around it so tight it was unreachable. I thought then that we should put a new one (or two) up but we never did. Still, our faithful friends have found a home somewhere because they continue to come. And I am thankful.

Bluebirds brighten my day and my outlook on life. Their colors are so cheery. Not just the blue, which is of course the best and brightest, especially when they spread their wings and fly. But also the bright touch of orange and their pure white front.

They are consistent in their visiting times. Mornings I often see them on the old dogwood out front. And in the evenings they like to fly around the backyard. In the summer, when we swim, they like to come and watch us as they perch on the pool fence. Often they swoop around, seemingly enjoying the day as much as we are.

Every once in a while we see them on the bird feeders. I’m sure they are looking for the mealworms they love, but we haven’t gotten those (yet). A friend once said the bluebirds were eating up their retirement, because they do like the expensive treats.

Even in this morning’s rainstorm I see one perched outside, looking at me through the window. Good morning, friend! Thanks for bringing your bright color to this dull day.

Just what our bluebirds need – a new house and some meal worms!

Dear Doves,

We are sorry that you cannot build your nest in the place you would like. However, the small area atop the fan on our porch is not suitable for you or for us.

You do not need to be raising little birds while perched on moving machinery. And we do not need grassy nest remnants, feathers, and droppings on our porch.

I know it took you a while to understand the message we were sending. Our “Shoo!’s”, handclaps and arm waving were met with your disdain. The leaf blower didn’t convince you either. Just when we started to turn on the fan, you seemed to get the idea and flew away.

But then you came back. Time and again. And we went through our repeated steps to discourage you each time. When we left home for the weekend, we were sure you’d have a full blown residence in place when we returned.

But you did not. So thank you for thinking through your options and choosing the pine tree for your home instead. It’s nice that we can still hear your afternoon calls. We know you (and we) will be much happier with you living and raising your family there.

All the best to you,

Your Neighbors

P.S. If you have any influence on the little birds that seem to want to build a nest in the newly planted pansies in the pot out front, please encourage them to look elsewhere too. Maybe they can join you in the pine tree. There’s room for all of you and more.