“Are you ready for church?” I call downstairs. ”Yup. Be right there,” Gerry calls back. And like we’ve done every Sunday for the past ten weeks, we gather in the den where I work some magic to get my phone display to broadcast on the big screen TV and we have church. Afterward, we talk
I carry baby tomato plants in a small box on my lap while Gerry drives to the community garden. My hands brush across their leaves. The scent of hope wafts from them. The plants have been growing in my laundry room since I dropped tiny seeds into pots in early April, unmotivated, with barely enough
The sun shines through the east facing window kissing the bunch of tulips on the dining table. The light is magical. I’d like to put the macro lens on my camera and play but there are other more pressing things to do. I grab my phone and take a quick shot to mark the moment.
I pull the KitchenAid from the cupboard where it languishes lonely most of the time, and rummage around looking for the dough hook. Then I dump flour, yeast, kosher salt, and water in the bowl and, after it’s kneaded the dough for eight minutes while I putter around doing other things, wonder why I don’t
We’re at the walking track one morning and I see a young man I went to high school with on the exercise equipment. It’s not, of course, but it takes a couple of laps before I realize that it can’t possibly be him. The mind plays tricks when it comes to age. It does the
Gerry brought them home a week or so ago: loud, brash looking tulips. I pulled out my camera, affixed my macro lens, and shot a few images—knowing I’d convert them to black and white in post processing. They were too much for the calm I hungered for. Now they’re long past their prime and there’s
Somewhere along the way, many of us bought in to the myth of “having it all”. It’s bunk. We realize that now—at least I hope we do. All one has to do is pay attention to nature to see that there’s a reason for different seasons. Each one is unique, and each has its own