Author: Rene

It’s difficult to head out for warmer climes when your own home base is warm and beautiful in bloom. Missing the bursts of color? Oh, I guess I’ll suck it up on the beach or under the sea. What a glorious day.

Yes, I ran one of these old computers in my high school days. Our grocery store, the coveted job of a sixteen-year old, had two registers like this. Every Thursday after school I would run home to memorize the store’s ad so as to have the prices fixed in my head. Cramming those numbers into my brain certainly helped with test-taking in college. I learned to visualize really well! (I should have gone on “The Price is Right” after high school.)

Today’s comic strip made me a little nostalgic for those beautiful registers. They were works of art.

From the vantage point of the kitchen table, today’s angle of the sun brings us an array of crumbs strewn across the island counter. I thought I’d properly washed that yesterday?

Every day I can open the kitchen blinds and draperies a tad more so as not to blind me. And every day I can see more green appearing and birds searching for real estate. Long-awaited Spring has returned.

There’s a reason it’s called “Spring cleaning.” This lighting really does emphasize the problem areas. Time to finish the dregs of my coffee and get on the continued efforts to clean. Tally ho!

Yesterday I was privy to a mispronunciation that had me giggling at a funeral. The lector recited, “A reading from the letter of St. Paul to the Philippines.”

I know St. Paul made the rounds but I was surprised to learn he had visited that archipelago! Oh, I suppressed my amusement appropriately, and it was an error which I’m sure has been made before. The problem is I can’t remember the reading now because I was too entertained by the goof. It did remind me that someday I want to go to the Philippines.

There’s always something to be gleaned from the Word of God.

Did you know you’re supposed to wash your broom? I guess it makes sense, but I have yet to do it. This comes to mind every time I open my cleaning closet and stare at the products and utensils supporting my efforts.

Although the broom is not being cleansed today, the vacuum is. The broom will have to wait until I do a major sweep! Just another deep thought from this merry maid:

Growing up we had access to loads of fruit trees and berry bushes. Our yard alone had cherry and pear trees, currant, elderberry, and mulberry bushes (so messy!) and a token walnut tree. Picking up the pears which fell from the loaded trees was not a favorite activity but necessary for the sake of the dog. He would get tipsy from the rotting fruit.

My grandfather would take all of the walnuts we harvested and shuck and crack them for us, returning them for our consumption. Dad made wine with the berries, although we occasionally grabbed a snack from those bushes. The cherry trees were mine. I picked, pitted, and made pies from them. As a matter of fact, the first day I was out of school as a senior in high school, that was my activity for the day. Seniors were graduated a week before the rest of the students were released. Really? I couldn’t think of anything better to do with my freedom?

The cherries on my little wimpy trees in my current backyard have netted me zero pies since I planted them. That is because I let the birds feast – my timing with picking the fruit has never been good. I figure someone is enjoying them. My pear trees are ornamental only, yielding nothing but blossoms of beauty. No rotting fruit to worry about.

It’s that type of weather today – the “I’m itching to plant and grow food” type. Grand thoughts of raised beds with weedless vistas of produce and a small orchard of fruit trees dance in my head. Either that or I enjoy the “fruits” of my friends’ labors. Hm. I’ll ponder that thought until the next snowstorm.

Saturdays were often spent in my dad’s garage, the radio tuned to a sports event while my dad tinkered around doing something. It was a comforting feeling to hear that chatter patter of a game, particularly the fall college football games.

When I make the trek back to the homeland I often listen to the AM stations, just to hear the farm market reports, the very local commercials for the hardware guy and seed corn people, and to have that running dialogue to the backdrop of my childhood. Remember calling in to a station to request a song for a guy you liked? It makes me smile to think of those battle-weary DJs who fielded our teenage dedications, and the parents hosting the slumber parties where we giggling gaggles squealed with delight hearing our names on the radio.

Saturdays and the radio. Maybe I’ll head to the garage and finish that project I started two weeks ago? We have a radio in there!

The days lengthening and summer’s pull strengthening.

Sometimes I forget to look at the mountains from the porch side of the house. And then there are breathtaking times when we remember that beauty before us. The sky, an ocean of color. The mountains still capped in white.

It was no surprise that this psalm came to mind as I wrote this. However, it was a surprise to find that it is the psalm for the reading today. Psalm 8:2-4. No coincidences!

“What is man that you should be mindful of him,
or the son of man that you should care for him?”

My spouse had our two-year old helping with the pasta carbonara. She’s great at cracking eggs and whipping them, as well as taste-testing the cheese and ham we use. My husband really encourages and helps her to participate in the meal. I was giving him numerous accolades when he admitted to a truth. He can’t hold a baby as long as I can.

My head cocked, I looked at him sideways, and I freely admitted, “You’re right.”

We each have our endurances and strengths. It’s a good team for the Wednesday Three Women-to-be. Thankfully he is a great cook and enjoys teaching that.

I’ll catch them on the baking end – with frosting and sprinkles. Glittery sprinkles.