Archive | May 2025

Spring’s First Flower

May28

Melting snow exposed muddy ruts next to the cow yard. Tall tufts of brown grass lined the yard. Last summer’s smooth, green lawn now looked dreary, brown, and treacherously uneven. A wet cardboard box, softened and broken down, littered the yard as a strong westerly wind pushed and pulled it about between outbuildings. The farmhouse and barn appear bleak under the overcast sky. They looked naked without summertime foliage to conceal weather-weary paint, and lack of structural beauty. The winter-ravaged farmyard had never looked worse.

With nothing better to do, I rode my bike around and around the farmyard’s circle driveway. When I realized I could also ride around the old house which sat next to the driveway, I enjoyed changing up my route by doing figure eights. I felt warm despite the chilly wind.

Billy, my big brother, stood in the doorway of the milkhouse when he and Daddy finished doing the morning barn chores. I rode over to him and stopped. He said, “Listen to all the birds that have come back for the summer. Do you recognize robin song and red-wing-black bird calls?”

I responded, “Of course I do. I’m not a baby.”

My brother asked, “Have you noticed how big the buds have gotten on the cottonwood trees? It won’t be long before they leaf out.”

I hadn’t noticed that. With consternation, I exclaimed, “Those branches look dead! Everywhere I look, the tree branches are bare. I hate this time of spring. Nothing is growing yet.”

Smiling, my twenty-year-old brother said, “That’s not true. Let me show you something.” Leaning my bike against the milkhouse, I followed my brother to the sunny side of our barn. He stopped and pointed at a small tuft of green growing against the stone foundation.

It was a dandelion. A few steps beyond that was another one, and that one had a bright yellow blossom, too. Seeing it made my gloomy opinion of early spring disappear. Protected by the building, warmed by the sun and the heated stones, these brave plants grew and produced spring’s first flower. Billy picked a dandelion blossom, and we went into the house where he presented the wildflower to Mom.

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Feeling Connected

May21

In my dream, it was time to go home from work. I had enjoyed working my hospital shift but suddenly realized that I had never cared for one of my assigned patients. Patient vitals needed to be taken and then charted; hours of overtime started to accumulate. I heard someone talking and wished they’d be quiet so I could finish my work. Coming to consciousness, I realized the talking was coming from my bedside alarm clock set to radio.

I have always detested the sound of a buzzing alarm clock. Since retiring, I have my alarm clock radio programed to automatically turn on at seven thirty in the morning. Despite this being a full two hours after the time I had to get up for work, I seldom get up right away. The privilege of retirement means I can enjoy laying quietly, relaxing and listening to the radio for another half an hour or more.

The big news that morning, the eighth day of May, was that the conclave in Rome had finished its first full day. According to the news reporters, there wasn’t a single Cardinal candidate that stood out as the most likely one to be chosen. I slipped out of bed thinking, “The conclave will last at least two more days. It’ll be hard for the Cardinals to get a majority vote.”

There were several goals I wanted to accomplish that day. First, I sat down at the dining room table to drink a cup of tea, and jot down a to-do list. A message from my daughter Tammie popped up on my phone. It said, “There is white smoke! We have a new Pope.”

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The 266th Pope

May14

After the death of Pope Francis, I watched news reports on television regarding his funeral, mourning period, and conclave. When the reporters were shown at Vatican City in Rome, they were often standing in a crowded Saint Peter’s Square, describing the mood of the crowd. Seeing the familiar landmarks behind the reporters was like recognizing someone I loved but hadn’t seen for a long time. With a shiver of equal parts of joy and disbelief, I remembered how my daughter and I met and shook hands with Pope Francis at the top of the Basilica steps during a trip we took to Rome in September of 2023.

A deep and abiding respect for the Pope had been instilled in me by my Catholic parents. The Pope is more than just the head of the two-thousand-year-old Universal Church. He is responsible for making sure all the doctrines set by Jesus and entrusted to Peter, the first Pope, never change.

 The hot September day Tammie and I met Pope Francis, started with us rushing to Saint Peter’s Square in the early morning hours. When we arrived, there was already a huge line of people that stretched for blocks. Tammie wondered out loud whether the line was for tickets or to get in. Either way, the length of the line filled us with dread since neither of us could bear standing for very long.

We approached a guard stationed by a metal crowd control barrier to ask where to go. He simply moved to one side and motioned us through. We joined a much shorter line to pass through x-ray machines under the colonnade. Once inside Saint Peter’s Square we met colorfully dressed Swiss Guards. Each one we approached, motioned us forward. We got closer and closer to the stairs leading up to the entrance of the Basilica. I said to my daughter, “This can’t be right.” I felt like we were mistakenly being given seats of honor. We ended up sitting on banquet chairs lined up in rows alongside the canopied dais where the Pope would appear. As I looked around at the people sitting around us, I began to understand how we got to be there. This part of the audience consisted entirely of religious and handicapped people. Behind us was a section filled with young men and women dressed in their wedding dresses and tuxedos.

After Pope Francis’ address was repeated in seven different languages, he began to shake hands with the people surrounding the dais. I was in total disbelief! I would get to shake the 266th Pope’s hand! I found his voice to be soft and pleasing to hear and his eyes filled with so much love! After shaking hands with my beaming daughter, Tammie, the Pope affectionately reached up and patted her right cheek.

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Daughter Like Mother

May7

I cleared clutter off the dining room table and put away a coat that had been draped over a dining room chair. Returning to the kitchen, I placed a bowl in the dishwasher, closed it and turned it on. The sound of a vehicle pulling into the yard made my cats run to hide. A swirl of cool spring air accompanied my younger grandchildren as they trooped into the house. Luke sniffed appreciatively as he commented, “I can tell you have a loaf of bread in the oven. It smells great!”

Hugging Luke, Jacob, Gemma and Blaise, I announced, “You can eat some of the fresh bread as soon as it cools off a little.” My daughter Niki followed the children into the kitchen, carrying a large pan. Smiling, I instructed, “My bread is finished baking, so I’ll take it out. Then you can put the pork and sauerkraut in the oven. I’ll turn the temperature down, so it doesn’t dry out.”

Niki turned and spotted a loaf of sweet bread on the kitchen counter and asked, “What’s this?”

I explained with a shrug, “I saw a recipe for rice bread on Instagram the other day and I had to try it. I put dried fruit in it.” Seeing the questioning look on my daughter’s face, I added, “It’s ok, but I’ve thought of a few tweaks I could give the recipe to make it better. I’m going make it again.”

When Niki left for her appointment, I gathered art supplies and sat down at the dining room table with my grandchildren. I explained, “I saw an interesting craft on Instagram the other day and I want to do it with you.” For the next hour we made spring blossoms using white, absorbent paper and Q-tips. After putting spots of marker color on the petals, we put the stems into water and watched as dampness spread and made the color bleed beautifully out to the ends of the petals. The craft was fun, and we enjoyed the rainbow streaks of color.

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