Friday Tidings

I was about seven in this Easter Sunday photo. We always went to church, but first we enjoyed Mom’s homemade hot cross buns. I loved the soft bread and especially liked the white icing that crossed the tops of each one. Earlier that morning, we had hunted for our hard-boiled colored eggs—and then we got into our Easter outfits. Mom wore her white gloves and pinned an orchid corsage on her pastel-colored jacket. Dad wore his suit and tie, but he wasn’t in our picture because he was the cameraman. Our church was extra full on Easter. The pastor welcomed everyone at the double doors, and ushers were busy seating folks. Were times simpler then? Probably not, there were young men from our town fighting in Viet Nam. But it was different—because news didn’t travel at internet speeds. No one had phones in pockets or emails to answer. After church, we went home to the smell of ham roasting in the oven, and long distance phone calls from grandparents. Candles were lit in Mom’s floral cent...

Mom gave us fair warning—bring our work clothes. It was her annual spring cleaning—something I’d been part of since my childhood.   I put our toddler son on my back while I sorted and packed things to be given away. Mom was relentless in scrubbing her cupboards and keeping only what she needed. I held up a beautiful sweater for her decision—“Give it away.” Tom fired up the chain saw and got to work outside—trimming low hanging tree limbs, and gathering up the windfalls from a tough winter. Even our daughter was put to work—sweeping the porches and filling the bird feeders for spring’s return.  We all worked hard, stopping only to eat the meals Mom prepared. She was thinner, but mighty in spirit. Spring was coming and this was her favorite season. Mom loved renewal and that’s what spring offered. We pulled weeds in her meager flower garden—being mindful at Mom’s direction, not to dig up her beloved daffodils. Soon, bright yellow blooms would welcome warmer days. By t...

Tom’s mom will have her 94th birthday next week. She’s strong, savvy, and continues to show me just what a combination of faith, love, and determination can do. As a child migrant worker she accomplished more than some who were twice her age. Even with frequent moves, she was smart, capable, and graduated right on time.  She has lived with chronic medical conditions, but hasn't lost her tenacious can-do spirit. In a word, I’d describe Bernadean as resilient.  Do you recall the Beatles’ song, “When I’m 64”?   This is my version for an amazing woman who is a spry 94.     When I’m 94   When I get older never losing my flair Many years from now Will you still be texting me reminders Daily greetings with things I require. If I do something you don’t think I can Let me show you now No need to doubt me, you won’t be without me When I’m ninety four.   I can be handy when mending a shirt I can do so much I can solve words puzzles without a guide Take my wheelch...

A while back I found a left-behind sign at my bus stop. No doubt, it’s a “sign” of our times. Then there’s Winslow*—that’s the name I’ve given her because she’s always in downtown Winslow. As far as I know, she’s been homeless for a few years.  She has grocery carts filled with old toys, shoes, clothes, towels, games, and a wild assortment of cast-off stuff she must have collected from the town’s dumpsters. I’m not sure what she does with it all—if anything. But I’ve never seen her beg. Her nightly “home” is adjacent to the town’s post office—it’s a covered spot, so she parks her carts and pulls blankets over herself. That’s usually where I see her on cold, rainy nights. But this week, she was in the post office—the part that’s left open to the public all night. She had a toaster oven plugged in and was re-heating a foil-wrapped item that looked like something the grocery store might have given her.  I needed to mail a package, so I went to the self-serve machine and ...