Spring

Now that it's officially summer, I want to rhapsodize about spring. I love seeing crocuses poke through the snow; going without a coat because it's 45 degrees out; smelling the rain. My favorite part of spring is it's unexpectedness. It's hot one day,back to winter the next. Wind springs up at a moment's notice. Our rose bushes were green with leaves one day and overnight became a riot of color. 

Our weeping flowering cherry tree looks like Cousin ITT from the Addams Family.

Our window box is growing a troll.

Everywhere you look, some unexpected new growth appears.

I love the unexpectedness of people too. It makes life more fun. My husband, trained as a classical clarinetist, enjoys country music. My three-year old, very girly granddaughter loves potty humor. A friend makes me stop and look at things in new ways and marvel at how her mind works.  My mechanic brother crochets in his spare time. 
       Cheiko Okazaki once said, "If we both though alike, one of us would be unneccessary." I have that posted in my house.   Just as spring is good for the soul after a long winter, so is the quirkiness that makes each of us human.

Father's Day

Tomorrow is Father's Day. I miss my dad, and I miss Larry's dad. They were alike in a lot of ways. Neither of them would ever rate a listing in Who's Who. They didn't even graduate from high school. But they were the kind of men that make this country work. They served in WWII; they loved their wives and children; they worked hard to provide for their families (even if their jobs weren't satisfying or fulfilling); they were active in their religion and helped those who needed help. And they told great stories. I remember lying in the back of our old station wagon in the dark while Dad drove through the night, regaling us with the continuing saga of Frisky the squirrel, taking him from birth to the eventual forest fire that forced him to run for his life. Dad Hill had a million truck-driving stories, full of humor and narrow escapes. Both men were truly good people who mattered.
Now my husband is Chief Dad in the Hill family, and he carries on the tradition of greatness. He taught band for 35 years and changed hundreds of lives. Parents loved coming to his concerts, both for the music and his jokes. He serves faithfully in his church callings, even when he doesn't like them. He waits on me hand and foot (right now that's literally) and he actively looks for ways to help others. He's the one who says, "Everyone help clean up" after dinner, and he's the one who spent hours yesterday playing Wii and ping-pong with the grandkids and then watching a movie he didn't care about so Mira could fall asleep on his lap. He won't ever be in Who's Who either, but he is now and always will by my hero.

Whiskers

My granddaughter Addie snuggled up to me on the couch one day, took a second look, and said, "Grandma, you have whiskers like Daddy!" AARGH. Lots of things change with age, but that thing is just wrong. I mentioned once that I didn't want to end up someplace where no one ever visits because I look so terrible. My daughter Andrea said, "You can live with us, and I'll pluck your whiskers every day." My daughter-in-law Deanne said, "I thought we could all pitch in for electrolysis." Either way. They made me feel loved. It's nice to know when I eventually die, it won't have to be alone. With a beard.

Sorry

One of the things I love about my husband Larry is his willingness to admit when he's wrong and apologize. He doesn't rationalize or make excuses--he simple accepts responsibility for his mistakes and tries to make things right. That's really hard for me to do. I'm a master of excuses. I'm not sure why, maybe I'm afraid people won't like me anymore, or maybe it's a tidbit left over from my mom, who felt apologizing, especially to one's children, was a sign of weakness. Maybe I just don't want to admit how fallible I am. When Larry apologizes, people just appreciate him more, because they know he's sincere. That's got to be true of everyone else as well. So, for the record: No excuses, it's my fault, I apologize. (Did that sound sincere?)

My husband has been working hard in the yard, and I got thinking about the long-ago when I did that occasionally. Yard work means weeding, and there are all kinds of weeds. Some are huge, taller than the surrounding plants, and seem to have sprung up overnight. You can grab hold, pull, and they come right out. Then you have insidious little weeds like morning glory. They don't seem so bad, but the roots go to the center of the earth, and they eventually cover everything. Weeds are a lot like faults--sometimes the big garish ones are the easiest to get rid of, while the little morning-glory types like procrastinating and being critical take constant vigilance. When I start focusing on the blatant failings of others, that's when I need to go back to weeding my personal morning glory.