In Due Season

Several years ago, I'd impulsively planted some Caladium bulbs in the raised bed on my patio. The plants came in beautifully, and I enjoyed their cheerful green and pink foliage all summer long. I was quite sad when they didn't come back in the following spring; a few minutes of quick research showed me they are annuals in my part of the country, not perennials, as I had assumed. *sigh*

I moved on, have tried several other somethings in the bed over the past few years; the results have been pretty enough. But part of my brain remembered the lush beauty of the Caladium plants, so this spring, I went ahead and got a new pack of bulbs to plant. At least I could enjoy them for the season.

I diligently read the package instructions and waited until mid-May to plant the bulbs; it's supposed to be warm enough for them by then. I went outside every morning for the next few weeks, eagerly anticipating the sight of the shoots springing from the earth.

I waited in vain. Despite frequent watering, the bed remained barren with no signs of life. I had given up all hope by the end of June. We had a rainy and damp spring - I figured I'd planted too soon, and my flowers had been lost to the vagaries of the weather. Maybe next year.

And then.
And then. 

I was sitting in my porch swing, dolefully looking over the dormant bed, when I spotted a tiny furl of green. Could it be? I hopped off the swing for a closer look. It could be! One of the bulbs had survived the odds, defiantly pushing its way from the earth, reaching for the light. Yay!!! 

I knew its victory would be short-lived during these hot days of July if I didn't start caring for it, so ran inside for my watering can and gave it a drink. Just for grins, I ran a line of water down the entire front of the bed, hoping despite the odds that perhaps one more of the bulbs had survived.

Odds aren't everything. Over the past three weeks, all but two of the bulbs have poked their heads through the soil to greet the sun. I've made sure to keep them watered; my heart lifts just a little and I smile as I tend to them each morning.

I'm hearing a message for my soul in their presence. I have grown weary of this long season of waiting; of trying to be present in my liminal space. The flowers are a reminder that I am not the boss of the timing of the seasons of my life. There are forces I don't fully understand at work. 

Maybe, just maybe, I'm not JUST waiting. Maybe, all the things I've been trying to do to discern my next best direction haven't fallen on barren soil. Maybe, things are germinating in the darkness during these warm summer days, forming and changing and stirring and beginning to grow. 

I'd like that.

In the meantime, while I wait to see if my metaphor is apt, you know I'm going to be enjoying the beauty of my Caladium plants - all the more welcome because they worked so hard to get here; definitely worth waiting for.

Goodbye, Uncle Rudy

I'd just gotten back from my Uncle Norb's funeral when word came that my Uncle Rudy had died. 

*sad sigh*

Uncle Rudy was one of my dad's younger brothers, I'm sorry to say I never knew him well. There was no bad blood between us, but there was also not much common ground. When I got news of his family at the yearly John reunions, it was usually from his wife, Aunt Marlene (also pictured), who died in 2006.

I do know the two of them made raising seven kids on a shoestring budget into an art form. They came to visit me in Kansas City some twenty years ago; they were driving a car that hadn't been new since Reagan was president. It clearly had a lot of miles on it, and my skepticism regarding its fitness for long distance travel must have shown on my face, because they both quickly assured me they had no doubts they'd make the cross-country trip without trouble - and they were right.

Like my dad, he was good at fixing broken things. He'd take a broken down something, look at it, think a bit, then set to work with the appropriate tools. He rarely faced defeat; was able to fix almost anything.

He and Marlene shared a love of fishing, and spent many a summer day on lakes in northern Minnesota and Canada in pursuit of pike, walleye. I do recall getting in on some of the eating part of their passion a time or two - that was some good fish!

He'd grown frail these past few years, but was able to stay at home because his daughter Darla moved in with him and took care of him. She's been on duty for several years, taking care of his daily needs, keeping the house habitable, schlepping him to his many appointments - bless her.

These past few years can't have been easy for him - he'd always been such an independent sort, outside taking care of the farm and equipment. It had to be tough to not be able to get around well.

I hope they're right when they tell me we get to leave age and illness behind when we leave this world. I like to think he's young and fit again, and that God has a shed full of broken trucks - and the parts and quality tools needed to get them running again. (Along with a stocked lake or three, and boats and fishing equipment, for when he wants to relax.) He'd like that, I think.

Rest in Peace, Uncle Rudy.

Goodbye, Uncle Norb

Norbert Bohr

March 12, 1940 - July 2, 2021

I hadn't seen much of my Uncle Norb and his family in thirty years when I decided to get back in contact with them some fifteen years ago. I hadn't had any sort of a falling out with them, but after Mom died, I'd completely drifted away from her side of our family. I sent them an email out of the blue one day, asking if they'd be willing talk to me some about my mom and their family if I came to town.

The answer came quickly - yes, they'd be happy to see me.

I was a bit apprehensive as I made the long drive up and across rural Iowa to their place in Decorah. Would they really want to talk with me? It had been a long time; perhaps it was too late to try to revive the connection.

My fears were firmly laid to rest as I wearily pulled into the yard. Uncle Norb was standing outside the front door; he'd clearly been watching for me. His arms were stretched open wide, his grin spread from ear to ear. Every part of his stance said, "Welcome home. We've missed you!"

We had a lovely visit. He told me stories of my mom, gave me a glimpse into how his life had been shaped by his place as the second-youngest of fourteen siblings (twelve of whom lived past early childhood). We talked some of my grandmother, who I'd never known well - turns out she was more caring and loving than I'd realized.

He told me some about the years he'd worked as a lineman for the power company. We went to watch one of his grandsons play football. I got to ride with him a few turns around the field as the drove the tractor to bring in the corn harvest.

My heart was full by the time I left just a day or so later.

We've stayed in touch since then. His wife, my Aunt Diane, has been wonderful about sending me quick updates with family news; I've sent them my annual Christmas letter. I was able to get back up to Decorah to help them celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary a few years back.

The news has been harder to hear in recent days. His brain was succumbing to the ravages of dementia. When he contracted pneumonia, and it took solid hold of his lungs, his family knew it was time to let him go. They brought in hospice to ease his passing, and the kids took turns standing vigil with Aunt Diane.

I like to think, as he left this world for the next, he was met by the many people in his family who walked that road before him. I hope they were standing at the door with their arms open wide, grinning from ear to ear, saying,

"Welcome Home!  We've missed you!"

Rest in Peace, Uncle Norb. I will miss you.

Austin Visit

Last month, I was talking to my friend Rose, and she mentioned she was planning to drive to Austin to visit her daughter, Tori, at the end of June.  I would find doing the 12-hour drive by myself in a single day to be a bit much, so I offered to go along. Rose was clearly on the same page; she happily accepted my offer on the spot. I've known Tori most of her life, and haven't seen her in years. I figured it would be fun to see her again, and it was!

When we left, a week ago, we got a good start on the day - and needed every minute of it. Between traffic, construction, and rain, the trip took an hour longer than we'd anticipated, but we arrived safely in Austin just before dark. It wasn't an awful drive, just a long one. With COVID, I haven't talked much with Rose this past year, so the hours on the road gave us plenty of time to catch up on each other's lives. Tori, being the good daughter she is, had ice cream waiting for us as a treat when we arrived.

Tori did have to work all week, but we didn't let that get in the way of having fun. She works as the director for a group foster home, and I'll long remember the afternoon we spent with her and her current group of kids. Rose is a teacher, and directed us all in an art project. (There was an empty seat at the table, so I plopped myself down in the middle of the kids to join the painting fun!) Given they're going through a tough spot through no fault of their own, most of the crew was ready for some distracting fun, and the project proved to be just the ticket - they stayed absorbed in their pictures for a good two hours. After we'd finished, I got to spend a little time talking to one of the older girls. She's not been dealt an easy hand, but she's got good goals; I sure hope she gets the help she'll need to reach them. Heartbreaking, rewarding work, Tori does.

The other days, we watched a few movies, did a little sightseeing and shopping. We tried out some new recipes for dinner, took the dogs out for walks - the week passed quickly by.

With rain threatening on Saturday, our one full free day together, we'd planned for a quiet afternoon playing board games. But as noon rolled around, the rain decided to land elsewhere, so we quickly changed plans. There are a number of wineries in the hills around town, and Tori found one fairly close by for us to visit. We stopped on the way to pick up a meat / cheese / bread / fruit spread, and bought a bottle of wine to go with it after we got to our destination - the Flat Creek Winery and Vineyard. We spent the next couple of hours enjoying a leisurely lunch in the pavilion, sharing stories as we lazily looked across the fields of grape vines. The overcast skies kept most of the heat at bay, and the breeze saved us from having to share much of our meal with the flies. It was a lovely way to spend the afternoon.

I wasn't looking forward to the drive home, but we made it in good time; the trip took an hour less than it had taken to drive down. (The rain was mostly elsewhere, the construction sites buttoned down for the weekend, and it turns out the Dallas freeways are pretty wide open on Sunday mornings.) We were quieter; both a bit worn out from having fun all week.

We arrived safely home yesterday, in the late evening. I climbed into bed shortly thereafter, too wired to sleep, too tired to be fully awake. I was content to lie there, reflecting on the week just past, listening to the constant roar of fireworks coming from all sides. 

Good to be free to hit the open road, good to see new places. Good to be home, good to see the kitties. Good to spend time with good friends. Good to live good days.

Life is not easy. Life is not perfect. Life is Good.

Happy 4th of July!