Giving Way to May

How is it possible that it is already the last day of April?  From a little girl on, I have always looked forward to April, May and June, wishing that those three months would stretch themselves out to equal six months.  And now, one-third of those delightful three months will be over, as of tomorrow.  In a normal Wisconsin weather year, April is that first breath of warm fresh air.  It's the month when daffodils and tulips brighten yards.  It's that month when the bare trees begin to leaf out and there's just a haze of spring green on the landscape.  The grass turns real, true green.  The birds begin to wake me up again in the morning with their happy song.  How can I let go of April?  But, alas, that's when I'm reminded that each day is precious, each day holds beauty, each day is a time for renewal and hope.  So, as I release my clenched fists and let April fly out of my cupped hands, I realize that May is being placed there instead, with all of its virtues and blessings.

Mouse Trap

As a child, I loved it when my mom would read me stories about cute, little mice wearing cute, little clothes who lived in hollowed out trees; their cute, little homes decorated with thread spools as tables and other cute, little things. To this day, I periodically use notecards featuring precious, smiling, little mice carrying strawberries on their backs or wearing dresses and horizontally striped knee socks. It's all so cute. However, it's another thing to find you have mice in your home. Larry and I recently discovered evidence that two mice (now dead, may they rest in peace) were sharing our condo with us and, despite the stories of my youth and my darling, little notepaper, I freaked out. I am tidy to the point of being fastidious (just ask my poor husband). I am not a collector of anything. I decorate in a plain and simple fashion with minimal "stuff" on display. I prefer gifts of experiences over gifts of things. Our larder is just about as empty as someone who is preparing to move -- I buy only what food we're going to eat that week. Despite the clean, spartan atmosphere, a mouse and spouse had found our home appealing. So, what to do? We hired a pest control service. We deep cleaned. We threw out. We recycled. We gave away.  And we plugged crevices outside that might be inviting to mice. And now we wait to see if we're the only tenants of our condo once again or if we still have "cute, little" friends trying to live rent-free with us.  Given that I don’t like to harm any living thing, my willingness to strike down our mice couple surprised – and somewhat saddened -- me.  I'll still reminisce about the mouse stories that Mom used to read to me and I'll likely still use notepaper featuring illustrations of anthropomorphic mice wearing human clothes, but I'll still hope that they stay outside or in their own home in the hollowed-out tree with the thread spool as their table.

Giving From the Heart

For most of my professional career, I've had the opportunity to be on the receiving end of people's boundless generosity.  For nearly 12 years now, I've been a fundraiser, but for the 15 years prior, I was a public relations director/volunteer coordinator.  In that previous position, I first learned just how generously people give from the heart, not expecting any remuneration or recognition, just the pure joy of giving so that our world will be a brighter place.  April is National Volunteer Month, and Larry and I attended a recent dinner to recognize our local hospital's volunteers.  One volunteer was recognized that evening for 49 years of service.  I know that woman, and our hospital is not the only place where she volunteers.  Ida is one busy woman, always giving to organizations that have meaning to her.  My mom was an active volunteer, particularly in her retirement years.  When I composed her obituary, it was almost mind-boggling just how many organizations I listed that had benefited from her time and talent.  We all have something precious to give for the betterment of our neighborhood, community or world.  I would challenge us all to find those organizations whose values resonate with our own and to give of our time, talent and treasure.  We will be better people for it and the world will be better, too.

Lilac Loveliness

The French Lilac outside of our kitchen window has been blooming and I just couldn't resist.  I had to make some bouquets and bring them into our home.  Their beautiful purple color and heady fragrance were calling me.  The scent of lilacs takes me back to my childhood.  If I close my eyes and take a whiff, I'm a little girl once again at our home out in the country.  One sight of lilacs makes me recall my mom as a young woman, busy gathering white and purple lilac bouquets for our house.  Her bouquets would be placed in antique pitchers, while mine are in clear canning jars.  Mom's would be artfully arranged while mine appear casually plunked. Mom had that special way of making something exquisite out of the ordinary. She had a knack for decorating.  She brought beauty to every place she lived.  The lovely lilacs are blooming and with them are blooming memories of my lovely mom.

Sylvan Quiet

Larry and I like to walk at a place called Steinke Basin.  The lovely wooded setting isn't as well-known as other parts of Devil's Lake State Park, so we don't usually run into a lot of people.  As we make the ascent up the gravel road to the top of the lake's east bluff, the tall grasses give way to forest.  The tree canopies on either side of us lean over our heads, nearly touching each other.  Occasionally, you hear the scurrying of a little animal or the gurgling of a thin stream of water or the call of a bird, but often, it is sylvan quiet, a wooded area filled with beauty and silence except for the sound of our feet scraping on the gravel.  We often walk at Steinke Basin without much conversation because there is such joy in being together in such a special place. As we reach the top of the trail, we spend a few moments sitting on a bench, lifting our heads to the sky to enjoy the view. We know a husband and wife who exchanged their marriage vows at Steinke Basin. We have a good friend who often hiked that area with her late husband.  And my own late mom loved walking through those woods with her best friend Lou.  Mom and Lou shared a love of nature that was so deep that they often took walks or drives in our Baraboo Hills.  When I think of spring, I think of their Sunday afternoon nature excursions. How fortunate I am to have a husband who shares that same love of beautiful outdoor places where silence is golden.

Bend But Don't Break

I recently read a quote attributed to Hal Borland (1900-1978), the celebrated American author and journalist:  "The earth has its own pulse and rhythm, and the wise and fortunate man leans with the wind."  The evening before reading that sentence, I had had a conversation with an acquaintance about potentially changing circumstances in her work setting.  She stated calmly and with a smile that she would simply need to adapt, that she had found adaptability to be a necessity in both her personal and professional lives.  It was a brief conversation but her comments stuck with me. She had learned the invaluable ability to lean with the wind.  It got me to thinking about those times when I've adapted in a nearly effortless fashion, how other times I've had to really work at it, and yet other times I found that bending seemed harder than just simply breaking from the wind gusts.  Change requires adaptability and today's life is filled with escalating change.  How does one survive it all and perhaps even thrive?  I do believe that the answer's in the wind, leaning with it, that is.

Pen in Hand

My good friend Kitty told me about a letter she discovered from an ancestor and what amazing penmanship he had.  Her story made me think of a letter my late mom had received from her paternal grandfather when she was a small girl. She still had it among her keepsakes at the time of her passing.  Great-grandfather's handwriting was beautiful, too.  At one time, handwriting was so important, but today it is being quickly relegated to those "things we used to do," due to the advent of the keyboard.  I greatly admire the handwriting of my friends Donna and Julie.  As I have watched them write, their pens glide across the paper and what is left behind is consistently legible, artistic, creative and beautiful.  I, on the other hand, have handwriting that changes with the years and my moods.  I've written slanted backward and slanted forward, straight up and down, large and loopy, small and tense, strictly cursive and other times nearly printing.  Despite the convenience of email and texting, I love to receive and send hand-written notes.  So long as my handwriting remains legible and there's still notepaper to write on, I'll keep committing pen to paper.  And maybe, just maybe, someday through much practice, my handwriting will become as lovely as Donna and Julie's (but don't count on it!).