In the Pinks

I'm sure the sight was unusual, but our neighbors have probably come to know that I occasionally do strange and silly things.  We have three compact clumps of Dianthus on the east side of our home.  I love the spicy smell of their tiny carnation flowers.  In order to get a good whiff of them, I crouched down, with rear upturned and stuck my nose down into the blooms.  As goofy as I surely looked, the experience was worth the embarrassment, for the small blossoms emitted a magnificent scent that transported me back to my childhood.  We had Dianthus in our backyard when I was growing up and Mom always picked bouquets for our house.  We didn't call them Dianthus, however.  We called them Pinks (others call them Cottage Pinks).  Perhaps they were called Pinks because the little flowers have frilled edges that look as if pinking shears shaped them. Or maybe it's because they're frequently pink in color (although they can vary from white to red to purple).  I read that the color pink reportedly got its name from these perennials.  All that matters to me is that the smell of Dianthus (or Pinks or Cottage Pinks) is so beautiful that I'll risk embarrassment again, just to have the chance to take in their wonderful scent!

Capable Hands

I recall as a young girl hearing my grandmother say that she was unhappy with the signs of age showing in her hands.  As I looked at my own hands recently, I could see signs of aging, too, and I wondered just where my young hands had gone.  My mom always said that she had capable hands, hands that were strong, with square-tipped fingers.  Alas, my hands are smaller, weaker and quite often, truthfully, look like monkey's hands to me.  Despite her protestations, I always told Mom that her hands had an elegance to them.  She carefully tended to her nails and she always had a ring on the ring fingers of both of her hands.  I, on the other hand (no pun intended...really), keep short-clipped nails for all of the typing I do and I gave up on polish a long time ago when it dawned on me that I was covering growing nails with paint of sorts.  I wear only my ring from Larry, a delicate ring of emeralds (my birthstone) and diamonds.  But, it's not what my hands look like, it's what I do with them.  Do I use my hands to figuratively raise up another person? Hold the hand of one who needs compassion?  Use them to do a good day's labor?  Now, that's something important for me to ponder.

Daily Constitutional

One recent evening, I was tuckered out after a long work week.  I even took a nap after I got home, which I otherwise never do.  I was disappointed with my fatigue because the day had been beautiful and would lead to an ideal evening for my daily walk.  After dinner with friends, lots of great conversation and laughter, and a scenic drive, we arrived home only for me to realize that I had regained some of the energy I'd somehow lost in the week and decided that I had to walk.  And what a glorious walk it was!  We live in a very pleasant neighborhood.  My walk took me past lovely homes of all sizes and colors, some new and others older and stately, with big yards and small yards, some with lots of mature trees and others working at growing small trees, with gardens in waiting or perennial flowers in bloom.  The air hung with that sweet spring scent.  The sun was slowly going down.  I was so glad that I had responded to my internal "Gotta Walk" nudge, for it was the perfect way to end my week.

Happy Memorial Day

My dad was a World War II veteran.  He served in the U.S. Army.  He came home with a Purple Heart, a Good Conduct Medal and a European African Middle Eastern Theater Ribbon with one Silver Battle Star, among other medals. He rarely talked about his war experience, choosing instead to keep those memories hidden deep inside him.  Among his belongings when he died were items from his military service, including his Honorable Discharge paper, which reported that he had served in Normandy, Northern France, Ardennes, Rhineland and Central Europe.  He had been inducted into service for our country on March 16, 1942 and was honorably discharged on October 13, 1945.  His Honorable Discharge citation said, "This certificate is awarded as a testimonial of Honest and Faithful Service to this country."  And indeed he did give faithful service.  One not prone to argument, let alone battle, war must have been a very difficult thing for my dad.  He saw atrocities and battles that he couldn't talk about afterward. Yet, he served with honor and came home a stronger man. We owe much to all of the men and women who have made supreme sacrifices in service to our country.  May they always be remembered with respect for all they have done for us.  With special love and memories of you, Dad.

Time To Be Revisited

Once in a while, I have to be reminded why I am writing this blog, Time to Be.  Recently, I began freelance writing once again and have added some voice-over recording work of commercials, etc. (See my new website www.keriolson.com for more info and a link to this blog). I love the creative challenge, but found that I was a bit overloaded for a week or two as I took on a couple of larger projects.  I quickly realized that what was missing from my life was Time to Be, that precious time for dreaming, resting, not having anything in particular that you have to do this very minute, time to read and maybe fall into a nap, time to spontaneously do something fun.  I learned some valuable lessons during those harried weeks -- It's great to have busyness and purpose and to use, as my friend Rhonda says, anywhere from 10% to 50% of your time pursuing something creative, but I also need the balance of that beautiful, necessary Time to Be.  It is a gift we can and should give ourselves.

Birdwatching

There is a special place in our area where the Great Blue Herons nest each year.  Mom and her good friend Lou introduced the area to Larry and me.  Each year for several years, we'd head there to enjoy the raucous carryings-on of the baby herons "requesting" food from their parents.  The adult herons fly in and out of the area, landing with grace on their big nests high up in the pine trees.  As the babies mature, their squawking gets louder and louder.  Earlier this month, after having dinner with our friends Ron and Laurie, the four of us ended our evening together at the rookery, quietly watching and listening to the Great Blue Heron families.  Then, yesterday, my friend Melanie and I visited the rookery to take in the sights and sounds.  I went back again today so that Larry and I could pay a visit.  The bird conversation grows in intensity and volume with each visit, the sounds almost prehistoric in nature.  Every time I'm there, I feel so very close to my mom.  She and I spent many happy hours taking in the Great Blue Heron performances.  We even spent a portion of one of our last Mother's Days together at that rookery.  Adults give birth to infants who eventually muster up the courage to use their wings and take flight.  Like birds, so it is with humans.  Spring is a vivid reminder of the wondrous circle of life and the magnificence of nature with which we are all so closely connected.

Making Scents

It's that glorious time of the year when the air is heady with spring scents.  Freshly mown grass, lilies of the valley, iris, pine needles.  I have experienced them all so far this spring and I just can't seem to get enough of them.  I believe the sense of smell carries our memories with it.  Freshly mown grass makes me think of our big yard when I was growing up.  Even with a tractor-style lawn mower, it took as 1 1/2 days to mow the entire thing.  As a kid, that was a drag, but when I look back on it, I realize how it was a neat "together" sort of time for my parents and me.  When the job was done, we'd treat ourselves to root beer floats from A&W where car-hops waited on us. Or we'd enjoy one of the zillions of flavors of shakes from Tastee Freez.  I liked trying a different flavor of shake every time. Lilies of the valley remind me of the large number of them that grew along the shaded, north side of our house when I was a girl.  Mom and I had May birthdays -- just four days apart -- and it always seemed that the fragrant lilies of the valley were in bloom for our special days.  I love bearded iris.  They dotted our big backyard when I was a child and then when I owned a house of my own (pre-condo days), I even had unusual, rich brown varieties of them.  The scent of pine needles always makes me think of the lectures my dad used to give each summer at Camp Upham Woods in Wisconsin Dells.  This 4-H camp is tucked into the woods.  It always had the delightfully commingled smells of camp fires and pine needles.  Memories are a wonderful thing.