She loves to laugh...

If you know her, she is one of the most beautiful women in your life. She smiles all the time and she loves to laugh. She'll tell you she isn't the witty one, she's the one who laughs and enjoys it more than anyone I know. That is a gift in itself; witty people appreciate those who enjoy their craft. I know that's something dad enjoys about her so much, and vice-versa. When asked how their marriage has endured for 50 years, she's quick to tell you, "Every day he shows me how much he loves me, and every day he makes me laugh."

There are few things in this life she doesn't enjoy; she is an optimist and can find the silver lining to the darkest cloud. Of all the things she loves, however, two things are held more dearly: Flowers and food. She is God's most ardent fan of anything that grows. Her gardens are a place where no volunteering plant is plucked out. Somehow there is room for all-- the more the merrier! She loves the colors and design, from the smallest forget-me-not to the flowering dogwood tree, no blossom goes unnoticed or unapplauded. The saying goes, "Earth laughs in flowers", and as I've said, mom loves a good laugh.

Perhaps it comes from her Norwegian roots, but her love of food is a joy to behold. Her mom, my Gramma, was the same way. Loved to cook for everyone-- food was a gift of love offered to those at her table. And no matter how humble the gift, it was presented with careful beauty and a sweetness of spirit. My mom offers food in the same manner. You have to look carefully--both women being terribly modest about the food being offered--but the oohs and ahhs and smiles of those around the table bring a great measure of joy to the giver.

I love to watch my mom in front of the bakery case. Her eyes light up at the sweet delights lined up like little flowers. She makes no effort to hide her excitement about maple bars and cream cheese danish, or even the lowly cake donut. She appreciates each one and is eager to make sure everyone else gets one too, and oooh, can she have a little bite please? Memories of hot fudge sundaes at Herfy's after church are as vivid now as 40 years ago. Every bite seemed to produce an exclamation of appreciation, "Mmmm, oooh! yumm!" And those are the same praises she brings to every food she so enjoys.

Bring her flowers, and she buries her face in them, drawing deeply for their scent. Bring her a pastry and her eyes light up and she bites in with gusto, relishing the experience... even now. Even now, when those two loves of her life have been taken from her in a sense, literally in a sense. Her sense of smell and her sense of taste have left her. The doctors speculate that it has to do with the perisistent migraines she's suffered with over the past several years, but nothing seems to bring them back. It seems so cruel, really. She puts her nose to the blossoms and closes her eyes, waiting for the aroma that never comes to her. I think the only thing that could be worse is if she lost her sight as well and could not enjoy their color and beauty.

Last summer when the family was here on the island my dad made one of his amazing grilled salmon dinners. We were enjoying the bounty of the Northwest-- fish, sweet corn, fresh vegetables-- and my mom made the comment she always does, "The salmon is wonderful, Monte!" and we all heartily agreed, adding our own praises from mouths stuffed with food. But in that moment as I listened to her and thought, 'but she can't taste anything!' I realized it wasn't about what she could taste. It wasn't even about the habit of manners, which certainly we all fall back on when enjoying a meal together. It was about memory. It was about the joy that grilled salmon brings to our family, and the taste of it that has a place in her memory. As I'm writing this I can close my eyes and think of how that salmon tasted. Well, mom does the same thing, but she does it for everything she eats and drinks. She still loves her coffee-- pour her a cup and she will take a sip and say, "Mmm, good coffee!" Maybe the silver lining to this cloud of hers is that she remembers how good things tasted and is thankful for the memory of them. The sweetness in it is that she still gives thanks for something that she can't taste or smell.

But then, if you know her, it's no surprise at all... her life is about praising.

And she does it so well.

Home again, home again

I recently moved into my parent's house while it is on the market.

Because it sat empty for a few months, it's easier to move my own things in and not feel the twinge of despair quite as acutely. I miss them. It's a house that has been mine as well as theirs, as well as all of ours, for twenty years.

I put my kitchen utensils in the same place mom had hers... why improve on perfection? The cupboards are strangely uncluttered; I don't have a lot to fill them and I'm quite happy with that! I am still awed by the view every morning when I come out to turn the coffee maker on. Natalie still thinks Gramma is going to be here with open arms every time we turn in the driveway...

It's wonderful to be here; it's bittersweet, evoking memories and smiles and then the occasional surprise when I return home to find that I'm the only one who lives here.

I filled the feeders and raked out the gardens. I'm watching the snowdrops poke up and look for sun. I put a spanking new American flag in the stand on the deck. Some things are requisite here, flags and feeders being two of them. It's a lovely respite, this time here. I do not know what my future holds, but I am enjoying contentedness in ways I have not previously known and the wonder of that is equal to the wonder of the snowdrops poking through sodden soil, harbingers of a brighter day coming.

Lent is coming. My favorite church season. Ash Wednesday begins the forty days leading to Easter. If you haven't observed Lent in a while, the Upper Room is an excellent online resource. There is a daily study or check out the bookstore for study guides and devotionals on the Lenten practices. If you come from a non-denominational background, it is a deeply personal experience to bring the liturgical practices of the traditional holy days into your spiritual life.

A church readerboard in Freeland reads, "Hope Springs Eternal!" I want to sneak over in the dead of night sometime and rearrange it to read, "Spring's Hope Eternal!"

It's just around the corner, really...