We sat beside the table of a young family. There were 6 boys and two adults who were clearly their biological parents. At first glance I thought, “Not sextuplets, or we’d have read about them.” I looked closer. The 3 littlest ones at one end of the table appeared to be about 4 years old. They were identical. Next to one of them was Mom. On the other side were two in glasses, maybe 5 or 6 years old. At the other end of the table next to Dad was a boy of about 7.

Trying not to be intrusive, I watched the young family as they ordered, colored pictures, and finally ate their dinners. The boys were quiet, well-behaved, gentle and respectful with one another and with Mom and Dad. It was delightful to see them interact in this day when not all children can be taken out in public and expected to behave.

As they were getting ready to leave, we got Mom’s attention to compliment the boys on their demeanor and behavior. Then we asked, “One, two, and three?” She nodded. The boys looked so much alike, and they were so like their parents. She said that they didn’t do this often, but she was happy to hear that they hadn’t disturbed us.

It gives me hope to be part of a moment like that one. A future peopled with families who are loving and happy can only be a positive thing. When all around us seem bewildered, frightened, and discouraged, a glimpse of what can be puts things in perspective for me.

We have another beautiful sunny morning. My tennis player was up and out early for a match south of the river. I just made the mistake of reading some of the comments on an article in the Strib. I know better. Right now politics is in such disarray. People who voice opinions are so polarized.

Once upon a time when life seemed simple, conversations were more civil. Disagreements were over small differences of opinion. My world was small town MN, untouched by privation, anger, bitterness, mistrust. I knew no one who had needs the neighbors wouldn’t meet. We watched one another’s children, shared the bounty of our gardens. Nowhere was more than 10 minutes away by bicycle, a bit more on foot.

My dad was a dentist who often was paid in produce for his services. He couldn’t turn away someone whose teeth needed tending. During the summer we had fresh eggs, strawberries, sweet corn, chickens; leaf lettuce and radishes were Mom’s
big treats. Hungry people were in faraway lands like India and Africa.

Today we have politicians who fervently believe that no one should be allowed to be hungry or without medical help. Others feel the necessity to cut spending by eliminating programs for those who can’t or don’t speak for themselves. Sanity is probably somewhere between the extremes.

On this lovely day I want to believe we can weather the political storms. I do long for a day when kindness, decency, and compassion are the norms. Because I can remember a gentler time, I know it is possible. May it be so again.

This is a time of adventures.The first was a cold, windy tennis match today that was fun only because of the company, all feeling the cold at a court without windscreens.That wasn’t my adventure. Mine began with a Barnes & Noble gift card for which I ordered a book for my nook, a nookbook if you will. The nook has served me reliably for more than a year. During that time my husband’s nook was replaced because it wasn’t working. Now mine has joined the disabled, and after nearly an hour on the phone with someone from technical support, we await a replacement to arrive in 3 to 5 business days. Judging from the accented voice on the phone, I suspect it may come from half way round the world, traveling part way by elephant.

Fortunately library e-books can be read on the ipad as well as the nook. Both of us will be able to read something while we wait for my new nook to arrive. Because of the 21-day checkout time and the popularity of the authors we enjoy, I’m grateful for the two pieces of equipment.

Friends are leaving today for a month of adventures. Their first stop is London. Other friends have just returned from an adventure in the Peruvian mountains. That experience was heavy-duty climbing and out-of-touch trekking. My brother leaves tomorrow for Oregon where he’ll visit kids and his grandson.

The adventure of the garden shed is nearing its conclusion. Presently the walls are detached and piled on the shed’s floor. We expect the new owner to come with muscled companions to carry the parts away. That should occur today.

The week will wind down with dinner with kids, helping one of them move into a new place, visiting the Chinese Immersion school where granddaughters will perform, attending a concert of the SPCO, and the final Sunday of our church year.

It’s raining again. If I post something each time we have a rainy day, I’ll get nothing else done. Interesting that more days are rain-free, but the rainy ones summon my muse. I really need that muse to be scouting for topics rather than urging me to write something.

I’ve been avoiding topics that frustrate or distress me. Misuse of the language doesn’t count; that’s ever-present. I don’t want to talk about politics, the Vikings stadium, people who use guns to cause far-reaching ripple effects in families and communities, young people who are teased beyond their capacity to tolerate the short-sighted cruelty of their peers, billions spent on presidential campaigns, dishonesty for personal gain without regard for lives of those adversely affected.

I think about the obesity epidemic in our country, and about young girls whose self-esteem necessitates creating body types that are unnaturally thin and less attractive than they imagine. Some young people spend more time with computer games and cell phone text messages than they do exercising their minds and bodies in healthy ways.

Then after I’ve thought about the things I don’t want to write about, I admit that my age is showing. In a perfect world helping people who can’t help themselves would become a popular diversion. Instead of saying we’re concerned about the environment, the forests, the rivers, animals and birds whose habitats are under assault, people would do something about it.

When the rain abates, the sun will shine again. Despair will go into seclusion for a time. The birds will once again sing outside my windows, and I’ll turn my attention to peaceful thoughts. My life does have resilience.

The church year at the small church where I work is winding down. From early June to early September a summer break from Sunday services and choir rehearsals provides a time for travel, relaxation, gardening, visiting family, and renewal. When fall brings us back together, the congregation is energized and ready to resume the comfortable togetherness we’ve come to appreciate.

Our break coincides with a break in school schedules. The teachers among us will take courses at nearby colleges and universities to get new ideas to refresh their crafts. When I was teaching, I spent summers at Hamline picking up tactics and materials to add to my teaching tools. Summer was a time of rest and renewal then as now.

During the early part of the summer some of us will be preparing for the annual rummage sale scheduled for the last week in July this year. We put in many hours sorting, pricing, and arranging to create an appealing, uncluttered presentation of the treasures donated by our members. We do a lot of laughing, singing and harmonizing, sharing and bonding as we work together. I look forward to the adventure each year.

I will work at my job until mid-June, then return mid-August to prepare for fall. I have the best of a retirement life working at the church. It keeps me busy, presents challenges, allows me to be creative, and best of all I’ve made wonderful friends.

On this rainy afternoon, I’m restless. Sometimes the skies become so gray that I can’t see to read my nook. Then thunder and hard rains interrupt my concentration. My tennis player is with 3 of his tennis buddies playing indoors. I’m watching the rain.

The garden shed saga continues. We’re on our second “taker.” The first one found the removal daunting because the walls are so heavy. He’d carefully removed the shingles and roof boards, hauling away the materials. Then on his 3rd morning here, he decided it was more than he’d counted on. The backup person was called; he looked it over, then said he was interested.

During a lull in the rain, I went out to check on the shed, now roofless. The floor is really solid and waterproof; a half inch of standing water had to be swept out – a job for my tennis player before he left for the courts in Lakeville. Since then it’s rained more. I’m having an exciting afternoon! It’s not exactly like watching paint dry, but it’s close.

The moisture is wonderful for the lawn and gardens. Most of my June-blooming flowers are in full bloom a month early. The peonies, iris, mock orange, and shrub roses are beautiful and loving the rain. Here comes another rain squall. Pura vida, a good life.

We posted our garden shed on craigslist as a giveaway, that is, free. The first thing that happened was that “free” is not a price, so it was omitted from the ad. In the first half hour we had dozens of inquiries, most wanted the price, but all were interested in having the shed.

The ad included a photo and dimensions, 8′ x 8′, plus the information that it could not be moved in one piece. The shed must be disassembled because there is only a 6′ space from a gazebo to a wall on that side of the yard. One person wanted to know if he could transport it in his minivan; another wanted to drive a trailer up to the building, use jacks to lift it to trailer level, and move it as is from our yard. Someone else mentioned lifting it over the gazebo in a single piece.

We had four who seemed to understand the situation. They wanted it. The man who got to us first with serious intentions came to see it yesterday afternoon. Before June 1st he plans to have it moved, in pieces, of course.

Early in the day we emptied the shed, parked our pickup in the driveway, and stowed our shovels, rakes, lawn mower, tiller, grass seed, potting soil, pots, basketballs, toys, tarps – all the stuff of a well-used shed – into one side of the garage. It involved many trips up and down a hill; we were finished by noon, and we were tired.

How the careful destruction will be accomplished is presently unknown. Construction of our larger shed will begin mid-June. We have completed the first of many phases in our storage solutions. The saga continues.

The wind caused a dirt blizzard as my sister and I drove with her big dog and a car full of garage sale treasures on our annual pilgrimage to Gaylord. We make the trek every May to put flowers on our parents’ grave before Memorial Day.

The older section of the cemetery has ornate gravestones, many noting something about the life of the deceased or of those who grieved or where/how the soul is spending eternity. When we were children, we prowled that area reading and speculating about those long-dead members of our church. I recall finding many graves from an early 20th century influenza epidemic. Many of those were of children, the stones with cherubs, sometimes photographs, always sad to us who really had no concept of death.

The newer part has the graves of many we knew, a beloved band director, a neighbor, friends of our parents who became part of our lives in that small town. The wind whipped things out of our hands, creating bizarre hair tangles, Though it delighted my sister’s dog who romped among the stones, we didn’t stay long for quiet contemplation.

Part of our yearly visit always involves driving by our home. New owners have made slight changes, but they have maintained its integrity and its dignity by careful tending. I always smile to see the A atop the chimney. For a while at least the house bears our name among long-time residents. The A helps them remember.

Before heading back to the cities we stopped for coffee at a bakery/cafe on the edge of downtown. We chuckled as we entered because the same 4 men were sitting in the same corner of that place, probably telling the same stories. We’ll see them again next May.

Rhyming poetry usually annoys me. As I’ve been considering this topic, I find myself in support of more and more quality poetry, rhymed or otherwise.

I appreciate a well-written classical sonnet. The iambic pentameter and Shakespearean or Spenserian rhyme patterns are difficult to maintain and still manage a profound message. The few times I’ve tried writing one I’ve become so distracted by the form that my message was lost.

Song lyrics can be in the annoying category for me, but some are tolerable because of the music. I’ve just become acquainted with the tender lyrics for “Ashokan Farewell.” For me the rhyme was incidental to the beauty of the message.

The lyrics for “I Wonder as I Wander” are on my unpleasant list. In order to achieve a rhyme, the lyricist said, “For poor on’ry people like you and like I” to rhyme with sky. I cannot sing that line. The ungrammatical poetic license offends me.

It’s fun to write new words to old songs. That requires rhyme, but it also allows for playing with words to promote a cause or to get a laugh. A friend does it every year and her audiences love it.

I do believe I’m a language curmudgeon, but that must not be entirely a bad thing as my friends continue to talk to me, and some are even reading my blog.

I have an aversion to rhyming poetry. I especially shudder at the sappy stuff of greeting card rhymes: no skies of gray on this your day only lovely May for your birthday. Yuck! Once upon a time I read a poignant poem in free verse to students who informed me that it was not a poem because none of the words rhymed. OK, that made for a teachable moment, and use it I did. I suspect some were not ready to abandon their preconceptions, but I gave them something to consider.

I would have a difficult time preparing for a debate on this topic as I have views on both sides. As I think about it, I have some real favorites among the rhyming poets. I adore Dr. Suess. His books can provide a true measure of a child’s mastery of reading. And the wonder of his imagination and creative vocabulary delights me.

I enjoy writing limericks. The strict structure provides a discipline that gives me pleasure.

Rummage sales need “limericity”
This is definitely not eccentricity!
You hear our story
And you are not sorry
To be lured into willing complicity.

Your basement & garage are a mess
With boxes & piles causing stress.
Here’s a suggestion
We’re begging the question
Let MVUUF relieve your distress.

The 2012 sale will be early
In July, but please don’t get surly!
We’ve planned the event
So don’t rent that tent
We’ll lessen your mess very purely.

We’ll take pots, pans & dishes
Sheets, toys, even porcelain fishes.
We welcome your treasure
To give others pleasure
It will satisfy everyone’s wishes.

So far you’ve heard two arguments for the rhymes and only one against. Enough for this round.