Picture a wooden fence with a small rose peeking out through a small crack between boards. It grew where it was planted, but it wanted more; maybe it sought more light, a new view of the neighborhood, escape. I often think in metaphors and that little rose has set me to thinking about flowers and weeds that flourish in spite of their tending, or lack of it.

Some people I’ve encountered in my travels are like that little rose or the weeds in my garden; they are happy to live and bloom where they have their beginnings, shrivel and become unlovely where they are, spread the seeds of their unpleasantness, or become transformed in a new location. High school classmates who remained in our home town have blossomed and become leaders; others have not done so well, going from one thing to another unsatisfied and unpleasant. Still others have found fulfillment in other places where they find beauty and contentment in their surroundings.

As we approach a time for high school graduates to make their first life decisions, I look back to classmates or students of mine who have made their way, some traveling distances, some not so far from where they were planted. I have wonderful memories of days and years spent helping young people seek that special something each of them had inside her/himself.

Each time I encounter a bloom where none should be, I suspect I’ll smile at what might have been and what is.

Minnesota has more seasons than just the four people think it has. Road construction/detours overlap three regular seasons. Garage sale season is predominantly in the summer, but it laps into the other three.Then we have indoor tennis season and outdoor, sometimes overlapping.

In our family I am the sale person; my mom called it “garaging.” My husband observes the tennis seasons. It works pretty well for our scheduling as I can follow my signs when he’s keeping his eye on the ball.

Problems arise with the storage of my recycled treasures. To keep harmony in our home and in an attempt to minimize the clutter as much as possible, we have off-site storage to complement the on-site shelves in one big basement room. This summer, in response to the rising cost of our storage facility, we are planning to replace  our 8 x 8 lawn and garden shed with a larger version to house some of the memorabilia and accumulated stuff in a place close by to encourage me to sort and throw some of it. Of course a portion of the building will have to be used for the lawn and garden equipment. Stay tuned for updates on the project.

As a co-chair of our annual church rummage sale, I feel an obligation to keep up with sale prices, popular items, and presentation ideas for us to maximize our efforts. Fulfilling that duty brings me incidental pleasure, or I probably wouldn’t do it with such intensity. One of my favorite seasons is under way.

Budding trees and flowers are ahead of their normal schedule this spring. The bridal wreath in front of the house will be in full bloom very soon. When I was making June commencement bouquets long ago, the bridal wreath was a staple in the bouquets of iris and lilacs. My climate change observations have more to do with memories like that than actual scientific statistics, but I have no doubts about the phenomenon and our contributions to it.

Extreme weather situations are another part of the evidence persuading me that something is not right with our environment. It’s easier to point fingers at blatant abusers than to recognize the little things my neighbors and I do that exponentially contribute to the growing problems.

I love our wood-burning fireplace. We water our lawn during the summer; we do honor the occasional bans, and we water during the early morning hours. During the hottest part of the year we use air conditioning. We tried the saving plan, but we discovered that the equipment had to strain to catch up. and it runs less frequently and for shorter periods when it’s on, set at a higher temperature. We recycle, use cloth grocery bags, turn off lights when we leave rooms.  Our car is fuel-efficient, and we carpool whenever possible. We should use public transportation more often. It’s easy to find reasons not to schedule around the availability of the light rail or the bus for trips downtown.

The early spring affords us the opportunity to get our annuals planted before Memorial Day, though we will wait with putting our tomato plants into the garden. While I realize that our small efforts at being green are insignificant, that isn’t an excuse to give them up. A small step forward is progress, and it just may ever-so-slightly reduce our personal carbon footprint.

I can’t recall a time when I didn’t like words. Words in illogical combinations make oxymorons: the deafening silence. Words can stir emotions, enrage, soothe, comfort; you get the idea. A teaching colleague and I had many disagreements about language use. He appreciated the fact that our language was evolving to reflect the times. New words were created to express specific ideas – large became huge, gigantic, enormous, humongous, ginormous. My position was that we couldn’t abandon rules. We need a standard of excellence, a quantifying benchmark.

So began my frustrations with usage. The word “like” is a preposition, a comparison word appropriately used in a simile: her eyes sparkled like raindrops. It is not a substitute for “said” or “replied.” I’m like whoa! doesn’t make it in my lexicon.

“It’s” means it is. It is not a possessive form of it. A chameleon changes its color to match its environment.

The forms of “lie” are intransitive; they can exist without an object. The forms of “lay” are transitive; the word means put or place and it requires an object, something placed somewhere. Correctly, her socks were lying on the floor.I sometimes lie awake for hours thinking about language. I asked him to lay (put) the book on the table where it is still lying today. That one is so commonly misused I suspect my teaching friend would tell me to “live with it.”

Lately I’ve been hearing the misuse of “me” and “I” in conversations, on MPR, in speeches. “Please talk to Fred and me” is correct. The test is to leave Fred out of the request. One would not say “Please talk to I.” On MPR a week or two ago the moderator said, “It is hard for we non-scientists…” It is hard for us! It is hard for me!

I am controlled in my reactions to language misuse. I hardly ever correct people, except maybe my grandchildren. I do believe, however, that like the marines there are no former English teachers.

Losing a friend is much like losing a family member. Most of my grief is for me and for others who will miss his companionship, thoughtful counsel, and friendly presence. Denny was chair of the church steering committee when I was hired as office administrator in 1998. He and Trudi made sure my husband and I got to meet people who would become our friends there.

He had a beautiful yard and garden with vegetables and flowers. A member of a camera club, he developed his own pictures,and had an interesting eye for just the right photographs. He was a reader, and he enjoyed discussions of books and ideas. I knew he’d come from a small town as I had, and we shared tales of growing up in a safe rural environment where people knew everyone and everyone’s business.

His unassuming nature and sense of fairness made him a much-appreciated teacher and role model for his students, daughters, and grandchildren. We had teaching in common with him, and we shared those stories as well.

When his cancer returned, it had invaded areas not touched the first time. He ignored it in order to care for his wife who died of a rare condition last fall. Through these last months he remained positive and determined to do what was necessary. His death came unexpectedly soon, though he may have sensed its coming.

Because we could always count on his help, his wisdom, and his sense of humor, we who cared about this special friend are feeling a profound sense of loss this week.

Some time ago I was asked to give the address at a National Honor Society installation. I had so many things I wanted to share with those young people about how to live their lives honorably. After all, that was part of NHS, wasn’t it?  These were multi-talented kids in a small community where education was valued. We had been reading Emerson in English, and so many words of that wise man resonated with me at that moment.

I wanted them to be self-reliant in their searches for values and behavior choices. I suggested that when there was doubt they should think with their hearts, “walk in another’s moccasins” as they considered whether to step in or step away. I filled my message with quotations and ideas we’d discussed as we read Emerson’s writings.

When I rehearsed my talk with my favorite listener, my son, his first comment was, “Mom, you said Emerson too many times.” We’d been doing research, and I had to show them that when an idea is borrowed, it must be credited.

I told them to get to know who you are, what you value, and then I quoted the wise, loquacious windbag, Polonius.”This above all: To thine ownself be true. And it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not be false to any man.” (Hamlet, Act I, iii)

I must have done enough to reach them, because several asked me for a copy of my talk. And I was asked to give a message to seniors at two community churches that spring. Each year at this time I recall those precious days with young men and women who would speak for the next generations.

I have a strong desire to share ideas with my future self and with select others. For this, my first post, I may wander a bit as I have anticipated this opportunity, thought wise and foolish thoughts, and have no real agenda. The day is gray and moist, not a good day for outdoor activity, but a perfect one for a good book, a gentle fire, and a cup of something warm and soothing. So what am I doing here at the Mac when all of that pleasantness could be mine?

Today is Cinco de Mayo. Celebrations are being held all around the city. Two of our granddaughters will attend a parade and kid-friendly activities at a Minneapolis park. The young don’t seem discouraged by a rainy day. Puddle stomping was created by a kid, after all. While adults walk around, kids in boots wade right in. It’s a life metaphor.

As we approach spring with its end-of-school-year events, I have been remembering proms, final exams, commencements, and the sad/happy feelings of my years as a high school teacher/senior class advisor. The May activities celebrated beginnings for seniors and endings for their teachers and parents. But that is a topic for another day.

The fact that I have an older computer with a dated browser doesn’t make me obsolete. I’m accustomed to the slower response time, and my Mac and I have  a comfortable connection. I do have a wireless mouse; it took an adjustment period, but I have come to appreciate its free spirit.

This is enough for a first effort. If you’ve stayed with me, you are ready for a break as well. As Arnold so insightfully put it, I’ll be back.

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