The poppies are beginning to bloom.

I acquired and planted these most glorious poppies from Arvo's Tadi Vilma well over 14 years ago. Alas, I do not know the exact year of acquistion. I simply know the year lies between our date of marriage and the birth of Erica. We managed to make quite a few bi-annual visits to her home in West Sand Lake, NY. We would stop to visit with her on our way to Vermont, to see my brother, and Connecticut, to see Arvo's parents. This blog post is to honor her memory and record the feelings aroused whenever I gaze upon these spectacular visions of nature.

Her home was an expansive, well preserved and imaculately maintained farmhouse situated very close to the road. It has an even grander sturdy, towering barn immediately across the road. She tirelessly cared for and primped the imacculate flower gardens that flanked the outside surroundings of the home. These showy poppies graced the garden, creating a bold and glorious view for the eye to see and stand in awe.

At first, when I acquired these flowers to bring home to Michigan, I had no idea what sort of lasting legacy to her I would be creating. I started with a few pips, or small plants from the mature ones. Vilma has long since departed this earth, leaving behind so many intricate whispers to those of us she loved. We no longer make the biannual visits to her home. Yet, these poppies begin blooming the week before Memorial Weekend every year. Just as we prepared and planned our journey to her house, the flowers prepare their journey of their bloom.

These flowers have slowly spread to other parts of our landscape. They have become a symbol of a legacy Vilma has left to those who loved her. These flowers, like her, have endured many years. They, like she, were transplanted to a new land not by their choice. They took root, spread and prospered under many hardships, physical and emotional. They continue through their offspring to prosper and reach for potentials beyond any stretch of the imagination. All of this happened with love, patience and knowledge of believing anything is possible in a new world if you so want it to happen.

You never know what each day will bring to you.

The inspiration for this post was born when I spontaneously was reunited with my eight grade English teacher. This happened in all places but a grocery store. It began as an ordinary Tuesday, which is the day I usually run out of the perishables of the fruit, vegetable and bread variety. My grocery store is embellished with a Starbucks right inside the front door. It makes my time grocery shopping so much more enjoyable. I have been shopping at the same store since Arvo and I were married, 17 1/2 years to be more descriptive. I see many of the same employees from week to week and always manage to see another person of whom I know from some other aspect of my life. I have even met a stranger or two who share a simple common bond of simply shopping on the same day of the week. She is a very friendly Indian woman who one time was in line behind me and asked me advice regarding a pre-baked pound cake she was purchasing for a potluck she was attending that evening. I eventually saw her again a few weeks later and asked how the recipe turned out and we have shared a warm, friendly smile and short conversations ever since. Yes, we did greet each other on this particular Tuesday.

This particular Tuesday was somewhat different than most. This Tuesday I noticed the lady who works in the dairy section was not her normal, happy, positive self. No, I do not know her by name. Her name tag is always turned around and I asked her name once and have since forgot. I am too embarrassed to ask her now after seeing her for many, many weeks. I stopped to ask her if all was right in her world. She said no, her 93 year old mother was in the hospital and had little hope living her life she has enjoyed for 93 years. So, instead of simply smiling and sharing our normal brief conversation of the weather and our blessings in life, I listened to her with the hope of giving her a way of relieving some of her sorrow and fear.

After this encounter, I finally made it to the check out when a lovely person from my long ago past literally walked right by me. The cashier did not know how to respond when I exclaimed "WOW. I think I just saw my eighth grade English teacher from, like 30 years ago!!" Her first response was to ask "what if it is not her?" As if to really ask "Wouldn't you feel foolish if it was not her?" "Who cares!" I said. "At worst I apoligize but as least I tried because what if it IS her?" Fortunately for me, the lady I saw pass me by was wearing a bright, sunny yellow shirt with a denim jumper. I kept a close eye on this person to plan my next move. If she exited through the doors, I knew I would have to move quickly to try and catch her in the parking lot. Luck, or fate, was at my side that day. She moved beyond the doors so I knew I could relax and for a moment enjoy the brief contemplation of hoping the lady was indeed connected to my past. Over the 30 years I often have imagined reuniting with her for a time in order to reveal to her my gratitude for having introduced writing to me. My first memory of her class was being exposed to writing in a journal. To some kids in the class, this was not a welcomed part of the day. To me, it was an opportunity to let words form in your mind and only in your mind and flow through a pen onto paper. This at times took on the form to expell sadness, observe beauty, prevent insanity or add to dilusion. To this day, whenever I see a spiral bound notebook with loose leaf paper in it, I am immediatley taken back to eighth grade English, siiting in a desk in Mrs. Daly's room. I finally reached the lady whom I thought made such a grand impression on a 13 year old girl in 1976. I looked at her while she studied the display of avocadoes. I knew immediately it has to be Mrs. Daly. So, I excused myself as I approached her to gain her attention and asked the obvious question "Are you Mrs. Daly who taught English at Page Junior High?" So poetic, good grief. A warm and welcoming smile appeared on her face assuring me that yes indeed she was Mrs. Daly.

Better today than the last post time....

When I read that last post of April 22, you can tell the tone around our geographical location was bleak. I can say since a few weeks have passed, my outlook, and the outlook in our household in general, is much, much brighter. Just having the warmer weather to inspire and gaze upon lends a positive spirit to so many facets of everyday life. The entire outdoors seems to be in action taking on each nature intended color: daffodils in sunny yellow, grass in lush green, hyacinths in deep blue, pink, and fuschia omitting a fragrant perfume all its own. Colorful birds too have returned to allow us their splendor of yellows, reds, black and great grey (of the Blue Heron variety). The sun graces our souls a bit earlier each day and along with its light brings an orchestra of birdsongs announcing its arrival. "Get up, get going, be thankful for a new day".

Of course, all this is so much more noticed when some fear of job loss has been corralled, for the time being. GM went through job eliminations and demotions last week. I prayed each day that no bad tidings would follow Arvo. Each day I was thankful for "no news is good news". The week ended to allow normal thought. Of course, nothing is guaranteed to last forever. Nothing. For now, we will carry on keeping this perspective continually in mind, while at the same time knowing that in the end, all will be well. Nature seems to know this. After a long, cold winter, spring always manages to present itself to the world to tell us, all will be well.

In my opinion, Simon and Garfunkel summed it up poetically like this:

"April, come she will. May she will stay resting in my arms again.

June she'll change her tune. In restless walks she'll prowl the night.

July, she will fly and give no warning to her flight.

August die she must. The autumn winds blow chilly and cold;

September, I'll remember a love once new has now grown old."