Twice a year we do the same thing.
It happens in the spring.
It happens again in the fall.
This past weekend was the day.

It is the day when all of the outdoor furniture comes inside for the winter.
I am never sad about that since I enjoy fall and winter.
I like seeing the table, chairs, and market umbrella right outside my kitchen door.
I like to see the wicker coffee table on my porch.

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I always knew it was him.
I would hear him long before I saw the aisle on which he was working.
One thing always gave it away.
One sound was his trademark.

He whistled.
He whistled all the time.
He was the paradigm for the Whistle While You Work song that I remembered as a child.
It was a pleasure to run into him each week.

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I was in the middle of baking.
It is a recipe I make all the time.
I know the ingredients like the back of my hand.
I can bake this recipe without even looking at the cookbook.

I was called away when my husband wanted to show me something he was working on outside.
I was interrupted for just a few minutes.
When I came back to my Kitchen Aid mixer, I wondered.
Did I just put baking soda or baking powder in the batter?

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I hear the rooster all the time.
I have grown to expect it and to actually enjoy its sound.
The rooster makes itself known all day, however.
So much for roosters only crowing in the morning when the sun comes up.

The house to which the rooster belongs was sold months ago.
The house, located deep in the woods, is directly behind our property
I am friends with a sweet woman that lived in the house before.
She comes to the Bible study I teach in my home.

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She knew how her day would go from the way it started out.
She overslept because she forgot to set her alarm.
She hurried through her morning routine trying to accomplish it in half the time.
She jumped into the shower without waiting for the water to get hot.

In the rush to wash her hair, she got shampoo in her eye.
She lathered herself with soap and rinsed quickly.
She could not wait to get warm with a fluffy towel.
She opened the shower door and realized that she never grabbed a towel before hopping in.

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Someone explained the difference between taking a shower and getting caught in the rain.
I’m already dressed and ready for the day, they said, referring to getting wet in the rain.
When I’m in the shower, it doesn’t matter if I get wet, they continued.
Being dressed or undressed is the difference.

When my daughters and I were in Tennessee, we got caught in the rain.
We were in downtown Nashville, going across the Walking Bridge.
Large raindrops fell one at a time.
The one at a time pace quickly turned into steady drops.

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When I was in elementary school, we said the Pledge of Allegiance every morning.
I remember standing next to my desk.
I remember putting my right hand over my heart.
I remember saying the words that I never understood when I was a little girl.

I probably pronounced them wrong.
I probably said them quickly and rolled some of the sounds together.
It was a morning ritual.
It was not until later that those words were understood.

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We moved into our house on my birthday, twenty years ago.
My youngest daughter celebrated her first birthday in this house.
Less than a week after we moved in, we traveled to Atlanta.
We were going to the 1996 Olympics.

In the days after we moved in, some of our neighbors came to say hello.
The neighbors that lived right next door had the same last name as ours.
I remember the day they walked into our house.
The husband gave me the nicest compliment I ever received.

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We watch the news or read the news reports and get weary.
It seems as if nothing good is ever reported.
It seems as if the world has gone mad.
We often feel helpless.

What can I possibly do to make a difference?
Does anything I do really matter in the scheme of things?
Where do I even begin?
I am just one person.

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I had a sweet mom over the other day with her three precious daughters.
I had not seen them in a while.
It was so lovely to catch up with them.
The two older girls have spent time at my house, the younger one was too young to remember.

The oldest daughter is now 11 years old, which is hard for me to believe.
This mom home schools her three daughters.
They are part of a wonderful program that focuses on classical education.
I listened quite amazed at the things the girls are learning.

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