In my heart, I am a gardener.
In reality, I am not.
I can take care of my hanging baskets and help them to thrive.
I know how to keep my mulch beds neat by pulling the weeds frequently.

It was when I was watering my hanging baskets on my side porch that it came to me.
I had my phone with me as I was on the porch.
I took a picture of the area about which I was thinking.
I can see the area from my porch swing or my bistro table.

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We received the recall letter many months ago.
We were told that the company would notify us when the part was available.
We were instructed to make an appointment with the service department at that time.
I felt a little uneasy when I read what part was being recalled.

A fuel pump on my mini van needed to be replaced.
I envisioned all sorts of things when I read that letter.
My husband assured me that there was nothing to be concerned about.
The car company knows of the potential problem and is taking steps to remedy it.

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Two handmade toys in our house are quite popular with children.
They were both made by an Amish man.
They have no bells or whistles.
They are just old fashioned fun.

One of these toys is on the low windowsill in the kitchen.
The other is on the low windowsill in the dining room.
Both wide windowsills are actually window seats.
However, young children like to stand next to them since they are just the right height.

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We tried it a few weekends ago.
My oldest daughter thought it would be so much fun to build.
She remembered how much she and her brothers and sisters loved it when they were young.
She thought her little niece would enjoy it, too.

She pulled the leather ottoman into the center of the room.
She pulled a small chair to the center as well.
She went to the large basket in the back of the family room.
She pulled out a large blanket and draped it ever so carefully over both things.

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The sound always bothered me.
I could tell you the exact places where the sound would be loudest.
Unfortunately, they were places we walked all the time.
They were places that had the most traffic in our kitchen.

Squeaks in the floor were the problem.
Some were near the sink and the counter where I usually prepare meals.
Some were in front of the refrigerator, in the path that led to the laundry room.
Some were around the large farm table.

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My son, daughter-in-love, and sweet granddaughter were here for the weekend.
We were celebrating my son’s birthday a few days before his actual day.
I heard my granddaughter’s squeals as they all walked on the back walkway towards the kitchen.
She was excited to be at Grandma’s house.

My husband teases that it is Pop-Pop’s house, too.
However; to her, everything is Grandma’s.
Of course, I delight over this because for the longest time, she couldn’t say, Grandma.
She said something every time she talked to me or someone pointed to me.

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For the past two years, I have gone to Hutchmoot, a creativity conference.
The past two Octobers, I flew on a plane headed to Tennessee.
I looked forward to my time there.
I looked forward to reconnecting with the people who have become dear friends.

I was looking forward to going again this year.
Like so may of us this year, my plans were cancelled.
There would be no flight to Tennessee.
There would be no reunion with people who are very special to me.

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She was a mutt.
She actually found her pet parents.
It had been just the two of them.
A dog made their family complete.

Mutts are best, she told me.
When they went to find a dog, the people at the shelter deemed them, older pet parents.
They hoped that the dog’s temperament would fit their lifestyle.
They had no idea how opposite their choice would be.

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He is sitting on the small, yellow chair.
A pretend chocolate cake and pretend mixer are in front of him.
He has a gold ribbon tied around his neck.
His eyes look straight ahead, seeing nothing.

He is waiting for my granddaughter to come and get him.
My granddaughter is seventeen months old.
She just spent the weekend with us.
He came, too.

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There it sits.
It is a reminder of what life is like now.
It is a yearning for what life once was.
It is a sign of the times.

It hangs on the phone holder right below my rear view mirror.
I wish it wasn’t there.
I wish I never had to see it again.
However, seven months have passed, and it is still necessary.

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