I look across the hayfield and see nothing but Queen Anne’s Lace, a field of wildflowers. Something is wrong here. Instead of hay, we have white wildness. It’s as if the flowers took the field by squatters’ rights. I see some whiteness every year, but not here and certainly not in such force. In the hierarchy of flowers, the wild ones rise quickly. Some call Queen Anne’s Lace a weed, but I recall days when these flowers were picked and handed to me with such sweet love. Beaut

I am sick. It changes the routine of everyone. Grandboys upstairs with games, husband rests on the sofa, grandgirl naps in a bedroom, me quiet in a recliner, dogs snooze on the floor. Nothing is normal. Any celebration for my husband’s birthday is postponed. And Father’s Day is coming. This is Saturday and no mowing sounds. Plain weird. All witty remarks and jokes, on hold and waiting. Just how it is. Family, meeting the needs of the sick one, the one feeling broken. I am as

Sister, you have been sick for weeks. Sicker than I’ve ever known you to be. I keep looking back over my shoulder, remembering our youth and joy, what it was like for you and me. Now, you’ve been my sister for seven decades. I wonder if I valued you then as much as I value you now. Probably not. I swivel my head to the left, then to the right, like an owl trying to turn almost full circle. If I’m not deceiving myself, our childhood was made up of ordinary things, ordinary peo

I remember when working toward becoming a mental health counselor, I heard a professor say, “You can only go as deep with a client as you have been yourself. Be grateful for your wounds....” At the time, of course, I’m never grateful. Grateful comes later when I’m not trying to understand and survive the loss. Turns out that professor was right. I still have many opportunities to go deep with others. Retired now, and it remains true. My husband says, “Do you know how old I am