What Time is it?

Bill’s Annual Summer Newsletter

July 2022

“The Day is ending as cloud cover thickens. Rain may be coming. It is always calming to dwell on more provoking thoughts than the red cheeks coming to the cherries.”

What phase are we in our lives? Each change, ideally, is to lead to a new opportunity. Our family is an endearing reminder that we are still young or long to be young again.

  • Tucker pinched his fingers in the car door and needs some loving.
  • Payton and Gigi are on a search for dance shoes for her upcoming ballet recital.
  • Beatrice leaps for joy for a push on the swing hanging from the locost.
  • Henry is helping his dad pick up rocks before practice (is it baseball, soccer, or his 2nd baseball team?)

Too much? Too little? All reminders that we must appreciate that life is unfolding now. These moments may never happen again. Do we have to convince ourselves that we are living the right life and not merely leaping from one fire to another? This time of year sixty years ago my father was gravely ill. As a junior high youngster I never thought he would not “make it”. He was resilient, worked harder than most and active in his communities. In “death there is life” is often preached. Was this period to be one of new opportunity?

For many subsequent years my mother would ask my sister and I once a year “do you think of your father?”  Of course I always replied weakly.  Since her love for him was strong and unwavering, I know my response was the wrong one. I wanted to reinforce her.  Yet, I really wanted to say that my Dad and I seldom had time to openly share.  Surely there were moments of give and take, but not enough. I want to avoid this with our clan to “keep our souls alive” (as friends Barb and Bill reminded me).

I have been accused of “probing” too much, but this can’t be confused with heartfelt curiosity which is only surpassed by caution and kindness.  Such is the resort of seven decades of wrestling.  Peace and leisure are as fleeting as the tranquility of early summer mornings.

For some clarity and cleansing we sojourned to Ann Arbor last weekend.  Adrianne, Tom and Arra had a “barn dance” to celebrate their new flower farm down a gravel road west of the city.  “Marilla Field and Flora” has some unforgiving soil that through diligence and broken finger nails has encouraged 300 varieties of flowers.  Arra, too, glooms (?) for she “can read anything”.

Joy, indeed, abounds in our next generations. – Bill

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