Here Comes the Sun

        

Green growth squeezes out blossoms as the orchard rushes into summer.

  When you live in a northern state like Michigan, summer is extra special. Winter is so long, and summer so short, that we can't waste a minute of sunshine.

              The landscape transforms almost instantly. Last week the bare branches felt light snow and killing frost; this week the forests are greening up as if an artist were slapping on paint. Just yellow-green buds yesterday, swaths of leaves today, full shade by tomorrow.  The beloved cherry orchards barely had time to show off their blossoms before the green growth took over.

              Sleepy little towns like Leland, which are virtually abandoned in the winter,  become bustling tourist centers starting around Memorial Day. This year the transformation is even more dramatic because the Covid-19 lockdown closed business across the state for two months. Just a few days ago Governor Gretchen Whitmer announced that restaurants and retail in the northernmost counties could reopen this weekend, as long as safety precautions were practiced.  Village streets are jammed with delivery trucks as merchants unpack boxes and restock shelves.

            Summer anticipation is always tinged with a bit of apprehension. Will it be a good fishing year? Will the lake be too high or will summer heat tame the wet spring?  But this year the questions are are bigger and bolder. Will the tourists from Detroit and Chicago return or will travel fears keep them away? Is the Covid virus waning or will a second wave hit fast and furious like a summer squall?

              None of those fears can dim the excitement, however. The sky is blue.  The shimmering water is so inviting. And, ooooo,  that sun feels so good.

Yakety Yak, Don't talk back.

        

I used to talk to Cloudy. He was a good listener

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Do you ever talk to yourself?
         No, of course not. That would be silly.
         See what I mean?
         I have been divorced most of my life. After my son left home more than 20 years ago, I have pretty much lived alone. I always had cats and I would ask them what we should have for dinner or comment to them about the feasibility of whatever we happened to be watching together on television. Granted I also sought their advice on more weighty matters such as which car to buy or where to invest my savings.
         Although my last cat died about five years ago, I still talk aloud in my empty house sometimes. Verbalizing my thoughts seems to make it easier to find a misplaced phone or appreciate a spectacular sunset. Sometimes I even speak with an appropriate accent such as pulling out a bit of an Irish brogue the other day to comment on "a wee pair of lovely Orioles pecking at the bonnie grass in me yard."
           Today's technology has spiced up the silence in my home. I can ask questions of Alexa and actually get intelligent answers. I love telling her to time the cookies or put nutmeg on the shopping list.  I admit, however, it turns into a shouting match sometimes when she keeps misunderstanding my song request or when she can't hear my command to turn down the volume.
           At the risk of sounding like a crazy old lady, I have accepted my habit of talking to myself and have no plan to stop. But I have been thinking I should be more careful what I say. It is too easy to be overly critical. "What did you do that for? You are such a dunce." "Look at you, fat slob." "Clean up this place. It looks like a crime scene." "You blew it again."
             I need to be the encouraging voice I want to hear. "What a lovely morning!" "Well done. That was a good idea." "Aha, that looks nice.""You've got good taste." "Praise God. Thank you Jesus." "Keep it up. It's working."

Quarantine on parade

          

Until last week I hadn't been in a parade since I was in Brownies, which was literally halfway through the last century.  But thanks to Covic-19,  I "paraded" twice in one week
            First a group of girlfriends gathered to celebrate a 50th birthday without breaking those pesky social distancing rules. A few days later my church congregation decided to give drive-by praise and encouragement to three young members who are about to graduate from high school.
           A novel virus calls for novel solutions.
           We pack our quarantined selves into our portable isolation booths -- formerly known as the family car -- and let our imaginations run wild.  We dress up the vehicle for the occasion -- balloons, banners, signs and streamers. We crank up the sound  system, play with the horn and flashing lights.
          And most importantly we interact with friends we haven't seen in far too long. Keeping a car length apart so we don't crimp our bumpers, we exceed any social distance rules. But we wave, and shout, and applaud and laugh. Then we return to the safety of our homes, a little more able to face the uncertainty that lies ahead.













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One is the loneliest number.

   

      My purse fell over in the passenger seat spilling its contents on the car's floor. Gathering up the pieces I spotted my favorite earring.  Its mate had gone missing several months ago. What good is one earring? I should just throw it out but it was a favorite. I threw it back in the purse with all the other stuff.
       Half a pair of anything is one of life's great frustrations. Who hasn't done a load of laundry and discovered at least one unmatched sock? You stick it in the corner of the sock drawer assuming the mate will show up and sometimes it never does.You end up with four or five lonesome rejects in the drawer. Where do all the mates go?
       Early in my newspaper career I wrote a column for single people. The promotional photo featured a group of unmatched shoes. Nothing expresses unrealized potential like half a pair.
       One Shoe Off is the second book in the Jordan Daily News mystery series, The title refers to a clue that a kidnapped editor left behind. But as the story develops it becomes a metaphor for a world off balance where the guilty prosper and the innocent are punished."One shoe off, one shoe on, diddle, diddle dumpling...."
         The day after my purse spilled its contents I was straightening my bedroom when once again I spied that beloved lone earring in the jewelry box. Wait a minute!
          I ran down the hall...literally ran to the kitchen. I grabbed my purse, fished through the jumble and pulled out my earring. I ran back down the hall to the bedroom, grabbed the earring in the jewelry box and held the two up side by side. It was a Biblical  moment. Call the neighbors and rejoice. That which was lost has been found.