My mother was a wonderful housekeeper.
She kept everything clean and neat, polished and dusted.
I had chores to do as well and learned from her example.

One of my favorite chores as a little girl was washing the baseboards.
The bedroom rugs were not wall to wall.
Hard wood floors went around the perimeter of the room.

A vacuum attachment would have completed the job with ease.
However, my mother wanted the baseboards and the hardwood floors washed with water.
Looking back, I wonder if she really was that particular, or she just wanted a chore for me.

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All children are born artists.
The problem is to remain an artist as we grow up.
The quote is attributed to Picasso.

How do we foster creativity in children?
How do we foster creativity in ourselves?

How do we handle the small child who wants to color the moon purple?
How do we manage the young child who would rather fidget about than sit at a desk ?
Can we continue on in the cookie cutter mentality with which we educate?

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Very few people hang wash on a clothesline any more.
Before dryers, it was the only way to dry clothes.
Some say there is nothing better than sleeping on a bed of fresh hay in an barn loft.
I say there is nothing better than sleeping on sun-dried sheets.

The smell of sheets brought in from the line is amazing.
You can actually smell the fresh air.
You can feel the warmth of the sun.
If your sheets happened to be white, they came in even whiter, bleached by the sun.

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A short video greeted me this morning.
A dear friend posted a video of her granddaughter.
Her granddaughter was sitting on her mom’s lap reading a book.
Except this little one is too small to read yet.

This precious little girl was imitating what her mom has probably done hundreds of times.
She was touching the lines of words as she “read”.
She was expressive, speaking in her toddler voice, about the mysteries that only she knew.
Her mom was smiling in the background, delighted by her daughter’s love of books.

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I walked out of school in the misty rain.
All the cars were lined up along the curb ready to pick up the children.
I could see my mother’s car down the block.

There was no bus service if you lived less than a mile from school.
You walked to school or you were driven.
I usually walked to school unless it was raining.

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Anyone who knows our family, knows how much we love milk.
When everyone is home, we go through twelve gallons of milk each week.
We bake, we eat oatmeal, we enjoy cereal, we drink milk with our meals.

It is a fact that dairy farmers love us!
I know…because one of my daughter’s dear friend is married to a dairy farmer!

A gallon of milk will be finished at one meal when my boys are home.
Strong bones…strong teeth the doctors and dentists have said.
We just think it is delicious.

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The beach.
Tranquility, sand, salt water, ocean waves.

I walk each morning on vacation just like I walk at home.
I find that I am walking more for stillness and less for exercise.

I have my favorite spots…more for my eyes to see and my heart to ponder.
Places that are a respite…places that delay my going home.
One such spot overlooks the Sound.

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I enjoy family conversations around the table.
They are engaging as we banter back and forth about anything and everything.
Sometimes it is nice to just sit back and listen.

Recently, we talked about dreams and the recurring themes that seem to prevail.
Getting lost; being chased by someone, and being unable to run away.
We all experienced the dream of being frightened and the scream just wouldn’t come.

Mouth open…but no sound comes out.
Frightening.
No one hears your cry for help.

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The room was filled with parents.
Metal folding chairs were set up in the back of the room to accommodate them.
It was a day of presentations…each child giving their report.

I watched as the children saw their mom or dad come through the door.
An enormous wave…a smile…pointing so their friend could see who belonged to them.
The parent equally proud…waving back…too grown up to point.

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