Always talk to strangers...

For several years, Bob and I have attended the Memorial Day program at Madrona Cemetery in Saratoga, California. Until last year.

Today, I went by myself. I wore my new navy blue sweater with the American Flag woven on the front of it, a gift from Janice and Dan for Memorial day. They know how I love the Red, White and Blue.

The program was excellent, with hundreds attending. The high school band played, and the high school choir sang, even using Sign Language in unison. A young soldier spoke (even though he is a 20 year vet, he was YOUNG!) And a minister prayed. And while the band played on, little boys and girls in Scout uniforms laid laurel wreaths on every grave of every Veteran of WW1, WW2, Korea, Viet Nam, and the Gulf. It was very touching. Taps played. People stood at attention, some helping the older ones to their feet. Men removed their caps.

Afterwards, I noticed a fellow with a cap on that said "Viet Nam Vet" so I reached out my hand and thanked him for serving. He got teary eyed. His wife stood with him. She said, "That's why he wears that cap."

Here's to the survivors of those wars, and to my new friends, Delmar and Ellen Wrensch.

I ran into old friends, John and Peggy Kimball, and introduced them to my new friends. Conversation about Viet Nam was lively as John had served there in 1965. "Let's go to lunch," I suggested. So, we all went to a Chinese restaurant, and I asked for a table for 6.

Ah, then I remembered. There were only 5 of us.

Bob would have talked to these strangers.

Close shave...

We had been working for several weeks on our rental property in Sacramento, sleeping in sleeping bags, on borrowed army cots, eating lunch out of a styrofoam cold-keeper, and having breakfast out at our favorite place, BROOKFIELD'S Restaurant. Good coffee, hot oatmeal with bananas, raisins, brown sugar and cream.

The hostess, Patrice, and waitresses began to know us.

One morning, I noticed that Bob forgot to shave. I couldn't believe it. First time in 40 years of marriage, that he hadn't shaved. Honestly.

While he was gone from the table for a few minutes, I told the waitress, "I'll give you a dollar if you'll say to Bob, "Did you forget to shave this morning?"

She was too shy, but coaxed Patrice into doing it.

When Bob came back, she came over and stroked his face and exclaimed, "Did you forget to shave?"

He was SO embarrassed. But he laughed, as I told her it was the first time in 40 years. I slipped her the dollar.

A year or so later, we were back in Sacramento, and went to breakfast at Brookfield's. Patrice was still the hostess, and she gave us each a big hug. Then, she told us this story:

Recently a couple had come into the restaurant whom she thought was US. She walked over to them, stroked the gentleman's face and asked him if he forgot to shave? The man was surprised and the woman was shocked, and Patrice was embarrassed, and it wasn't us!

Jelly Bothers Me...

That was the title of a BLOG written before there was any such thing as a BLOG.

Today, I was sorting a boxful of old letters and cards, to mail them to my son David. I found that they went back to his first days in college... February 1977. Coincidentally, today he wrote a BLOG about his "envelope art, " and here I was, mailing him several of his original ones.

But in the box, mistakenly, was this "blog" about Jelly, written by his brother John... in May 1986.

Jelly bothers me...

Last night was another bad experience with jelly. I tried to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. No, that's wrong. I tried to put jelly on some buttered bread. Yeah, that's right. Anyway, the bread was fresh out of the bag and I spread an even layer of butter on it. Cold butter is a great water repellant, but more than that it is highly resistant to jelly. But jelly is stupid anyway. When I try to get jelly out of the jar with a knife, I have to slice it into pieces and shake the jar upside down. I did that and got these large chunks of shiny jelly on my bread. ThenI tried to spread it. That was stupid. You can't spread jelly when it is big like that. So, I chopped at the jelly until I had a bunch of little jelly lumps, each equally as stupid as the original mass they came from. If I tried spreading the jelly flat, it would all glide over the butter to one side of the piece of bread. So, I had to move it around very carefully and sort of leave it in one spot and hope that it wouldn't stray to some other zone of the bread. But there is always one stupid section of the jelly that decides it is going to go off the edge of the bread onto something it is hard to get off like highly trafficked areas in the kitchen, or the web between the ring finger and the pinky fingers of the left hand. I don't know how it gets there, but it is stupid. And another thing: It never helps to try to lick it clean because that just gets your whole finger sticky. Then, when I finally ate the thing, I found out I put too much butter on and I couldn't taste the jelly.

Another challenge is the peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which is gray if you make it the way I do. Obviously, I'm not going to make a sandwich with peanut butter on one half and jelly on the other. I have vivid memories of pulling such sandwiches out of my lunch sack and finding the jelly all over the inside of the sandwich bag. The sandwich bags are called Glad Bags. My solution to this is to premix the jelly and peanut butter, although this is pretty stupid too, because for the first 5 to 10 minutes, the jelly and the peanut butter stay on opposite sides of the knife and the jelly always creeps up the handle of the knife and gets my right hand and my steering wheel sticky. But the result is that the jelly is trapped in that great stuff peanut butter, a substance that is probably used by the military in midflight fuselage repair, and the mixture won't budge once applied to bread. But a night in the Fridge will turn the stuff gray, so it probably isn't marketable.

But is is a good way to get revenge on jelly.

Another loss...

All the roses are in bloom, and the irises are at their glorious best. What a show! John planted half a dozen little Sweet Williams for Mother's Day, for which Janice had given him the money. Not only in my new back yard garden, but he added blue delphinium and something called Mllion Bells in the front Cosmos plot as well. And last year's birthday Cosmos are 10 or 12 inches tall and blossoming. A beautiful blend of blues, lavenders, purples, magentas and an occasional peach-colored iris. Wonderful combination.

Mother's Day for me was quiet and relaxed, with phone calls from each of my children, and a grandchild. Brunch out with lady friends from church, and a quick fast-food supper with John before watching a favorite TV show with him made my day.

But for my dearest neighbor friend, Marilou Boilard, it was to be her last Mother's Day. She and Dennis had just driven the 400 miles from Barstow, California, the last leg of their journey. They had been on a vacation trip to New Mexico for two weeks. I looked forward to hearing all about it when we took our next walk.

Marilou and I have been walking three miles together (with several other ladies in the neighborhood) for over 15 years. Then, as the group dwindled, because of moves, or ill health, we walked with our husbands. Dennis and Bob became fast friends as we four made the same circuit every day. Then, Bob was called Home and that left Marilou and me to walk together. We sometimes sang hymns, or songs from the 40's together, as she had most of the words memorized. We often talked of our faith in the Lord. Last June, she and Dennis felt the urge to come visit us, and arrived just minutes after Bob had died, and so they were here to comfort me. They came in and she knelt by his bed and prayed, and they both wept with me.

Sunday evening, she thought she had indigestion, but when the pain became severe, Dennis took her to the emergency hospital. Doctors determined that it was her heart, and even though a life-flight helicopter was called to take her to Stanford Hospital for surgery, she couldn't be stabilized for the flight, and passed away. My heart is broken for Dennis. I know just how he feels. I had months to prepare for my loss, but he had no warning. This year they were going to celebrate their 50th Wedding Anniversary, and had already sent out special notices for the occasion.

She was the consummate house keeper, and I never saw anything out of order in their home. She was a terrific cook and baker, did excellent stichery, and decorated beautifully. I believe that she was the faithful Proverbs 31 woman, and "that her husband praises her 'in the gates' and that her children rise up and call her blessed." Mother's Day is a fitting closure to her time on earth.

I will miss her friendship.

His eye is on the sparrow...

While having my morning coffee, a few days ago, I watched the birds at the bird feeders on my patio. They push and shove and flutter their wings as a threat to any other bird trying to get a place in line on the perches. They scatter more seed onto the cement below, than they get by all their fussing. Most of the ground feeders are busily gathering their breakfasts in the meantime.

One day, I noticed a crippled sparrow. One foot was missing, and his tail feathers went slightly ascew. He hopped a few steps, pecked a seed, then had to rest, by "letting himself down" like a mother hen fluffing herself over her chicks. Then, he'd raise himself on his one good leg, and hop to another choice seed, and repeat the peck and rest process. He probably was glad for those up above him who were providing his scattered meal for him. He may have even been thankful. Who knows?

This morning, I saw him again. I wept. To think that this poor crippled sparrow, knew where to find good food, even though he didn't know who was providing it. And because he had wings, he could fly just like all the other birds. He flew up to the bird bath and helped himself to a good drink before flying away.

I am learning ever so slowly that my Heavenly Father up above me is mindful of my wounds, nearly crippled by losing my Other Half, and He has given me wings to fly to Him for comfort and refreshment just as often as I remember to go where He leads me.