I think that I shall never see

Walking home from the farmers' market this morning, the scents of basil, tomatoes, peaches, corn, wafting up from my Downton Abbey bag, my happy cup brimmed over. Because, not only do I live within five walking minutes of the market every Saturday morning May through October, my walk takes me through sun-dappled  trees of every description - towering, low, evergreen, leafy - and the immediate coolness is such a delight. A pleasure that grows dimmer and dimmer in this era of air-conditioning.

In childhood, the trees were our absolute refuge. We would sit under the trees to husk corn, peel peaches, hull peas, shell lima beans. Trees had chairs under them -sometimes just house chairs but in lawns there were often big wooden chairs that we later called Adirondack chairs, but surely they were Lancaster County chairs before that! And if those chairs didn't contain working women and children, they held visiting relatives, friends - talking, commiserating, gossiping, laughing, sometimes singing. Even the hottest summer day seemed more bearable with a breeze. The trees were our staying point all summer long,

And for me they still are. Often escaping from the air-conditioned indoors I  go out on our patio and look high up to the blue sky beyond the tall greenery and feel instantly at peace. And judging from the cascading symphonies, all the birds and cicadas agree.

Give us this day

How many times do we read a tragic headline and think how glad we are that we and all our friends are safe from such sorrow? I read the headline of the deck that collapsed in North Carolina as a family photo was being taken and felt a chill. I discovered about a day later, that incident involved a work colleague and her family and was truly horrified. One minute you are healthy, smiling, and in the high of a family reunion and the next minute everyone is in a splintered heap. My so-recently vigorous, strong colleague is in a wheelchair facing months of recovery from a fractured body.

We all know we should say that prayer of gratitude each morning when our feet hit the floor solidly, but it's so easy to forget and go about our day, complaining about the slightest ills. The healthy, happy world that smiles back at us each day is the rarest of sparkling gems.

I need to take out my polishing cloth and shine up each ordinary glorious day and then store them all  in a grateful heart.

Remember

My library is a bit like the Cheers bar. Everyone knows your name and everyone wants to pull up a chair and chat. Only the libation is different - bottled water most of the time and coffee from Katy's on Saturdays. But what I have noticed lately is the commonality with Cheers in terms of confessions. And seniors are my best customers!

Though I do have laments of children, spouses, in-laws, etc., from the general population, I'm getting wholesale mourning of memory loss. Seniors check twice, thrice, to see if I've given back their cards after a transaction - and the search leads to - "I go into a room and can't remember why I made the trip." Or "I saw this book review in Sunday's Post and wondered if you had it but I can't remember title or author - but it looked good!" Or "I misplaced my car keys, phone, ____________ (fill in the blank of the moment)."

It's all so recognizable! And perhaps that's why they come to me instead of my whippersnapper of a boss. On one of the first days at the library he said, "So how long have you been in the system?" And I said, " Since 1982"... and looking sideways at him commented, "and you're weren't born yet, right?" And he grinned and said, "Not quite." (!)

So there you have it, folks. We've been around! And that hanging out allows us to forget billions of details - from 60 years ago, last month, yesterday, 5 minutes ago. It's all good! By grace we are here- " awake, alive and alert" like my long-ago pastor used to request we stay during his sermons. We have so much big-picture living to be thankful for, we simply can't sweat the small stuff!

Boom!

Fireworks.

I think my earliest recollection of fireworks occurred at the Policemens' Rodeo somewhere around Hershey, PA. I'm guessing I was about 8 years old. The show was fascinating enough to my small-town eyes, but when the fireworks began, seemingly within the outdoor arena where all the rodeo antics took place, my mind was literally blown - at least my ears were! The explosion of color was stunning, but the booms!... chest rattlers! And I know I was so young everything was magnified, but I have yet, in my seventh decade, to have that experience of sound and sight duplicated. I've seen fireworks in Lancaster, Reston, Herndon, Pittsburgh, DC, Austria, Montreal ,Saranac Lake, Ohio, Kansas.... but never, never as extraordinarily shockingly exquisite as good old Hershey, PA when I was still in pigtails!

Some things really don't improve with age.