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Just this week, I read on Facebook that our local flower man has his gladiola stand open for business. I love to stop and purchase bouquets and then deliver to shut-ins, folks who don’t drive, and elderly neighbors. During the year, I find vases at rummage sales and when a recipient isn’t home, I leave the bouquet by the front door. When my grandchildren are available, they go with me and assist in delivering the colorful flowers. They’ll remember the smiles and hugs they receive and how important it is to think of others. A good friend of mine told me that she has delivered a single glad to each resident in her mother’s assisted living facility. And several times when purchasing bouquets I’ve bumped into a fellow who does the same. This time of year, there are plenty of on-the-side-of-the-road vegetable and flower stands along with farmers’ markets getting into full swing. Even fresh fruit and vegetables for a shut-in is a great idea. It sure feels good to bless someone, and the blessing always returns full circle. Maybe someday my grandchildren will carry on the tradition.

Here in Michigan, we’ve had a warm summer. A favorite, inexpensive outing I do with the grandchildren is an evening pajama run. Parents, aunts and uncles, or older siblings will enjoy this too. I gather the pajama-clad gang before dusk and drive to the local ice cream stand. Each child selects their favorite frozen delight, and then off we go–windows down, for a deliciously fun ride. Sometimes we’ll stop for a stroll along the sidewalk, and on occasion, perform a race-around the car fire drill. By the way, the fire drill is their ‘fav’ but we only do it in an empty, open parking lot. If you’re on a budget, stop at the local supermarket and purchase a box of drumsticks, popsicles, ice cream sandwiches, or treat of choice and let your hair fly in the wind.

 

Their chirps are alerting me that I’d better get moving. Rising early has never been an issue for me because it’s the best time of the day. Who on earth would want to miss the sunrise, cool crisp air, and sparkling dewy grass?

A quick peek in the mirror assures me that I have bedhead trauma. I carelessly run fingers through my hair. As the pre-programmed coffee perks, I pull on jogging pants and adjust them underneath my calf-length cotton nightgown. My nose follows the scent to the kitchen for my wake-up brew. A pinch of sugar substitute and half -n- half, and then I savor my first morning sip.

I rummage through the fridge for grape jam, boil a cup of water with sugar for the hummingbirds, and set it aside to cool. I slip my arms into a fleece then grab a mixing spoon and jar of jam. Placing my back against the screen door, I push my way outside.

I drop a gob of jam onto an orange plastic lid and rinse the memorial-given cement birdbath from my husband’s funeral clean before filling it with fresh water. Within seconds, a handsome male oriole is dipping into the jam, unthreatened by my presence.

Someone down south took good care of him or he’d be leery of me.

With arthritic hands, I struggle to pull the top off the black oil sunflower country seed mix and carry a full pail to the feeding station under the leaning pine tree. I hurry back inside for the cooled hummingbird mix and fill the bright red feeder.

I stop, breathe in deeply, raise my hands to heaven, assess my work, and then return to the house to freshen my coffee.

I reach for my devotional before shuffling out again to the wooden swing set. Needs a good power washing, I think before sitting down. I wiggle and twist until I find a comfortable resting position and pause before reading. Gazing above at the shards of light bursting through the red maple tree branches, I watch my feathered friends flitter about, swoop down for their breakfast, and harmonize thank you.

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