Swing In A Tree

Sunday, June 7, 2026

"Patience"

Jan 2022

            A few years ago, my well-loved mother-in-law plants grew seriously ill with root rot. My own neglect, not moving them into larger pots and replacing their soil, coupled with letting someone else water them for a few weeks after my knee injury resulted in near disaster! I hurried out for pots with drainage and soil with nutrients. Sitting outside in the shade of the live oak tree, with hose in hand, I separated out the rotten parts. With optimism, the original plants went into new, better homes and the undamaged rhizomes settled into different containers with new soil.  All of them went onto the front porch with dappled sunlight. From my original two plants, I propagated a total of eight possible survivors. By Christmas, they all looked healthy enough that I gave away two as gifts for my sister.
  Six of the plants remained with me, coming inside during winter freezes to sit crowded around the front window. Each week, I’d rotate them to make certain they’d get enough light. To be honest, they snaked into the background of other plants around the house. When we decided to move all of our pothos plants from water jugs up high in the kitchen to pots out in the back yard, I placed my mother-in-law plants back on the front porch with confidence that they’d thrive, and they did!
  Gardening takes patience. One plant, place inside or outside, may take several years to mature. Serenity becomes my companion whenever I putter in the gardens. My persistence, though, grows slowly with each new propagation.

June 2024

Original two plants that suffered root rot now thrive and have six healthy offspring!

June 2025

Six new plants from the original 2!

Needing new pots in 2026!

New growth in 2026

Saturday, June 6, 2026

"Before D-Day"

When Dad did his tour in Vietnam, Mom returned to Danville, Illinois to be closer to her siblings. One of her brothers, Uncle Red swung by the house once a week to take my sister and me to the A&W for root beer floats.

I adored Uncle Red and puppy dogged behind him every time he visited. His endless patience endured my constant nagging to teach me how to whistle. One visit I overheard him talking with Mom about concern for Dad’s safety. It was weighing him down. I remember linking my arms around his neck as I sat in his lap, trying to cheer him up. He settled me against his chest and told me how he’d gone off to war and was wounded. He spun a tale for me of German troops leaving him behind, thinking he was dead. How lucky he was to get back home!

When I recounted his story to one of my cousins forty years later, my cousin recounted the horrific truth of Uncle Red’s reality. Not only had he been injured, but German troops captured him. He ended up in a POW camp. My adult heart broke to know that Uncle Red protected me all those years ago. I don’t know if I’ll ever know the full scope of Uncle Red’s experiences.

Recently, though, hidden in boxes and boxes of photographs and news articles from my Aunt Louise’s possessions, I found more information about Uncle Red. It didn’t recount his injuries or capture, but instead celebrated his Silver Star award. The Silver Star, awarded for valor in combat, started in WWI as the Citation Star. This award acknowledges the heroism of soldiers during singular acts of honor or valor. Only 100,000 to 150,000 men and women have received it since its creation. Uncle Red’s II Corp unit was sent to the Italian Front in mid-November in 1943. On January 6, 1944, II Corp engaged in mountain warfare under severe weather conditions. When crossing an open area, enemy machine gun fire from the front and also the flank ripped into the battalion. Uncle Red gave aid to the wounded and carried at least six men back to safety.

My Uncle’s actions on the battle field, by saving the lives of so many other men at great personal risk, define all of the best qualities of The Greatest Generation. Today marks the 80^th anniversary of D-Day, and I don’t want another year to pass without a tribute to John R. Thompson’s courage six months before.

Friday, June 5, 2026

“Find My . . .”

“Where’s my watch?” Panic flooded through me when I noted my naked wrist. I glanced into the clean clothes piled on my bed, lifting and shifting in careless desperation. I backtracked into the bathroom, glancing at the countertop where I place it when bathing. Nothing.

Not too concerned yet, I attacked the mound of sheets in the laundry room, as it would’ve been a possible hiding place. Closing my eyes, I visualized whipping them from the dryer. Finding nothing, I got on my knees to search the floor while listening to the load tossing in the drum. Hearing nothing, I popped open the door, dragged out the nearly dry towels, and searched frantically through them. Nothing. I eyed the washer, hitting the spin on its cycle as I watched, and shot out a silent prayer that it wasn’t in that load. It wasn’t.

By this time, I recruited my husband to help with the search when he asked the obvious question, “Have you checked Find My with your phone?”

Of course, I hadn’t. I grabbed my phone and queried, “Siri, find my watch” with confidence its location would be revealed immediately. Nothing. As I’d never used this app before, I noticed it had a PLAY SOUND option, which I tapped. Still nothing.

Shaken, I convinced myself that I may have lost it outside. I’d watered both yards and rewrapped three hoses. My watch band could have caught on one and slipped off without me noticing. Phone in hand, I retraced my morning routine feeling dread as I found absolutely nothing again.

My anxiety notched up with each silent minute with my phone in hand. With absolute certainty I knew I’d set my watch on pause while at the park doing the weight machines, but maybe it dropped into my KAVU pack when I’d taken out water. Returning inside, I inspected it quickly. Nothing.

“Could I have lost it on that last stretch of my walk?” I mumbled to myself as I pulled on sandals and retraced my morning route.

Eyes scanning the ground before me, I walked all the way to the park. Nothing. Discouraged and defeated, I called my husband to retrieve me there as I could’t muster the energy to climb the final hill near our house.

Once home, I decided to retrace my movements one more time while my husband insisted on taking my phone with him on another park pass.

I sat on the bed, reached inside the black bin before me, and lifted out each item.

My watch hid under the final piece I withdrew!

Relief flooded through me, and then a wave of foolishness to realize that the first moment I’d noticed my missing watch was the very place it lay hidden.

But another problem surfaced. Why hadn’t my app revealed my phone immediately as it never left the room? I’d thought that the Find My app had loaded automatically when I’d replaced my watch in December. It hadn’t. At the moment, our attempts to remove the old watch and add the new one have failed although we’ve gone through one step-by-step process after another. I suspect I may have to reset my watch, which I refuse to do as I prefer to leave my watch history alone. I joked that if I misplace it again, I’ll just have to buy a new one!

IOUNIO's "Invisible"! The perfect piece to listen to today!

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Thursday, June 4, 2026

“June’s Mission”

Over the course of this last year or so, I’ve shifted to dancing throughout our home for a thirty-minute exercise routine. Some days, I’ve asked Siri to start an indoor walk and done loops around larger stores and our local mall, which contains unique specialty stores along with larger chains and offers a fun route. Occasionally, I’ve ventured to the park, which was closed for months on end when all of the parking lots got repaved. Last year’s July’s flood and its scars on our neighborhood have receded, but other losses make strolling on one street too hard.

It slowly dawned on me that I no longer feel unease for missing my longer outdoor walks. Although both of my knees can handle our neighborhood’s small hills, I felt no guilt for missing the long walk challenge since I almost never missed closing my exercise ring with other activities.The journey to and from the park on Saturday convinced me that I need to focus on this longer walk, and other sweeps through our neighborhood, again.

For this next month, I set the challenge of trekking at least a mile each morning. I must to return to that mind space where missing my walk tinges my day with a shade of guilt. The routine and ritual, lost to me because it was easy to slip into tricking myself into believing all exercise is equal has to be mentally reset.

June’s Mission proves simple—outdoor walks. If I want to add a dance to my favorite songs, or tack on an indoor walk within a shopping trip, that’s just adding flavor to the mix. A long morning spent in the yards doing gardening gets counted only after my mileage goal is met.

Every June morning starts with a mission to pound pavement—rain or shine!

Slick sidewalks and more rain ahead!

Ditches filling up!

A little rain doesn't hurt anyone!

IOUNIO's "Dancing in the Rain" is the perfect piece to listen to once you finish today's blog!

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Wednesday, May 27, 2026

"Her Rain"

Her rain fell

a deluge of broken dreams,

frustrated desires, missed opportunities

drenching the world

with her bitter storms

Her rain fell

a flood of regrets and sublimation

poured onto her children

drowning each of them

with her skewed and tainted love

Her rain fell

a watery veil of manipulation

pushing against the banks of reality

overflowing her boundaries

with her disillusions and dissatisfaction

Her rain fell