Swing In A Tree

Monday, June 15, 2026

“New Old Favorite

February 2026

My Canon Rebel T1i, a hand-me-down from my son after he moved onto higher skilled cameras, steadied my life and hand from the moment I first looked through its aperture into a world I could control. Its presence provided protection from social situations I dreaded. My Rebel and I marched together at protests, hung out at tense in-law gatherings, and joyfully recorded life around me. My parents didn’t own cameras. Growing up, we had an occasional snap shot from the instamatics or polarize one-shot cameras that faded faster than my memories. The stilted school photographs marked each year like the line some families etch into a hidden doorway. The first camera we purchased as a couple, a used Pentax K 1000, passed between us with an ease married people share over the years. It wasn’t my camera. My Rebel was mine alone.

Last summer, my old friend began hesitating on shots. The first time I noticed it, we sweltered in the zoo’s butterfly house. I convinced myself that nothing could perform in that high heat and humidity. The problem occurred so infrequently that I lulled myself into believing that nothing was wrong with it. When my son took it out and about for a few minutes, it performed perfectly. However, he logged it into his heart that I may have to retire my best friend and gently suggested that I start looking for another camera. My resistance, quick and stubborn, snapped at him. I couldn’t bare another loss. This last year of grief (friends, family, pets) made me reject another change. I wouldn’t let go of my Rebel, a secure and predictable weight around my neck.

In February, a box arrived with my name on the label. Having ordered nothing, I puzzled over its contents as my son urged scissors into my hands to open it up. Knowing I’d never seek to replace my old camera, he decided he’d gift me another Canon, just as he had so many years ago. For the first time ever, I own a brand new camera! With shaking hands, I set aside bubble wrap and plucked out the box of my new best friend, a Rebel T7.

April 2026

May 2026

June 2026

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IOUNIO's "Freedom"

Thursday, June 11, 2026

"A Walk in the Woods"

The woman stood in the sunlight, swiping the beads of sweat that smarted her eyes to tears. Her tongue licked her parched lips. Her hands plucked at her t-shirt, pulling it away from her saturated skin. She puffed hot breath down her shirt front, but only succeeded in hastening the roll of perspiration down her cleavage.

“You could strip down,” her husband teased from the open doorway as he yanked his own soaked t-shirt over his head. Swiftly, he unfastened his Cargo shorts and stepped clear of them as they pooled on the deck.

The look she shot his way momentarily heated the air another degree or two, and then a smile broke across her face. “You’re right, of course,” she agreed as she hastily kicked her sandals aside. With an ease her husband admired, she freed herself from t-shirt and shorts. For a moment, she hesitated as her eyes held his in challenge. Then she stripped down to bare skin. She pivoted on the deck, raising her arms in supplication to the hot July sun. Closing her eyes, she whispered an incantation calling for the slightest breeze to tease across her heated skin and dry the moisture that slicked her figure.

“I think I’ll take a walk in the woods,” she held out her hand to her husband. “Are you coming?”

He took her hand and swiftly guided her into the cool canopy created by the trees. Once out of direct sunlight, he felt a subtle shift in temperature as shade and shadow played across his skin. A breeze as gentle as a sigh whispered to him, and he grinned crookedly at the cross expression that still played over his wife’s countenance. Bird song encircled them as they moved further down the path, and eventually he sensed the easing of her tension. His muscles relaxed, and he shortened his stride to match her more leisurely pace.

In silence, they walked hand-in-hand. Carefully, they picked their way over the trail and eased out of the hard work they’d done all day. So many days, they rushed through obligations and responsibilities. Today, at this single moment, they set aside their toils and troubles, stripped away their stress, and took a simple walk in the woods.

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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!