Spring break was pretty low key for us this year. We made a quick weekend trip to see our college girl, and then mostly stayed around the house the rest of the time.
Molly was deep into a book series, but she took a break one day to make soft pretzels with me. I don’t know about you, but I love soft pretzels. Maybe even more than cilantro and avocados. (And that’s saying something.)
In early March, I started reading On Writing Well: The Classic Guide to Nonfiction by William Zinsser, a book that has sold more than a million copies since it was first published in 1976.
A few days later, I learned that my alma mater—where I earned a bachelor’s degree in journalism almost three decades ago—is shuttering its communications division. Current students are upset, of course, but I understand the market forces that led to this decision. The field has changed dramatically over the years, and the university is doing its best to keep up with the times.
I was driving to the doctor last week. I’ve been down this same road hundreds of times over the years. Along the paved trail that runs next to the creek that goes through our city. Past the high school and middle school that both daughters attended, past the corporate headquarters of the international tech company that employs so many people in our area.
Over the bridge that spans the interstate, past the onramp that leads to the town where I grew up, and—finally—past the hospital and medical buildings where I spent so much time with my parents.
Something happened this past year that’s never happened before.
No, not that. Or that. Or even THAT.
I’m talking about the fact that my Christmas cactus didn’t bloom. Not before Christmas, and not even around Valentine’s Day, which it has been known to do before.
When my mom died in 2019, one of the many floral arrangements we received for her funeral was a plant given by a family that our family has known for a long time. I went to high school with one generation, and my parents were friends with them and their two sets of parents.
After the funeral, the plant went to my dad’s room at the nursing home, where the aides who took care of him did their best to keep it alive. When my dad passed away soon thereafter, I brought the plant home and placed it by the wall of windows in my dining room.
A house we passed on the way home from church last Sunday. (Sometimes you just have to circle back around and take a photo.)
Last month, I shared my hope that there might still be a few good snowstorms left in the forecast for this winter season.
It would be an understatement to say that those hopes were realized. The snow came to Kansas in mid February and brought with it frigid temperatures the likes of which I’ve only ever seen in North Dakota a few years ago.