Tulip Memories

My tulip 
a new one I planted this year.
It looked white in bud, just white and green.
Not until it began to open did I know that I had a special pink ruffled tulip on my hands.
 Oh, it did turn out to be a pretty bloom and I enjoyed for a while before it faded.
 Tulips are a favorite of mine. 
When I was a child and lived in western Michigan, we got to go to Holland, Michigan to see the tulip festival that they hold there every spring. The Michigan winter is long and dreary, 
so spring is especially welcome. The streets were lined with tulips of every color imaginable. Windmills turned their Dutch heads along the coastline of the big lake.Shops stood for handouts from tourists along the highway. Holland New Holland full of Dutch people with surnames like Brink, De Vries, Meijer, Jansen, DeJong and Smit.
 I recall going there once after I was married and had my little Delaney in tow. 
In a gift shop she chose a pair of wooden shoes which she kept for many years
 as a remembrance of the trip.
 Tulips take me back there. They make windmills turn in my mind. They are a Maypole with little girls in pastel dresses pulling sashes of ribbons into a braid. 
They are spring, new life, rebirth and rejoicing!

Tulip Memories

My tulip 
a new one I planted this year.
It looked white in bud, just white and green.
Not until it began to open did I know that I had a special pink ruffled tulip on my hands.
 Oh, it did turn out to be a pretty bloom and I enjoyed for a while before it faded.
 Tulips are a favorite of mine. 
When I was a child and lived in western Michigan, we got to go to Holland, Michigan to see the tulip festival that they hold there every spring. The Michigan winter is long and dreary, 
so spring is especially welcome. The streets were lined with tulips of every color imaginable. Windmills turned their Dutch heads along the coastline of the big lake.Shops stood for handouts from tourists along the highway. Holland New Holland full of Dutch people with surnames like Brink, De Vries, Meijer, Jansen, DeJong and Smit.
 I recall going there once after I was married and had my little Delaney in tow. 
In a gift shop she chose a pair of wooden shoes which she kept for many years
 as a remembrance of the trip.
 Tulips take me back there. They make windmills turn in my mind. They are a Maypole with little girls in pastel dresses pulling sashes of ribbons into a braid. 
They are spring, new life, rebirth and rejoicing!

Who am I?

What people say: 
My young son says I am a terrible driver.
My older son says I am a great cook.
My teenage daughter says I am a know-nothing.
My grown daughter says I am a genius.
My husband says I am a treasure. 
My mama says I am a brave heart.
My dad says I am a good praline maker. 

My grandson calls me the impostor. 
My sister says I am a talented writer. 
My doctor says I am overweight. 
My friend says I am gifted. 
My club friends say I am bossy. 
My granddaughter says I am an artist. 
Mr. Tate says I am a poet.
God says I am his daughter. 
Who am I? 


Answer: 
I am a mom.
I am a wife. 
I am a daughter. 
I am a grandma. 
I am a sister.
I am a friend. 
I am a unique individual.
I am me.


Who am I?

What people say: 
My young son says I am a terrible driver.
My older son says I am a great cook.
My teenage daughter says I am a know-nothing.
My grown daughter says I am a genius.
My husband says I am a treasure. 
My mama says I am a brave heart.
My dad says I am a good praline maker. 

My grandson calls me the impostor. 
My sister says I am a talented writer. 
My doctor says I am overweight. 
My friend says I am gifted. 
My club friends say I am bossy. 
My granddaughter says I am an artist. 
Mr. Tate says I am a poet.
God says I am his daughter. 
Who am I? 


Answer: 
I am a mom.
I am a wife. 
I am a daughter. 
I am a grandma. 
I am a sister.
I am a friend. 
I am a unique individual.
I am me.


Dear God,

It is the end of March in Oklahoma. My daffodills are blooming and the other bulbs sending up their spears to the blue sky. Soon the irises, the tulips, and the hyacinths will bloom. But this morning sleet is pelting the side of the house. The rain fell all night followed by freezing rain and then an hour or two of sleet, sounding like rice popping as it hits the windowpanes.

I ventured out into the cold wet wind to fill my empty bird feeders, grab the mail, and pick a bouquet with ice on it. The mud puddles and the water still standing from the last rain are frozen now. Snow is swirling out of the northwest – large soggy flakes. The weatherman predicts four to eight inches before the day is over. We have had these last of March snow storms before and they are soon gone and spring moves in with southern breezes and warmer days soon afterward.

In Louisiana, I was enthralled by the camellias that budded out on bushes and produced assorted orage, red, pink and salmon colored blossoms against shiny leather-like green leaves. What pretty flowers! I brought a potted one here to try my hand at raising them. Though roses grow well here, camellias don’t stand a chance against the freezes we have. The lilacs I carried home from Michigan failed for want of enough cold.

Here we have the Indian Paintbrush, the Prairie Primrose, and the wild rose that trundles in great sagging sprays over pasture fences. Every place has its natural graces. Cardinals, cowbirds, chickadees, white-throated sparrows, downy woodpeckers, and nuthatches are busy outside my window like so many mobile flowers.

Brenna’s little donkeys have eaten the center out of a round coil of hay. They seek the shelter of their open-sided shed on days like today. The cows and horses don’t seen to mind the cold. They graze lazily along the wooded side of the orchard.

Winter clings and then is gone. Spring, summer, and autumn each hold allure and trials of their own. I love living where I get to experience all the seasons fully. Things change and new joys and challenges entertain us.

Thank you for the seasons, especially these that keep us hopeful.

Love you, Elece

Dear God,

It is the end of March in Oklahoma. My daffodills are blooming and the other bulbs sending up their spears to the blue sky. Soon the irises, the tulips, and the hyacinths will bloom. But this morning sleet is pelting the side of the house. The rain fell all night followed by freezing rain and then an hour or two of sleet, sounding like rice popping as it hits the windowpanes.

I ventured out into the cold wet wind to fill my empty bird feeders, grab the mail, and pick a bouquet with ice on it. The mud puddles and the water still standing from the last rain are frozen now. Snow is swirling out of the northwest – large soggy flakes. The weatherman predicts four to eight inches before the day is over. We have had these last of March snow storms before and they are soon gone and spring moves in with southern breezes and warmer days soon afterward.

In Louisiana, I was enthralled by the camellias that budded out on bushes and produced assorted orage, red, pink and salmon colored blossoms against shiny leather-like green leaves. What pretty flowers! I brought a potted one here to try my hand at raising them. Though roses grow well here, camellias don’t stand a chance against the freezes we have. The lilacs I carried home from Michigan failed for want of enough cold.

Here we have the Indian Paintbrush, the Prairie Primrose, and the wild rose that trundles in great sagging sprays over pasture fences. Every place has its natural graces. Cardinals, cowbirds, chickadees, white-throated sparrows, downy woodpeckers, and nuthatches are busy outside my window like so many mobile flowers.

Brenna’s little donkeys have eaten the center out of a round coil of hay. They seek the shelter of their open-sided shed on days like today. The cows and horses don’t seen to mind the cold. They graze lazily along the wooded side of the orchard.

Winter clings and then is gone. Spring, summer, and autumn each hold allure and trials of their own. I love living where I get to experience all the seasons fully. Things change and new joys and challenges entertain us.

Thank you for the seasons, especially these that keep us hopeful.

Love you, Elece