Walked in from church just after 8:30 and who do I find in kitchen but Megan. Megan standing with a flowers in one hand and scissors in the other, putting together a little bouquet for Mother’s Day. I love fresh cut flowers and it’s not uncommon, especially this time of year to find me gathering them up from outside and arranging them inside, the finding just the right spot to enjoy them. Catching Megan doing what I love for me, well, that’s the gift of seeing a bit of me in her.
“You can thank me for all this.” She said casually. Hannah and I were standing among the 18 beds that are our garden. “Yep. You started it all with a “Mother’s Day gift from the North Stratfield plant sale.”
Hannah’s words had been lingering in my mind for the past few weeks. She was right. She was the one who gifted me three tiny eggplants. I remember planting them in pots and placing them right at the end of the stone walkway. I had chosen that spot because I knew they would get the sun they needed. I hoped they would be safe from deer and other varmints. I remembered being nervous that I’d fail her gift, her. I remembered sketching the pots when they started to grow. That memory sent me in search of that sketch.
In the middle of cooking dinner, I ran downstairs, and, within minutes, found what I was looking for. “This was our beginning!” I said to Billy as I showed him the tiny little eggplant sketch. In 2010, Hannah was 10 years old and she knew that I loved eggplant. Back then, it was probably my favorite food. Back then, I was in the throws of raising three kids and I wondered more times than I care to admit if they were ever really listening. But then, God grants you a little moment to let you know they are listening. This was one of those moments. Since that Mother’s Day 14 years ago, our garden has grown from three pots in the driveway to 18, fenced in 4×8 beds that have us harvesting and gifting our own bounty to neighbors and friends all summer long. One gift has, thanks to one thoughtful little girl, turned into many.
“I watched him stand up slowly. He reached for his hat on the table. He steadied himself and reached for the hat on the table. I stared in disbelief. Was I reading right?”
It was the first weekend in March when Megan and I took a trip to South Carolina. She’s senior in high school and has plans to attend college next fall. In the midst of making her decision, we had to take a few trips to a few schools where she had been accepted. On this particular weekend, we were headed to Clemson University. We flew down on Thursday night and had plans to see the campus on Friday and meet up with a friend for a tour.
On Friday morning, we sat at the Eggs Up Grill admiring the sunshiney atmosphere and the southern accents. The tiny restaurant was bustling with breakfast eaters. There was a business breakfast beside us including a few suitcases. A family of six dining by the entrance. A couple off to our right sitting side by side and an elderly man and what appeared to be his daughter slightly off to the right in front of me. I had already had a good feeling about the trip and her impending decision. That good feeling had me looking silently for signs.
When my Dad was alive, he and Megan would often go head to head in the game Sequence. Watching him play Sequence with Megan, was always a sight to behold. They often played in silence with only the sound of the chips clinking on the table peppering the quiet. Sequence is a game of strategy and it brought out the thinker in them both.
My Dad spent the late summer of 2019 in a nursing home. We went to visit as much as we could. We even sent a brand new game of Sequence to the nursing home so my Mom could play with him during her daily visits. But, despite the easy access to the game, the two of them never really played. But, when we made it for a visit, Megan and Dad played. Clearly, Sequence was only for them. It was their game.
My Dad wasn’t a stellar student in high school. When he graduated, he joined the Seabees, a relatively unknown branch of the military whose primary responsibility is construction. He was always proud to have been a Seabee and all that he learned there he carried forth in his years in plasterers and cement mason union. He proudly displayed a Seabee sticker on his truck and his Can Do Seabee hat on his head.
My Dad passed away in November of 2019, despite the fact that we all saw it coming, it hit us, it hit Megan, hard. Her gaming buddy was gone. Her Grampa was gone. Our Seabee was gone. We braved the funeral and the next few months together and with time, the memories cushioned the void he left.
Sitting in the Eggs Up Grill. I was scrolling through my mental files of the signs that were leading me to believe that Megan would, eventually, choose Clemson. Two days in a row, prior to us traveling, I saw deer. Deer are always a sign, a sign of good to come. We were traveling the same weekend that I went with Grace to her would be school, Elon. In the bathroom at the airport, a favorite country artist was playing a favorite country song. We were eating at a restaurant with the cross streets Main and Church. Hannah’s alma mater, The University of Vermont, had cross streets with the same names. I kept my mouth shut so as to let her make her decision. I kept it shut until the elderly man stood up.
Now, I’m not one for taking pictures of strangers, but a sign, a visit, was happening in our midst and I had to capture it. Megan slyly turned around to see what had me all in a reserved tizzy. She saw and she, too, understood. “What are the odds, that an elderly man in Greenville South Carolina stands up and puts on that hat?”
A few weeks later, with the whole family home, Megan declared her decision on freshly dyed Easter egg. We knew she would because a Seabee came for a visit.
clouds that drift and sail
say ‘peek a boo sun’ while the
tree kisses the sun
Today was not my first eclipse. Back in August of 2017, home during the summer with my kids, we experienced an eclipse. It was a last minute decision to attempt to get ‘the glasses’. Grace and I patiently waited in very long line at a local museum. In waiting, we made some friends, shared sun protecting umbrellas, and were so close to obtaining the sought after eye protection when the museum ran out of glasses. But, on that day, the sun and the moon brought out the best in people.
Today, we were in school. The partial eclipse would be happening during our dismissal. Many parents opted to pick up their children early, not only for their eye protection, but so they could enjoy the experience with their own children. That left minimal children in school and loads of teachers able to check out the eclipse themselves. One by one, people came out to the front of the building, watching as the moon slowly nibbled away at the sun. We ooood, we ahhhd, we marveled at the wonder of it. Some of us sang along to Total Eclipse of the Heart. We wondered what would really happen if we glanced at it with our naked eye and we simply enjoyed the fresh air and each other.
First there was one or two…
Then there were three or four…
Then the busses, showed up, so we shared our glasses…
And right about 3:26, when the eclipse was totalish, we had a crew…
And once again, the sun and the moon brought out the best in people.
let's observe 