Whether you seek out pop-up gardens, pop-up messages from nature, or smile recalling when someone special popped the question -- this musing has it all. 

Pop-up Gifts 

Doesn’t “pop-up” sound like a pleasant surprise?

Do you hear the whack of a baseball bouncing high off the bat? Or did cool drops from a sprinkler kiss your body on your well-timed walk? Perhaps a tiny burst of color peeking through a crack in the sidewalk makes you stop. These are pop-up moments. Pop-up, a fun-to-say-word, is traceable to the mid-15 century, according to etymonline.com.

My recent favorite pop-up moments:

• A handsome box turtle popped out from his shell to say, “Hello there!” I am a fan of tortoises, that’s why I give him a lift across the street. His shell is hard but without deep, rough ridges and cracks. He retreats inside his shell as I carry him to a cool grassy spot by an opening in the fence. I hope his home is in the marshy place down the hill.  
• The blur of a brilliant flame-orange male Baltimore oriole that flies in front of me. No time to stop!
•  An impromptu conversation with our neighbor by our trash one evening. We talk and laugh. Despite living next door, seeing her outside is almost as rare as seeing a Baltimore oriole. She’s a homebody.
•  At the farmer’s market, one vendor and I marvel over the beauty of beets. She uses the vegetable as a natural sweetener in her delicious granola. She also eats them raw and roasts them. Golden beets are popular now but it’s red beets that please my tastebuds. Cooked, please. My dad grew beets and they are the best beets ever. So many beets taste like old dirt! Not his.
• It’s been so hot and dry, I wonder why there’s a mushroom in our yard? A yellow disc-shaped ‘shroom shows up near our breakfast nook (two chairs and an umbrella) where my husband and I sip strong Cuban coffee in the cool shade each morning.

My husband and I are celebrating our wedding anniversary this weekend. Did you know that to pop the question dates back to 1725? Nearly 22 years ago, my husband asks me to marry him on a sunny, cold winter day in our favorite Henry Moore sculpture garden. It is the first of many surprises we share in our marriage.

May you delight in pop-ups wherever you find them!

 

High Five! for All the Dads

One of my favorite photos of my father. 

Dad and I emailed each other daily about current news or past historic events, family and friends, and ordinary things. My dad’s signature sign-off was your earthly father, which made me smile. If his computer wasn’t working, he’d call me because he didn’t want me to worry about him. After he died, I kept writing to him—my earthly father who now lived in heaven.

He showed me what humor sounded like. At my retirement party, my manager said she learned to appreciate my quirky sense of humor. I considered her comment a compliment. Thanks Dad.

Dad also showed me what happiness felt like— freedom to map out my life.

“You can be anything you want when you grow up,” he said.

I was probably 11 or 12 years old, but realized he believed in me. My career was my choice, with unlimited possibilities.

Dad showed a genuine interest in my work. He was curious about how I was getting along. When I shared my stories of challenging co-workers, bad bosses, or temperamental team members, he shared how he coped with similar situations. One piece of his advice I followed: write my feelings about a particular person, then tear up the piece of paper. Just let it go!

Dad was easy-going, not the person who held grudges, called in debts, or wanted to get even. He was kind and generous to everyone. I appreciated his patience. (He taught me how to drive!)

A soft-spoken man who rarely raised his voice. His calm demeanor instilled confidence in his patients. Dad left his thriving family medical practice to work at the State Hospital. The position allowed him regular hours and more time at home.

“He didn’t want to miss seeing you and your brother grow up,” Mom said.

In his long-standing career as a doctor at the State Hospital, I don’t remember him calling out sick. He was immune to illness; I supposed. He enjoyed working and tried and failed to retire three times. He officially retired at age 68, but worked another 14 years as a consultant.

Before leaving for work, he’d give me a high five. Thwack! He slapped his palm against mine. “I’m off to save lives and stamp out disease!” He left before 8 a.m., came home on his lunch break, and returned home after 5 p.m.

    Lunch was a simple fare. He liked plain food—    soup, cottage cheese, or a sandwich. However, he loved sweets – puddings, pies, or ice cream. His grandkids knew they could count on him stashing chocolate puddings in the cupboard (for them!).

He was modest in his dress, what he drove, and our home. His car was a big old Buick with an enormous trunk to transport his garden tools and produce. He grew corn, okra, zucchini, beans, cucumbers, cantaloupe, and watermelon. He also raised all kinds of tomatoes, from Romas to hybrids that were black not red.  

Most weekends, he wore his old, faded jeans and a flannel shirt. Certainly, he looked like a farmer than the image we have of a physician.

My father was orphaned at age eight. As a boy, his fatherly role models were likely his older brothers and his scout leaders. Those scout badges (especially swimming) and his Eagle Scout were hard earned.

He was smart. And our family admired his amazing memory. He studied history and that included family history too, recalling birthdates, anniversaries, and middle names with natural ease, as if he was stating what the weather was.

His own life was chronicled in the certificates, plaques, and letters he saved, including his high school diploma, US Navy commendation, medical licenses, and volunteer church work. He graduated at the top of his naval academy class in Great Lakes, then served his country from 1951 to 54 during the Korean Conflict. 

My father’s compassion, strong work ethic, generous spirit, and sense of humor made him special and I treasured my time with him. 

For Father’s Day, here’s a high five to you Dad and all the fathers on earth and in heaven.

 

Summer-rizing    

What does summer-rizing mean for you?

Summer- rize (To prepare one’s self, home, yard, and attitude for summertime.)

        Ah, summertime. Birdsong before dawn wakes me up and I go for a stroll, swim, bike ride, or game of tennis before the searing heat sets in.

        The pool, cool and shady, invites me to take a dip before the heat arrives. The sun makes me a lazy floater gazing at the clouds. 

        Let me feel the warm nights, hear the crickets chirp, and watch the woods aglow with fireflies.

       Summer produce -- fresh herbs, fruit, and vegetables -- are worth the wait. I anticipate the first ripe peach with its sticky, sweet juice exploding after one bite. The fragrance of my homegrown basil shows off its aroma in only a few weeks after planting.

       Give me long days that call for a tall glass of cold, tart limeade and an engaging book. Bring on the bats in all their frenzy chasing down supper at dusk. 

But the work of summer-rizing comes first. Here’s my short list:

·         Replace or fix everything that’s worn out or missing from last year. 

·         The grill, deck, and chairs all get a bath. The power-washer trades places with the snow blower. 

·         Bikes get a tune up. 

·        The herb garden receives a pep talk. Two new types of tomatoes follow me home from the garden store.

·         Weeding the garden beds, while wary of poison ivy and its relatives.  

·         Hummingbird feeders with homemade sugar water decorate the windows.

·         Memorize the farmers market schedules: Who has the best produce? When should I go? Saturday or Sunday morning?

·         Throw out the outdated sunscreen, and buy new flavors in SPF 30, SPF 50, and SPF 70.  Ah, do I need SPF 100?  

Enjoy the summer season! May your chores be few, and the joys be many.

 

Introduction: Tales from the Trail, is an occasional fictional musing inspired by the nearby trail. A place where I meet and make imaginary friends who are featured in the blog.  

Marilyn's Musings passed the six month fledging mark. I've been publishing my essays, posing questions, sharing music recommendations, and odds and ends since November 2023. Thanks for following the posts and my plan is to "Keep On." 

This weekend's musing was delayed because I was summer-izing my house vs. winterizing, which I'll summarize for you next week. Why isn't summerizing isn't in Merriam-Webster's dictionary?  

Stumbling upon a Star 

Golden star, shinny and bright, 

falling from afar one dark night. 

Golden star, lost and alone, 

grounded here without a home.

Let's be friends, what do you say? 

Twinkle each day and night away. 

Golden star, speed and soar  high, 

fly back to your starry sky. 

My how you glow oh golden star, 

gaze upward and there you are!