My sister, Lauren, was home from the hospital a week when I visited her and her new baby. I sat down and she placed Rory in my arms for the first time. I was puzzled. I kept waiting for something to happen.
Currently there is a mound of dirt in our front yard. Under that mound is a statue. A statue of St. Joseph—upside down—facing the street. Or is he facing the house? I don’t remember which way we placed him. Anyway, next to the dirt is a For Sale sign.
Once the weather gets nice, there’s not a day that goes by when our street isn’t filled with kids. We live on a cul-de-sac and our circle is the playground for the entire neighborhood. It is also the gathering place for the moms.
Summer in the Midwest is a feast for the eyes. Nearly every week a new flower bursts to life in the yards of neighbors and in the gardens of city parks: first daffodils, then tulips, followed by lilacs and peonies, and the list goes on.