Sign, Sign, Everywhere A Sign

 

Randy had a regular doctor's checkup not too long ago. We were escorted back to an exam room, and we ended up waiting quite awhile.

As usual, I had brought a book. I try not to be irritated by delays because I hope the doctor will spend the time needed for me, so why should I wish differently for another patient? If I have a book, I can pass the time and be happy. However, I also gawked at my surroundings.

There was a sign on the door, politely telling family members who were there during a loved one's appointment to keep their comments to a minimum. I didn't take a photo of that sign, though I did abide by the directive.

But I did pull out my camera to snap a shot of another sign that hung near the exam table:

10 WAYS TO LOVE

 

Listen 

without interrupting

Speak

without accusing

Give

without sparing

Pray

without ceasing

Answer 

without arguing

Share 

without pretending

Enjoy 

without complaint

Trust

without wavering

Forgive

without punishing

Promise

without forgetting

I don't always go to Randy's appointments, so I'm not sure how long the plaque had been a part of the room's decor. But I thought it was significant enough to take a photo. 

Was it hanging there before the Covid-19 pandemic? Before the last election? I don't know. But the sign seemed to have a message for me during this time when there are so many different voices, espousing so many different opinions, more often shouting than speaking conversationally.  

I could certainly hone those 10 ways to love. I do some of them better than others. I imagine most people do. 

These days, I sometimes censor myself, trying to avoid those uncomfortable situations. I have avoided posting photos to social media from K-State football games this fall, knowing there are people who will think we should not be in a stadium with friends, family and strangers.

  

Same goes for the Kansas State Fair, where we presided over a meeting ... but also enjoyed a grandstand show.

Before the vaccine was released, I even hesitated to share photos during the few times we gathered with our kids or granddaughters.

"What will people think?"

"Are they going to judge me?"

It made me think of the song from my teenage years:

Sign, sign, everywhere a sign
Blockin' out the scenery, breakin' my mind
Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?

The "signs" are confusing these days. Just like the Five Man Electric Band song said, "Do this." "Don't do that." We shake our heads (if not our fists) and shout, "Can't you read the sign?"

But the sign may seem like you're going past it at 75 miles an hour and viewing it through a dirty windshield. It's kind of blurry. There may not be a "right" answer. But it is very likely the answer IS "right" for you and your family. And that's OK.

 

Taken on our way home from the K-State game 10-2-2021. Most were blurry like this!

Signs don't have to just be ones that you can read. I've seen plenty of "signs" all around me as I continue my role as chief "go-fer" around here during wheat planting. Some of those signs don't make a lot of sense either. For the second fall in a row, I have a few lilac blooms on bushes that typically bloom in the spring. 

 Last year, I used a different analogy. Here's just a snippet from that blog post:

It's a mad, mad, mad, mad world. 

I realize that statement can be taken a variety of ways. It certainly seems plenty of people are "mad" in 2020. It's true whether we're talking about anger "mad" or chaos "mad" during this year that everyone is calling "unprecedented." From a pandemic to a hotly-debated election, there's plenty of madness to go around.

So I guess I wasn't surprised that our lilacs are going mad, too. Not a single one bloomed this past spring. We figured that a frost had nipped them in the bud - literally. 

However, last week as I returned to the farmstead after umpteen trips to the field as go-fer, I noticed a few purple blooms among the greenery.

Taken October 6, 2021, after my second trip to the wheat field that morning.

Not much has changed. People still seem mad. And one persistent purple bloom in the lilac bushes south of my driveway is bravely brightening my day as I drive in and out on yet another farm errand. 

Even in this world that often seems awfully dark and full of vitriol, there are prisms of light. 

 We just have to slow down and see it.

And even more important, share it ...

 To live and LOVE in new ways.

It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World

It's a mad, mad, mad, mad world. 

I realize that statement can be taken a variety of ways. It certainly seems plenty of people are "mad" in 2020. It's true whether we're talking about anger "mad" or chaos "mad" during this year that everyone is calling "unprecedented." From a pandemic to a hotly-debated election, there's plenty of madness to go around.

So I guess I wasn't surprised that our lilacs are going mad, too. Not a single one bloomed this past spring. We figured that a frost had nipped them in the bud - literally. 

However, last week as I returned to the farmstead after umpteen trips to the field as go-fer, I noticed a few purple blooms among the greenery. 

I went for a closer look and to take a few photos (of course). 

I was trying to use the bright blue sky as a backdrop and when I looked closer, I thought there was a bit of thread caught in the blooms. 

 

I tugged to remove it so it wouldn't ruin my photo.

 

And I realized that I had rudely disturbed a visitor.  

Once I realized the "thread" was attached to a praying mantis, I was surprised that my rude greeting hadn't resulted in my guest getting mad and swiftly departing the premises. 

But, no, he stuck around for a few close-up photos. 

 

While nothing about 2020 surprises me much at this point, I did have to Google why lilacs would bloom in the fall. 

 

First of all, I do not have boomerang lilacs, a trademarked variety that is bred to bloom both in the spring and the fall. 

 

But my regular, run-of-the-mill lilacs aren't alone in our mixed-up world of 2020. (I noticed our neighbor, Gary, has blooming lilacs, too.)

Anyway, Google tells me that lilacs and other spring blooming shrubs can sometimes be tricked into re-blooming when warm fall weather comes after a cool-down, or after a stressful summer.

"A stressful summer" ... Yes, add that to a stressful spring and it's no wonder the world is topsy-turvy. At least in this instance, there's some beauty in the mayhem.

So I will enjoy this particular anomaly ... however short-lived it is as another cold front barrels through today.