Wildflower Writes

Photo by  Vicky Ng  on  Unsplash I love bread. Since spending more time at home due to COVID restrictions, my mom has been turning out all kinds of wonderful creations- rye bread and potato bread and some kind of Cajun bread with coconut milk. I never visit her house without a slice of homemade bread. This is partially because she needs someone to eat the bread before it goes stale. There’s a limited shelf life on home-baked goods. Bread is best when perfectly and freshly baked. Living in the moment is like indulging in that warm slice of fresh-baked bread. It’s crackly on the outside and soft and chewy in the middle. Unfortunately, we spend way too much time focusing on the past- stale, moldy bread, or bread that’s been eaten and digested. It offers no nutrition in the present. Or we focus on the future, bread that’s still a batch of dough rising in a bowl. We don’t know what it will turn it out to be, and it’s not fit to eat right now.     The gift we ...

I don’t remember making a big deal out of Mother’s Day as I child. I think we all went out to eat after church. At least that would make sense to me since Mom always cooked, but I can’t imagine either of my parents waiting for an hour for a meal at a crowded restaurant. I’m sure there were a string of homemade cards with the accompanying homemade verse. There might have been breakfast in bed a time or two, although Mom always seemed to be up before us. I imagine there may have been some offerings of wadded violets or dandelions as well. In my husband’s family, all the ladies wear orchids to church on Mother’s Day. I felt a little silly the first time, sporting one as a very unmotherly college student, but I felt a little special, too. On Mother’s Day, my home church gives out carnations to all the women. I thought it was merely an inexpensive choice, but it turns out carnations are traditional representations of Mother’s Day. It was the favorite flower of Ann Marie Jarvis, whose passin...