Yevet Tenney

On Memorial Day, we took our children to the cemetery to place flowers of the graves of our ancestors and to remember.As we wove in and out among the headstones, we noticed many faded flags waving among the new flags placed on the graves of veterans.

I remember sitting across from her in her living room. Her angel-white hair shining in the sunlight streaming though the window.

With spring well on its way, new life seems to be the theme of my world.I watch the new blossoms fill the trees and fade away into green leaves. The tiny plants peek through the ground, and soon they are full-grown plants bearing fruit.

“Inch by inch it’s a cinch; yard by yard it’s hard.”

I grew up with that maxim, and was always impressed with the truth of the old saying, but the other day I was tripped and sent sprawling with the same old adage.

It’s been snowing lately, and I have been complaining about the cold. I am not as young as I used to be, and my bones hurt.My circulation isn’t the best; our big house doesn’t have central heating, and the last batch of wood we gathered was wet. If you know anything about wet wood, it doesn’t burn very well.

I visited with my daughter’s English teacher today.It was one of those parent-teacher conversations where you find out what’s missing in the grade book. “There’s only one assignment missing. She needs to write an essay about how she feels about liberty and turn it in by Monday. That will bring up her grade.”