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Bay Reflections

Bay Reflections

I was walking with friends along the a suburban Wheaton street when someone said, “What’s that?”     We looked down to the roadway where she pointed. At first it looked like snapdragon blossom – mottled pink with a red blush. No, its movement was not at all flower-like. I looked closer — a baby bird. Tendelry, I picked it up and held it in the palm of my hand. No larger than two joints of my small finger, it had no weight. We looked at it in wonder.

Building a safe place to launch lives

My youngest daughter, Alyson, recently graduated from the University of Maryland with a degree in politics and government and a part-time job with a non-profit in D.C. — plus hopes and plans for changing the world. How had this happened, I wondered, how had time tracked me down and pushed me along, insisting that I move it, move it, ready or not?     As the mother of six, there were times I daydreamed about an empty nest. I was guilty of wishing time along, dreaming about all the things I could do once I was done with my 30 years or so of child-rearing.

Often our best learning comes from questions rather than from answers, from wondering about seemingly small details or great mysteries …

The Bay. When said and heard that way, the words mean more than a dictionary’s definition, more than a body of water, sheltered somehow from a larger lake or sea. The Bay means that a person knows about a special place.     This awareness is a gift to the people who have it, a relationship to the place and to other people who share the knowledge. The more we learn, from the Bay and from Bay people, the more valuable the gift becomes.

A Father’s Day memory

Dad said let’s go fishing when Mother asked what he wanted to do on Father’s Day.     He bought fresh fishing supplies the day before. We also packed a lunch because we were going to get up early.     At 4am, Mom was fixing a thermos full of coffee for the two of them as I got myself ready. We ate a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast to hold us over until we could get in the boat and snack. Dad planned to pick up the rented boat and a trailer to haul it at 5am.

Poems for our mothers

What to say to your mother (or wife) on Mother’s Day? If your own words fail you, the anonymously crafted greeting card message will save you. If only you were a poet, you would have the right words.        What would those words be?     That’s what Bay Weekly asked eight Chesapeake poets this Mother’s Day.

Memories of boats little and big

On a robust early morning in 1958, I jumped into Chesapeake Country. We lived in Baltimore, but my father had bought a summer place in Chelsea Beach on Mill Creek. For the second year, I woke to hear the birds chattering away.     This day, I planned to take our 12-foot runabout across the Magothy River to see my friend at her uncle’s large log cabin.     I ran down the wooded path to the dock, careful not to slide or wind up tangled in a small tree.

Life on the Bay Can Be Exhausting

I rise early even on weekends, continuing the habit of a lifetime, look out and see the civil twilight and the promise of the sun. Over the flat water, dark blue now, like a sheet of glass, wisps of dark clouds with a hint of pink on the horizon in a sky of light blue. The day is already alive with morning sounds, distant traffic.

March is National Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month

As my doctor read through my records during my yearly physical, he exhaled a worrisome Hmmmmmmm. That’s never good when you’re visiting a doctor.     “Let’s see,” he said. “According to your chart you turned the big Five-Oh this year.”     To me, it sounded more like the big Five-Uh-oh.

And she’s still my champion


Reviewer turns actor in Mrs. California