Mr. Rogers

In the wake of tragedy in Boston and Oklahoma, I am comforted by the words of Mr. Rogers,

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.”

Today was a rewarding day at work. I had great laughs with my officemate, I was thanked by a couple of doctors for my work, a hard-to-reach DCS worker answered my phone call, and a family gave me a small token of appreciation. The evening brought BLT's for dinner and a freezer full of Las Paletas. Mom and Jared each bought popsicles today independently of each other. We now have about 30 pops in the freezer and I continue to eat about 2 pops daily. The latest favorite is butter pecan or chocolate banana or cookies and there are so many flavors to try. May I always have weight to gain when there are 30 pops in the freezer! 

So, life is moving along with no clear path in sight. Our house is still on the market and the ability to build on the farm is still up in air as is our desire and the financial wisdom of such a move. We're still living in mom's upstairs which is going reasonably well, but it's already been 6 months and I need some direction, some plan. The freezer full of pops isn't going to hold the three of us together forever. I've had my two periods, so we can and are trying for another baby. However, that is scary in light of the above mentioned concerns. I'm hoping for clarity, for wise decisions, for the ability to think of pros and cons and listen to wise counsel. I wish my Dad was here. He would be so helpful. I wish I could imagine what he would say, but he was so smart and thought outside of my boxes. I cannot mention the number of things he was right about, the number of times I'm just glad I did what he told me to do because he knew. He just knew life and it's twists and turns and potential downfalls. He's now in the grave and this is a fact that has been hard to bear this week. I miss him tremendously. I hear him in the trains that whistle by and I see him in the pennies lying casually on the ground, forgotten by the owner. We never passed up a penny on the ground. Never. We had such plans for pennies whether it was smashing them beneath the trains on the tracks or throwing them into the water jug by his squeaky chair at the desk. If there was an object, an event, a laugh, Dad and I made a memory. 

Dad and Mr. Rogers just knew.