Beautiful day today! The sun is as bright and warm as a mid summer day. Little cotton puffs of clouds are moving quickly through the light blue sky. The wind is conducting a wind chime symphony. Penelope is sleeping in the sunshine, on her back, legs in the air. We haven’t seen our chubby little chipmunk. I’m sure he’s around. The wind is crossing the street making the wind chimes echo each other. The doves and goldfinches and cardinals are happily ensconced on the feeders. Mr. Downy Woodpecker is content eating suet hanging upside down.

Penelope just growled at a large bumble bee flitting around a pot of pansies resting on the porch steps. She can be so funny. I was eating a little snack package of small white donuts and in a weak moment, after watching that pitiful begging puppy dog face, I gave her a donut. She wolfed it, swallowed it whole, didn’t even chew it! I’m telling y’all she was a shark or vulture in her former life.

A beautiful Eastern Tiger Swallowtail is flying around my pansies. So beautiful with his yellow butterfly wings standing on the purple pansy blooms. He’s camera shy. Tried three times to capture a photo. He wants to be left alone to do what butterflies do. So I’m leaving him alone.

I swear I just heard a sea gull! Guess that gray catbird spent yesterday at the beach and learned a new song. Those birds can even mimic machinery. Oh, the red tailed hawk just raided the yard. Everybody escaped. He’ll just swoop down and snatch a bird off a feeder. Didn’t catch anybody today.

I complimented one of my neighbors the other day on how pretty her white hair is. It always sparkles in the sun. Her face lit up with a genuine smile. You know compliments, given sincerely, have the power to change someone’s outlook on their day, maybe even their life.

I was walking into Wally World one day and I saw a teenage girl and her mother walking into the store. The mother looked disgruntled and the daughter had the typical scowl of a teenager. The girl had dyed her hair an April tulip fuchsia. It was bright and shiny, cut in a cute bob, in contrast to her camouflaged rumpled clothes. I immediately thought that her pink hair irritated her mother. And instantly I thought of my daughter. Rosie would have rocked that fuchsia hair. As I walked by the girl I said, “I love your hair!” She had a beautiful smile and said, “Really,” and immediately looked at her mother to let her mother know at least someone understood. I told her I wish I was brave enough to dye my hair purple. I could tell that compliment had eased their tension and helped restore some confidence to the teenager. The smallest act of caring can turn a life around.

I remember telling one of my day care mothers what a wonderful job I thought she and her husband were doing as parents. She was thrilled and hugged me. No one had ever validated her role as a parent.

Years ago I wrote a feature story, for a magazine, about an older artist. I’ve never enjoyed an interview as much as I did the morning I spent with her at her home. She was lovely and lively and had lived a very interesting life as an artist and incongruently as a kindergarten teacher. Her son called me after he read the story and complimented me on such an accurate portrayal of his mother. Her daughter wrote me a heartfelt note that said, “You captured mother’s spirit and passion for art and children.” When you write for a living compliments are few and far between. Her children’s compliments gave meaning to my writing and gave me a boost of confidence.

I’m sitting in the swing now thinking of compliments Chief gave me and four of them I remember often. After Thomas was born he told me, “The first time I met you, I knew I wanted you to be the mother of my children.” That compliment went straight to my heart. Years later, when we moved into his mother’s house he told me, “Mama, you’ve made this house a home.” Several times while we were watching the movie, The Notebook, at the end of the movie when Noah tells Allie, “I think our love can do anything you want it to,” Chief would lean over and touch my hand and quietly say, “Mama, I love you like that!”

The last compliment Chief gave me was after I had lectured him for ten minutes about taking all his medicine during our sickness with Covid. He got mad and told me to leave him alone so I went back to Rosie’s room for a little while. I didn’t like taking those huge zinc tablets either. About fifteen minutes later I went back to check on him, pulled the covers up on his chest, and patted him on on the shoulder. I thought he was asleep but as I turned around to leave he said, “Mama, you’re a saint.” He died later that afternoon.