Last night it was Morel bonanza at our house! Dan has gotten a few, here and there, but last night he found them in places there never were mushrooms before. He came back with a 2-pound bag, totally, wildly excited.

Last week while mushrooming in the woods he got a really icky bite on his leg that our son James is sure came from a Brown Recluse Spider. James suggests Dan is days from amputation, J. keeps looking it up on the Internet, taking a morbid interest in the wound- "this one looks kinda like yours, Dad!" M, in a typical 14 year-old girl move, appeared distraught at the thought of her Father's amputation, then admitted it was mainly because she doesn't want any changes in our income base, that could cause us to move up north(my dream) . She wants to be smack dab in the middle of her satisfying social scene, and if her father's leg festered, it might impact her plans. Sigh.

My kids are getting older, my eyesight is getting worse... I think since I lost my Dad last year, I feel orphaned, and more vulnerable. I was lucky to have my parents into my adulthood, and I think there was a part of me that didn't feel my mortality when they were around. Now that the pain from Dad is less "raw" (thank you Nancy, my wonderful supportive sister, that's exactly the word ...) I am feeling other things. Like time slipping past.

The other day my husband was mowing and he ran over a Care Bear... you know, the happy, colorful ones that say things like "Sunshine Bear" on their bums? Petey the puppy had gotten one of my kid's old ones, and it was hidden in the tall grass. The riding mower hit it, and he was gone in a puff of stuffing and grass clippings. My kids barely missed a beat. It was a Care Bear, and no one cared!

I remembered years ago, when they were probably 3 and 4, M and J got identical bears in their Easter Baskets; they were pretty funky looking guys, with jointed arms and legs, skinny bodies with big tummies, about 12 inches tall. Margaret named hers "Brown Bear" and James named his "Shoes". Margaret, with her four-year old superiority, picture a hands on hips head-tilt here, accused James of just looking at his shoes and naming the bear, which is most certainly what happened. However, this was vigorously denied, in a stubborn little-brother way. But Shoes he was, and Shoes he stayed. They toted those bears all over, were tucked in with them at night.

Then one day the unthinkable happened- Shoes was mowed over by big brother Danny. M and J cradled the mass of cotton batting and furry fabric, as James sobbed uncontrollably, and we had a burial ceremony under the Clematis vine. James took solace in the thought that Shoes was going to help the vine grow and prosper.

So the other day on the porch I looked at the mass of mowed-over Care Bear in the yard, which barely made a dent in our day. I thought about poor old Shoes, and about my failing eyesight, and about how I miss my little babies, and how I miss my mother, and about how weird it is that time passes and the changes it brings.

So, look how deep I am (and maybe a little tearful) when I turn over the card for the day…
And here it is, a blessing on me- the 10 of Cups… it’s a day to count my blessings- my supportive family, the love I’ve been given, my gingerbread cookies and tea party childhood, the wonderful things my parents gave to me, that I have been able to give to my children. I hope you all have blessings to counts, too!