Trees

Aunt Arlene. Great aunt, actually, and in every sense – my mother’s aunt as well as an exceptional person.

She was the quintessential mid-century Midwestern homemaker. A devout Catholic and stay-at-home mother of seven children, she took pride in her sewing, cooking, baking, and church volunteerism.

Married to the same man, great uncle Jim, for 57 years, Arlene filled each of their successive homes with comfortable furnishings and endless knickknacks. She hosted family gatherings with a perpetual smile on her face – and meant it.

I visited her days before she passed from cancer almost a decade ago. She was what you’d say “still with it,” right up until the end. Bravely and with few tears, she told me she lived a happy life. She told me about a drive she recently went on with Jim a few weeks prior.

“Boy you sure do notice the trees,” she said.

Cliche? No, just honest. And heart achingly real.

In Minnesota we’re blessed with four distinct seasons. There are huge looming trees in thick green bloom in June and bare brown trees covered in winter white frost in December.

As I stepped outside my door this morning, I looked at the trees. All of them were glistening in a winter white frost, a landscape straight out of Disney’s Frozen.

I looked at them for Arlene. I looked at them for me.