Like everyone else in the world, I am eager to see 2020 move on. But the reality is that a new calendar year is a bit of an illusion. Today is not much different from yesterday, especially when one is retired. Nevertheless, there is a freshness about a new calendar, a new budget, a new president (soon-to-be).  I'm glad to be done with cancer, and hopeful for a COVID vaccination. I'm eager to be out and about again, and looking. This image is one I discovered last week as I was processing some photos from the autumn of 2015. I may have tweeked the saturation a little, but it does portray what I saw with the stack of basalt rocks at the Interstate State Park in Minnesota. I am looking for different in the new year, a different hopeful spirit in the country, a desire for justice and equality, a quest for peace, and images that will make me dance and sing (even at my age.)

One doesn't need a calendar to know that autumn is all around. As I drink my morning coffee and gaze out the window, I see one of our burning bushes lit by the morning sun. What a glorious day!

Actually, my countdown started two weeks ago as I looked at what adjustments I might need to make with the coming winter. Some might think I am rushing the calendar. But I need a marker of hope. I want to look forward to the future. this year I have survived cancer, avoided Covid, longed to hug my granddaughter, missed my family, yearned to visit friends. I want to move beyond the toxic chaos of political poison. So I set a mark on the calendar when life could be different again, maybe not normal, but not like it is now. Easter. The day of resurrection. Celebration. Spring. This photo is from April 5, 2020, captured in my backyard. 21 weeks until the dogwood is in full bloom again. And I will celebrate.

And to use the days ahead, I have begun to set goals so that these 21 weeks can have a purpose beyond waiting. I have a list of projects and hopes. By the time I get to Easter, life will be different.

Susan brought us gifts. She brought flowers to a gardener and a photographer of gardens. Wow! Unlike any flower we had in our gardens. The giver brought a special flower. But the point is not that the flower was different. The point is that it was a gift. Family is a gift. Faith is a gift. Friends are gifts. A simple day changed by a gift is truly a blessing. Every day can be changed by gifts and givers.

It's been a month since my surgery. The good news is that the pathology report reveals that the cancer was wholly contained in the prostate and the surgeon is confident that he removed all the cancer. When I return to his office in another month, I hope that the blood test confirms that I am a cancer survivor. I am so appreciative for the many prayers and notes of encouragement. It is good to know that the journey was not a solitary one. Thank you.

The magnolia tree in our backyard is reblooming as are a number of our daylilies. It's my hope that here in mid-August in a tumultuous year that we all might have an opportunity to rebloom.

Tucked into a corner of the garden are a few coneflowers, not many, just this red variety. The plant has been blooming for a while, but the sun this morning accented the various stages of growth in this single plant. I am glad that I saw it because it has been a stressful time, not just for me, but for all of us. My surgery is this coming Monday and I am hopeful that I will begin the road to recovery. I am not so optimistic about the national approach to the spread of the coronovirus. But I dwell among hopeful people.

The doctor said there was good news. No cancer in your bones or lymph nodes. But in describing the cancer he used the word "aggressive" too many times. I wake up early morning. I look at the clock and again it is way too early. Dark outside. And before long my mind clicks on, I have cancer. The first week I found it hard to believe it. I wondered what the future looked like. My mother died because of cancer just 5 years ago. I made the journey with numerous church friends. I remember so clearly being speechless when "Dite" said he had cancer. I loved him. And I had nothing. He wasn't the first. He certainly wasn't the last. Nor am I.

I have prayer partners everywhere. And family and friends who are so dear to me that our relationship transcends words. So what happens now?

The reality is I have cancer. And I have an appointment with an exceptional surgeon in a world-class facility in the midst of a pandemic. But I am filled with hope. And peace. Veterans of this surgical procedure have given me details of their journey. And I can do it too. And I could ask for no one who cares for me more than Judy. Life is truly good. And I have years of moments ahead to be amazed at what I see.

In addition to all the daylilies in our yard, Judy is growing Stokes Aster this year in several places. The bloom is a large, wonderfully fringed purple flower. This last week as I was painting the deck I noticed how these flowers begin to unfold. This round ball will soon open to a new glorious expression. This morning I will be having a biopsy that I have been waiting to have performed since I received MRI results three months ago, nearly to the day. The nationwide precautions regarding COVID-19 caused the fusion biopsy to be cancelled twice. So I have waited for these past three months to receive information about something that I would have liked to ignore. I have been hoping that the matter can be cared for as I have no symptoms that indicate a possible issue. So little has been normal this spring: abundance of rain, ordering groceries online, seeing friends and family on FaceTime, going to church on Facebook Live, attending Sunday School on Zoom, watching the economy crater, and unrest in the nation over issues of racial injustice. So waiting has been a challenge. I have a tan, as usual since I have retired with a private pool. I have photographed everything that has bloomed in our garden. I have read, watched too much TV, and eaten just the right amount of chocolate. And I hope. Just as this flower is about reveal the reason for the waiting. May I experience release or be given patience as I celebrate whatever days are ahead.