Springing Up Along the Ditch, 9″x11,” watercolor and gouache, By Donna Lyons © 2025

Taking flight

By Marty Coffin Evans© 2019

I didn’t know what to expect when, several years ago, the principal and several teachers from California Elementary in my last school district invited me to a special celebration, the culmination of a science project. While I don’t remember what grade these students were in, I recall their excitement when they released their butterflies. What began in the classroom as a study of caterpillars soon saw them transformed into beautiful butterflies.

Recently, I attended another butterfly release. This time, it came as the focal point of a memorial celebration organized by TRU Community Care Hospice.

When we entered the TRU PACE Center that morning, we were given a tiny, thin, triangular shaped box. Inside, a butterfly waited to be released. “It’s okay to keep it warm in your hands,” we were told. “You may feel a little movement and that’s okay.”

In the activity room, a volunteer played softly on a flute as we gathered for the program. Later she would lead us outside for the release of our butterflies.  During that time together inside, several speakers spoke about grief, joy, loss and the temporal nature of it all.

At the conclusion of the brief program, we moved outside to a Labyrinth where we stood wherever we wished. Carefully, we all began to open our triangular boxes by pulling on the side tabs. Inside, our Painted Lady butterfly lifted its wings. With what appeared to be one tiny foot still attached to the paper, ours fluttered its wings long enough for us to take a picture. All too soon, our butterfly took flight along with our thoughts of loved ones.

One little girl dressed in a pink jacket lay on the ground cupping her hands around her butterfly. Some adults stood in clusters waiting for their butterflies to take flight. Occasionally, a released butterfly would land on some one’s clothing long enough to be admired before heading away.

Fran LeMasters’ poem “Free the butterflies,” included inside that day’s program, captures a sense of this experience and its memorial significance. “I’ll be there to see them soar upon the air. Know my spirit is on the wing, feel my laughter-hear me sing. Forever in your dreams, always in your heart.”

This time, the symbolism of the butterfly became that of transcendence. Here their message, implied and possibly stated – our loved ones live on in spirit although no longer seen. They too had been transformed into the beauty of the butterfly – here for a short time, cherished, and then gone. We were left to marvel at this change with a mixture of sadness and joy.

April 2026

Easter Parade, 6″ x 9″, watercolor and gouache, By Donna Lyons © 2025

Food, wonderful food

By Marty Coffin Evans © 2016

Hearing that phrase may evoke the rest of the sentence, with musical accompaniment.  “Food, wonderful food, hot sausage and mustard,” comes straight out of “Oliver.”

What’s not to like about food?  We enjoy it for the traditions it helps us celebrate, associations with different locations and remembrances of family members.

With St. Patrick’s Day rapidly approaching, tradition sets in here with corned beef and cabbage.  Perhaps not your favorite dishes, wait for Easter.  That might include ham and yams unless you’re a lamb lover.

What’s Thanksgiving without turkey, dressing, and pumpkin pie unless you’re not from around here?  Several years we were on a Christmas Market trip in Germany on the Rhine River. As was typical, the boat docked during the day for accompanied excursions and independent exploring.

One couple chose to remain on board that day.  The chef from the Netherlands, asked for their help.  Would they be willing to sample something for her as she wasn’t sure of the desired taste?  Initially reluctant, they finally yielded to her repeated request for them to taste her version of pumpkin pie.  An unknown dessert item to her, this chef was trying to replicate a Thanksgiving meal for these Yanks miles from home.  She succeeded!

Most likely we can all find a memory of meals associated with special family members.  Maybe the matriarch made a special cobbler.  In my case, Nanno’s cherry or peach cobbler, straight out of Oklahoma, spoiled me for others’ versions of that same dish.

“Do you remember Gramma June’s cabbage, carrots and celery dish,” I asked my cousin Anne.  Her answer – No – didn’t fit my memory of this dish which I traditionally serve with a corned beef dinner.  It works other times of the year as well.

No matter where we enjoy our food – home, traveling or in our memories – it holds a special place in our lives beyond basic sustenance. We can think back to the musical “Oliver” when he famously asked, “May I have more please, sir?”

How about you? Want seconds?

March 2026

All’s well, 11″ x 14″, watercolor and gouache, by Donna Lyons © 2025

My special childhood Groundhog Day memory

By Marty Coffin Evans © 2014

I was 10 years old, weighed 49 pounds and had infected tonsils causing me to remain continuously ill.  What to do – have those tonsils taken out, and so they were.

In those days, ether was the anesthetic of choice.  Count backward from 10 they said.  I began with 10 -9 and soon was out.

As a fifth grader at Uni Hill Elementary in Boulder, I was sad to miss my classmates, teacher and school. My hope of carrying the flag into the classroom was diminished because of my ether reaction. I may not remember much about the flag part but, know carrying it was a very special honor.

My wise teacher had the class write letters to me during my convalescence. Since this was February, Ground Hog Day became the focal point of those little letters.  What a great idea for the class. My memories of that remain with me to this day whenever the ground hog pokes his head out each February looking for his shadow.

Because my system didn’t respond well to ether, I spent more time at Boulder Community Hospital not able to keep my food down.  Pastor Paul Madison came to visit me during that hospital stay. Much to my chagrin, my stomach decided to heave during that time. Embarrassed, I don’t remember what I said but most likely a feeble, “I’m sorry!”

All I wanted to do was go home to my dog Moppet. Home we went but alas, my stomach continued to resist keeping down the provided food.

I ended up putting Jello down the side wall by my bed rather than in my mouth.  I don’t know what that wall looked like when we moved from that house years later!

With the admonition that back to the hospital I’d go, if I didn’t start eating and keeping it down, I obliged. Certain foods finally “stuck.” Maybe black olives began doing the trick. I seem to recall pineapple chunks too. Once eating began, I’ve never looked back often saying, “I never miss a meal if I can help it!”

For this little freckle-faced girl, those decades ago, receiving letters from my classmates became good medicine too. I’m grateful for the insight of my teacher who knew the value of having her students write along with the healing “we remember you” gift they gave me. Not a Ground Hog Day comes around without my thinking about those letters written so long ago.

Since I’ve been back in Boulder, I now visit Uni Hill in a Rotary journaling project where we engage with fifth graders. This time we’re partners writing to each other.  My journal pal, Abi – a second language learner, writes of her different school experiences, tells me about how she spends her holidays and asks me questions about my family and my life.  She’s invited me to attend her promotion ceremony at school this spring.

At one of our last visits to school, a fellow Rotarian asked me how different Uni Hill looks now compared to when I attended there. No doubt when we visit our former schools, they looked bigger than when we were younger. In my case, I remember that the floors were hard wood and not carpeted as they are now.

While I no longer remember the locations of my classrooms, I continue to cherish the written expression of support that February years ago. I hope my journaling with Abi provides her with a lasting impression of someone with whom she exchanged ideas in English all the while expressing herself through the written word. Whether healing or supportive, the power of language can and does transcend time.

February 2026

Please Picnic Here, 6″ x 9″ Watercolor and Gouache, by Donna Lyons © 2010

Traveling Life’s Highway

By Marty Coffin Evans © 2025

“Let’s go get lost,” I remember my parents saying when they lived abroad. Taking a driving trip on various highways might be fun. Having no destination could be adventurous.

I wonder if my parents thought about life as a highway. We never talked about that concept although it certainly brings many images to mind.

As I’ve traveled down many highways, I’ve encountered detours, off/on ramps and speed limits. I‘ve seen construction signs and more.

Sometimes, I’ve tried to drive to a destination knowing exactly how to get there. Other times, Waze, or some other navigational system, has provided different routing. Ok, I’ve been known to try to override the suggested route. Yep, I’d soon hear the expected, and repeated, response – “Recalculate!”

I know I’ve taken detours in my life’s journey. Sometimes, my choices haven’t been the best. Perhaps they made sense at the time and not now.

In detouring around life’s highway, I’ve taken off ramps. After a while, I’ve realized the need to return to the highway using a different on ramp. In the interim, between those ramps, I’ve learned about the importance of friendships, faith, community, and what’s really important to me.

If I’m in a hurry, I may miss the beauty outside my car windows. Slowing down, or even relinquishing the wheel, I can savor a rainbow or unusual cloud formations.

Those construction signs get my attention. I remember a dear friend saying we’re all in the act of becoming. Translation – we’re all undergoing some type of construction or reconstruction whether we know it or not. Maybe we’ll get it right sometime. Or will we ever?

“Still there?” has been the Waze question. Although in reference to something on the highway ahead, it could pertain to my life. Where am I on the highway of life? Am I lost, missing road signs or content to “go get lost”? What about you?

January 2026

On the Way Out, Gouache 9″ x 12,” by Donna Lyons © 2019

Count Down

By Marty Coffin Evans © 2025

Just when we finished one holiday, the countdown began for another. More specifically, once August arrived, so too did the Halloween decorations in different stores. Think Costco, World Market or Michaels/Hobby Lobby???

Not long after Labor Day, Christmas decorations began appearing to bump out those Halloween displays. Actually, Hallmark offered a “Christmas in July” series. Oh wait, in October, Hallmark programs started “Countdown to Christmas” on Saturdays for the next two and a half or three months or close to 12 Saturdays full of different stories all headed toward December 25.

Okay, what about those special calendars. Advent calendars with little pictures and even candy help those wanting a different form of counting down.

I admit as a child, I no doubt counted down the days until my birthday. Did you do that too? Do your children, grands, nieces or nephews do that as well? Why not? It’s our special day and way of looking forward to when party time begins along with some special presents. Of course, we can always celebrate the entire month! I do.

This year when a friend celebrated her January 18 birthday, she decided to do so throughout the year. She did her best to have parties on the 18^th of each month with family members, friends or gatherings in different places special to her.

I remember going to a quite different countdown some years ago in Florida. This countdown involved the launch of the MAVEN Mission from Cape Canaveral. We were told the last seconds before liftoff were the most critical for a Go or Scrub. We saw the liftoff from our observation area some miles away. We heard car alarms go off and felt the building shake from where we watched.

Holidays, birthdays, and space launches all have some connections to counting down. I know I look at upcoming events with anticipation and begin counting the number of days or months until they happen. It’s only ___more ____until___.

December 2025