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

The Quiet Place, 9″x6″ watercolor, By Donna Lyons © 2015

“This barn is almost isolated in winter, when the wind howling down Bowen Gulch brings Kawuneeche snowstorms that sprawl out along the creek, building rifts here and there along its banks and in and out of forest curtains. A good work-out on snowshoes takes me to see how it looks in winter and deeply rewards my curiosity. Most folks see this charming place when the world is green and gold, when echoes of elk voices bounce back and forth across the steep gulch to the west. Yes, or course! This is another favorite place of mine that also feels like home, even though my real home lies just a few short miles to the south in the valley. Favorite landscapes can evoke a sense of belonging, as their reassuring presence after a long absence reminds us: here is something previous, warm and most familiar. In spite of our away-from-home wonderings, it’s always comforting to find a memory of our past that hasn’t changed, hasn’t disappeared and is still welcoming.”  -DL 

Welcome to your second home

By Marty Coffin Evans © 2017

Years ago, when I first moved to California for my teaching job, I knew one couple friend of my parents. They lived in Riverside, about an hour or so away from me.

They were kind enough to give me a second home during those early years. I’d call the Sayers and go for a visit along with a meal with them. How special that became for me and my parents too.

Soon teacher friends would invite me to join them at their family’s homes in Northern California for Thanksgiving.  I came home to Boulder for Christmas but, sharing that second home with them during that holiday helped close the distance.

In the recent weeks, I’ve learned how much our home has meant to others who moved here. “I can’t imagine how different my life would be had I not known you and become part of your family,” commented Emily.

Coming here from Illinois for college, she knew no one except us from my cousin’s family friend. She noted recently how important the years have been from her collegiate times, to when Emily lived with us for a few months and since her return to Boulder for a job. She recalls special Sunday evening dinners with “60 Minutes.”

“My mom always asks about you,” Emily continued.  “She’s so grateful you gave me a second home.” Our second home meals have continued as she’s part of our family members planning the holiday ones starting with Thanksgiving through Easter and beyond.

I realized that second home concept when attending the memorial service for our high school friend Barbara’s father. That family had moved next door to us from Champagne-Urbana, Illinois.

Our friend Sharon remembered meeting me at Baseline Junior High School shortly after she and her widowed mother had moved here from Kansas. Most likely that meeting occurred in choir as we sang together for years in school. “You saved me,” she reflected.  I’d forgotten some of that and realized how hard that must have been for that young teen.

Another in our small group had moved here from Illinois by way of their Cliffside Cottages in Estes Park. Donna was the one the Dean of Girls at Boulder High called me in to meet and show around.  I later learned her mother shed joyful tears about her daughter meeting a new friend.

Sometimes, we don’t realize how we’ve helped others when they’ve moved into our schools or communities. Hearing that importance is most gratifying.

I remain grateful for the gift of that second home years ago.  I still cook Alice Sayre’s Tamale Pie recipe and remember their kindness to this family friend from Colorado.

November 2025