Training

I saw a beautiful horse today near the house.  Its coat glowed in the overcast weather; its head arched to display its braided mane; it stood perfectly poised.  I asked the young man if he needed to cross the road, but he said no.  As I drove past, it occurred to me that he must be tempering his show-horse to  distractions-- traffic, people, weather.  Horse and rider, patient & still with each other.

My own selfishness can be a distraction.  I play way too many games on my tablet; I take too many naps; I try to get away with as few responsibilities as possible.

I need to train myself, need to be well tempered.

Stayed busy enough today.  Got my list down to 20 items.

???!!!!!~!!!11!!!?!

Would someone please remind the weather of these pertinent facts:

I live in Alabama.
I live in the region know as the American South,
      specifically "The Heart of Dixie."
I live about 10 degrees north of the Tropic of Cancer.
I live, latitudinally, closer to the Equator than the Arctic Circle.
I can drive to the Gulf of Mexico in an afternoon.
I can drive to the Gulf Stream in a day.



I. HAVE HAD. ENOUGH. OF THIS    SNOW!


("Snow," I've noticed, is one of those 4-letter words.)

A Little Time Has Passed, Hasn't It?

Not sure if I've got a bunch to say, or very little.  It's been, what, three-four weeks since I last posted?  It's been sometimes busy- but mostly just FULL- weeks, because it is the "holidays."

L-R: Carl-kid, Carl, Mine, MLB, DLG, Hazel, Zoe, Mine-kid

You know, trying to cram everything in at once.

Carl & I took the kids to see their first movie, Disney's "Frozen."  It's a WONDERFUL film, and the kids were enchanted.  Even Mr.-I-Don't-Want-to-Go-and-I'll-Hide-Down-in-My-Chair was sitting up and cheering by the end.  I think he wants to be Sven.

I finished the gift shopping.

I got a quick visit in with MLB's Godfamily now that they are stateside for the holidays; Sandra & Kevin's new daughter Ellie is a charmer & Eileen is a good big sister.

I got Christmas cards addressed, written & mailed; they went out a day or two after Christmas, but they included a picture of the kids.

I love getting cards!

Not bad for this year.

The kids stayed over a bunch these past weeks; it's been fun, whining & all.

Somebody hogs up the bed.

Somebody hogs up the Carl.

We celebrated Christmas morning here!  The kids' excitement over the visit from Santa was joyous!  Carl was just awash in the wonder of kids & magic of Christmas morning!  Every gift they opened from Santa or me or Carl was just what they wanted.  They played & played & feasted on candy from their stockings.  (Of course.)

He's awash, trust me.

Then kids were off to a celebration at their dad's house, celebrations at my mom's house (Paw-paw's day-after-Xmas birthday & present-o-rama,) and then Christmas at their other grandmother's house.

I've hit a few after Christmas sales, of course.  Candy, cookies & Hallmark stuff at half-off?  Duh!

Now we're just chillin'.  Not quite ready for the vacation and for this year to end, but looking forward to a new year and a return to routine.  If I resolve to do anything in the new year, it's to craft more (scrapbooks included,) write more (blog included,) read more (finishing "Mockingjay" included,) and be a better role model for the kids (quite a few habit changes included.)

Carl says I also need to watch several movies & series I missed over the decades.  He's starting me on "Trading Place" as soon as I post.

It's cool.

In Favor of a Semi-Sheltered Life

Can you believe this hydrangea was blooming up until the freeze?

Look at it!

This determined plant has enjoyed a certain amount of sheltering.  It is tucked into an interior corner of the house where a small bird sanctuary has been created.

One brick wall to the west shelters it from the storms that track this way. But there is no overhang, so rain comes down upon it.

One brick wall to the south shelters it from the Southern summer heat.  But the kitchen roof slopes down to bask it sunlight.

A large barberry shrub to the north shelters it from the chilling winds.  But the breezes come through to dry the water-loving leaves.

All that stands to the east are bird feeders and the sun.  The morning rises to give it first glow and to gently warm the the walls as the sun ascends. The birds bring company and an eager appetite for the seeds we provide and the bugs that just are.  We hear the birds scamper through the undergrowth; their tiny feet and beaks keep the litter lightly turned.

We all need a semi-sheltered life.  Experience is good and all.  Adversity brings profound and lasting changes.  But a life graced with the semi-shelter of the care of others-- that life can find such growth, such blossoming.  Shelter by fortune or plan, for short or forever.  Thank you, Lord, for Your shelter.  May my heart, my life, be shelter to others.

Another Walk

Perfect day for a noontime walk.

One of the neighbors had the sprinkler going.  It was barely 50 degrees outside.  Why, oh, why?  Must have been some winter grass, it was a stand-out green.  Wonder how it will handle the next round of frost tonight. But it did make tiny rainbows.

With all of the trees now bare, I had a excellent view of the lush tussies of jade mistletoe, its every bough heavy with the pearls of berries.   Makes me wonder:   if people are so keen to affix a desiccated sample to a doorway during the holidays for the sole purpose of stealing a kiss,  why are not masses of people heavily smooching beneath oak trees crowned with the most vibrant of specimens?    I might need to start a reform campaign.

I went northward on the newest Greenway section.  I walked only as far as the bridge over Aldridge Creek to St. Stephen's Episcopalian Church.   The flowing water was warmer than the weather belied.   Shoals of minnows crowded facing upstream in the currents.   I say minnows, but they could have been fingerling trout for all I knew. One was at least six inches long, bossy and speckled brown.

Crickets chirp on the far bank, winged nymphs dart from bamboo.

Not a turtle or frog to be spied. All good amphibians gone to brumate.

Birds.  There were birds!  Two hawks emerged from the tree line, wheeling about each other, for a moment.  The red cedar was filled with blue drupes and the usual quarrels of starlings.  Robins dug and barked in the leaf litter.  My eyes could barely catch the running stitch of finches in the reeds.  As I headed back to the south, a sight caught my eyes-- a solitary heron upon a rock and framed by the trees of the creekside classroom trail.

The sun was bright, the wind was light, the deeper waters scintillated and sparkled. I paused, allowing my mind to be born off and returned.

Despite nature's surround, the man-made, manipulated, still abounded.  Pumpkins waited in uncharacteristic aquatic patches. Below the Hobbs Road bridge lay a computer monitor, the CRT kind.

Nurture does affect nature.  Witness: this short pine, who had to compete with its fraternal twin lightpost.

While nature always affects the nurture.  I will return to this corner and collect more windfall hickory nuts and learn to open then.

Providence provides a banquet for the senses.

All we must do is receive.

My Thoughts on All of This

Once again, we Americans were privileged to elect our president.  As of bedtime, I wasn't sure who it would be.   I tried to avoid all news sources today, even FaceBook, because, in a way, I didn't care about the outcome.

Sounds strange, but hear me out.....

For one thing, I did go vote today.  I make it a point to vote every chance I get.  I believe in getting my say.  It might not be a big enough say to change anything, but it makes me a part of the tradition and gives me at least a participatory leg to stand on if I'm critical of our officials and laws.  I so believe in voting, that I take the children with me, and they look forward to going to the polls.  They've become, I think, more recognized with the workers than I am.

I, myself, was not taken when my parents cast their ballots, but Richard B. Russell Elementary school was a polling place, and those booths with their curtains declared that this was "Grown Up."  I knew, one day, I would see behind that curtain.  Add that I was eight when a president was elected during the Bicentennial, I was thus imprinted.

So if I care so much about voting, why don't I care about the results.

I'm interested, but I don't care.

My vote is private and personal.  I am an independent thinker (which is not the same as an Independent.)  I'll gladly discuss my opinions about what I find promising or lacking in a candidate, platform or statute.  Discuss, mind you.  "Politics," as promulgated by what was formerly a more informative estate, is regrettably saturated with sound bites of polar attitudes.  If no one has noticed, not much but harshness truly lives and thrives at the poles.  But I will not, after my ballot is run, tell you how I voted, and I will not ask you.

These candidates are not my friends and family.  One day, I might personally know and work on behalf of a candidate, in which case I will actually feel I can say, "My candidate," and share in the emotions for election or defeat.  But for the most part, these are things I'm asked to make my personal decision upon, not take it personally.

My decision will be weighed with everyone else's decisions.  Win or lose, pass or fail, I, as a citizen, will follow and support the outcome.  I am a natural-born citizen, so no one has ever asked me to swear my fealty as our blessed Naturalized citizens do.  I give my unspoken oath, just the same.  If I truly disagree and feel that the liberties I am assured will be compromised by the outcome, I have two choices: campaign like crazy to convince everyone to vote with me; OR, go through the proper channels to have the issue and vote recalled.  So far, so good, I haven't had to do either.

Win or lose, the outcome doesn't make me a winner or loser. Unfortunately, too, too many people deeply identify with their candidates of choice, such that they do not want intelligent discussion before a polling (which might foster understanding and a changing of minds;) then if they find "they" have lost, will take it as a rabid and personal affront, or if "they" win, will have a Sherman's March to the inauguration.  Until I run for office, or put forth an issue from my heart, I'll still be me in the morning, thank you kindly.

I will be eager to read the (almost) official results and start hearing how the future will begin to unfold again tomorrow.  But until then, and afterwards, I will not "care."

I've got better things to care about.

Aw, Nuts!

Now I know why every time the wind blows or a squirrel gets frisky, it sounds like my roof is going to come in on me.

We're being shelled, literally.

And no wonder the squirrels are frisky.

Nothing at All

I'm letting my mind wander here. Might not publish any of these remarks. I don't know what I want to say.

I want to say something. I think of a thing, a remark, but put it aside, worried it might offend. God forbid anyone offend anyone in this age.

Maybe a recap of the months I didn't blog would be safe, to shake the thoughts loose from my mind, making room for other memories..

Perhaps a tale of the last play I performed on stage after a two-year break.. which was preceded by a five-year break and another two years before that.

If I had the picture disk, reminiscences about the last play I worked (only two weeks ago, but feeling so much longer than that! I do believe I miss it.)

Could talk about the things my kids have done these past months, but no. One of them has royally cheesed me off today. I'm afraid I might be preachy if I were to write about that.

I just want to say SOMETHING. To reach out to someone else. To have significant discourse. Or light chitter-chat. I want to be heard or, more fortunately, to be understood. I feel alone. For some reason I feel this, but it has no definition. None of the usual nagglings has beset me. I've gone through that list in my head, but nothing flags my attention. A new distraction, I think, but just on the edge of my wonderings. If I keep writing, keep talking with my fingers, the answer might come to me.

God help me with my ramblings, but I'll post this anyways.

It's Never Easy

National Blog Posting Month is.... I don't know...

I don't know who started it. I don't know why it was started. Maybe it's some kind of mondo mem and the joke is on us.

I'm really, really tired of trying to come up with something new to write each night. I feel like I'm back in college trying to cram an assignment in the night before it's due. Unfortunately, this assignment is every day.

I know-- if I don't like it, stop whining & stop writing.

But I do like it.

Most of us set up a blog as a vanity thing. Very few of us have anything meaningful to say to the greater world. Yet we find an outlet and we find an audience. The blogs I follow do different things, reach different people: to let extended family know about the goings on of grandkids; to document the journey of a life examined in seminary; to share the evolution of a craft turned career; to rant & giggle just so; to pass on useful tips and info; to be the diary of the eclectic.

Any artisan will tell you that if you want to be good, get better and achieve the best, you must practice your craft every day. Writing demands daily practice. Good writing does not, necessarily, make good speech. Good writing illustrates speech, and a good writer finds a "voice" that can be identified both on paper and through speech. However, speaking is not the same as writing, and just because I can talk does not mean I can write.

I had the delusion, once, that I could WRITE. I've come to learn that I can express myself on paper such that I'm interesting to those close to me. So be it. I am vain. I would not write this blog if I didn't think someone was reading it. I need frequent posts to keep readers, even if they are using a "reader." I need more practice. I'm still finding my voice.

I owe this month two blog posts, still, to achieve 30 in 30 days. Lucky for me, I have outlines on draft. I hear that's another thing good writers do; always have the next ideas simmering.

(11 is my "lucky" number. On this lucky day, may all who have served this country though all these centuries hold fast to the honor and lift their eyes to one day see the peace they have striven to achieve and have so unsparingly given of their lives. Even those who serve in times of national amity give much of themselves as do their families. May our prayers support them now and forever. Thank you.)

Goodbye, Summer

See you back in another four or five months.

Again with the late post

If I had my book drive hooked up, I'd find a picture to post, but these will have to do.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

My baby girl seeming to know I'm home & relaxed after play rehearsal; she wakes & gently fusses until I come to pick her up and give her some goodnight snuggles.

Bringing large boxes for the properties women to use in the spaghetti-throwing scene, and seeing their faces light up because one box worked for the catch & the other for the crash, and the director complimenting them on it.

Having Samantha offer to fix my hair tonight and watching her effortlessly turn my tangled curls into a poofy, 80s big-hair creation. (Love it!)

Seeing more old friends/acquaintances again in person & not just on FaceBook.

Being able to share food, band-aids, bobby pins, safety pins, make up, jewelry-- and lots of wise-acre remarks-- to help us get ready. It's the "community" in "community theater" that I need the most.

Just the Aww-shuck-est

MLB is at VBS this week. They have been asked to keep a keen eye peeled for "God Sightings."

I asked him what he thought a "God Sighting" would be, and he said, "Flowers. I think every flower must have God in it, so every time I see a flower, I'll see God."

I thought that was very sweet. (It could also be the example that he was given at VBS-- he has a good memory like that.)

I told him that I thought a good "God Sighting" for me was my two kids, and I gave him a hug. MLB just laughed, then said, "I think every time God sees DLG, He laughs! He thinks she's funny, and she makes Him laugh!"

We all do, honey. God sees all of us and laughs & laughs & laughs. In the best way.

Perspective

I HAVE THE BODY OF A GODDESS !!!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A squat, roll-upon-roll of fat Mayan fertility goddess,

but, hey, it's a start.

That's My Little Guy

My son, the literalist & future mathematician. Sees only the obvious.

He & his dad were reading a quiz book of baseball facts last night. One quiz asked the significance of certain games.

The first question: "April 15, 1947 - (Brooklyn) Dodgers 5, (Boston) Braves 3"

The answer: "Jackie Robinson broke baseball's color barrier when he made his big league debut."

Six-year-old son's wonderment: "What sound did the color barrier make when Jackie Robinson broke it?"

What a little guy. Husband was speechless at his innocence.

But really, how DO you describe an amazing, reverberating "sound" like THAT?

Of Course It's Valentine's Day!

Why else would I be blogging? I'm inspired!

The dear ladies over at Southern Fried Snark presented a list of things NOT to give to your loved one (i.e., significant female other) on Valentine's Day. Heart-shaped jewelry, colored gemstones that have no birth-month significance, and inexpensive household appliance are a few things I do remember. Then my computer crashed; so I'm looking forward to the posting of the Feb. 11 episode, so I can hear what I missed.

I wonder if they included my all-time worst Valentine's Day gift?

A gun.

Now admittedly, Ronda@http://www.aisforaardvark.net/ has been asking for a Taser, but it's not the same as a gun. Armament and appliances are not romantic gifts. Some appliance have potential for romance (get your mind out of the gutter!) like an espresso machine, but a gun is never romantic. Except to crazy movie stereotypes, like Reba's in "Tremors."

Once upon a time, probably 20 years ago when I was young & crazy, but not that crazy, the guy I was dating gave me a gun. I'd finished up at Auburn the previous year, and it was his last year. I made big plans and flew down from Chicago to spend Valentine's Day with him. I was so excited to see him! And he was excited as well. He even wanted me to have my gift early. He and his roommate were so tickled to give me a new gun. A gun. Wasn't even wrapped. Just out there, with rounds, ready to drive down to the shooting range. Which we did. They kept saying that I'd love it if I just gave it a try. I already knew I wouldn't love it! It was a semi-automatic pistol, which I do not love. I have a hard time loading a clip, can't remember how many rounds I'd loaded, and then would lose count of rounds fired, which would inevitably lead to dry-firing which would cheese my boyfriend off. No, I did not like this gun. Even if I'd asked for a gun, I would have asked for a nice, small caliber revolver. And even if I'd uncharacteristically asked for a semi-auto, it would have been a lightweight Glock. Furthermore, I was flying back to Chicago in two days, and then what was I going to do with "my gift?" They'd thought of that; they'd keep it and take care of it for me, especially since "to take care of a gun" means to use it regularly.

To top off my total indignation, I'd been hinting that a new watch or a small portable stereo would be nice gifts. Obviously, he did not listen to me. I made him listen. After I'd pouted, cried, whined & threatened to go home early, they (not HE, THEY) agreed to "return" the gun, even though he'd lose money returning a used gun. Tough. You should have thought of that, and ASKED ME, before you went and did something that selfishly asinine. Yet even with the stinted cash from the return of the gun, there was enough money to buy me a nice, daily wear Timex and to take me out to dinner somewhere other than CheeburgerCheeburger, surprise, surprise.

Even more surprising was that it took me another two years to wise-up to the stark truth that this was not "the guy." The watch lasted until last year, when I'd finally wore out even a Timex. It was a nice, everyday, comfortable watch.

*****************************

Now for nice stories:

Best Valentine's Day pre-husband: Junior year of college, and I was unattached. A friend's neighbor had a crush on me and gave me a stuffed "Opus." Two friends sent me an SGA "Flowergram" anonymously, which lifted my spirits more than it messed with my mind. I also had a handful of friends give me cards, too. AND, it was Mardi Gras, and my church was hosting a dance. I'd never been to Prom, so this was my first formal, and I felt like a princess in my (borrowed) black dress, and then felt like Scarlet O'Hara being swept off her feet when I found my evening claimed by a mysterious Navy Captain in his dress-blacks. I could have danced all night.

Best Valentine's Day with husband: 2-way tie-- (1) Twelve years ago when he talked me into going out on a date with him, "But not because it was Valentine's Day," but because it was the first Friday I was free to date after a recent break-up. He'd been patiently waiting for me to recognize I'd chosen (yet again) the wrong guy. Scott showed up at my door with a dozen pink roses, which I adored! (Poor guy apologized that the store was out of red.) We went to eat at the Jade Palace; he'd wanted to take me to a romantic night at The Jazz Factory, but they were booked solid. (Just as well that we avoided the crowds and I was reassured that this guy liked Chinese food.) We also saw a movie, "As Good As It Gets," which has got to be the most unconventional date-movie ever. (But he's a bit methodical & I worked in the mental health field, so we needed a good laugh at ourselves.) All in all, it was a charming date, and I looked very forward to our second date.

(2) A year after our first date when he proposed to me during a picnic at Green Mountain.

Valentine's Day: 1st Date Anniversary, Proposal Anniversary, Half-year Wedding Anniversary (whole number is on Aug. 14), and a darn good reason for Chocolate. Not a bad set of reasons to celebrate.