Categories: Photography
Bostons!
We decided to take Banjo for a play date this week and I, naturally, brought my camera along. There were thirty Boston Terriers running amok in one backyard. Truly more fun than a barrel of monkeys.
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Banjo & Friend Dancing 
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Banjo's New Best Friend Benny 
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Banjo Takes a Break 
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Benny & Friend Share a Stick 
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Yet Another Pretty Girl! 
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Rare
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I
NATURE, the gentlest mother,
Impatient of no child,
The feeblest or the waywardest,---
Her admonition mild
In forest and the hill
By traveller is heard,
Restraining rampant squirrel
Or too impetuous bird.
How fair her conversation,
A summer afternoon,---
Her household, her assembly;
And when the sun goes down
Her voice among the aisles
Incites the timid prayer
Of the minutest cricket,
The most unworthy flower.
When all the children sleep
She turns as long away
As will suffice to light her lamps;
Then, bending from the sky,
With infinite affection
And infiniter care,
Her golden finger on her lip,
Wills silence everywhere.
Emily Dickinson (1830-86)
Lily quit taking naps when she was six weeks old, so this is a rare glimpse of my child sleeping. She had been up all night at a sleepover and, although she fought valiantly, she finally succumbed to sleep in our backyard swing. As the sun slid down the sky, I began to wonder if she would continue there into the evening. She arose at dusk, though, never knowing I had taken her picture.
A More Ancient Mariner
THE SWARTHY bee is a buccaneer,
A burly velveted rover,
Who loves the booming wind in his ear
As he sails the seas of clover.
A waif of the goblin pirate crew,
With not a soul to deplore him,
He steers for the open verge of blue
With the filmy world before him.
His flimsy sails abroad on the wind
Are shivered with fairy thunder;
On a line that sings to the light of his wings
He makes for the lands of wonder.
He harries the ports of the Hollyhocks,
And levies on poor Sweetbrier;
He drinks the whitest wine of Phlox,
And the Rose is his desire.
He hangs in the Willows a night and a day;
He rifles the Buckwheat patches;
Then battens his store of pelf galore
Under the tautest hatches.
He woos the Poppy and weds the Peach,
Inveigles Daffodilly,
And then like a tramp abandons each
For the gorgeous Canada Lily.
There's not a soul in the garden world
But wishes the day were shorter,
When Mariner B. puts out to sea
With the wind in the proper quarter.
Or, so they say! But I have my doubts;
For the flowers are only human,
And the valor and gold of a vagrant bold
Were always dear to woman.
He dares to boast, along the coast,
The beauty of Highland Heather,---
How he and she, with night on the sea,
Lay out on the hills together.
He pilfers from every port of the wind,
From April to golden autumn;
But the thieving ways of his mortal days
Are those his mother taught him.
His morals are mixed, but his will is fixed;
He prospers after his kind,
And follows an instinct, compass-sure,
The philosophers call blind.
And that is why, when he comes to die,
He'll have an easier sentence
Than some one I know who thinks just so,
And then leaves room for repentance.
He never could box the compass round;
He doesn't know port from starboard;
But he knows the gates of the Sundown Straits,
Where the choicest goods are harbored.
He never could see the Rule of Three,
But he knows a rule of thumb
Better than Euclid's, better than yours,
Or the teachers' yet to come.
He knows the smell of the hydromel
As if two and two were five;
And hides it away for a year and a day
In his own hexagonal hive.
Out in the day, hap-hazard, alone,
Booms the old vagrant hummer,
With only his whim to pilot him
Through the splendid vast of summer.
He steers and steers on the slant of the gale,
Like the fiend or Vanderdecken;
And there's never an unknown course to sail
But his crazy log can reckon.
He drones along with his rough sea-song
And the throat of a salty tar,
This devil-may-care, till he makes his lair
By the light of a yellow star.
He looks like a gentleman, lives like a lord,
And works like a Trojan hero;
Then loafs all winter upon his hoard,
With the mercury at zero.
Bliss Carman (1861-1929)
Clean
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clean
O.E. (Old English) claene "clean, pure," from W.Gmc. (West Germanic) *klainoz "clear, pure," from PIE (Proto-Indo-European) base *gel- "to gleam" (cf. Gk. (confer/compare Greek) glene "eyeball," O.Ir. (Old Irish) gel "bright").
You didn't know you were going to get an etymology lesson today, did you? Now, go look up "Clara" for further connections. This is, afterall, a photo of her eye.
Water Creatures
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XXVII
I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us---don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!
Emily Dickinson (1830-86)
There's More... "Water Creatures"
Architecture
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Just Another Wednesday
Salty
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Time Capsule
"There is a time for some things, and a time for all things; a time for great things, and a time for small things."
Soft
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Just a Little While
February 2, 1939 - January 29, 2007
I wanted to let everyone know that my mother passed from this world to be with her Father in heaven yesterday morning. I thank all of you who wrote to say you were praying for her and for those who didn't write, but were praying anyway. Please pray for my family as we will be taking what looks to be a rather long drive in bad weather on Thursday. I am going to be taking a little break from blogging over the next week or two as the girls and I will be spending that time with my father. Please keep him in your prayers as he was my mother's sole caretaker and his life completely revolved around tending to her needs. He is lost without her there to focus his attentions on. I will be back, dear friends. God bless you all.
John 16:16
Bad Banjo!
This is what a bad dog does when you think that he is too short to jump up on a very tall bed.
Thank you, Secret Sis!
I signed up for a "Secret Sister" through Training Hearts and got my first care package in the mail Saturday. At first, I thought the package must be for the entire month of February, but now I am not sure since everything was wrapped up in one box. When I opened the package that came in the mail, I found a sweet note card in an envelope and a package wrapped in wrapping paper. I unwrapped the package to find this lovely box:
My girls were quite envious, but I immediately found the perfect purpose for such a box as this. I put all my note cards, envelopes, and stamps in it. This wasn't exactly a stroke of genius since my secret sister had already put a nice package of note cards in the box. I'm not going to show them here in case I absent-mindedly send one to the secret sister assigned to me. Better safe than sorry.
Along with the note cards, though, were candles in my favorite scents.
The box smelled heavenly when I opened it up. The candles are scented "Cinnamon Stick", "Farmhouse Apple", and "Mom's Apple Pie". I can't decide which one to burn first. I think it will be "Mom's Apple Pie". Thank you so much, secret sister of mine. I feel very blessed to have such a thoughtful friend out there praying for me.
Where the Wild Things Grow
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XXV THE MUSHROOM is the elf of plants, -Emily Dickinson |
Apparently, the "wild things" grow in my yard. I found this growing in my yard last summer. A two-headed little beasty. Is there anyone out there who can tell me what type of fungal creature this is?
Jigsaw Puzzle
Can you guess what I am?
Technology
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I had to think about this week's theme, "Technology". We have a lot of gadgets around here that I could have taken pictures of, but I tend to dislike taking photos of gadgetry. I also kept trying to consider carefully what really brings joy to our home. The piece of technology that brings me the most joy would have to be our Yamaha DGX500 digital keyboard. I don't know how to play any musical instrument or even how to read music, but my girls have been taking lessons for years. This makes me very happy because they will have the gift of music to share with others throughout their lives. Moments like this make my day.
(Just between the two of us, though, the kitchen appliances and the washer and dryer all weighed heavily in my considerations.)
Presents vs. Presence
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- Burton Hillis
1. 8 large white bath towels
2. 8 white hand towels
3. 8 white washcloths
4. 4 white king-sized pillow cases
5. 1 warm throw blanket with matching "napping pillow" and "napping socks"
6. 1 leather-bound Thompson's Chain-Reference Bible (KJV)
7. 4 beautiful modest dresses
8. 1 set of Jane Austen novels, Sanditon by Jane Austen and "Another Lady", and Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte
9. 1 good book on learning to crochet, 2 books on crochet stitches and 1 book on knitting techniques
10. 1 set of crochet hooks & dark blue and black yarn
11. The A&E Literary Classics - Romance Collection Megaset (DVDs) which includes Pride and Prejudice, Emma, Victoria & Albert, Tom Jones, Jane Eyre, Lorna Doone, Ivanhoe, and The Scarlet Pimpernel)
12. 1 happy family
13. 1 good nap
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Fresh Towels
I've been washing my Christmas presents today.
"Forgiveness is the answer to the child's dream of a miracle by which
what is broken is made whole again, what is soiled is made clean again."
- Dag Hammarskjold
New
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As you can see, Banjo had a very merry Christmas! He spent the day happily chewing on his new rawhide bone while lying on his new fluffy bed. Banjo was a good boy this year! And that is a very good thing if you consider that it was his very first year. He will be celebrating his first birthday on January 5th.
Winter Wonderland
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Christmas Ornamental
Annoying
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I had a hard time finding something annoying for the photo theme this week. I finally found something that has been annoying me for quite a while. This dress. It is the first thing I have ever sewn and, early in July, I had it all finished except for the hemming. I started it and got this far in just a week thanks to the cheerful encouragement of my sister who was visiting at the time. Once she left, though, I never touched it again. I find this very annoying. I have enough material to make four more dresses. I just find it very upsetting that I got this far with a dress and I not only never finished it, but I would feel intimidated at the idea of trying to sew another one after all this time has passed. I really, really want to sew my own dresses. Anyone want to suggest how to make a nice even hem?
Isn't the material pretty?
Wuv. Twuu Wuv...
Red
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"I belt the morn with ribboned mist;
With baldricked blue I gird the noon,
And dusk with purple, crimson-kissed,
White-buckled with the hunter's-moon.
"These follow me," the Season says:
"Mine is the frost-pale hand that packs
Their scrips, and speeds them on their ways,
With gypsy gold that weighs their backs."
II
A daybreak horn the Autumn blows,
As with a sun-tanned hand he parts
Wet boughs whereon the berry glows;
And at his feet the red fox starts.
The leafy leash that holds his hounds
Is loosed; and all the noonday hush
Is startled; and the hillside sounds
Behind the fox's bounding brush.
When red dusk makes the western sky
A fire-lit window through the firs,
He stoops to see the red fox die
Among the chestnut's broken burrs.
Then fanfaree and fanfaree,
His bugle sounds; the world below
Grows hushed to hear; and two or three
Soft stars dream through the afterglow.
~ from Under Arcturus by Madison Cawein
Morning
...weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.
~ from Psalm 30:5
Lightbulb
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From My Window
Morning, November 29, 2006
Turkey Time
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When the Frost Is on the Punkin
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,
And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,
And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best,
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.
They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here --
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock --
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.
The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries -- kindo' lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin' sermons to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawsack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below -- the clover overhead! --
O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin, and the fodder's in the shock!
Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin's over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too!
I don't know how to tell it -- but ef sich a thing could be
As the angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on me --
I'd want to 'commodate 'em -- all the whole-indurin' flock --
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!
James Whitcomb Riley
Birthday Presents
My birthday was last week and I just thought I would share what my sweet girls gave me.
Prairie Plush
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--Mrs. John Berry, settler, in a letter to a friend "back east"
Frontier Girls
The girls and I went on a field trip this Tuesday to a "frontier settlement". Here are our thirteen pictures from the year 1725.
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1. Off to do chores! 
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2. Fetching Water 
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3. Hauling Wood 
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4. Home Sweet Home 
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5. Building a Pen 
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6. Pig Pen? 
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7. Playing Quoits 
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8. Bartering 
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9. Caught napping! 
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10. The Desk & Chamber Pot 
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11. Drying Flowers or Herbs 
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12. The "Kitchen" 
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13. The Fireplace 
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Growth
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It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body."
Elizabeth Stone
Autumn Walk
Gentian
SO all day long I followed through the fields
The voice of Autumn, calling from afar;
And now I thought: "Yon hazel thicket yields
A glimpse of her," and now: "These asters are
Sure sign that she of late has passed this way;
Lo! here the traces of her yellow car."
And once I looked and seemed to see her stand
Beneath a golden maple's black-drawn boughs;
But when I reached the place, naught but a band
Of crickets did perform their tuneful vows
To the soon fading grass, and through the leaves
The quiet sunlight, falling, blessed my brows.
Till, as the long rays lengthened from the west,
I came upon an altar of gray stone,
O'er which a creeper flung with pious zest
Her flickering flames. About that altar lone,
The crowding sumac burned with steady fire;
Before it, stately, stood a priestess; one
Who turned to me her melancholy eyes.
I saw her beauty, ripe with color's breath,
Yet veiled, as when on wood and hill there lies
A mist, a shadow, as of coming death.
And while I gazed she faded; swift I clutched
Her fringed cloak, which rent, my grasp beneath.
And she was gone. As fluttered to the ground
Its many fragments, I with sudden fears,
Stooped, vainly seeking them, when all around
The blue fringed gentian smiled up through my tears,
As one who knows his welcome will be warm,
Although sad news to his beloved he bears.
~Elizabeth Green Crane~
Window
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Safe
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Goodbye, Miss A.
I loved my friend
He went away from me
There's nothing more to say
The poem ends,
Soft as it began-
I loved my friend.
~Langston Hughes~
Pictures from the Patch
The girls and I went along with some other homeschooling friends to our local, pumpkin patch for our yearly visit. I thought some of you might enjoy a few of the pictures I took. They put up a new slide this year, but I am sorry to say that I was too busy sliding down it to actually take any pictures. I get to have some fun, don't I?
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Baaaah-d hair day 
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She smiles 
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Milking Sunshine 
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It's all about Mee-ee-ee-ee! 
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These little piggies stayed home
What To Say??
I hope there are still some of you out there patiently waiting for my return. If so, here is your reward.
I have been missing in action for the past month and a half because of a combination of spring fever and post-puppy elation. Spring is finally here and I have a new baby to coo over. Banjo has been doing extremely well since he made his entrance into our family. He has gone from three pounds at nine weeks to eight and a half pounds at sixteen weeks. He is expected to max out at twenty pounds. He loves his little crate/den and sleeps through the night there. We haven't had any nighttime accidents since we brought him home and put him in the crate at night. He hasn't had any daytime accidents in a while, either. Banjo knows how to sit, stay and is doing well on his leash. I have to say... I LOVE this dog! I wake up in the mornings and I can't wait to see him. His crate is in the living room so I don't have to go far. I am afraid I have a serious case of puppy love. If not for my very determined husband, this baby would be in bed with us just like our natural children were when they were babies. Did I tell you that I love this dog?
Okay. I will try to think of something else to say. Hmm...
I love this dog. I love this dog. I really, really love this dog.
Oh, Susannah!
Okay, I didn't come from Alabama and I didn't go to Louisiana, but I did cross several state lines and came back with a Banjo on my knee. Yes, our new puppy's name is officially Sebastian's Blue Banjo, but you can just call him Banjo.
While in the land of the Blue Banjo, we had the pleasure of not only visiting the breeder's kind family, but of visiting Thicket Dweller and her family. You can read her post about our visit here. We were very blessed by both visits.
The breeder's family is a lovely, homeschooling family of nine (going on ten). We went to see our puppy the first afternoon, but while all of the children played with Banjo, I found myself completely distracted by the sweet conversation I shared with their mother. The following day, when we went to pick up Banjo, I found myself wishing I could stay longer before driving home. Once home, I actually felt saddened that I did not live nearer to this kind lady and her family.
We were all a bit timid about visiting Thicket Dweller's family because we had never met them and didn't have any other premise for being there except that we were fellow homeschooling bloggers who happened to be visiting their area. The big question of what would we talk about quickly became "what didn't we talk about?". Considering we only had a short visit, we all seemed to have had quite an enjoyable one. My youngest hit it off so well with Sweetheart, that neither could be found for the photo op. It turned out that they were busy feeding a neighbor's horse a carrot. While there, my girls also got to hold baby bunnies and visit with various other pets such as rats, turtles, dogs, chickens, at least one cat and a dwarf pot-bellied pig. Of course, my girls were very enthusiastic about a family that cared for so many animals. While we have our beloved eight-year-old cat, Sam, and were there to pick up our new puppy, my children only dream about living in such a pet utopia.
I must say that I absolutely loved Thicket Dweller's home. She has such a wonderfully spacious house and the most impressive view I have seen in a long time. Tall banks of windows line her walls allowing so much warmth and light into her home. It is no wonder all of her indoor photos come out so lovely. We had such an enjoyable conversation that I left wishing our visit didn't have to be so short. It was nice to visit with a fellow Ambleside Online homeschooling mom. As always, I went about sniffing out all of the books in the house. I have come to the realization that it is futile for me to resist this habit. My thanks to Thicket Dweller and her family for allowing us to visit with them. I hope to visit them again some day in the future.
And now you must indulge me as I introduce our newest family member.
What A Balm For The Weary
As you may have gathered, I do struggle through the winter months. I have often wondered why we even have to have winter months. Of course, then I must wonder why we have tsunamis or earthquakes or any number of natural occurances we do have on this earth. One could speculate as to the "scientific" reasons for such things and in many cases one would be correct. I, however, am all too apt to look for the God reasons. I wonder why God couldn't figure out a different way of doing things that would, naturally, be more to my liking. More comfortable for me.
Of course, he did.
"But a mist used to rise from the earth and water the whole surface of the ground."
Genisis 2:6
In the beginning, there wasn't any inclement weather. God created a world were there was a mist that rose up out of the earth and watered everything there that needed watering. God carefully created a garden that would be a perfect place for us. He walked and talked with Adam and Eve in the garden in a relationship that is hard for me to even imagine. I long for that with all of my heart.
We messed that up. Not God. But God still loves us and for that I am thankful this day. I may be weary of this world at times, but he has given me hope. Hope that one day I, too, can walk and talk with him. That he will wipe away every tear and I can sit at his knee and ask him about it all. And he will tell me.
In the meantime, I will spend my time walking and talking with God the best way I know how.
T'is The Blessed Hour of Prayer
'Tis the blessed hour of prayer, when our hearts lowly bend,
And we gather to Jesus, our Savior and Friend;
If we come to Him in faith, His protection to share,
What a balm for the weary, O how sweet to be there!
Refrain
Blessed hour of prayer, blessed hour of prayer,
What a balm for the weary, O how sweet to be there!
'Tis the blessed hour of prayer, when the Savior draws near,
With a tender compassion His children to hear;
When He tells us we may cast at His feet every care,
What a balm for the weary, O how sweet to be there!
Refrain
'Tis the blessed hour of prayer, when the tempted and tried
To the Savior Who loves them their sorrow confide;
With a sympathizing heart He removes every care;
What a balm for the weary, O how sweet to be there!
Refrain
At the blessed hour of prayer, trusting Him, we believe
That the blessing we're needing we'll surely receive;
In the fullness of the trust we shall lose every care;
What a balm for the weary, O how sweet to be there!
Refrain
Fanny Crosby (1820-1915)
If you need a little extra comfort, I highly recommend you read this post by Amanda of Wittingshire. Thank you Amanda for writing such an edifying post. It couldn't have come at a better time for me.
I Said...Think Pink!
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Okay, this is what I asked for: 
Cherry Hung With Bloom |
And this is what I got: 
Cherry Hung With Snow |
A. E. Housman aside, I really wanted spring to come. It is the middle of February and I am tired of winter. It has been warm enough around here that my lilacs were trying to bud. My irises were sending up green shoots. We haven't really seen snow all winter, but I am more than ready for spring. I adore spring. In my last post, I put up that photo of the lovely cherry tree and sighed small, dreamy sighs. It was so beautiful. The sky so blue. I am sighing now. *sigh*
This morning, however, I awoke to more than twelve inches of snow blanketing everything in sight. What was this?! This was not what I had in mind at all! So, with all respect for A. E. Housman, here is my cherry tree poem:
Is hung with snow along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Valentine's.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Forty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs two score,
It only leaves me thirty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Thirty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
Yeah, don't think I don't hear you doing the math.
Think Pink
Photo Meme: Tree (Thursday Challenge)
LOVELIEST of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
A. E. Housman (1859 - 1936)
Name The Puppy
I told you I would keep you updated on how things are going with our new Boston Terrier puppy, so here's the latest picture. *sigh* I am in grave danger of losing entire days gazing at his photo.
Four Weeks Old
According to the breeder, he weighs about a pound now and is being introduced to solid food. His mother still nurses her babies frequently, though, of course. While he was in a whelping box with his litter mates and his mother in the laundry room up until now, he and his siblings have been moved into the house and are being loved on at any given moment by one of the seven children living there. The puppies are actually in the family's school room and the children are allowed to hold the puppies while they work on their lessons.
We will be travelling to pick up our puppy in about five weeks, but we have still not settled on a name. We have a good idea for a name, but we thought we would see what names our dear readers might have. If you already know what name we are leaning towards, please refrain from announcing it. We really want to hear what other names our readers might come up with. We still wouldn't mind some input from those who know which name we are thinking of. Just don't give it away. We look forward to hearing from you!
Sweetness
One Week Old
As some of you may remember, we had a dog named Maggie who was very old and tired. We adopted her from a local shelter after being told that she was about two years old and was just overweight. Unfortunately, Maggie turned out to be closer to twelve years old and very, very sick. If you would like to read more about her and see her picture, you can go to this previous post. We had to have Maggie put to sleep last summer and I had a very difficult time wanting to talk about it. That is partly why I didn't blog much last August.
Last summer, though, we decided that we wanted to get a Boston Terrier puppy "next spring". Will had a Boston Terrier when he was growing up and felt it would be a good breed for our family. I was leaning more towards a Cairn Terrier because I am rather smitten with terriers in general. The more I read, though, the more convinced I became that Will was right. I even started looking at Bostons as being cute in a funny sort of way.
In October, we found a breeder we liked and began to develop a relationship with her. The family is a Christian, homeschooling family with seven young children. Well, I am sure the thirteen-year-old, much like my own, might resent being called young, but you all know what I mean.
Ever since they contacted me to let me know that the puppies had been born, I have been just too excited for words. The puppies were born on January 5th and are adorable. Of course, all babies are adorable. God made them that way for a reason. We wanted a male puppy and the one that we most admire is being held for us. The family is going to keep an eye on how the puppies develop, though, as far as their dispositions. We would rather not have the alpha male of the litter, but we don't want a shrinking violet, either.
So this is my most exciting news. News to get me through the winter blues. I'll keep you updated.
Waiting For The Ferris Wheel
Photo Meme: High (Thursday Challenge)
Tommy Can You Hear Me?
Aw, Pete, don't ruin it for me. The little bit of joy I got over the holidays came from my husband's kind gift of a new iPod. After placing it into its "force field of protection", uploading my CDs to it and slipping it into its own cute, little sock, I happily went about listening to my new Iron & Wine and Guster CDs. In my bed, I lie in the darkness and feel the music become one with the night. I have only want of the stars above me to complete my delirious, child-like happiness.
Then, one day recently, I read an article online entitled "Headphones deafen you, Who star tells iPod fans". What? This can't be true. Pete, tell me it ain't so. Well, being the curious type, I went to the source and read the actual diary entry on Pete's site. Obviously, the diary entry was more fluid than the news article and I felt like I could give Pete back a little credit for being an intelligent human being. I am still not convinced that I should throw my iPod and it's little earphones to the wind.
I am a married woman homeschooling two rapidly growing children. The thirty-six hour breaks I take from my iPod are not self-imposed. They are called running a home and staying connected to my family. I was out in the kitchen the other day and thought maybe I would listen to my iPod while cleaning up a bit. Once I got the dishwasher and the washing machine going, though, I found I couldn't really hear the music anymore. Being the sensible sort, I put my iPod away for quieter moments. This is why you may find me lying awake in my bed pretending there are stars above me and listening to old bluegrass hymns in the middle of the night. It is also why I have to pretend my husband isn't snoring rather loudly beside me.
There are a lot of things that come to mind while reading Pete's diary, but I think I would be stating the obvious. This one quote had me thinking, though.
I have unwittingly helped to invent and refine a type of music that makes its principal proponents deaf. It takes time, but it happens. This is, I suppose, no worse than being a sports person or dancer who knows they have a limited working span, and their body will suffer. The rewards are great - money, fame, adulation and a real sense of self-worth and achievement. But music is a calling for life. You can write it when you're deaf, but you can't hear it or perform it.
I could pick it apart, but I won't. I have only one thing to say. If anything in your life becomes more important than the one thing that can truly complete you, you are always at risk of losing everything you have. If, however, you have God in your life, you can lose everything and still have exactly what you need.
On a side note, what exactly is that dangling from Pete's ear in this photo? Tommy... Tommy... Tommy?
Winter
I KNOW it must be winter (though I sleep) ---
I know it must be winter, for I dream
I dip my bare feet in the running stream,
And flowers are many, and the grass grows deep.
from Winter Sleep
By Edith M. Thomas
Sound Asleep
Photo Meme: Sound (Thursday Challenge)
Tea Time
A Proper Tea is much nicer than a Very Nearly Tea, which is one you forget about afterwards. ~A.A. Milne
As some of you may already know, I grew up with a very English, maternal grandmother and, therefore, a mother who was quite enamored with her heritage. Whenever I became ill, I was cautiously nursed along to full health with tea and toast. Tea was something everyone could drink. Even a small child could properly drink tea. While coffee was considered an adult drink that my father secretly would allow me to sip when my mother wasn't looking, tea was almost as common as water. So common, I am afraid I quite took it for granted as a child. Of course, summers with my grandmother were spent playing croquet, going for long, brisk walks and having tea and scones. The scones were not something my mother regularly made, so tea was made somewhat special because of them. That and the fact that my grandmother collected odd tea cups and saucers so that choosing a cup for tea was always a pleasure in and of itself.
My grandmother came over from England with her family when she was a child. She and her family boarded the Lusitania in the autumn of 1909 and made the crossing from Liverpool to New York. Six years later, the Lusitania would be torpedoed by a German U-boat with a loss of 1,195 persons. My grandmother's family was from Keighley, Yorkshire, England. Her mother's side of the family was native to the Yorkshire area, but her father's side, being McKniffs, was from Ireland. My grandmother was just shy of ninety-four when she passed from this earth and she still had fond memories of England and of seeing the Statue of Liberty as the Lusitania drew near New York's harbor.
I grew up in New Hampshire and was quite delighted when a New Hampshire tea company offered to send me a large tin of the tea of my choice for my drinking pleasure and, perhaps, a pleasant nod to other bloggers in their direction. Through several e-mails to and from Marshall Malone, Portsmouth Tea Company's president, I learned that he and his wife were actually "southern transplants" living in New Hampshire. Of course, this caused me to be somewhat dubious. I was uprooted from New England to the Carolinas as a teenager and had never even seen a southerner drink hot tea. On one of my first restaurant outings with friends I was served iced tea in an exceedingly large Mason jar and wasn't sure quite what to do with it until my friends noticed my bewildered look and informed me that I was supposed to actually drink from the Mason jar. I thought perhaps it was a quaint pitcher and that my glass would come along shortly. I smile now when I think back to those early days when I still thought a hush puppy was only a brand of shoe.
Before I knew it, though, the UPS man was at my door with my package of Irish Breakfast tea. Preferring my tea strong and able to withstand a more than generous amount of milk, I had debated over choosing the Irish Breakfast or the Milk tea. Mr. Malone assured me that he was quite fond of the Irish Breakfast tea himself and so sent it along to me. My girls and I were quite anxious to try our newly acquired tea and, unwilling to take the time to make scones, we took out a bag of Pepperidge Farm Chessmen and set about making a pot of tea. I have to say that we were quite delighted with our tea that day. And the next day. And the next. I'm afraid we will be ordering more tea from the Portsmouth Tea Company before we know it. A cup of it sits to the right of me at this very moment.
The Irish Breakfast tea is strong, although, instead of the suggested steep time of three minutes, I couldn't keep myself from steeping the leaves for a full five minutes. Having said this, the tea was not bitter in the least. It was full of flavor and stood up well to milk. For those considering converting over from coffee to tea, I think you will find this tea worthy of consideration. To Mr. Malone, I thank you heartily for sending along this wonderful tea. It will complement my great-grandmother's recipe for scones quite well. Here is her recipe:
Scones
2 cups flour
3 Tbl. sugar
2 tsp. baking powder
pinch of salt
6 Tbl. shortening
1/2 cup milk
raisins
Sift dry ingredients together. Cut in shortening. Stir in milk. Add raisins.
Roll into circle about 1/2 inch thick. Cut into pie wedges. Brush tops with a
beaten egg. Place on ungreased cookie sheet and bake at 400* for 8-10 minutes
until golden brown.
On a side note, I believe that the Malones are a homeschooling family. I can't think of a more delightful business for a homeschooling family to undertake. Unless, of course, they opened an antiquarian book shop that also served their delicious tea.
Food That Smiles Back At You!
Photo Meme: Food (Thursday Challenge)
Small
Photo Meme: Small (Thursday Challenge)
A Little Visitor
This little cousin of Jenny Wren, the Carolina Wren, paid us a visit yesterday. Caroline somehow made her way through the screen on our back porch and found herself quite excited upon finding she could not make her way back out again. Our cat was extremely excited, too. Sam quite forgot he had a cat door that would allow him to join Caroline. He just sat there on the other side of the sliding glass door, making little chip-chip-chipping sounds, and swishing his fluffy white tail across the wood floor. We, of course, took pity on poor Caroline, closed the cat door, and opened the back porch door. It makes us wonder if she was looking for a nesting place between the roof and the ceiling of the porch. When we first moved to our home, there wasn't a door off of the back porch. Nature seemed to find it a cozy haven as we found several nests between the partially exposed roof and the plywood ceiling. We also found a rather large black snake sitting next to our four-year-old one day. You can see why I insisted on a porch door.
AMONG the dwellings framed by birds
In field or forest with nice care,
Is none that with the little Wren's
In snugness may compare.
No door the tenement requires,
And seldom needs a laboured roof;
Yet is it to the fiercest sun
Impervious, and storm-proof.
So warm, so beautiful withal,
In perfect fitness for its aim,
That to the Kind by special grace
Their instinct surely came.
And when for their abodes they seek
An opportune recess,
The hermit has no finer eye
For shadowy quietness.
These find, 'mid ivied abbey-walls,
A canopy in some still nook;
Others are pent-housed by a brae
That overhangs a brook.
There to the brooding bird her mate
Warbles by fits his low clear song;
And by the busy streamlet both
Are sung to all day long.
Or in sequestered lanes they build,
Where, till the flitting bird's return,
Her eggs within the nest repose,
Like relics in an urn.
But still, where general choice is good,
There is a better and a best;
And, among fairest objects, some
Are fairer than the rest;
This, one of those small builders proved
In a green covert, where, from out
The forehead of a pollard oak,
The leafy antlers sprout;
For She who planned the mossy lodge,
Mistrusting her evasive skill,
Had to a Primrose looked for aid
Her wishes to fulfil.
High on the trunk's projecting brow,
And fixed an infant's span above
The budding flowers, peeped forth the nest
The prettiest of the grove!
The treasure proudly did I show
To some whose minds without disdain
Can turn to little things; but once
Looked up for it in vain:
'Tis gone--a ruthless spoiler's prey,
Who heeds not beauty, love, or song,
'Tis gone! (so seemed it) and we grieved
Indignant at the wrong.
Just three days after, passing by
In clearer light the moss-built cell
I saw, espied its shaded mouth;
And felt that all was well.
The Primrose for a veil had spread
The largest of her upright leaves;
And thus, for purposes benign,
A simple flower deceives.
Concealed from friends who might disturb
Thy quiet with no ill intent,
Secure from evil eyes and hands
On barbarous plunder bent,
Rest, Mother-bird! and when thy young
Take flight, and thou art free to roam,
When withered is the guardian Flower,
And empty thy late home,
Think how ye prospered, thou and thine,
Amid the unviolated grove
Housed near the growing Primrose-tuft
In foresight, or in love.
Golden
Photo Meme: Golden (Thursday Challenge)
Summer
Photo Meme: Beautiful (Thursday Challenge)
Summer seems like a blur to me. A somewhat colorful blur, but a blur nonetheless. I fear that I am quite exhausted by the whole ordeal. When I attempt to wrap words around the past summer, I end up speaking in terms of events, destinations, hours on the road, loads of laundry, accommodations, flight plans, gas prices and junk food consumed.
When I was a child, summer lasted forever. Long afternoons were spent reading books out of doors with my faithful dog nearby. Days were strung together in a warm haze playing with my sister and brothers in the woods and fields surrounding our home. A week or two was spent having tea and scones with my grandmother. I felt a peaceful security while camping in the cool, New England woods in a large tent with my parents and siblings so close and the soft pine scented breezes blowing through the canvas. Every summer, we drove to visit my (great) Auntie Geri and Uncle Leon and their friends Pops and Grace at their cottages at Hampton Beach. When we wanted to go swimming we found ourselves at Sandy Pond or Forest Lake. These things filled my summer with riches I find myself inadequate to describe.
I don't remember worrying about what I was going to wear, where I was going to sleep, or what I was going to eat, although, I will confess to wanting to know how much longer it would take before we were "there yet". It wasn't until I was an adult that I realized that I never even bathed the entire week we were camping. I just took a swim every afternoon in the cool, sparkling water of the lake.
What is the difference between then and now? I know that most of us believe the difference lies in the fact that we are adults now. We have to keep the laundry going, make sure we have reservations, feed our families while traveling. And, yes, we have to know how long it will take to get where we're going, if for no other reason than to report back our ETA to the children every few miles. I have thought about all of this and something has become clear to me.
When I was a child, it wasn't about where we were going or what we were doing. It was about who we were doing it with. It was all about knowing that my grandmother would play game after game of Yahtzee with me every afternoon I was with her. I couldn't wait to go to her house and spend time with her. I always slept on a cot near her bed and woke to her musical alarm clock. "Oh! What a beautiful morning..."
I couldn't wait to meet Pops at the Hampton Beach playground where he would let me come in and play even when I grew too tall to "officially" be allowed in. Oftentimes, I would spend the time with him talking about things I sadly have forgotten and watching the thick, sweet smoke curling away from his cigar. My Auntie Geri would take long, early morning walks on the beach with me filling my tin pail with all manner of precious seashells. My memories of the beach are mixed with the smell of fresh paint from the summer my Uncle Leon painted the cottages.
I remember sitting around the campfire in the dark of night roasting marshmallows with my parents and siblings. Later I would listen to the night noises outside our tent and the snores of my father a few feet away from my cozy sleeping bag. I would wake to find my father cooking scrambled eggs and homefries over the fire.
My sister and brothers and I would spend rainy summer days playing in the enormous attic of our old, Victorian home scaring one another, getting reacquainted after months spent in classrooms separated from each other. In good weather, we would tramp through fields of grass taller than we were playing hide and seek. Occasionally, we would find a bobolink's nest in the deep grass.
When I was a child, it was about the people and relationships I had with them. I know that I can't become a child once again, but I think that, if I blink a few times and clear my eyes, I can see the people and not just the sandy suitcases and the prices at the pump.
A Day Late...
Freedom is not an unlimited license, an unlimited choice, or an unlimited opportunity. Freedom is first of all a responsibility before the God from whom we come. ~Alan Keyes