Fruits of the Season

...A heavenly paradise is that place
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.
There cherries grow which none may buy,
Till "cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.
Thomas Campion "Cherry Ripe"

Many are the days when I long for household help. We may have all kinds of "labor-saving devices", yet the days are just as short as ever. When it comes to garden harvest time, I wish more than ever that a merry volunteer would come in, pick all the fruits and vegetables, freeze or can them (I wouldn't be fussy about which process they preferred doing), clean up the kitchen and then wave a cheery goodbye as they walk out the door. They could be rather like the shoemaker's elves. That would truly be the heavenly paradise!

P.S. If you click on the image you can see that the hearts blink!

(Graphic based on tutorial by Kimbearly membership group.)

Awaiting The Ships

Of sea captains young or old, and the mates--and of all intrepid sailors...

"Leaves of Grass, Songs for All Seas, All Ships" Whitman

When we went to Germany 3 years ago to visit the land of my Great Grandfather, we stood at the very edge of the North Sea where they had lived. It was September; there was a chill in the air and the gulls swooped around us like kites, looking for bits of food. I scanned the horizon and strained my eyes to penetrate as far as they could. I wasn't only looking at the expanse that lay around me. I was hungry to peer into a place where my natural eyes could no longer wander. I wanted to see my youthful Grandfather as he would have stood at this same shoreline while he considered leaving the farm that laid so close to the water.

He would have thought about leaving his family and all he knew to travel to a place he had never even seen. He would make a new home in the United States midwest where he would never see this much water at one time again! And he was leaving a home to which he knew he would never return.

His courage amazed me. In fact, all my paternal Great Grandparents left Germany within a few years of each other to immigrate to the United States where they met and married and raised families. As I stood gazing out and thinking about all this, I prayed and asked the Lord about this. And the Lord spoke to my heart things which astounded my understanding. A Mighty Hand was upon these intrepid wanderers, and their wanderings were not accidental.

I love Tolkein's poem in his Fellowship of the Rings story in which he writes "...not all those who wander are lost". Tolkein's poem is rich in its truth and is an apt description about those who came to settle this nation with mettle and courage.

I pray that our nation will not lose sight of the hope and vision of men and women like my Great Grandparents who came from a foreign land to embrace this territory and proudly make it their home. They gave their best to make this a safe place to raise the seeds they sowed here: their children. They prized their liberty, and I pray that we will never take their sacrifices for granted.



(Graphic based on tutorial by Elly)

Autumn Memories

The crickets are singing as I sit at the computer and compose my thoughts. In China or Japan the cricket is considered good luck. For whatever reason they think that, I have no idea. Nonetheless, I find their company rather soothing. A cricket's chirping brings back memories of other years and experiences that are now a part of who I've become.

My mother-in-law was driven to distraction by a cricket serenading her from the basement. She would instantly leap to her feet to go on a search and destroy mission. However, the cricket would usually elude her and continue to lead her forward, farther and farther from the original sound - rather like a minute pied piper. Perhaps that's why the Asian people consider the cricket to be good luck - they can evade destruction by going silent, only to erupt again into blazing song when the hunter has passed them by.

Bernie and I arrived back home last night after returning to Iowa to celebrate my Dad's 81st birthday. The fact that he is still with us means that he is rather like the cricket. He, too, has eluded the hunter for many years and he continues to sing. He was singing this weekend.

When I was a child, he and I would sit in the living room, late at night, and sing to the songs on "Hit Parade" or we would follow the "bouncing ball" and sing along with Mitch. We would sing in the car on our travels. We encouraged the harvest moon to shine on. We pretended we were cajuns and sang about jambalaya and crawfish pie. He would croon to me that I was his sunshine. For many years he did not sing and I missed it.

The Bible makes great importance about music. David sang songs to the Lord when he was in the fields learning about God and about shepherding. Paul and Silas sang praises to the Lord while they were imprisoned and the walls of their imprisonment collapsed. They and everyone in prison with them were released when they sang.

My Dad, the cricket, is learning to sing again so that he is not bound by the walls around him. The ways of God are antithetical to the natural ways which we think. Dad has struggled with depression in his life, but as long as he sings, the walls of his now shrinking world will continue to expand. His life is a miracle. He shares a birthday with a sister who died while she was in her childhood. He had his first heart attack when he was 45 and yet he has outlived his first beloved wife by 20 years. It has not been easy, but then, miracles are never easy. We just think they are easy because we rejoice in the end results. However, miracles come about through great cost. My Dad always told me, "Vicky, there are no free lunches." And he is right.

My quest continues to be: finding joy in the small things of life. It is in that quest that true happiness lies. And that, to me, is the mark of a successful life.

Housework

Click on picture for enlarged view.

I come from a distinguished line of women who are "random housekeepers". In an effort to maintain lineage purity and family integrity, I am following in the footsteps of my feminine predecessors while passing along helpful hints to my children. Peg Bracken, in her opening paragraph in chapter one of I Hate To Housekeep Book defines "random housekeepers": "There are three kinds of housekeepers. There is the spotless housekeeper, who won't stop, and there is the spotful housekeeper, who won't start. Then there is the occasional or random housekeeper, whose book this is."

At the present moment, my husband and I are smitten with Reese Sticks. I discovered them first but he had to horn in on the treat which requires me to now carefully guard my stash or they'll be inhaled so fast that the created vacuum will leave me breathless. Therefore, we are allowed one Reese Stick per person per night. They are hard to find, which makes them even more delicious.

This week we are devoted to Reese Sticks. Several weeks ago we couldn't get enough of watching "LOST" on DVD and sat through an all night marathon. This spring I was in to knitting so completely that I made 8 pair of socks for Christmas presents in about 3 months, which was astounding for me because I hardly finish anything let alone PAIRS of socks. Next week, most likely, we will find something else that catches our eye. Like crows, we'll flock around it, pick it up and carry it back to our nest. We are not consistent individuals. We are random, we function quite well that way and we are merrily passing along the DNA. But I find that I actually resent it. I would rather be uniform, consistent, and comfortably pragmatic. I don't want to be dogmatically pragmatic mind you, but yikes! That comment shows that my randomness is leaking out again.

My mother had this book and I found it on my bookshelf today when I was chastising myself, yet again, that I really need to clean house. Since I need a strong charge of desire to clean when I'm not motivated by the terror that company is arriving in 2 hours, I sashayed over to a bookshelf to see if I could find a resource on "getting organized." I've collected a number of helpful volumes through the years. On the bottom shelf, I found little Peg! I blew the dust off her, admired the quirky illustrations by Hilary Knight (who always cracks me up) and began to look through the yellowed pages. I couldn't believe that I'd had that book all these years and I'd never read it! I scanned the first page and knew this book was for me! It is about me! It appeals to my Germanic sense of being sensible and practical, yet it is witty and full of fun - like we Germanic people are....

Chapter 10 of her book "How to Remember and How to Remember to Remember" is a hoot. It is especially relevant to me right now because I forget what it was I left the bathroom to go to the kitchen to get. It wasn't a Reese Stick because I would have remembered that. Oh yes, it was the Awesome cleaner. Now, where did I put that cleaner the last time I finished using it?? I think her flagpole remembering list on page 116 may really help me. You must read that chapter yourself because I could get into big trouble from the copyright cops if I cut and paste too much information from the book into this blog. My blog readership is such that Crest Books would know by this afternoon.

What is the point of all this, you may ask. Well, the point is this. Peg Bracken just gave me credibility to accept that I am random and that I have talent in that direction. I am going to attempt to not obsess about the fact that I'm not spotless but I'm clean enough and life is too short to obsess about being perfect.

I'll talk to you later. It's time for a Reese Stick before my husband comes home.

An August Saturday

It has been a refreshing day - one in which I have procrastinated - most successfully - at most everything that I should have been doing. But I can't help it. The sun is shining. The locusts are singing. The trees are whispering. And we bought a new bench!

Let me tell you about the bench. It all started this spring when we went to Rick's Garden Center. I was hankering for a replacement bench for our rotting, but once lovely, beauty which sits on the front porch. It was no longer safe and I missed sitting on it waiting for whatever needed to be waited for. We found a nice one at Rick's, and it was on sale, but we weren't ready to buy a bench quite yet. We had to anguish about it for awhile longer. Today we went bench shopping again and returned to Rick's.

There was our bench - only now it was on CLEARANCE! Hoot hoot hoot! I had earned some Rick's Bonus Bucks by emptying out the bank account on so many spring flowers and I was hoping to use it on something we would not normally buy. We don't normally buy benches, so this seemed like a legitimate use for the Bonus Bucks. With the $24 off for the Bonus Bucks plus the low clearance price, the cost for our bench came down to $88.00 (plus an inordinate amount for Ceasar's tax, of course.) We preened and clucked all the way home. Who says that "he who hesitates is lost."

End of story. I like happy endings, don't you?

Vintage

I walk talking to a friend several days ago while we hiked through Starved Rock State Park. Donna is involved in teaching young people drama and inspiring in them the gift of gazing at things through the lens of imagination. As we ambled along in that green lushness, sweating and fatigued, enjoying every moment but also aware that our hips hurt us, she began to tell me about a workshop she had done recently. The students decided that they needed information from "way back" and elected her as their encyclopedia!

She said something to the effect that it was rather discombobulating to be known as the vintage source of information. I agreed. I suppose it doesn't do one whit of good to dwell on the fact that I'm getting older but I just can't seem to avoid it. In one of those wildly inane Perry Mason T.V. adventures, he made one comment that stuck with me through the years. One of the characters was talking to him and said, "I'm not as young as I used to be." Perry Mason wisely and mildly responded, "None of us are."

For some reason Perry's 4 little words really set me free. You see, I've been in angst for some time about the fact that my chin has reproduced itself without my permission and my trim figure is a pleasant but very distant memory. I want to appear in each year of life just like I did at 18! I'm looking for a place to join up with Ponce de Leon's team as they look for the Fountain of Youth. RATS! He's dead! So that won't work.

I did find a Photoshop tutorial with some great directions on giving a photograph a facelift. Now, that would be a lot easier than working out in the gym 3 times a week. In fact, it is now a family joke, but for our Christmas letter one year I wanted to include a photo of our beautiful children and grandchildren. Unfortunately, I was also in the picture. I couldn't remove myself without it being obvious, so I decided to shave off an unknown quantity of pixels from each side of myself.

When a seamstress is making or altering a pair of pants, it is imperative to make them smaller by removing amounts from both sides of each leg or else it will throw off the grainline. Therefore, when I was using my eraser tool, I was quite conscious of working on both sides. I didn't want to throw off my grainline on top of everything else! It worked. I suddenly looked quite pleasant and agreeably svelte. My family and I all think it's a great joke that I can make myself look like something that I'm not and be quite shameless about it. It's all about art, right?

There are certain merits to growing older. I've gathered one or two ideas together here for you. It never hurts to run them through the mind every couple of days as a form of emotional antibiotic.

One of the delightful and unexpected pleasures is finding that in that vast reservoir of experiences, a certain level of perspective has floated to view like water lily flotsom. There is comfort in knowing that, merciful heavens, you didn't totally destroy your children! And, there were several times that you actually made right decisions! These can be such heady revelations and you may find the need to back over to a chair and sit down or you'll collapse from shock. Actually, I think that this revelation is one of the most fun parts of growing older. When you're young you are still wrestling with the giants. When you're older, you see that there were a number of times when you actually kicked them in the groin and they backed away.

I take great encouragement from the Bible's perspective on aging and wisdom. Unfortunately, not too many people want to hear the lurid details of my learning journey, but they don't always mind getting the fallout from the lessons I've learned. Especially if I can phrase those lessons in few words, without bossiness or judgment, and can be there to support them if things turn sour.

The bottom line: is it bad being considered vintage? I don't think it is if your spirit is still beautiful. That is the true Fountain of Youth.

(Graphic based on tutorial by Kimbearly Membership Group.)

Freedom Flyers

A little bird I am,
Shut from the fields of air;
And in my cage I sit and sing
To Him Who placed me there;
Well pleased a prisoner to be,
Because, my God, it pleases Thee.

Naught have I else to do;
I sing the whole day long;
And He Whom I most love to please
Doth listen to my song;
He caught and bound my wandering wing;
But still He bends to hear me sing.

Thou hast an ear to hear,
A heart to love and bless;
And though my notes were e'er so rude,
Thou wouldst not hear the less;
Because Thou knowest as they fall,
That love, sweet love, inspires them all.

My cage confines me round;
Abroad I cannot fly;
But though my wing is closely bound,
My heart's at liberty;
My prison walls cannot control
The flight, the freedom of the soul.

Oh, it is good to soar
These bolts and bars above,
To Him Whose purpose I adore,
Whose providence I love;
And in Thy mighty will to find
The joy, the freedom of the mind.

Madame Jeanne Guyon (1648-1717)
"A Prisoner's Song"

Madame Guyon was imprisoned in the Bastille for 15 years for her beliefs, yet this poem conveys the beauty and the freedom of a clear conscience, which is what the Lord Jesus Christ gives us. The circumstances of life may rise up and strip away from us wealth, security, health, or family, but if we have a clean conscience before God through our faith in Jesus Christ, we can continue to soar in freedom. This is a gift which no one can take away from us no matter what our circumstances may be!

The quotation on the picture is from the 4th stanza of Richard Lovelace's poem "To Althea, From Prison". He speaks of the same kind of freedom. I find the courage of these people and the beauty of this poetry to be strengthening in an age which would have us take the easy way out, find easy solutions or place the blame for our problems on someone else.

There is no blame placed in these poems. There is only the security of resting in their relationship with the Lord and the knowledge that He is in control of all their circumstances. This is true victory!

Artistic Inspiration

I have an ancient manual typewriter that I've named "Stella". When things get too pushy around me, I reach under the bed and grab Stella's handle. We retire to the kitchen table or, when the sun shines, to the patio. We confer together. And in the slower pace of her clickety smack, sometimes a fresh thought will start to flow. She is faithful and her hard drive will never crash on me, although, her wardrobe is outdated which makes it rather challenging to keep her outfitted with ribbons.

Like the artist in this picture, I am in need of inspiration and I need an infusion from an old friend. Stella's keys are my brushes which, even though they only strike in black, have the ability to embed nuances of color every now and then.

Still...I am longing to reclaim my basement art studio and to lay hold of actual paint, brushes, needle and thread. There is something to be said for the tactile aspect of touching fabric or smooshing paint. Unfortunately, to reclaim my stuio will require an intense cleaning jag and Stella cannot help me with that!

Have you ever felt like you had so many ideas swirling around in your brain that you couldn't snag even one of them long enough to put them into productive use? That is my problem right now. I am going to grab Stella; perhaps she can slow me down so that I can settle onto one idea and be inspired again! Talk to you later!

(Graphics based on tutorial by Robin.)

Friendship

It was so much fun to come onto my blog and see a comment from a friend about "The Landing" posting. Tami raises healthy animals, whether they be birds, dogs, cats or a variety of other creatures great and small. I thought what she wrote about birds was very interesting and wanted to share it here.

Vicky, I am always pleased to see you have added something to your blog! I love your new look!(This is a picture of Java at 3 years old.)

I thought I'd add something that you might not know, but which I find absolutely enthralling about Amazons regarding the subject of scent. Each Amazon produces its own unique aroma when they are very happy and content. It is described by some owners as a floral scent, and by others as a rather musky scent, but most find it very pleasing. I noticed when I held Java or Kiwi,that they had a wonderful aroma, but it meant so much more to realize it just comes in those special moments when they are feeling very happy or loving, and those moments come when they are sitting on my hand or when I draw near to their cage to visit them! They do not emit this aroma when they are playing or actively prowling around the room, only when they are sitting quietly with me. It always amazes me the way God has implanted in His Creation, those things to illustrate tiny facets of His Word to us. What a beautiful way to illumine the verse that says that we are a fragrant aroma of His Presence in every place. Is it that same feeling of love and contentment in us, that produces that aroma for others to know Him? If so, it makes me more determined to take the time to sit in His presence, bask in His love, and allow His aroma to penetrate my being. Tami

Tami and I have corresponded for many years. At first we sent letters back and forth the old fashioned way. I looked so forward to the arrival of her letters and when I saw one in the mailbox I would race home and settle in for an enjoyable and leisurely reading. Tami's letters are always special because they are thought provoking, profound without being cumbersome and sparkling with her special wit. We each saved our letters and now enjoy reviewing them. We are continually astounded at how the Lord was uniting us through the miles by giving us the same insights on the same day. Often we would be thinking the same ideas without the other one knowing about it until days later when we communicated. We have always wanted to combine our friendship into a "joint venture" by linking our communications as if they were letters sent back and forth through the mails. Perhaps that time is just around the corner now.

Today, we still have to communicate through long distance, but now of course we communicate via email or computer chat programs. The link to Tami's blog is www.thesilvertrunk.blogspot.com

The Landing

"Hawks are social birds." my Dad used to say. He would add, "You will see a lot of them perched on power poles along the road." Therefore, whenever we're on a drive back to Iowa, I like to count how many hawks I see as we travel along the interstate. And I wave to them. I think what Dad meant by the hawk being social is that they are not so shy of man. It makes me happy to see a hawk who is one of a social bunch. It pleases me to wave at a creature that doesn't shun me.

In actuality, each one is oblivious to a red Vibe on a busy highway. He's occupied, instead, with watching for the faint movement of a grassblade knowing that hustling underneath it would be a tasty morsel for dinner.

Can birds smell?

David Allen Sibley in The Sibley Guide to Bird Life & Behavior, says that in comparison to vision and hearing, the other senses in a bird are secondary. However, in nocturnal birds, vultures and tubenoses, the sense of smell can be significant. These birds are able to locate carrion by detecting the odor of a chemical that is emitted by rotting meat. (Since I procrastinate at this bit of housekeeping, it's therefore a good thing there isn't a Turkey Vulture near my refrigerator.)

There is something wondrous about a bird. The fact that they can soar in places that we can only think about is, I think, part of the wonder. How delightful it is to spot a fallen feather, claim it as your own and then poke it into your cap! A bird's plumage is so luxurious and gorgeous that it makes it hard to believe that underneath that lofty bit of color is a scrawny creature with a pokey neck.

A friend of mine raises Amazon parrots and for awhile also raised cockatiels. I have a prized cinnamon cockatiel hand-raised and given to me from Tami. I named her Acorn and she and I are buddies. I collect Acorn's fallen feathers and have been known to give them as special gifts or use them in some of my art projects.

I went to a quilting class one time where the quilt artist was doing a series of quilts on the topic of feathers. She was not just quilting ordinary feather shapes, however. This women studied feathers by magnifying them many many times and then made dazzling designs from the hidden-to-the-natural-eye shapes and colors. She showed slides of the colors and textures that were underlying the surface. They were sensational.

Since that time, I have been fascinated by thinking about those hidden things that are so easily passed over in the superficial glance or in the haste of the moment. I find that if I remain enchanted by small treasures, then all of life holds wonderment. But if I lose sight of the intrigue of finding the veiled treasure, then I find myself becoming self-absorbed and depressed. I would much rather spend my time waving at hawks and thinking about their aloof but friendly beauty than being annoyed about my ingrown toenail. I'm thankful that God created such variety to enchant and draw us out of ourselves.

"Is it by your understanding that the hawk soars, Stretching his wings toward the south? Is it at your command that the eagle mounts up And makes his nest on high? On the cliff he dwells and lodges, Upon the rocky crag, an inaccessible place. From there he spies out food; His eyes see it from afar." Job 29:26-29

(Graphic based on tutorial by DaBratz membership group.)

Summer Bounty

"He chooses our inheritance for us..." Psalm 47:4

It doesn't seem like we've had enough summer. And here it is, harvest time already. The tomatoes are red and fragrant on the vine. Green, purple and jalapeno peppers are everywhere. And the sweet corn! Oh the sweet corn is magnificent. As far as I'm concerned, summer is the best time of the year.

Bernie bought a red scooter to drive back and forth to work. On fresh sunny Sunday afternoons we ride out to tour the countryside and learn some of the back roads in our newer territory. We marvel at how different things look on a scooter than they do in a car or walking or even on a bicycle. The scents are heady and concentrated. There is the grassy warmth of newly mown hay and the intense aroma of lilies blooming in orange richness in the ditches. Farming has changed dramatically in the past 40 years with the result that there is less livestock on family farms. I miss the earthy smell of animals on our afternoon scooter rides.

As a child when I would go out into the pasture to round up the cattle for milking, I'd saunter down the lane, past the cowyard, and smell the pungent aroma of future fertilizer. A farm child learns to distinguish the difference between the smell of cattle, hogs, horses, or chickens. There was also the unmistakable oily smell of bats who had hijacked the upper regions of the house. I miss the farm smells - and I miss the trill of the meadowlark in the fields where I laid in the grass making cloud pictures or as I strolled down the road on my way to the corner creek. Yes, I greatly miss the meadowlark - yet everytime I am blessed enough to hear one, I always thank God for the pleasure of hearing one again.

Diane Ackerman, in her book A Natural History of the Senses says, "One of the real tests of writers, especially poets, is how well they write about smells." I believe it! It is uncannily tough to put words to what is passing through your nose and into your heart. It seems that an aroma has the ability to penetrate the heart so as to leave a lasting impression of place and time forever imprinted in our brains. Smell that smell again, and you are instantly transported to a special moment in your personal history. I am going to work at learning how to put words to scents that waft around me. This will be my new challenge for this season.

Graphic made using tutorial by Sandy at DaBratz Designs Membership