Why I Was Late to Work This Morning

When I first saw this promise of a sunrise,
I somehow knew that I'd be late today.
For I felt compelled to turn my face directly toward the East;
and meander through the country,
making stops along the way.

The air was damp from clouds
now flaming distant,
Reflecting orange against the morning blue,
And I saw the lines that streaked o'erhead;
I saw the roads beneath,
As side by side they raced along
to reach a day so new
it hadn't yet put forth a cry or whisper,
and blankets still were swaddled around its face. So I drove until I reached a meadow;
there beneath the trees. I waited, wondering all alone, for the sun to take its place

An Old Picture

My husband found a dilapidated tin full of old pictures. This one is Elaine, but I'm not sure who the baby is. I know it's not one of my children, because the only child of mine she ever met was the oldest, and Carina's hair was dark and curly. I'm wondering if this isn't a nephew or niece of mine?

Whoever the child is, I love the look on grandma's face...lots of love for a little Valentine.

Update: The baby is her first grandson, Philip.

A Thousand Years of Memories

 We went down to Arkansas for my niece's wedding and stayed for a couple of days with my husband's step mom and her little Chinese crested puppy dog Bella, who growled at Turtle every time he came through the door until he won her heart with little bites of beef jerky. Here she is, madly in love with the hand that fed her.

Time passed swiftly...as it has a habit of doing, and we found ourselves at my husband's home church, next to the quirky little bell tower that stands among the pines in front of the sanctuary.
It was here that we came to bury his father, Paul, several years ago, and were astounded and amazed when we entered the foyer and found friends from our church in Oklahoma who had driven the eight hours to be with us for the funeral.







It was also here, twenty seven years ago, that we arrived, in shock, grieving over the sudden death of his mother, Elaine. I'm older now than she was when she left us. It doesn't seem possible. She and Paul were faithful members of this church and she had taught the children's church for many years. Here is a little garden area and fountain dedicated to her memory. I took a picture of Zaya and Mim as they played by her fountain--two of the great-grandchildren she never met.








Inside the church, in a small dressing room, there was scurrying and bustling as the bridesmaids, the bride and the bride's mother all dressed in an excited hurry. Princess dress? Check. Jewelry? Check.
Nails? Hair? Feathers? Tennis shoes? ....
Whaaaat? Tennis Shoes?

Turtle, the minister, and Chuckles, his brother, and the father of the bride enjoyed catching up on old stories.

Five beautiful little girls dressed in black, white and red--and the ubiquitous converse foot ware--took care of the rings, the flowers, the books, hospitality, and gifts.

It was sunny outside, but still cool enough for a little snow to nestle midst the pine needles and quietly melt. Zaya and Mim are children of the plains; they were impressed by all the trees and played outside for a good part of the time.









Inside, there wasn't a lot for them to do as we waited for the guests to arrive.
We visited.
Art read fairy princess stories to Mim.














Zaya read his new book--the Time Machine. Looking around, I felt a bit like I was in a time machine too.

Wasn't it just last year that I rocked my grandchildren's mom in this very spot?  And wasn't it just a few years before that, we had a wedding shower in this church, and I remember that the oh-so-naive and confident little new bride was me.

The older I get, the more I understand the Psalmist, who said:

         For a thousand years in Your sight
         Are like yesterday when it is past,
         And like a watch in the night.

Psalm 90:4

Deeds of Daring Don't

Inside I'm a dreamer, it's true
But the dreams that I dream, I don't do
Lost caverns are deep
High mountains are steep
Those conquests I've left up to you*

And the Snow Goes Sliding Away...Dusted with Red Oklahoma Dirt

Parade of Plastic Daisies

Since it's only 2 degrees outside today, and snow is blowing everywhere, our orders are: stay home, stay inside, drink hot chocolate, and read a book. Wow! What a dreadful sentence. Just imagine all the grief it'll cause me to comply.
Ok, I'm kidding. My kindle and hot coffee are waiting. Now why did I put away that Christmas tree last week?

I think my neighbors up the street had the right idea when they planted these winter daisies. Later today, I'm going to bundle up properly and see how they are faring in the snow.

Bony Branches

I once beheld
cerulean skies of summer
while standing under bony boughs
of sleepy winter trees










They twisted in a languid stretch,
to soak in rays of saffron
Their hands extended longingly
as far as they could reach


There was no place
for doves to hide above me,
Nor did they seem concerned to be
without their leafy screens

I understood their fearlessness,
and felt their sense of safety,
 As paralyzed with wonder,
I breathed the same warm breeze.

I took all these pictures--and a few more--yesterday evening and this afternoon as I went walking around our little town. Trees are just a fascinating subject for me: the young, beautifully designed ones, growing in balanced harmonious sculptures, and the old ones, maimed by countless ice storms, yet sprouting forth with stubborn new limbs to form exotic shapes against the sky. Anyway, here are a few more for your viewing delight.

One Warm Walking Day

Thanks God,
for the sudden flame-peach sunrise
In the midst of winter--one, warm, walking day,
And tree limbs, naked, stretching out to touch it--
The blue! the yellow! After all that gray!
For pearls of pigeons spearing through the sky
like silver beads on slender strands of chain
exploding with a joy that leaves me humbled,
Thanks for the fact that You would even deign
to answer a prayer I knew I shouldn't pray,
When I asked--in the winter--for one, warm, walking day.

Salamanders

Zaya is allergic to everything furry--dogs, cats, rabbits, hamsters, even mice. Yet he loves animals and wants a pet, even if it has to be a fish. This fall his parents bought him a Tokay gecko. Unfortunately they didn't read the fine print at the animal store and found themselves with a vicious "pit bull" of the gecko family, a creature that's fun to look at, but can't be petted and cuddled. So, after a visit to the high school science room today, Zaya has decided that he wants a Salamander. He says they are cute. Well, maybe they are in a plastic, slimy sort of way.

Time and Eternity

Everywhere we run we hit the walls of time.
Harsh deadlines rising grimly to remind us
But aren't dimensions meant to give us freedom?
How is it this anomaly confines us?

We run on lines, we swim on planes,
We jump and dive through ups and downs of space.
Every new dimension
adds new roads--both to and fro.
We have a choice; the arrows point both ways.

Until we get to time, the broken blessing.
Time is a ray and not a normal line,
A one-way escalator built in segments to the end.
And we're carried...sometimes seeing, sometimes blind.

So I bear a desperate knowledge that compels me,
While running with the wind against my face
To savor each sensation, for I know this very minute
I'll not ever see again--not in this place.

As those I love desert the earth, I fathom
That our mortality is the curse that's broken time,
It's now a cage, a box, a moving pathway
Of stairs you can descend, but never climb.

And then eternity spreads vast around me
An awesome universe of endless joy
And looking back, confused by all this freedom,
I finally understand: Time was the door.

So Glad the Sun Rises in the East

If I have to be driving, at least

My windshield is facing the East

Where the sun's pointed rays

Crack open my days

And pour out a magnificent feast

(Yes. I did pull over to take this picture on Friday morning. No. I was not late to work.)

Let There Be

Saturday, my grandchildren were playing a new game on their Nintendo DS systems, an educational game, of sorts, which allowed them to type a word and immediately see a corresponding figure on the screen. For instance, if they typed "pirate" a stereotypical pirate would appear, armed and ready to murder the hapless, unsuspecting seaman they typed next. We tested it a little, creating such characters as a zombie--who bit the other characters and turned them into his minions, and a psychiatrist who brought his couch so he could analyze any confused people left on the screen. When Mim typed dog and cat on the same screen, there was a chase, and she had to type tree to save the cat from certain torment. It's a fascinating game with some profound applications.

How can words typed onto a screen produce creatures which follow their own instincts? Simple. Every image on the computer is really just a string of commands, written in code: It's a language. It's consistent; it's mathematical, and if symbols or letters are deleted, it breaks down in an error.

 God spoke a language far more complex than anything we've been able to imitate in our virtual worlds, and yet we are beginning to understand its grammatical anatomy and physiology.
He used four letters:
A, G, T, C.
God spoke DNA.

And here we all are, walking around and doing our own thing, insisting that we existed before
the instructions.

Nearly Invisible

Alice and the Cat
Quotes: Alice in Wonderland 

                

Alice: Would you tell me, please,

which way I ought to go from here?

The Cat: That depends a good deal

on where you want to get to.

Alice: I don't much care where.

The Cat: Then it doesn't much matter

which way you go.

Alice: …so long as I get somewhere.

The Cat: Oh, you're sure to do that,

if only you walk long enough.

(Take a message from an invisible cat: So many people rush along, making sure the road they travel is a good road, a safe road, a popular road, an easy road...but not enough give thought to their destination, and, after all, that's the most important goal of a road...oh I know all about stopping and smelling roses. That's important too, but it pales beside the real purpose. Upon arrival, where are you?  It seems almost facetious to hide an important message like that in the fantasy words of an invisible cat...but I think Carroll was a subtle writer. )

Pink January Sunset

Good Influence

Seniors in high school seldom realize their place as leaders and role models for the rest of the school. If they are enthusiastic, serious about their future, and concerned with the affairs of lesser mortals like freshmen and  lowly seventh-graders, they are respected and even loved by those who just need someone to push them into the joys of participation and a good attitude. On homecoming days we dress up. If the seniors lead the way, it makes for some interesting days and an exhibit of often hidden creativity. Fortunately, this years seniors are doing a great job with the role.

Our over-all theme this year is "Winter Wonderland".

Today was Christmas character day. We had shepherds,

wise men, angels, elves, and reindeer.

I finally decided that this one must be from Dickens: It looks like the "Ghost of Christmas Present".

Plaid/Clash Day

 My favorite dress-up homecoming days at school are those simple ones which invite participation from everyone. . .like plaid/clash day.

 Who hasn't wanted, at some time during their life, to say: I don't feel like matching my wardrobe today. In fact I feel like clashing just as awfully as I can!

Progress

The fatal metaphor of progress, which means leaving things behind us, has utterly obscured the real idea of growth, which means leaving things inside us. C.S. Lewis

This is one of my favorite quotes from Lewis, and one that I try to remember when the new year rolls around every January. Sometimes, in our frenzy to discard the old and put on the new, we also destroy the lessons we have learned and the foundation we really needed to grow. Teachers, in particular, need to be cautious that they don't foster this razing of values and concepts, but rather explain and add, allowing students to use what they know to evaluate the new material. That's not to say some things shouldn't be tossed away, but devastation seldom produces more arable soil. I've written it in another way:

You don't get anywhere if you keep starting over.

Organizing All The Piles of Stuff

I know it is dangerous to set new year's resolutions but I'm going to try just two...easy ones and not something that will overwhelm me into giving up.

I want to lose weight--at least ten pounds. (I know...I know...that's puny, but I'm not a superhero here)
I want to organize all my closets, cupboards, and dresser drawers. (It may take a year, but my goal is to do one each week. Doesn't sound hard, does it?)
Dare I try any more?
Nah. Those two will be hard enough.
Hope you have a Happy New Year
Be safe in the arms of God.

Here's a cartoon that reminds me of me.

Sleep-over at Grandma's House

The grandchildren came over this afternoon for some time with Grandma.
Of course, I spoil them with mint chocolate chip ice cream and let them bring stuffed animals for solace and company. This time, Mim brought her new virus, Mononucleosis, complete with long, eyelashes. Zaya chose a couple of more vicious ones: Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus, called MRSA, and a really ugly, snake-like Ebola. He tempered his choices by bringing his good friend Penicillin. His dad warned him, as we left the house, that Penicillin was helpless to defeat those other two. He shrugged: "I know it; it's ok" .

Mim also brought something called Jupiter Juice. It's a bright pink slimy goo that comes off of most things with no residue (If anybody wants to tell me how to get it out of little girls' hair, it might be propitious)

Right now Zaya is entertaining himself with a Mario game; Mim is helping Claye cook muffins. She did well cracking the eggs, but is having a problem with how sticky her hands are feeling.
I'd say anyone who can handle Jupiter Juice, should have no squeamish qualms over cooking.

The muffins were pretty delicious--poppy seed with a lemon glaze. Claye set the coffee table in the front room and Mim found a place to wait and keep an eye on it while we found all the sugar and cream. It must have taken us longer than we thought because she also found time to invite a guest and drag him over to share her part of the table.

 

Mim's a properly prissy child. She says the best part of the tea party is adding the cream and sugar to the tiny cup and stirring it. Zaya feels like the main goal of the party is seeing if he can cram a whole muffin into his mouth at once.

Sooner or later, though, the party ends. Mim takes a bath and Zaya talks Grandpa into working on his model catapult and explaining every step. Doesn't take too much persuasion. After all, there are not too many people who are willing to listen to building project steps.