Guess Who Learned How to Wink.

Sunday Scribblings Prompt: Vision

Old Farm House

This is the basic design for old farm houses in our part of the country. I've been in several of them and can tell you what the "state-of-the-art" floor plan was for the early 1900's. Downstairs are three rooms--a large, long living-room; a square kitchen, big enough to hold a table and chairs; and a big bedroom. (Most of these, if they have been kept intact, have a bathroom added on under the stairs; this one probably doesn't.) In the living room, at the foot of steep stairs leading to the upper floor, is a wood furnace. There is no door to the stairs, so the heat--theoretically--goes up to warm the four bedrooms, each of which has its own gable and window. It's a neat design for a farm family, especially since the farmers in this area grew their own harvest crew...and chopping cotton crew...and pulling rye crew...

The ground looks dry because I took these pictures back in March before the rains came. Now it is all green and golden.

Being Buff

For six months now, I've been exercising...mostly faithfully...at least four times a week. I've stretched and bowed and bended and beaten all the white metal hydraulic dragons, and I've walked miles and miles of digital hills to run my heart rate up to 85 percent of the recommended maximum for weight loss.

And I've lost--five pounds! Yippy Skippy! At this rate I'll be down a whole dress size by 2011. . . and after only five hundred more hours of slugging away. Thank you,German genes!

But I think I know what has happened. I've gotten in shape alright. It's just that the shape is way, way inside--right next to the bones. I can feel those steel muscles as I flex them. I know the strength and power in my stretches.
Way in there, I'm buff.
You just can't see it, for all the marshmallow-ish surface being pushed out by those bulging muscles. One day I'll be standing close to a campfire and it will all melt and run out my ankles and people will be amazed--by the size of the puddle around my feet and by my well-toned, sleek, physique!

Right.

Actually, last night I squealed as I noticed that my ring was loose. "My ring is loose! It's slipping on my finger! Do you think this actually means I'm losing weight? And if so...WHY JUST IN MY FINGERS?

Then it hit me--all this blogging, and facebook junk, and e-mail--no wonder my fingers are buff!

Courage

One of my facebook friends--and this is a real person, a daughter-in-law to one of our parishioners--was involved in a sudden industrial accident which took her right hand and part of her arm. We got the call three nights ago, late. Turtle went to stay with our friends while they waited for news from Colorado, where the surgery was taking place. In a time like this, when you want to be there comforting the family and holding the little one--who doesn't know what is happening but frets because she feels all the tension--it helps to have friends who come pray with you.

I could not reach her, miles away, to stand silently in hospital; nor could I offer to keep the little girl, or bring a pumpkin cake. So I went down to the local blood drive and donated a pint of blood. I know. I know. This is Oklahoma blood, and she took Colorado...but at a time like this it helps to give.

She's going to be fine, because she has exceptional courage and an attitude that says, "It happened. It's not the end of the world. Let me dress myself. I want to look at artificial limbs and start learning how to use them." Not every young wife and mother would have responded so stoically. Still, I'll keep praying for her, because the day may come when, for a moment, she will feel overwhelmed. You pray too. Her name is Amanda.

Move Over, Online Generation!

I'm witnessing a curious phenomenon--adults are taking over facebook! First it was a college ambition--They went wild, multiplying to themselves friends in a frenzy, reflecting in their moods their rise or drop in popularity as they were ranked on facebook. Then it hit high school and junior high; parents bemoaned the fact that kids saw their friends all day at school, texted them all the way home, and messaged them on facebook until suppertime. They posted pictures all over the web, weird pictures of themselves making faces and trying to look like teen-aged pop stars in the dull blue light of a barrio.

Finally, a few brave adults ventured into the uncharted land and began to connect with its youthful, zany population. Now there is an explosion of mature voices in the land as we discover the excitement of "finding old friends" on facebook. I've 'friended' my aunts, my cousins, friends of my parents, people I haven't seen in thirty years. Now I can stop wondering what ever happened to them. I can ask them.

Not that interaction consumes all one's time; there do seem to be facebook rules. For instance, you don't let people know that you have looked at all their pictures the first day you friend them; that would seem like excessive interest. Wait a week or two, then let them know. You don't message them more than once a day, unless, of course they are asking questions, and you don't overwhelm them with requests for them to join this cause or another. If you do, they will probably hide all posts from you and you will be relegated to the obscure state of yelling in a soundproofed room.

The danger of facebook lies in over-involvement, not just with people, but with games: At the bottom corner of the screen, there are "applications". These are time-wasters, delicious little games that capitalize on one's whims and desires. Love to collect things but don't have room? There are collections online, virtual collections that you can keep in your computer to look at whenever you please: gemstones, painted eggs, puzzle pieces, butterflies; they never need dusting. Wish you could plant a garden and watch things grow but don't have the energy to actually hoe the weeds and till the ground? Well, there is Farmtown to satisfy that need--virtually. Plant and harvest. There are no weeds, no drought, and pigs that never get into the melon crop. There are word games and math games and engineering adventures. Like to take quizzes about the most important person in your world--namely yourself? Never fear, there are a hundred quizzes you can take to see what movie star, profession, or garage sale item you are most like. The list goes on and on... I could post about it indefinitely...except that I have sunflowers that need harvesting, a butterfly collection to enhance, and Pathwords is calling my name. (I can't believe that one of my eighth-grade students is still ranked higher than I am!)

Older than Old

I had an interesting conversation with my five-year-old grandson today. It went like this.

"You know, when I grow up, I'm going to be a chef and own a bakery. I'm going to give the blueprints to the construction man and he will build me a building that will say 'Zaya's burgers and sweets and it will be a drive through."

"Well that will be convenient."

"Uh huh, and Mim will grow up and find her mate, (Need I say too many science videos) and she will come and visit my shop and buy treats, but you, well, you probably will be dead by then, by the time I grow up."

Well I hope I'll still be around anyway; I want to eat one of those donuts.

College Guys--A Strange Species

Elijah called me at ten o'clock on the first of June.
"Where are you, Mom?"
"I'm at your sister's, watching the grandkids while she visits the dentist. What's going on with you?"
"You'll never believe what happened. You know I had arranged to stay in this apartment through summer school?"
"uh-huh"
"Well this morning my landlady came charging in here saying my lease was up and why wasn't I out? It seems the guy who told us it would be fine was her son, and she 'doesn't rent that way'. She says we have until tomorrow to vacate, but I have to go to work at two, and after that I have dress rehearsal for the musical until at least eleven tonight..."

So that is how I spent the rest of my Monday. Turtle, Elijah, and I worked until Elijah had to leave. Fortunately, his college roommate, Ray, is getting married in two weeks, so he and his fiancee were able to move stuff right into their newly-acquired apartment in the same town. They arrived at three. At five, Ray's family--father, mother, brother, sister--all came to join in the fun. They finished about seven o'clock, but Turtle and I stayed until after midnight, loading everything into a car, a pickup, and a little flat-bed trailer, leaving a completely bare, polished and scrubbed apartment.

What do you think a college apartment looks like after two guys live there for their senior year of college? Well, these are pretty unusual guys: they don't drink, smoke, do drugs, or party; nonetheless, there were a few surprises.

One wall of the living room was covered with a hanging curtain of suspended empty Mountain Dew cans, and leaning in the corner was a Christmas Tree made out of the same. This was Ray's creation, and all day he and his fiancee were negotiating over how much of this they could keep. (They finally compromised--kept the wall and recycled the tree)

There were three televisions in the living room, a large couch, a small couch, two chairs, a brick and board TV/Nintendo center and two coffee tables. (It seems that whenever somebody moves out of an apartment, they donate whatever doesn't fit in their vehicle to whoever will take it.)

In the kitchen cabinet were all the groceries we moms had sent for the guys to eat, at least all the soups and anything that required preparation. Elijah said he had been eating mostly Ramen noodles and baloney sandwiches.
"That's healthy, right?"
"Well.."
"Carbs and protein?" he said defensively.

He had warned us not to eat anything out of the refrigerator unless we asked how old it was, so we weren't tempted to snack, even though the fridge looked surprisingly clean. Ray's mom and I checked the dates on food, and tossed most of it out, so that was easy. There were twelve eggs--all present and looking perfectly tasty. The date on the carton said September, 2008. "Those are probably the eggs I brought over here when they set up," mused Ray's mom.

In a room lined with plywood and press board panels, there was a sound board station with a computer tied to lots of black boxes, cords leading everywhere, a huge keyboard, an amplifier, mikes, and music stands--late night jamming, it seems. "Nobody ever complained about it," they said, which surprises me, but I guess I haven't spent much time in a mostly-college apartment complex.

There were musical instruments everywhere--a trombone, a guitar, a bass, a violin, two clarinets, a flute, a midi, a mandolin, and, of course, a giant keyboard--which was relatively the size of a coffin and took both of us to carry down to the car. (It belongs to a friend of Elijah's. He says he transported it regularly to music practice, giving me cause to question his understanding of the word portable.)

The clean sheets I sent over a couple of weeks ago and the pillow slips were still in the hamper. Four blankets were in a pile on the floor under the bunk bed. Elijah had slept most of the year in his sleeping bag, which was on the bare mattress along with a couple of slip-less pillows.

Things that would have driven me crazy--light switches not working, disposal being out(we pushed the reset switch and it worked fine), a sluggish sink drain, broken dishwasher, (They said it had never worked; they just hand washed the amazing hodge-podge of dishes they had bought at the local thrift store--along with a quesadilla maker, wok, waffle iron, coffee pot, and blender) and blinds that didn't reach to the bottoms of the windows--hadn't seemed to bother them at all. Furthermore, the guys are still on speaking terms. In fact, Elijah is going to be the best man at Ray's wedding next week.

Here's to apartments everywhere...that support guys learning to live on their own.

And with that, I turn my attention to my own responsibilities: laundry is piled on the floor, the window sills are dusty again, the blinds need their yearly soaking, and the microwave is in deplorable condition. Sometimes I hate the second law of thermodynamics.

Three Peas in a Pod

Well...not exactly.

I really wasn't prepared to have children so strikingly different.

The oldest, Carina, stepped promptly into a management role at three, telling me what to do, and making sure I had remembered everything. Always an early riser, when she reached the very responsible age of five, she got up at six thirty, fixed herself a bowl of cereal, packed her books and her lunch, then woke me up to take her to kindergarten. When she was in the third grade, I went back to work. Since I drove a school van, and left early, I hired her to wake up, dress, and feed her little brother and sister so they would be ready to take to day care when Turtle got home from his night shift at the hospital. She took to the task with great competence, and has been helping me organize their lives ever since. She married a responsible man and now has her own children to manage, but we remain close, talking on the phone and solving the world's crises one at a time.

Daughter number two, Claye, is a plodder. (We called her turtle as a very young child; some families name children after their fathers and ours is no exception.) All her life she has struggled with writing and math and excelled at reading comprehension and visual memory, a mystery to the analysts of such things. She deplores swarms of people and socializing, having to be encouraged to attend even the most important of events. She'd rather sit up all night in a fourth floor studio at the old art building on campus, working on a sculpture, than call somebody on the phone and chat for ten minutes. She takes an inordinate amount of time to decide what to do. Once she decides, however, she perseveres with unusual patience. This persistent, moving-along slowly-with-her nose-toward-the-goal helped her graduate from college--with honors--to the amazement of all the hares-like her brother, for instance.

Elijah jumps from one grandiose plan to another, showing tremendous ability but no organization. Every deadline has to stretch to accommodate his careening into it at the last possible moment, doing a flourishing dance, and handing in the masterpiece to the drama of a four part jazz ensemble background. He rushes onto every stage of life in time for the finale, and usually manages to pull it off ten seconds before the absolutely last call. Of course when he gets back out to his car, he discovers that he's locked his keys in it and has to call his mom, dad, or one of his sisters to bring him another key.



Here's a picture of them all--including my daughter's husband--taken about five years ago. I would post a recent one, but I think I don't have one. If Carina were here she would tell me to set up an appointment for family pictures immediately. Claye would shrug and say, "What does it matter? It's the same people." and Elijah would write a melancholy ballad about the passing of time and how we are all mortal before he dashed off, fifteen minutes late for one practice or another.

The Land of Taller Trees

We just got back from a swift trip to Southern Arkansas. We went to visit family, because there is nothing like actually seeing and spending time with somebody to ease your mind as to their actual condition.

Anyway, we feasted on catfish and sour cream fries, visited with Turtle's step mom, who is 85 but still getting around just fine, and even managed a pleasant afternoon with my Uncle and Aunt who live in Magnolia.

Speaking of Magnolia, we did get to see those delightful trees in bloom--white blossoms from the sky to the ground.

It rained much of the time--a gently falling rain--intensifying the deep green of the Lob lolly Pines and the lime green of the Kudzu vines.

Turtle realized, suddenly, on our last day there,
that he hadn't entered his step mom's family into his genealogy files.
As she has eight brothers and sisters and had four children herself, this looked promising as a whole new limb to go out on...
He sat there interviewing her, getting names, places, dates. I curled up in a corner of the sofa and read from the complete Father Brown stories of G.K. Chesterton.

Goodbye, Miss Haversham

I hear quiet chords of anthem music. Claye has decided to tackle her room...a museum of ancient treasure that has sat serenely for many months in complete stillness, quietly collecting dust. She is methodically moving from corner to corner with the dust cloth, polishing and restoring every precious object, and to my great delight, even deciding to part with some of them, relinquishing them to the school-benefit garage sale.

"Do you think she will mind if I give this away?" she asks, all concerned,holding out a bouquet of artificial flowers.
"What? Aren't those from your sister's wedding?"
"No, my cousin's wedding."
"But that's almost thirteen years ago. Surely she won't mind."
"And if I get rid of the lava lamps...?"
"That would be great. I'll take them to your sister and she can put them in the sale. They will add interest to her booth."
"But she's the one who gave them to me...."
"She won't mind. Nobody expects you to keep things forever."

Still, it's hard to part with things you like, especially if you remember who gave them to you and when. That's Claye's dilemma. She still has many of her childhood toys, and I think fully half of the attic holds boxes of her stuff. She loves all things Victorian and collects glass bottles; books by Dickens, prints by Gainsborough; she loves warriors and weapons--daggers and sais.

"What about this elf mask?" she asked again, holding out a paper mache and leaf concoction.
"The one you made for sculpture I?"
"Yes, I was going to throw it away, but it would look neat."
"Does it actually fit over the head."
"Um huh"
"Wow. Let me try it on. Amazing. No, we can't possible sell it. It will be perfect for a homecoming day at school--or a play prop--Midsummer night's dream or something.Let me put it in the attic."

...Well, she had to get it from somewhere.

Brave Adventures for World Conquerors

It was the last day of school for my pre-school grandchild, and he invited me along for a picnic on the grounds of the small, private school he attends. In order to accommodate an interesting mix of activities, there were several scattered stations, and children moved from one to another whenever they heard a whistle. . . or as they desired. (Nobody was being too legalistic here). There was frisbee throwing, tetherball, three-legged races, and a softball throw--none of which interested the youngest children. (or their camera-toting grandparents, oddly enough.)

Zaya and Mim rushed over to the "learn a song" station first, where Zaya bravely practiced a song for the talent show finale while Mim clung to her mother, intimidated by the cheerful energy of the bright, young mom who ran the music DVD.

Presently, face-painting tables beckoned. Zaya left the jumping, singing, choreographopolis and raced over to watch as several children got sports logos painted on their faces. Rushing back to where we were loitering, he excitedly asked his mom if he couldn't have U-O painted on his. She didn't understand what he meant, until she saw the OU symbol on several little faces. So, when she explained that the symbol was only a football slogan, he opted for a painting of the planet Saturn instead. There was only one hitch: no face-painters, just parents and grandparents dealing with children who wanted great works of art painted on their cheeks with a four-color selection of basic elementary school tempera paint and a very limited supply of brushes. Too late, we noticed this. Mim had already decided on a butterfly. So, Grandma did the honors, decorating their faces as requested. The butterfly was rather plain and the planet Saturn seemed to be on fire, or at least windswept into the universe background, but it doesn't take much to thrill young children, so we were all blissful together.

From there we explored..."the outer games" as Zaya put it, still thinking in spaceship mentality. We looked first at a couple of horses that someone had forgotten to remove from their trailer before he drove to the picnic parking lot; next we found a little playground behind the school, quite removed from all the older, frisbee-involved students. Then, past all the slides, swings, and teeter-totters, we found every child's dream: a large mountain of red dirt piles. After I scouted it and pronounced it safe, my little explorers went crazy, running up and down, sliding every now and then into a soft crevice carpeted with lime-new grass. They gloried in adventure as they conquered mountain tops and set up their kingdoms; they built launch pads to expedite further explorations, then blasted into the sky, riding rockets bound for nameless planets. It was a thrilling game, and it held their interest until lunch, when we all sat on the grass and ate.

While we were eating, we visited with the family of one of Zaya's classmates, a lovely little girl I'll call Esther, who ran and hugged him when she recognized him this morning. Her mother is from Russia and has been a good friend to my daughter this year, sharing time at "Moms in Touch", which is a prayer support group for the teachers and students at the school. Esther's dad is from Ghana, and teaches computer classes at the local university.

So we had three continents represented at our picnic...North America, Asia, Africa...and the strong, steady, south wind nearly blew us all out into the half-ripe wheat pasture together.

How interesting that so many worlds meet on the Oklahoma plain, where explorers once carved out kingdoms in the red dirt. Overhead is still the same blue universe and the same God looks down at his children.

Only 88 More Days Until School Starts

Which means, of course, that school is out for the summer.

I won't tell you what the last two weeks have been like, because you might interpret it as complaining, and, although it has been a whirlwind, I have been spending time with people I love, doing things for other people I love...so it was all worth it.

I did wake up this morning an hour later than usual though, and with such a headache that I determined to do only two things today...keep the laundry going all day and clean the kitchen.
Well, the kitchen is done. The laundry is still going. The day is only half done, and I'm feeling like seeing some grandkids.

I'll catch you up later.

Odds and Ends Flying By

We had a great reception for our two graduates from college this last Saturday. Their younger cousin joined them and we all reveled in company and lemonade punch and cake.

The time wore on and it was getting late into the evening and I thought: Where are we going to find food for all these people; if we send them home they will faint on the way. Ta da. Never fear. My amazing son-in-law was up to the challenge. I sent him down to the house while the rest of us were cleaning up the church and asked him to inspect the cabinets and fridge and find anything at all for supper for about 17 people including women and children. So he fixed a pot of rice, beans, hot sauce stuff, and a pan of linguini with spaghetti sauce, and cooked some green beans from the freezer. We polished it off with punch and some more of the pumpkin cake...which was the best of the lot. (I actually didn't make that one; one of my marvelous seventh-grade students had volunteered to help with the baking on Friday. I furnished the recipe and the ingredients; she showed me how to work the mixer in the church kitchen--just like her grandma's--and made the most marvelous cake. I made and refrigerated the icing and my oldest daughter warmed it and spread it on the next day while I rushed down to the house and got ready for the reception. ) You see, I simply can't survive without everybody's help. Fortunately, people do help me out.

Mom and Dad and my brother and his wife stayed over and went to church with us the next morning. It had been a long time since I got to be with my mom on mother's day, so I was glad they decided the cows could get along without them for just one evening.

In other news, my new graduates bought me a new bedspread/ensemble for mother's day, a really pretty one with king-sized pillows, and my oldest daughter and her husband got me my own tiny shuffleupagus--or something like that. It's loaded with lively classical music and some weird Spanish/Italian/Australian Percussion with guitar music. The beauty of it is this: I now have armor for my music battles in the gym. Today, I listened and let it inspire me to new heights--fifteen minutes on the camel machine. (It may be called a cross-country runner, but to me...it feels like riding a camel)

Sorry that this post is rambling and not a lovely crafted story. It's May. There are finals tomorrow and Wednesday, awards to figure for Thursday, decorations to do, graduations to serve, and papers to grade. This post is just sandwiched in between them; it's a wonder it isn't sprinkled with red ink and smiley faces.

Secret Garden

As teachers, we get invited to a lot of banquets--alumni banquets, school supporter banquets, and student-council extravaganzas. It's always difficult to know what to wear to these last ones. Who can afford the kind of prom dresses that disguise how old you have become and how stodgy? So a couple other teachers and I have found our own solution. We play masquerade.
The STUCO banquet this year was themed "Secret Garden", so we dressed as the characters in that book. Our principal was the gardener, his wife, our Spanish teacher, was the dignified housekeeper, and I was a visiting friend. My husband was easily enticed into coming because he just happened to have bought a tuxedo last July. I didn't tell him he would be going with a strangely dressed woman until the last minute. He was embarassed, but suffered with good humor. Ah well. Next year we are going to see if more teachers will join us in theme dressing. (I just hope they don't decide to have a luau. A grass skirt would be out of the question...and so would flowered flip flops...maybe I could be a tourist.) Hmmm.

Thirteen Reasons to take a Hike!

1. First of all, look at the adventure. What could be more enticing than a distant mountain top shrouded in fog?











2. Next, It's a good way to teach an object lesson
to a group of active teenagers--
sophomores, to be precise?
















3. Looking at still, clear, shady water and tiny,
tangerine, spring flowers clears the mind of winter slush.


















4. Learning how to follow instructions and a map;
it's a vital skill!















5. In this forest, I once surprised a baby fawn;
then the mother deer surprised me. I couldn't out
run her, so I froze; they both went flying off
through the trees.
















6. Rocky roads make me appreciate the smooth
paths that will come at the end of the hike.














7. Following a trail to somewhere; It leads on and on
and there isn't any question here
whether I'm are on the right path.
It's a safe, sure feeling.















8. For hiking, cloudy days are even better
than sunny ones, and the cool, moist
kiss of spring is a welcome drizzle on my face.

9. Up in this high Mountain meadow, I sometimes see an old buffalo, driven to solitude by the younger, stronger herd leader. He doesn't bother me. I don't bother him. I think, today, he is gone, spooked and hiding from the shrill shouts of the jubilant sophomores who ran ahead of me

10. The only thing loud in these silent woods is the occasional ta-woo ta-woo of a little, brown bird.













ll. Lakes along the path, make for fish and
turtle splashes; wild geese decorate the water
with widening v's.















12. Old dams, build by the CCC in the days of
economic depression, still stand, a testament
to those who worked for their bailouts.














13. As the road nears home, the walking seems
easier. My feet sense rest and sigh.


I've taken this hike for around 18 years now. Oddly enough, I still have to be careful not to get off the track. New growth is confusing in some places. This time, a couple of us got lost once, but we headed for high ground and were able to spot the rest of the group. We also made use of a whistle and a compass. Well, you never know, do you? The sign at the trail head says it's "8 miles" long, but the guidebook says "6 miles". I'm going to be safe and say seven. The Wichita Mountains Buffalo Trail; it's a pleasant morning hike in spring, fall, or winter. Summer? Well, if you have a lot of sunscreen and plenty of water.

A Little Slow

A couple of days ago, as I shopped for bread, milk, and orange juice, I ran into an elderly friend who commented on the elementary track meet held at our school the day before.

“I saw your little grandson,” she remarked. “He was running in a race.”
She smiled sweetly, “Cute little guy, kinda slow and a little behind everybody, but it seemed like he was having a lot of fun.”

I smiled sweetly back. She meant well.
But what I wanted to do was scream.
Why the silly track meets anyway? He’s in pre-school, for Heaven’s sake!

Must it all begin so early, this idolizing of competitive athletic prowess?
Does it even matter that he knows capitals, and can locate their countries on a map, that he can tell you about the four moons of Jupiter, even name them? He’s reading fourth-grade books for fun and is fascinated by how the body systems work. Everyone else is learning their numbers and beginning to sound out hat and mat. He sits through boring days at pre-school, coloring pictures that go with the letter K, while he imagines his own world on dwarf, twin planets that orbit the star Alexandra in a galaxy called Ellipse

“He’s a little slow,” she said.
I guess it’s a good thing he doesn’t realize it yet.

Busy Busy Busy

I know. You think I should be blogging more. That way you don't imagine that I'm in bed with swine flu. Well, rest assured, I haven't forgotten this blog, and I've tucked away pictures and filled my shrinking memory cells with stuff that I must remember to write here...

It's the last three weeks of school. We've had night play practices...and day practices too. Tonight is the last performance. Yesterday I finished grading the seniors' personal manifestos--about three hundred pages of careful reading and evaluating. Monday my sophomores and I took a seven mile hike in the Wichita Mountain Wildlife Refuge. I have pictures; I have music in my head...but all I can think about is taking a nap. I'll return before long. Until then, here are a few pictures.

Raising Musicians...

...requires listening to a lot of pounding and screeching.

I used to have a friend whose whole family excelled at art. She drew beautifully; her brother sculpted amazing little statues of his favorite Mad magazine characters; and the one-year-old sister decorated all the walls beside her crib with crayons. "The walls!" you might shriek in disbelief. "yes, the walls." Her mother never scolded her for it either, just furnished a bowl of crayons and smiled at her. "You can't raise artists if you don't let them draw," she said, smiling at my amazed eyes.

Years later, I remembered her advice when I began raising my own children. No, I didn't let them draw on the walls, but I tried not to be so nerve-wracked by their messiness and their pounding and screeching on musical instruments that I would stifle what creative energy they had. As long as the activity was constructive and safe, I encouraged it. Maybe it paid off: Now that my children are grown, I enjoy reading their blogs and novel attempts; I have a houseful of art projects; and I listen to hours of beautiful music.

Here comes the next generation:

Weather and Windmills

Two great things to take pictures of...
Sarah Lee and I went to the college to collect Claye for the weekend. On the way home, it was threatening rain, and the sky was lovely. I kept stopping, so Claye and I could take these pictures.
Spring skies are simply too beautiful to resist.
After we downloaded them, I spent an hour tweaking, taking out telephone lines and cropping etc. , but the subject matter is just that beautiful by itself. God is an amazing artist!