Saturday, April 30, 2011

Grab a smile

don't care what you call it
don't care where you find it
it just plain feels good

Sunday, April 24, 2011

A very happy Easter to you !

I love Easter, it is the a joyful holiday, one that has always had a remarkable feeling of lightness and hope for me. Probably because it so very often signals the start of Spring.
This year even though it is almost as late as it can be, and it feels much more like November than it does April....but enough of that.
So I packed up the us old chicks and went to visit my Mom....we brought a picnic lunch, and even though the rain kept us inside and there were no little ones around to watch as they hunt for eggs, it was a very good day. I hope yours was just as good.

Friday, April 22, 2011

A few more words from Ivy

"Thank you, Mrs Dawson!" the paper boy replied as Ivy handed him a bright yellow envelope, "and here is for the newspaper, that envelope is a little something for Easter, I didn't know if you are too old for candy." "Thanks!" he smiled broadly as he closed the door.

Ivy rushed back into the kitchen, she was preparing to pickle the venison hearts that Gus Nelson had brought over. Her recipe was the best he would always say. Soon there would be pickled eggs and leek dip in the fridge, some homemade crackers and there might even be some be some cookies also for those who would drop in over the Easter weekend.

As she worked Ivy thought back to the egg hunts and Easter festivities when the children were young, when the Buntings still lived on the other side of the stream. They were from Whales, and Amanda had taught her how to make scones, though Ivy's were never as good as hers, or at least that's what Ivy thought. "Mr. Chips. I think I will take a walk down by the stream, now that it is done raining for today, at least. You take care of the house while I'm gone."

It didn't really smell like Spring, the air was too cold, just above freezing. The grass was getting greener, and the daffodils along the stream where already starting to fade. In the 20 or so years since the fire the brambles and trees had almost reclaimed the place where Amanda's house had been. You had to look for the remaining pieces of the charred foundation stone.
There would have been bright plastic eggs , stuffed with candy or trinkets, "hidden" everywhere on Easter morning, the smell of ham and turkey, and the cow was very different then.
A feeling somewhere between sadness and anticipation swept over Ivy as she stood there, surveying the damage the fierce winter storms had done. Lost in thought, traveling in time she stood there, as the chill and dampness slowly made their way through Will's old coat, a she turned to walk back up to the warmth of the kitchen, she caught sight of someone waving from the top of the hill, Ivy waved back.

Mr Chips was singing to the birds at the feeder in the old pear tree. The house was a wealth of sweet and savory smells, just as it should be before a Holiday, Ivy put the kettle on.
It was almost 7:00PM , as Ivy settled down with some leftovers and a huge mug of tea, to page through her magazine. "Cold, just too cold, Mr Chips,and Easter is almost as late this year as it can get."

The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon, when Ivy put the last of the dishes on the counter,"You can wait until tomorrow!", wrapping herself in her favorite sweater, she picked up her lantern and started up the steps to the attic. "Imagine, she muttered, "snow on Easter!"

Earth Day

On this day in 1970, I attended the first earth day, we thought we could change the world!!!! Perhaps we did, but I know it changed me.
This beautiful picture by Selena Fox expresses it perfectly for me.
We, as individuals do hold the Earth in our hands.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

hope, pray, dream,live

Lady Moon and Sister Star
by Sisterhood Of The Rose

Now I lay me down to rest.

I pray that all the world be blest.

Lady Moon and Sister Star

Watch over me from afar.

Mother Earth is always there

And keeps me safe within her care.

The Lord of Dreams will dance and sing

And happy dreams will to me bring.

And when I wake to greet the day

Brother Sun will light my way.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

April Moon and other thoughts

If it weren't for the bloom of daffodils in the yards, I would swear that this was November, cold damp chill, leaden skys, a curious glimpse of sun, occasionally casts a long shadow, but quickly is covered by dense clouds. Waking up to snow, thought it is not unusual here, now seems to be the norm. The wind howls down the chimney.

But the calendar says April, there are a few struggling buds, and clown over daffodils and jonquils, all of which have been planted here long enough to have seen worse. The garden still to muddy to dig.
The April full moon has, many names, at present my favorite is the Mud Moon, but it is also known as the Egg moon, and the Grass Moon and even the Robin Moon. Because of the moisture in the atmosphere at this time of year, the moon can take on a pink, or lilac haze and so it is sometime known by the lovely name of Full pink Moon.

I have always liked this poem by Robert Frost. Not only because it is a poem about the changeability of Spring weather, it is about the joy of doing the the work you love and loving the work you do.


Out of the mud two strangers came
And caught me splitting wood in the yard,
And one of them put me off my aim
By hailing cheerily "Hit them hard!"
I knew pretty well why he had dropped behind
And let the other go on a way.
I knew pretty well what he had in mind:
He wanted to take my job for pay.

Good blocks of oak it was I split,
As large around as the chopping block;
And every piece I squarely hit
Fell splinterless as a cloven rock.
The blows that a life of self-control
Spares to strike for the common good,
That day, giving a loose my soul,
I spent on the unimportant wood.

The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day
When the sun is out and the wind is still,
You're one month on in the middle of May.
But if you so much as dare to speak,
A cloud comes over the sunlit arch,
A wind comes off a frozen peak,
And you're two months back in the middle of March.

A bluebird comes tenderly up to alight
And turns to the wind to unruffle a plume,
His song so pitched as not to excite
A single flower as yet to bloom.
It is snowing a flake; and he half knew
Winter was only playing possum.
Except in color he isn't blue,
But he wouldn't advise a thing to blossom.

The water for which we may have to look
In summertime with a witching wand,
In every wheelrut's now a brook,
In every print of a hoof a pond.
Be glad of water, but don't forget
The lurking frost in the earth beneath
That will steal forth after the sun is set
And show on the water its crystal teeth.

The time when most I loved my task
The two must make me love it more
By coming with what they came to ask.
You'd think I never had felt before
The weight of an ax-head poised aloft,
The grip of earth on outspread feet,
The life of muscles rocking soft
And smooth and moist in vernal heat.

Out of the wood two hulking tramps
(From sleeping God knows where last night,
But not long since in the lumber camps).
They thought all chopping was theirs of right.
Men of the woods and lumberjacks,
The judged me by their appropriate tool.
Except as a fellow handled an ax
They had no way of knowing a fool.

Nothing on either side was said.
They knew they had but to stay their stay
And all their logic would fill my head:
As that I had no right to play
With what was another man's work for gain.
My right might be love but theirs was need.
And where the two exist in twain
Theirs was the better right--agreed.

But yield who will to their separation,
My object in living is to unite
My avocation and my vocation
As my two eyes make one in sight.
Only where love and need are one,
And the work is play for mortal stakes,
Is the deed ever really done
For Heaven and the future's sakes.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

A few words from Ivy

Ivy just didn't want to get out of bed, It was so cozy under her quilt, ragged as it was getting, it held the memories of all the shirts and dresses she had made over the years. And the batting wasn't . batting but a folded flannel blanket that belonged to her Grandmother. The light shown in through her window, the sky was cloudless finally after several days of light snow, and a few birds were bravely singing their love songs.
Ivy snuggled under the covers again, but by now she was awake, and coffee was sounding very good.
It wasn't unusual for there to be snow in April, the year that Will bought the Chevy pick-up, there was 8 inches of snow on April 11th. Back then there was always something going on, the kitchen bustled with comings and goings. With the making of the leek sausage from the last of the venison, always had leek sausage at Easter time. Will would bring home sacks of leeks, watercress, wild asparagus, tree mushrooms and fiddlehead ferns and whatever else he could find. But after many years she had grown used to the house being so quiet.

The coffee was ready, and leasurly drank it while she looked out the window at her frozen garden and searched for the first signs of daffodils. Even the snowdrops were not blooming yet. Picking up her copy of "Martha Stewart Living" Ivy mumbled "I hope I look as good as you do at 70, ole girl!" as she lifted the cover off the cage she said "Right, Mr. Chips?"
The sofa looked so inviting, but she chose the chair near the window, and settled in to read.

Ivy awoke with a jolt, her magazine thudded on the floor, Mr Chips was chirping happily away, and she could hear a vehicle pulling out of the driveway. After she was sure that no one would see her in her panamas, she went opened the inside door and picked up the pot of miniature daffodils. "Who would...her voice drifted off, as she read the card...."I know you would rather have a plant than live flowers."
Ivy stood there in the sun porch, pot of daffodil in her hand. Picked up the glass egg from its perch on the windowsill and walked back into the house closing the door behind her.

Monday, April 11, 2011

my day

It was finally warm today, warm enough to be relished, warm enough to just sit on the steps and listen to the birds and the peepers, the sweet voices of spring. Peepers singing from the marsh down near the railroad tracks, their throats billow with each chirp, I have gone into the woods following their fairy bell song, but they see me coming, and go silent, only once did I ever get to see on singing.

And of course the leeks, those pungent little members of the garlic family, "ya love
'em or ya hate 'em" sometimes you even look forward to them. I put them to soak , changing the water often, and raked up winters litter of sticks and pine cones.
Once I had finished my raking for the day, sat on the steps and enjoyed the warmth and chorus of spring songs, set to work trimming and cleaning the leeks.

The miniature daffs rescued from the grocery stores garbage, who repay me each year with their cheerful color.
The flowering quince, who's blooms will attacked the first hummingbirds.
And the crocus, that were here before I got here, and will be here I hope long after I am gone.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Spring's small voice calls

They are calling my name. And I can't resist any longer, I don't need to resist any longer, because the snow has melted, and may-be it won't be back for months, or may-be not.
My shovel and my rake, and my hoe. my wheelbarrow, all standing propped up along the garage wall, since the large wooden box they were kept in got turned into a smokehouse, getting ready to say our prayer of thanksgiving that winter is finally over.
Waiting to rake up the pine cones and branches the squirrels had cut, the twigs and limbs that the wind and snows had brought down. Waiting to rake over the flowerbeds and plant new seeds.
Waiting to turn that first shovel of earth and to spread the compost of a winter's worth parings and peelings, eggshells and trimmings. And waiting to say that first thanksgiving, for these days we don't need to pray for good crops, we back yard gardeners will not starve if they fail, but that is no reason not to be grateful for the end of winter.

Silent Sunday with animals