Remembering . . .

The righteous shall be in everlasting remembrance.
He shall not be afraid of evil tidings:

His heart is fixed,

Trusting in the LORD.

Psalm 112:6b,7

Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat, Where Have You Been?

Well, my dear friends, I have been away from the blogs for a fair piece (returning soon to see what you have been up to in my prolonged absence), but I haven't been to see The Queen or even a lowly jester. Instead, I have been about the business of treasure hunting . . . for true wealth, as can only be found in the memories made in each passing day.

With Autumn still about two weeks away from her official debut, the welcoming coolness of these late, late Summer days has paved the way for coming away from the fans and back out into the gardens for fun and work and a host of other activities.

Around here we choose to mix up work and play,
Evidenced here in the building of a treehouse


For one happy girl (and dad, too, I see),

Who will lie back and gaze at this wondrous site.

Not one to enjoy wielding a hammer or saw,
Miss Lydia prefers to run amongst the flowers and trees.
These sweet days offer no finer opportunity
To dance among the trees


Finding flowers laden with unexpected gifts,
Like this Praying Mantis Maiden
Coyly searching for a mate.

Another rich memory greeted us one sleepy morning
When we tumbled out of bed
And found this delightful brunch awaiting us.

Rachel had set the table,
Prepared the meal,
And then simply waited for us
To discover the surprise.

Truly priceless memories found amongst these days.

Still, there's more . . .

More spinning dates.
More to learn.

Like how this unusual contraption
makes a skein of yarn into a tidy package,

Which can then be turned into something very special
(like this blankie Elizabeth has fashioned
for a soon-to-be-born little boy).

Miss Elizabeth has had especially busy hands these days.
Here you see her very first pie crust

And the mouthwatering dinner we enjoyed.
Trust me . . . it was soooooo rich and delicious!

With so much happening around our busy homestead,
We easily lose track of time . . .

But the maturation of these "chicks"
Reminds us that time does fly.

Similarly, some things never change,
As you can see that Miss "Freckles"
Still plays the loner.

"Company's Coming!" always delighted me as a child,
and the passing of years has not changed that one bit.

Getting together with a treasure trove of friends
Makes for a day overflowing
With the kind of wealth and blessings
That satisfy long after the meal has been consumed,
The table cleared,
And the dishes stowed tidily away.

Our dear Friend, Chef Karl,
"Laboured" away over a fully-laden BBQ

While his wife Lily and her sister Susan
Enjoyed catching up on all the happenings
Around here since our last get together.

Relaxed fun for all!
(You can't find that in a bank vault.)

As the sun slipped slowly away
We chatted by candlelight,
Wishing we could find a firefly
To add to our cache of beauty
In this gently, rich life.

Sunday Wonder

For in thee, O LORD, do I hope:
Thou wilt hear, O Lord my God.

Psalm 38:15

A Moment's Gift

Such fatigue I feel. This monthly cycle’s “reset” time has drained me so. I sit in this quiet room, gentle strains of Barry Phillips' Cello sedate me further, and I enjoy deep, slow sips of tea laced with lavender.

I sit.
Just sit.
Simply sit . . .

And it is good.

I seem to have gently acquired the gift of being good to myself. Where once I picked up a stick and drove myself onward until collapse, I now see value in slow-moving times. I label them equally productive and find a special fruit therein.

Prone to driving lists and endless stacks of “musts,” I rebel placidly and float through a brambled tangle, past a bank of snags, and under a bridge to a peaceful pool with only the moment as my companion.

My needy tasks of the day do not melt away, but instead stand at bay as I linger just this much more . . . For I know a freshened soul scours pots with joy and sweeps away crumbs with a dancing step when she feels filled with peace. The peace in knowing life has been presented to her in a series of tiny packages, strung together like pearls, one moment after the other, wreathes her to advantage.

This peaceful pause sparkles like a diamond and I cannot resist its allure.

Since the dishes shall surely remain as they are, and the hummingbird at play in my potted pelargonium shows every inclination of vanishing in an eyelash’s flicker, I shall stay put for just one more good moment.

Aaaaaahhhhh . . . it feels so good to receive a gift.

If We Were Neighbors . . .

Recently a friend and I chatted away on the phone and she dropped the sweetest compliment on me. She said if she could move anywhere she would choose Grass Valley and be my neighbor. It served a double compliment, as in days gone by we had been up-the-road true-life neighbors and seen some dark days swirl all around both of our families. Despite those hard times in our life, the friendship and interwoven habit of our days (she served as a nurse for my son before she advanced to friend) created a sweet bond that we relied upon in walking that rocky path.

Years have flown and our addresses lay states apart, but our hearts remain bonded and pining for that neighborly thing we enjoyed once upon a time. Blogging keeps us in touch (if you haven’t already guessed, my friend is Karen Deborah over at Fresh Fixins), but emails and phone chats remind me that blogs only share a portion of life, true though that glimpse be.

What else would you find out about me if you lived next door?

First off, you’d never “see” me if you didn’t come on by and enter our gated acres of gardens and farm projects and wooded wilderness, for we live off a highway, down a winding way, and off the landscape of the casual observer. But, once you stopped in you’d find me pretty much as you’d expect . . . which is to say, here at home: in the gardens, at the stove, poking around in the pantry, or snug in my favorite chair with a book. You can pretty much count on a welcoming face to open the door as we live, work, school, play, and even shop from home.

As you walk up the path to the front door you’ll see why we call Fall our

"Second Spring"

With roses re-emerging,

Crape Myrtle all abloom,
And Butterfly Bushes waving welcoming wands
To every passing butterfly and hummingbird.

The humming and buzzing and flutter of life may catch you unaware. Take care with those hummingbirds, they buzz by pretty closely this time of year (maybe flying a bit under the influence of too much bloomin’ nectar?) and may cause a start. Yes, I speak from experience . . . regularly.

My times in the garden expand with each day of cooler temps, but I forget to take a camera when I scoop up hat, gloves, and secateurs – thus I have no pictures of dallying swallowtails and ruby-throated, emerald-bodied birds of flight. If you happened by to visit me you’d surely see it with your own eyes alleviating my need of a camera.

A neighbor of mine would know that we only swim in the late hours of a day and evening, as we do not enjoy sunburns on our delicate skin. You would also know that we have enjoyed many a pool party with our steady stream of guests. You may complain of the noise, but I have never heard a cross word from any neighbor. Not even our crowing roosters have gained any notice by our nearby folk. (Whew!)

My husband’s love of power tools rivals my love of primitive tools, so you’d hear the hum of his riding mower, the whine of his blower, and the savage whacking of his weed-stick-brush munching contraption. He keeps us fire-safe and defensible in this parched land. When the work ceases, the rumble of the waverunners may signal some playtime afoot.

Sweet music of harp or piano gently wafts from the music room windows. I’ve had delivery folk pause and rest on our doorstep after dropping off a package, savoring just a bit more of the heavenly melody before they get back out on the highway. Other drivers sit with door wide-open and listen to the fountains at play in my gardens as they process paperwork.

Here and there water gushes in spirited games with birds, butterflies, squirrels, and even playful girls.

As my neighbor you’d certainly see every form of delivery service popping through my gate, as I live in a very small town with few shopping options, no mall, and a poorly-stocked library (at least for those of us seeking something other than the “latest” read), so the internet takes up the slack. Just today my shampoo and bath gels arrived from Hawaii (the local supplier ceased carrying the necessary product for one too sensitive for drugstore offerings).

What else would a casually observing neighbor find of interest around here? Hmmmmm . . .

* My washer and dryer go every day (raising a medically-fragile child deeply ingrains some habits)

* Our house has no satellite dish, cable hookup, or old-fashioned TV antenna. While our neighbors delight in their plethora of broadcast options, we select from our home library of DVDs and videos. Of late we nightly laugh our way through the 1970s BBC series, “Good Neighbors” focusing on a suburban couple who decides to live “off the land” with hilarious results. Roosters crowing and pigs wallowing make for some funny encounters with neighbors. (Life imitates art? I hope not!)

* I have a love affair with Austin English roses,
unlike other gardeners in my town, evidenced by my inability to buy them locally (though they grow lush and full in our warm dry climes). Even professional gardeners have inquired how I manage to make my roses smell so good.

It's all in the breeding.

* I have never met a vine or flowering shrub that I couldn’t make a place for. The stucco on my cottage hides behind verdant veils of beauty with half-timbers and stonework peeking out in a very Olde English fashion.

* I enjoy a good walk through the gardens and woods in nightgown and floral wellies. (T’is true . . . I confess.)

* Willows weep for me . . . here . . . there . . . everywhere – I can’t seem to get enough of their weepiness.

The list could go on and on, I’m certain, but will end with the late evening evidence to all neighbors that we have a naughty kitty, who often resists our every call to come in from playtime and get a good night’s sleep in SAFETY. We stroll the gardens by the light of fairy lanterns, hung hither and yon in this magical place as the evening becomes inky night, calling, “Here kitty, kitty! Mr. Bingley! Bingo Boy!” On good nights we follow this song of homecoming with lots of praise and pats and scratches in just the right places,
as we sigh with relief that the last kitty has returned to the fold of safety from the dangers of the night (bears, coyotes, foxes, etc.). On goes the evensong as our household rolls up another day and tucks in with sweet dreams of tomorrow.

Most of my neighbors live quietly and separately on their own piece of land in this gentle cleft in the Sierra Mountains of California. We tend to be noisy, unique, and altogether something different from the norm, which would explain why the Lord called us away from our seaside cottage nestled on a mere ¼ acre and planted us here on 7 acres of wooded seclusion up in the mountains. He knew . . . we needed to spread out, dance freely, sing loudly, and shout for joy without disturbing the neighbors.

I wonder if KD still wants to move in.

; D