A Blogger Comes to Call

You think about it . . .

You wonder what it would be like . . .

You wish for it . . .

. . . even pausing to pray about it . . .

And then it happens –

 A blogger comes to visit.

A blogger from Down Under steps out of the virtual realm into reality . . .

And it is WONDERFUL!!

I had SO MUCH FUN when Kylie came to call.

I hope to return the favor with a visit . . . to Sydney

I’m thinking about it . . .

I’m wondering what it will be like . . .

I’m wishing for it . . .

I’m even starting to pray about it . . .

And maybe it will happen . . .

: D

For now I’m lacing up my blogger-dancing shoes
and preparing to blog again. 

It’s been a while . . .
but the visit with Kylie reminded me
what it was all about . . .

FUN

and

FRIENDSHIP

and

SHARING 

It's all good!

I've Been Away . . . So Long . . .

. . . among friends and family.

It is so good to be loved.

* * *

Oh, the comfort,

the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person;

having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words,

but to pour them all out,

just as they are,

chaff and grain together,

knowing that a faithful hand will take and sift them,

keep what is worth keeping,

and then,

with the breath of kindness,

blow the rest away.

~~ George Eliot ~~

* * *

And the gentle breeze of such love

has blown me back to the blogdom

to share amongst the loved ones

known to me and not yet known.

After a time of extended quiet

my heart runs freely

with a net trained to find

words and glimpses of life among

the wisteria and the roses

and share them

with gleeful abandon.

I've repaired my computer glitches.

I've rested my heart in a summer of sweetness.

I've returned to dance.

Shall we dance?

: D

Gentle Harvest

How quickly a year has passed . . .

Last June 23rd I sat next to Elizabeth as she guided me into the world of cyber journaling. When she hit “Publish” my heart went into PANIC!

“Wait! Not yet!” I blurted.

“Too late,” she grinned, knowing all too well that her mother would dither forever about opening wide the doorway to her home and gardens and family and heart-thoughts.

She knew.

Without her publishing push and Karen Deborah’s nagging steady encouragement, I never would have unlocked the gate and let you in for a peek.


For years upon years I have kept journals, written letters (some never intended to be read by a recipient), scribbled stories, recorded memories, and dreamed big dreams that never even make it to print as I freely spin away dancing and singing in the gardens or in the kitchen or reclining in a tub of bubbles. “A dream is a wish your heart makes,” sings Cinderella; my heart works overtime in the dreams department . . . it always has.

As a little girl I would lay in bed before sleep overtook me and imagine the way things could be. As I imagined I made some plans. Many fell away but some took root and became part of my life. This little blog sprouted from one of those seeds dropped to grow a connecting place for family, which produced a most unexpected harvest of new friends who came bearing their dreaming hearts. I wander freely through blogs filled with ideas, hopes, dreams, events, hurts, and so much more. I read and smile knowingly or gasp in astonishment or laugh uproariously or drop to my knees in prayer. Without knowing it, that “Publish” moment planted rows of dreams that have yielded a gentle harvest of such goodness.


Over the course of the past year I nearly pulled my blog down several times as I wrestled with the time commitment, the expectations, the comment dilemma (keep it and not worry who comes – close it and wonder if anyone comes), and all the other logistics of publishing from the heart. I have also begged off from playing tag or contesting or meme-ing or chasing after comments – it just doesn’t feel right for me, though I find nothing wrong with any of it (kinda like garage sailing or not . . . I don’t, but others do and love the thrill – different strokes . . . ).

I wandered in the wilderness at some stages in the growth of Wisteria and Roses – mostly due to technical ignorance – but determined to learn one new thing every time I sat down to blog (today I learned to use the “strike out” mode). I still chafe a bit that I had to forgo naming my blog Wisteria Cottage, as I had planned; some other person nabbed the name before I entered the scene, but closed down their blog without releasing the name. : (
Adjusting, learning, falling down, trying again, laughing, crying, hoping, praying . . . I look back and see baskets brimming with so much I have gained over this past year’s “experiment” in blogging.

Yes, I set out to “experiment” for a year. I figured if I had anything worthwhile to say it would surely take no more than a year, BUT – I found that blogging means so much more than merely saying something or even showing something. (Did I mention I had ZERO photography skills before I began blogging – NADA! I relied on Gary and Elizabeth for every pic and edit in those early days!)

Blogging, for me, serves as more than a sounding board or a “show-and-tell” session, though it often involves that and I LOVE the way bloggers share so freely of what they know or do or feel. When I hop from blog to blog I “visit.” When people pop in to see me, I want them to feel welcome and invited in for a little respite and just a peek into another way of walking the path. My journey differs from your journey and maybe, just maybe, that stretches our hearts a wee bit more than we expected to a very good end.


When I read of life in Australia or Norway or France or Canada or The South or The North or even right across town, I cast my focus away from what I know and live, and find another’s pathway. Maybe it contains a garden of the hottest colors and most robust annuals, which bears no resemblance to my dreams for my own garden, but I find joy in the visit nonetheless. Foods, décor, lifestyle, fashion, childrearing, faith, politics, and all the rest spill forth from blogs and I have found the breaths of fresh air bracing and exhilarating. I love blogging!

So, I guess you have guessed that my “one year” experiment has expired and will have no effect on my blogging habits. I will continue to blog at whim about whatever crosses my heart and spills over to share. My children delight in sharing (some more than others) and the bounty of my garden and table provide lots of inspiration for posts. The natural flow of memories continues to grace this blog with stories and celebrations from today, yesterday, and way back when without showing signs of waning. In short, my blog will ramble and tumble and dance and sing as it always has. My arms spread out to catch the gentle harvest from your thoughts and dreams and all the rest without an expiration date.


And so, when you peek through the garden gate at Wisteria and Roses I will be here to welcome you with a steeping teapot and a plumped cushion in a waiting chair. Shall I pour out as we take a pause from our busy lives and simply visit?

Finding Bloggerland

Whenever I pick up a new book I tingle with anticipation upon the reading of a new tale, but invariably a tale well-told will lead me down the path to the author’s doorstep. Though fiction has its place in my delights of the day, I much prefer a peek into form over fantasy. As a character scrubs garden earth from her nails, I yearn to know just what garden task the author has lately indulged in to provoke inspiration she simply had to set down for another to read. Likewise, a smudge of flour upon the face of a kitchen-bound soul hints at something much more than just a whim of literary convention. To know how the flour clings to the cheek in such a way must find its genesis in the act of kneading dough rather than perusing a thesaurus. And so I jump to the dustcover at end and seek out the face of such mysterious voice and the tidbits of truth spilled out beyond the story’s close.

Books always afforded me introductions to new people in new places with new ideas. However, upon entering the blogdom I dipped into streams of like-minded groups regarding homeschooling, politics, literary avenues, and spiritual guidance. I found little “new” on my programmed paths. Soon, however, I found side-jetting rivulets to recipes and home-enhancement projects with such immediacy that I dropped off the reading of many glossy (ad-larded) magazines and read spontaneous essays and perused casual photo shoots from novices, just like me, dancing through life with interests and hobbies to share. Curiouser and curiouser, I cruised out into open waters of regular-old blogs of unknowns from who-knows-where who elected to open the door and wave the casual passer-by in for a peek. I hesitated . . . I dithered . . . I wondered what it would cost? Boredom? Easy enough to leave unnoticed. Shock? Pretty easy to turn tail and run at the first sign of danger or horror. Confrontation? How virulent a tone did the information fount spill out and would I need reply? Once again I took comfort in the anonymity factor and plunged ahead.

Once I left the well-trodden path of commercial or political sites I plunged down into green pastures of new ideas, verdant coves filled with lives blooming and growing far from the shadow of our cultural constructions. TV, radio, newspapers, magazines all “shared” a carefully constructed view for a purpose: to inform for revenue. More crassly: To convince me to buy whatever festooned the page or framed the dialog shouted my way as I paused in my daily routine for a moment’s refreshment -- crazy really, to fill my free time with a non-stop barrage of pushy ideas. I cast aside TV nearly 20 years ago, found radio to be a droning bore, and loathed the ink-staining from a newspaper splashed with “SALE” ads everywhere. Magazines remained relatively clean and inviting, and the internet provided ink-free news with a world-wide option that informed me beyond the local mind-set. Still, the ads annoyed me and I retreated to books, books, and more books when real conversations ran short at hand.

One night during the final email check before bed (eagerly anticipated, as my overseas friends often shot off a missive early in their day but late in mine), I received a homeschooling newsletter containing an invitation to read the blog of the author’s daughter as she traveled via car through New England and on up to Prince Edward Island. The gypsy would punctuate her trip with stops at an intriguing variety of authors’ homesteads along the way: Walden’s “Pond,” Louisa May Alcott’s “Orchard House,” and many more leading up to the crowning jewel -- a tour of Lucy Maud Montgomery’s precious PEI, home of sprightly Anne with an “E.” I linked to that wonderful meandering e-diary of a young girl in her compact car on a quest for something intensely personal and strangely familiar (having visited the Island recently with my own dreams to find), and read with delight of the wanderings of the heart and gifts found thereupon.

For quite some time I read the blogs of this family alone, having received personal invites as another family member stepped up to the keyboard. I never ventured to seek and find a doorway all on my own. I dared not peep in an intrusive fashion. But one day a comment left on this familiar blog begged following and then it happened . . . like Alice falling down the rabbit hole, I found a world most unusual, most open, most surprising, and most friendly. I met dear ones who danced, cried, sought, revealed, and lived most openly within the borders of an electronic neighborhood knitted together via the click of a button and the whim of a reader. Like reading an endless stream of dust-cover introductions, I flitted from this one to that one to another and back again. Exhausted at times, saddened at others, but mostly delighted, and always intrigued to return again for another post, I read as a nameless consumer of thoughts until I found a woman suffering as her father lay dying. Having recently lost my son, I reached out in the form of a simple note of prayer and support set into an ocean of comments. She wrote back!! That thin tendril of real interaction instantly replaced the anonymous window-shopping I had previously engaged in. I gingerly wrote back and a pen-pal effect ensued. I then ventured out on another’s comment page, thus beginning a new phase of blogging.

Eventually some of my “real life” friends began engaging in blogging and I thought it made sense to start a blog of “current events” in our household and break the need for that lengthy letter each Christmas. I never intended to find new friends, nor did I believe I would unbutton my heart and spill forth deep feelings – rather, this bloggy thing would be a message board with pics and entertaining tidbits to allow me to communicate in bulk about our bulk activities.

Okay, you know the next line as well as I do: My friends didn’t come to visit . . . but others did . . . and they became my friends! I never entertained the idea of such a world-wide pen-pal fest and SO MUCH FUN! I feared a time-gobbler but found the necessary restraint through various automated “readers” and tools and SELF-CONTROL (which I pray for DAILY). This journey to e-Wonderland has even yielded connections with truly-live writers who formerly only inhabited the back leaf of a dustcover for me. What a Gift!


Thus, a girl who lived much of her girlhood with nose firmly planted between the covers of a book, grew to be a lively woman who lives, loves, and learns in a life filled with family, friends, books, and now bloggers. It’s a WONDERFUL LIFE!

* * * * *

And Now I leave you for a few days as I whisk away to San Francisco with Miss Lydia. We have received invite from a dear sis-in-law/auntie in the Bay Area to come visit the sights of San Francisco with her. All others opted to stay home for one reason or another, so Lydia and I embark on some rare “alone” time. I will return at week’s end with pictures and memories captured in words and whims. Until then . . . ; )

-----

*All pics from Disney's Alice in Wonderland

The Great One-Handed Blogger Challenge

Can I write in my journal with my left hand? Judging from my admit sheet at ER I would say, not likely. And even if I managed to scrawl a bit, the effort would probably wear me out and possibly injure my remaining useful appendage. Hmmmmmmm . . . My left hand has cramped up a bit from holding a book and trying to turn pages with the same hand while supporting the book. The power is out at the guest house, which happens to house the DSL repeater leaving me without internet access (though gratefully enjoying the electricity our main house retains – thank you, Lord), so I can’t even read blogs. Luckily, my Word program capitalizes automatically and second guesses my spelling errors, affording me the luxury of taking on the challenge of left-handed typing. So far, so good . . .

I’ve spent considerable time sipping tea and staring out the window at the delightful gift of a wintry dressing of the finest ermine-like snow.

The heaviness portends of portly snowmen, round and full-girthed with the sticky wet snow. Alas, that same boon to those prone to snow frolicking has proven injurious to a few of my more delicate trees. A flowering plum has keeled and snapped all lower branches from the weight collected amongst the lingering leaves steadfastly clinging beyond the normal dates for her deciduous dance. Likewise, a healthy dogwood adorned thickly with finger-like branches has gathered snow in great handfuls like snowballs and taxed her arm ‘til it gave way. My left hand brandished broom and rode to the rescue of many a rose and more bearing down under the heavy gift from the snow queen. Judicious pruning and careful cutting should combine with future springtime spurts of growth to yield a new bit of character to these prominent players in my landscape games.

Perfection in the garden ranks right next to perfection in life – a wasted effort which actually blinds one to the unique beauty wrought from the triumph over adversity. My most beautiful willow started out as an injured twig sold for a fraction of its original cost. Soon after I planted it out along with my “perfect specimens” it set about shooting out fresh new growth which overpowered its stunted roots and come the first snowfall in an October storm he keeled and shifted into the most horrid shape. Oh! I left him to heal, fearing a setting of the trunk would snap it entirely. I planned to replace it the following spring. Yet when the sap rose, this little guy grew down and reinforced his footing before setting about the business of bushiness. I let him be and watched in wonder as he grew a rare beauty of form and billowiness that the more fortunately-situated willows lacked. In the end, my “Charlie Brown” willow stands out majestically while two of those “perfect” willows died the next summer from root-bound limitations – I guess you could say they died of thirst.

(My "Charlie Brown" Willow -- back right)

For he shall be as a tree planted by the waters,
And that spreadeth out her roots by the river,
And shall not see when heat cometh,
But her leaf shall be green;
And shall not be careful in the year of drought,
Neither shall cease from yielding fruit.

Jeremiah 17:8

So, I gaze out at my badly damaged plum and feel a tiny tingle of anticipation mixed in with the sorry sight. What souvenir will result from the harsh fingerprints left by this wintry visitor?

Immediately I think about my afternoon in ER yesterday and the many hurting people I encountered. Being free from infectiousness, I freely visited with those around me. Light polite chatter deepened as the time passed. Tears flowed over heartbreaks of long ago that left the prospects of this Christmas bleak. Sorrow, suffering, anger, and a host of other spirit-stifling attitudes wounded far deeper than the flesh breaks and bodily failures that brought them to the doorstep of a doctor. I won’t pretend to be happy about my poorly-timed attempt to intercept the sofa pillow my son swung about wildly, nor will I whitewash my disappointment when I awoke this morning to feel the casted heaviness, thus dispelling the hope that I had dreamed the event – but, I will admit joy in knowing God allowed me the opportunity to encourage many in ER that might have otherwise sat steeped in sadness, lonely in the midst of a crowd. I count it all joy.

Today I have the peaceful interlude of a snow day in which to whittle down my ambitious plans for the holiday celebrations in light of my limited abilities. Christmas joy will arrive even though my soufflé may be replaced by a pizza, or my Christmas pudding by a simple crisp. Our joy comes from gathering together at the makeshift cradle to celebrate the greatest gift . . . a Savior born humbly in a stable.

As our house fills up with friends and family my cast will be gone, but the fingerprints of this strained event have the power to shape these holidays with a unique beauty as I let the expectations melt away revealing unexpected beauty . . . and triumphant joy.

Snow Much Fun!

The more it snows

(Tiddely pom)

The more it goes

(Tiddely pom),

The more it goes

(Tiddely pom)

On snowing.

from Winnie the Pooh

by A. A. Milne

And so we delight in our first snowfall of the season.

And so I recuperate in splint with a sprained thumb

(of which there is no relation to the snow -- merely a mishap).

Blog posts will cease necessarily as my right thumb appears quite necessary to the task.

(This choppy post of great labor proved the definitive test.)

Guest bloggers? Possibly, though they appear much more interested in actually sledding rather than writing about said activity. Once thawed, warmed with cocoa, and comfortably situated before the fire the often-eager blogger-jrs appear unenthusiastic.

So, I leave you for a brief time . . . : )

p.s.

All prayers for a speedy recovery MUCH appreciated!

Faerie Tale Friday

*SOB*

"Oh Rhett you'll just never guess what I've gone and done. I'm so ashamed! Why, I was all set to blog about something so important and then it just flew right out of my head! Oh you know I can never keep my grammar straight when I'm wearin' a new bonnet (which I am not wearin' now, but I was then)."

"Soooo . . . with nothing on my mind I jus' up and plopped down on the sofa next to Miss Lydia and we had the most delightful time watchin' part one of Gone With The Wind. Oh, it's really an amazing movie -- one of my all time favorites. I jus' couldn't bear to miss it!"

"But, now you see my dilemma . . . NO POST!"

(*SOB*sniffle, sniffle*SOB*)

[Rhett gallantly hands Scarlett a monogrammed hankie,
which she demurely accepts and THEN KEEPS!! *gasp*]

"And what's worse . . . "

[Music rises to a crescendo . . . ]

"I intend to do the same thing tomorrow night when we watch part two!!"

"O fiddle-de-dee,

I can't think of that right now.

I'll think of that tomorrow.

After all . . .

Tomorrow is another day."

* * * * *

For the record: I require the reading of the book before the viewing of the film. NO EXCEPTIONS, since we ruined Little Women for Lydia by fudging and watching the Kathryn Hepburn version before she finished the book. : (

99

+

2

= 101 POSTS!!!!!!

Well, I have been away from the blogosphere for a bit (love that auto-post option) as we entertained family from out of town (and had a blast), gabbed on the phone with my daughter (who is far-far away at college and missed tremendously), and took part in various delightful forms of relaxation that do not require any keyboard action (hey, my journal is smiling again).

I returned from the break to find that my little dashboard counter signified 100 posts had slipped under the bridge and floated off to blogland. I am astonished at the rapid journey from newbie to 100 -- wow! I guess time really does fly when you're having fun!

So how should we celebrate???? I contemplated many celebratory options but none seemed to include everyone. I pondered this over a pot of tea and then it hit me: I would dearly love for each and every one of you readers to drop by for a cup of tea so we could meet and really talk. What a delightful way to while away the afternoon on a 101st post.

So, I invite you to a virtual tea party. Leave a comment and let me know what you think we'd chat about (got any questions?) and what we'd choose to nibble and sip during our teatime chat. I've exchanged emails with some of you, but many of you remain a mystery to me. Could be fun to step from behind the curtain and wave. I'll be on the deck with a teapot under a cozy, just come on in and have a seat. Let's chat . . .

Invitation to a Ball

Strange and oh so strange, this bloglines thingy. My week has suffered stress of the bloggiest nature and last night I nearly pulled the whole thing down in frustration over the false posting issue. So I popped off a post and then rescinded it (*sigh* another false post).

Sadly enough, a beautiful post of my garden has not appeared on the bloglines roles, thus I believe many of you may have missed it. So I decided to issue another invitation to come to the Sylvan Ball, for any of you that missed it. Go here and stroll my gardens if you would like.

I am off to enjoy a chilly Saturday AWAY from my computer.

Have You Met My Friend "Blogger Dashboard"?

Yeah, that guy right there. [She says sneeringly.]
Need a closer look?

Uh-huh! He's the one. My current nemesis and the culprit regarding my numerous false postings this week. When this guy and my little friend "Touch Pad" gang up against me I lose all control of my placid and beautiful little bloggy world.

This Dashboard-guy has carte blanche to gobble up my posts at will, slam my carefully-crafted comments to smithereens, and fling an in-process post upon the blog-waters which lays like rotting wreckage until I launch a rescue party to retrieve and repair the pathetic post. Not only am I exhausted from this little game of cyber-natural-selection, but you readers may be a bit fed up with watching your blog reader light up with a new post from Wisteria and Roses only to be met with "Blog Page Not Found" when you click for a look-see.

Okay, I admit I have crossed the "beautiful" parameters ("Whatever is lovely ...") that I set in place when originally crafting this blog, and am currently yelling and punching my fists in the air as I grovel an apology to all of you readers. I am sorry and will tend to mending my ways in order to avoid future "ugly" outbursts of this nature.

[*whimper* . . . I do feel better now and will return you to your regularly-scheduled quest for peaceful, joyful spots of beauty and celebration spread around the blogdom. With the completion of this rant I shall step back within the bounds of beauty and promise a delightful post for Faerie Tale Friday. Until then . . . *steam releases from narrator's ears* . . . I shall go take a walk in the garden. ~~Bye!~~]

Breathtaking Beauty. Poetry in Pictures.

I have recently returned to the Blogdom after an extensive time in my family cocoon. I admit I hesitated at the threshold of the conveyor-style pen-pal gallery this morning, wondering if today could afford the time stolen for a quick spin around the world. When I stopped in to see my dear friend Britt-Arnhild at her House in the Woods I found that she was away from home. But she left a few treasures for me to discover in her absence. This brought tears to my eyes and joy to my soul. I remember why I love to blog with all of you. Beauty, joy, encouragement ...

Slipping Away ...

The evening draws to a close. The gentle rustlings of the bedtime routine signal the coming calm of an evening stretching out toward sweet slumber. Suddenly ... BLAM! BLAM-BLAM! BLAM! "What is that?" and all come running. In shock, I peel myself from the ceiling and look incredulously at my computer. My blog stares back at me from the familiar screen; I double check to be certain. Next, I check the playlist. Correctly uploaded for my blog. Hmmmm . . . how did that blasting music find its way onto my beautiful playlist? Just what was that song? I retrace a few steps and find that a song I heard on another blog, a lilting and beautiful piano melody, had several versions available to select from the playlist log. I failed to secure the "piano only" version. So, I apologize to any of you listeners that may have experienced a JOLT from my blunder.

Once my nerves return to normal and a restored calm descends over my sitting room, I ponder the swirl of activity that engulfs me right now. I came into this peaceful little nook to write just a bit but the music intruded with cacophonous clamor, drawing attention to the many little errors and slips and snares that have crept into my days. Earlier, Rachel sat moping in a chair waiting for someone to find a free moment to help her with her pinata. "Everyone is so busy!" she whispered while staring out the window sadly. I stop cold.

The words of Anne Morrow Lindbergh recently saved in my "pondering place" come washing over me:

For it is only framed in space that beauty blooms. Only in space are events and objects unique and people unique and significant -- and therefore beautiful . . . Even small and casual things take on significance if they are washed in space, like a few autumn grasses in one corner of an Oriental painting, the rest of the page bare.

My life in Connecticut, I began to realize, lacks this quality of significance and therefore of beauty, because there is so little empty space. The space is scribbled on; the time has been filled. There are so few empty pages in my engagement pad , or empty hours in the day, or empty rooms in my life in which to stand alone and find myself. Too many activities and people and things. Too many worthy activities, valuable things, and interesting people. For it is not merely the trivial which clutters our lives, but the important as well.

(Gift from the Sea, p.114-115)

I turn and gaze at the calender and the flurry of activity spread over the next couple of weeks: Elizabeth's return to university, Lydia's wisdom teeth removal, music lessons, dinners with friends, our 24th anniversary ... So many necessary and wonderful events scrawl in various scripts across the pages of our life. So much to do? In so little time? Where lies the rest and the peaceful moments of prayer? Somewhere along the summertime path I managed to color in all the empty space. Today I clearly see the need to bring out an eraser and smudge away the inked spots enough to uncover a moment for chatting over tea and applying starch to newspaper and reading a newly-penned poem. My bookshelves and baskets sag with the weight of unread treasure and I am the poorer for it.

The solution lies in the margins of my life. I desire a spot to doodle or merely watch over the shoulder of a doodler. The summer sun has shifted whilst I have typed and commented and met all of you. The days shorten just a bit more with each sunset. I feel a bit out of balance as we approach the changes on the horizon. So, I shall be posting a bit less frequently, but hopefully with a smoother cadence. My enthusiasm to meet with all of you has grown, but my zeal to produce a new post each day has dwindled. I find I have so little time to go visit all of you and greet new people when I am obsessing over spacing issues, pic uploads, and such. A brief break every now and again to refresh and read and stretch a bit will render me greater pleasure and much more joy as I balance home and blogdom.

With my 24th wedding anniversary at hand I think it a fine time to pack a picnic into a hamper, tuck a book into my pocket, and make off to our private fairy woods whose only source of power rests in my imagination and the might generated by the smiles of those I love. I shall return soon with fresh adventures to impart, books to discuss, recipes to share, theories to test, and so much more of the stuff we call "life" here at Wisteria Cottage.

* * * * *

A patter of ballet flats accompanied by the swishing of swept-past ferns signals she has slipped away . . .

All Aboard the Blogger Express!

I sit here amazed that an entire month has elapsed since I first hit the button and launched "Wisteria and Roses." It seemed simple enough to create an online journal or maybe a site filled with all kinds of prettiness and gardens for others and myself to enter and enjoy as we paused from the pull and tug of daily life. A virtual oasis. Aaahhhh ... I pondered the freedom and relaxation afforded by this new electronic step. No longer would I send out copious emails for family happenings, but rather this site would be a "gathering place" or a "celebration station." Oh, yes, I convinced myself, the time freed up by this blogging placecard clearly justified the investment of time in learning to blog, which could only be a bit more labor intensive than email ... right?

Well, I sit here one month later and mutter "Huh?" when Blogger spits me out with a raspberried comment. ("Nice!") I'm overjoyed to be meeting so many new friends all over the world, but have discovered that my email friends don't blog; thus I now email AND blog. The ins and outs of multiple email boxes seemed to make so much sense in the beginning: This for blog, this for regular stuff ... But today I once again wrestled with the many formats and address books and personal flub-ups associated with my new-found joy in blogging and my ever-present deficit in caring about all these little details. But, I manged to piece together a format and schedule that brought it all under control, until the dreaded happened: "Blogger Unavailable" it shouted when I tried to post according to my tidy routine. I couldn't even comment on other blogs because, "Blogger Unavailable."

This threatened to send me into a tailspin. I stopped and plopped and wondered ... when did this become a job and stop being fun and exciting? And then I realized ... my perfectionistic tendencies had once again set up roadblocks and barriers. No Fun! So, I ripped up the schedule, tossed out my list of "must do" items, and let all the uptight ideas float downstream. Now I'm going for an evening drive in the convertible with my beloved husband (and oh-so-patient blog-partner/teacher/lifeguard) and let the wind blow through my hair and ignite the excitement of life once again ... yes, even blogger life. I'll see you later when I sport a fresh smile and wind-blown hair. (Oh wait, does that make me an airhead? Fiddle Dee Dee ... not gonna worry about that now, I've got a breeze to catch.) I'll be back on Faerie Tale Friday for more fun. ~~bye~~

* * * * * * * *
While I'm away I shall leave you in the very capable hands of Rachel, Filmmaker Extraordinaire. (That does mean "not ordinary," right?)

* * * * * *

In the cobwebs of my schoolgirl memories I recall hearing that "Art imitates life." Contrariwise, Oscar Wilde states "Life imitates art far more than art imitates life.” Well, either one works in the case of the following video clip gleaned from another of Rachel's archives. My lack of tidily-prepared posts makes this a timely and appropriate opportunity to share another "Magic Moment on Film" courtesy of my daughter Rachel. She masterfully captures my very attitude at this moment. (I only hope that Wilde's comment ultimately proves false, because the "Art" this kid comes up with could do me in.) ; )

Enjoy your ride on The Blogger Express. All Aboard!

We Interrupt This Regularly Scheduled Post to Bring You a Public Service Announcement:

Can You Identify the Blogging Ditz in This Photo?

Announcer: "To those of you under the false impression that the creator of this blog has the ability to write prose, photograph beauty, balance life, twirl at a moment's notice, and check email regularly, I AM HERE TO INFORM YOU THAT YOU HAVE BEEN MISLEAD. The blogger in question (referred to as Wisteria and Roses or WR forthwith) is hereby exposed as a fraud! Yes, you heard that right, A FRAUD! Any woman who sets up an email account, begins a blog, and then FAILS to EVER check for messages should be exposed for the ditz that she is. Furthermore, the self-same WR, who upon noticing the oversight (nearly one month after opening the account), further neglected to even consider looking in the SPAM folder, citing a particular distaste for any tinned meats as just cause and excuse. Despite repeated pleadings based on an inherent lack of nerdliness (the good kind that understands computers, not the floody-pants-with-thick-glasses kind -- she admits to that from 3rd through 6th grades, but implored the courts not to bring up past offenses and was sustained), we found the defense faulty and proceeded to humiliate to the fullest extent of the bloglaw.

"We hereby announce to all readership that WR has acknowledged her silliness (though her daughter, who set up the account and gave SPECIFIC instructions for checking mail AND spam may NEVER let her forget it) and has prepared a written statement of apology to be read at this time."

WR: [penitently] "My dear readers . . . (*sniff*) . . . I confess and throw myself on the mercy of your readership. I have been terribly remiss in responding to the sweet emails that many of you have graced me with containing, encouragement, snickers and snorts, and hearty welcomes. Now, you know the truth, I am in need of technical advice in the worst way. (Scary, to think that I have been asked for some technical advice by some of you and scarier yet ... HAVE SUPPLIED IT!!!) Please know that I have married a man rich in computer nerdiness (I call it savvy and he smiles) and therefore have some chance at full recovery and proper re-entry into the blogdom. Furthermore, I do hereby promise to respond to all of your precious notes asap. In the meantime, I will administer large amounts of dark chocolate and attempt to heal from this experience in the best way I know how . . . ONWARD WITH THE BLOGGING! (After all, if I'd fallen off a horse you'd all be telling me to get right back on, right??? SOOOOO, here goes! TOWANDA!) ; )


Announcer: [Ahem . . . cough, cough] Yes, uhhhhh ... thank you Miss WR. Uh ... why are you running away?"

WR [calling from offstage]: I've gotta go check my email and spam, silly!"

Announcer: "Well, yes . . . uh, this public service announcement has been made on behalf of the Blogging-With-Brains police. We will now return you to your regularly scheduled blogpost in progress. Thank you for your time."

**WARNING** Blogging Can Be Hazardous to Your Journal!

Blog-O-Whirl

Oh NOOOOOO!!!!! I wailed as the clock spoke of the 2am hour. "I can't do this!!! It's too much to bear! Oh woe ... " [Note: No, I am not a woman in labor ... well, not with a child, that is.]

Whaaaaa …. Whaaaaat …” mumbled my incoherent husband sprawled across the bed fully dressed, having dozed off while waiting for me to do just a “couple of little things” on the computer before we went downstairs for some snacks and quiet conversation a-l-o-n-e. But alas, I had been captured by The Dragons That Be on the edges of civilization (which for me would be anywhere beyond the standard expressway of Blogdom). You see, unbeknownst to my sweet husband, while he dozed contentedly, I had exited the main e-road, flew through the off-ramp maze, barreled down some side streets, and exited the city limits altogether. At that particular moment I was bouncing along a rutted dirt road in the middle of an e-swamp and the sound of e-gators snapping their jaws had completely undone me. “How had this happened to a nice girl like Debbie?” you may be asking yourself. [For those of you that know me and have a snarky response at the ready … JUST HUSH!]

Well, it all began innocently enough with a visit to a gorgeous website that offered a link promising “free tools” to manage my website. Feeling a bit overwhelmed by the demands of this little bloggy-thing that I had birthed, which now required constant attention and feeding, I decided I could use all the “tools” I could get and FREE sounded fine with me. So I clicked and selected and gave away my passwords and received the most ridiculous blob of gibberish that I was then instructed to upload into my HTML. Who can function in a world without vowels?!?!?!?! I’m so undone by the language of the computer, and let’s not even get into all the steps required to take a simple pic of a beautiful rose – snap! Got that one down. : ) -- and then download, upload, crop, shop, and don’t even mention the “SAVE” issue … OKAY! I CONFESS! I AM A SPENDER NOT A SAVER!!!!

[“Attention shoppers … will the woman raving on blogspot aisle 2,947,903,792 please lower her tone (a.k.a., “Release the caps lock immediately!”) and proceed in an orderly fashion to the nearest exit for a cup of tea and some endorphins.” Thank you – The Management]

Ahem … where was I … Oh yes, I had just attempted to upload or download or paste or something or other that brought on the familiar symptoms of motion sickness and the threat of hives, when *PHFFFFFFT* all went flat and quiet and I just sat there staring like a fool wondering what I had or hadn’t done. Well, I decided to be proactive and just get out of this mess, BUT … the little “terms and conditions” threatened me with some nasty ads if I didn’t do this right. Yikes! Am I in violation? Quick thinking me went to google and googled these folks to see if anyone out there had some suggestions that might help. Yep, they did. “STAY AWAY!” they shouted. “BEWARE!” quoth another. “Bad stuff coming” warned a third. And that’s when the moaning and wailing began.

So, here comes the really good part where the Knight in Shining Armor (oh, wait, do faded khaki shorts and a black shirt sporting a red polo insignia qualify as armor or even matching clothes, for that matter?) LEAPED out of bed, jump astride his trusty mouse, and sped to the far horizons of the cyber world and slayed every dragon, changed every password, and even uploaded the odd pic I had failed to secure properly.

“Thank you,” I murmured demurely through lowered lashes. He replied strongly, “I have, once again, snatched you from the jaws of a hungry dragon.” He added, in the deep monotone of a knight weary from battle yet stable of mind, “Now get thee to a nunnery and let me go back to sleep in peace at this 4th hour past midnight.” [Okay, he didn’t e-x-a-c-t-l-y say it with those words, but that’s how I received it in my sodden state.] “Oh, one last thing,” he mentioned as he crested the horizon wrapped in a summer-weight quilt, “NEVER, NEVER download ANYTHING without having me look at it first.” “Roger,” I smiled and waved, as I closed the offending portal to the unknown world and went to brush my teeth.

“Where’s the Happily Ever After?” you may ask. It’s there. You see, I awoke the next morn after a mere sprinkling of sleep and made my way out into the gardens, my glorious refuge and sanctuary … a nunnery in many ways. As I snipped and sniffed, dug and trugged, I felt life returning to my weary parts. The semi-permanent connection to this utterly foreign and voracious box had sapped me of the very life that drew me to this page. And so I promised myself I would play in the garden until I felt like smiling and getting back onto the blog-o-whirl for amusement, rather than punishment. I’m baaaaaaaaaaaaack! [and I’m all smiles.] : )

Enjoying the Ball

Do you ever spend so much time getting "ready" for a delightful event that you arrive too worn out to enjoy yourself? I nearly worked myself into a frazzle doing just that in the early stages of launching Wisteria and Roses. I fretted and fussed over the this-or-that, do-I-or-don't-I, will-they-or-won't-they, and a whole jumble of other draining worries. I had to stop, sit down, sip my tea slowly, and hit POST without glancing backward. I did it and when the coach pulled up to the castle I gingerly exited one world and entered another ... AND IT WAS FUN!!!! That's right ... FUN!

My blog stepped out into the Blogdom Ball and she had a delightful time meeting new friends, greeting old, and dancing through the many delightful blogs that fill the vast lands of thought and tale in this wonderful kingdom. I only regret that I didn't arrive sooner. Thanks to all of you out there who encouraged me by stopping by and saying "Hi!" To the rest of you: I can't wait to meet. I'll be sure to wave as I waltz past. ~

This Blogging Is Very Wearing ...

So I'm taking the day off to recuperate.(This is Mr. Darcy reclining on the deck rail. I have yet to post pics of Mr. Bingley, but know that he is around ... somewhere.)