Have tiara, will shine!
Happy Tuesday!
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Monday, March 10, 2014
Sifting Through Cinnamon in Search of a Lost Hour
Quick! Administer cinnamon toast! I'm fading!!
I awoke this morning and discovered that an hour had been stolen clean out from under my nose! Yes, I "saw" that the clocks had been changed yesterday (Saturday night, in fact, by my zealous husband), but I didn't "feel" the loss until this morning when I awoke an hour behind schedule with an hour loss on top of it. Eeeek!
I padded downstairs to put on the kettle and discovered I had forgotten to run last night's dinner dishes, in addition to noticing that the steamer used for broccoli prep had been missed on the clean-up sweep the previous eve. (By notice, I mean, with my nose -- Ick!)
What's a girl to do in such a situation? Pray for a miracle to turn back time and tidy all in one gesture? Cry and hope somebody takes pity on you? Brew a pot-of-tea-for-one and make some cinnamon toast? How 'bout all three? Okay, the praying for a miracle part seemed like a futile effort, since I didn't want to repeat the time change scenario. Fair enough. Crying, even in the silver-screen fashion of gently flowing glamorous orbs of crystalline sorrow seemed silly since every other person in this house is asleep or faking sleep, save my husband who is chirpy as ever in the morning, popping in and out the door doing the morning "chores" of letting out chickens and the cat and such. Since crying would stuff me up and dilute what little surface beauty I awoke with, I opt to suck it up and hit the cinnamon toast hard!
One of my sweetest childhood memories involves cinnamon toast -- that slightly sweet treat delivered on a bed tray to the infirm. It rarely happened, but when it did -- oh my! What delight! Much later in life, following the delivery of a baby (number five), I developed some sort of "fever sickness" and writhed in bed for many days. My friend/nurse came to the rescue and watched my four littles + littlest (baby) while I recovered. I remember little of that week, save for a distinct moment when a tearful Elizabeth came in to my darkened room with a tray of tea and cinnamon toast. "Here Mommy, please eat this and feel better," she sobbed. I ate, tasting the cinnamon like a fire of life, a healing fire. I recovered in due time, but my spirit lifted measurable with the first tiny nibble of c-toast.
Daily I intake a spoonful of a cinnamon-honey-turmeric-ginger concoction I store in a pooh-bear-approved honey-pot shaped jar. The spicy, silky, yummy flavor slips down easy and delights my body and mind. Sometimes I spread it on toast or flavor a cuppa tea with the jewel-toned elixir, but today -- with all its off-kilter change-o-mania -- I went straight for the toast, butter (LOTS), and cinnamon/sugar shaker. A pot o' tea sidled alongside to enable me to nibble, sip, repeat when necessary.
Here I sit at the keyboard, drumming out words tinged with humor: clear proof of the amazing healing properties of cinnamon toast. If this day doesn't improve, I plan to serve cinnamon toast at lunch and, if necessary, cinnamon toast at dinner. I will not be beaten by this time-change villain. If it won't give me back that hour I will simply celebrate cinnamon-ily until I just don't care a fig for that lost hour. Did I just say "fig"? Sweet, gushy, yummy, spread-on-toast fig? I wonder how that would taste, with just a hint of cinnamon?
Happy Monday (what's left of it, that is)!
I awoke this morning and discovered that an hour had been stolen clean out from under my nose! Yes, I "saw" that the clocks had been changed yesterday (Saturday night, in fact, by my zealous husband), but I didn't "feel" the loss until this morning when I awoke an hour behind schedule with an hour loss on top of it. Eeeek!
I padded downstairs to put on the kettle and discovered I had forgotten to run last night's dinner dishes, in addition to noticing that the steamer used for broccoli prep had been missed on the clean-up sweep the previous eve. (By notice, I mean, with my nose -- Ick!)
What's a girl to do in such a situation? Pray for a miracle to turn back time and tidy all in one gesture? Cry and hope somebody takes pity on you? Brew a pot-of-tea-for-one and make some cinnamon toast? How 'bout all three? Okay, the praying for a miracle part seemed like a futile effort, since I didn't want to repeat the time change scenario. Fair enough. Crying, even in the silver-screen fashion of gently flowing glamorous orbs of crystalline sorrow seemed silly since every other person in this house is asleep or faking sleep, save my husband who is chirpy as ever in the morning, popping in and out the door doing the morning "chores" of letting out chickens and the cat and such. Since crying would stuff me up and dilute what little surface beauty I awoke with, I opt to suck it up and hit the cinnamon toast hard!
One of my sweetest childhood memories involves cinnamon toast -- that slightly sweet treat delivered on a bed tray to the infirm. It rarely happened, but when it did -- oh my! What delight! Much later in life, following the delivery of a baby (number five), I developed some sort of "fever sickness" and writhed in bed for many days. My friend/nurse came to the rescue and watched my four littles + littlest (baby) while I recovered. I remember little of that week, save for a distinct moment when a tearful Elizabeth came in to my darkened room with a tray of tea and cinnamon toast. "Here Mommy, please eat this and feel better," she sobbed. I ate, tasting the cinnamon like a fire of life, a healing fire. I recovered in due time, but my spirit lifted measurable with the first tiny nibble of c-toast.
Daily I intake a spoonful of a cinnamon-honey-turmeric-ginger concoction I store in a pooh-bear-approved honey-pot shaped jar. The spicy, silky, yummy flavor slips down easy and delights my body and mind. Sometimes I spread it on toast or flavor a cuppa tea with the jewel-toned elixir, but today -- with all its off-kilter change-o-mania -- I went straight for the toast, butter (LOTS), and cinnamon/sugar shaker. A pot o' tea sidled alongside to enable me to nibble, sip, repeat when necessary.
Here I sit at the keyboard, drumming out words tinged with humor: clear proof of the amazing healing properties of cinnamon toast. If this day doesn't improve, I plan to serve cinnamon toast at lunch and, if necessary, cinnamon toast at dinner. I will not be beaten by this time-change villain. If it won't give me back that hour I will simply celebrate cinnamon-ily until I just don't care a fig for that lost hour. Did I just say "fig"? Sweet, gushy, yummy, spread-on-toast fig? I wonder how that would taste, with just a hint of cinnamon?
Happy Monday (what's left of it, that is)!
Sunday, March 9, 2014
Sunday Wonder
This is the day which the Lord hath made;
I will rejoice and be glad in it.
Psalm 118:24
* * * * *
Where on earth did joy come from?
It didn't.
It came from heaven.
~~ Sherwood Wirt ~~
The God Who Smiles
* * * * *
Where on earth did joy come from?
It didn't.
It came from heaven.
~~ Sherwood Wirt ~~
The God Who Smiles
Friday, March 7, 2014
A Closed Door. An Open Window.
For the first time in many weeks I omitted a particular plea
from my prayers. I haven’t given up in
despair; rather, I have heard the answer:
And it is no.
“No,” He said.
A flood followed the simple two-letter utterance – like a
flood gushing through a cleft rent by a recent quake. A persistent rumble. A daily fixation. An unending string of wondering. And then, “Crack! Whoosh!”
The water flows. Tears: of disappointment, of surprise, of relief, of
hope . . . Tears wash away the debris.
After the flood, the mopping up commences. And then I look around, assess the damage, tabulate
the cost, and (last-but-not-least) accept the gift – the gift of knowing where
I stand, even if I find myself behind a locked door. For, every “no” contains the seeds of a “yes”
to something else in a tomorrow awaiting its chance to become my today. Each closed door provokes a pause in my journey, but the
journey does not end behind this sealed venue.
"Whenever God
closes a door, somewhere He opens a window."
~~ Reverend Mother from Sound of Music
~~
"When one door
of happiness closes, another opens;
but often we look so
long at the closed door
that we do not see
the one which has opened for us."
~~ Helen Keller ~~
"When God shuts
a door, He opens a window."
~~ Jewish Proverb ~~
And they that went in,
went in male and female of all flesh,
as God had commanded him:
and the Lord shut him in.
~~ Genesis 7:16 ~~
Now when Daniel knew that the writing was
signed, he went into his house;
and his windows
being open in his chamber toward
Jerusalem,
he kneeled upon his
knees three times a day,
and prayed, and gave thanks before his God,
as he did
aforetime.
~~ Daniel 6:10 ~~
Today I sit beside an open window next to a closed door,
gazing at a cornflower-blue sky. The
most recent storm passed over us with thunder and lightening and water, water, water
everywhere. For me, the stormy nights
bring the greatest challenge. I find it
hard to lie down and rest during a tempest, be it out there, in here, or in a
teapot. “How much longer?” I have been
known to wail at each passing peal. “How
much more must I endure? If only I knew
how long it was going to last!”
And then . . .
s-i-l-e-n-c-e . . . it is done . . . the storm has passed.
After a weather episode of wind or rain or heavy snow, I
immediately enjoy the peace; but soon, I survey the landscape for damage and
direction. Downed trees, flooded flower
beds, leaking fissures . . . Grab a
-------- and let’s get to work! As we
work, side-by-side with loved ones or as a solo instrument, the eyes wander to
and fro finding gifts amongst the grit.
“Oh look, how
beautiful that snow looks as it clings to those branches!”
“Well, we needed to
get rid of that dead branch for some time;
guess the storm took care of it for
us.”
“Hey, look what I
just found over here! I misplaced this
ages ago! Well, what do you know!”
In and among the damage and the gifts lies true loss and
often pain; but seeds of hope carpet that barrenness in due time . . . if only I
wait and watch with hopeful eyes. In the
waiting space I can sit by the open window and pine, or I can live bathed in
the streaming sunlight, breathing in the fresh breeze, waving to passersby as
their journey continues unabated. Some
may stop in for a cuppa and a chat, entertaining me with tales and exploits as
they chase dreams and dodge arrows.
Others hurry by at a pace that affords
a mere wave. Most scurry by my window, unaware
of me at all, hidden in a blind hurry to make the next appointment. I see myself in their eyes, I know their
anxious scuffle all too well, and I wonder when I will once again mount up and
ride out toward a new adventure or battle or sunset.
Thursday, March 6, 2014
I'm Away Playing at Life Today
LIFE
Life is an opportunity, benefit from
it.
Life is beauty, admire it.
Life is bliss, taste it.
Life is a dream, realize it.
Life is a challenge, meet it.
Life is a duty, complete it.
Life is a game, play it.
Life is costly, care for it.
Life is wealth, keep it.
Life is love, enjoy it.
Life is mystery, know it.
Life is a promise, fulfill it.
Life is sorrow, overcome it.
Life is a song, sing it.
Life is a struggle, accept it.
Life is tragedy, confront it.
Life is an adventure, dare it.
Life is luck, make it.
Life is too precious, do not destroy
it.
Life is life, fight for it.
~~ Mother Teresa ~~
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)