It’s May! How did that happen? There are so many things I didn’t get to do last year that I’ve been busy trying to cram them all into the last few weeks lest the world is tipped on its axis again.

Have I enjoyed a soft ice cream cone? You bet!  Barbequed on the grill? Yup, a couple of times.  Eaten a meal on the patio? Of course. I cleaned  the yard from the dregs of winter weeks ago. And I have even made reservations for a  summer family gathering. (Deep sigh.)

There’s something I’ve noticed, and perhaps you have too. People seem to be making an extra effort to connect. My elderly neighbor has stopped over to visit several times this week. Bumping into a friend at a store led to a half hour delay in my schedule as we caught up with one another. Plus I’ve had several text messages, and two phone calls this week from people I haven’t spoken to in months. It is so revitalizing to connect with those you care deeply about.

My roses haven’t bloomed yet, but some of my other flowers have, and I guess this is a reminder to take a break. Enjoy the beauty around you. Call a long-time friend. Visit a neighbor. Swing in a hammock. Listen to the bird’s song or steal away and experience a sunrise. Let’s appreciate the last days of spring  while we can. You know, if May is here already that September is just around the corner. The advantage of slowing our pace today is that it can bring us  memories to enjoy tomorrow. 

I found a bird’s nest. How was your day?

Blessings! Debbie

The heaviness of winter has melted into a glorious early spring. The birds sing of their love as nests are woven. And I have shed my winter wear to don lighter, more cheerful fabric in solidarity with my feathered friends to announce, “Yes, SPRING is here!”

Fragrant, colorful blooms broadcast festivities and all manner of flying insects join in carnival games. The lawn is cleared of fallen debris in preparation for the mower’s maiden tour around the property. Much like a birthday party, anticipation has now exploded in a crescendo of sun, heat and busy revelry.

Today I’ve opened my back door several times to shoo away a pair of birds. It seems atop a light fixture positioned under our eaves is the perfect place for nesting robins. Perfect for them, alas is not perfect for all. This door is used frequently throughout the day, and a momma robin with hatchlings would be disturbed very often. So I dutifully remove the gathered straw and twigs and place an aluminum foil ball there as a deterrent. She has removed it three times today. Eventually she will decide another spot is better suited, and we’ll both be happier.

My writing has suffered much this winter. Fits and starts. Set-backs with much, much journaling. Indeed I, like my warbling minstrels, needed winter’s respite to regroup. To face harsh trials. To prioritize and to re-family after months apart.

In transitioning into this new season, I too must be aware of closed doors and be prepared to seek another solution. Perhaps the reason something isn’t working is because it’s not a good answer. It may be that a safer and wiser choice is already on the horizon and I haven’t seen it because my heart is set on something else. Like this winged pair I must be open to changing my plan. So today, I’ll journal my thoughts here and not hide them away in my notebook.

Is there something that is holding you back? Take a look around, perhaps the answer is waiting in the wings. 

Happy Spring!
Debbie

It was a silver pot, blackened by sulfur and tarnished by time. Someone had attempted to clean the old thing, so it had little collector’s value. Its owner simply wanted to clear space in her home and when I asked about it she passed to me as a gift.

I loved the shape of the little container. Its bent handle that fit through an ornate embellishment added to its charm. The fitted lid boasted an intricate overflowing vase of flowers with which to lift the top from the container. But the most attractive feature to me was the word ‘crackers’ engraved in a wacky font across the front. The meaning of the word wasn’t lost on me, and it certainly was a reflection of my life’s journey. (Some people think I’m a bit nutty.)

In accepting this cast off I felt indebted to its proper restoration. After researching various silver cleaning methods, I began with what I had on hand, ketchup. The article stated that the acid from the tomatoes worked wonders. Sounded good to me. I took an old kitchen towel and piled on a gob of the red sweetness then left the slathered pot to marinate for two hours. I must say it did work to remove a bit of the black, and with a lot of rubbing some parts of the lid began to shine through the grime.

I moved on to another process calling for household ingredients. Unfortunately the baking soda and aluminum foil didn’t fare as well, probably because of the previous cleaning.

I decided to give it last try. This time I went with a commercial silver cleaner which decidedly worked best. The pot cleaned up pretty well considering the condition I found it in. However, my arms ached from the deep polishing needed to achieve a semi-clean container where the word crackers was barely visible.

At this point I consulted a friend who was familiar with silver cleaning, and she said, “You’ll never get it all off. Just look at the pits on there.” Tiny pinhole-sized indentations covered my cracker jug. Apparently, this was normal due to its use and age. Considering that this project had already cost me hours of time and that it would never be use it to hold crackers, I gave up. This would be a conversation piece, and perhaps used as a vase for dried flowers. Even in its imperfect, mottled state, I still liked the little jug. Its pitting gave it character, speaking to its long and arduous journey. Its mere existence a testimony to strength and fortitude.

I am reminded that our lives are much like that little silver jar. Life’s adventures can enhance or mar our surface, but the testimony of our strength is in getting up each day and being willing to shine amid our imperfections.

I proudly display my silver cracker jar hoping to be asked its history. My simple answer is that it’s a treasured heirloom like me.                                   As are you, my friend.                                                                                                    <3 Debbie

Clouds

I stood on my lawn and gazed skyward at the clouds. Each unique visible vapor in deepening tones marched silently past as if on a secret mission. Looking up from the earth we can only see the underside of clouds. In hues of blue gray, they can feather across the expanse or gather in tremendously large shapes of various forms.

As a child, I once read a book about the power of one’s mind. One of the suggested exercises was to lay outside on one’s back, stare at the clouds and to try to mentally dissolve the clouds. I spent a good portion of that day staring upward without success; although one cloud did seem to split in the center as it floated past. Reluctantly, I decided that I had no superpowers. I closed the book beside me and went indoors to console myself with cookies.

From a spatial vantage point, we can look down upon clouds. The wavy puffs of white, much like large cotton haystacks, endlessly fill the horizon. It’s as if earth itself has undergone a metamorphosis and the colorful world we know has been cleansed and awaits a painter’s touch.

But when traveling through a cloud there’s no opportunity to see anything. The window to the world is completely obscured in a bland oneness. It is at times like this that I long for a chance to look ahead, to look back, or to glimpse anything with variety.

On my last flight, the pilot warned of the turbulent weather we’d encounter. When the jet flew through the rain cloud the windows were pelted by the storm, the wind pushed and jerked our craft. The nose of the plane was aimed up, up into the rage surrounding us. Thoughts of the brevity of life passed through my head. I mentally sang a song of reassurance and I prayed. There was no panic, but the evening flight was eerily silent. I watched the lights on the wing disappear from view as the seat that held me shook. Long, long moments later the plane pierced the veil and a pocket of sky appeared, comforting my challenged spirit.

I was grateful that clouds have a top and a bottom. They are not endless even in the midst of a storm. Off in the distance I could see the red tint of the sun on the horizon faithfully setting between the clouds. Although earth-bound beings would not see it, my camera caught the promise of the day’s end.

My challenging flight reaped a wonderous insight. As I journey through this day’s challenges I am learning, like the pilot, to aim upward no matter my view. I am reassured those storms do eventually end, and like the sunset hidden above my view, there is a promise of tomorrow. I move forward in hope, trusting in the lesson of the clouds.

Be encouraged.                                                                                                                                                           Blessings my friends.

Breaking through the storm clouds.                                        The hidden sunset above the storm.

It is so small, a remnant from my childhood. Just a little ceramic horse with a lingering star sticker on its saddle that I placed there the day I claimed ownership. It probably was a yard sale purchase or something my grandmother no longer wanted, but somehow it became mine, and oh the magic it contains.

Holding the sleepy, cold porcelain  pony transports me back to a place of innocence. A land where I felt safe, care-free and loved. A world where tragedy and disaster rarely entered; play was expected  and where four kids in empty field often morphed into a kickball game. The outdoors was my playground and the setting sun was my clock.

Many days the morning dew would wet my bare feet as I chased butterflies  across the lawn. Green grass clippings, which I imagined heaven smelled like, stuck to my skin. Dangling yo-yos, balancing hula hoops, jumping rope, picking up jacks, flying kites, and shooting marbles were all courses of our summer feast. Sunscreen was rare, and dark summer tans with sun-bleached hair came naturally. You’d find me sitting on concrete steps mimicking the birds in trees or the watching the clouds float across the sky while thinking  deep thoughts like, ‘If I run fast enough can I fly?’

In this realm a neighbor’s pool or simply finding a swimming hole meant an afternoon of screaming fun. Picnics, long walks, and laying on my back at night staring at the stars filled my imagination with fresh dreams. A filthy bathtub ring was my badge of a day well-spent.

In the spring I’d watch my brother pull fat frogs from the ditch or scoop polliwogs into a kitchen pan to see if they had legs. A measure of string on a broken tree branch with a hand-tied hook made us grand fishermen in our eyes; and the occasional use of an actual fishing pole with worms- wow, that was the ultimate outing! Not that I ever caught much, although I do recall a very heavy catch that turned out to be a whopper of a boot. This was sadly followed by reeling in a small turtle. I felt pretty bad about the little guy and  fishing lost much of its appeal for me after that.

Making up stories, singing to record albums, putting on our own theater show, and riding my bike as far as I wanted to go-  these were all entertainment for those long days of summer.

These recollections are my ‘days of yore.’ The era before adulthood emerged seasoned with pain and hardship, crowding out  the days of ease. I can get lost in these thoughts. I am so thankful that I was blessed with such a childhood, and grateful that  a hand-sized relic can bring me such wonderful memories of lazy summer days.

How about you? Do you have something special that transports you back to favorite memory?