We’ve been eagerly awaiting spring and it’s coming soon to your neighborhood and mine. I’m talking about spring. It may shock some, but it is not my favorite season. The joy in seeing spring, for me, is winter’s end.
Lead-gray sky above,
Thick clouds sent from the west lake,
Earth is cold and damp.
For me, clarity does not come in the morning. For me, most mornings are more like this.
Morning fog is dissipating
A few minutes earlier nothing was visible beyond the first line of trees. Even they were not clear, being obscured by the fog. Cold earth with a snow coverlet and warm air provide the conditions to form such down-to-earth clouds.
It’s on mornings like this when I don’t have to rise early and commute through heavy traffic to reach a job, that I most enjoy my life. Our past sacrifices are paying off with interest.
There are two painting that hang in a short hallway opposite the office door in our home. Sylvia painted them many years ago on birch bark. (No living trees were damaged in obtaining the “canvas.” I walk past them multiple times each day, but don’t often take time to enjoy them. Nevertheless they are two of my favorites.
Looks like this rascal is up to mischief
This picture feels so “Michigan” to me. I think this next one is my favorite.
Momma. Momma. I’m hungry
Seems to me that our lives are surrounded by the beauty of life. It is up to us to see and appreciate it–if we can.
Yes, that’s what this week is doing–slipping into history. It went by so fast, probably because I was so busy with a couple of projects.
This morning we said goodbye to Shark. Her plans had slipped and she found it convenient to spend another overnight with us. She said that she would be, “latish.”
We were setting the table for supper when she arrived. (She had called ahead.) After the meal and clean-up we sat in the family room and talked well into the night.
This captures the feel of night
Since our friend left for her home, I’ve spent most of my day reading The Fellowship of the Ring. I love the books much better than the movies. That is especially true for the volume, The Hobbit. In print that volume is fairly thin. The tale is fairly simple, but it sets the stage for the Lord of the Rings trilogy.
I may turn on the TV before going to bed this evening. Or I may not. It’s very easy to get caught up in the story.
At my age, winter is not as much fun as it was when I was a young ‘un. I’m just not up for sledding, ice skating . . . not even making snow persons.
These days (daze?), I just want to stay in where it’s warm. That’s okay, but when that happens, all I do is sit at the computer, sit in front of the TV, sit in the recliner with a book or sit at the table. Nothing wrong with sitting at the table, but what happens when that’s not the only place I eat? I find it easy to snack at the computer, in front of the TV and while reading a book.
Aye, there’s the rub. Snack, nibble, snack, eat. Soon one is carried away. And I look like this:
It has been over three weeks since Sylvia hosted a sledding day for her Sunday-school class, their siblings and friends. We enjoyed it a lot. The children had a lot of fun and ended their time outdoors by making snow sculptures. Their art works remain as they were that day. (Since then, air temperatures have not risen above freezing.)
Every time I look out the window, I see their handiwork on display. In seeing those objects, I am transported to other places. For instance:
This sculpture takes me to Egypt
Then it’s on to Europe
Next stop is France
Then I come back to this continent and country (USA)
This reminds me of George Washington
Now I have to wait another 49 weeks for the next sledding party. It’s going to be fun.
Wednesday, our friend, Shark of My Quality Day, stopped here on her trip east. The pic above is not from yesterday. It was taken on a warm autumn morning on one of Shark’s earlier visits to our Secondary Rds home. (Sylvia had just given her a cabbage from our garden. Shark was delighted.)
The three of us spent Wednesday evening in catching up on personal news. (One of the reasons I like our blogger bud so much is that she never engages in gossip or negative talk.) We also enjoyed some music making and conversation.
I wish you could have been here when we were talking about books and authors. It started with a question from Shark, “Which book (not Bible) has made the greatest impact on you and your life?” That conversation lasted past bed time, and, I hope, is to be continued.
A while back, I won a contest on My Quality Day. While Shark was willing to send that to me, I suggested that she wait until her next visit and bring it along with her on that trip. Okay, I knew that it would help assure another visit. I picked her book, Would You Dare? (3rd edition). The 137 pp book is, “Twelve compact biographies of Christians who have dared. Their lives challenge us . . . ‘Would You Dare?'” After the preface, there are four stanzas from Longfellow’s poem, “A Psalm of Life.” One of those stanzas is also printed on the rear cover,
“Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime . . .
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time.”
The other day, I noticed my shadow on the venetian blinds that cover my office window. Fascinated, I captured this image. That shadow resembles me, but only vaguely. (My head is not really that pointy, I don’t have offset Yoda-like ears and my neck is as long on one side as it is on the other.)
As I thought about this, I realized two factors were at play. The light source is diffuse (not focused). The individual blinds are set at an angle to that light.
Seems to me that this is a parable. I’ll let you draw you own conclusions, but you might consider illumination source, projection target and blinds (or blinders).
For my part, I think. I think I would like a wee nap.
As it is written, “Like cold water to a weary soul is good news from a distant land.”
We are happy and excited for her. In comment on this picture, her paternal grandfather wrote, “ I’d say, ‘Knock ‘em dead, but that probably wouldn’t be appropriate.’ Right?” He is such an old goof ball.