“Somehow there’s always grace to begin again.” ~ Ann Voskamp.
This year 2023 has been a rough one. We left 2022 praying for miracles and depending on God’s gift of grace unending. If you may remember, my oldest daughter, Rachel and her family lost their home in a fire Christmas night of 2022. Many compassionate people rallied to provide and support them in their plight. The insurance company has been very slow, and partial settlement funds have come. They have made home with a trailer situated on my son-in-law’s parent’s St. Francois County ranch, living a minimalist lifestyle. The lot the burned house was on still needs to be sold. The family battles flashbacks and sleep deprivation since the fire. Please continue in prayers for Rachel, Mick, Hannah, Ella, and Eli. “The mind is a wonderful servant but a terrible master,” author Robin Sharma tells us. Other family news … Granddaughter, Hannah moved into her first apartment. My son, Ben moved to Springfield, MO this spring, and seems to enjoy being there. My Elisabeth and husband, Mark have taken quite a liking for insects, and have a few terrariums housing their new pets. Libby and Brendan are occupied with work and school. Dean’s youngest son, Rainer and wife, Erica had another son, Jeremiah on March 3 who joins 3-year-old Jefferson. It is a joy having them just 25 minutes away. Dean’s oldest son, AJ and family, Nancy, Elise, and CJ keep busy with work and school. Little CJ started preschool this year. Dean’s daughter, Liz and husband, Vince keep up with work and are wonderful helpmates for their families. Most work projects at our St. Charles cottage had been curtailed with our families’ immediate needs in 2023. I managed to keep alive some potted herbs, and successfully grew Mexican sage and eucalyptus this year. Back at it in 2024 for our cottage, our rental house, and Dean’s parents’ house.
Dean’s mother passed away in October. She had been battling ill health and leukemia for at least a year. We typically visit the Kansas City family every 4 – 6 weeks. But between September and November, we went back and forth to the KC side of the state nine out of ten weekends with her end-of-life details, funeral, and caring for Dean’s father. Dean’s father agreed to a premier assisted living apartment in STL, which has made it much easier for his sons to visit regularly. Besides coffee & tea stops in obscure towns and villages while going back and forth to Farmington and Lee’s Summit this year, weekend getaways by ourselves or with family or friends included Rolla, Charleston, and Branson, MO; Eureka Springs, Arkansas; Tennessee for the Clarksville Writer’s Conference in June; a day in Glasgow, MO; another day in Lincoln Land, IL; a week away to the beautiful North Carolina Appalachians and Nashville, TN; a flight and an overnight in Texas for Dean’s aunt’s funeral in October; and a holiday weekend in the Wisconsin Dells.
Dean still loves serving the researchers who come into the National Archives military record center. He has been with this government agency for over 15 years. Dean talks about “retirement” in 4-1/2 years, but I cannot see him stopping the beloved “hunt” with the research he loves doing. Good chance a small research gig will be in Dean’s future after retirement. Author Gretchen Rubin writes, “That’s my ideal life. Doing work worth doing.” I found regular weekday part-time employment worth doing. Since May I have been working as a culinary professional for a non-profit organization that serves the senior and disabled communities with meals-on-wheels and services. The earlier full-time job was too much for me between the lack of adequate training at the credit union and running on fumes from weekend trips back and forth to Farmington to assist my daughter after the fire. Early autumn, the community college built a new space for culinary classes. I was asked to consult on necessary equipment and space design for the “Studio Kitchen”, and this new space is where I facilitated two cookie baking classes this holiday season.
“Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work,” Thomas Edison is quoted. I continue to take opportunities to submit my poetry, short stories, and recipes to various online publications. Some of my writings are selected and published, plenty others denied. I participated in my first poetry reading in Eureka Springs, Arkansas early in 2023, and attended two other readings. In 2024 I will present a WCDH fundraiser workshop “The Essence of Lemon, Herbs, and Writing” on a date TBD. I facilitated this same workshop at a local lavender farm this past summer and loved the interaction of the participants. I joined a writers’ circle with some folks I met at the Clarksville conference. Every chance I have to be a part of the writing community, I take it. Huge strides have been made in a culinary themed book I am writing. “There is something delicious about writing the first words of a story. You never quite know where they’ll take you,” author Beatrix Potter said. More recipes, poems, and short stories keep being added. A labor of love. I didn’t know this introvert had that much to share with the world. Somedays I prefer solitude rather than talk to people. If I am quiet long enough, I can hear. “Sound is ephemeral…Sound is generative…Listening opens us to the wonders of communication and creativity,” shared keynote speaker David George Haskell at the Clarksville writers’ conference. I work things out with words in the quiet, writing them down and reading others’ words. Other days I need to have that meaningful conversation with a friend, family member, co-worker, or senior client. “Writers and artists work in the loneliest of all professions, inside our heads”, eMerge co-editor Charles Templeton wrote in a newsletter.
Fluffy pillows and comforters layered on a settee, piled reading books on the floor besides, and a cup of hot cocoa lathered with whipping cream atop … this is what I look forward to this winter which is predicted to be long and cold, the snow shovel kind according to the persimmon seeds. I will watch the snow and songbirds through the frosty windows while snug warm under blankets, listening to the quiet hush, occasional chirps, and let the words flow on paper. “Live from the abundant place that you are loved, and you won’t find yourself begging others for scraps of love,” Christian author, Lysa TerKeurst encourages us. Ann Voskamp reminds us, “Whatever rock and tender place the bruised soul finds itself between, it’s witness there right into the face of the rock we’re facing. There is no such thing as salvation by romance, or by achievement, or by dream life, or by any good behavior, or by itself or anyone else … No choice you or anyone else makes has the power to make you unchosen … What you want most deeply is to be deeply wanted as a person, valued and needed, seen and safe and known.” Simply, God the Father chose you, salvation is through the gift of Jesus alone, and nothing can separate you from the love of God. The Holy Spirit lives in you and me. I pray you know these truths, live them, and share them.
“Nothing can ever separate us from God’s love.” ~ Romans 8:38
“The beauty of the trees, the softness of the air, the fragrance of the grass … the summit of the mountain, the thunder of the sky … the trail of the sun, and the life that never goes away, they speak to me, and my heart soars.”
~ Chief Dan George
Dean and I got away this weekend. While in route to a countryside Ozark destination we talk on the telephone with our son and 7-year-old granddaughter. She asked, “getting away from what?” Good question. The answer is “everyday life”. Do you ever need a reset button? Take a couple of days away from your own four-walls and neighborhood. Just the drive southward I felt like a load taken off my back and feet. Being in new scenery did wonders. Cobwebs are cleared out of the brain. Breathing fresh air instead of the stifling stagnate vapors. Sleeping is allowed with no schedule to keep. The body is rested. Hot beverages sipped while conversations are simple and sweet. Kissing is easier, intimacy is reveled. Listening to poetic words shared in a quaint setting is like a snug quilt. The writing pen flows as the wind does. God’s grace was given these autumn days in the Ozarks.
"Yes, God is more than ready to overwhelm you with every form of grace, so that you will have more than enough of everything —every moment and in every way. He will make you overflow with abundance in every good thing you do."
~ 2 Corinthians 9:8 The Passion Translation
“Nature … is as much a part of my poetry as the alphabet.” ~ Phillip Howerton
A Patchwork Quilt
Patches come alive on the country drive with
nature’s many vignettes together making a lovely spread.
Colorful swatches pieced on the quilted landscape
with each border of trees and patch of farm telling its own story.
Each story preserved with reverence, holy and sacred
as You live out Your story, I admire Your beauty.
That gold thread worked throughout Your swatch
You cannot see while You work, fight, sit, and play.
The blends of brown and green match perfectly
to the red and golden patch found next door.
The rivers of blue flow to the rose-colored borders,
opens the gates to more stories on the horizon.
The purple haze dims your otherwise ocher perspective,
but from My view casts a mystic yet faithful cover.
My view is not pretentious from the heavens,
My batting is Your foundation, necessary for warmth and togetherness.
I am there with You stitch by stitch, the ins and outs of the needle.
Your doubts and whereabouts I know, I know You full well,
every flaw, tear, stain, and blemish combed in and out of Your fabric.
You are altogether lovely at a time such as this.
A patchwork quilt worth living the whole,
it’s pieced purposes for yesterday, today, and tomorrow.
On Saturday I left home mid-morning to travel about an hour north to Pike County. I had the inkling to enjoy autumn’s superb weather when I heard the weekend forecast. I could have perused the boutiques on historic Main Street or shopped until I dropped. But I wanted to be outdoors. Dean’s mother passed away on October 6 with her burial in St. Joseph, MO last weekend. At last week’s funeral, I reminded myself that it was time for a visit to my parents’ gravesite just outside of Bowling Green, MO. Both my parents and grandfather died during the month of October as well; 11 years, 9 years, and 3 years ago.
The countryside was beautiful, yet I felt a sadness for this occasion. The colors of the leaves and harvesting fields distracted me from my somber mood, but my purpose for this autumn drive was not missed. I took the scenic route following along the Mississippi River. I forgot about all those little towns with speed limits at 30mph. It was enough for me to slow down and refocus for the next leg until the next village. The river that author, Mark Twain wrote about is so wide in many places in Lincoln and Pike Counties. Between the trees I could see it sparkle like diamonds in the sunlight. Although, the many stand-alone sycamore trees caught my attention the most. Even the hillside cemetery had a sycamore.
I said a prayer, asked for forgiveness for some unkind words I recalled I said to my parents many years ago. Some memories were from childhood and others as an adult. Likewise, as memories flood my mind of unkind words my father and mother said to me, I forgive each of them. Those memories help explain my own behaviors as a person. No reason to repeat history with negative words. Simply, be kind to others.
On way back home, I stopped in Clarksville, MO to use the restroom and stretch my legs. I had hoped to grab a sandwich. Not many eateries to choose from, but a clean restroom was a must. A riverside bar & grill had patrons there. A dozen Harleys were parked outside along the curb. I am not a biker, but hoped they welcomed all. The restroom was clean, and the patrons enjoying their food and drink. I love a good grilled sandwich, so I stayed. While eating a delicious chicken club sandwich at the Clarksville, MO bar & grill, words flooded my thoughts, so I wrote them down. Here is the poem:
Sycamores
Scattered hills breathe sadness.
Sadness as they overlook the valleys.
Valleys of withering grasses and emptiness.
Emptiness except for the stand-alone, century old sycamores.
Sycamores with peeling, white-painted bark.
Bark that seems to come apart at the seams.
Seams covered with crimson red sumac vine.
Vines that kept those years together.
Together during the bitter and sweet seasons.
Seasons are many that fill our lives.
Lives interwoven with faith, hope, love, disappointment, grief.
Grief over ill health, blank dreams, and abandoned promises.
Promises made with good intentions.
Intentions distracted with stressors and others’ disregard.
Disregards are many by hurting or hurtful people.
People everywhere breathe sadness.
Sadness dissipates as they look up to the Heavens.
Heaven’s Divine nature made a canopy of colorful leaves.
Leaves are many of those stand-alone, century old sycamores.
Sycamores that still stand alone near the scattered hills.
While on a country drive in northern Missouri the day we buried Dean’s mother, we stopped along the roadside where a local man was selling bundles of bittersweet. We bought a small bundle to capture the colorful autumn season and this day. The past few days came in like a whirlwind leaving the mind with thoughts scattered like the autumn leaves, and the heart in such an array of emotions. Bittersweet are the days in October. The leaves weep that summer is gone like I have with saying goodbye to a parent yet another October. Like a young loon and its parent who has flown South without him.
"I find it a little melancholy when I see parent and child this time of year. The parent seems to have a 'far-off' look that betrays thoughts of soon leaving forever, the child she devoted her life ... Little does the child know that it will soon be fending for itself and will have to find its way south without mom's/dad's help." ~ Matt Huras
We returned home, and the hummingbirds have left Missouri to go South, too. With some parents leaving comes sooner than others. Like twice before there is an emptiness with the death of a parent, but with God’s grace, we will move on to our destination.
Autumn comes in with a cool morning and the promise of warmth by noon with the full sun. A London Fog tea latte is calling my name. The leaves are turning golden with oranges and amber peeking through already. I am reminded of the abundance of autumn with berries plump, zucchini and yellow squash almost the size of a toddler’s leg, and the many varieties of tomatoes overflow the gardens and baskets. I read this poem many years ago and always enjoy reading it again every September …
Blackberry Eating by Galway Kinnell I love to go out in late September among the fat, overripe, icy, black blackberries to eat blackberries for breakfast, the stalks very prickly, a penalty they earn for knowing the black art of blackberry-making; and as I stand among them lifting the stalks to my mouth, the ripest berries fall almost unbidden to my tongue, as words sometimes do, certain peculiar words like strengths or squinched, many-lettered, one-syllabled lumps, which I squeeze, squinch open, and splurge well in the silent, startled, icy, black language of blackberry — eating in late September.
The other fruit to take notice of this autumn is the persimmon. The Old Farmer’s Almanac isn’t predicting a terribly cold autumn for the Midwest, but what about winter? The persimmon seeds are supposed to tell us what kind of winter we are to have. Look for the persimmons to be ripe soon in your area, if not already. Missouri is to have a spoon winter. According to this article with the Old Farmer’s Almanac here is how to predict weather with a persimmon seed:
1.Find a locally-grown persimmon. (A locally-grown persimmon is necessary because it will reflect local conditions!) Wait to pick the fruit or cut into the fruit until after it gets a bit soft—almost mushy.
2. Open the fruit and cut open a persimmon seed.
3. Look at the shape of the kernel inside:
If the kernel is spoon-shaped, expect plenty of snow to shovel.
If it is fork-shaped, plan on a mild winter with powdery, light snow.
If the kernel is knife-shaped, expect frigid winds that will “cut” like a blade.
I hope you enjoy your autumn and all it entails in your part of the world. It will prepare us for the next season, the winter whatever that may bring. There is a season for everything …
“There is a season (a time appointed) for everything and a time for every delight and event or purpose under heaven—” ~ Ecclesiastes 3:1
“Memories, pressed between the pages of my mind. Memories, sweetened through the ages just like wine…” Elvis Presley
The week started with watching the recorded Grand Ole Opry’s show with Vince Gill’s rendition of Ray Price’s “Danny Boy”. Now I love Vince Gill. And his version of this timeless classic was so sweet. But thoughts about the one-and-only singer, Ray Price continued throughout the week. On Friday while celebrating August birthdays at the senior center, the guest singer shared Ray Price’s song “For The Good Times”. Funny how a song can bring you back 50 or 60 years ago. I was brought back to the mid-1960’s watching my parents’ tender moment while they listened to Ray Price’s album playing on the turntable. I believe it was their favorite song.
As this memory lane week went Dean and I had planned to remove the dead refrigerator from our rental house’s garage. While loading the old frig Dean found in its insulation my Girl Scout membership card from 1968. This refrigerator was bought in the 1960’s by my parents. It was their primary refrigeration for a few years in my first childhood home and became the secondary cooler for soda and beer when we moved to the cedar ranch house built by my father on the tree farm. After my parents retired, the refrigerator followed them to their Pike County house, again stocking beverages in the basement. After Dad passed away, my mother moved into a villa in St. Peters. The 50+ year-old refrigerator needed a new home. It lived its last years in the garage of my St. Peters home once again as a beverage cooler. That Girl Scout card was another reminder of my childhood. Seems so long ago. It is long ago, but the memories so clear like it was yesterday.
The nostalgic week ends in the St. Peters house going through boxes of old papers. Some set aside for burning, others thrown away in the trash bin, and others boxed again. I stumbled upon several poems I wrote in the 1990’s. One poem melted my heart. It was about the teddy bear gifted to my oldest daughter, Rachel. As an expectant mother I had unwrapped it at the shower. The brown little fella sat in the baby nursery, came to the childbirth classes, and witnessed Rachel’s birth. The poem continued to talk about my other two babies. Those young motherly feelings were felt so vividly once again. What a beautiful week of nostalgia, sweet memories relived in my heart.
We have experienced nature’s own spectacular fireworks display with moving storms and heat lightening after sundown. Spotty storms and rain showers finally broke the early summer drought. Just as July arrived, the rains have created a steamy heat. Our greens are greener and the blooms are brighter. I wanted a red, white, and blue display in the front pebble patio for the 4th. How else, but with plants! I decided on red and white geraniums to fill our retired blue ceramic pot. Thankfully, one local greenhouse still had some geraniums to choose from.
Creative garden art ideas come to me every few days during the summer. I have two repurposed teapots set inside a wrought-iron heart-shaped basket with airplane plant shoots rooting in jars of water set inside the teapots. The one photo shows another way to repurpose old teapots planters, along an old outdoor stairway. Very old-world charm that I adore. Old-world charm yet love our new world freedoms.
“For you have been called to live in freedom . . . use your freedom to serve one another in love.” ~ Galatians 5:13
As we celebrate Independence Day, think about what freedoms we do have. We can freely worship where we desire. We can pursue the occupation(s) of our dreams whether a paid job or volunteering. Use our talents to serve others. That’s what they are intended for, right? We have freedom to education in the arts and sciences through books, study, and experiences. We have freedom of speech and written words. There is literature and online publications for about any and every subject a person has passion for. Our freedoms are paid for by our service men and women of today and yesterday. I am thankful to God for these people who have served and continue to serve us.
“Freedom has its life in the hearts, the actions, the spirit of men (and women), and so it must be daily earned and refreshed – else like a flower cut from its life-giving roots, it will wither and die.” ~ Dwight D Eisenhower
The summer drives have revealed old-fashion multi-flora roses, Queen Anne’s lace, Indian paintbrush, coneflowers, clover, black-eye Susan’s, buttercups, straw flowers, lilies, and cattails along the country roadsides. The town blocks are lined with blooming hydrangeas, crepe myrtle, roses, Shasta daisies, lavender, and tiger lilies with pots of geraniums, petunias, lantana, bridal veil, impatiens, and culinary herbs besides. This week oregano and Italian basil dazzled my white pasta sauce and thyme, mint, marjoram, and lemon basil spiced up the brown rice dish. Meanwhile, lawn sprinklers water as the rains have been scarce in June. My aubade to this Midsummer …
My Aubade This Midsummer
The summer solstice is June twenty-one,
direct opposite of the Midnight sun.
At nine fifty-seven am central time this year,
an ephemeral moment in this celestial sphere.
A spectacular morning this Midsummer,
as swollen rain clouds promise like a redeemer.
The feathered friends’ frenzy at the birdfeeders,
nature’s behavior encourages this pleader.
Blooms and greens need raindrops ten thousand,
allowing all five senses to be arousing.
Especially in gardening, patience is a virtue.
The garden hose is out to water those plants, quite a few.
The flowers’ colors and fragrances are a seduction,
and those clouds escaped again without a production.
Too dry before July and August’s usual drought,
more prayers will surely open the heavens, rain showers to come about.
Who do you surround yourself with? I hope with folks that encourage you to do better and still accept you when you are far from your best. I chose to surround myself with a wonderful man, family, friends, and mentors. People who reaffirm “I am enough.” Dean and I love each other’s company no matter where we are at, four or five hours in the vehicle on a road trip. We take in the scenery, silence, listen to music, and talk from time to time. Simply, home is where he is. I think he feels the same about me. This spring we have taken some long weekends relishing the spring greens and blooms. One weekend by ourselves, another included friends, and this last one included mentors and family. I met one of my culinary and literary heroes this past weekend. Dean and I drove to Eureka Springs, AR for The Writers’ Colony at Dairy Hollow’s Poetluck event. I have been following Crescent Dragonwagon for over 25 years in books, magazines and online. She has authored over 50 cookbooks and children’s books as well as donated the Dairy Hollow House for this non-profit group as a base to encourage the written and spoken word. There at the WCDH Crescent and others welcomed every new and old face. It felt good to be recognized now that I have been coming to the writers’ group for almost 2 years. What a feeling of belonging while with my fellow writers.
“I wanted to appreciate the moments of my life more fully; I wanted to get out of my head and into my life; I wanted to deepen my knowledge of the world, of other people—and of myself.” ~ Gretchen Rubin
What do you surround yourself with? Beauty. Love. Words. Life. “Magic Pools” as Margaret Tarrant’s painting depicts those swirls of infinite dreams, some coming alive, others still being stirred up inside. Dean and I still dream and talk about a house a little bigger than our current cottage house. A home with enough space to welcome visiting guests and our hobbies. Adjoining are a small greenhouse and studio/workshop to create in. Most likely situated on the edge of town in a different Missouri county. See where God leads us as Dean’s retirement approaches. Meantime, we gather glimpses of the past through research, museums, and antique shops to know where we came from. We live in the present moment with loving relationships, positive affirmations, the Word of God, and meaningful activities that fill our days. We share the joys and sorrows of our loved ones. We watch and listen to a pair of robin birds care for their little ones literally outside our front door. We plant flowers, herbs, and greens in planters because we believe in the future. Surround sounds, touches, smells, tastes, and sights as Gretchen Rubin explains in her newest book Life In Five Senses. Today, every day live life fully present. Tomorrow will take care of itself.
What happened to January? The bustling holiday season went into a busy January, and finally a weekend in mid-February set aside to slow down, stay home, read, and write. My blogging and writing curtailed with a new weekday office job, weekends in Farmington, cottage interior projects, and reorganizing. Dean and I last-minute traveled to Eureka Springs, AR to join in my first evening of readings with The Writers’ Colony at Dairy Hollow. I shared a couple of classics from Emily Dickinson and Christina Rossetti, and then a few of my own poems. I experienced the beatnik snapping fingers. Fun! One poetry submission went out in January. I may be able to get one or two submissions this weekend. My life changed its course starting in December. After working for 18 months with part-time jobs after my retirement from my HR position with the local government, I decided to seek a full-time job where I have dependable hours. I started this HR position just before Christmas. Much more to learn with this generalist role in a smaller organization. Thankful it has been a friendlier culture. I continue to teach a culinary class one or two evenings a month. Diligence and time management are all the more necessary to keep to my writing projects.
One day out of each weekend since Christmas have been helping my daughter, son-in-law, and grandkids who live in Farmington, MO. Their house burned down Christmas night. They escaped with no injuries, thank God! They have a long road to full recovery from this tremendous loss. Miracles after miracles have been witnessed. The other day of each weekend are filled with home projects. The cottage guest bedroom had a face lift on one wall. Dean put up bead board, carefully cutting to fit around the window frame. We will paint the bead board an off-white when the weather warms up this impending spring and the windows can stay open for a day. It really lightens up the room, mellowing the cranberry red wallpaper and keeps to the Edwardian country decor. While Dean worked on that, I have been paring down and reorganizing drawers, closets, and rooms. We did a couple of furniture swaps between bedrooms to simplify access. Now Valentine hearts along with seasonal snowmen and snowbirds dot the rooms with a festive fever. I put together various candy jars for the kids and my fellow HR co-workers. I thoroughly believe gifts of love expressed from the kitchen can be given to everyone you meet.
“There is nothing better than a friend, unless it is a friend with chocolate.”
~ Linda Grayson
“At the end of the day, I believe you lead with your heart. This is all part of who I am, no matter where I am. My heart is my heart.”
Deanna Greens and Garden Art 