Category Archives: write

Pen & Paper

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The written word seems foreign now.  Particularily I am talking about the old-fashion long-hand letter writing and journaling.  You know … what we did before Word docs, Word Press, LinkedIn, Facebook, and Twitter.  Some of our famous poems and quotes were birthed in these letters and journals.  Authors such as Thoreau, Twain, and Whitman are American classics.  “Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart,” writes William Wordsworth.  So I regret I have put aside my pen and paper.  A letter or two to my estranged aunt, uncle, and cousin while wrongful imprisoned would be good for them as well as me.  And I regret that I  do not journal each day as I once did. In was my sanity through the most difficult days in my 1st marriage.   Garden journaling would be so therapeutic, like gardening is.

Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart. ~William Wordsworth

I have found a writer’s colony in the Ozarks.   My new husband and I will visit there this weekend.  We have in mind to write a historical novel based on real characters we have known in our lives.  These characters are full of whit, adventure, and stature.  We are in the autumn years of our lives.  And we have much to say as the winter years come quicker than we like to think …

Slow Is Simple

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Life in the eyes of a child … simple.

A child’s life moves in slow motion though they run and play with full speed.  My granddaughter Ella wants to experience life to the fullest, yet slows down to view upclose a green frog hopping in the garden.  Life is simple as a child.  Slow is simple.  Simply said …

Green frog in the garden, a child’s bauble, maybe prince charming, a fairy tale in the making …

Reflections

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Missouri is experiencing a winter blast on this New Year’s Day.  Daydreaming about sunny days at Hilton Head Island (October 2010) and Valhalla on Island Lake in Minnesota (July 2011) … wishing to be in warmth and sunshine … I reflect where 2011 went and where 2012 is going like the sunrise and sunset …

Sunrise at the Cabana

 

Valhalla Sunset

Birthdays, holidays, a graduation, and homecoming court were celebrated with family and friends.  These are frequent with 6 children, 5 grandkids, 2 sets of parents, 5 siblings, 6 neices & nephews, grandparents, and old & new friends.  But one celebration was bittersweet. The life of my 95-year grandmother was celebrated at her memorial service in August.  Grandma Paula’s  last Christmas, she is pictured with Grandpa Earl, our youngest 5th generation grandson, Eli and his mommy, Rachel .

 For 9 months in 2011 Dean and I were apprentices for an organic farm called EarthDance Farms in Ferguson, Missouri. We enjoyed it so much that will do more than same as “sophomore farmies”. We purchased our very own greenhouse so we can play in the dirt even more.  Here is a photo of Dean & I as Santa & Mrs. Claus for Ferguson’s 4th of July Parade themed “Christmas in July”.  We celebrated our nation’s  freedom with our EarthDance friends before the Minnesota vacation to Valhalla to see old friends.   My 33 & 1/3 high school reunion came in September, and Rainer’s homecoming court in October.

“A mirror reflects a man’s face, but what he is really like is shown by the friends he chooses.”  Proverbs 21:19

So glad my husband is my best friend, and together we choose good company.

Like Blooms From A Potted Geranium

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“Change is here to stay”, and we as people are constantly changing.  Like blooms from a potted geranium.  Each opens from a bud.  And then dies to make way for more growth.  Growth is what makes me “me”.  Hopefully, we evaluate our identity on a regular basis. I know I do. I do this with conversation with friends, family, acquaintances, or the new person I just met. Also, I spend quiet time in thought and prayer about who I am and my purpose on earth. But more than anything, my identity is found in how I serve those around me. Busy wife, mother, grandmother, sister, daughter, granddaughter, wellness administrator, culinary professional, instructor, and farmer; serving in all those capacities. I have many blooms on my potted plant.  How about you?

Happy Haiku Day!

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 Christmas brunch awaits;

Lavender cream scones, ham quiche,

with cranberry juice red.

Happy Haiku Day!

Haiku is a form of Japanese Poetry. In English, it consists of 3 lines.  Each line has:

5 syllables

7 syllables

5 syllables

It often includes references to nature, especially the season and your experience of it.    Post a haiku today!

Child Again

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Our hearts grow tender with childhood memories and love of kindred, and we are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, become a child again at Christmas-time. “~ Laura Ingalls Wilder
As I get older, I have simplified the holidays. Most gifts are bought throughout the year, decorating kept to a minimum, baking delicacies few, and gatherings short but sweet. Green gifts of houseplants and botantical soaps given at all the gatherings … I want to feel like a child again this Christmas … the magic of just being …

The Summer Night Sizzles And An Old Man’s Winter Night

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"The summer night sizzles" was my wedding night in pictureques Hermann, Missouri ... dining, wining, and pining at The Cottage.

 My 96-year old grandfather will spend a many winter’s night alone.  Grandpa Earl lost his beloved wife of 52 years this August.  On Christmas Eve Grandpa Earl will be in the company of his youngest grandson, my brother.  I think my brother knows Grandpa’s heart … this poem brings me back to thoughts of Grandpa … 

An Old Man’s Winter Night by Robert Frost

All out-of-doors looked darkly in at him
Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars,
That gathers on the pane in empty rooms.
What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze
Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand.
What kept him from remembering what it was
That brought him to that creaking room was age.
He stood with barrels round him—at a loss.
And having scared the cellar under him
In clomping there, he scared it once again
In clomping off;—and scared the outer night,
Which has its sounds, familiar, like the roar
Of trees and crack of branches, common things,
But nothing so like beating on a box.
A light he was to no one but himself
Where now he sat, concerned with he knew what,
A quiet light, and then not even that.
He consigned to the moon—such as she was,
So late-arising—to the broken moon
As better than the sun in any case
For such a charge, his snow upon the roof,
His icicles along the wall to keep;
And slept. The log that shifted with a jolt
Once in the stove, disturbed him and he shifted,
And eased his heavy breathing, but still slept.
One aged man—one man—can’t keep a house,
A farm, a countryside, or if he can,
It’s thus he does it of a winter night.