“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?
Category Archives: write
Happy Haiku Day!
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
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

"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.