by jphilo | Apr 3, 2008 | Daily Life
This morning, the sky is gray. Every once in a while, in a fair imitation of an irritable camel, it spits a little. The cold and rain is about as welcome as difficult house guest who wore out her welcome weeks ago.
But I refuse to let the weather dampen my enthusiasm because spring is on its way. Between Monday’s substantial rainfall and Wednesday’s sunshine, the lawn is now more green than brown. I saw crocuses in bloom at McFarland Clinic yesterday. And every day, another tulip or daffodil in my flower bed braves the cold and comes out of hiding.
The magnolia tree beside the house is covered with buds waiting to flower at the slightest provocation. I can hardly wait since it barely bloomed the first spring after planting and an April frost nipped last year’s buds in the bud.
The tree was supposed to be a bush, but it had bigger growth plans and implemented them with great success. Hiram wanted to move the tree away from the house last fall, but I persuaded him to let it bloom this spring before digging it up. The trauma of a move could be deadly, so I want one glorious blooming and lots of pictures in case that happens.
Which means, of course, that I should be pleased with a cold spring which keeps plants from flowering too early and becoming victims of a frosty death. The magnolia is more likely to be what I hope it will be, all because the weather is not what I think it should be. So I am pleased, at least in my more mature, big picture moments which don’t come nearly often enough.
Every gloomy morning provides an opportunity to mature and consider the big picture. So this spring I am maturing at record speed. And in the moments when I see the big picture, I thank God for gray skies and chilly days, and most of all for magnolia buds and for beauty yet to come.
by jphilo | Apr 1, 2008 | Daily Life
I was feeling pretty sorry for myself this morning. My husband looked outside and hollered, “It’s snowing.” From the date, you might think he was pulling an April Fool’s prank. But he wasn’t. It really was snowing. And then, once I was awake my little toe started throbbing again, the one I whacked against the leg of our bed last night.
One look at it in the cold, hard light of day and Hiram said, “You need to go to the doctor. It’s probably broken, and it could be the joint. Don’t dink around.”
So I have an appointment this afternoon at 2:40, which really messes up my writing day, not to mention I can’t wear a shoe and I couldn’t go for a walk this morning so what was I supposed to blog about today anyway?
My thoughts were zipping full speed ahead in that direction when the phone rang and Scott Newport, a friend I’ve made during my book publishing journey, was on the line. Scott and his wife Penni are parents of two children, Noah (10) and Evan (6). Evan was diagnosed with Noonan’s Syndrome, and lots of other stuff, shortly after birth. He wasn’t supposed to live past age two. Instead, he beat the odds and lives at home, cared for by his parents and a bevy of nurses.
Scott wanted to know my address because he’s sending me an end table he made out of old salvaged doors. He likes to turn what others consider garbage into beautiful, useful objects because that’s what he sees God doing with Evan’s life.
It was harder to feel sorry for myself after the phone call, but I managed. At least until I clicked the link Scott emailed a few weeks ago and listened to the Words to Live By RBC radio broadcast featuring him and Penni. By the time they finished their story, I was grateful to have any toes, even broken ones. I was thankful for snowy April mornings, my son’s life as a monk, my daughter’s college tuition bills and my husband’s advice. So if you’re feeling sorry for yourself this April Fool’s Day, you might want to listen to Scott and Penni’s story.
Get ready to be thankful, even for broken toes.
by jphilo | Mar 31, 2008 | Daily Life
A picture of the inside of my deep freeze may not be a big deal to you. But each of those Ziplock bags and casserole dishes holds a freezer meal. and to me that represents peace of mind.
On Saturday four of us got together and made freezer meals. Our theme (three of us are or were teachers – we have to have a theme) was recipes with ground meat. We made meat loaf, three kinds of meatballs and ham balls. By the end of three hours, I had seven meals ready to freeze, the kitchen was clean. Not only that, but we had caught up on one another’s lives and solved the world’s problems.
One of my friends compared the afternoon to scrapbooking. Instead of measuring productivity by page completed, you count Ziplocks filled.
BTW, supper tonight at our house is meat loaf, Hiram’s favorite. After supper, I think my husband, who has patiently endured my scrapbooking jags, will champion my latest girl bonding thing.
After all he’s a very smart man.
by jphilo | Mar 24, 2008 | Daily Life
We had another dusting of snow the night before Easter. And the day itself was cold, overcast and gray. After church we drove to my brother and sister-in-law’s house, for the afternoon. Our gathering was much brighter than the weather, full of fun and food and laughter.
In the evening when I was home again, a flurry of movement outside the living room window caught my eye. A flock of robins, forty or fifty at least, carpeted our east lawn and part of our neighbor’s. I watched the birds for a few minutes, heartened by this sure sign that no matter how chilly the weather gets, spring is on its way.
A look out the same window this morning revealed a lawn carpeted with frost, sharp and glittering and cruel. For a moment I lost hope, sure that winter would never lose its grip on my corner of the world, convinced that spring would never arrive. But peace returned as I thought about yesterday’s flock of birds. The robins are back. Spring is almost here. Don’t give up.
It’s enough to keep me going today.
by jphilo | Mar 17, 2008 | Daily Life
One look outside the window this morning, and Hiram and I were in the depths of despair. It snowed again last night, a light dusting that turned the ground white and made the road slippery during my morning walk. That may sound like complaining to you, but it is not. As instructed by Jack Webb on Dragnet, I’m reporting only the facts.
In the spirit of fact-finding, be reminded that this is St. Patrick’s Day, the holiday devoted to all things Irish and green. Since everything around here is covered with white (again I am stating only the facts), I had to dig into my photographic bag of tricks to find an appropriate picture for today.
And look at what I found – a picture taken in July of 2005 at the Glendalough Monastery in Ireland. We were hiking from the monastery ruins to the two lakes further up in the hills when we crossed a footbridge over this stream. I am convinced it is enchanted and a fitting nod-o-the-head to my ancestors from the Emerald Isle.
Today’s a good day to get lost in the scenery. No snow, no cold and the never ending hope that a leprechaun might jump from the hollow of a tree and lead me to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. That sounds a whole lot better than Lucky Charms for breakfast or a dusting of snow on March 17. I think I want to move there.
Top o’ the morning to ya.
by jphilo | Feb 20, 2008 | Daily Life
The dirty asparagus deed is done. The omelet, stuffed with Swiss cheese and imported asparagus trucked in from who knows where, has been made. At least the stuff was on sale for $1.99 a bunch.
The sun is shining so I had plenty of natural light for the food photo shoot. (It is so hard to get vegetables to lick their lips and gaze sexily at the camera so I need every advantage possible.) The least appealing and therefore most honest picture is shown above. The one for the magazine, with a background of perky looking houseplants in brightly colored pots, make the omelet look much too nice. (If you want to see that photo, you’ll have to wait for the April issue of Facets. When it comes out, I’ll add a link to it.)
For now, the omelet is covered with plastic wrap, waiting in the refrigerator for Hiram. He volunteered to eat it. All I have to do now is unload the remainder of the bunch of asparagus on my mom. Then she’ll call Hiram and ask him to come to over for supper. They’ll have creamed asparagus with ham on toast, and they’ll talk about what a picky eater I am.
I don’t even care. So far as I’m concerned, the whole asparagus dilemma is resolved. My photo of fake Iowa asparagus is good enough to perpetrate the necessary hoax. The recipe column makes asparagus sound delicious, even though I lied through my teeth to make that happen. And the payment for these grievous sins is an evening off while someone else fixes supper for my husband.
Sometimes, crime does pay.
