by jphilo | Jul 13, 2010 | Daily Life
After a week of wedding company, Hiram and I took only a day to adjust to having the house to ourselves again. So imagine our surprise this morning when we discovered an unexpected guest on our doorstep.
I mean that literally. When I went to shut the French door in the dining room, which I’d opened earlier to let in some fresh air, a chubby, warty toad graced our doorstep, frantically trying to reach the patio. His original plan to spring out the joint was a no go, since he had neither the weight or momentum to bust through the screen door. Now and then he hopped up high enough to cling to the screen, a la Garfield the cat, and hang suspended. Highly entertaining for us, but Mr. Toad didn’t laugh.
We should have expected the warty visitor. Toads have been especially abundant this summer. I’ve shooed a fair number of toads out of the screened porch and garage. Even before the wedding crowd arrived, the yard’s been awash with other wanna be house guests – a bat or two in the attic, some small critter using the screened in porch as an outhouse, a muskrat under the porch, and wasps in the garage. Yesterday twin fawns decided the coast was clear, escaped from their mother, and gamboled about our quiet yard for several minutes. Then Mom arrived and put an end to their fun, leading them to the woods where they disappeared.
But back to the toad hanging on the screen door. I was not happy to see him as I’m done hostessing for the time being. And how do you show a toad hospitality anyway? Are they big on small talk? Where do they like to sleep? Do they use hand towels? Remember to flush? What do they eat? I have no answers to these questions and don’t want to do the research.
Finally, we showed the little fella some mercy and opened the screen door so he could hop free. He didn’t move. Finally, Hiram gave him a little toe nudge and our house guest ran, er, hopped for the hills. Of course we don’t have hills, just a gently slopping brick patio, but “hopped for the hills” sounds so much more dramatic and uses alliteration, so I couldn’t resist.
Hopefully Mr. Toad will spread the word.
This house is no fun.
The party’s over.
The food is bad.
And wedding crowd, if you had a good time here and plan on coming back some day, please keep your mouths shut about the weekend fun.
Especially around toads.
by jphilo | Jul 12, 2010 | Family
Wow! After weeks of planning and wedding tasks that bumped real life activities to the bottom of my to do list, the wedding of our daughter and new son is history. More details will be forthcoming, once I’m not so tired I nod off the minute I’m not moving, and more pictures will be posted once my sweet cousin assigned to taking candid shots has time to download and send them, but for today here are a few highlights:
- Sunday morning’s rain tipped the scales in favor of moving the wedding ceremony to the pavilion in the park. Though the weather improved as the day progressed and the sun was shining for the ceremony, we were glad of the change in venue. The gnats and mosquitoes were bothersome, even in the pavilion. They would have been unbearable in our yard.
- The bride was lovely and her new husband handsome. But their outward appearance is nothing compared to the maturity of their love for one another. We are so grateful our daughter has such a devoted husband who appreciates who she is.
- The flower lady, also known as my sister, outdid herself with the flowers. Who knew Queen Anne’s lace and purple cone flowers, combined with greenhouse roses and gladiolas could be so lovely?
- The work done by the reception planner, also known as my friend Diana, was a gift I can never repay. She took a load off my shoulders by organizing food, materials, and workers…the day before heading to LaCrosse, Wisconsin for her last week of graduate school.
- My long time son and new daughter deserve hugs and kisses for decorating the reception pavilion while I rode herd on the bride and bridesmaids back at the ranch until the ceremony.
- We are blessed with loving family – from our new son’s parents and siblings pitching in to my sister doing the flowers, from one of my cousin’s daughters teaching ballroom dancing at the reception to the cousin who took the pictures, from my brother staying late to help Hiram load and return tables to everyone who participated in Anne and her husband’s joy.
- We are blessed with a loving church family, young and old – sisters and brothers in Christ who came early and stayed late, contributed food, served food, helped with sound equipment, acted silly in the photo booth, hugged our children, and joined in the dancing and merriment.
Such fun. Such memories. Such a support system for us and such strength to lift our sweet children into adulthood. So many blessings. So much grace.
Our cup runneth over.
We are so grateful.
We are so blessed.
Thank you, dear God of all blessing.
by jphilo | Jul 7, 2010 | Family
Four days until the wedding, and what did I find? A dandy patch of Queen Anne’s lace, swaying tall and graceful, in an easy-to-reach spot by old Highway 30 east of town.
The flower lady, also known as my sister, plans to gather the the lovely weed, to use as an accent when she creates bouquets and boutonnières on Sunday morning.
She sees an accent flower, but I see my three-year-old daughter standing on the pew at a long ago wedding. Looking like she’d died and gone to fairy tale heaven, my little girl watches the first bridesmaid glide down the aisle. My little girl leans toward me, her eyes wide, and whispers, “She’s a princess.” As bridesmaid follows bridesmaid, she whispers the same words.
“She’s a princess.”
“She’s a princess.”
“She’s a princess.”
Then the organ music swells, the guests rise to their feet, and I lift Anne into my arms so she can see the bride, lovely in her white gown. My little girl gasps, clasps her hands, and her sweet, high voice floats above the rustle of the crowd and the music.
“Mommy, look. She’s the queen.”
Her voice swirls around the Queen Anne’s lace beside the road, and the memory of her childish face shifts, I see a bride, wearing my wedding dress and carrying a bouquet trimmed with small, delicate white flowers. A sweet, high voice floats out of the past and across the meadow to where I stand beside the road, staring at the patch of wildflowers.
“Mommy, look. I’m the queen.”
by jphilo | Jun 14, 2010 | Daily Life
These days, I’m worrying about the yard. First, the warm April weather fooled the summer flowers into blooming two weeks early even though May turned cold. Now, a week of heavy rain and predictions of more to come put the whole state under a flood watch. So I’m looking for someone or something to blame for my daughter’s unshakable decision to have her wedding in our yard on July 11.
You see, the wedding has become a constant source of yard angst for me. Will all the flowers be done blooming before the wedding? If the rains continue, will the yard be a yishy, squishy mess? Will the creeping Charlie be too noticeable? Will the weeds in the flower beds take over? Will the weather be too hot, too cold, too wet, too dry, too windy, too still?
I found the perfect outlet for my yard angst. It’s the young red oak in our yard. We planted in during Anne’s childhood. She waited year after patient year for the sapling to get big enough to climb, which she did frequently once her dad declared it a tree. Since then, it’s gotten big enough to cast a respectable amount of shade on hot, summer days. And on cool fall afternoons, it glows red and glorious. Despite its usefulness and beauty, between now and the wedding, I plan to blame it for my yard angst every single day.
After all, it’s a perfect whipping post. When I start railing about the wedding, it can’t walk away. It can’t spout off a snappy comeback or argue with my logic. It’s too flexible for straight line winds to snap it, too deeply rooted for a flood to wash it away, and too far from the house to fall on it during a tornado.
Ahh, I’m beginning to understand why Anne fell in love with her tree. Not enough to climb the darn thing (no need for height angst to keep the yard angst company), but enough to go along with her romantic whim. At least until the next round of yard angst sets in.
How much longer until July 11?
by jphilo | May 31, 2010 | Walking Down the Gravel Road
It rained last night, after a week of unseasonably hot and windy weather. Though the flower beds looked good – the peonies heavy with blooms, the iris all sweet perfume and color, the daisies cheerful and crowded along the west fence – the ground was rock hard beneath them. I gave in to gardener worry. Am I going to have to water every day between now and Anne’s wedding on July 11. Will the flowers be past their prime by then? Will the lawn be brown and crunchy?
Yesterday, as my worries escalated, storm clouds gathered in the west and north. The sky grew dark, the temperature dropped, lightning flashed, thunder boomed, and the rain came. Not in sheets, but in showers, all through the night. Enough to wash away the dust on every leaf and blossom, enough to put the hose to rest at least for Memorial Day.
The air was fresh and cool along the gravel road while I walked, everything the bright green that comes after rain and lightning. The birds sang as my spirit drank in the beauty, and I wondered why God has allowed us to live in such loveliness when so many go without it.
I walked up the driveway, and the sweetness of the daisies welcoming the sun as it peeked over the treetops made my heart swell with gladness. Are the raindrops still clinging to them? Could I find one and take a picture?
I approached them hopefully, and immediately saw one droplet tenaciously clinging to a flower. Then I checked the fence to see if there were more, but no. Just one, out of hundreds of blossoms. Just one.
God, you have heard my prayer and answered with undeserved grace yet again. You have made me brave to presume upon your kindness once again. We need just one bright day in July, not too hot and not too humid. When I called, You provided one raindrop on one daisy out of hundreds. Could you give my sweet daughter and her husband one day? Just one?
