Winter Inspiration

Imperfect Angel

From the upstairs bedroom window
on a moonlit December night,
I look down upon the snow
at a quite unusual sight.

Carefully sculpted snow angels
line the hillside down below.
There's one after another—
quite the perfect little row.

But something is quite different
about that last one over there.
It isn't quite as "perfect"
as far as snow angels fair.

I ponder the possibilities
and think, "How can this be?
Aren't angels always flawless?"
(Most surely would agree.)

Angels are quite elegant,
ne'er a wing is out of place,
their gowns are always just right
and in the finest of taste.

This angel isn't like the others.
It's messy to say the least.
But, to all children, I'd say:
"An imperfect angel I'd rather be."

Perfect's not all it's meant to be
with expectations above and beyond.
And so, my children, I hope you'll see
it's important to just have fun.

As I gaze out the frosty window pane
at the wintery display cast in blue,
I glimpse something along the lane,
a dog slowly passing through.

It wanders upon the row of angels,
stops and sniffs, and wouldn't you know?
It was man's best friend that made that
"Imperfect Angel" in the snow!

(written '10)

---------------

The busy holiday season and my three granddaughters were the

inspiration for the following poem about life in the slower lane.

There's Magic In

The Silence

Their day's been filled with laughter, 

good friends and gifts galore.

"Now, girls, turn down the lights. 

It's time to take it slower." 

So as the sun sets in the west 

and the snow begins to swirl, 

I notice that the Christmas lights 

shone brighter than e'er before.

There's a sense of peace

with the freshly fallen snow but

as I gaze out the window I hear, 

"Grandma, let's do more?"

"Be quiet and just listen 

to the stillness all around.

There's magic in the silence, 

speak less and it will be found."

As I open up the window, I say, 

"Come closer and grab a blanket or two."

Then we huddled on the floor as the 

snowflakes came tumbling through.

"Did you see that shooting star

in the distant northern sky

and hear the swooshing sound it made

as it quickly passed on by?"

"And do you hear the crunching

as a grey fox makes its way

along the path by the pines

near that place you like to play?"

"I believe I hear a heartbeat.

Do you think that could be so?

It reminds me of my love for you. . .

is that an icicle on your nose?"

“You may not hear each snowflake

as it tumbles to the ground,

but if you're quiet you will hear

the most magnificent sounds.”

“Learn to listen patiently 

and you will come to see that

the world is filled with wonder—

and the best of it is free.”

(written '09)

---------------

Snowflake Souffle

In silence they come tumbling down,
tossing twirling to the ground.

Hours pass. . . the piles grow higher.
Snowflake Souffle is what you desire?

In wonderment I sit and stare
at Mother Nature's creative flair.
In the far off clouds I see
a glistening white menagerie.

There's an arctic fox, an albino deer,
a great white bear, yet have no fear.
For in the clouds they'll prance about
'til the north winds blow-w-w them out.

To the earth they'll make their way,
this icy creation—more Snowflake Souffle.
Snowflake Souffle. . . so fluffy and light.
C'est magnifique! A beautiful sight! 

(written '08)

More Fluff

The calm after the storm.

Over 18 inches of new fluff.

Many hungry visitors today.

50+ mph winds and the garland is still intact.

Many many birds visited the frozen feeders today.

Sparkly ice coated tree limbs. 

The new Christmas bows got a good workout.

Ash trees wear white quite well.

Seasonal Frosting

Decked halls, pre-storm.

Happy feeders, pre-storm.

Whipping cream as far as the eye can see.

Dandelion. . . really! Pre-storm.

Breakfast.

Life's Moments

Granddaughters with Great Grandma.

"Let's hold hands!"

A playful moment

last September.

Samantha, Lydia, and Elyse, 

7, 12,  and 8,

with Great Grandma, 82.

I cherish these moments

more with each

passing

day.

Might as well dream big. . .

Samantha talking about her dream. (She wore her new
"monkey hat" the whole day on Saturday.)

What a wind it was. Samantha said it blew her and her mommy and daddy completely away. It was so strong that it lifted them high into the air and carried them to the North Pole "where Santa was." And then, according to Samantha, she got an iPad.

It seems like the whole family did a bit of dreaming this past Friday.

As we sat at the breakfast bar eating dinner Saturday evening, my granddaughters and I talked about our dreams from the previous night. Elyse, who is eight years old and an avid reader, said that her dream was about Harry Potter. My dream was a bit more complex so I spared them the boring details. But seven year old Samantha was more than willing to tell us about how she got blown all the way to Santa's house and then ended up with an iPad.

I guess if you must dream, you might as well dream big.

love•n•pet

The inspiration for Elyse's handcrafted love•n•pet shop came from the Winx Club, a Saturday morning children's program. My granddaughter said that you can buy pets at the shop or have yours cared for if you are going away. They also care for sick and injured pets.

All of the fairies and the animals at the shop have special powers. Musa has the power of music, Bloom the power of the dragon (flame), Aisha the power of water, and Stella the power of sunshine. All of the animals were stuffed toys until they got wings and became fairies. Now they can fly.

According to Elyse the Winx Club show isn't very popular but she certainly offered a plethora of information about its characters. For instance, Stella, the blond with the cropped shirt is a fashion freak and hates to work; and Aisha throws balls of water with her hands. There are two additional characters but Elyse didn't have room for all of them.

I asked my granddaughter why she decided to make the love•n•pet shop and she said it was because she needed something to do. I learned that it took Elyse a whole morning, from approximately 7:00 to 11:00, and a night (actually about 15 minutes) to make it. Anyway, knowing exactly how much time was spent on the colorful creation isn't all that important. I am simply in awe of my 8 year old granddaughter's creativity. 

Sliver of a Moon

Last evening was an udder delight.

I spotted a sliver of a moon setting on the

branch of the crooked ash tree in the south yard.

And the barn lights shone especially bright as the farmer

 across the way went about the business of milking his herd.

The night was clear and calm  and I was fearful

that the it would all be lost as I made a

mad dash for the nearest camera.

S   I   G  H.

But my iPhone

served me

well.

Snap, Pop, Rattle, Rattle, Rattle

I reside in a century old farm house in the the Upper Midwest. It sets on a shallow knoll and is surrounded by open fields. Ash trees, a few large pines, and a row of haggard cedar trees add interest to the yard but none provide great protection from the cold winter winds; especially those that blow across the west field and barrel up our long driveway.

On a blustery winter day it is not unusual to hear a symphony that plays out something like this: snap, pop, rattle, rattle, rattle, crackle, THUMP! That would be my house's way of telling me that the time has come to grab a mug of hot cocoa and hunker down. Another sure sign is when the storm windows become a canvas for the ever-so-creative Mr. Jack Frost. I love to photograph the icy wind-driven sculptures that he leaves behind.

Little hunkering down encouragement is required when it comes to my cat, Lelu. When the clock strikes Fall she's on it. . . and under it, which is the case today. Although today's 50 degree temperature is mild by Wisconsin standards, I found Lelu curled up under layers of blankets in the upstairs bedroom, exactly where my husband's feet had been earlier. I guess she isn't all that picky about where she chooses to hunker down. 

"But I Wanted A Green Frog"

I've got a a bit of writer's block going on.

It has lasted for several weeks now.

When I don't write I tend to get grumpy

and since grumpiness gathers 

steam over time I thought

I should write:

As I walked past a checkout lane at a department store yesterday, I overheard the cashier speaking to a young child who was sitting in a stroller next to the counter. She was admiring him and the red fire engine that he held tightly in his hand. After the little boy's mother finished checking out, she began to gather her things. Her cheerful demeanor and the way she communicated with her son warmed my heart. As she lifted her angel from the stroller, she discovered a stuffed frog tucked beside him in the seat. "When did you get this?" his mother said with a smile. You could tell that she was genuinely surprised by the discovery. In the sweetest of sweet voices, her son simply said, "But I wanted a green frog." 

They Called Him Mr. Tibbs

Earlier this month I helped my daughter and her family bury their beloved cat, Tybee (a.k.a. Ty, Tiger, Mr. Tibbs). It was Thursday morning when they found him lying outside of my granddaughter's bedroom door. I'm certain it was not by chance that he landed there because he had been a part of Samantha's life since she entered this world over 7 1/2 years ago. There was a genuine bond between Ty and my granddaughter and I believe that he wanted to be as close to her as possible.

After I got the news that Ty had passed and that the girls wanted him to be buried here on the farm I made it my mission to find a suitable resting place for this sweet cat. That place was in the wildflower garden in the woods not far from the park bench. I thought he would then be remembered whenever we  took a walk down back.

It was evening by the time my daughter and her family arrived with Ty. Both granddaughters donned winter coats since the weather had turned much colder and the wind was whipping across the fields and through the trees. Fur trimmed hoods hid the girls' faces as we gathered around the gravesite. They stood stoic as we talked about what a special fellow "Mr. Tibbs" was and how incredibly patient he had been with both of them; and how he brought great comfort to the family during a very difficult moment in time. A lighthearted poem was then read in Mr. Tibbs' remembrance. 

I'd designated a small iron garden ornament that appeared to be a section of fence (in miniature form) as the marker for Ty's grave. Once the grave was covered, Samantha quickly walked over to the ornament and in one swift motion extracted it from its original location and then attempted to insert it next to Ty's grave. Her determination was obvious as she quietly struggled to embed it into the hard ground. It took a little assistance from her dad to accomplish the task but, rest assured, she will now be able to find her special friend's final resting place.

As the sun began to set and we retreated from the garden, I was touched by something Samantha said. I  don't know if it was meant for anyone in particular or simply reinforcement for herself but she spoke these sweet words:  "I will walk back here and talk to Ty every time I come to visit." 

Autumn Leaves and Milkweed

Call it an obsession; my love of fall. I look forward to it every year. 

The cooler temperatures and beauty of the season never fail to draw me in.

–––––––––––––––

I would like to share this link from to an earlier post. It shows photographs of

milkweed pod that grew behind our house a few years ago. The light

provided a wonderful opportunity to capture the beauty of this

unique plant. I think you'll enjoy a second look.

Not Quite Average: Picturesque Pods: What do I love about Fall?   Nearly everything:  cornstalks crackling in the wind, hues of yellow and orange, cool breezes, cozy sweaters, h...

Worth Repeating

When I am excited about something, I have a tendency to repeat myself.

And since Fall has provided us with beautiful colors this year—and I consider

that to be terribly exciting—I am sharing a few more fall photos. 

The woodpile-bigger-than-my-dog shot is a favorite due to

its painterly appearance but each photo has its own special qualities.

I never tire of this photo showing the lane leading to the back

acreage. Click on the photo to view a larger version. 

Bursting milkweed pod is a fall favorite but this one was loaded

with oncopeltus fasciatus, a.k.a. milkweed bugs. Nast!!

I sighted a Mule hiding in the brush. This one happened

to have a steering wheel. Hee haw!!

With color at every turn, I make effort to ignore certain things. But, since my

 brain doesn't allow such nonsense, I usually return for a photo.

I removed brambles and brush and dug a campfire pit to create this campsite.

There is a semi-cleared pathway that leads to the creek on the far right.

Matisse must have made a visit. 

Magnificent colors.

An unplanned adoption allowed this good-natured black lab

to spend her days exploring wide open spaces. Lucky dog!

Matissed once again.

A calming color palette,

and an empty nest.

Her nose knows no peace. Busy, busy, busy.

Winding Down

Let me savor the warmth of this day;

feast upon the golden ash and blazing red maple,

the rainbow streaked sky.

Let me feast today;

for tomorrow it will all be gone.

Dirty Dish Doer

Some photos linger in my brain until they are put to task. This picture of my granddaughter, Lydia, washing dishes is one of them. She turned 12 on this particular day and she insisted on cleaning my dishes. To make her case, she said that she would wash each dish "two or three times."

Who am I to argue when presented with such a generous offer?

Unlike Lydia, who thoroughly enjoys the process of washing dishes, I would do practically anything as a child to avoid the task. Even though I am now a fully grown adult-like person, I still feel a slight twinge of dread when faced with a pile of dirty dishes. 

Oddly so, memories of my dad often surface when I'm elbow deep in dirty dishwater.

My dad was a working man in earlier years: a factory worker by day and farmer by night. Washing dishes was not something he did. But, change happens, as was the case with my mom and dad, who eventually went their own ways. Years later, I recall a time when I visited my dad and his lady companion at their home. I realized how much dad had truly changed when he cheerfully served coffee to my husband and I and talked about  how he enjoyed washing dishes.

Blame It On Mother

I am often mid-sentence when 

I glance out the window and find

myself disattracted by the light. I

usually grab my camera and 

quickly head for the door.

My husband doesn't

seem to mind my abrupt exit.

Perhaps he doesn't notice that

I'm actually gone and that words 

are no longer being spoken.

I'll blame it on Mother Nature.

She is, after all, the reason shadows

frolic in the yard every evening

and grass shimmers like

diamonds early morn.

On Lovin' Norman

I've fallen in love

with Norman.

You will too.

The second stop motion

3-D film ever made was released Friday.
(Coraline was the first.)

ParaNorman is true 3-D, which means the effect

was created with cameras and not computers.

The Summer Olympics have ended,

but in honor of it—and the opening of this

wonderfully entertaining movie

—here's a short video clip.

ENJOY!

(Click on the ParaNorman link in the right sidebar to read more about the movie.) 

After The Rain

A near perfect rendition of country life, a

gift to those of us who set foot outside last evening.

The rains came and went, leaving behind cool

breezes and a sky filled with purple fluff;

and a few sharks, porpoises, and one

humongous bloated starfish. 

Meese Hice

An entertaining bit from the

local newspaper.

Grizzly

This is "Grizzly," my sister and brother-in-law's Newfoundland.

I dog-sat him while they did errands earlier today. He is about two and

a half times the size of my granddaughter, who's foot can be seen in 

the photo. We wanted to show you how big Grizzly actually is.

As you can see, Grizz is far from typical, especially with

his new haircut: sheared body, spiked head, and bushy "end."

He's quite the conversation piece, don't you think?