A Winter Night's Walk

Late Christmas eve, after celebrating Mass and the festivities of our fun home-spun get together, my friend Jeanne and me walked down the long wintry road near my home - slightly ahead of us , our dogs gleefully raced one after the other. The outside smell was clean and fresh. My lungs expanded as I took in a deep breath. The cold, clear air felt good. Bundled up in outer wear designed to keep one warm in freezing temperatures, we stopped midway to take in the beauty all around us - to admire the bright moon giving light to the night time snow covering the ground.

We agreed that looking across the field was like looking at a billion Swarovski crystals sparkling on a sheet of silky white. Breathtaking. Brilliant. Wonderful.

It was so peaceful. In no hurry to move from where we were standing, we let many minutes pass before we started walking again

All was quiet; Still. No sound to be heard, but the sound of our own voices as we exclaimed the natural splendor of this north Idaho scene, and I couldn't help but wonder if this silent night was so unlike the night the Christ Child was born.

Christmas Eve Past

I can't truly say it was "Little House on the Prairie", but it was a white frame farm type house in the little city of Bell where my mother would wrap presents late into the night and bake brownies and cookies and make batches of chocolate fudge -many who said, " The best in all the world" to get ready for our Christmas Eve celebration.

On December 24 mom would do her job at the newspaper until 3 p.m. , then rush home to finish dressing the turkey, slice the ham, mash potatoes, candy yams. For it was to our modest home each Christmas Eve neighborhood friends, work friends, school friends and long time family friends would come for dinner and yuletide merriment. Everybody seemed to enjoy "Cooney's Open House" buffet.

Mother had everything prepared and arranged just right. Our flocked tree, standing in the corner of our living room was beautifully trimmed with lights all aglow; The baby Jesus laid nearby, snug in His crib, a quiet reminder for our celebration.

Thinking back, I marvel at how she did it - being a single mom, working full time and only a meagher income. My brother Walt and I helped where we could, but it was really mother who did all the planning and hard work; Her joyful spirit filled the house with Christmas warmth and Christmas cheer .

Ours was a small family - my mother, brother and me, and what mom did year after year was provide a Christmas Eve memory that still lingers on - a connection with others of sharing and caring in the season of Love.

Standing Near

Yesterday afternoon while I was window shopping and enjoying the holiday lights twinkling and tinkling along Sherman Avenue I overheard a sad story about a middle aged woman lost and forlorn - alienated, separted , disengaged from the family she loves. I didn't mean to listen in on the woman's conversation with her companion, but there we were standing together in front of "All Things Irish" , and the woman's voice was loud. Not wanting to intrude or appear an eavesdropper, I soon turned and walked away.

Life can be so fragile, the heart easily bruised
and broken by
unkind words
harshly spoken
thoughtless deeds
needlessly done.
Pride and envy
the enemy leading
the way to friendships
ruin. But more than that
ridicule and contant criticizm
break the spirit
like a weight around the
ankles causing one
to drown.
How much better
to encourage, to exhort,
lift up, build up
cheering one to
carry on; To persevere
with the duties of life
and dream dreams
of successful endeavor.
My hope, my prayer
this Christmas season and
every season is for
those weary souls
isolated and alone
to be reunited, reborn, renewed
by a touch of the hand, a warm
embrace, a caring look one to
the other, saying
Oh! sweet darling dear one
you matter to me ;
I'm glad you're here, standing near.

Endangered

Oh ! the pain
the anquish, the dark
dispair
self-inflicted
seemingly beyond repair
by wrong choice
and bad decision
A young woman
running towards ruin;
Drugs and lies
big lies and little lies and
prostitution.
How to help ? To
give her hope
when she digs deeper,
deeper the hole
and won't look up

Family Bible

One day last week while I was browsing the second hand shops, I came across an old, oversized Bible. It was setting on the floor in the book section of the store. I gently ran my hand over the fancy gold leaf lettering identyfing the book as "The Holy Bible and the Bible Arranged in Subjects with A Complete Concordance and Comprehensive Helps". I then carefully turned to the opening page to find the 1891 copyright and publisher, J.A. Wilmore. I had never heard of Wilmore, but surmize he must have been an early publisher of Bibles as Tyndale and Thomas Nelson are today.

Other than the well worn cover and title page being torn away from the binding, the Bible looked to be in fair condition with the remaining 1,062 pages still in tact and readable. There are several introductory pages : Contents, Preface, Publishers Announcement. I scanned quickly through them, then came to the First Book of Moses, called Genesis and read, " In the beginning God created the heaven and earth". My spirit was lifted, as it always is whenever I read the word of God.

I spent several more minutes turning the pages of Exodus, Kings, Chronicles before coming to a Family Record section. To my surprise each line was filled in with names and places of birth and death. The first entry John Wyler born October 1835 in Ragersville, Ohio; Died July 1910 was written in that cursive style script practiced in the 19th century with a fine point fountain pen. According to the record, other family members were born in Ireland, Scotland, Germany, and Iowa. The last recording was Kurt Alan born March 1963 in Tahoe City, California.

Marriage and Baptism dates are also listed, and as I flipped through the pages I found obituary clippings of William Wyler and George Lindell , bible study notes written in long-hand and a thank you note dated April 25, 1962 to "Dear Emma - Love, Sarahlyn" . One other interesting piece I found between the pages was an Edison Phonograph Owner's Certificate dated July, 1910 giving me a further glimpse into this family - telling me the one time Bible owner enjoyed listening to music.

I closed the Bible and knew it didn't belong on the floor of a thrift store or antique store or any store, but with the ancestors whose family history has been so carefully documented and recorded in these pages.

I asked the sales clerk how much she wanted for the Bible. She said, "Oh, I don't know. How about two dollars"? I said, "I'll take it". So now Wilmore's New Analytical Reference Bible is no longer on the floor of the Animal Shelter thrift store, but safe and secure on a table in my study. I don't plan on being the permanent keeper, only the temporary guardian - at least until one day I can locate the rightful owner of this Good Book.

Thanksgiving 2009

In homes today across Pilgrim's land
mothers and dads and sisters and brothers
and cousins and pals will
gather to play and repartee, to
repeat stories already told
at other holiday celebrations
and overeat turkey and
cornbread dressing
and mashed potatoes and
sweet potatoes and
cranberry salad and creamed corn
and pumpkin pie and pumpkin bread.
Many will pause for a moment
away from football games,
games of cribbage and watching old movie
musicals on DVD to recall
and recount some blessing,
some bounty, some beautiful
happening of the past year;
A baby born, a friendship restored,
a new job found, and give thanks to the Creator.
For others who have struggled with
saddness and loss; Feeling far removed
from Rockwell's "Freedom From Want"
their Thanksgiving is offered
in persevering hope, not dispair
knowing God will provide,
trusting in His care.

Looking Towards Winter

The view today from the old log swing looks bleak. The pumpkin orange and yellow squash colors of autumn are gone. The lake is flat, non-descript. The mid-range row of moutains are white with snow, like a chocolate bundt cake drizzled with vanilla frosting. The noble and evergreen trees seem staid and sober knowing the approaching winter is near. A raven with wings spanned wide sqawks loudly as he makes a solo flight across the expanding sky. I breathe in the cold, chilly air of north Idaho and am thankful for this place in time.

Splash of Color

It's been grey, drab
all day dreary
no blue sky
or sunshiney ray
Thoughts turn inward
casting a reflection
on the saddess of life
when foresaken by a friend
or a family member dies
Oh! where is the lightness,
the brightness to lift
one's spirit ?
To laugh with abandon and
carefree merriment
Then 4:10. Out the study room
window I see the setting sun
Brilliant. Beautiful. Domed between
the bland skyline and tops of trees
Reddish orange like the luscious lustre
of a vine ripened tomato
and I smile at the
splash of color added
to this colorless day.

Fall Leaves Fall

Fall leaves
gently fall
to the damp grassy earth
in my mother's backyard
covering the ground
in a blanket of
autumn color;
Like the golden yellow
of a golden delicious apple,
the green of a Granny Smith,
the deep orange of
a baked sweet potato
and pomegranate red.
I slip on
an old pair of
garden gloves and
grab the rake
to make piles and
piles of soft leafy mounds
soon to be bagged and
trucked away.
The task is not unpleasant
on this cool November day
I move and breathe
in the change of season
happening all around me
and am reminded of
pilgrims and pumpkins
and Thanksgiving Day

Lake Chelan, Ace Hardware, Friendly Service and Survial Items

I'm home now after a week at Lake Chelan with Margaret and Sandy. The three of us have been friends since high school and meet each November for a 'Northwest Gals Get-A-Way'. You might say we're a 'condensed version' of a larger group of friends who have remained close since those long ago school days in the 1960's. With Marg living in Sammamish, Sandy in Tri-Cities and me in north Idaho, the short driving distance makes it easier for us to get together more than once a year; Cherished time we look forward to, always wishing the other 'Bell Belles' could join us in our happy, carefree time.

Our Chelan days are lazy, easy - not planned before hand. No time schedules, or alarm clocks to wake us, we get up at our leisure to lounge around in our pj's , watch early morning T.V. and drink coffee. We share stories about our husbands and children and anquish over wrinkles and weight gain, and laugh out loud over silly things we've done, and hope to still do.

During our stay we visited favorite and familiar spots - Leavenworth , the marvleous mock Bavarian village named after Captain Charles Leavenworth; Apple Auntie's Antique Mall in nearby Cashmere , Mill Bay Casino and downtown Chelan. While in Chelan we added a new shop stop to the number of stores to browse; Kelly's Ace Hardware. Little did we know how fun and interesting it would be. It was only after the ever observant Margaret noticed kitchen utensils through the window that we even decided to walk in. I was looking for a certain type of cheese slicer, and she thought by some off the wall chance, I might find it there. To our surprise we did ! Not only did Kelly's have the cheese slicer I wanted , they also had the 'Life Hammer' Marg was looking for.

We were just about to pay for our wares when we learned how true their store moto , " Old Time Friendly Service From Friendly Folks Since 1925", really is. A smiling middle aged sales clerk, wearing work jeans and a plaid shirt hurried over to tell us more about the advantages of the "Life Hammer" and the importance of having one in the car. The three of us were all ears and wide eyed, when he said, "Come over here, and take a look at these survival items". His enthusiasm was contagious, so off we went like Camp Fire girls following after our troop leader, down one aisle then another.

He took time explaining and showing us a variety of survivalist items one should carry in their rig during winter weather. He made each one sound so vital and neccessary , we wanted to buy them all ! Margaret suggested they'd make good stocking stuffers for Christmas, Sandy and I agreed. He then led us over to the autmotive section and picked up a jug of alternative gas fuel safe enough to keep in our car in case we ran out of gas. According to Ace Man, it was good for 10 miles . Wow ! We wanted that , too. Although, I can't remember the last time I ran out of gas; I think college. Still, we all agreed , driving in northwest winters is full of uncertainty and requires good planning in case of some unforeseen road hazard. So everything Ace Man was telling us seemed to make good sense, and we took turns nodding to each other, saying, "Yeah, that's right", confirming his counsel.

Finally , the friendly sales clerk led us to a display of soy candles neatly arranged on a shelf towards the front center of the store; He carefully picked up each one and placed it under our nose so we could smell the scent . Being polite, the three of us oohed and aahed and said , "How nice", but by this time we were ready to move on, and head for the Hallmark store across the street. We thanked Ace Man for his help , bid him adieu and walked out the door still talking about survival items to keep in our car, and marvelled over the friendly service at Kelly's Ace Hardware.

Trio of Trees , a Skier and Halloween Sound Effects

It is blowy and blustery this morning. I'm perched at my private spot on the old log swing to gaze at the bay and autumn scenery that surrounds me. The ground is wet from the rain last night; The moss covered basalt beneath my feet, and along the rim of the escarpment makes me think of green velvet and Ireland - at least the Ireland I envision in my mind.

Some of the trees have changed color again , from a burnt orange to mustard yellow. Three white pines, the same three I've looked at a hundred times catch my attention as they sway back and forth in the wind. They stand close together, their branches intertwined. Is it my imagination ? or are they really happy and smiling, like a trio of friends with their arms around each other, grooving and moving to an old Leslie Gore song.

Unexpectantly and without warning the humming of a gas engine breaks my reverie. I can hardly believe my eyes when I see a lone boat pulling a skier , close to shore. I look more closely, the skier is wearing a wet suit, but his sudden crash, splash into the water makes me shiver. I zip my jacket and pull the collar closer around my neck. A sliver of sunshine peeks through the crowded, darkly clouded sky but quickly disappears. The lake , not the pretty blue of summer seems foreboding and black, like charcoal. I think again of the skier who is now long gone, disappearing like a thief in the night , and wonder why he chose this cool, chilly day to go skiing. The sound of the wind billowing through the trees grows louder, more menacing - perfect sound effects for this Halloween day.

Daily Routine

It is 6:30 a.m. , but outside is still dark like the middle of the night. Except for the occasional crackle of wood burning in the wood burning stove the house is quiet. I've read my morning Devotional (the one my friend Susan sends me each month), and have said my prayers. I think of my family, my friends, my home and thank God for the start of this new day and am glad and grateful for this moment, this time, this place, this space; For all that I have, all that I am. Yet, I want to grow. Be better than I am. A better wife, better mother, better daughter, better friend. Not so selfish, possessive or harbor er of past hurts, but light hearted and uplifting, giving to others an encouraging word.

Soon Gary will awaken and we'll begin the routine of our day; A cup of coffee, a game of Cribbage, the morning news. The phone will ring. It will be my mother asking how I am. Soon my son will walk up the stairs letting us know he's home from long hours working Night Auditor at the Holiday Inn. He'll share a funny story or two about rowdy hotel guests, then head for bed.

Our dogs, Sam E. Beagle and Missy scratch at the front door letting me know they're ready to go on a walk. I rub them behind their ears and pet their head, telling them to be patient, we can't go until I fill the feeders and the birds are fed.

It seems simple and easy, and it is. This everyday, ordinary life of mine. Some may long for something more glamorous and exciting, but for me, the routine of my day suits me fine.

October Twenty-fifth

Today is special
especially to me
and to my parents (and husband and sons
and to those who love me)
A day of importance
a day of exhuberance;
A day to ruminate
to illuminate,
to celebrate and rejoice
A day to dance , be
merry and full of mirth
October twenty -fifth,
the day of my birth.

59 nine years ago today, I was born to the most wonderful mother and wonderful dad who nurtured me, encouraged me, and showed me unconditional love. So young were they, when a babe in the womb was I; Their plans, their dreams put on hold to give their daughter better dreams to behold

Poetry on a Windy Night

The cold north wind blew
loud and mighty last night
whipping the shutters
on the side of the house
while inside we sat cozy and warm
reading poetry from
a stack of books
piled up on the floor;
e.e.cummings , modern
and dissident; Ella Wheeler Wilcox,
not famed like Cummings,
and other masters of poem,
but a popular poet
of her time; And Alfred Lord Tennyson
with his rhythum and prose, awed
and enthralled me
in his "Idylls of the King"
and the tale he wrote
Late passed the hours
and still I read
about good Arthur, the
knights and the
life they led.

A Perfect Fall Day

The weather has definitely changed. Not yet the cold of winter, but no longer the warm days of summer, the Fall air is cool and crisp like biting into a red Delicious apple fresh out of the ice box. I'm wearing my well worn jacket and knit cap as I sit on the old log swing. It is quiet and peaceful . I stare and study Rockford Bay, wondering if I'll ever grow tired of what I like to call, "my own private paradise". I conclude I never will. Each season brings a different, slightly unique aspect to the same view, and I continue to be enchanted anew.

Along the shore line, boat slips are empty. Jet skies and ski boats have been stored away until next spring. Large lake homes are closed and locked up, keys handed over to winter care takers. The only activity on the lake is several sea gull's circling close to the water, looking for a good fishing spot. The water is glassy, smooth; Like a mirror it reflects the forest trees in all their beauty, even picking up the warm autumn colors - deep orange, corn yellow, red and amber displayed on the deciduous maple, paper birch and cottonwood.

The sun isn't shining and the sky seems muted in varying shades of blue. I look up at the clouds and remember a game I used to play with my mother when I was very young. We would sit on the grass in our front yard , look up at the clouds and search for different images and characters we saw in the shape of the clouds and point them out to each other. That's what I do now. At first I see two cub bears , then a girl doing a swan dive from her diving board in the sky.

The scent of red fir coming from the chimney in our wood burning stove drifts down to where I'm sitting and reminds me it's time to head back to the house, that there's chores to get done and dinner to fix. I slowly stand up, stretch out my arms and take a deep breath reveling in the delight of this perfect Fall day. I think of the morrow, when I'll sit on the old log swing, and once again look across Rockford Bay .

Morning Light

Earth awaits morning light,
woodland creatures anticipate
the start of day
Clouds of grey part and
open wide
like a curtain on a stage
There the sun appears in all
its glory , lifting
shadows of the night
Shining brightly
it warms the path and
shows the way
to plump wild turkey
and white tail deer
Birds rested , now on the rise
gawk and sqawk and flap
their wings, ready for
flight across an
expanding blue sky
Flower petals drooping,
stooping in the dark , are lifted
upward, towards Heaven's gate

In Good Company

The double glass doors leading
to my place of solace
are open wide, allowing me to see the flame of the fire
in the wood burning stove, and feel its warmth
Comfortable, content
I sit cocoon like in this room of music
and books reading poetry
Quietly, silently at first,
then aloud, that I might
give voice to the phrase, the force
of Francois Villon - the edgy French poet
writing his The Great Testament in the long ago
year of 1461 with levity, and not a little pathos
and John Keats, the beloved Romantic , a favorite of
Fanny and future pursuers of poem
and Emily Dickinson, the famed Belle of Amherst
and Marge Piercy, cool and contemporary;
All good company on this golden hued
October day where
muted fall colors filter through
slat covered windows
casting dancing shadows
from ceiling to floor .
I pause to contemplate
the poet's written words
woven together
to make the perfect poem
and know I, and the world are in a
better place
for their gift to create

Writing a Picture

Each morning upon waking I look out the window to see a favorite view; One that lifts my spirit
the lake,
tall pines,
the birds
and sky

Most days I trek down to our well worn log swing so I can have a closer look at the bay. I sit , gently swaying back and forth and study the landscape. Today, I contemplate how one might describe this vision to someone without sight.

Unlike the artist who paints the scene for others to enjoy, or photographer who sets the shutter speed to capture the perfect picture, the writer must rely on words alone to show
the lake,
the pines,
the birds
and sky

The wind is blowing hard now , whipping the lake into row after row of cupped white capped water. From a distance it looks like it might have the texture of freshly made merangue . Across the bay , a crooked shoreline outlines the boundary between earth and water. Mountains ,blanketed with thousands of Evergreens, frame the background. Closer to where I'm sitting I notice hundreds of new growth pinecones - reddish brown, still miniature in size hanging from tall pines like ornaments on a Christmas tree. Another gust of wind causes clumps of old dry needles and broken twigs to fall from the trees. They crunch underfoot when walking across the wooded trail - sounding like Rice Krispies: Snap, Crackle, Pop.

Two black billed magpies catch my attention. Their white belly and long black tails give them a glamourous, dressed up appearance , as if wearing little bird tuxedo's, ready to attend a fancy black and white Ball. They are gregarious and playful; Fluttering their wings, they quickly move from one place to another other making me think of kids chasing after each other in the school yard at recess.

The sky is a softer, lighter shade of blue, giving contrast to the darker, deeper blue of the lake. The colors are calming, like eating comfort food. I look up and watch as clouds drift by and am reminded of cotton . That's how the clouds seem to me now, like big balls of cotton I could reach up and gather in my hand.

Time passes. I remain sitting on the swing and stare, as though lost in a trance, and continue to behold the beauty of nature's bounty
the lake,
tall pines,
the birds
and sky.

The Woods and a Watercolor

It's late and I'm tired. My husband is already asleep and Diana, a favorite friend visiting this week from Lake Forest is getting ready for bed. I feel compelled to post on my blog before I do the same, but am unsure of what words to write, thoughts to convey or story to tell.

I think about the weather and how lovely it was to be outside today ; To walk in the woods with my friend and feel the fresh pine scented air brush against my skin. My eyes were drawn to the glimmer of the lake as the deep, dark blue water twinkled in the sunlight. Nature's bling. White billowy clouds provided a canopy for earth's changing colors, and gave moments of shade for a hen turkey leading her long line of hatchlings single file acrosss the brush cut land.

This afternoon Diana presented me with one of the water colors she painted. Such a loving gift and so beautiful ! I wrote about this painting in an earlier blog, how I admired it. It is of two women walking together down a country road , not unlike a country road here in north Idaho. It's raining and the pair share a red umbrella. I imagine the two are friends like Diana and me. Friends comfortable together, who talk about things important to each of them; Friends who listen to one another not only with their ears, but with their heart.

Diana's painting now hangs in a prominent place on my dining room wall and is worth more to me than any Picasso, Pissaro or Renoir.

FALL

Summer days end
Fall begins
earth colors change
from shades of green
to a golden hue
Slow to rise
the morning sun
brings daylight
at a later hour;
The air is different
no longer warm
but crisp and cool
better sweathshirt weather
than sleevelessshirt weather
Migrating birds are gone
leaving their summer home
for places far away

The Villages and Time With Dad

For three years my dad and his wife Susie have been talking about The Villages, telling Gary and me about the many activities this Florida retirement community has to offer. We would always listen, nod our heads and say, "Yeah, sounds great". The truth is one can't really imagine the mecca of entertainment this place is until they experience it up close and personal.

Susie often describes it as 'Disneyland for seniors'. I think that's a good analysis. Like Disneyland, everything is pristine and clean; Uniform and orderly. Schedules run on time and proprietors and personnel are cheerful and friendly. Each of the two Village squares has its own theme, and a colorful storybook look a like town built around it.

If they choose to,Villagers can gather in either Square every night of the week and dance to a different band , or attend a live performance at any number of showcase venues like Savannah Center, Church on the Square or Katie Belle's - a western style opera house where Dad and Susie took us to see the talented rock n' roll impersonators Donna Moore and Dunning Shaw. If I hadn't known better I would've sworn I was seeing Captain and Tennille, Sonny and Cher, Elton John, Dolly Parton and Liza Minnelli. My dad has a good time whatever he's doing and always tries to get the most out of the moment. So when Shaw as Rod Stewart grooved and moved around the room and got close to where dad was sitting, he spontaneously threw his leg out and up ; Rod Stewart fell on his knees, grabbed dad's leg and crooned to him in his throaty style voice. The audience loved it ! They were hooting and hollering, cheering dad as he became part of the act. It was great fun.

Another feature The Villages is noted for is its 70 mile golf cart path , a well designed transportation system that allows villagers to easily travel anywhere and everywhere within The Villages. Most residents have their own cart, and many are very unique. Some look like a 1940's Woody, 1920's Model T, or a '57 Chevy; Others a Circus wagon, covered wagon, or lunch wagon. Since I'm not a golfer I had never driven a golf cart before, but dad gave me a quick lesson and off we went , part of the golf cart parade.

Dad also gave me a lesson in how to play Pickleball, my new favorite outdoors game. Pickleball is a simple paddle game, playing a special perforated slow moving ball over a tennis type net, on a badminton sized court. There is a total of 78 courts in The Villages, attesting to the popularity of the game there. We played Table Tennis at a Rec center that looked like a grand hotel , and Bocce. While Gary and I were the big winners in Table Tennis, we were the big losers in Bocce.

Bocce is a precision sport requiring good judgement of distance, both Dad and Susie play this competitive game of skill very well. With their 11 to 4 score , I think Gary and I may have helped boost their confidence as they practice and get ready for the upcoming Mallory Square tournament; I'm sure dad will be mailing us a copy of The Villages Daily Sun newspaper with the headline, "Ron and Susie Bag Bocce Battle with Big Win".

Shannon is Dad's youngest child and doesn't live far from The Villages, which gave my sister and me the chance to spend time together, too. She's a master when it comes to grilling food ; Twice during our visit she worked her magic with hamburger and steak. It was nice for both of us to have some quiet time to catch up on the happenings of our lives. We chatted about jewelry, the Internet and played four handed Cribbage with Gary and Brian, Shannons long time companion. I thought about Kathleen and Shannon; Perfect names for St.Patrick's Day. Two lyrical and lovely Irish songs came to mind, " Where the River Shannon Flows" and "I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen". Two good songs, two good names, two good daughters.

Kayaking on Lake Miona the final day of our visit was a big thrill for Gary and me. Dad made reservations for the three of us to join a group from The Villages , take a lesson with Ryan Tolar of Discovery Kayak Tours and do some morning kayaking around the lake. For awhile we weren't sure we'd be able to go as I injured my left knee the night before causing us to forgo the 8 a.m. meeting time. My disappointment ran deep at the thought we might miss this opportunity. It was something we had talked about for days and were all looking forward to.

It was obvious I was in pain, so "Doctor" Dad came into my room with a tube of Ultra Strength Muscle Rub , squirted out a dab and rubbed it over my knee. It reminded of me of when I was a little girl and my beloved Grandpa Cooney would do the same thing if I had fallen and hurt myself . Grandpa would comfort me, dry my tears and always made me feel better. I took an analgesic and slipped on my knee brace. I still had some pain but was determined to go kayaking anyway. And am I glad I did ! Since we got there late, we didn't get to be on the lake as long as we wanted to, but it's not always the quantity, but the quality that counts. Due to our late arrival, we ended up having a private lesson with Ryan. He took extra care in showing us how to sit in the Kayak, use our paddle and maneuver our Kayak . This trip wasn't fast paced or white water kind of stuff, but slow moving and serene, allowing us to gain confidence in our endeavor and enjoy the natural beauty all around. Gary and I have only been home a day and already have contacted a sports outlet here in Coeur d' Alene inquiring about buying a Kayak. For me, kayaking on Lake Miona with dad and my husband was one of the highlights of our holiday ,and I can't wait to do it again.

Our days at The Villages passed way too fast and before we knew it, it was time to go, proving the old adage , " Time passes quickly when you're having fun" to be true. I've lived away from my dad for more years than I'd like to say, so am always grateful for our shared experiences and time together. Being with dad ranks high on my 'Making a Memory' map.

Making a Memory

Susan and I have known each other since first grade when she was a student at Zion Lutheran and I attended St. Rose of Lima. Susan remembers we met on the corner near our schools and began the ritual of walking home together . My recollection is slightly different as I recall we first met when she and her dad gave me a ride to school in their family Station Wagon. No matter. The fact is, we've been close friends for over 50 years sharing youthful adventures and the changing seasons of our lives.

For most of our adult lives we've lived on opposite sides of the country and don't get the opportunity to see each other as often as we'd like, so when my dad and his wife Susie generously arranged for us and our husbands to use their Time Share near Orlando, we jumped at the chance to get together. The adjoining suites provided a perfect get away and allowed us a couple of carefree days to laugh and play and talk, talk, talk.

Being with Ben and Susan on the day of their wedding anniversary was especially sweet for Gary and me. Not only because we love the Heick's, but because I was a bridesmaid in Susan's wedding; My mother even sang at their wedding. It seemed meaningful for us to be with our friends to help commemorate and honor their 38 years of marriage. We made a toast to Susan and Ben telling them they were a darling couple then and are a darling couple now.

Ben has a favorite saying when doing something special with family or friends, a saying I like a lot: " We're making a memory".

"Making a memory" is exactly what the four of us were about , and not just what we did I might add, but how we did it, with lots of joy and laughter. For me, making memories is similar to selecting and adding pieces of material to a patchwork quilt , it adds to the fabric and color of our being.

One night we had dinner at a quaint restaurant in Celebration - a planned community where the architechture and colorful buildings on main street reminded me of Disneyland's Main Street. After enjoying a leisurely meal at an outside table - Susan and I shared an order of fish taco's and a Caeser salad - we took a short walk to an Irish pub for a Bailey's and beer. When we got back to our rooms we changed into our PJ's, popped some corn and turned on the televsion to get our Fox news fix; Agreeing with, and affirming one another in our political beliefs , we talked about the economy and wondered about the future of health care.

Thursday we made a plan and drove to Mt. Dora - about a 50 minute drive from where we were staying. Mt.Dora is truly a little piece of Americana with a strong Florida flavor; I'm so glad Susan suggested we go there. When we bought tickets for a guided tour of the old city, we didn't know we'd be spending an hour riding around in a sweltering hot trolley car. Prespiration dripped down the sides our faces as we fanned ourselves with brochures to help cool us down. Even with all the humidity and heat it was worth it as the guide gave us a good overview of the area. One highlight of our day trip was eating at the highly recommended Goblin's Market. We were told people drive from miles around just to eat there, and I believe they do. The tasty crab cakes on a bed of greens was out of this world delicious.

After lunch Gary and Ben headed for the lobby of what once was a grand lakeside hotel so they could relax and play Cribbage. Presidents Coolidge and Eisenhower stayed at the same hotel during their terms in office. The place had a lot of character, but looked as though it had seen better days. Susan and I were more interested in finding treasures at the local antique stores; Knowing we didn't have much time before shops closed we hussled up one block and down another - like mall walkers making their early morning rounds.

Some things time and age don't change; Susan and me talking back and forth a mile a minute about a hundred and one different things, and when together taking turns calling out to each other with excitement in our voice - "Kathy, look at this". Then, a few minutes later, "Susan, over here", just like we did when we were kids.

Cribbage and shopping done, we had one more important stop to make before departing Mt. Dora; The ice cream parlor. We were almost giddy at the prospect of picking a favorite flavor. Susan chose pistachio, Gary had a hot fudge sundae and for Ben and me it was mint chocolate chip. A refreshing way to end a memory making day !

Changes

Change of seasons
change the time
change your story
change your mind
change the clothes you daily wear
change the color of your hair
change your attitude
change your style
Change. Change. Change.
Fred Astaire sang to Ginger
"Change partners and dance with me"
Change of venue
change the menu
change of heart
do impart
Change of address
change of name
nothing ever stays the same

Change can be gradual , slow; Not daily noticed. Change can be sudden and abrupt like death, divorce or a friendship lost. Some say to change is to grow and mature. However,I say too much change changes who we are and what we know to be faithful, honest and true. A little change is good; Change for the sake of change seems foolish.

Seasons

Goodbye to August
hello September
Summer nearly gone
Fall almost here
seasons change
like changing of the guard
passing time
from one to the other
season after season ;
Year after year

Blog #50, Church and Proclaiming the Word

Today marks a special occasion for me; I'm posting my 50th blog. I know it's not quite like celebrating a 50th Wedding Anniversary or 50th birthday , but when I first started this exercise  April 1, 2009  I wasn't sure how long I would stick with it. Now,  in writing  my 50th blog , I'm finding  a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment knowing I have persevered with this endeavor .

Earlier today I re-read my blogs about family and friends, and other people , places and things and found myself smiling at some of the stories - I like them just as a chef might enjoy her own cooking.  At the same time I recognize my writing technique - description, dialogue, developement needs to improve. That's okay though, I'm not discouraged, not yet anyway, I'll keep on keeping on - blogging and travelling this 2 lane highway, writing about what interests me; Practicing my craft, continuing to learn more about what it takes to be a good writer.

To celebrate this 50th blog I've been thinking about what to write.   Since it's Sunday and Gary and I will soon leave for Mass at St. Thomas the Apostle in Coeur d Alene, I've decided church  would be a good  subject.

St. Thomas is one of the oldest churches in the city - the oldest and most beautiful. The grey shingled steeple towers high  above neighborhood homes, reaching high to the sky, providing a perfect landmark for Catholics and other Christians in the area. After walking up numerous steps and going through the massive double doors to enter the church, one sees the huge crucifix hanging behind the gold colored  tabernacle and marble altar - reminding us Jesus died on the cross for our sins; He is the Way, the Truth and the Life. Folks  of all denominations are invited to view the exquistite beauty of the  large, over sized stain glass windows  depicting the life of Jesus, His mother, angels and saints .

 The hymns the  choir sing  add both joy and reverence to the Liturgical celebration.  The accolades help prepare the Sanctuary by   lighting the candles. Greeters stand at the door to welcome all who enter.  At today's Mass,   I'm  the scheduled Lector . After introductory prayers and  before the celebrant, Father Bill proclaims the Gospel, I will  read passages from the old testament  and  Epistles of St.Paul.

 It seems unlikely that I should serve as Lector since in my daily, ordinary speech I talk way too fast,  and often mumble jumble my words. But when standing at the Lectern proclaiming the Word of God, my words are clear and measured, precise and well spoken.  I share this not to  brag about myself, but to give  all glory and praise to our Lord and Savior, and am reminded  we can do all things  through Him , especially when according to His plan and purpose.

Only 15 minutes until Mass begins.  I  practice reading aloud from the first chapter of James one more time:

" Dearest brothers and sisters:

All good giving and every perfect gift is from above..................... "

The NordicTrack , Judy Garland and Me

The days I go downstairs to use the NordicTrack, the first thing I do is pick out an album from the stack of vinyls neatly lined up across the basement baseboard . I have many favorite's including "Bye Bye Birdie", " The Music Man", "Paint Your Wagon" and "Hello Dolly", but while exercising, the one I like best is the soundtrack from the 1974 Box Office hit, "That's Entertainment".

After carefully pulling the album from its cover, I place it on the record spindle of the 1960's stereo console I purchased at St. Vincent de Paul's thrift store several years ago. The turntable is a Garrard 3000 model and in great shape; The speakers provide excellent sound . Adding to my movie music reverie are pictures of some of the great MGM musical stars and movie posters I have plastered on the walls all around me.

About five minutes into my routine, I become lost in a trance like state, and am no longer just walking in a boring step after step pattern, but am dancing with Judy Garland, Fred Astaire and June Allyson . As the Scarecrow, Tin Man, Cowardly Lion and Dorothy skip hop up the yellow brick road, I'm skip hopping with them and singing along , "We're off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz'.

My pace picks up and slows down depending on the song I'm listening to. As Judy sings the snappy happy lyrics from "Waiting for the Robert E. Lee":

" Go take your best gal, real pal , go to the levy, I said to the levy, and join that shuffling throng. Hear that music and song "! , I'm hearing that music and song, shuffling right along, too.

Before I know it , my 30 minutes on the Nordic Track are nearly over, but not before the grand finale. At that moment, in the make believe corner of my mind, I'm on stage performing. I grab the black brimmed hat from a hook on the center pole of the Nordic Trak and place it on my head. Then just like the great Garland in her fabulously famous 'Get Happy' song and dance in 'Summer Stock' , I pull the hat slightly forward , and tilt it down over my right eye . Now it's me dancing and singing to one of the most memorable muscial numbers of all time:

"Forget your troubles , come on get happy

You better chase all your cares away

Shout Hallelujah, come get happy

Get ready for the judgement day".

Diana, Bill and Scrabble

Scrabble has always been one of my favorite games , maybe because I consider myself a pretty fair player. I look forward to the challenge, confident in my ability to play or block a high scoring word, and am usually the big winner against most of my opponents. That was before Diana and Bill Rivers. They have trounced me every game we've played this week. Clearly, they are very good players, putting my Scrabble skill to the test.

During the game Bill would change the tone and timber of his voice and say in his best high seas, Pirates of the Carribean syntax, "It's a wild and crazy thing, I tell you, this Scrabble scribble game". And indeed it is.

The turntable game board is carefully set on the table , one rack is placed before each player, the 100 letter tiles are put in the tile pouch and one of us gives it a good shake up and down, all around. The three of us look hopeful, expectant as we wait to draw our tile to see who goes first. It's Bill. Always Bill. If Diana and I draw an E and F, Bill draws and A. If Bill draws a T, Diana and I draw a Y or Z. That's not so bad, really. I could handle that . It was when we returned the letters to the pool and remixed ; that was the real start of my troubles. Each player is to draw seven new letters. Ideally, a combination of high point consonants and vowells is desirable, to my dismay I drew 3 U's , 3 O's , and an I. What kind of Scrabble letters are those ? What kind of points ? Not very good ones. With nothing or no where to play, I passed my first turn, re-drew but didn't fair much better. I picked 2 more O's, 2 more I's , one L, a V and N.

While Diana and Bill were off to a good start with their first and second plays; I was completely word stuck and just sat there staring at the board, then I'd look down at my tiles, then the board again. I couldn't seem to find one word to play or find one block to make. The sands in the minute glass were slipping away. I was getting nervous, but knew I had to act quickly. Deciding not to pass again , I finally added one of my I's , the V and N to Diana's E to make the word "Vein" for a mere 7 points. It wasn't much, but at least it was something.

As the game continued, and my play didn't get much better, both Diana and Bill were gracious and encouraging. Diana would sweetly say , " Oh, Kathy, don't feel badly. We all know how to play Scrabble, it's just in the luck the draw. Next game you'll do better".

Yeah, right.

I tried to recall strategy and tactics and work on rack management, remembering it is disadvantageous to keep duplicates of most letters, but I not only had duplicates, I had triplicates ! I knew my hope for victory would increase if I could just play some of those not so common Scrabble words ; Words like QI, QU, ZHO and WOX , but it never happened. Nor did I have much of an opportunity to play 'premium' squares, which mulitply the number of points awarded. Bill and Diana never gave me the chance.

By the time we finished our final game late tonight, it became clear to me the Rivers' had sent me up the river. But what a fun ride it was ! We enthusiastically agreed to another tournament next year - Same time, same place here on Dobbs' deck . I can hardly wait ! But in all fairness, I should warn Diana and Bill to beware , I plan to reclaim my Scrabble Queen crown.

Lost and Found

There are times in our life when we see the sun rise and set in one another; we trust and believe we'll always be together. Then something happens - an arument or misunderstanding , and in a sudden and swift act we choose to stay away from the person we care so much about. Hurt feelings and pride get in the way and we refuse to turn around, to reach out and embrace the one we love.

Weeks and months pass by, stretching into year after year ; Our lives move on in a daily routine of raising a family , work and new adventures with new friends. But there comes a moment when all the busyiness slows down, children are grown and a quiet stillness sets in. We begin to remember and long for the one who once was so close - who never judged or ridiculed, but always encouraged. The one we were so at ease and comfortable with; Like the one who helped heal my spirit when I was laid up month after month with a broken body, first in a hospital bed, then at home with a full body cast.

We can never go back or redo, but every once in awhile we get lucky, and the one we've been longing for is longing for us too, and we find each other again.

Something Familiar

In our younger days we were part of a tight knit group, best of friends who palled around together and enjoyed the adventure of high school life. While sometimes it seems 'only yesterday' we experienced those carefree and happy days , in reality, it was 44 years ago when we first met as Bell High freshman. Although time and distance interrupted the closeness Diana, Sandy, Susan and I once shared, it could not destroy it; Our bond of friendship has proven to be far reaching and long lasting, and today we remain dear friends.

This past weekend the four of us, along with our husbands gathered at Sandy and Ernie's home for a mini reunion. We had such fun ! Diana and Bill made the trek from California in their 35ft motor home, Ben and Susan arrived from Georgia, via Oregon where they stopped to visit Ben's cousin; Gary and I drove from our place in north Idaho.

Sandy and Ernie greeted each of us with a warm embrace and big smile. Friday night Ernie grilled Alaskan salmon and we had dinner on their deck. The setting was lovely as the reflection from the red orange sunset stretched across the Snake River providing a perfect backdrop for our evening meal and face to face conversation.

We laughed and giggled , and reminisced about long ago days and talked and talked about our lives today; Children, grandchildren, Health Care, hair color, gardening and food. Earlier that afternoon when the four of us gals were on our way back from browsing the Richland antique stores, the subject of Social Security came up. We discussed the benefits of filing early (at 62) as opposed to waiting until age 67. Then all of a sudden, like we got an attack of the tickles, we burst out laughing; It struck us as funny , unbelievable really, that we are now approaching an age to be concerned about Social Security. We asked each other , " How could it be possible"? We still feel so young at heart !

The truth is , no matter how old we get or how much time passes before we see each other again, there will always be a little part of us that remains the same, a remnant of who we once were ; Something familiar and recognizable to the other. A little something that reminds us, " I know why I like you. I'm glad we're friends".

Almost Tomorrow

Wash the windows
paint the door
make the bed
sweep the floor
do the laundry
iron the clothes
Talk with mother
on the phone;
Go to the bank
stop at the store
Prepare the dinner
clean the dishes
It's almost tomorrow
but first a hug
and
goodnight kisses

Lunch, Movie, and a Blog

Lunch and seeing a movie with a friend makes for a pleasant afternoon. That was my experience yesterday when Liz B. and I shared a portabello and spinach quesadilla at Azteca Restaurant - the quesadilla was yummy and it was fun hearing about Liz's recent trip to Ireland and Germany. Liz was born and raised in Toronto and her speech still has remnants of her Canadian dialect, adding to the charm of her storytelling. We then caught the 1 pm showing of 'Julie and Julia' starring the ever talented Meryl Streep and Amy Adams.

The newly released film based on Julia Childs memoir "My Life in France" and Julie Powell's blog about preparing every single recipe in Childs' classic cookbook "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" is entertaining and delightful; And very inspirational to aspiring writer's like Liz and me.

To see Julia Childs' determination in getting her book published and Julie Powell's dedication to writing her blog motivates and encourages me to continue with my writing. Oh my gosh, not that I'm comparing myself to them - No, no, no. First of all, I would never attempt to cook French cuisine every day of the year. After three days of slicing, dicing, poaching and frying I'd throw in the towel. And when it comes to boiling a lobster, forget it. I don't have it in me. But I do like to write and want to improve my craft; I can only hope my writing, like playing tennis or learning to play the piano, will get better with practice. A blog is helpful because it gives me someplace to go to everyday to write . The question becomes, "What to write"? What topic ? What theme ?

Until I can decide the answer to those questions I will continue writing about the small and not so small daily events in my life - the people and places that touch my heart and warm my spirit. I will write so someday when I re-read what I wrote it will help me recall and remember the happy and exhilarating , the glad or sad mood of that moment.

Driving to Clarkston

From my home in north Idaho to my mother's house is Clarkston , Washington is a two hour drive. It's a long stretch of the highway cutting through rolling wheat fields and cattle grazing land. Other than Moscow, a college city where the University of Idaho is , the few little towns along the way are 'drive by' towns with no place to stop and shop. Their main purpose seems to be putting the brakes on drivers , posting signs stating the speed limit has been reduced from 60 miles per hour to 35 miles per hour.

During summer days a stream of out of state motor homes, campers and cars pulling trailers share the road with us Idaho folk; Sometimes a pack of Harley riders wearing black leather vests with bandanna's tied around their head zoom pass the slow moving rigs. And it's not unusual to see a cyclist or two keeping pace to their own inner rhythm as they feverishly pedal up a hill.

What always grabs my attention is the many barns dotting the roadside. Each one so unique and different. Some are red, some grey, some blue. Some are very old and look like they could fall over any minute; Some brand new. I think about all the hard work they represent - a place where a cow is milked, hay is stacked, tools are repaired. I wonder what pleasures and happy memory the barn brings to its owner - perhaps the scene of a welcome home party or harvest dance.

Although the architecture of a barn isn't considered to be great and grand like a big city skyscraper - the kind Ayn Rand writes about in her acclaimed novel, "The Fountainhead", it does have its own special beauty and grandeur, bringing to mind the often overlooked and forgotten farmers of America . What my husband likes to call "Salt of the earth" people.

Home Grown

There's nothing better than eating that first plump red tomato picked right off the vine on a hot August afternoon. I know, because earlier this week that enjoyable edible experience was mine. All I can say is, "Yum"!

Tomatoes are usually easy to grow, even for a 'no green thumb' gardener like me. It's the most popular garden vegetable in America and a few plants provide adequate harvest for most families. Dressed in my farm girl overalls and wearing a big brimmed straw hat, I've taken special care in the last few months to fertilize, weed and water the sprawling plant. My good effort has paid off; This morning I counted 13 tomatoes !

Sliced, diced, salted and stewed; Made into a savory pasta sauce , cold soup, or mixed with fresh greens, the tasty fruit, once called, "The Love Apple" will add a delicious home grown taste to our summer meals.

Newly Hatched

This morning Gary and I left early to trek across our wooded property. The ground was dusty and dry because temperatures have been close to 100 every day for the past week. Too hot for north Idaho. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and the sun was bright. As we made our way down the hill , we tried to follow the shade of the trees, and was cheered by the sound of birds as they sang their happy anthem.

The day before we had seen a mama turkey and her newly hatched babies nestled together in tall fescue. As Gary and I moved closer to their grassy home, the mama stood up, lifted her wings in a thunderous fashion and quickly flew away trying to distract us from her young ones. In that moment I was able to take a picture of the precious poults; Then, trying to be as quiet as we could, the two of us headed in another direction so as not to disturb the little turkey family any longer.

Today, as we continued our walk we marvelled at the beauty of God's creation all around us; Grateful for the gift of newborn life.

Hot Summer Days

Hot summer days remind me of Hula Hoops, the Good Humor (ice cream) man and playing Hide -n-Seek on South Hall Lane, the street my family lived on in 1959. Most homes, like our two bedroom, one bath duplex didn't have air conditioning . Screened windows were left open and electric fans were strategically placed in living rooms and bedrooms to circulate air . No matter, the indoors remained stiffingly hot.

To help cool down we neighborhood kids ran around bare foot, splashed through the sprinkler or took turns squirting each other with the hose. While still sopping wet , my best friend Linda and I would jump on our pink and white Schwinn bikes and ride as fast as we could around the block creating our own kind of air conditioning. We'd clip cards to the spokes of our back wheels believing it made us go even faster.

Sometimes we'd make a shade fort in my side yard out of old sheets and cardboard boxes. Our mom' s would pack us a lunch in an old pillow case or sack. Linda and me, and a trail of kids would heave the pillowcases over our shoulders and walk up one side of the street then down the other pretending we were on a foreign expedition , the shade fort our final destination. Adding to our rag tag brigade and bringing up the rear, was my little brother, Walt and our next door neighbor, Richard.

Richard had a desert tortoise that he and Walt would dress in some kind of outfit and push along in my baby doll buggy. Remembering that poor tortoise now, dressed up and in a doll buggy makes me laugh out loud thinking how silly it must have looked, but I smile too, remembering those happy, carefree hot summer days of childhood and the fun we had.

TURKEY PARADE

They sqawk and sqawk
under the tree
circle around
scratch the ground
They flutter their feathers
and lift their head
try to keep cool
in hot summer weather
The gobbler gobbles
and they're on their way
ready to trot
in the Turkey parade

Gifts of Friendship

My Magpie pal and I have been exchanging birthday and Christmas gifts for over 30 years. The first birthday gift Phyllis gave me was a Wilson tennis racket in 1972. I remember being totally surprised and overjoyed at receiving such a wonderful present - I always credited that racquet with helping to improve my game.

Since then there have been many gifts between us; Some the 'perfect' gift, some not so perfect. It didn't matter if it was expensive or inexpensive, big or small - what was always important and meaningful about the gifts was the love and care, the time and effort given in trying to choose just the right something for a cherished friend. Over the years our gift remembrance became part of our friendship tradition.

So I was taken back somewhat when my Magpal recently said she no longer wanted to exchange gifts as it took too much time and was too difficult to pick out things the other would like. It made me sad not because of the gift itself, but what it represented - the end of something we did for one another, something we had shared for such a long time; Something that said , " I took the time, I picked this out especially for you, because you're special to me".

Phyllis' birthday is next month and it's been hard for me to pass by a little trinket, bracelet or pair of earrings I think she would like - after all, the fun of gifts isn't just in the getting, but in the giving, too.

Instead I find myself thinking about

Gifts of the heart;
Life, love, time and laughter
The gift of joy
the gift of tears
the gift of friendship
thru the years

and know these are the gifts I wish forever for my forever friend.

The Chipmunk

Until recently the most I knew about chipmunks came from watching Alvin, Simon and Theodore - three cute and adventurous chipmunks who sing songs and find themselves in precarious situations. Watching their animated antics on screen is funny and good for a laugh. Real life chipmunks are cute, too. The first time I saw one of those tiny sized chipmunks with the wide stripe down its back scurry up the tree outside our window, I thought to myself , "What a loveable little creature".

However, in the last week I've also learned this sweet, innocent looking critter is also clever and cunning, and can be a real tormenter, especially when teasing Sam E. Beagle and Missy dog. For the past several days our woodsey neighbor scampers back and forth along the retaining wall, stopping every few minutes to tantalize Sam and Missy who are laying nearby ; It's almost like the chipmunk is mocking them; Taunting them in animal speak, "Catch me if you can", until they can't take it any longer. Then, like there was a sudden blare of the bugle and someone yelling, 'Charge', they take off like hounds out of the gate on a long awaited fox hunt. I curse the chipmunk and yell at the excited dogs to stop, but they don't listen.

In fact, they pay no mind at all at what's before them, only the scent of the chipmunk. They trample over flowers, breaking pots along the way in an effort to catch their prey. But there's not a chance, the chipmunk has all the moves and is way too fast. He's long gone; Safe and secure in his protected burrow somewhere under our front garden planter. Sam and Missy finally quiet down, and my anger slowly abates.

I get busy picking up broken stems and crushed flowers and notice two dark eyes peering at me from behind a rock - it's the chipmunk quietly watching me clean up the mess he helped create. I want to shoo him away, but am surprised by how brazen he is that he would return to the scene of the crime so soon, and instead I just stare at him staring at me. We seem to play this game of whose going to blink first for several minutes before a sudden noise startles the ever alert chipmunk and he quickly runs off in another direction.

The Humane Society writes on their website: " Chipmunks are enjoyable animals, and there's more to say about the pleasure that comes from having them around than the problems they may cause". Yes, chipmunks bring more pleasure than problems, but please, no more broken pots.

Patty, Books and Hudson's

My anticipation was high last week as I looked forward to my friend, Patty's visit; Now her few days here have come and gone.

Thursday morning we share warm hugs and happy greetings at the airport curb, load her suitcase into the trunk of my cool blue Charger, then drive off to explore a few interesting sites in the Lilac City. We pose for pictures at Spokane Falls and stop at Starbucks for coffee au lait.

I've known Patty since our long ago days in Bell. She and my brother were childhood sweethearts and dated several years before deciding to go their separate ways. From the moment Walt introduced me to Patty we became fast friends, and have remained so all these years. I am God-mother to her son Nick. He once asked his mother, " If Kathy and Gary are my Godparents, does that mean Gavin is my God-brother"? Sounds perfectly logical to me.

Gary, in Spokane on a tractor repair errand, joins us for lunch at Cyrus O' Leary's. Patty suggests I try a drink I've never had before , an Arnold Palmer - half lemonade, half iced tea. It's refreshingly good on this hot summer day. The three of us laugh and talk and pose for more pictures. Soon Gary leaves to pick up the part he needs for the tractor while Patty and I head for Aunties Bookstore in what once was the old Liberty Furniture Company across the way. Placed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1994, the Liberty Building is a perfect location for Spokane's prime literary hub.

Patty and I are drawn to books like sailors are to the sea, so our entry to Aunties isn't a quick in the door out the door stop, but a long afternoon stay; A book lovers delight. Together we browse the aisles taking turns to lift an interesting title or cover illustration from the shelf , i.e. "Remembering the Bones" by Francis Itani and "Little Heathens - Hard Times and High Spirits on an Iowa Farm During the Great Depression" by Mildred Armstrong Kalish.

When I was in my early twenties and Patty in her teens we both enjoyed reading historical novels by Frank G. Slaughter, Frank Yerby, and Victoria Holt. Today Patty chooses a non fiction about the history of Impressionist art while I discover two I know I can't leave the store without : " Service Included-Four Star Secrets of An Eavesdropping Waiter" by Phoebe Damrosch and "The Yellow House - Van Gogh, Gauguin, and Nine Turbulent Weeks in Provence" by Martin Gayford. "Service Included" is an interesting choice for me as I've never been a waitress or worked in a restaurant, nor do I ever plan to - not because I don't think it worthy employment, but because I seriously doubt I could balance food and drinks on a tray before I stumbled bumbled about, bumping into something and sending glasses and plates crashing to the floor, but the title and cover picture peek my interest. I read two chapters before purchasing, and am drawn in to what Entertainment Weekly writes of the memoir : "Both a sparkling stylist and the sassy heroine of her own narrative, Damrosch balances the sweet and the tart". Sweet and tart. I like that. I will actually read " The Yellow House' first then mail to Patty before she leaves for Paris in November.

Back at Dobbs' Retreat I open a bottle of Full Sail pale ale, Patty pours herself a glass of white wine; Gary is already on the deck ready to grill a rack of baby back ribs for our outside dinner.

A jillion stars twinkle in the night. I'm grateful for Patty in my life and tell her so.

My mother arrives on Friday and there's more hugs and happy greetings; Love is in the air and genuine feelings of friendship and care swarm all around. When in Coeur d Alene the three of us decide to only patronize local retailers and eateries, including Hudson's Hamburgers on Sherman Ave. Patty had sent me an article from the June issue of Gourmet magazine touting the famous northwest hamburger place and wanted to go there. The sunny afternoon is humid and the line to find a spot at the small lunch counter is long, but worth the wait. Hudson's has been serving the same style hamburger since the Great Depression. There are no side dishes at all, the only choice you have to make is : ketchup, hot ketchup or mustard.

While still in line outside the door, I notice an elderly gentleman standing in line, too. When he turns his head I recognize it's Monsignor Tim. I take his hand and quickly say hello then proudly introduce him to my mother and Patty. He kisses my cheek and says, "Kathy, how good it is to see you. Have a wonderful afternoon". Monsignor Tim is a well known priest in north Idaho parishes, his kindness and gentle spirit has touched many. Today, his greeting adds something special to my already special day with Mom and Patty.

July 19,2009

Twenty five years ago today
a baby boy born
beautiful, pleasing, perfect
in every lovely way
The joy of my life
nestled in my arms;
Forever in my heart

Summer Rain

Everyday since mid June I've enjoyed long days outside planting flowers, working on landscape projects and walking in Dobbs' Woods, but today is an inside the house day as everything outside is soggy wet from the steady stream of rain outpouring from the sky since the wee hours of the morn. During the night the rumble tumble boom of thunder and razor sharp lightning flashes penetrating our bedroom window provided quite a sight and sound show. Then the rains came; I know what the songwriter meant when he wrote " Listening the to rhythm of the falling rain". I laid awake listening as long as I could to the rhythm of the rain, and what reminded me of a mid west summer storm experience , but eventually grew too tired and I finally fell asleep.

It is now 3 p.m. and what should be a warm summer day is instead dark and gray with not a hint of sun; The temperature is cool. A short while ago I found myself in the kitchen pressing my face against the window watching the rain come down - like a kid waiting and wanting to go out and play, tired of being in the house all day doing puzzles, coloring and reading books.

Two turkeys, their feathered bodies slick and oily from being too long in the rain, take shelter under a tree; a short distance away a cocoa colored rabbit hippity hops out of his burrow, sniffs the air and quickly hippity hops back in. The lake is covered with a misty haze, like a scene from a medieval fantasy novel. Although, it's not the sunny day I planned on, it is a beautiful day; unique and special in its north Idaho way.

I stare and study the pine trees, some 50 years old. It might be my imagination, but it seems the trees, both young and old are joyful, happy to be drinking in the rain. They look taller, more majestic; Their long piney branches seem a deeper, darker green and I'm grateful for what the rain provides, giving needed relief from dry, hot days to earth and all living things.

SUNFLOWERS and other things

I was going to write about
sunflowers facing the sun
looking so cheery and bright,
of a red wheelbarrow, shiny and new
and a small wooden horse
waiting beneath a tree
for Cowgirl Annie
to tie a ribbon on her tail;
All so different,
but all a delight.
Instead what seems to prevail
is sad stories told
too often of late
of strife and heartache
when family and friends
drift apart;
Monetary stress and growing old
days made fragile
with hurtful words,
lack of joy
no laughter;
When that is what is needed most
to lift the day, lighten the load.
Understanding, encouragement
compassion
and care
Precious gifts to give
if only to share
like the beauty
of the sunflower
in early morn

Beagle Sam

Sam greets me each morning with the same happy wag of his mostly white tail; It moves back and forth like a metronome setting on a piano keeping time for a practicing student. Always faithful, always true, Sam never complains or debates my point of view. I respond with the same glad to see you, too words, "Sam E. Pajammy, do you want a treat"? He watches and waits as I grab a peanut butter flavored bone from the bag of bones I keep in the kitchen cabinet under the sink. It only takes a second or two for Sam to move to his favorite spot on the family room floor to enjoy his biscuit, then a few minutes later he leisurly strides to where I'm sitting and burrows his muzzle into my lap, letting me know he's ready for the 'scratch behind the ears' routine.

Beagles are known to be obstinate, and Sam E. can sometimes be just that, but mostly he's good natured and sweet. My Sam is getting older and isn't as fit and trim as he once was, but he's still handsome to me. And although he cherishes his naps and likes to laze around, he still likes to go where I go and do what I do. The moment I say, "Let's go for a walk", Sam never hesitates but lifts his Snoopy shaped head and stands up and stretches. Then, like a puppy on a new adventure he swiftly scampers down the trail, with me not far behind.

4th of JULY

Independence Day
a nation born ;
Life
liberty
the pursuit of happiness
Not doled out
like potato chips
from an opened bag
but something to
strive for
aim for
work towards;
Freedom
celebrated.
Picnics
backyard barbecues
a day at the beach;
Family fun
flying "Old Glory"
and fireworks

INSIDE OUTSIDE

The outside
appears different
than the inside
The outside reflects
an aging body, greying hair, wrinkled skin;
The inside still feeling young and vibrant,
ready for challenge with goals to pursue.
The outside all light and laughter;
The inside profound deep thought
Unexpressed. Lessons learned. Life lived.
A family loved
cherished friends
faith in a faithful God
Joy in the morning;
Victory at day's end.

HOME

It is 7 a.m. The sun is bright, the air feels cool and clean. The scent of pine and brush is all about me - a summer smell.

I have already filled the feeders with seed; A Grosbeak and Finches are first on the scene. Soon the Starlings arrive then the mighty Blue Jay makes his presence known. A small but speedy hummingbird spots the flower shaped glass bottle hanging from one of the limbs of the tree, and quickly moves from opening to opening until it gets its fill of the sweet sugary, red colored mixture.

As I chant over and over again, "Here turk, turk, turk", I feel like a farm girl as I toss grain from my bucket onto the ground - the resident turkeys hurry, scurry close to where I'm standing; Heads bopping up and down they waste no time before starting to pick and scratch for the coveted kernals.

While watering pots of purple pansies and red geraniums Sam E. Beagle and Missy dog greet me with wagging tails; They nudge my hand letting me know they're ready for their morning biscuit.

My husband joins me on the deck and sips coffee from his Starbucks cup; We admire the beauty of the lake and talk about our plans for the day.

The poet Edgar A. Guest wrote :

" This little world of ours wherein we live
Holds now the richest joys which life can give"

The simple pleasures of home bring such delight and solace to the soul. Routine, common place moments often taken for granted, but upon reflection worth more than the weight of gold.

Morning Chores

Up in the morning
at the crack of dawn
chores to do
work to get done
Fill the feeders
pull the weeds
water flowers
paint the eaves
Dig a hole
to plant a maple (tree)

Charge the tractor
cut the brush
Wait! Morning is over;
Time for lunch.

##############

June

both bloom and gloom
these days of June
early morning rain;
Sunny afternoon

Masked Bandit

Here at Dobbs' Retreat we're used to seeing lots of deer and turkey; last fall a moose visited and once I even saw a cub bear standing at the rim of our property like he owned the place. But yesterday when I looked out my window and saw a racoon looking back at me I was completely captivated by his deep, dark colored eyes peering through his trademark black mask. I was reminded of the mask Don Diego wore after transforming himself into Zorro and wondered if he didn't get the idea for his famous mask from Raccoon, the original 'masked' bandit.

I've read about raccoons, but have never seen one up close and personal. I was surprised at his large size, bigger than my Beagle, Sam and Missy, our Australian Shepherd. His foxlike face is handsome and tapers to a pointed muzzle; his bushy ringed tail is beautiful and I'm sure considered very fashionable in the animal world.

The name raccoon is derived from the Indian word 'Aroughcun', which translates, 'he who scratches with his hands'. Although I didn't see him use his hands to do any scraching, I did observe his cautious nature as he slyly moved from one hiding spot to another, and his climbing agility as he quickly scampered up a tree when Sam and Missy got whiff of his scent.

I recalled hearing that the intelligence and dexterity is such that a raccoon can pick an avocado from a tree, aim and throw it at a barking dog. I watched for a few minutes hoping our travelling raccoon wouldn't start bombarding Missy and Sam with pinecones, then remembered that raccoons have five toes on both their forepaws and hind feet giving them the ability to open all kinds of things including zippers, trash cans and unlocked doorknobs. Yikes ! All of a sudden watching for pelting pinecones became less important while locked doors became a priority. I had a strong sense the wandering raccoon made a better outside visitor than an indoor intruder.

The Artist

I'm neither an artist or art critic, but do know I prefer the works of Monet, Manet and Mary Cassatt over Picasso,Dali and Chagall.

My friend Diana is an artist. From an early age she looked at red, orange, yellow, blue and indigo and saw more than just Crayola crayons in a box, she saw the beauty of a rainbow and wanted to paint the spectrum of light across a blank canvas, or when coming upon spring wildflowers blooming in an open field her thoughts inately turned to tint and shade; composition, the arrangement of lines, color and form.

With each stroke of the brush the artist gives part of herself; sharing her temperment and talent.

In the past few months I have been privileged to see pictures of Diana's art studio and many of her paintings: portraits, landscapes, and still life. A particular favorite is a painting of two women walking arm in arm down an old country road. I imagine they are friends, or perhaps sisters. One is wearing a yellow raincoat, the other a blue jacket. They are huddled together under a red umbrella; the dirt road is puddled from the rain, the sky overhead heavy and dark. An old farm house is on the right; I wonder if one of the women live there, or just passing by.

Diana's most recent water color is another favorite: Two grade school girls playing croquet at a park in Bixby Hills. Diana captured the pastel colored pinafores they were wearing and the bright, sunny afternoon with perfect balance. The green leaves of the tree and hue of the grass are so vibrant. I could almost hear the girls giggle and chatter back and forth as they played their game. Looking at Diana's painting made me think of the Disney movie 'Mary Poppins' when Bert, Mary Poppins and the Banks'children walked into the picture Bert was drawing on the parkway; Diana's painting is inviting like that, I wanted to step right into the picture.

The Swiss artist Paul Klee once said, " Color possess me. I don't have to pursue it. It will possess me always, I know it. That is the meaning of this happy hour: Color and I are one. I am a painter".

Diana Rivers, like Paul Klee, is one with color; She is a painter.

Early Sun and Baby Birds

Night to morning
Dark to light
My eyes open
to a burst of sunshine
filling the room
through an uncovered window
It is 4 a.m.

Baby birds
cheep a little, chirp a lot ;
their chorus grows louder
and louder
as they wait
for mama to bring food.

The chorus over
there is no sound;
Just silence
signaling
baby birds being fed.

Much too late (or early ?)
sleep is gone
Fully awake i move
from bed to bath
ready to begin
a bright new day;
Already tired from
early morning sun
and Baby Bird Serenade