First Day Musings -- Could It Be??

Planted in puddles throughout my yard so that I might see them from where ever I am in the house, are daffodils. I had a deal with my parents when I was a child: I could go barefoot as soon as the first flower appeared. For this reason alone, daffodils could be my favorite flower. But, I love them, as well, for the reasons poets best can tell...

William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Song of Solomon 2:11–12

... for behold, the winter is past; the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.


Edna St. Vincent Millay, "Afternoon on a Hill"
will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.

Walt Whitman
A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.


William Allingham

Pluck not the wayside flower;

It is the traveler's dower.

Matthew 6:29
And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.


Shall we meet in the yard, have a cuppa, and watch the flowers grow? Have a glorious First Day, won't you?

Nothing As Sweet....

allposters.com

... as home... We say this, but have you ever thought about how truly fortunate you are?

Yesterday I was helping my parents finish cleaning up one of their rental houses for a new tenant. The previous one had pretty much trashed it and there was plenty to be done. As we closed in on the last of the work yesterday, Mother was telling me about how excited the new tenant was about the house.

Seems the woman was born with many birth defects and has required a great deal of surgeries. Many of the surgeries and defects have left her with very visable disfigurements, yet, she has the loveliest voice one can imagine, Mother said. This woman has met the man of her dreams and they are marrying and moving into the rental. And, she had big dreams for this little cottage -- a table here, flowers in the yard there, vegetables in the back. This was the home and life she had always dreamt of and doubted she would have.

As Mother talked, I thought about how fortunate we are that we all have another person who is meant just for us. And, I pondered a statement Mother made: "The tenant said she never thought she could have a home as nice as this one." That gave me pause. The house rents for very little, frankly, and is quite old -- at least 85 years old --- and had very little updates. While this can be charming, this house really needs a lot of love.

The floor plan is terrible; the floor dips in places in spite of being levelled recently; and, well, the bathroom could use a good gutting even though it is quite sizable with new fixtures and a ginormous porcelain tub. And, the carpets are new, the windows have been replaced, and the kitchen gets a huge amount of sunshine. But, personally, I would have to do a lot of cosmetic work to be satisfied .... until I was straightened out by a single sentence.

Then, I saw the house with new eyes.

I could see the quirkiness as charming and even the bathroom took on a quaintness that enchanted me. I wondered how many others had started there and birthed children and dreams together. In short, I had forgotten to count my own blessings until I had to realize what others saw as a blessing.

As I finished my painting, I did so with a conscious blessing for happiness as this new family begins in this house.

And, today, I gave my front door a kiss when I came in. Isn't home a blessing??

Don't Mess With My Schedule!

Normally, my day begins around 5 a.m. Between feeding, breakfast, dressing, and the morning commute, it is just easier to start so early. This means that everyone on the place is ready to eat no later than 5:30 -- especially Monsuier Wookie. And, of all the folks, he is the one who is most vocal if things are not kept on his stomach's schedule.

All week I have slept in, hoping to rid myself of the plague, and so, the Mister has run interference, keeping everyone's stomach content. This morning, though, he was as tired as I and stayed in bed.... until Wookie decided he was going to eat. No If Ands Or Buts.

He started his attack by standing on my hip.

He barked (yes, Maine Coons bark: "Meh!")

He walked up to my face and gently patted it with his paw. He patted again, not so gently, but got no response.

He put his nose to mine and barked again.

He pulled the covers down from my chin and barked yet again.

He turned around and struck me in the face with his very large, bushy tail.

He barked a little more insistantly.

Much to his dismay, I turned over, completely ignoring his pleas. After all, I am in charge, right?

This insult was more than he could stand.

Jumping over my head, he burrowed under the covers and stuck his nose under my night shirt.

Needless to say, he won.

Don't forget Amy's Farm Friend Friday! It is so fun to visit the other farm gals!

The Joys of Being Scot-Irish

Great-grandpa John (whom the Airman is named for) was a striking Scot-Irish. Having only known him when age and time had taken its toll on him, he was still a handsome, tall, strong man with steel blue eyes and a slow, gentle, albeit rumbling voice. My dearest hope when I get to heaven is to hear him first saying, "Why, hey, hunnnney" in that dear way he had.

He married Ziphorah in early 1900 and they moved to the mountains of NC, buying 120 acres with a 150-year-old log house in which to start their family. Theirs was a completely contained farm with John or Ziphorah doing everything themselves from shoe making to logging.

The year 1920 was a tough one for them and money was more than tight. They had waited all year to go to town as they had nothing with which to purchase the few town good they needed. When the logs were sold, Grandpa was in high cotton as he carried around nearly $50 in cash money. That Sunday, when they went to church, Grandma reminded him that it was the day to contribute to the Preacher's salary. They attended a Primitive Baptist Church and, at this time, on a designated Sunday, everyone was expected to slip the Preacher a little money for his annual salary when shaking his hand.

Everyone lined up, eager to give their bit to their beloved Preacher. Grandma urged Grandpa to give as he always did, $5. Grandpa, though, was worried and didn't want to give that much. He and Grandma whispered their fight all the way through the line until it was Grandpa's turn. Hurriedly, he reached in his pocket and grabbed what he thought was $1 and shoved it in the Preacher's hand.

"Why, I don't know what to say, Brother," the Preacher exclaimed as he looked in his hand.

"It's been a hard year, Preacher," Grandpa explained.

"I know, but, Brother, do you think you can afford this?" and the Preacher held out a $20 bill.

Grandma's mouth fell open as she shoved Grandpa on through the line.

"You've blessed us mightily," she said as she continued to push the stunned John through the line. "God Bless You."

I can only imagine the words exchanged in the wagon on the way home. Grandpa never got over losing that $20, but I think that he was blessed for his unintentional gift. He lived a good life, dying just a few days before he was 100. God blessed him with health and memory until then. And he lived to see his first Great-Great-Grandson walk and talk.

I miss them both and can't wait to get to the other side where I know Ziphorah will be dancing and clapping her hands just as she did when we would visit and John will still be pondering how he ever gave the Preacher $20.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

A distraction

Let's not talk about coughing, not sleeping, and feeling like a train backed up over me fifteen times last night. Instead, let's talk about graduation...

I present to you, the EOD graduating class of March 11, 2011. These service personnel are now going to spend the next year in a further training in a variety of locations including Turkey, Washington state, and, of course, Japan. The military is quite brilliant (that sounds like a contradiction in terms) about training. For special technical schools, all branches train at one site. Thus, in this class, the Air Force, Marine, Army, and Navy are all represented. Sadly, the Navy EOD techs don't graduate with the rest of the class. They have a dive course to complete with the Navy before they are considered techs.

The ceremony is quite moving. Held at the EOD memorial commemorating all EOD service personnel who made the ultimate sacrifice at the "schoolhouse" campus, the ceremony is rich in tradition and symbolism. A short history is given of the EOD training. I found it particularly moving to learn that the first EOD tech and trainer had been overlooked for special forces because he had vision problems. However, as WWII reached intensity, he learned to disarm ordnances, and, ultimately, was enlisted by the U.S. military (following a brief sojourn with the Brits) to develop an EOD program. Don't let anyone tell you that you can't learn something was the message.

Each tech selects who will "pin" them -- someone who has trained them and knows them well. As the pinning program moves forward, the meaning of the EOD pin is read. Hugs, backslaps, and handshakes are part of the protocol. It is particularly moving to see stern-faced officers wipe tears from their eyes as they pin their graduate. These guys get very tight in this program and learn the meaning of teamwork.

Notice, too, that there are two females -- one Air Force and one Army -- in the class.They are rarer than hen's teeth and have overcome many odds to graduate this program. These young women were petite, yet, you could see the power and confidence in them. And, by the way, the fact that women are in this program keeps it from being designated "special forces." Sadly, women are still not permitted in special forces positions. I personally believe that if they can do the work, they have earned the right. However, the military lags behind in this ideology.

It was a bittersweet day -- full of pride and tears.

Down, but not out... yet...

My mother raised us to never give in to illness unless that seemed to be the only course open. Thus, following the guidance of my friend Betty Herbert, I get up and do what I love for 30 minutes. If, at the end of that time, I still feel that I can keep on with my favorite tasks, I must take up my bed and walk. In other words, if you can do your favorite things when you are sick, then you can do the not-so-favorite things as well. And so, I have.

Monsuier Wookie and I fought over the sofa yesterday and decided that if he wouldn't touch me, I wouldn't touch him, therefore, we both got our way. While on the sofa, I drowned my flu with cup after cup of tea and  Ricola cough drops while I reviewed the applications for the NEH Concord program I co-direct with Sterling Delano (he is so handsome!). We had another wonderful year of applications and, trust me, the process is tougher each year!

Then, I took a stroll through blogland and found some remarkable blogs and some very interesting ideas.

I love these:

Mia's blog is just plain eye candy for those of us who long for simpler days.

I always leave The Rhythm of Home inspired --- check out the lavendar drawer liners. I can see a bunch of these in my future!

Ravelry is a dangerous place for me to even log into. While in Florida, I discovered this lovely shawl. Some delicous Malibrigo came home with me to make this one.

And, of course, I visited all of you! What a fun way to spend my morning.

Last night, I carried the spinning wheel downstairs, gathered up my spinning chair, and filled 11/2 bobbins with some yummy hand dyed mohair (picture to come) and watched this:

Rebecca is one of my all time favorite books. I read it when I was 12 for the first time based on the recommendation of my Mother. Quickly, I devoured all the other Daphne DuMaurier books and still enjoy them from time to time. Come on, Manderly, Cornwall, Gothic landscapes?? Good stuff.

You know, come to think of it, maybe I like having the flu. It seems to me I had quite a good time.... cough cough.... Put the kettle on, won't you? I might just be here a while....

My New Bed Buddy

We are home from the Airman's graduation. I was so proud of him and the other 14 who graduated with him! What a memorable day. Pictures to follow. Right now, though, I am spending time with my New Bed Buddy --Mr.Flu.

He hogs the covers.
He has cold feet.
He smells bad.
He whines too much.
He is an ogre.

In short, I want him to go away. I hope he does soon. Till then...