The Best Part of Christmas

The shopping is done. The presents are wrapped. The cards – well, so what if they’re a little late. There is no tree this year, but the Nativity and the stockings and the votive village lend an understated glow to the room.

And now comes the best part of Christmas – quiet moments of peace and reflection, time to ponder the blessings in life and to offer silent thanks for each and all of them. Thanks for friends near and far, for the gift of having someone to hold close, for sunrises and sunsets, for health, and for smiles from sometimes unexpected sources. For the beauty of the earth, for talents, and the support to try to improve upon them, for warmth – inside and out. For peace of heart. For promises kept. For light, and hope – and dreams.

May your own Holidays bring you ample time and opportunity to appreciate all you have and those around you. May the silent night give you new hope and refresh your soul. May the warm glow of a fire bring warmth to your heart. And may the promise of this day and of the new year about to dawn bring you hope and opportunity, health and happiness – and a special peace that will linger long beyond the holidays.

To all of you who take the time to stop and read these words from time-to-time, please know how grateful I am for the time you choose to spend here. I truly hope that your own holidays find you warm and happy, that you allow your inner child to emerge, and that each of you is blessed with a quiet moment or two to reflect and appreciate – and to hope and dream in childlike wonder.

Merry Christmas. Happy Holidays. Happy New Year. Thank you.

Rob

Giving Thanks

The theme for this week’s Community Photo Challenge is ‘Give Thanks for…’. Join us by entering an image that conveys the meaning of these words to you – and help us all to better understand the things that you are thankful for.

If you know me or have read previous entries in this Journal, you already know that Thanksgiving is perhaps my most favorite holiday. While Christmas has deeper and more profound meaning, the overwhelming nature of its celebration and all the preparation can leave one reeling by the time the day itself approaches. But Thanksgiving still holds at least some of its original intent – and the spirit of simply taking the time to express appreciation and gratitude for all we have is in many ways the embodiment of the way I try to live each day.

Some years are easier than others to be truly thankful, as challenges come and go. And these past few years have in many ways been more difficult than most. But in the end, one need not look very far to find things and events and people for which to be thankful – and this year is no different.

I am thankful to wake each morning and face a day filled with new opportunities. I am grateful for the warmth of the sun and the beauty of nature that lives just outside my door. I am thankful for light in all its forms and the truth it reveals, even within the shadows. I am thankful for God and country and the beauty of the land. And at the end of each day, I am thankful for the stars, the peace they bring and the hope they offer.

My life has been blessed by people, both new and long familiar. There are friends to whom I can always turn and a special one to hold. There is not a moment when my heart is not full - and, no matter the depth of the darkness at times, there is always a reason to smile if I look hard enough. I am grateful for the ability to see the beauty in all that surrounds me – and for those who help me to see.

Whether there is more sunshine in your life or clouds this year, I wish for you the perspective to see the things which are good and right and decent and loving – and to let each and all of them guide you, give you hope and grant you peace. Thank YOU for reading!

Autumn

This week's Community Photo Challenge topic is, appropriately, Autumn. This photo is just for fun, since I am honored to continue to serve as a judge, but I hope that it inspires you to find one of your favorite autumn scenes and post an entry.

Our fall has been gloriously warm and sunny for the most part, but lack of rain in late summer and early fall has subdued the color - and finding opportunities to capture the traditional beauty of the season has proven challenging. This photo was taken not long after sunrise (and those who know me know how rare a shot like that can be!) at a State Park not far from here. A flock of geese flew into the shot just to add some interest, and I was most appreciative of their timing.

As the days shorten and temperatures fall, the colors of autumn serve as a reminder of the beauty of nature and the promise of the spring to come. Winter may sometimes be harsh in climates like ours, but life continues under the blanket of snow - and warmth comes more from the inside, which is not a bad thing at all. The change of season also causes us to alter our routines - and perhaps causes us to take stock of where we are and where we'd like to be in the journey of life. But wherever you are in your journey, I hope that you pause to reflect on the beauty of the here and now - and let the colors of autumn carry you through the more subtle shades of winter. Each season brings its own blessings, and those who take the time to see and appreciate them find light and warmth no matter the color of the sky or the numbers on the thermometer. I hope that you cherish each day - and always find the blessings within.

Community Photo Challenge - Spooky

Okay – My first try at this didn’t end so well, but we’ll try again. This is really more of a test than anything – and a chance to promote the Community Photo Challenge. Their theme this week is ‘Spooky’ in honor of the season. While this image is more somber than spooky, as a judge I can’t participate in the voting round anyway, so I’ll use that as my excuse to bend the rules a bit.

This image was captured in a large cemetery not far from here. Among its more famous residents are John D. Rockefeller, President Garfield and Elliot Ness – as well as Ray Chapman, immortalized in one of my previous entries. The cemetery treats itself more as an outdoor sculpture garden than a place of sorrow – and as such is typically filled with walkers, joggers and students from the nearby university studying or simply decompressing after a stressful day. It is a place that celebrates life while still showing respect for loss, and it’s that mixture of emotions as well as the serene beauty and wonderful play of light no matter the time or the season that draws me here often.

This particular monument has caused me to pause and reflect for the silent power of its message since the very first time I saw it, so I’ll share it with you and allow you your own opportunity to reflect if you wish.

To participate in the Photo Challenge, simply click on the link above and post an entry. Topics vary widely and a new Challenge is offered bi-weekly. It’s a fun way to share your work and an opportunity to see the wide variety of approaches people take to a subject. Good luck to all entrants – and I’ll attempt to be back here with a more typical entry in the near future.

Thoughts from the Car

 

I don't take the time to write here often enough and when I do it seems that there are too many common themes.  So if you've heard a version of this before, please forgive me and don't further waste your time.
 
One of the things I used to treasure was 'alone' time in my car.  It was my refuge from life and a chance to be alone with my thoughts.  But in these days of wireless phones and bluetooth headsets and email alerts and text messages, the car has mostly just become an extension of the rest of life.  Most times that's a good thing - because it allows me to continue to accomplish things and stay in touch.  But sometimes its nice to have a break - and last night was one of those times.  

I had my car in for service the other day, and took the phone charger out to put into the other car.  I failed to put it back and found that I had a depleted battery and no charger - so suddenly it was like the 'good old days' - me and my thoughts and nothing else.  I put on the radio but there wasn't a whole lot to keep me company, so on a whim I pressed 'play' on the CD to see what disc I had in the player.

Initially I was shocked to find that I still had a Christmas disc loaded - and at first I started to scramble for something else to listen to. But after a few moments I simply let it play - and the longer it did, the wider my smile became.

So here, just a day or two before the official start of summer, I turned up the music and lost myself in the spirit of a season and a state of mind that too often we reserve for only a limited part of the year.  And by the time I reached my destination, my load seemed lighter and my outlook brighter than it had when I got in the car.

I think I'll keep that disc loaded and ready.  I don't know when the next chance will be for me to lose myself in the spirit of Christmas and a general feeling of warmth and peace again, but for now my heart rests a little more easy - and the magic of that season lives within me - even without a blanket of snow and a 'silent' night.  

I hope that the peace and calm and warmth of the Holidays visit you at unexpected times and in unexpected ways - and that your heart smiles as a result.

Photo Challenge - March into Spring

I'm honored to be acting as a judge for the AOL Community Photo Challenge again this week. Feel free to join the fun by entering in the category of your choice. Since I'm ineligible to participate, I thought I'd throw a small curve into my entry.

Some days you wake up not feeling particularly well, but when you look out the window and find this perched in your backyard, suddenly you think 'Gee, maybe I'm not feeling so bad after all....' and just hope it goes away soon!

Actually, this does fit the 'March into Spring' category, since the tradition in these parts is that in early spring the buzzards come home to roost in a local park - not quite as romantic as swallows to Capistrano mind you, but still a reason to look forward to warmer days ahead.

I wish you all warmth and sunshine - emanating from the inside, out.

aoljurlAdd, aoljurlAdd_1

Photo Challenge - Winter Blues

Since I don’t seem to have much to say lately, and since I’ve been privileged to act as a judge for the new AOL Community Photo Challenge these past few weeks, I thought I’d post a photo that relates to this week’s theme. The theme is ‘Winter Blues’ and I’ve always liked the way that this photo portrays the stark beauty of new fallen snow painted with shadows, while the blue of the sky offers a promise of hope for the warmth and life of the Spring to follow.

As a judge I can’t compete in the Challenge, but perhaps this scene will inspire you to share your own work. To learn more about the Challenge, its simple rules and timelines, click here: AOL Community Photo Challenge Good luck!

Silent Nights

 

 

 

 

As the spirit and the hope and the peace of this season descend upon us and touch our hearts, my hope is that each of us takes the time to realize that life and love and family and those close to us and those we hardly know, whose lives we may touch for only an instant, are all important and special in their own way – and should never be taken for granted.  

 

This has been a year when those lessons have been brought close to my home and to my heart on too many occasions – and the best and only way I know to honor those I have lost is to try to live my own life in a way that will prove that those lessons were not taught in vain.

 

I wish you warmth of heart, closeness of loved ones and kindness of and to strangers.  I wish you silent nights and peace on earth, simple pleasures and the time to truly enjoy them.  I wish you a glow that starts deep within, and reaches out to all with whom you come in contact – spreading light and hope to any and all.  Each of us makes a difference in the lives of some or many – and I pray that each of us will remember to live each day to its fullest and to never take this gift for granted.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you and all you hold dear – and a bright, happy and healthy New Year.

Reasons to be Thankful

Its been a long time since I’ve visited this space, but Thanksgiving has always been an important time of the year to me – and, even though circumstances are far different this year, there is still and always much for which to be thankful.

There will be a large vacancy at the table this season – yet the absence of a physical presence does not also portend an absence of the spirit and the memory of all that has gone before.

In things small and large, happy and poignant, there will be moments to remember. In words said and in traditions continued, there will be memories. And in fleeting moments, it will seem that all is as its always been – and that is just as it should be.

Whether this Holiday finds you exploring long-honored traditions or those in their infancy, whether family and friends are near at hand or simply close in your heart, whether the sun shines on your day or clouds prevail, my wish is that your heart knows peace, that you remember and celebrate the things for which you are thankful – and that you let those who are important to you and who you love know exactly how much you care.

To my friends here old and new, to those who have visited frequently or just this once, I thank you. Your many words of kindness during a difficult time in my life have been and are very much appreciated and I am grateful to you all. And to those who brighten my life and my days – who listen and provide support and love to help me always see the sunshine on the horizon – thank you from my heart.

May each day of the year give you reason to be thankful. May each day of the year give you reason to smile.

Blue Skies

 

 

A friend asked if I’d ever participated in any of the Journal-based photo challenges and I replied that I never thought my work was good enough to expose any more widely than I already have.  But I took a look at the suggested sites again and found a topic I particularly liked in light of all the grey that’s descended in my life lately.  The topic was ‘Blue Skies’ and the ‘assignment’ was to post a picture dominated by cloudless expanses of blue.  You can find links to others who have posted entries here: Your Monday Photo Shoot: Blue Skies.

 

 

I’ve always liked the subject of this photo because its always made me smile.  Another photographer also captured a less-than-flattering image of me in the process of taking this shot (lying flat on my back in a wet parking lot in order to get the perspective I wanted)  - and that helps keep me humble in case I ever need it.  To any and all who read this, I wish you blue skies - regardless of the weather.

 

 

 

 

My sincere thanks to all who took the time to read my last entry and for the wonderful, supportive comments you left.  I intended it to be a celebration of the life dad led and the inspiration he has been to me - and not a maudlin lament of loss.  I truly hope that you found it as uplifting to read as I found it cathartic to write.  I know without doubt that he has received the rest he sought and so richly deserved.  And that’s one of the reasons I chose this topic – because for him the skies will now always be blue.

 

A Tribute

 

 

As you may or may not have noticed, I’ve been away from J-Land for quite some time.  Not only have I not written in my own journal, but I have been remiss in reading those of others - and for that my own life has been all the less rich.

 

When I began this journal, I wanted it to not just be a record of my existence but a record of the small blessings we encounter in life yet do not take the time to appreciate.  My feeling was that my life was not so remarkable that it needed recording, but that I had encountered frequent brushes with bits of wisdom and reminders of the beauty of the world that I wanted to keep and remember.

 

My journal has always been written to help me hold those moments, but when others began to read I found that perhaps those experiences could help others find their own small blessings as well. If you have taken something from these pages that has caused you to smile or to better appreciate wildflowers along the roadside, then that is all the more reward to me – and those who have then shared their own experiences have helped to  enrich my life as well.

 

This entry will differ from some of what I’ve written in the past.  It is again primarily a reminder for me and it is a celebration of sorts, although different from what you have read here previously.  It is personal and I apologize if it brings back memories for anyone who, for whatever reason,  wishes to keep them suppressed.

 

 

Last Friday, as I held his hand, my father very quietly slipped away from me and into the arms of God.

 

 

I’ve introduced my dad here before – the struggles with which he’s dealt with such grace and dignity, and all the things he’s taught me about inner strength and faith.  And while I’ve cried enough tears in the last few days to fill a small pond, in the end I only celebrate the life he led and his release from the burdens and indignities that life has heaped upon his frail shoulders these past three-plus years.

 

There have been times in life when my faith has faltered.  But all I have seen and felt in these past several days has again strengthened my belief that there is more to this life than we know or control. 

 

When I visited his hospital room last Thursday, I could hear dad talking from all the way down the hall.  When I turned the corner, I found him sitting in the chair beside his bed, oxygen mask in place, telling a long and detailed story to no one in particular.  I took a seat across from him and listened carefully to understand what he was so insistently conveying and slowly the realization came that he was providing a litany – in exacting detail – of how he spent a typical day.

 

Carefully he explained how he used the pitcher of thickened milk to make his oatmeal, how he took small bites and swallowed carefully as the doctors had directed, how he was so careful to maintain his balance during those brief periods when he rose from the wheelchair and relied upon the walker.  When he finally paused, I touched his hand and he looked toward me for the first time – so intent had been his presentation that he had not noticed my presence.  I asked if he knew who I was and he replied ‘my one and only son’ – and then proceeded to explain all the routines I followed during my visits with him – the grocery shopping, pill sorting and jar opening that had become a part of our ritual.  As he talked, the mask bounced about his face and I touched his hand again, quietly reminding him that it would stay in place and allow him to breathe easier if he didn’t talk so much.  But he looked at me and said with a hint of a smile in his weary eyes ‘but you know that’s what I do’ – and he was right, for dad was never at a loss for words and no visit could ever be long enough.

 

Finally, he stopped and looked at me, and in a very serious voice asked me a question that was obviously troubling him.  ‘When they ask my name, what do I tell them?’  Flustered, I asked him to repeat the question and he was more forceful in his reply.  ‘When who asks your name?’ I asked.  ‘The judge,’ he replied.  Confused, I asked him if he knew his name, and he replied clearly and deliberately.  Not understanding, but knowing it was important to him, I could only tell him ‘Then that’s the name you tell him’.  After that, he fell into silence and the rest of the evening was peaceful.

 

In the morning, the nurses called and told me he was having a great deal of difficulty breathing.  He was receiving 100% oxygen by mask and if his condition worsened the only available next step would be to place him on a ventilator – in violation of the terms of his Living Will.  I knew his wishes clearly and we had discussed them many times, but my decision was complicated by the fact that he had pneumonia and the antibiotics had just started to work - and I didn’t know if a day or two of help might pull him through.  I called his doctor and gathered more information, but then sought a place of silence and asked for guidance for perhaps the most important decision of my life.

 

And in a moment, the answer was clear.  Already yesterday, dad knew.  His faith was strong and sometimes literal – and the story I had heard the previous day was practice for when he stood at the Gate and needed to state his case that he had done all he could to help himself during this prolonged test of his faith.  And when the Judge asked his name, he wanted to make sure that he got it exactly right.  I let his DNR instructions stand and went to the hospital – knowing in my heart that when I left that day I would be a 52 year-old orphan.

 

We sat together most of the day and I held his hand - without acknowledgement, but squeezing tight regardless.  For all his struggles in life, his passing was the kindest possible.  He left so quietly and peacefully that I never really knew exactly when – and for that I will be eternally grateful.

 

 

 

So many times following his stroke he would ask me why he had been chosen for this particular burden.  It was not asked in the context of ‘why me?’ – for it was obvious that he was really struggling with understanding what God was asking of him and what he was expected to do.  And now in the quiet days after the uplifting visitation and service, I begin to understand that perhaps at least some of that task was to teach me grace and humor and faith in the face of adversity, to dig deep and keep going no matter the odds, to treasure life and all it holds despite the darkness of the clouds.  Much of what you have read in these pages has stemmed from the appreciation of life that I have gained from his example – and I will only hope to make all of his struggles worthwhile by holding those lessons in my heart and remembering them always.

 

At his service, the following words were read.  Although written thousands of years before and applicable also to countless who have passed before him, they ring true to the life he led and the man he was:

 

“I am now ready to be offered and the time of my departure is at hand.  I have fought the good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.”  II Timothy 4, 6-7.

 

 

As for me, my life remains blessed by friends and by people I love – and now also by a brand new angel who will now always rest upon my shoulder.

 

 

 

 

A Day to Remember

 

 

I’ve always believed that life tends to balance itself out – sometimes over days, sometimes over a lifetime.  I never correct anyone who falsely blames me for something I didn’t do unless its particularly egregious, because I know that there will also be times when I’ll get credit for something I had little or no control over.  Sometimes its best just to smile and move on and let the natural order of things take care of itself.

 

Yesterday, nature created its own balance – and in record time.  Tuesday was cold and blustery, leaving 8 inches of wet snow in the driveway by the time it was over.  But yesterday more than balanced the scales – bright sunshine and clear blue skies framed the new-fallen snow, and there are few combinations in nature’s vista that can match that spectacle.

 

I had already decided to venture forth, camera in hand, to see what wonders I could record.  But before I even had the chance to leave the house, nature served up a bounty of visual riches just outside the window.

 

It began asa blur of movement caught my eye, drawing me to three deer foraging in the woods only a few feet from the house.  I watched as they nuzzled the foliage, gently brushing the snow away from the evergreens in search of a morsel to nibble upon – and leaving a white powdery moustache upon their fur in the process.  Methodically they moved through the woods, oblivious to the cars passing on the road just down the hill, the morning sun casting painterly shadows - dappling their coats and the snowy ground around them with random shades of light and dark.

 

As they slowly moved down into the valley and away from the house, a woodpecker began noisily pounding away on the suet feeder and the chickadees and nuthatches began swarming the seed feeder nearby.  I parked with my lens close to the window glass and waited to see what nature had in store for me.

 

Only moments later, I smiled widely – and knew the day was destined to be memorable.  For there, framed perfectly in my lens, was a brilliant red cardinal – an eternal symbol that on the greyest days of winter there is always the promise of the color of summer to come.  He lingered for but a moment, but time enough for me to capture his image.

 

Knowing that the best part of any show I could hope for from this vantage point had already come in the opening act, I packed the camera and headed out for the rest of the day – knowing, no matter what I might find, that nature had already more than repaid any debt from yesterday’s snow with a brilliant day to treasure and remember.

 

 

Hope is Born Again

 

 

I wasn’t going to make a Christmas entry this year.  I’ve been remiss in my Journal entries as it is and in many ways its been tough to capture the holiday spirit, so I’d decided to let things go and try to start fresh again in January.

 

This past year has been difficult on many levels, and while I enjoyed shopping for special ones in my life, most other aspects of holiday planning were much more chore than delight for the first time in almost as long as I can remember.  So I went to dad’s tonight with more a sense of obligation than anticipation.  The early part of the evening did nothing to dispel my mood – he was difficult and frustrating and I was reminded once again that my role is now so much more that of parent to him than child.  And when we arrived at church for the candlelight service, it seemed the remainder of the evening would only hold more of the same.

 

But then the carols started and I found my voice, joining in the celebration of the season and allowing myself to be reminded once more of what Christmas is truly about.  And a sense of hope – one missing for too long now – began to creep back in, a warm feeling that was instantly familiar and welcome once more.

 

Now please do not think that I do not know that my life is blessed – more than many if not most, and far more than I deserve.  There are people in my life who love me, and without whose strength and support I would find it close to impossible to face some days – and for that I am and will be eternally grateful.  Yet there have still been days of self-doubt and darkness, of questioning and of concern for what the future may hold that also take their toll sometimes.

 

Christmas is always a difficult time of year for me anyway – because it was my mother’s favorite holiday and because therefore most memories have a bittersweet tinge to them.  But tonight the opposite was true.  As the lights dimmed and the candles were lit in the quiet sanctuary, as Silent Night began softly and wafted through the congregation as if borne on the tip of each flickering light, gaining strength from each new flame, the darkness began to slip away.  My voice wavered and the tears began to flow - and hope grew anew.

 

Late tonight, I walked in the quiet of the moonlight – and my heart was very full.  There was a spring to my step and light in my soul – gifts beyond measure that helped me once again to savor each word shared with those important in my life, to treasure each small gift of kindness and to cherish each star in the sky.

 

I know that there will be more dark days – they are an inevitable part of life.  But for tonight, hope is born again – as far away as in a distant manger, but also as close as the beating of my heart. And what better way to start another Christmas day?

 

 

 

To those in my life who give reason and purpose to my days – thank you.  To friends and acquaintances – thank you.  To anyone who may happen upon these words – thank you.  No matter how you celebrate, may your holiday season bring hope to your own lives – and may each new candle lit bring fresh light to your soul.  Merry Christmas!

Simple Thanks

 

Its been almost two months since I’ve written here – and I have no idea whether anyone will read these words.  But I have always written in this Journal what my heart directs me to say.  Whether it is read or not is secondary, but I do hope that at least a few will see.

 

When I began this Journal, I had no expectations or plans for it.  It was a way to record events in my life that I wished to remember – special places, people and events that touched my life and that I wanted to retain.  But in ways that still amaze and impress me, others found me and read my words – some anonymously but, to my amazement and gratitude, several who took the time to leave a kind word or a note of encouragement.

 

And that’s the subject of this entry – in keeping with the day and in prelude to my favorite time of the year:  Simple Thanks.

 

There are those who have read and commented here who live in places where today is but another Thursday in a long line of Thursdays, but it matters not whether you celebrate Thanksgiving today or not.  Because Thanksgiving, like most holidays, is really just a codified time to allow us to stop and reflect, to remember the things and the blessings and the people in our lives who have touched us in a positive way – regardless of whether it was within the hour or decades ago.

 

Soto those of you I truly know – thank you.  For those of you who have shared a thought or expressed a kindness – thank you.  For those who may read but leave no footprints behind – thank you.  You have all made this experience far richer for me than I could have dreamed, and for each and every one of you I am grateful.

 

And whether this is a holiday of note or just another Thursday to you, my wish is the same:  may you share and appreciate time with those you hold dear, may you remember those who have gone before, may your smiles be many and may happiness fill your heart.  Thank you.

Keeping the Glow Alive - Part 2

 

 

(The picture above is not meant to impress.  In fact, it’s a retread from a journal entry I made in early January.  Its meant to invoke a feeling that I referenced in that entry – a feeling I experienced today.)

 

 

 

I had a particularly vexing day today.  A home project I have been working on all week – one that I thought was finally complete when I went to bed last night – managed to find a way to take up my entire day today as well.  Gone were the plans I had carefully laid, cast unceremoniously aside by the whims of the project that would not die.

 

As each additional step in the laborious process consumed twice and three times the amount of time I thought it should and the sun literally set on the rest of my plans, I finally reached the absolute final step.

 

There’s something about vacuuming that I loathe. Cleaning bathrooms, laundry, dusting - even windows – I don’t mind as much as dragging the old Kirby around the floors.  Its not particularly difficult or time-consuming, but its my least favorite of household chores – and somehow it seemed fitting that the final step happened to be the thorough vacuuming of the Great Room carpet.

 

My mood was foul and each pass of the sweeper seemed a mockery of my skills and planning abilities.  And then, as I stooped to lift the ember-resistant rug before the hearth, I saw it.  It was peeking out from the corner of the bottom of the fireplace screen – a place I’ve seen dozens of times in the last months.  But today was the day it chose to make its appearance – and I had to shut off the vacuum and simply smile.

 

Last January, as I waxed wistfully in this journal over the end of the Christmas season, I pondered whether we pack the spirit of that season away with the decorations – only bringing it back out for a limited time each year. I hoped that we would find ways in our hearts, once the normal rhythms of everyday life had returned, to keep the peace and the love of the season alive.   I closed the entry by noting that pine needles have a way of turning up at unexpected times no matter how thorough our efforts to remove every one of them – and hoped that at unexpected times during the year we would find a pine needle, and let it take us back to the special peace of the season.

 

And that’s what I found today.  At a time when I was feeling charitable toward few and anger at unspecified gremlins for wasting my day, a tiny, light green and brittle pine needle took me back to the tree and the light and the magic – and my day improved dramatically from there. 

 

When YOU need it most – I wish you a pine needle of your own.

Dance of the squirrels

 

 

I was running late this morning, trying to get out the door to dive into the day’s requirements.  I walked into the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee to go, popped it into the microwave to get it good and piping hot and then turned around – and instantly smiled widely.

 

The deck wraps around the corner of the kitchen and a flurry of activity caught my eye through the sliding glass doors.  Four young squirrels, filled with the carefree exuberance of youth, were scurrying madly up and down the White Oak that sits inches from the deck rail – and using it as a launching pad to hop to the deck and then back again.  They chased each other up and down and around the tree, sometimes moving so fast that they literally ran over the top of each other in their eagerness to reach some imaginary and endlessly changing goal.

 

At about this time, the microwave sounded the end of its cycle – and I was faced with a decision:  grab the coffee and run to the car to stay on schedule or let the pace of life wait a bit while I retrieved the camera and tried to record the frenetic activity of those new to this life and eager to explore all it has to offer.  In a heartbeat, I set the coffee down and ran for the camera.

 

For the next 15 or so minutes, I sat on the deck and quietly enjoyed the tireless play of these athletic creatures - capturing what images I could in the split seconds that they were anything less than a light brown blur.  Of hundreds of missed shots, a few – amazingly – caught a moment in time to illustrate the glorious spectacle they played out for me, and two of those images are shared with you here.

 

When they finally scampered up the tree for good, I set the camera aside, grabbed the coffee cup and hurried out the door.  Would I encounter a more harried pace and additional traffic for my dalliance with nature?  Yes.  If I had the choice to make again, would I do anything differently?  Not on your life.

 

Life constantly presents us with choices – some large, but most small and seemingly insignificant.  And at the end of the day, the choices we make in each of these instances makes the difference between living our lives and having a life.  Sometimes we simply must budget our time according to the schedules of others and the rhythms of the day, but oftentimes we are not really quite as busy as we tell ourselves we are.  In those moments, when you are faced with a choice to adhere to the timetable or to stop and watch the squirrels I hope that you stop and let some carefree joy delight your eye and fill your soul – for your day and your life will be just a little bit brighter if you do.

 

 

 

 

On an unrelated, but very pleasant note: Greg Kiser, a professional photographer in North Carolina has chosen to do a spotlight article on your humble correspondent in his Journal Photo Trek  Take a few moments to visit if you can – and check out the truly wonderful photographs that Greg posts there and on his web site.  Sincere thanks to Greg for his encouraging words and his generosity of spirit – THANK YOU!

 

 

 

 

Nature's Circus Comes to Town

 

 

(The image above is but one small aspect of the story to follow, but try if you will to let your mind fill the rest of the picture.  And if it does, I dare you not to smile!)

 

 

As I lay in half slumber this morning, not yet fully awake yet no longer asleep, I became aware of an angry droning sound originating just outside the bedroom window.  As my mind slowly focused, it appeared that a swarm of hornets had somehow settled upon the front porch – and my curiosity was such that it was enough to draw me from the warm bed toward the cool air of early morning flowing through the window.

 

I slowly crept forward and crouched low before the bow window so as not to disturb whatever was making such a racket.  Upon first glance, there was nothing particularly out of the ordinary.  There were three tiny, immature brown birds with the general shape and beak configuration of nuthatches sitting in the burning bush just outside the window and a pair of titmice nearby – yet the noise continued unabated.

 

But as I watched, those three tiny birds began to busily hop from branch to ground to porch to brick arch and back again – mouths wide open as they moved in rapid and apparently random fashion.  And from this trio of less-than-fist-sized wonders  all of that noise was originating.

 

I watched in fascination as they fluttered and bounced from perch to perch, uttering their most unpleasant cries continually.  What their mission was I can only imagine, but it seemed that their cacophonous ruckus had woken more than just me. For as I looked, it appeared that all of nature had suddenly descended upon my vista:

 

A chipmunk jumped upon the woodpile and began loudly proclaiming himself its king as he perched upon hind legs and began the continuous clucking sound that requires such force that it shakes his entire small frame with each outburst.  In the woods to the right, I could see two squirrels chasing each other noisily and effortlessly as they zipped from branch to branch and tree to tree.  Further in the distance, the red-tailed hawk’s piercing cry echoed over the treetops.

 

There were silent visitors as well.  As the eye became more keen and the clutter of life dropped away and allowed the eye to truly see,  the lazy path of the bumblebee came into sharp focus.  To its left, a butterfly gracefully fluttered from marigold to marigold – resting and preening for a moment and gathering the morning sun upon her wide-spread wings before moving further into the yard.  A flash of bright green zipped by and then materialized as a hummingbird, hovering as if frozen in time by the feeder – and then gone again in an instant.  And below the feeder, the tiny toad who lives in the impatiens bed crept back to the safety of his home.

 

And then, in what seemed the blink of an eye, there was silence - and all the activity, all the commotion, all the glorious clatter was gone.  There was no movement save for the lazy dance of the leaves in a gentle breeze, no sound but the low rumble of cars from the road behind the house, and an occasional solitary cry from a distant chickadee. 

 

The show had packed its tent and moved on – but it would be back, in endlessly changing configurations.  And what a show it had been.

 

Sailing

 

 

(The photo above is from a recent Tall Ships festival.  There are more images from that event and some other miscellaneous sailing images in the album in the right column).

 

 

 

For someone who doesn’t swim well and who has never owned a boat or known someone well who has, its interesting that - as I look back on life -  some of the memories that stand out the strongest are all linked to being out on the water. 

 

Moonlight shimmering in a silver path over gentle seas to the exact spot on the ship’s rail where I stand.  Awakening in my blanket on a cool teak deck to see a billowing white sail catching the breeze directly above my head – the ship’s cat nestled snugly at my feet.  Quiet moments in contemplation as pungent salt air fills my lungs and cleanses my soul.  Watching from the balcony as green forest along the banks slowly transforms into the breathtaking dunes of the high desert.  Hoisting the sails at sunset as the ethereal sound of bagpipes signal both departure and hope for the new dawn. 

 

Each memory – some now more than 20 years past – deeply engrained to the point where I can taste the remnants of a tang upon my lips if I close my eyes long and tight enough.

 

Sometimes when life seeks to overwhelm, those are my favorite memories to evoke – for rarely have I felt as free and easy as when the sea breeze is in my face.   As I write this, I am there once again, hoping for that same healing strength to descend once more.

 

We all need that special place to which to escape now and then.  I sincerely hope that yours is as pleasant as mine.

Words to live by

 

 

The pursuit of truth and beauty is a sphere of activity in which we are permitted to remain children all our lives. - Albert Einstein, physicist, Nobel laureate (1879-1955)

Personal Fireworks

 

As any of you who have stopped here before are aware, I usually try to build my entries around one of my photos or to take one to match the topic. In this particular instance, however,  I was unable to capture the image.  No combination of shutter speed, aperture and sensor sensitivity could duplicate what the eye so readily sees, so I will simply try to paint the picture in words – in hopes that your mind’s eye will see the beauty and feel the awe, as imagination creates what the camera cannot.

 

 

My last entry touched on the topic of celebrations and included pictures of fireworks from the Fourth.  Those photos were actually taken during a local community celebration the weekend before, so that on the night of the Holiday I was home.  As the sky darkened at the end of the day, the air became alive with the sound of celebratory explosions from surrounding towns and I wandered onto the deck to absorb the joyous cacophony.

 

At first, my attention was drawn above the treeline, as the sky lit randomly from the distant explosions – much as lightning will illuminate the clouds from great distance.  But as my eyes adjusted, my vision shifted to the valley below – and a sight that is my recurring favorite memory of summer since moving here, and which will always conjure awe and joy in my soul no matter how many times I am blessed to witness it.

 

The air was still and warm as the night became alive before me.  For in the trees and all around me – some near enough to touch, some far away – glowed hundreds, seemingly thousands, of fireflies.  Their tiny lanterns beamed for an instant, always replaced by the glow of another in a new location – and my mind linked the tiny lights before me with the explosions reporting in the air to create a July Fourth spectacle for my eyes and ears alone. 

 

Minutes passed and the thunderous echoes slowed and died as grand finales faded, yet the light show before and around me continued in mute silence – to my mind becoming all the more beautiful and poignant.  Sometimes the sheer spectacle of an event is so overwhelming that the combination of sight and sound and feel crowds out the ability to think – and when the sounds slowly dissolved into the silence of a summer night, the light itself and the quiet wonder of nature it represented was permitted its opportunity to permeate and become fixed to the soul.  Mesmerized, I not only saw, but felt each pulse of light – and the celebration moved from the external to deep within.

 

I neither know nor care the duration of my experience, but I know that my heart was at peace when I returned inside – a personal gift beyond price.  Whether it originates in a smile from a stranger, the laughter of a child,  the comforting hand of a friend – or the simple glow of a firefly – I hope that same peace fills your heart, soon and often.