I was tagged again. This time by Alison at http://threetimeskewl.blogspot.com/
Like others in the chain of this meme are not great fans of wearing makeup, I’m right there with ya’ except for the fact that I have NO color in eyebrows or eyelashes. The only color I have in my face, other than the changeable blue of my eyes, are freckles. Oh, and the occasional flush of hot-flashes. (Such a blessing, let me tell ya’!) But, because I married wisely and my handsome husband has dark hair, dark eyebrows and lashes—all four of my children have DARK eyelashes and brows—which I envy. I do wear some makeup sometimes because as someone once said, “Even a barn looks better with a coat of paint.” Yep, I hope I don’t look like a barn—with/without paint!
Foundation:
Don’t much like the stuff. Minimal and occasional use is limited to mask dark circles under eyes or cover red blotchy spots (when they crop up) and freckles for greater sunscreen protection. Only wear it if/when I don’t want to scare the natives, or anyone else. I’ve used Mary Kay #1, greasy kind of foundation (they stopped manufacturing/selling this specific product some years ago) so I’ve got about ¼ teaspoon left. I’m looking for a substitute :( ifanwhen I need it.
Mascara:
I do use the black/brown or is it brown/black color? Makes me look less anemic. I haven’t found a favorite even after all these years!
Day Cream:
Aveeno Ultra-Calming moisturizer with sunscreen. Even in the VERY humid southern climate where I reside, my rather dry skin requires moisturizing. When I lived or do go visit much dryer desert-like locales, I have serious dry-skin issues and require greater and richer amounts of moisturizer. My grandmother told me many, many years ago to “moisturize your face EVERY day/night, no matter the time of year, financial situation or whatever. You can use Crisco on your face if you have to, but moisturize daily!” Eeeewwwww. But hey! She lived to be 93 and her facial skin looked pretty good!
Essential Beauty Product:
I love Alison’s from Three Times Kewl: Laughter. I’ll add smiles because they are so closely related. I think the best thing any face can/should wear is a genuine, heartfelt smile. Old or young, bond or free, white or black or anything between, smiles reign as the MOST beautiful and essential beauty product!
OH! Thinking of my grandmother again: Don’t smoke! Her younger sister did and she looked so many years older than my grandmother! I’ve noticed the same thing in others, too. Smoking does bad stuff to your everything.
Perfume:
I like what some others wear—lavendery or rosy scents. Don’t wear the stuff any more as a rule. Do love the subtly pungent fragrance of white ginger flowers, however, and want one in my hair or close by when and if I catch them in bloom. They are one of my (many) favorite flowers grown here at home.
Hair:
I’m adding this one because I think a woman’s hair should be shiny and healthy and frame/compliment her face well. This is the one thing I feel really blessed to possess. (Gotta take the good with the bad, right?) I was born a strawberry-blond, which I guess is one of the more unique natural hair colors around. I’m not bragging, of course. ;-} (Even so, I’ve always been jealous of people with rich, dark brown, glossy hair—like my husband. Oh, he has fine hair! It is a really great ‘salt and pepper’ color now, which I also really like! AND I’m glad I’m his barber of choice.) As I have aged, I think my hair is my best feature—something to do with the fact that in recent years I've had complete strangers (other women) in various places (cities not close to home) come up to me and compliment my hair color and style. It amazes me that people do that—and it makes me feel good. It’s unsolicited, and they’re not trying afterwards to sell me something. Now that I’m nearly 60 years old, you can probably imagine that I have lots of white mixed in with the original color. It’s true. Now I think of my hair color as “silver and gold.” And it’s majorly easy to deal with. I wash and crème rinse with Aussie brand shampoo and conditioner, blow it dry a couple of minutes and it’s good for a couple of days. It’s got just enough body that it curves to my desire—most of the time.
Nails:
Been blessed to have good strong nails. Keep them trimmed most of the time, but don’t mind them being long—if they’re filed and smooth. CAN'T STAND wearing fingernail polish! It just drives me crazy and I peal it off usually the same day applied—IF it gets applied. As to toenails—I will admit to wearing red or much more neutral polish during the summer. That I don’t mind and think it looks pretty good.
Hands:
Not particularly lovely. They’re not small, but have long fingers, freckles, noticeable blue veins and freckles. (Did I already mention freckles?) Require a LOT of moisturizing lotion. I use several kinds—whatever is handy, though I do like Banana Boat and Vaseline Intensive care, healing kind of stuff. My hands don’t react well to dishwashing detergent and lots of time in dishwater, which I insist on being hot. (My father was a fanatic about steamy dishwater. Must have rubbed off on me.) Something in that mix makes my skin dry up and peel off. In winter, particularly, or in desert climes, my hands will crack deeply and hurt. Then I use lanoline rich kinds of moisturizers, if I can find them. (Once long ago, I carded and spun raw sheep wool. Now that stuff was rich with lanoline—but didn’t smell the greatest!)
Feet:
Like others mentioned before me, my feet love their freedom! In the house I run barefoot mostly. I will, however, add little socks or slippers when they get cold. Sports shoes are worn ONLY when absolutely necessary for protection. They make my feet too hot and confined. I wear flip-flops – casual or dressy when trekking about to town, etc. I do have some soft slip-ons that I wear when the weather requires. I have to use a pumice stone and lotion nearly year-round to keep my heels in check. The dry skin monster attacks them regularly.
Three Products to Bring on a Deserted Island:
Drinking water—another of those essentials for good health and lookin’ good.
Scriptures—can’t do without good reading material. Scriptures never get boring however many times I’ve read them.
Lots, loads, tons of Moisturizing Sunscreen
Women I admire for their beauty:
My mother is a beautiful woman. My mother-in-law. My daughters, all three of them and my one granddaughter. And many others. I think women who value high moral standards and love and serve those around them are the most beautiful women.
Women with the best sense of style:
My mother-in-law—though she’s no longer in this life—would be on that list. My own dear mother, would not. Great fashion style is not her great gift. Unconditional love is hers, so maybe I better put her here. And then, my youngest daughter is our personal fashion consultant in the family. She has her own style and has for many years. Others would like to copy her style, but just don’t carry if off as well.
How do I define womanhood:
Womanhood is one of the greatest of God’s gifts. What greater potential for good is there in the human race than that of a woman? Who else is so richly endowed with creativity—the bearing and raising of children, or compassionately, tenderly ministering to the needs of others—than those who bear the gift of womanhood? In no way should womanhood diminish the role of manhood. Together, men and women, who work together to make this world a better place for everyone, is the pinnacle of human endeavor. Families are the stronghold of society, and women can and should reign as queens—life-giving, hard working, nurturing, loving, exemplary, righteous queens—in their homes and families equal to, though differently endowed than their husbands—if married. Rich and vibrant are each of the roles of men and women, separate and grand their potential to compliment and magnify each other’s individual gifts and talents.
Favorite Fashion Publication:
Scriptures: Particularly Proverbs 31:10-31
Now the question is: Do I measure up? Not yet. But, I’m workin’ on it!
So I must pass on the TAG to MEME. Hmmm? Who shall it be? Jeanie might tag her sister, Bush Babe, or not. But, I can! And do! Bush Babe at Granite Glen and my daughter Amy at Bugs in the Desert.
I’m going to close my eyes now and push the buttons to make this magically appear on my blog. My fingers are crossed, I’m hopin’ I don’t mess up, three, two, one ……
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Blog for Peace
Before checking out my favorite blog friends’ posts today, I didn’t know it was “Blog for Peace” day. Who doesn’t want peace? Well, there are obviously those who don’t, i.e., check out the whole globe where killing and hatred abound—hence the topic of the day.
I wasn’t going to say anything about this topic because it is so wide, and so deep, and so . . . should I say, divisive? We’re all filled with deeply felt passions about the problems facing us and our nation(s) and the world in general. So, thinking long and hard about this opportunity, I’m venturing to share some of my thoughts on the subject. Not without fear and trepidation. My goal is not to step on ones toes or deeply held beliefs, but simply to share my own thoughts, beliefs, etc. on this topic.
I am the daughter of an Army officer. As a young child, I saw the results of World War II first hand—in Japan and in Germany. It touched me deeply then and now. War is horrible and sometimes unavoidable. (The Bible, Old Testament, as only one available historical record—is filled with accounts of wars and why they occurred.) My perspective is that defense is essential for the preservation of peace—when someone wants to relieve me or others of that commodity. There will, I believe, always be those who are so self-centered that they desire power, wealth, and everything attached thereto for only themselves at the exclusion of all others. And at nearly all cost.
There are also those who desire peace at any cost, even to the point of allowing themselves to lose everything but the air they breathe, it seems, to avoid conflict.
These two opposing view points exist in this world, and a multitude of others between them. It seems a simple solution is impossible to attain.
Some time ago, during a church service, my mind was brought to attention as our congregation sang America the Beautiful. Yes. As a hymn. I believe it is a deeply heart-felt prayer and could apply to any people in any nation anywhere on this planet.
Ponder, if you will, these words:
“…God shed his grace on thee, and crown thy good with brotherhood From sea to shining sea.”
I honestly believe that we are literally all brothers and sisters, sons and daughters of God, no matter our points of origin, color, race or station in life. Well, sure, you might say. Brothers and sisters get into fights from time to time. Truly we do. But we shouldn’t. And if we do, we should both forgive, and forget, and improve the communication and caring for each other, right? Rather than escalating the disagreement.
Next line in the hymn–this is the one that jumped out at me—goes:
“…God mend thine ev’ry flaw, Confirm thy soul in self-control, Thy liberty in law.”
It goes on in subsequent lines:
“…May God thy gold refine, till all success be nobleness, and ev’ry gain divine.”
So, from those words I understand that self-control, not self-absorption, is essential to liberty. When we care as much for each of our brothers and sisters everywhere as ourselves, we will find not only liberty from strife, but peace sublime. It’s not an easy task. Just read the histories from Adam and Eve all down through mortal time.
I remind my children—and myself—from time to time that refining gold is a really tough experience. The raw ore is placed in a container and subject to intense heat. This process causes the metal to melt and lose its former status as a solid entity and become liquid. (Simply put, it hurts-grievously.) In its liquid state, all the impurities come to the surface and are burned off—as I understand it. Only after that intense, burning, melting down process where everything impure is purged, is the metal pure. It isn’t pleasant to be the gold being refined. We have to give up our egocentricity and replace it with following God’s directions to love our brothers as ourselves, just as His Only Begotten Son did/does for us.
I believe, that when we place God first in everything we do and treat others like we want to be treated—without rolling over and playing dead—we’ll be closer to heavenly peace than we currently are.
Please, with all that said, don’t get the impression that I’ve mastered that plan. I certainly have not. I struggle with my own issues of thinking some people are stupid, aggravating and so on and so on. I have a long way to go in many areas of my life, but my goal is to work on me. I can’t work on anyone else.
Thank God for agency—or as some refer to it “free will”. It is a sacred gift from God. Some individuals’ goal is to remove (or diminish) that sacred gift of agency from the rest of us. With the gift come the consequences of how we use or abuse it. There are always consequences for every choice we make. Good choices=good consequences. Bad choices, well you know the answer.
We really don’t need more stuff in our lives—though we seem to ever strive to have more stuff. We need the pure love of Christ, and we get that by unselfishly giving of our time, talents and means to those in need. Not by government legislation, but out of personal, genuine concern for the welfare of others. (Governments, in my opinion, aren't able to legislate goodness. It's personal choice for good that results in goodness.) May God grant us all more peace as we strive to follow the path of His Son who lived and died for us that we might enjoy eternal peace, is my prayer.
I wasn’t going to say anything about this topic because it is so wide, and so deep, and so . . . should I say, divisive? We’re all filled with deeply felt passions about the problems facing us and our nation(s) and the world in general. So, thinking long and hard about this opportunity, I’m venturing to share some of my thoughts on the subject. Not without fear and trepidation. My goal is not to step on ones toes or deeply held beliefs, but simply to share my own thoughts, beliefs, etc. on this topic.
I am the daughter of an Army officer. As a young child, I saw the results of World War II first hand—in Japan and in Germany. It touched me deeply then and now. War is horrible and sometimes unavoidable. (The Bible, Old Testament, as only one available historical record—is filled with accounts of wars and why they occurred.) My perspective is that defense is essential for the preservation of peace—when someone wants to relieve me or others of that commodity. There will, I believe, always be those who are so self-centered that they desire power, wealth, and everything attached thereto for only themselves at the exclusion of all others. And at nearly all cost.
There are also those who desire peace at any cost, even to the point of allowing themselves to lose everything but the air they breathe, it seems, to avoid conflict.
These two opposing view points exist in this world, and a multitude of others between them. It seems a simple solution is impossible to attain.
Some time ago, during a church service, my mind was brought to attention as our congregation sang America the Beautiful. Yes. As a hymn. I believe it is a deeply heart-felt prayer and could apply to any people in any nation anywhere on this planet.
Ponder, if you will, these words:
“…God shed his grace on thee, and crown thy good with brotherhood From sea to shining sea.”
I honestly believe that we are literally all brothers and sisters, sons and daughters of God, no matter our points of origin, color, race or station in life. Well, sure, you might say. Brothers and sisters get into fights from time to time. Truly we do. But we shouldn’t. And if we do, we should both forgive, and forget, and improve the communication and caring for each other, right? Rather than escalating the disagreement.
Next line in the hymn–this is the one that jumped out at me—goes:
“…God mend thine ev’ry flaw, Confirm thy soul in self-control, Thy liberty in law.”
It goes on in subsequent lines:
“…May God thy gold refine, till all success be nobleness, and ev’ry gain divine.”
So, from those words I understand that self-control, not self-absorption, is essential to liberty. When we care as much for each of our brothers and sisters everywhere as ourselves, we will find not only liberty from strife, but peace sublime. It’s not an easy task. Just read the histories from Adam and Eve all down through mortal time.
I remind my children—and myself—from time to time that refining gold is a really tough experience. The raw ore is placed in a container and subject to intense heat. This process causes the metal to melt and lose its former status as a solid entity and become liquid. (Simply put, it hurts-grievously.) In its liquid state, all the impurities come to the surface and are burned off—as I understand it. Only after that intense, burning, melting down process where everything impure is purged, is the metal pure. It isn’t pleasant to be the gold being refined. We have to give up our egocentricity and replace it with following God’s directions to love our brothers as ourselves, just as His Only Begotten Son did/does for us.
I believe, that when we place God first in everything we do and treat others like we want to be treated—without rolling over and playing dead—we’ll be closer to heavenly peace than we currently are.
Please, with all that said, don’t get the impression that I’ve mastered that plan. I certainly have not. I struggle with my own issues of thinking some people are stupid, aggravating and so on and so on. I have a long way to go in many areas of my life, but my goal is to work on me. I can’t work on anyone else.
Thank God for agency—or as some refer to it “free will”. It is a sacred gift from God. Some individuals’ goal is to remove (or diminish) that sacred gift of agency from the rest of us. With the gift come the consequences of how we use or abuse it. There are always consequences for every choice we make. Good choices=good consequences. Bad choices, well you know the answer.
We really don’t need more stuff in our lives—though we seem to ever strive to have more stuff. We need the pure love of Christ, and we get that by unselfishly giving of our time, talents and means to those in need. Not by government legislation, but out of personal, genuine concern for the welfare of others. (Governments, in my opinion, aren't able to legislate goodness. It's personal choice for good that results in goodness.) May God grant us all more peace as we strive to follow the path of His Son who lived and died for us that we might enjoy eternal peace, is my prayer.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
A Bug Story--But Still No Pictures
As I read 'Scribbit's' post this morning titled "How to Get Rid of Tapeworms" I laughed. (You can find this great blog and this really great post at http://scribbit.blogspot.com/.) Truly, I did. Laugh, that is. Then I began to respond in the comments section. Before I hit the post comment button, I began reading the other comments left there. I laughed even more!
One mom apparently felt she was safe from the collecting of bugs, etc., as she has 4 girls--at least for now she feels safe.
To all those mothers with girls. Ha, ha. Oh, ha, ha! BEWARE! I was a girl once. (Female still. I'm a grandmotherly woman now. Not a girl. Just so you don't get confused.) I kept grashoppers, etc. in my closet, turtles under my bed, parakeets in a cage. In fact, I remember gathering bees in my little hands (I might have been four or five at the time)--and getting stung, of course, in the process. But they were so fascinating and my Mom actually let me put them in a jar for awhile--with some clover flowers, of course, in case they got hungry. And my second oldest daughter is an entomologist! (Can you imagine?)
After she married, I can't tell you how many TONS of bugs she collected in our Louisiana back yard to classify in my house, on the dining room table! And I've captured a few (bugs) over the years for her to assist in those classes she used to take. I sincerely find them rather interesting, facinating actually, to this day. Oh, just as a side note . . . those tons of bugs--caught at night, of course, with a blacklight under a white sheet strung over long flat tubs of soapy water--stink when the vile mix is brought inside for classification purposes. Just keeping to the facts. Full disclosure, here, you know.
Which reminds me. When we lived in Texas--this child was like 2 years old when we moved there and 8 when we moved away--we had these really pretty, fuzzy black with white polka dots spiders that liked our kitchen bay window. Yes, on the inside. Their eyes and fangs were metalic peacock blue. Honest. They were really "pretty". We named any such spider, "Herman." Don't ask me why, we just did. They were jumping spiders, not the web-spinning kind. They seemed rather tame. Never bit any of us.
Back then this daughter collected a few caterpillars and we kept them in a large, gallon size pickle jar while they pupated and turned into gorgeous butterflies--Gulf Coast fertillaries, or something like that. We even have pictures somewhere of her turning them loose.
A few years ago she and her husband went on another bug collecting trip while he was still working on his masters--botany/plant genetics--degree. Yeah. They make a very compatible comple that way: the plant guy and the bug girl. Anyway, when my daughter was classifying bugs one day, their not yet three-year-old daughter watched as Mommy did her thing and asked if she could help.
Before I go further, I must explain. This child and her one brother (at that time) have been raised with all kinds of books--many of which were books about bugs. She knew the names of the bugs and could tell me about them as she showed me the pictures--at two. So, when this bright child asked Mom if she could help, Mom handed her a pair of bug tweezers and told her what to look for. My daughter called me that night to report that her daughter had done an amazing job of selecting just the right kinds of bugs her Mom was looking for out of the soupy mix. We're not talking HUGE bugs here. Little bugs.
Now, my oldest grandson, her now 3 year old brother asks, whenever he talks to me on the phone, "Grandma, what kind of bugs do you have at your house?" I begin on the list--which my daughter is, of course, far more qualified to explain than I--one type of bug at a time. After a bug or two he asks, "Do you have any mosquitos?" "Oh, yeah. Lots of them." "Do they suck your blood?" he asks gleefully. "Oh, yeah."
Then in the background I hear his excited comments: "Mom! Grandma has mosquitos at her house. And they suck her blood!" Next question in his innocent voice now: "Grandma, do you have any cockroaches at your house?" "Yes, dear. We live in the woods. We can't help it." He repeats the delightful news back to his mother. Then from the background I hear my daughter chuckle and respond, "Mom, are you sure you want the world to know you have cockroaches at your house?" To which I, of course respond, "Hey! You lived here once. You know they only come IN the house on occasion--and without a invitation! We get rid of them as fast as we find them, thank you very much!"
Grandson then asks about a variety of other creepy crawly critters before his Mom decides the list is endless and she takes control of the phone again. Then my daughter reports that for a few days her two oldest would taunt each other with, "There are mosquitos or mites in the room with you. And they're going to SUCK your BLOOD!"
I think I'll end on that cheerie note. Kids. What entertainment possibilities. Glad I had all four of mine. Even more glad to have the grandchildren. Somehow they're even more entertaining. (You can't see me smiling, can you? I'm smiling. Big.)
One mom apparently felt she was safe from the collecting of bugs, etc., as she has 4 girls--at least for now she feels safe.
To all those mothers with girls. Ha, ha. Oh, ha, ha! BEWARE! I was a girl once. (Female still. I'm a grandmotherly woman now. Not a girl. Just so you don't get confused.) I kept grashoppers, etc. in my closet, turtles under my bed, parakeets in a cage. In fact, I remember gathering bees in my little hands (I might have been four or five at the time)--and getting stung, of course, in the process. But they were so fascinating and my Mom actually let me put them in a jar for awhile--with some clover flowers, of course, in case they got hungry. And my second oldest daughter is an entomologist! (Can you imagine?)
After she married, I can't tell you how many TONS of bugs she collected in our Louisiana back yard to classify in my house, on the dining room table! And I've captured a few (bugs) over the years for her to assist in those classes she used to take. I sincerely find them rather interesting, facinating actually, to this day. Oh, just as a side note . . . those tons of bugs--caught at night, of course, with a blacklight under a white sheet strung over long flat tubs of soapy water--stink when the vile mix is brought inside for classification purposes. Just keeping to the facts. Full disclosure, here, you know.
Which reminds me. When we lived in Texas--this child was like 2 years old when we moved there and 8 when we moved away--we had these really pretty, fuzzy black with white polka dots spiders that liked our kitchen bay window. Yes, on the inside. Their eyes and fangs were metalic peacock blue. Honest. They were really "pretty". We named any such spider, "Herman." Don't ask me why, we just did. They were jumping spiders, not the web-spinning kind. They seemed rather tame. Never bit any of us.
Back then this daughter collected a few caterpillars and we kept them in a large, gallon size pickle jar while they pupated and turned into gorgeous butterflies--Gulf Coast fertillaries, or something like that. We even have pictures somewhere of her turning them loose.
A few years ago she and her husband went on another bug collecting trip while he was still working on his masters--botany/plant genetics--degree. Yeah. They make a very compatible comple that way: the plant guy and the bug girl. Anyway, when my daughter was classifying bugs one day, their not yet three-year-old daughter watched as Mommy did her thing and asked if she could help.
Before I go further, I must explain. This child and her one brother (at that time) have been raised with all kinds of books--many of which were books about bugs. She knew the names of the bugs and could tell me about them as she showed me the pictures--at two. So, when this bright child asked Mom if she could help, Mom handed her a pair of bug tweezers and told her what to look for. My daughter called me that night to report that her daughter had done an amazing job of selecting just the right kinds of bugs her Mom was looking for out of the soupy mix. We're not talking HUGE bugs here. Little bugs.
Now, my oldest grandson, her now 3 year old brother asks, whenever he talks to me on the phone, "Grandma, what kind of bugs do you have at your house?" I begin on the list--which my daughter is, of course, far more qualified to explain than I--one type of bug at a time. After a bug or two he asks, "Do you have any mosquitos?" "Oh, yeah. Lots of them." "Do they suck your blood?" he asks gleefully. "Oh, yeah."
Then in the background I hear his excited comments: "Mom! Grandma has mosquitos at her house. And they suck her blood!" Next question in his innocent voice now: "Grandma, do you have any cockroaches at your house?" "Yes, dear. We live in the woods. We can't help it." He repeats the delightful news back to his mother. Then from the background I hear my daughter chuckle and respond, "Mom, are you sure you want the world to know you have cockroaches at your house?" To which I, of course respond, "Hey! You lived here once. You know they only come IN the house on occasion--and without a invitation! We get rid of them as fast as we find them, thank you very much!"
Grandson then asks about a variety of other creepy crawly critters before his Mom decides the list is endless and she takes control of the phone again. Then my daughter reports that for a few days her two oldest would taunt each other with, "There are mosquitos or mites in the room with you. And they're going to SUCK your BLOOD!"
I think I'll end on that cheerie note. Kids. What entertainment possibilities. Glad I had all four of mine. Even more glad to have the grandchildren. Somehow they're even more entertaining. (You can't see me smiling, can you? I'm smiling. Big.)
Monday, June 2, 2008
I Didn't Do It
Okay, okay, okay. I do not blog every day. Well, I don't post a blog a day like some of my favorite bloggers do. I'm just not as talented or dedicated or something. But, I read my favorite blogs nearly every day.
I wanted to blog on Saturday, but I had a list of things to do and I was really tired after moving our youngest daughter back to the house. I'm really becoming a wimp of the first order.
But, back to what I really wanted to blog about: the little Mocking Bird Fledglings. A week or three ago I think I mentioned that I happened on a nest containing 3 little birds, mouths agape, cheeping for food. I wanted the camera that was with my husband a couple hundred miles away.
When the camera came back home, I dutifully went about looking for the little feathered babes (with camera in hand) so I could introduce you to them. Sob! They were gone. I might have mentioned that earlier, too.
However, I heard them this past Saturday. I'd gone out to check the mail and heard their familiar cheeping. Three distinct cheeps from nearby, but coming from three slightly different directions. I knew they must be close because two parent Mocking Birds tried to distract me from my quest to spy their little ones.
Finally, after staring into the nearby leafy branches of the (meanacing and weed-like) private bushes/trees for several moments, I was rewarded with zeroing in on the little bird making the most racket. Momma bird flew in close with a bug in beak and baby dutifully opened his/her mouth to accept the morsel. But no. Mom was trying to lure the babe into flight, I surmise.
The siblings were still nearby chriping their little immature chirps. The visable one continued on plaintfully seeking comfort in his distress. Patiently looking for the other two little birds, I was finally rewarded with visual contact after they moved about in the same leafy branches, not far from their whining, lamenting nestmate. Mom and Dad were close by and continually trying to coax the scared little bird to do something more than just complain about the injustices of being a little fledgling that would rather be back home in the tidy nest having Mom and Dad bring home the grub--or grubs as the case may be.
Eventually it did manage to hop and flutter onto a bare portion of a pine branch close by where it continued to plead for assistance. The other siblings were more active and less vocal. Eventually the crick in my neck overtook my joy in watching the energetic travails of new birds getting started with living in the real world.
Nope, I didn't have the camera at my disposal at the time. Yep, I figure that had I returned to the house to grab the machine to capture it all for future posterity, I'd have lost the whole event unfold before my less than perfect, but eager-to-see eyes. (Not to mention that I would have been shooting pictures nearly blindly. I often just point and click in the general vicinity because I cannot see what's in the view finder screen all too often when outside in the sunshine. I'll have to figure that problem out one of these days. Hopefully.)
And that's that. I didn't capture the little birds once more. You'll just have to trust me that I'm telling the straight story. Or not. It was fun to watch the little ones interact trying to encourage their little sib with Mom and Day nearby trying to help it along as well.
Somehow, the whole thing reminded me a little of my own nestlings and the one who's reluctant to move on out of the nest.
I wanted to blog on Saturday, but I had a list of things to do and I was really tired after moving our youngest daughter back to the house. I'm really becoming a wimp of the first order.
But, back to what I really wanted to blog about: the little Mocking Bird Fledglings. A week or three ago I think I mentioned that I happened on a nest containing 3 little birds, mouths agape, cheeping for food. I wanted the camera that was with my husband a couple hundred miles away.
When the camera came back home, I dutifully went about looking for the little feathered babes (with camera in hand) so I could introduce you to them. Sob! They were gone. I might have mentioned that earlier, too.
However, I heard them this past Saturday. I'd gone out to check the mail and heard their familiar cheeping. Three distinct cheeps from nearby, but coming from three slightly different directions. I knew they must be close because two parent Mocking Birds tried to distract me from my quest to spy their little ones.
Finally, after staring into the nearby leafy branches of the (meanacing and weed-like) private bushes/trees for several moments, I was rewarded with zeroing in on the little bird making the most racket. Momma bird flew in close with a bug in beak and baby dutifully opened his/her mouth to accept the morsel. But no. Mom was trying to lure the babe into flight, I surmise.
The siblings were still nearby chriping their little immature chirps. The visable one continued on plaintfully seeking comfort in his distress. Patiently looking for the other two little birds, I was finally rewarded with visual contact after they moved about in the same leafy branches, not far from their whining, lamenting nestmate. Mom and Dad were close by and continually trying to coax the scared little bird to do something more than just complain about the injustices of being a little fledgling that would rather be back home in the tidy nest having Mom and Dad bring home the grub--or grubs as the case may be.
Eventually it did manage to hop and flutter onto a bare portion of a pine branch close by where it continued to plead for assistance. The other siblings were more active and less vocal. Eventually the crick in my neck overtook my joy in watching the energetic travails of new birds getting started with living in the real world.
Nope, I didn't have the camera at my disposal at the time. Yep, I figure that had I returned to the house to grab the machine to capture it all for future posterity, I'd have lost the whole event unfold before my less than perfect, but eager-to-see eyes. (Not to mention that I would have been shooting pictures nearly blindly. I often just point and click in the general vicinity because I cannot see what's in the view finder screen all too often when outside in the sunshine. I'll have to figure that problem out one of these days. Hopefully.)
And that's that. I didn't capture the little birds once more. You'll just have to trust me that I'm telling the straight story. Or not. It was fun to watch the little ones interact trying to encourage their little sib with Mom and Day nearby trying to help it along as well.
Somehow, the whole thing reminded me a little of my own nestlings and the one who's reluctant to move on out of the nest.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Lessons in Life
Okay. I didn't get the pictures up yet. I'm sorry. Took a lot, but I've been so busy elsewhere. #3 daughter's moving back home from school till she locates a real, full-time job. Yay! We're very pleased that she's finally graduated.
We settled on a date to drive the four hours to her apartment, retrieve her stuff, and bring it home. I called around to locate a moving truck to rent, settled on one and made a reservation for "the" date, 5/23/08. A Saturday. It was about two weeks prior to the moving date. Good planning, right? Everyone in town (where she lives) was finished with school at least for the summer and moving. So far so good.
As the moving day approached, I began imagining said rented truck breaking down--and on a weekend, 200 miles from home that might not be such a good idea. So, I started praying that whatever truck we got wouldn't break down. Nothing wrong with that, right?
Husband decided to take off the Friday prior to the move so we could go down, enjoy a celebratory dinner out with #3 daughter, etc. Then #1 daughter had an activity in the same city as #3 daughter lives and asked if she could spend Friday night as well. This apartment is tiny. The whole thing could probably fit in our living room here. And our living room isn't huge. It's large, but not excessively so.
So we worked out the details. Friday came. Husband and I left to wend our way south with happy thoughts of getting the job done quickly--not effortlessly. (She inherited a hide-a-bed couch from her grandparents and it's no picnic to move that sucker, let me tell you!) She doesn't have much furniture to speak of, but she has lots of STUFF--clothes, in particular.
Ten minutes into the drive south on Friday we get a call on the cell phone. "Mom," #1 and only son said, "The truck rental people just called. You might want to call them." Fear and dread filled my previously happy countenance. "Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?" I carefully asked.
#1 son explained that THE 10' truck we reserved had broken down and there were NO OTHER 10' trucks available. However, they had a 26' truck we could have for the same price. In my mind I saw this picture: We'd already discussed, my husband and I, the fact that our daughter's belongings would not even fill the 10 footer, so why in the world would we want a 26' truck where nothing could be secured, not to mention the potential for excessive gasoline usage, difficulty in manuverability, etc.? So, what to do.
I called the very nice truck rental folks who told me they also had two other trucks broken down and since it was Memorial Day Weekend, they had no mechanics to repair said breakdowns or future breakdowns that might occur over that 3 day period. What fun. Why plan ahead?, you may ask.
With little faith of finding a replacement among the other brands of rental trucks, I dutifully called and checked. The resounding response: "We're booked solid for the next two-and-a-half weeks." So, after much aggravation, several phone calls, discussion and all, we decided to call my husband's brother who has a pick-up with a slightly longer bed than our own. He wasn't keen on the adventure, but he's ALWAYS most kind and generous with helping us when he can. He and my husband have no other siblings, and their parents are no longer living. He lives about 3 hours drive from us, but also about 4 hours drive from our daughter's place.
He met us Saturday morning at her place. 4 husky, young, male church friends of #3 girls' also showed up about the same time to help load the heavy stuff--meaning primarily the couch. They were great and helped get another piece of furniture and some boxes loaded as well. My husband, his brother and I all managed to get to our house and unload--with some help from a couple of other young, husky, male church friends here.
Well, Monday this week, #1 son and I drove back down, spent the night and THOUGHT/HOPED--we could load the rest of the furniture and boxes left, except for daughter's things she needed while she finished up her commitment at work and the cleaning of her apartment that she'd bring when she drives home later this week.
Well, the plan was good, but didn't quite work out. Again. Bed frame and headboard didn't fit. We loaded all we could manage and came home once more. I'll go back--sans the truck bed lid--and make a final, final trip down and back later this week. Oh, the gas prices! Not to mention, I'm getting tired! I don't think I have one foot in the grave just yet, but I'm just not used to working this hard. (Maybe if I continue . . . I'll get better at it? Hmmmmm. Exercise. Yes. That's probably what I need. Ooooh. Ouch. Snap. Crackle. Pop. Yeah, that's the ticket!)
We settled on a date to drive the four hours to her apartment, retrieve her stuff, and bring it home. I called around to locate a moving truck to rent, settled on one and made a reservation for "the" date, 5/23/08. A Saturday. It was about two weeks prior to the moving date. Good planning, right? Everyone in town (where she lives) was finished with school at least for the summer and moving. So far so good.
As the moving day approached, I began imagining said rented truck breaking down--and on a weekend, 200 miles from home that might not be such a good idea. So, I started praying that whatever truck we got wouldn't break down. Nothing wrong with that, right?
Husband decided to take off the Friday prior to the move so we could go down, enjoy a celebratory dinner out with #3 daughter, etc. Then #1 daughter had an activity in the same city as #3 daughter lives and asked if she could spend Friday night as well. This apartment is tiny. The whole thing could probably fit in our living room here. And our living room isn't huge. It's large, but not excessively so.
So we worked out the details. Friday came. Husband and I left to wend our way south with happy thoughts of getting the job done quickly--not effortlessly. (She inherited a hide-a-bed couch from her grandparents and it's no picnic to move that sucker, let me tell you!) She doesn't have much furniture to speak of, but she has lots of STUFF--clothes, in particular.
Ten minutes into the drive south on Friday we get a call on the cell phone. "Mom," #1 and only son said, "The truck rental people just called. You might want to call them." Fear and dread filled my previously happy countenance. "Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?" I carefully asked.
#1 son explained that THE 10' truck we reserved had broken down and there were NO OTHER 10' trucks available. However, they had a 26' truck we could have for the same price. In my mind I saw this picture: We'd already discussed, my husband and I, the fact that our daughter's belongings would not even fill the 10 footer, so why in the world would we want a 26' truck where nothing could be secured, not to mention the potential for excessive gasoline usage, difficulty in manuverability, etc.? So, what to do.
I called the very nice truck rental folks who told me they also had two other trucks broken down and since it was Memorial Day Weekend, they had no mechanics to repair said breakdowns or future breakdowns that might occur over that 3 day period. What fun. Why plan ahead?, you may ask.
With little faith of finding a replacement among the other brands of rental trucks, I dutifully called and checked. The resounding response: "We're booked solid for the next two-and-a-half weeks." So, after much aggravation, several phone calls, discussion and all, we decided to call my husband's brother who has a pick-up with a slightly longer bed than our own. He wasn't keen on the adventure, but he's ALWAYS most kind and generous with helping us when he can. He and my husband have no other siblings, and their parents are no longer living. He lives about 3 hours drive from us, but also about 4 hours drive from our daughter's place.
He met us Saturday morning at her place. 4 husky, young, male church friends of #3 girls' also showed up about the same time to help load the heavy stuff--meaning primarily the couch. They were great and helped get another piece of furniture and some boxes loaded as well. My husband, his brother and I all managed to get to our house and unload--with some help from a couple of other young, husky, male church friends here.
Well, Monday this week, #1 son and I drove back down, spent the night and THOUGHT/HOPED--we could load the rest of the furniture and boxes left, except for daughter's things she needed while she finished up her commitment at work and the cleaning of her apartment that she'd bring when she drives home later this week.
Well, the plan was good, but didn't quite work out. Again. Bed frame and headboard didn't fit. We loaded all we could manage and came home once more. I'll go back--sans the truck bed lid--and make a final, final trip down and back later this week. Oh, the gas prices! Not to mention, I'm getting tired! I don't think I have one foot in the grave just yet, but I'm just not used to working this hard. (Maybe if I continue . . . I'll get better at it? Hmmmmm. Exercise. Yes. That's probably what I need. Ooooh. Ouch. Snap. Crackle. Pop. Yeah, that's the ticket!)
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Good Intentions
I've been planning to post for nearly two weeks now. So, yes, now you see proof of how slooooooooooow I am at getting around to things. I saw some pretty cool things--like a momma mocking bird and her three little hungry, demanding babies. Did I have a camera to record my view? Heck no! The camera was with my husband 200 miles away. Great, right? Well, after all, it is HIS camera. Darn. Why can't we afford 2? Well, life is!
So, IF I get really lucky, and industrious, I'll see if the little feathered babes are still housed in the nest in the fig tree. I watched Momma resting on the wire outside my kitchen window with bugs in her mouth and knew she'd been endlessly busy feeding her brood, but I never caught her at it again. Sob. :( We'll see how things go later today. My "to do" list is ever so long.
Plus I have pictures to take and post of all the flowers and other plants my sweetheart bought in honor of Mother's Day--on the day prior to--which we set out in pots, etc. I was surprised and very pleased for his thoughtful kindness. (He's like that sometimes just to keep me on my toes, I think. Surprising me with stuff like that.) How can one NOT enjoy lots of flowers? (Okay--alergy suffering people may have issues--including me with SOME flowering plants--but the beauty kind of outclasses the misery--for the most part. Right?)
Till I get the pictures, then? Have a lovely weekend--soon. Right. Today is only Thursday. So, OKAY, have a fun weekend ON the weekend. Or is that, DURING the weekend?
We'll actually be helping move our youngest daughter from college--she just GRADUATED! HURRAY! She's moving back home till she locates a job. Wish her luck. Then, we'll have to help her move out--again. Like I mentioned before, LIFE IS!
HAVE A GREAT ONE!
So, IF I get really lucky, and industrious, I'll see if the little feathered babes are still housed in the nest in the fig tree. I watched Momma resting on the wire outside my kitchen window with bugs in her mouth and knew she'd been endlessly busy feeding her brood, but I never caught her at it again. Sob. :( We'll see how things go later today. My "to do" list is ever so long.
Plus I have pictures to take and post of all the flowers and other plants my sweetheart bought in honor of Mother's Day--on the day prior to--which we set out in pots, etc. I was surprised and very pleased for his thoughtful kindness. (He's like that sometimes just to keep me on my toes, I think. Surprising me with stuff like that.) How can one NOT enjoy lots of flowers? (Okay--alergy suffering people may have issues--including me with SOME flowering plants--but the beauty kind of outclasses the misery--for the most part. Right?)
Till I get the pictures, then? Have a lovely weekend--soon. Right. Today is only Thursday. So, OKAY, have a fun weekend ON the weekend. Or is that, DURING the weekend?
We'll actually be helping move our youngest daughter from college--she just GRADUATED! HURRAY! She's moving back home till she locates a job. Wish her luck. Then, we'll have to help her move out--again. Like I mentioned before, LIFE IS!
HAVE A GREAT ONE!
Monday, May 5, 2008
Project: Please Pick Pleasing Peaches
Thursday last week was getting hot and the peaches looked ready for picking. I did not want nature ruining my small crop of delectable fruit. I enlisted my son's assistance in the project. There were only 3 dozen or so peaches to be picked, the very best looking and largest ones nearest the top of the tree, right? Well, you have to figure on that.
Since we neither fertilized nor sprayed for bugs, I supposed you could say these peaches are 100% organically grown--which basically equates to: "leave 'em alone and see what happens." What happened is, quite honestly, most if not all had worms. Aside from that, after disposing of the obnoxious little critters and the peach flesh they destroyed, I gloried in the absolute joy of tasting the luscious, richly peachy sweetness of the ripened fruit! Those peaches sampled were extremely delicious! I sliced the ripest ones yesterday and left their greener siblings to ripen a bit more.
This variety of peach--Sam Houston--is VERY tasty, I must say. I've eaten peaches of various varieties. FRESH from the tree is ALWAYS superior to store-bought. ALWAYS! Peaches have to be one of my MOST favorite fruits in all the world. After all, WHAT, I ask, compares to a peach? A wonderful, fully ripe, dripping with sweet juices peach?
Saturday I treated myself to a bowl of Cream O' Wheat with freshly sliced peaches. It was SO GOOD! If I'd really been thinking, however, I'd have poured on a little fresh cream to boot. I wasn't thinking. Sigh.
Maybe this evening for dessert we'll have some fresh peaches and cream. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!
Hope your day is peachy-keen!
Since we neither fertilized nor sprayed for bugs, I supposed you could say these peaches are 100% organically grown--which basically equates to: "leave 'em alone and see what happens." What happened is, quite honestly, most if not all had worms. Aside from that, after disposing of the obnoxious little critters and the peach flesh they destroyed, I gloried in the absolute joy of tasting the luscious, richly peachy sweetness of the ripened fruit! Those peaches sampled were extremely delicious! I sliced the ripest ones yesterday and left their greener siblings to ripen a bit more.
This variety of peach--Sam Houston--is VERY tasty, I must say. I've eaten peaches of various varieties. FRESH from the tree is ALWAYS superior to store-bought. ALWAYS! Peaches have to be one of my MOST favorite fruits in all the world. After all, WHAT, I ask, compares to a peach? A wonderful, fully ripe, dripping with sweet juices peach?
Saturday I treated myself to a bowl of Cream O' Wheat with freshly sliced peaches. It was SO GOOD! If I'd really been thinking, however, I'd have poured on a little fresh cream to boot. I wasn't thinking. Sigh.
Maybe this evening for dessert we'll have some fresh peaches and cream. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!
Hope your day is peachy-keen!
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