Sunday, November 18, 2007

Do You Hear What I Hear?

Gentlemen (women:0) Start your engines.

My Hubby and neighbor who's behind the bush in the upper right-hand corner (dang! I should know his name) - engaging the enemy.

Our neighbor, Irv. Yep. Leaf blowing.

I only glimpse Deb a few times a year through the hemlocks. She's chasing leaves, too.

I say a little prayer when our neighbor, Rick, gets on that danged roof.

I think I heard next years leaf buds sniggering at the futility of our efforts.

Do you hear it? I did. Even with ear protection: Sniggering.
BTW - that's a buckeye necklace. Big game day :0)

Thirty years ago we moved into a development called Lincoln WOODS. We'd lived in Denver during the first part of our marriage. There weren't many trees and heck - those prairie/foothill winds made short work of leaf-blowing.

Well. The friendly shade-providing trees around our Midwestern home are now 30 years older and bigger and leafier. My hubby and I are also 30 years older, bigger and . . . . well, bigger.

The trees seem to be doing fine. In fact I think I hear them sniggering up there as they watch us mortals cleaning up the shavings from the floor beneath their summer's work bench. Listen. Do you hear it?

Here's a great Robert Frost poem about leaf raking. At the literal level - it records something of the nature of the big Leaf Roundup.

Gathering Leaves

Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons,
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons.
I make a great noise
Of rustling all day
Like rabbit and deer
Running away.
But the mountains I raise
Elude my embrace,
Flowing over my arms
And into my face.
I may load and unload
Again and again
Till I fill the whole shed,
And what have I then?
Next to nothing for weight,
And since they grew duller
From contact with earth,
Next to nothing for color.
Next to nothing for use.
But a crop is a crop,
And who's to say where
The harvest shall stop?

Robert Frost


Wednesday, November 14, 2007


The flowers, fabric, ceramic and wood assembled here were gifts from great women. I cherish them more than I can say. Yes, the gifts - but the women above all.

My friend Daisy Winifred, from across the big pond has discovered this intriguing meme that grows with giving. I like her words: "I found an idea I loved and have signed up. I am not someone who participates in the meme things usually but love the 'reality' of this and the thought of the giving of gifts to 'strangers' such a delightful idea that I am standing at this quiet crossroads and looking forward to those who might pass and ask for a gift from my bag, pocket or hand:0)"

So here's the Meme/idea -
The first three people to comment here and then post the same message on their blogs will receive a small (real, not virtual) present from me!

Now, as D-W explained to me - the present may be as simple as a bit of foliage from the garden . . . . and it may take a while to meander your direction, but the beauty will be in the giving - the connection and the fun of participating in this whimsical way of touching other's lives.


Monday, November 12, 2007

November 12, 1961

Today is my sister Jen's birthday. This picture of her helping our son learn to walk - is one of my treasured possessions.

Jenny has always been a serious observer of life. Her keen intellect and insight can make a conversation or an afternoon fly. I think she must be about two, here. I spent a few nights alone in my mother's home while Mom was in ICU. I photographed her picture wall. These photographs kept me company during some long evenings.

Jen matured into a thoughtful, lovely young woman. She graduated from OSU - moved to Colorado, graduated at the top of her class in EE, then married a great man with whom she is raising their two daughters. Did I say how pleased I am for her successes - how proud I am?

These are Jen and Len's cherished girls, Laura and Kate.

I'm so proud to be her big sister. I like to think that my love for her might have contributed in a small way to the person, wife and mother she has become. Yep, that's a big sister's prerogative - to bask in the light that is her kid-sis. Happy Birthday, Jenny.


Thursday, November 01, 2007


This tidy remnant of the Dahlia garden is all that remained the day after I shot the flower photos below. We'd had our first frost and the insects that had loved the flowers as I, through late summer - we're hanging on among the frosty crystal.

One passes through the roses to get to the Dahlias.

The crystals were just melting from his fuzzy head. (Do click)

So as winter approaches - I'll find a perch to soak up some sun.

And though I may feel a bit like Miss Havershram looks.

I'll be hanging on.

And making little offerings to the bird gods. (Our newly arrived Red-breasted Nuthatches)

And as always - Looking Up.

Heading into November one can't help observing the little deaths as the sun moves south. Still, there's beauty in these departures.

Emily Dickinson wrote this poem about frost. It's an 'ouch' poem.

Apparently with no surprise,
To any happy flower,
The frost beheads it at its play,
In accidental power.
The blond assassin passes on.
The sun proceeds unmoved,
To measure off another day,
For an approving God.