Watch The Birdy

Inspired by Mary of 'Mary's View' who has to be one of the nicest and funniest people in the blogisphere - I submit my gallery of funny bird visages. Thanks for the smiles, Mary . . . I hope these give you a few.



To swallow or not to swallow.




Lift Off. (Wood Stork toes)





He was singing his heart out atop old Baldy.




Coy. (She knows she's gorgeous)




Bad hair day.




Happy as a puppy with two peckers?




Daytime Night Heron. (Trying to ignore this idiot photographer)




White pelican in a rare awkward moment.


Grace.


Circle of life. Or . . . an unwilling dinner guest.




Leverage




Well . . . not exactly poetry in motion, but when you're a white morph of the Reddish Egret - you're special and you know it.




Check out his balletic 'plie'.




Check out his 'attitude'.




I dunno. It's that wild-eyed look and the pompadour that makes me see Jerry Lee Lewis.

Sunny Smiles

It sure is easier to smile in Florida. Sending you all sunnier smiles.

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Just a Wave Hello With Gratitude

Reflect (Perhaps my favorite picture from this past year)
(I think this pix is worth a CLICK :0)



Rest




Believe In The Light's Return


Dark winter days. The heart and mind try not to follow. This winter's mood was perhaps foreshadowed by my mother's heart attack. She's now headed for Florida with sister Beth.

To you dear friends who've dropped in to look for signs of life - my gratitude. I've just lost the energy to blog amidst a few family concerns and niggling health matters. There is so much to celebrate and anticipate. I know the lengthening days will renew my energy. For now - a bit more rest, reflection and mindfulness of all that is good and gentle. All my warm wishes for your health and happiness as we wait for the promise of Spring.

Reflections . . . .

On a 61st birthday sunrise (shared with Mom)


Birthday reflections on Mom's cruet collection



I've been reflecting on my amazing mother. (Here, filling her bird feeders)



On the fact of Primrose blooming on the last day of Novemember



On the lovely grace of a niece. On the love of a merry husband.



On the strength of character and caring - of a nephew.



On the gift of a precious brother. (His 60th)



On the joy of celebrations.



On the magic of light and love during the days of solstice waiting. (The tree is from the Botanic Garden compost pile :0)


I've missed dropping in on you all. I know you know how life throws curves when you want to follow a preferred trajectory. It's all about bending with the breezes, right? My blogging has borne the brunt of the season's turnings.


Merry Christmas and warmest wishes for happiness and health in the New Year.

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

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Presents

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.


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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.

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Frost

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.

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