Claiming your life's passion

I saw a news story the other day that intrigued me. It was about a physician from New York, Jessie Stone, who gave up everything to move to Uganda. Why? Because there are world class kayak rapids in this particular place, and that is her passion, extreme kayaking. Now, once she got there and saw how many people were needlessly dying from malaria, finding a way to provide people with inexpensive mosquito netting and teaching them how to use it became another passionate mission for her as well. But still people... the woman moved to Uganda to kayak and has never been happier!

I am always amazed to read about individuals like this who know, without a doubt, that they have to pursue a particular passion. It's like breathing air to them. They know that if they don't do it, they just will not be happy or fulfilled. What must that be like? To know yourself so well and to be so committed to something that you'd just about do anything to achieve the goal? On my quest to get to know myself more fully, I've often contemplated this notion of what I am passionate about, and I've yet to come up with an answer. I can't even relate to this sort of passion really. The closest I can come today is to google a photo of a passion flower.

What is my life's calling to achieve or experience? When will it become so apparent to me that I'll just know? Will it be like breathing new air? Will it enrich my life in so many ways, and make me smack myself on the forehead and shout, "Well, of course!" And, what keeps me from naming and claiming it? Guess I have a wee bit longer to travel on this self-actualization trail...

Who's laughing now?

I thought I'd done it. I took the baskets down for a week... a full week! I just knew Mom Dove had to be about to pop those eggs out, and would search out the neighbor's fern or some other place. Sigh... but alas, she covertly and in a clandestine manner, snuck her way back into the very same basket (uh huh... the back side, so I did not notice so much) and put her paltry pile of sticks on top of the soil in preparation for depositing her eggs. She wins. I simply can't take them out of the basket now.

But, I did need to water my geranium and cut off the dead blossom stems, and so I approached the basket yesterday afternoon to have a chat with her. I softly admitted to her that she pulled one over on me. I told her, you know, mom to mom, that I would respect her privacy and all, but that I still had to water the plant and get the dead leaves and such off each week. She just sat there looking at me as I chattered away and began to pour water into the other side of the basket and then take scissors to remove dead stems. She never budged. This is our compromise. That, and my hopfully being able to photograph her babies. A small price to pay for free rent in a beautiful basket, hey?

The family tree?

We live off a rural highway surrounded by a good bit of pasture land. As Sam and I head to school each day, we pass a large cattle ranch just a mile or so down the road. Many times, I've seen fox scurrying across the pasture, and it's nothing to see daily opossum and skunks on the road, victims of cars at night. But, yesterday, I looked out towards the pasture and was amazed. There is a line of dead hardwood trees separating two sections of land at a fence line. Sitting in one of the trees, had to be at least 20 or more large birds. At first, I thought they were hawks as we have so many flying in this area, but then I realized that it made no sense to see that many hawks congregate together, and I realized that they were more than likely turkey vultures. It looked like this photo I googled, but with more birds in a taller tree. Amazing sight!

I've only seen one turkey vulture up close and that was when we had a dead opossum in our yard where we used to live. It's freaky to see a huge flyer like that with a turkey's head. I suppose they were just waking up for the day and had roosted there in the tree for the night, or maybe they were just waiting for the next unlucky opossum? Regardless, it's fascinating to see that many large birds in one tree. Nature is so interesting.

Well, bless your heart

Is there any expression more Southern? I was thinking about this, because last night husband was speaking to his aunt down in Way South Georgia. She was telling him all about his uncle's not-so-good health. I had to smile when I heard him keep saying, "Well, bless your heart." He never said that prior to marrying me I am sure. Not that he didn't have it in him, but he just never really uttered those words. We, here in the South (especially women), bless everyone's hearts on a regular basis in our day to day talking. What it usually means is "Oh, my... I am so sorry" when "I'm sorry" doesn't seem to convey the sincerity of your empathy. Then again, I found this reference to the above book by Celia Rivenbark, which takes "Bless your heart" to a new level. Here is the book description on Amazon...

"What’s the Southern woman’s favorite brand of mayo? Why do we have to keep a “funeral casserole” in the freezer? Why do Southern men call their fathers “Deddy” no matter how big and powerful they’ve become?
Step into the wacky world of “womanless wedding” fund-raisers, in which Bubbas wear boas. Meet two sisters who fight rural boredom by washing Budweiser cans and cutting them into pieces to make clothing. Learn why the word “snow” sends any right-thinking Southerner careening to the Food Lion for extra loaves of bread and little else.

What’s the Southern woman’s take on Wonderbras, fried turkeys and ‘tater guns, Barbie and Ken (tip: she’s a ho), politicians (tip: they’re all hos) and marital success (if you can’t agree on a perfect pizza ratio, y’all are doomed)?

Humor columnist and slightly crazed belle-by-birth Celia Rivenbark tackles these and other lard-laden subjects in Bless Your Heart, Tramp, a hilarious look at Southern – and just plain human – foibles, up-close and personal.

So pour yourself a glass of sweet tea and curl up on the pie-azza with Bless Your Heart, Tramp.

If you’re a Southerner, you’ll understand. If you’re not – well, God help you.

Girly tip for the day

There's just something about painting one's toenails. I can't keep my fingernails polished because of my job, but I can do the tootsies. Come warmer weather, that's the first thing I want to do. It's a nice splash of color which "wakes up" your feet!

Recently, I found Revlon's Color Stay Bonding Color and have to say that this stuff stays on like nobody's business. I painted my toes in late March, and I am not exaggerating when I say that I just took it off to redo it, only because the nails had grown out so much and created a space, not because it chipped off. It bonds so well that you have to be sure to use an acetone remover to get it off. But hey, it's on my toes, and I want and need that sort of commitment from a polish placed on my toes. I suppose it would do as well on fingernails too, but that would only be possible for me in my fantasy job post below.

I've never been an accessory kind of girl. I own very little jewelry as I wear the same pieces almost every day, but I do love the girly girl feeling of polish on my toes. Right now, they are shining in Always Romantic but I think I see Always Flaunting in my future! Flaming pink toes... makes me want to giggle.

Entertaining fantasies

Yesterday was one of Those Days. I had seven patients to see, but each one seemed to have issues which made it take longer to see them than I thought it would. One had to be "cleaned up" (I won't elaborate, except to say "it" got on my shoes and pant leg) after I did his dressing change, because I am not the kind of person who can walk out on anyone in a mess. Another had to have a pouch placed over a drain site in his abdomen, and as I was disconnecting the tubing to bedside drainage, it "spewed" (again, I won't elaborate) liquid onto me. Because another patient was on contact precautions, it required that I wrap myself in a protective blue plastic gown while doing his hour long dressing changes to his legs. Ever wrap yourself in plastic and do strenuous labor? Just imagine the feel of sweat tricking in rivulets down your back and in-between your netherplaces. Love-ly feeling. Needless to say, the very first place I went after entering my house and immediately stripping off all my clothes in the laundry room to throw in the washer, was to a hot, steaming shower.

On the way home, I sat at a traffic light across from an attorney's office and saw women returning from appointments in their lovely Coldwater Creek outfits with makeup and hair perfectly fresh. I fantasized just what it might be like to have a job where you did not have to worry about spewing bodily fluids and you looked just as lovely when you left as you did when you arrived because, of course, you don't sweat at work. Wow, what must that be like? To wear pretty clothes, and never have to clean poop during your day? Funny thing is that I know I'd like it for oh, maybe a week or so, and then I'd miss touching people. I'd also be nuts sitting still all day. You see, that is what feeds me, and I know that about myself. I walk all over a 600 bed hospital each day and see patients in 7 intensive care units as well as 13 different nursing stations. I come in contact with so many people on a daily basis, and I love that. I learn something new every day. I see the most interesting things, really. And, what I do helps people. So even though I covet all those fun office supplies and sweat-free days, today is another day, and maybe, just maybe, everyone will be constipated? A girl can dream...

In Memory of "Miss Madge"

November 10, 1924 ~ April 24, 2005
I can't even believe you've been gone from us for a year. I had you on my mind all day yesterday, and many times had to find the tissues. No one would have guessed that prior to your coming here to live, you and I sort of just tolerated one another. We were like oil and vinegar, weren't we? But just as happens many times, grace intervened, and once you moved here, there was a paradigm shift. I became the daughter you never had, and all those things that used to make me absolutely nuts about you, became "Madgeisms" which made me laugh and smile, and still do. I am so thankful that I got to tell you that I was glad you were here those two years. I meant it when I said that it mattered to me that you were happy, and I hope you know how much I grew to love you and understand what your life had been and how that shaped you.

This is one of my favorite pictures of you. Remember when we surprised you with this new coat? Oh, the sheer joy on your face. We shared many secrets, you and I. We shared many laughs, and you taught me so much. Hey, that African violet I potted for you? It's on my kitchen table next to Sam's fifth grade violet, and it has bloomed and bloomed. My dahlias didn't do well last year, but that's ok... there were no bouquets to take to you each Saturday. Saturday mornings were hard for me for quite some time. This year, I am starting over with my dahlias, and I know they will once again be magnificent. We'll be by to see you and Granddaddy next month on our way to Hilton Head. Say hello to Robert, Mama Pate, Carson, and Kim. I am taking sweet care of your son, so don't you worry. We miss you... I probably miss you the most... and I love you Miss Madge.

Breakthrough

(I'm hoping for more dahlias like this one from several years ago when my new tubers start to grow)

When Lent started this year, I decided to again take something on for my Lenten discipline instead of giving something up. It was a huge deal for me to commit to reading scripture each day. I read the daily meditation from Forward Day by Day (still the best bargain around for $6/yr by email) followed by the suggested scripture reading. I won't lie... initially it was not that enjoyable to me to slog through some of the hellfire type verbiage in Psalms, and truthfully, I had to learn to find my way around in terms of knowing where certain chapters were even located.

But, during this process of my daily Lenten discipline, my study Bible and I became comfortable friends. I even started looking forward to the end of each day when I would sit down, read the meditation, and then the associated scripture. On Good Friday, I cried as I sat here alone and read Mark's passion gospel aloud. Hearing it read in church and sitting by yourself absorbing each word is a different experience. By the end of the forty days, I was confidently turning directly to Acts, 1 Corinthians, and Hebrews without even having to look at the Table of Contents. I found that many of the readings were very familiar to me because I had actually read many of them as a layreader over the years.

Lent has come and gone, and the Lord is risen in the church year. And, yes, I am still reading the meditation each day and then smiling as I comfortably turn the pages of my Bible. A real breakthrough for me.

**One of the best articles I've ever read which pretty much reflects my view of the Bible is by Carl Carlozzi.

If you are a curious type...

I purchased Jack Johnson's "In Between Dreams" CD last year, and loved the toe-tapping, laid back, surfer sort of songs he created. So, I was not surprised when I saw that Jack was chosen to be the artist to create the soundtrack for the movie Curious George.

At first, I thought it was just a CD for kids, but I had heard a track or two, and loved the songs. I purchased it a week ago or so, and Sam and I have been listening to it non-stop on the way to school. What a very enjoyable mix of gentle, fun, funky, poignant songs! If you are curious, you won't be disappointed. Here are the lyrics to one of my favorite songs on the CD:

With My Own Two Hands
by Jack Johnson

I can change the world
With my own two hands
Make it a better place
With my own two hands
Make it a kinder place
With my own two hands
With my own
With my own two hands
I can make peace on earth
With my own two hands
I can clean up the earth
With my own two hands
I can reach out to you
With my own two hands
With my own
With my own two hands
I'm going to make it a brighter place
With my own two hands
I'm going to make it a safer place
With my own two hands
I'm going to help the human race
With my own two hands
With my own
With my own two hands
I can hold you
With my own two hands
I can comfort you
With my own two hands
But you've got to use
Use your own two hands
Use your own
Use your own two hands
With our own
With our own two hands
With my own
With my own two hands

An improbable baby?

The other morning, as I opened the blinds in the kitchen, I saw this little girl on my thistle feeder. There is no doubt she's a goldfinch, but as I kept looking at her and her mannerisms, it made me think she was just a baby. She's fluffy, and has short wings and tail feathers, and seems a bit lost as to how to maneuver on the feeder. Yet, how could it be a goldfinch baby? They don't typically nest here. Furthermore, they nest late in the summer (July through September) and tend to go further north to do so. Hmmmm... could it be the improbable?

She came back last night, so I got a better photo of him on the deck railing, and I am just fully convinced she's a goldfinch baby, yet I know that makes no sense for this time and this area. It's just one of those lovely things about birds that makes me scratch my head in wonderment and smile.

**UPDATE: I posted this photo to a birding forum, and got this very knowledgeable response:

"You are right that she is not a normal female, but an adult female she is. The gray coloration pattern is that of an adult female in winter plumage. Juveniles don't have that cold and gray coloration, they have a warmer and buffier coloration as shown in the link to the (very young) bird below: http://www.robertcablephoto.com/animal/pages/b037.htm

Your bird is experiencing what is called a retarted molt, meaning that it is slower than it should be, she should have changed to her summer breeding coloration last month with the other females. You can see by looking at her wing that she has molted her greater covert feathers (the lower wingbar is missing), but the new ones have not yet grown in, so her molt is starting. The strange behavior you are describing may be the result of her being ill, perhaps with parasites or a disease of some sort, and that could also potentially explain the retarded molt...???"

Needles in haystacks

In the past six months, I have been both cursed and then blessed... twice! After a hard day at work on Tuesday, I was driving to pick up Sam from school when I noticed that I was missing my left earring. Not just any earring, but one of the diamond earrings (just four small diamonds in the shape of a flower--no huge solitare or anything) husband got me for my 40th birthday. I wear them frequently to work as they are posts, and won't get caught up in anything. I've worn them safely for over four years now, and have never had one come off. I immediately thought that just maybe I was distracted that morning and may have forgotten to put them both in. But, I distinctly remembered picking them both up. Drats! Where on earth could I have lost it??

That night, I started mentally retracing my steps, and it occurred to me that it might have been caught up in a mask I was taking off outside a patient's room who is on respiratory isolation. I had gone into the room to replace a dressing, but when I got in there, the nurse tech was trying to finish up his bath. I stayed in there once I was done to help her change his sheets and everything so that she could get out of there and escape the heat of wearing a particulate mask. You see, it's a much tighter fitting mask designed to protect from TB (which contrary to popular belief, is alive and well). So, once I exited the room, I grabbed it from the top of my head to get it off, and the ear straps could have easily gotten caught in my earring.

First thing on Wednesday, I went up to the sixth floor where his room was to inquire if anyone might have found it, and lo and behold, there it was, hanging on a post in the nurse's station in a baggie!! Seems one of the PT's found it in the hall outside his door and took it to the nurse's station. What are the chances??? She happened to be there in the station, and I hugged her neck tightly. Of course, the back is gone, but hey, that's just fine.

What makes this story even more amazing is that back in August, I lost yet another diamond.... gulp, the solitare out of my wedding ring. Yep, I am cursed where diamonds are concerned. I searched high and low and spent days in tears. Finally after three days, we went to the jewelers to pick out a new stone, and I left my ring so it could be mounted in the setting. A week to the day I lost it, Sam was trying to get a quarter he'd dropped under the car seat, and I told him he'd have to open the back door and reach under the seat from that side. He still could not find it, and so I opened the back door on my side to reach in and help him.... when I noticed something drop from my driver's seat onto the back floormat. Yep, my diamond, which had apparently become lodged in my seat somehow and when I put my hand against the back of the seat, it fell out. I literally got back into the car, and headed to the jewelers, in happy tears, to get a credit for the new stone we'd purchased (thankfully, they had not yet gotten to mine to repair it) and leave my original diamond to be remounted in it's setting. Again, what are the odds?

I am feeling quite the lucky girl today. Now, if I could just find that Timex that disappeared off my wrist at work last fall...

A little motivation

This week, all Georgia schools are taking the CRCT test. It's one of those necessary evils which makes sure "no child is left behind" (don't get me started) and one which strikes fear in most parents as well as students and schools. Sam has been taking the test since third grade because he is considered to be in regular ed. His elementary school teacher had him in a small group (maybe 3 kids) and could watch and see if he was paying attention or if he was needing a break. He did extremely well on it in fifth grade, but last year, he was placed in a room with 11 kids and one teacher (which somehow was considered a small group) and so he did what Sam does... his mind wandered, he got bored, and so he went down through there marking whatever answer he wanted to in order to be done with it. When the scores came back at the end of the school year, they were dismal, and because of low scores in their special ed population, as well as attendance problems, the school did not meet AYP (annual yearly progress) goals.

Being the proactive advocate I am, I insisted that it be written into his IEP this year that he have ONE on ONE monitoring so that someone would be able to TELL if he was willy nilly answering questions, and could make sure he takes frequent breaks. Along with that, I sat him down to explain to him how (sadly) important this test is in terms of the state making sure he is learning. I sweetened the pot by creating some "dangling carrots" at the end of the test day if he follows the rules:
1. Go slowly and pay attention.
2. Read each question.
3. Pick the best answer.

I explained that no one expected him to get every question correct, but that he has to just choose what he thinks is the best answer. I created a list of his very favorite places to go after school and had him make index cards with each of the places names on the front, along with "the rules" on the back. We taped them to the back of the kitchen door, and he chooses one each day before we leave to work for that day. So far, we've been to the local used bookstore and to Barnes and Noble. We've yet to go to Best Buy, Wal-Mart, and Red Lobster. We all have an economy, and Sam will do just about anything to browse a bookstore or to get to have a new DVD. Of course, the biggest treat is the cheddar garlic biscuits at Red Lobster.

It's working....he's working so hard this week, and I am so very proud of him.

Owning our part

We all make choices, some much better than others. This particular subject has been heavy on my mind because of a patient I've been following for the past week. He is only in his forties, is 400+ pounds, and came into the hospital, with among other things, diabetes, congestive heart failure, and renal insufficiency. Why am I seeing him, you ask? Oh, well, because he also came in with huge, swollen, weeping legs with ulcers all over them. Yes, I know, I have a glamorous job. I took one look at them and knew what he needed. He has venous stasis disease which happens when the fluids can no longer be pumped out of the lower extremities back up to circulate in the body, and so blood and fluid pools, swelling happens, and when skin has stretched all it can, it blisters, opens and ulcerates. I'll stop now before I really gross everyone out. Anyway, bottom line is that he's in mucho pain, obviously, and needs some intensive wound care. Because I knew the treatment I was prescribing would help him tremendously, I was glad to be able to explain it all to him and his physician, and start good wound care along with compressive dressings, which are a necessity to decrease the swelling. I even said that I would come each day to change them (which we rarely have the time luxury of doing since we are so limited in staffing) so that the nurses on the floor would not have to try and figure it all out and I could monitor his progress.

Now, let me just explain that each time I changed his dressings it literally took me over an hour and a half by the time I got the old ones off, washed his legs, cleansed his wounds and was ready to reapply more dressings. By Friday, the progress was monumental, I kid you not. The redness and swelling was down so much, they almost looked like regular legs and his pain was much more manageable as well. I really worked my butt off to make sure this man made progress, and yet, what did he say when I told him I'd see him on Monday for the next dressing? "Monday? I really would like to be home for Easter. Don't you think I could maybe go home?" HELLO??????? Do you remember what your legs looked like on Tuesday???? I am sure my jaw was dropped as he took one look at me and said, "Oh, maybe not, huh?"

I see this phenomenon every single day. People want to be tuned up and fixed to where their diseases are not fully in control, and then they want to go home, return to the way they were living, and never OWN their part in it all. It's as if once we tune them up and they are not incapacitated with pain, they just want to go on with their lives as if nothing happened. We call them frequent flyers.... sorry, I know that's not nice, but that's what they are. We know there are certain people we'll see over and over and over and over again with exacerbations of the same old problems. I just wish people would own their part in maintaining their health, and at least pretend to care. End of rant.

She won... sort of

Since Friday morning, I have shaken the flower basket to startle Mom Dove out of it more times than I can count. Saturday morning, they were both in there, for goodness sakes! My geranium was taking a beating, no doubt. I have also removed the beginnings of two nests.... sigh... Weary pretty much describes my battle with this determined mom. Finally, I gave in, sort of. I simply moved the baskets off the front porch and onto the screened porch in the back, at least for now. I figured maybe she'd then go find a tree or bush in which to build a proper large nest.

As this photo shows, once I had given in and removed the temptation, Mom Dove kept flying on to the porch railing with mouthfuls of nesting material, looking and looking for her basket. It was almost comical to see her fly upwards into only empty space and be confused about where on earth it had gone. She kept staring at where it had once been and bobbing her head to and fro in utter amazement. Maybe she's nearing the end of her reproductive time, and like me these days, thinks maybe she should have written the location down on a post-it note, for now she can't seem to find it and is saying to herself, "I know I'm not crazy... it was here just a minute ago!"

Feeding and coaxing...

Most of my beautiful Easter Day was spent watching my mom and dad bluebird feed their brood, while alternately encouraging them to fledge. They came so close to believing they could fly so many times, as they clung to the edge of the opening on their house.

There's mom on top of the house, and one of her babies contemplating flying. During times mom and dad were encouraging them to come on out into the world, they would show up at the opening with a big juicy bug, only to tease them and pull back so they could not eat it. Then, they would jump on top of the house with the treat, hoping their brood would come to them to eat. This group just must be awfully cozy in there as even though this went on most of the day, they never would leave the nest. I was so hoping to see this lovely sight on Easter Day, but alas, night has fallen, and they will more than likely be flying the coop tomorrow.

Rejoice! Rejoice!

Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!

Mars and Venus

I vividly recall when Sam was an infant leaving him home with husband while I went somewhere and telling him, "I may be late so if he gets tired, go ahead and feed him and put him down for the night." When I got home, he proudly told me that he fed him and put him down. As I went in to check on my precious baby, I noted he was still in his play clothes from the day. Surely not... I walked back into the family room and said, "Um, did you happen to change his diaper before putting him down?" and knew the answer before I asked the next question, "Why is he still in his play clothes and not his PJ's?" Crestfallen, husband looked at me and said very sincerely, "Well, you said to feed him and put him down for the night, so I did!" That was long before John Gray and the Mars/Venus phenonmenon was revealed.

I am still simply puzzled by how very differently our brains work. Last night, before heading to Good Friday services at church, I asked husband to please take a load of clothes out of the dryer for me. I told him the buzzer would be going off in about 45-50 minutes or so. He nodded in the affirmative. I went on to church, and then to the grocery store. When I got back home, and unloaded the groceries, I was proud to see he'd very properly put them on the bed, and layed them out so they would not be wrinkled. "Wonderful," I thought, "he remembered!" Then, the Martian in him became apparent once again. I went to put the clothes away and hang up my scrub pants and tops when I noted... they were still wet! I said, "Um, these are still damp honey," to which he replied, "You said to take them out when the buzzer went off and so I did!"

Is it just our household, or did I just get lucky and get the head Martian?

Prayer for Today

Pray for peace; for the means of grace and the hope of glory to serve God in all things.

Um... Ex-cuse me miss?

Yesterday, as we pulled into the driveway, I immediately noticed something was askew. One of the huge flower stems was bent and broken on one of my new geraniums. I knew that look right away. After we got in the house, I headed out the front door to have a little etiquette conversation. At first I figured I knew who was responsible for my broken flower, but as I looked towards the basket, I noticed it was hanging lopsided, so I realized my nemesis was larger than I thought. I figured it was a house finch who decided to try and make a new nest in my new lovely geranium, yet there she was, Mrs. Mourning Dove in all her glory.

As I approached the basket, she just acted as if I was not there. I was polite and said hello, but then explained to her that these were brand new baskets, and while I might understand her trying to build a nest in them on into the summer, at this point, bent and broken stems was just not acceptable to me. I told her that once she had a nest and eggs, it would be harder for me to take it out, and well, just imagine what she and probably three babies once grown leave behind in a hanging basket... the remnants of a once beautiful flower. So there I was standing on my porch having this very serious conversation with her while her mate stood nearby on the driveway eavesdropping. She just stood her ground and fully ignored me. I was literally only a foot away from her and she would not fly away!

After I got the camera to document this squatter, I finally tapped on the pot as I tried to shoo her away. No go. Ok, so maybe she was more determined than I thought. I had to literally shake the basket for her to finally take me seriously. She flew away, but stayed nearby the rest of the evening just to play chicken I suppose. Now I'll have to be on basket watch. It's spring indeed, and love is in the air...lol.

Spring fever... pray for no more frost

Yesterday, after a haircut, I had an hour to kill before going to pick Sam up from school. I figured it would be a lovely day to visit a local garden center and just browse. But once there, I feasted my eyes upon these giant, magnificent geraniums and was all a twitter. I love geraniums, and get them every year for my porch baskets. They just bloom, and bloom, and bloom so happily and even forgive you if you are late with their weekly watering. I think New Guinea Impatiens are lovely too, but you can't pay me to take one home as they all but scream at you to water them every single day or they'll just flat lay down in protest and neglect. Not so with hearty geraniums. I usually get the ivy variety as their leaves will cascade over the basket and make a pretty basket even prettier. These are the regular variety, however, are more like flowers on steroids as I've never seen such huge blossoms and hearty foliage in a 10" pot! So, there they are on the porch in mid-April...gulp... I am praying for no more hard freezes. Can you guys at the Weather Channel hear me????



I also purchased this really cool basket of Streptocarpella (really someone should have given it a prettier name as it certainly does not remind one of the nasty bacteria) which I'd never heard of or seen before, to put in my large planter by the door. I googled it and found out some interesting facts:



Streptocarpella saxorum does not have a common name, but don’t let a tongue-twisting dissuade you from trying this interesting relative of the African violet. Pronounce it Strep - toe - car - pella.

Streptocarpella is a small, tender basket plant from southern Africa that quickly grows to eight inches tall with a spread of 12 inches across. It branches freely and produces soft, velvety green leaves that are about two inches long.

From nodes along the stem the plant produces an array of slender, almost wiry, four inch long scapes which terminate in three to five flowers which gracefully float above the foliage. The flowers are an inch long with a narrow tube which splays out at the end into a slanted, pansy-like face with five lobes. The most common color is purple, but various shades of lighter blue are sometimes encountered.

Members of the African violet family often have a finicky reputation, but this plant didn’t get the message. Streptocarpella should be grown in a well drained, organic potting mix in either a hanging basket, window box or decorative container. While not a heavy feeder, it should be fertilized periodically to keep it growing and flowering. It is best situated in a bright location where it gets good light but not direct sun. Like all gesneriads it should have uniformly moist conditions.

This plant not only will perform well on the patio or porch during the summer months, it will continue to bloom all winter long as a houseplant. In the winter give it an east or south window to assure it gets enough light to continue blooming. It is easy to propagate by terminal cuttings.

And, the dahlia tubers went into the ground yesterday as well! Yipeee! Oh, I do love the spring! Stay away Jack Frost... do I make myself clear?

Guess who came to dinner?

Husband walked into the kitchen yesterday in the early evening and yelled for me. Look who was at my new window feeder! I am sure he was one tired camper from the flight originating probably in Mexico, but he found a lovely sweet feast. I don't believe I remember seeing a hummer quite this early. I grabbed my zoom, stood on a step stool and patiently awaited his return. Once he came back I snapped away, and was blown away by the iridescence I caught on his throat, which you can only see with him facing a certain way in the light.

Here he is just a moment earlier when he had not yet turned towards the feeder. Welcome back little one!

Honesty of conscience

As we were watching the national news last night, these quotes from retired General Gregory Newbold had me thanking God that, with hindsight, someone has a conscience...

In the essay, in this week's issue of Time magazine, General Newbold wrote, "I now regret that I did not more openly challenge those who were determined to invade a country whose actions were peripheral to the real threat— Al Qaeda." The decision to invade Iraq, he wrote, "was done with a casualness and swagger that are the special province of those who have never had to execute these missions— or bury the results."

And now we are saber rattling about attacking Iran? "Wild speculation," our leader called it as we "will certainly use diplomacy first and foremost." Like we did in Iraq? And the Texan swaggers on.

Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.

A difficult response

Yesterday was Palm Sunday, which is always so very poignant. We process into the service with palm reeds in our hands and then hear the passion gospel of Mark read aloud. It's always so difficult for me when it comes time for the congregation to shout, "Crucify him! Crucify him!" and then to hear his last words as Jesus takes his last breath. A somber start to Holy Week. A week to remember his suffering and death for us, that we might be bathed in grace and forgiveness.

Before the service started, instead of our regular adult ed class, we joined the kids in creating Palm Crosses to be passed out after the service. I'd never done that with palm fronds before, and it was neat. We placed them in a basket by the door so everyone could take one home with them after the service as a visual reminder of the power of the day.

Almighty and everliving God, in your tender love for the human race you sent your Son our Savior Jesus Christ to take upon him our nature, and to suffer death upon the cross, giving us the example of his great humility: Mercifully grant that we may walk in the way of his suffering, and also share in his resurrection; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Awaiting the return of the hummers

April 1st and October 31st... those are known as the days in this part of the country where you put out your hummer feeders and take them down. Easy to remember... April Fools and Halloween! Here in the southeast, we are only graced with one species of hummers, the Ruby-Throated Hummingbird. The males have a black neck band, which when caught in the light demonstrates a deep ruby sheen, so it's pretty easy to tell the males from the females. The males are also a good bit smaller as you can see below.

I've replaced my seed window feeder this year with a hummer window feeder, which should allow me to get even better photos of these tiny friends I've come to look forward to each year. Many people think you have to use red food coloring in the nectar you prepare, but really it's not good for the birds. They are typically drawn to the red on the feeder, not the fluid. It's best if you just prepare your own nectar using a cup of water to 1/4 cup of sugar. I boil my water, then add the sugar to dissolve, let it cool, and keep it in the refrigerator, which keeps it from spoiling and lets me always keep some on hand to fill my feeders they usually empty every other day or so in the peak of the season.

My feeder on the window is filled and I await with anticipation the sighting of my first hummer of the new season.

The Hummingbird
by Harry Kemp

The sunlight speaks. And it's voice is a bird:
It glitters half-guessed half seen half-heard
Above the flower bed. Over the lawn ...
A flashing dip and it is gone.
And all it lends to the eye is this --
A sunbeam giving the air a kiss.

Realizing our smallness

There is nothing like the force of Mother Nature to remind us how small we truly are. This is what hit Tennessee, and us in northwest GA yesterday and last night. It was a harrowing night watching the weather and seeing on radar that line of storms headed our way, yet not knowing when they might arrive. I hate it when it storms in the night and you can't see what's happening. We got out our flash lights, weather radio, and reviewed our plan to get into our small interior bath downstairs while putting the couch cushions over our heads.

When we went to bed, it was still calm, but around 1:30AM it came, fast and furious. The lightning was in sheets across the sky and the thunder rolled as the wind picked up and the hail began to fall. We got up, and turned on the local weather channel and watched as the storm line, going 50mph, headed east of us. Sam is terrified of storms. It's not that the thunder and lightning scare him so much as what he knows might happen... the power might go out. That gets him unglued as then he stresses about not having his computer, DVD's and such to watch. He won't even listen to a weather report and last night was beside me with his hands over his ears humming with his face in his pillow as we turned on the TV to make sure there were no tornadoes heading our way. We were much luckier than many in middle and west Tennessee.

This morning, we awoke to the birds chirping and all calm outside. We are safe, and I am thankful.

Living in our bubble

Most days I am content in my life. Then, something happens which smacks me in the face and makes me face the fact that we live in this very safe bubble. Last night, hubby mentioned that his brother, whom he has really nothing in common with except some DNA 16 years removed, is clammoring for us to come to the Cushy Beach Condo town where they live for a weekend. Heck, he'll even pay for the airline tickets. Yes, he has much more disposable income being almost 60 and does have this half million dollar residence on the ocean we've never seen. We've not been together since we buried my mother-in-law last April. Thing is, they were only an hour and a half away from here in March, and chose not to rent a car to drive up to see us. And, the other thing is that when we are together, because there is just so little in common once we discuss the weather, they want to be going, going, going and doing, doing, doing the entire time. All meals out, and planned outings to here and there. You are probably thinking, "Well, gee, sounds like fun to me, what's the problem?"

The problem is that even if I did want to go, which I don't, there is the issue of Sam's limitations. Let me tell you how much fun waiting in an airport is with autism, or being trapped on a plane, or eating out every meal, or going to loud, busy places is with autism. Let me share how much fun it is to plan something you think will be a blast and then finding yourself needing to leave after an hour when the anxiety is rising and you are hearing your child repeat everything you say yet in a louder and louder tone. Oh, bunches of fun, let me tell you. Yep, needing to eat only at restaurants that serve french fries and bread cause that's about all he'll eat out. Loads of delight. And so, guess what you do? You learn to live in a routine bubble where it's safe and quiet and if you do go out, it's not for long periods. You tend to stay where everyone is happiest, and that is at home in our little bubble.

That is when it smacks me in the face. My life is normal for me now because, well, it's just the way we live, but when you have to deal with situations like this, it makes you really ache for some sort of different normalcy. The thought of free airline tickets and a trip to a sunny ocean side condo would be heavenly for most "normal" families. For me, it only annoys me that we should have to explain, to family no less, why it's not such a great proposition, and conversely be mourning the fact that it's not.

Holding your serenity hostage

(After hiding their faces in the mulch all winter, my giant pansies are thriving now.)

That is the phrase which I pondered all day yesterday. I was talking to a friend (thanks dearest) about how I let things get to me beyond my control, and she used this term. When you can't let it go, and it's truly beyond your control, you are doing nothing but holding your own serenity hostage. It's so true. The only thing we can control is our own actions and how we choose to respond to a situation. Otherwise, we are choosing to let the situation control our emotional state. Relinquish control. Just pray. Why is that so very hard to do? We want to see resolution, we want to feel others hear us and see us and validate our point of view, yet we don't have any control over that.

It reminds me of a Marriage Encounter weekend I somehow talked hubby into attending with me early in our marriage. I wanted us to "get in touch with our feelings" and get closer. After the first full day, we met back up in our hotel room to review the journaling we'd each completed during an exercise about being honest in our relationship. I said to him, "So what do you want to honestly share with me?" to which he looked down and read from his journal, "If I have to hold hands and sing Kumbaya one more time, I am going to lose my mind. Please help me escape from here." OK, so it was a bit over the top, and as I exploded into snorting giggles, and we plotted our excuse for an early escape, we did agree we'd learned one very important thing, (well, really two things) which still serve us in our relationship. The first thing is that love is a verb. And the more important lesson was that feelings are neither right nor wrong... they just ARE. It truly matters not if you feel someone is wrong in feeling the way they feel, the issue is that they FEEL that way, and THAT is what has to be addressed. You may never agree on the issue, but harmony in our relationships is so much more important than being right. So when you come to an impasse, you have to make sure it does not cause you to hold your serenity hostage. A simply perfect phrase. I shall pray.

Hey girls, look at me!

Just as it seems that overnight, the trees are all in bloom, so it goes with the yearly molting of the American Goldfinch. All winter, they are a drab olive gray, and then magically, the males begin to completely molt to become bright yellow in order to attract a mate. You have to wonder if there are different degrees of yellow, so that potential partners are duly impressed with plumage alone. Goldfinch winter in our area, but usually head north to nest where they can find more thistle down for nesting. They nest late in the year so there are plenty of seeds to feed their young.



However, some do hang out here all summer. I often wonder if those are the free spirits who think to themselves, "Hey, this chick provides free thistle in abundance... I'll find some dryer lint to nest with... to heck with flying those long distances!" Regardless, I enjoy their presence at my feeders and look forward to their canary yellow display of beauty.

Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop
From low hung branches; little space they stop;
But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek;
Then off at once, as in a wanton freak:
Or perhaps, to show their black, and golden wings,
Pausing upon their yellow flutterings.~~John Keats

A very rewarding wine indeed

Thorn Clarke Sandpiper Shiraz
"Upfront, ripe juicy raspberries, cherries and tobacco leaf. Soft round tannins and a delicious lingering finish with hints of oak. A very rewarding wine."

When this first and only time yenta attended the wedding of two dear souls, I was presented with a gift of wine by the beautiful bride. She is a pinot grigio girl herself, but knew I loved shiraz, and said that when she saw this bottle with a bird on it no less, it was the one for me. I did not break into it at the wedding because I had to drive back to the hotel, and being the lightweight I am, one glass pretty much relaxes me enough to know I should not be driving, and so I happily brought it home. Husband and I broke it open once I was back home, and oh my, the loveliness of it! I do love the flavor of shiraz, but this was extraordinary. The berry accents were so prominent and delicious.

I knew I'd remember the name of it, especially with the sandpiper on the label, but a week later when I found myself at the liquor store, I could not find it, nor remember the name of it. Drats! My forgetful brain! So, I went on an online quest googling "sandpiper shiraz" and finally found that beautiful bottle! My neighborhood liquor store does not carry it, but is going to order me some. There is just nothing better than a lovely glass of an extraordinary wine to cap off the week. If you are so inclined, you won't be disappointed.

Time change fog

(My little crabapple in the front yard is gloriously blooming)

Yes, I know we all love the longer time for daylight in the summer, but can't we just keep it there? Why do we have to change back and forth? Saturday evening, we went ahead and set all our clocks forward, including the new atomic clock in the bedroom (not a good idea, by the way, as it sets itself). End result was that I awoke at what I thought was 6:15, yet when I had teeth brushed, was dressed, and in the kitchen, I noticed all the clocks in there said that it was 5:25...ugh. I was already good and awake and because we did not go to bed until after 11PM, I did not get enough sleep. I was in a fog all day long. Heck, I was tired by the time I left for church at 8:30. (By the way, our singing was just lovely. Everyone hit all the notes correctly, or at least it sounded like we did.) There was a town hall meeting after church to discuss the master plan for the parish's growth, and so I did not get home until almost 1PM. I was hungry and grumpy from lack of sleep. That's another thing about my forties I've noticed. I truly have much less tolerance for lack of sleep. I just simply don't function well at all. How on earth can one bloomin' hour make so much difference? I do love that it's not dark until 9PM in the summer, but hate that it's dark at 5:30 in the winter. What a conundrum... Maybe my body will get adjusted as the week unfolds.

P.S. Happy Anniversary Mamaw and Papaw! Today would have been my grandparent's earthly 74th anniversary... they were married April 3, 1932. Hope you all have a lovely day sitting on a cloud and smiling down at us.

The fifth grade violet

Leaving elementary school was traumatic. In elementary school, kids are sheltered and watched over more closely, lovingly... almost as a precious creation. But, then fifth grade comes, and alas, you must leave. Sam had done so well at his elementary school, and there was much fear and trepidation at what lay ahead for us at the huge middle school. Not that elementary school was small (550 students), but the middle school was up to 1,100 for only three grades for goodness sakes. Gulp... along with Dorothy, we were not in Kansas anymore for sure.

The very last day of fifth grade as I went into the classroom to get him, the special ed staff presented all the parents with a small African violet in a 4" plastic cup, along with hugs, tears, and promises made to keep in touch. When I got home, I put mine on the kitchen table, really with no thought to what might come of it since I am not a "live plant in the house" person. But, for some reason, I occasionally splashed some water on this very little violet, and it continued to grow, despite my neglect. I would smile when I looked at it, wondering how on earth it was going to survive. But survive it did... and it grew so much that I figured it deserved it's own pretty dedicated pot. I replanted it, this time lovingly with African violet potting soil, and lo and behold, it began to bloom. It grew and it grew and soon I found that it probably was more resilient than I had imagined in the beginning. With proper room to grow, and proper soil for deep roots, it was able to find a way to flourish. A metaphor for Sam.

Yes, we were afraid, and yes it was so big and so different, but flourish we did. Now, we just had our IEP meeting for next year, which will be our last year at the middle school. Gulp... and onward we'll go to the high school. Roots are deeper, experience has taught us we can continue to grow, and there will always be people along the way to make sure we survive, against all odds. And the fifth grade violet grows...

Embracing the epiphanies

From yesterday's Forward Day by Day meditation:

Mark 9:2-13. He did not know what to say, because they were terrified.

"Life is filled with revelatory moments when we are afraid and nothing comes to mind to say other than what we have been saying all our days. Epiphanies disclose new dimensions of God as well as hidden aspects of those we thought we knew best and sometimes even of ourselves. Such discoveries are scary because they don’t fit, are out of sync, sound like a different song. We feel lost and uncertain. Our initial response is to interpret new truth by squeezing it into what we already believe about God, or other, or self, thereby to preserve it. If we are lucky the clouds then overshadow us and old definitions are in doubt. When the miracle happens we suddenly look around at what has always been but is now known in a different way."

This passage really struck a chord with me. It's what I feel is one of the cornerstones of my faith. Opening myself up to new epiphanies, and knowing that there will be growth along with the fear and uncertainty. So many times, I thought I was sure how I experienced God, and yet, something would happen to awaken a new vision and way of seeing the same situations I've always seen, yet in a new light. At times I might initially resist, but once the clouds clear, I always feel my faith is much deeper and broader. Pain, fear, and uncertainty invite us to grow.