Is Your Plate Too Full?

God did a favor for me today.  He made it snow.  It's been 17 days since my last post, and had the roads been clear enough to travel upon, it would have been another four days before I could write.  Thankfully, one of the many cancellations occurring today is a meeting that I was supposed to co-host.  While I was looking forward to seeing the presentation and my friends, it is actually a relief to get back that 9:30 to 3:30 time slot.  Do you ever say, "Yes" to things that you know you don't have time to do?  This was one of those things.  I looked at my calendar, shook my head, and said, "Well, I don't know.  I guess I could do it".  Now, like many previous posts, here I am writing about my lack of resolve to "just say no".  If you are finding yourself in the same boat, it's time to jump out.  The holidays are busy enough without taking on every job that's put on your plate of responsibilities.  Scrape some of them off, or say, "No thank you; I'm full".  Let's savor the moments ahead of us instead of gulping them down to make room for more.  If saying, "Yes," will hinder the flavor of what's already on your plate, remember to say, "No".  
It's never too late to change, no matter how many times you've tried.
   Today's sea glass picture is called, "New Perspective".  (I'm trying....)

Teaching Again

With clear blue eyes staring seriously into my much older green ones, an innocent first-grader told me, "We could spell "shit", but we're not supposed to say it".  I told him I was glad he knew the rules, and that we would have to think of some other words that say, "sh".   Our lesson on blending continued without skipping a beat, but inside, I was proud of myself for not cracking up with laughter over the little guy's comment!

In my new job as a Title One teacher, the goal is to provide students with extra reading and math activities in a quiet, small group setting, and sometimes, I get to meet with one student at a time.  After being retired, for seven years, from classroom teaching, I was excited to work with kids in a more peaceful environment, and they haven't let me down.  Each child comes with their own uniqueness.  Their bubbly dispositions and views of the world are refreshing.  Their smiles are heart-warming, and I feel as though I've found the fountain of youth. 

There are a number of things I could have written about today, but my mind kept coming back to how thankful I am to have been given another chance to be a teacher (and I had to share that story about "sh").  With that said, I look forward to teaching again on Monday, and to being forever young.

My beach glass photo was taken under water, causing bubbles to appear, thus, the title, "Bubbles".  It reminds me of the bubbly personalities of my students.

The Rest of the Story

Isaiah 53:5 says, "...and with His (Jesus') stripes, we are healed".   The stripes were the marks whipped deeply into Jesus' flesh before He was hung on the cross.  He allowed this knowing full well how much it was going to hurt.  His love for us was, and is, stronger than fear and pain.  So when I get sick, I claim my belief in what Jesus did.  For most of my life, I've experienced the proof of this scripture, but it wasn't until recently that I've fully understood what it means.  It's all become quite clear to me that Jesus heals us through many avenues.  Yes, there is supernatural healing, but He's also given wisdom to people to become doctors, to create medicines, to discover how important exercise, drinking water, and good nutrition all are to the healing process.  He's shown us how stress affects our health, and how faith in God's promises, like Isaiah 53:5, shows us which avenue to choose for our healing.  

Last week's post was a sad one.  I had been looking for a miracle for my loved one; her situation seemed hopeless.  I couldn't see with my earthly eyes what God could see from Heaven.  He showed doctors what medicines would work for my loved one, and the change in her is like that of day and night.  Today, I'm here to say that she has come home!  Praise God.

Sea glass pendants are an example of making something beautiful out of something broken.  When we are broken, we need to have faith that God wants to heal us.

Too Many X's

The only thing on the wall was a large, white desk-type calendar with x's as large as my fist crossing off each past day.  The first eight were heavy and strong, followed by two squiggly looking x's.  The next two were sort of angry looking.  Today's date is the 17th; that puts the balance of x's at five, and they were more resigned in their appearance.  

Thinking of the calendar in my loved one's room at the mental health facility makes my lip quiver.  I know she hasn't been there, against her will, for 17 days; the first eight x's weren't hers.  It makes me wonder how long the prior occupant had been crossing off days on the month before.  Did that person also have their bags packed and ready to go home every morning?  Did they, too, think their presence in such a place was all a mistake?  Did they hear voices through wires in their heads telling them what to do?  After all, that's "normal", right?  

To me, the calendar was a sad indication of time spent without freedom to roam, and with too much time to listen to those voices.  To my loved one, though, it provided a way to be certain of one thing: the day.  During my visit, I was told at least five times, "Today is Friday".  If my loved one was able to have even the minutest  amount of security, peace, or joy from that, then I'm grateful. 
This was a pendant I had made long ago with a simple charm on beach glass pieces.  I just thought it might go well with my mood today.

Trust

Trust.  How can such a small word be such a large test?  Usually a test is something you have to study for; I'm thankful for a place to do that.  If I didn't have my Bible to teach me the components of trust, I don't know what I would do.  In God's Word, I learn to trust Him, not the circumstances.  I learn that God's ways are not always our ways, and that instead of exhausting ourselves trying to fix what appears to be unfixable, give the situation to God.  Then rest.  Rest in faith.  Trust.
The sea glass picture above is not a new one.  I'm using this again because it fits so well.

Don't Let Worry Ruin the Ride

"What am I doing up here?  I don't think I want to do this.  He's so tall!" I heard my brain say after I had swung my leg over the saddle of a giant horse.  We hadn't even begun our hour-long trail ride, and memories of nightmarish equine experiences were, already, making me regret my decision to conquer this fear.  Putting a fake smile on my face, I prayed that my 17-year-old steed wouldn't feel my apprehension.  I listened to directions on how to handle Chief, a beautiful brown and white American Paint.  His eyes reminded me of our Golden Retriever's eyes, but I still couldn't shake the slight, but bothersome, knowledge I have of horses, regarding their skittishness.  What if a snake or some mice were to run across our path?  Would Chief bolt, catching me unprepared to hold on for dear life?  What if he tripped?  I've seen that happen before.  In that instance, the horse's mouth hit the ground resulting in a bloody gash in its lip. 

Even though I was told to use the words, "Giddy up" and "Whoa" for commands to move and to stop, none were needed, as Chief and I were third in line after Wrangler Dave and my friend Bonnie.  My horse nonchalantly followed the others, but I was still a little shaky, especially when Chief stopped abruptly and arched his back, placing me even higher into the air.  I should have known that he was just relieving himself of a rather large pile of poop, but fear has a way of blocking out common sense sometimes.  Then, as the scent of it reached my nostrils, and Chief starting walking again, I calmed down and made a decision.

It was only one week after the beginning of fall, so the colored leaves were interspersed with the unchanged green ones, and the contrast was gorgeous.  The sounds of late summer could still be heard throughout the woods.  Coming out of the forest, into a clearing, the heat of the sun felt like joy penetrating my soul.  We were heading for the beach of a glistening lake when I decided to stop being such a worry wart. Instead of having the shakes over past events and possible "what ifs", I thanked God for all of the ways the ride was affecting my senses.  I thanked Him for the ability to sit upon a horse, for my friend who suggested it and went with me, and for faith (however late) that everything would be okay.  A half hour later, I was treating Chief to a goodie and wishing that I could go again.
My photo, "South Haven Sea Glass, Merged II" reminds me of the colored leaves along the wonderful trails at Simpsarosa Stables in Grand Junction, Michigan.

Change is Good

Writing is as relaxing to me as knitting is to others, so what's with all of the avoidance behaviors?  My ten-minute bike ride turned into twenty, then I drove the car across town for just one item.  Having a strict rule against the latter, and doing it anyway, showed me it was time to sit down and write my post before I do something I really regret.  But as I turned on my laptop, the mood just wasn't right.  As much as I treasure the little space on our upstairs landing, where words usually flow from my keyboard, I desperately needed a change of venue.

Looking around for electrical outlets in this old house wasn't a problem; there are several.  Today, though, choosing a place to plug in felt like work to me.  I just wasn't, as they say, "feelin' it".  In the back of my mind were some words I had heard recently on the radio, "Sitting is the new smoking, in regards to healthy living".  That thought cut the possibilities down considerably.  So I headed out to the garage.  Something about setting up in my husband's man-cave gave me a boost of energy.  I really woke up when I remembered he had just installed a new window facing our morning glories.  To top it all off, the window is high and horizontal with a shelf right below it.  To work there, I had to stand up.  Love it!  Not only was I able to write semi-outdoors with a beautiful view right in front of my face, I also got to think on my feet.  It was refreshing!  And now, I'm done.  Change is good.

I chose this photo, "Lightening Stone", because I don't usually photograph all colors of beach glass together.  I usually have a color theme, but change is good sometimes.

End of Summer

42 degrees?  It's only the 17th of September!  Here, in South Haven, Michigan, it hardly feels as though we've had a summer season, and now fall is beginning early.  Sure, we had a good share of beautiful days and a few really hot ones, but it all went by so fast.  Last winter had been categorized in most of my neighbor's descriptions as "extreme".  The length of the season was longer than usual.  The temperatures were colder, winds were stronger, and the amount of snowfall was unbelievable!  So, yes, I'm a little bit miffed that I couldn't sleep with the windows open last night, and I miss listening to the sounds of birds and squirrels this morning.  

As I sit here, trying to figure a way out of this end-of-summer funk, I'm coming to the realization that the blame for my mood goes more to myself than to the temperatures.  Looking back, I didn't take advantage of the few hot days we were blessed with.  In my semi-old age (Oh, dear, another blame game), instead of donning my bathing suit and jumping into the great Lake Michigan waters, I think I recall escaping the heat by turning on my air-conditioner.  Only a few times did I pack my beach umbrella and set up camp in the sand.  Hmmmm, that's too bad.

Okay, as usual, seeing my thoughts in writing forces me to also see the truth.  The choices we make are ours, and we must take ownership of them.  Rather than blaming others (or nature), we should think back on how we handled situations and on what we did with what we were given.  

Lesson learned.  I will put my coat on with a smile, think positively about the possibility of a few more warm days, and when they do come, I will choose to use them well.

No Child Left Behind---Really?

"We didn't do much learning today," my grandson told his mommy when he got off the bus.  It was his first day in first grade.  Last year, in a different school, his Kindergarten year was a lot more academic than what I would like to have seen.  Since I don't mention names, I guess it's okay to say that my grandbaby's opinion of school was that he hated it.  Hated Kindergarten?  Yes, almost every day of it.  I have to admit, that when I visited last year's school, the physical environment did not appear to be one that would nurture the developmental stages of five and six-year-old children.

As a retired teacher with a Master's Degree in Early Childhood Development, I have more confidence in discussing this subject than I do in most other topics.  My education and personal experience in teaching young children has grown within me a passion for letting people know how wrong it is to push our young ones beyond what their developmental ages can handle.  Not all five-year-olds have the same developmental age.  Even if they differ by just a few months, consider what a huge percentage that is of such a small amount of years lived so far.

Growth happens in natural stages.  The best example I can think of is baby teeth.  No parent or teacher can look at a child and say, "If you try really hard, and pay close attention to me as I speak, you can make your front tooth fall out."  That sounds ridiculous, yet, it's similar to what our nation is doing as we take away each five-year-old's time to be a child in Kindergarten by forcing a first grade curriculum down their throats.  Think of it.  Not all of those children are ready for sitting quietly to learn how to read, write stories on their own, and do most of their work with pencil and paper.  So what happens?   Even more play time is taken away in an effort to have more "practice".  Then, sadly, those who still don't conform to what our nation says is grade-level, are placed in special programs and labeled "at-risk".  Hog wash!  They're young, that's all!

Instead of experiencing failure and growing up thinking that school is hard right from the beginning, Kindergarten is supposed to be a transition from home to school through:  playing, singing, being read to, and social interaction (Don't take my word for it, look in Wikipedia.).  The word, "Kindergarten", means "children's garden" and used to be a place for children to "bloom" and get ready for school.  Five-year-olds are like sponges; they love to learn, but we still need to feed  their developmental hunger for doing gross motor (large muscle) activities such as running, building with blocks, finger painting at easels, and active games of movement and song that incorporate pre-reading and pre-math skills.

In a nation that sounds like we know what we're doing by spewing the phrase, "no child left behind", what I'd rather see is, "no childhood left behind".  So when my grandson came home after his first day of first grade, I was thrilled to hear that they "didn't do much learning", because that meant his new teacher took the time to make sure her students had a wonderful first day.  She made sure her students want to come back.  My grandchild says he loves school this year, and he's ready to learn. 

My photo today is for my grandson. 

Morning Glories

Blue, magenta, violet, and white,

reaching and swooping like a tail of a kite,

while clinging to cover an offensive sight

of barbed wire protection from thieves in the night.

These morning glory blossoms, so gentle and frail

take what once looked like the back of a jail

and beautify the view into bright and pale

tuba-like petals doing the dance of a sail.

This poem is a true story of the barbed wire fence that surrounds the football field behind our house.  It's another example of how lemonade can be made out of lemons.  Now, when I look at what used to be an eyesore, I can't stop looking at the beauty of the morning glory blossoms.  Thanks to the kind words of a reader, I expressed today's post in the form of a poem.  Thank you, Sandy.

 The photo, "Bottle Bottom" is new and has nothing to do with the poem, but here is a picture of my morning glories:  

School Dreams

God gave me a gift this morning.  It was a dream.  I woke up in the middle of it when my alarm went off.  As a retired school teacher, I usually start having dreams about working in a classroom around this time of year, and that's what this was, except, my daughter was with me.  She and I were trying to have a conversation.  I could see her smiling, and it felt so good to be with her, but then hoards of students invaded our space.  I heard the number 51, and thought that was way too many children to take care of by myself.  

The layout of the room was also strange in that it was actually three rooms, each with a corner attached to a common area in the middle, like petals of a daisy around its center.  I was able to calm the crowd of kids down in one room, but as soon as I left to greet students in the other rooms, those in the first one were out of control.  The whole time this was happening, I just wanted to be with my daughter.  Finally, when I was awakened by my alarm, I remember that we were eating together while someone else was in charge of my students.  I woke up exhausted!  

Whether you're a retired teacher, or are still teaching, I'm pretty sure that as soon as you see the first back-to-school commercial, your dreams begin.  It's a sign that summer vacation is almost done, and your heart will once again belong to someone else's kids.  You bring your job home with you.  You breathe it, sleep it, and can't get it off your mind.  

Now that I've been retired for seven years, school dreams take on a whole new meaning for me.  I'm in the process of trying to decide what to let go of in order to make my life less busy.  I'm learning how to say, "No".  This morning's dream was a reminder of how much my family means to me, and has cemented some decisions I've been struggling with.  What a gift!  After all, I retired to spend more time with my loved ones, not less, and certainly not just in my dreams. 

The above photo is called, "Under Water II, with Ink Line Filter".  I paired it with this post because it has a bit of a dreamy look .

Treasured Tree

Even from a second story window, I still can't see the top of the mighty oak that stands stretching to the heavens just eight feet away from our house.  Five trunk-sized branches stem out from the top of its core as the shade from this tree covers half of our yard and a good portion of our neighbors'.  If I were to give this magnificent tree a hug, it would take three of me to encircle its entire circumference.  Squirrels get their morning exercise running in a candy cane striped pattern around and up the trunk.  Then branching out, these nimble little creatures can leap to just about anywhere they want to go.  Now and then, I'll be awakened by an ornery one as it perches safely above the world and scolds the other squirrels for coming near it.  Who could blame it, though?  If you snooze, you lose, and the first one to the top of this leafy tower earns its bragging rights.

As I gaze upon my treasured tree several times each day, no one time is in less awe than another.  I think of the countless Michigan storms it has survived.  I'm grateful for its strength.  The breadth of its leaves makes me look at the ground and imagine how far its roots must go.  I'd like to know if someone before me had planted this tree or if it had sprouted from a squirrel's buried treasure.  Either way, for the joy of those who come after me, I hope its days will outlast mine.  I hope others will greet the morning with this tree in their view and realize what a gift it truly is.

The picture above is of a fossil out of Lake Michigan.  It has me puzzled.  I think it may be part of a horn coral, but I'm not sure, so if anyone out there knows what it is, please let me know.  I found it this week, put oil on it, and photographed it over sand with natural sunlight.  I used an ink-line filter in Photoshop, along with a frame effect.  I chose this picture because if you turn it vertically, it resembles a tree.
 

The Surf

You taunt me.

You tease me,

and if I am patient,

you please me.

Relentlessly persistent,

you make the hunt hard

for sea glass and fossils

and broken clay jars.

I saw the green one.

I saw the blue.

Then, all of a sudden,

they were pulled back to you. 

The photo above is called, "Glass Glued on Water Color, with Poster Edge Filter".  I thought it went well with this poem that came to me as the waves kept causing whatever I had my eye on to disappear.

 

The Leaving

It was bad enough that my daughter and son-in-law were getting ready for their 10-hour drive home to Tennessee.  They were upstairs packing; I was downstairs making oatmeal.  Standing at the stove, I heard a slight banging sound over by the refrigerator.  Thinking it was the ice maker, I wasn't concerned; I was too busy holding back tears.  After such a great time with my kids, the leaving part always rips at my heart.  Every time.

If you are a parent of adult children who live far away, then you know how exciting it is to see them arrive and sad to see them go.  My daughter doesn't like to see me cry, and I was doing my best to accommodate her.  Then it happened.  I walked to the fridge and saw what the noise had been.  A cardinal.  I'm pretty sure birds don't sleep on their backs, but I was hoping to see that beautiful bird open her eyes, shake her head like you see on a cartoon, roll over to her feet, and fly away.  She didn't.  Even though she looked perfectly fine, she was dead, right there in front of my sliding glass door.

The kids had seen the tiny corpse from their bedroom window, so by the time they came down the stairs, none of us had an appetite.  Two trips for luggage, a few minutes of loading the vehicle, and a couple of hugs later, the waterworks were flowing as I waved good-bye to my daughter and her husband.  I probably could have made it; the sun was shining, and the birds were singing, but there was one bird that would never sing again.  There was another, more colorful one, that wouldn't stop.

The photo for today is called, "Stained Glass" (with a dry brush filter).  The reds stand out in the way Cardinals stand out in nature.
 

Hate

Hate.  Even the way that word looks is ugly.  There's nothing pretty or good about "hate".  I remember commenting about something in class by saying, "I hate it when that happens," and one of my students interrupted with, "Hate is a very strong word".  I guess the student became the teacher that day because, since then, I've tried not to use that word to describe how I feel.  This is easier said than done if I watch the evening news.  Hate, along with a side of greed, are the daily specials on most networks, which brings me to my original thought for today's post: the Jewish vs. Palestinian issue.  With Christ living in my heart, I have compassion for both sides, after all, God says to, "Love your neighbor as yourself" (Luke 10:27).  If only we could actually do that.  Can you imagine what a different world this would be?  

Getting back to the problems in the Middle East, read what God said to Abraham in Genesis 12:2-4, "I will cause you to become the father of a great nation.  I will bless you and make you famous, and I will make you a blessing to others.  I will bless those who bless you and curse those who curse you.  All the families of the earth will be blessed through you."  Wow!  It's quite clear that God is not happy with us when we complain about our Jewish neighbors.  I don't know about you, but I definitely choose to be blessed, not cursed.  I take this seriously.  Abraham is referred to many times in the Bible.  One more reference worth mentioning is at the end of Romans 4:16.  It says, "For Abraham is the father of all who believe."  If you are a Christian, I hope you are praying for your Jewish brothers and sisters.  You can see what hate does to those who hate; be blessed for being one who blesses.

What So Proudly We Hail

My dog isn't sleeping in her usual spot; she's huddled as far back into a corner as her 80 pound body will allow.  It's only nine o'clock in the evening, but the booming echoes of the fireworks, far and near, are literally non-stop.  That's what happens when our town's main display of professional fireworks are done on the third of July; it frees up time for all of the locals and tourists to shoot off their own collections.  On the fourth, the sky becomes a potpourri of color, size, and sizzle.  Rather than concentrated in one area over the lake, fireworks ranging from mini to spectacular can be seen in every direction.  Hopefully no one needs to get up early tomorrow, because sleep will be difficult tonight.  Not even the loudest fan or air conditioner can drown out this many pops and explosions.  To some, it may be annoying that people are allowed to make so much noise, but that is, after all, what we are celebrating.  Instead of these very same sounds coming from bombs against the oppressed, they are shot to remind us that we are a free nation, born on this day in 1776, and still strong.  God bless America.

I chose this double-merged sea glass photo for its symmetry that you see in some old fashioned fireworks.  I hope you like it.
Happy 4th of July!

I Don't Speak Geek (I wish I could.)

My computer is having a good day; yesterday, it wasn't.  There's no set pattern for the sudden "Ping!" and consequent loss of cursor control.  Right now, my trusty Toshiba is working at warp speed, but when I needed it last night, that dreaded sound meant that, whether I liked it or not, I was done.  I've had this laptop for seven years with not a single problem, and I feel like I'm losing a best friend.  To make matters worse, I don't speak geek.  On the phone, with technical support, most of their attempts to answer my questions required my ability to answer their questions first.  Well, that didn't happen.  Frustrated, and a little embarrassed by my obvious  lack of understanding over the phone, I attempted the dot-com for a live chat on line with the Geek Squad.  "Great looking site", I thought to myself, but then another window appeared that told me to disable the protection I have against pop-ups.  Knowing that my computer could shut down at any time, the stress of working under duress clouded my problem-solving abilities, and I could not, for the life of me, find what I needed to enable the chat to ensue.  So if you come back next week, and there is no new post, you'll know that my computer took its final dive.  For my blog to resurface, I'll need a lot of help transferring old files onto a new laptop; it could take a while.   Don't give up on me, okay?

"Beach Beauties" is the name of this long lost "oldie but goody".  I will have new pictures if the sun will ever shine again.  We've been under a lot of fog lately.  Oh, well.  I'm just thankful my laptop was able to hang in there one last time.

Cafe Latte Flavored Yogurt

So much has happened since my last post, and yet with a dip of a spoon, all of those other ideas have gone down the drain.  No, I didn't have a garbage disposal disaster or a TMI story regarding a toilet.  I was standing in front of the kitchen sink, reading the ingredients of my latest choice in morning protein.  The picture on the label was enticing, and even though I don't normally care for the taste of Greek yogurt, I was more than a little excited to try this one.  It said it was cafe latte flavored.  My original plan was to dip my whole-grain Eggo waffle in it, but when I saw how creamy it was, I decided against sharing that first bite with something else.  Many taste buds were covered by that initial spoonful, but it would have taken only one to tell me what to write about today.  The color, the scent, the texture, and above all, the flavor of Dannon Oikos Traditional Greek Cafe Latte Flavored Yogurt far surpassed my expectations.  It's not just good, and good for you; the flavor makes it a form of self-indulgence. While nourishing the body, this yogurt also hits the craving center of the brain.  Whew!  Coffee in a whole new way!

The sea glass photo for today is called, "Wired One".  I chose it for the creamed coffee colors, but I suppose the title could apply as well................

Tears

The tears were flowin', and I didn't even know the man.  He was my husband's uncle.  His name was Harold, and we had been trying to get a hold of him for the past four days, but he didn't answer his phone.  He had passed away, alone, in his home.

After meeting Uncle Harold only once, my mind couldn't picture what he looked like, still, there was a sadness in my soul that I wasn't able to shake.  You see, the timing of an unexpected gift had made me think something was wrong.  Days before hearing of Uncle Harold's passing, my husband had received a package from him in the mail.  Inside, was a square shaped home-made hot-pad with a picture of a Golden Retriever on the front.  With my glasses on, I later noticed that there was a mustard stain on the back.  No note or letter had accompanied the gift, so we weren't sure what the occasion was.  The only thing that made sense was the dog.  Uncle Harold used to call and have quite lengthy talks with his nephew about dogs, ours and his. So, naturally, my husband called his uncle to thank him, but to no avail.  By the third day, I began to worry.  On the fourth, we heard the news.  Uncle Harold had been found on his knees, with his arms and head on the couch, as if he had been praying.

All of this makes me wonder if Uncle Harold, known for his survivor-type lifestyle in a woodsy area of upper Michigan, had had a sense of what was to come.  Not being able to reach him on the phone had lead to calling other relatives which lead to one of them going to his home.  If no one had gone to check on him, who knows how long it would have taken to have Uncle Harold's body put to rest.

The pot-holder, with its hand-stitched seams and plastic ring to hang it by, won't be something we'll use in our kitchen.  I don't think we'll ever toss it in the washer to get the stains out or put it in a pile for the next rummage sale.  After the funeral, I'm pretty sure my husband will put it in a box of other treasures for someone to find someday and wonder why it's there.  Meanwhile, if I need a good cry, I'll take out Uncle Harold's gift and picture his thoughts of my dear husband as some of his last.

This week's sea glass photo is called, "Tears".

Bladder

Trapped in the middle of a table of 11, with five people on each flank, I couldn't get out of luncheon formation to use the bathroom.  We were seated in a large booth in the back, so even if my bladder had been comfortable, it wasn't like I could see everything going on up front.  The meal had been enjoyable, though; who doesn't like a meeting that includes lunch and dessert?  But it also included iced tea, and considering my position at the table, I should have declined the beverage.

Next up, the entertainment, and as in most cases of bathroom urgency, I hoped my mind would be taken off  the pain.  Something funny would do it, but not too funny; belly laughter wouldn't help the situation.  And short, oh please make it short.  Who was I kidding?  Long, short, funny, boring, none of that matters when you are at the brink of bursting.  Plus, if truth be told, earlier, an undetected raw onion had managed its way into my digestive system and was now adding to the misery.  I love onions, but due to the gaseous effects they have on me, I never, ever eat them in public (Too much information, sorry).  As I sat there, my eyes searched the room for signs of others having the same problem.  No one wants to be rude, but if even one person would break down and get up, maybe I could, too.  Again, who was I kidding?  If I got up, five other people would have to stand up and scoot over to let me out.  I was stuck.

Forty-two minutes beyond what I thought was my breaking point, I was finally able to leave the table.  That whole experience, alone, would have been enough to teach me a lesson on choosing my seat for next time, but I'm sure you've guessed that the bathroom was full when I got there.  With almost 100 women in attendance, it couldn't have gone any other way, so the lesson continued as I gingerly walked quite a good distance to my car.  Thankfully, I didn't have far to drive.  Fortunately, there are no accidents to report regarding the car or my pants!  

As for the sea glass picture I've chosen for today, it has nothing to do with the story.  I had too much coffee this morning, and for obvious reasons, the topic took a turn.

Have a great week end.

Peace

At three in the morning it was hard to tell what my grandson was saying in the other twin bed across the room.  Thanks to the nightlight, I could see him sitting up doing super hero karate chops, but when I went over to him, I noticed his eyes were closed.  In typical granny fashion, I kissed his forehead and intended to lay him back down, then it began.  The fright.  The stay calm, but go-into-emergency-mode.  Turn on the lights, grab the thermometer, and again, stay calm.  Hurry up and beep.  Okay, there it is, the sound that means it's ready.  I took the thermometer out from under Aydn's arm.  103.4...........where's the children's Motrin?  Got it.  "You need to take this, Honey."  With eyes still closed, "No, it's yucky."  Grab the phone.  His momma will be right over.  "Take his pajamas off, and keep trying the medicine," she said.  

Aydn's skin was so hot to the touch, that I was ashamed for not thinking of removing his sleepwear.  Praying, "Please, God, make him take his medicine," I didn't want to fail him again; there was too much at stake.  Instead of complying, though, my precious six-year-old grandson started crying and shivering as he said, "I think my head hurts because I'm growing so fast."  "Oh, my little punkin, take your medicine."

That was quite a night.  Thankfully, my daughter-in-law arrived within five minutes of hanging up the phone.  She was successful with the medicine.  My part was done.  Or was it?  Even though I had proven to be out of practice in the realm of sick-child care, I knew that my real job had just begun.  Ephesians 6:16 says, "In every battle you will need faith as your shield to stop the arrows aimed at you by the evil one."  I desperately needed a shield to stop the arrows of fear and worry that were penetrating my heart to the point of actual pain.  No doubt, my son and his wife needed the same, and Aydn needed a shield against getting worse. 

Opening my Bible, I prayed that God would show me where to go in His Word.  I was looking for comfort that would build my faith, and I found it in Psalm 128, the second part of verse three, and then verse four:  "And look at all those children!  There they sit around your table as vigorous and healthy as young olive trees.  That is the reward for those who fear (revere) Him."  

What more can I say?  Aydn is back at school today.  God is good.  I chose to put this week's photo before the story because it has a peaceful look about it, and faith leads to peace.  

Peace, there's nothing better.

Sweet Dreams

Before your weary head hits the solace of your pillow each night, it wouldn't be unusual to think about the things and events that made you thankful.  Included in that list would also be people.  It goes without saying that we are thankful for our loved ones, but throughout the course of the day, did someone positively effect your life, not for personal gain, but out of decency and kindness?  Perhaps it's the constant barrage of bad news in the media that causes me to be amazed when someone goes out of their way to be helpful.  I don't know.  I do know, though, that while in that state of marvel, I want others to see what I've seen in these beautiful people.   

Please don't take this as an advertisement, but in this week's post, I'd like to thank some dear souls who have helped me with my endeavors in the art world.  Didik Soekarmoen is the owner of Macdonald Drug Store in South Haven, Michigan.  He, along with Nancy and Holly, have encouraged me by showcasing my note cards right next to the main cash register at the jewelry counter.  There are tons of wonderful gifts in Didik's shop, and he didn't want my pictures to be unnoticed among everything else that's going on.  I would have been grateful for a spot in the back, but he was willing to take a chance on me, and I just want Didik to know how thankful I am.

Next, there are the cheerful ladies of the South Haven Center for the Arts, Thea and Emily.  To see their excitement over the sales of my little books and cards, one would think they are related to me!  It is such an honor to get to know these talented and dedicated women.

Last week I wrote about the upcoming art show at Eclectic.  John and Nancy have been incredibly supportive.  I am so excited to work with them!

I'd also like to thank Gloria from the 12 Corners Winery in Benton Harbor, Michigan.  She purchased sixteen of my note cards for the winery, and I hope to make it over there to check it out.  I already know how marvelous the wine is from my visits to the South Haven branch. 

Not to change the subject, but as a conclusion, tonight, if you should have trouble falling asleep, try recollecting the details of everything that happened during the last 24 hours that touched your heart or made you smile.  Before you are done, you'll drift away and catch your zzzzzzzz's.  If not, at least your mind will be on good things, and when sleep finally does fall, your dreams will be sweet.

This one, "Spartans" (for the team colors of green and white), will be featured in a frame at "Eclectic" on May 31st.  

Artists' Show at "Eclectic" in South Haven, MI

You'll find this photo, "Favorite Collection of Driftwood and Glass", and many others at "Eclectic" in South Haven, Michigan.  Eclectic, already famous for their tempting coffee concoctions, provides locals and tourists with a comfortable coffee house feeling that is described well by its name.  Located at 204 Center Street, Eclectic will be hosting a showing of five local artists, myself included, on May 31st from 6:00-9:00 pm.  If you're in town that night, I hope you'll drop by; it would be great to meet you!  From my portion of the show, you'll see six framed photographs, one canvas, two 12" x 18"s, fourteen 11" x 14"'s , four 8" x 10"'s, and one 5" x 7" all about beach treasures (driftwood, glass, rocks, crinoids, etc.) collected from Lake Michigan. 

It's Been a While

What's this?  I vaguely remember this happening before.  It's been a while, though.  Tomorrow, some will say they were beginning to think it would never happen.  Ah, yes, it's all coming back to me how great this feels.  Not everyone will agree with me; some will complain, but I've waited long enough to be rid of 30 degree wind chills.  It's the second week of May, and I am loving this, our first warm night of spring.

The sun has ducked down below the horizon, but there is just enough light left in the sky to see some other signs of spring that accompany a warm night.  One of them is a bat.  On my balcony, I'm at eye-level with it.  Normally, the bat's erratic flying would give me cause to perch elsewhere, especially when I noticed that I could even hear the wings flapping.  Instead, I stayed put and played a game of "chicken" with the creature of the night.  It payed off.  I consider myself the winner because the bat didn't scare me away, and I was able to gaze at the half-moon, smell someone's late-night supper, and with the evening traffic thinning out, was able to hear the first spring peepers.  Best of all, was the breeze.   It was warm.  It gently pushed my hair back away from my face and told me to close my eyes and enjoy it.  How could I not?

This is an old beach glass (with a dry-brush filter) photo that I had forgotten about.  It's appropriate for this week's post as it is called, "Warm One".

Under Water

This filtered photo of Lake Michigan beach glass and fossils is called, "Under Water".  My week has been so busy that I feel as though I have been trying to breathe under water.  I think this picture speaks well for my mood, consequently, there will be no quirky paragraph on what's swimming around in my brain.  Hopefully, next week's schedule of events won't be quite as full, and I'll have time to write.  Come back, will you?

High School Reunion

My high school reunion is coming up.  Dare I say of how many years?  Okay, it's 40.  Wow (minus the exclamation point, due to the intonation being that of a groan rather than excitement).  Am I really that old?  Not a day goes by that I'm not reminded of something or someone from my school days, so it's hard getting a handle on the fact that those memories are of so long ago.  It gives a whole new meaning to the phrase, "feels like yesterday".  

While I'm not thrilled about how quickly time has passed, I am looking forward to celebrating the past.  Old friends from that era of my life helped shape me into what I am today, and it will be good to see them.  As I picture their faces in my mind, I've noticed that recollecting their names is far easier than doing so with people of my present life.  Is that why those with dementia often talk to someone as though they are back in time?  As the ability to find space on our aging brains for new memories decreases, we need the security we derive from being sure of something.  There's comfort in that.  Losing memory is like losing touch with friends, thus, making reunions all the more special.  For myself, this reunion will be particularly refreshing as I travel back to the days when my parents took care of me, instead of the other way around.  Don't get me wrong, others have it a lot worse than I do.  I've just begun that journey, and my parents are still reasonably active.  If they're happy, I'm happy.  I love them.  That's what makes it so hard.

As usual, this post took on a life of its own, with a direction different from what I originally intended.  What I wanted to say is that maybe you have a high school reunion coming up.  Don't be too busy.  Go to it.

This is the second picture of my series of green glass called, "Sundown".  It has nothing to do with memories or reunions, but it is part of a group and, as such, goes well with the story.

New Life

After one of the longest winters I've ever experienced, life has begun to replace the boring look of sameness that was behind my house on the football field.  Instead of the white ground, topped with a white-out sky, a blur of school colors, in constant motion on the track and inside of it, refreshes my soul.  Even though the last snowfall was just four days ago, today, the grass on the field is magically green.  I don't believe in magic, but that word seems to fit.  The grass everywhere else is still a dead-brown.  Looking out my back door, you would think spring has been here for a while, and I couldn't be more grateful.  The students practicing their track events seem grateful, too.  There's a big pile where coats and backpacks have been thrust aside, and even though the air is a bit chilly, t-shirts, shorts, and sneakers adorned by these young men and women give them the freedom they need to compete.  I hear cheering and shouts of support.  It's a new season.  Best of all, Easter is this Sunday, a little later than usual, and like the late arrival of spring, there is hope in new life. 

My latest photo, "Crinoid Star", is perfect for today.  It's the first one of a series of green glass (for the green grass in the post).

Vegas Love Letters

"Whatcha doin'?  Handin' out love letters?"  teased the third beggar on the bridge.  "I am!" was my reply.  The mornings of my Vegas vacation didn't belong to me.  I had given them to God.  There were two overpasses along my route that, by nine o'clock, would each have at least four homeless men with cardboard signs and styrofoam cups.  My mission was to look them in the eyes, tell them "Good morning", and place a gift in their meager collection of coins.  If they seemed open to conversation, I'd tell them my name and ask them theirs.  Only one man was hesitant to say his name.  He tilted his head, squinted one eye, and finally said, "I'm John".  As he started to laugh, I did too, and said, "I bet you're not!"  He was the one that asked for a love letter.  Up until that point, I hadn't called my gifts by that name, but "John" was right.  They were love letters from the Bible, words of encouragement from the mouth of Jesus.  No condemnation, just love.

Inside each folded note, was a quarter or a dollar, so I sometimes would say, "I have a gift for you.  Will you promise to read it?"  They always said they would, and even though I told them how little money was in the letter, they were grateful.  It was never the same people, either, so I had met over 30 different souls on my walks.  I was touched by the fact that not one of them had averted my eyes.  Their eye contact created a connection that took away all judgement and blame.  One young man, with a remarkable resemblance to pictures of Jesus, with watery blue eyes and a scorched sidewalk tan, said quietly, "I don't care how much you gave me, I appreciate that you stopped.  No one ever stops."  It took me a while to recover from that encounter.

If you're a follower of this blog, then you know that my posts are simply whatever is on my mind when it's time to write.   It's not meant to be a "selfie" story.  This story is for the people I wrote about, and I certainly didn't stop for everyone.  There were too many, and the numbers grew as the day progressed, so I hardly put a dent in the cause.  Hopefully, you'll join me in praying for a miracle for all of those who need one, and just maybe, leave someone a love letter.

This water-sprayed sea glass photo is called, "On Eagle's Wings".  If you know where I found this title, you know why I chose it.

Yes, Honey

There must be something special about honey for it to be so important in the Bible.  The Promised Land was described as flowing with it, and John the Babtist's diet, along with locusts, consisted of it.  Currently, the news of a bee shortage has implications beyond a lack of honey, affecting many other food sources.  Some studies even show how to achieve relief from allergies by consumption of honey made by local bees (rather than importing it from elsewhere).  Personally, raw organic honey is worth its weight in liquid gold for another reason.  If you're familiar with my earlier posts, you know of the difficulty I've had with acid reflux.  Guess what?  One teaspoon of local honey, labelled "Raw Organic", taken first thing in the morning and again right before bedtime has taken away the painful symptoms that I used to get after eating something acidic.  As long as I don't overeat to the point that I literally feel too full, I can eat whatever I want; this includes drinking coffee.  (Huge smile)

You know I'm not a doctor, so I would never say that honey will work for everyone the way it has worked for me, but if you do suffer from acid reflux and would like to try something natural, honey's the way to go.  In the beginning, you may need an extra teaspoon during the middle of the day if you have heartburn.  Remember that too much of anything is never a good thing.  Two to three teaspoons a day should do it.  Also, you've probably read that children one year and under should never have honey, so check with a doctor before trying this with young children.  As for us adults, why take yet another side-effect-filled medication when there are options?  And did you know that honey never spoils?

Petoskey stones are fossilized coral that lived 350 million years ago.  I chose this photo not only because of the honeycomb-like pattern of the fossil, but also for its age.  Remember?  Honey never spoils.

Think "Thaw"

Who would have thought there would still be this much ice on Lake Michigan by the end of March?  Parking on the bluff today just doesn't give me the same sense of infinite space and freedom that I usually experience when the lake is all liquid.  Confined to my car by the cold, the sun shining through the window provides a false sense of warmth that is somewhat enjoyable, but the lack of movement upon the water's surface causes me to yearn for a quick thaw.  In its current solid state, there are no glistening diamonds dancing on top.  Still, I consider myself blessed to see the reddish sandy ice hills that remind me of what Mars might look like.  It is a peculiar sight, one that most tourists will never see, and that's why I've included this photo instead of a beach glass or rock shot.  So if that's what you clicked on this blog for, I hope you're not disappointed.  The seasonal changes you've witnessed in this picture are sure to bring lots of new treasures to the water's edge.

BEANiTOS

Every now and then I find myself doing a free commercial for a product that I just can't keep my mouth shut about.  This post is one of those times.  A friend gave me a bag of "BEANiTOS Original Black Bean Chips with Sea Salt" to try.  The bookstore she manages ran out, and she had one bag left.  With my first bite, I was intrigued.  With two bigger bites, I was hooked.  Then after turning the bag to the back, what I read sent me straight to my car to find more.  Here's why:  BEANiTOS are an American made gluten-free, cholesterol-free, super tasty chip that has no MSG, no preservatives, and no trans fats.  The first ingredient listed is black beans, followed by whole long grain rice, pure sunflower and/or safflower oil, guar bean gum, and sea salt.  That's a mighty short list for a whole lot of flavor that is also certified low glycemic, kosher, and vegan.  A serving size is 12 chips, and with that you'll get five grams of fiber and four grams of protein.  I wasn't able to find them in my small town, so I went to www.beanitos.com.  With this link, finding where BEANiTOS are sold was easily done, and I'll be heading there soon.  

Did I mention that if I had had my eyes shut with my first taste of BEANiTOS, I would have thought they were from a basket of home-made potato chips at one of my favorite restaurants?  It's true.  I was bamboozled by black beans.

This one is called, "Sea Glass Doodle with Ink Line Filter".  The dark colors on the bottom give you some idea of the color of the black bean chips. 

The West Wing

My husband and I have a new addiction.  It's not something harmful, but it has become a mutual monkey on our backs.  It sometimes keeps us from doing what we should be doing, like going for a walk, getting groceries, or calling our moms.  While physically inactive, the highly intellectual aspect of our new pastime draws us with a pull that stems from our need to feel smarter.  We've been told that the aging brain is a shrinking brain, so yes, it is a bit of a treat to immerse ourselves into a pool of intelligent, clever conversation.  Unfortunately, we are only observers, not actual participants, and any dialogue my husband and I might have in response goes unheard.   Nevertheless, each time we satisfy our craving for our new "brain drug", we ultimately find ourselves saying, "Let's do one more".  If this sounds like something you'd like to try, look up the old "West Wing" political drama series, and begin with season one from 1999 on Netflix.  Make sure to stay in sequence; it won't take long to get hooked.

This beach glass picture is called "Driftwood Platform".  Platform is a word used in politics, so it's the obvious choice for today's post.  See you next week!

Color in a Box

It's a job that I dread doing, and yet, every six to eight weeks, I force myself to do it.  Sure, I could pay someone else to do it for me.  I could even stop doing it altogether, but I've tried that, and it wasn't pretty.  You see, there is no actual name for the natural color of my hair, and so I buy a color in a box.  The act of applying the new hue to my head is a real chore.  The mixture is smelly, it stings my skin, and it takes a long time to rinse out.  The most difficult step, aside from the timing so that my hair doesn't break off, is coverage.  I never know if I got the goop on all of my roots.  If you color your own hair, you know what I mean.  It would be easy to just empty the contents all over my noggin and lather the stuff up like shampoo, but no, that would be hair-suicide, too many chemicals too often.  So to save a few bucks (more like $50 to $80),  and when I can no longer stand to look at the dark stripe down the center of my scalp, I do my own roots.  It may not be much to write about, but it was the topic in, and on, my head today.  Count yourself blessed if you're happy with your hair.

This one is called "Merged Brown Bottle", but doesn't it look like "Color in a Box"? 

Winter Escape

It's nine degrees outside, a veritable heatwave compared to this morning's minus three.  Still, the idea of leaving the house evades me.  As much as I would love to venture out of my current state of cabin fever, the warmth of my home calls me back to reality.  I'm amazed at how comfortable our one hundred and twelve year-old house feels during this windchill record-breaking winter.  Actually, there is one tiny room that, when the door is closed, is rather toasty.  It's the bathroom, and it's on the second floor, in the middle of the landing.

With summer oldies playing on my radio, beach glass and sand photos on the walls, and the door shut tight to keep the heat from escaping, this half-bath has become a place to linger, especially now.  Before yesterday, there were no windows in my heated hide-away and no way to put one in, until my husband and I thought "out of the box".  Box describes it well, with dimensions of 5' x 5', this little oasis needed a way to seem less cramped.  We had noticed an old door in the garage that may have been the back door to our house decades ago.  It has a large window on the top half.  Would it fit upstairs?  Would it look silly?  Well, to make a long story short, we trimmed a couple of inches off the door, cleaned and painted it, and added a latch.  With a pull-down shade attached to the inside, above the window, there is privacy when closed and the illusion of more space and additional light when open.  The yellow paint on the door makes the room  appear warmer, too, and it doesn't look a bit funny, just sunny.

According to the radio, it is now ten degrees outside, and I don't even care.  I'm brushing my teeth, and you know where.  

No, the window doesn't look like this, but it is made out of glass, so this photo was a good choice for today.  It's called, "Sea Glass with Poster Edges".