Tonight I trimmed my Christmas tree.

Yes, I did.  Andy hauled the boxes from the garage and stacked them on the floor.  Each Christmas I vow to do this earlier.  But I have to be in the mood. Waiting, and waiting.  That is what I am very good at.  The time has to be just right.  No good putting up the tree when it is nearing 60 degrees and sunny.  Even though it lives in a box in my garage eleven months of the year, the weather has to be just so for me to put it up and decorate.

The first thing I come across is the picture of my brother Paul and me with Santa at Block and Kuhl Department Store in Peoria, Illinois.  I was six and Paul was eight.  Makes me smile to remember that moment.  Paul is grinning but he is secretly planning his revenge for me getting  closer to the man in the red suit. I think I got pinched on the arm for that infraction.

And here are the treasured wooden ornaments that I painted on December 5, 1974.  How do I remember them?  I was in labor with Nina and knew that they had to be done then or forgotten for another year. Babies do tend to interrupt normal daily routines and the best laid plans for decorating the house for Christmas.

Under the tree are several cherished things from Nina's namesake, Nina Dusenberry.  She was Andy's cousin twice removed but an integral part of his family when he was growing up.  These were under her tree when she grew up on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn at the turn of the century.  A little Chinese doll.  A small stove.  And a tiny teakettle.  On the tree are ornaments she sent to Andy and his family when he was growing up. Each one is from a place she traveled to....Sweden, Portugal, Holland, Japan.  There they are..a tribute to a woman who cared deeply for her family. 

As I decorate the tree I remember the story behind each ornament.  Sweet memories.  And when I can no longer trim this tree, they will be passed on to someone else.  Perhaps a new story will be told about them. All a part of this Season we love so well.     

I'd like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony..

You know it.  We all hum it at least once or twice during the Holiday Season. It's that famous Coke ad....and it ends "to keep it company.."  Aside from its crass commercialism, I like this tune.  And that is what I was thinking tonight as I came to the Gainesville Square and joined with lots of people who came to celebrate this Season.

Eating.  There was lots to eat.  Visiting.  Yes, some of that too.  Kids making paper ornaments to put on a tree.  People bundled up in the cold, shivering but glad to be there.  And lots of things to look at and buy.  Crafts and food and more food.  If you didn't get the Jolly Vibe..then you were not alive...that is for sure.

The parade.  What can I say about it?  It had more floats than I have ever seen in an Ozark County parade.  It was beyond spectacular.  It was awesome.  Lights twinkling..even on the semis...each fire department was there.  Floats with kids.  Floats with singing kids.  Floats with animals.  Horses.  And Santa and Mrs. Santa came in a perfect Model A pick-up.  I was sorry I didn't have a child or grandchild to take up and meet them.

All around me smiles.  Comments about the perfection of this display of community spirit.  Just pure and simple joy.

Which got me  thinking about what makes our place..and places like ours...so unique.  We don't need a lot of buzz and glitz.  Although some of the lights were pretty bright, that's for sure.  We don't need a multi-million dollar spectacle to make our Season bright.  What we need is to get together, eat a bowl of soup, share some kettle corn, drink hot chocolate, admire the handcrafted items of our neighbors and friends and visit.  Give a hug.  Say I love you.  Smile and be happy for awhile.

Yes.  We can "teach the world to sing in perfect harmony."  All it takes is a little practice. 

I Love This Gym

Tonight we celebrated our basketball teams.  I love the Red and White Scrimmage.  I love seeing old friends, eating HUGE cinnamon rolls, slurping up chili topped with cheese and Fritos and sipping on sweet tea.  I love looking at all those bake sale yummys...and buying a few.  Some were snapped up before I got a chance to grab them.  But most of all....I love our gym.

Now wait a minute!  I know that several of you who read this will groan and shake their heads in disbelief.  " Jane", you will say, "are you out of your everlovin' mind?  How can you say this?"

I know.  I know.  This gym was not exactly brand new when I arrived here to teach in 1977.  But it was better than the gym I left in Winona!  But that is a story for another day..or maybe not.

Anyway.  Here are my reasons for loving the GHS gym.

It is a place where we all can gather and celebrate our young people.  I look around and see faces I have known for 42 wonderful years.  They were ball players then.  Running up and down that court.  Making baskets.  Guarding the forwards. Racking up the points.  Fouling out.  Coaches red in the face.  Encouraging.  Yelling. Full of vim and vigor and life.

Today I see their kids...and grandkids doing the same thing.  Jumping. Tearing down the floor.  Making that unbelievable three-pointer.  Grabbing a rebound and passing it back for another try at the basket.

My daughter played here.  I wasn't a calm and cool parent.  Everyone knows that I can yell with the best of them.  And sometimes I even yodel.

Our gym is not senior citizen friendly.  There is no place to park a wheelchair or walker.  And if you have sore knees and backs, those bleachers from heck are just that.  But....I manage to step-step up to the top row where I can lean against the wall...and step-step down at the end of the night.  It is painful.  But worth it.! 

Worth it!  How in the world can it be worth it?

Because I can sit there and smile and laugh and hug and talk with people who are so near and dear to me.  I can chuckle at the babies.  Meet new family members.  Catch up with what is going on in our small town.  And watch some amazing young people do things down there on that ball court that I would LOVE to do right now.  

I know that we need some changes in the gym.  I know that our community has difficulty raising the levy for school improvements.  And passing bonds is equally hard.  Our school board, citizens' committees, administrators have all done the best they can with what they have to work with.

But golly folks, let's smile once in a while and be grateful for what we have.  Hard work and years of careful management have kept things in pretty good shape.  

So it boils down to this.  I know that sports are not the be all and end all of life.  But they do one thing for a community such as ours.  It brings us together to celebrate something  we can all agree on.  Our life here in a part of the world where being a good neighbor means so much.  Seeing our kids grow strong and motivated to do better.  And reaping the rewards of a that good life.

And this is why I love this gym.

Freedom, Sweet Freedom

Yesterday, when I went out to sweep my porch, I heard the cry of an eagle overhead.  Rushing to look over the railing and up to the sky I could see three of them, soaring above me, riding a thermal, sun shining on their wings.  The blue above and the outline of these beautiful birds left me standing there for the longest time, mesmerized by their grace and beauty.

What a perfect symbol the bald eagle is for our country.  For our freedom.  We are so fortunate that they are frequent visitors to our area, especially during the times of year when we can appreciate them.  They often sit in the trees over the rivers and ponds, waiting to catch the fish that circle below. 

Long ago when I was in elementary school we often sang that wonderful song that begins "My country 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing..."  Seeing those eagles soaring above me made me think how very fortunate I am to live here.  And how very sweet freedom is.

Freedom to come and go as I please.  No one prevents me from walking or driving down my road.  

Freedom to gather and talk with my friends and neighbors without fear of being arrested.

Freedom to speak my mind.  Freedom to worship where I please.  Freedom to earn a living.  Freedom to own a little patch of ground that I can call my own for as long as I live.  Freedom to choose who will represent me and my needs for the the greater good.  Too often we take this blessing for granted.  We were born to be free. Many times we..myself included..take that freedom for granted.

Seeing those wonderful birds flying across the sky and down toward the valley...looking for a perch above the creek...reminded me just how sweet that freedom is.

Freedom...sweet freedom indeed. 

What About November?

We have just said good-bye to Halloween and all its wonderful celebrations.  Seems as if they start two weeks before the 31st and fill every

day and night until that spooky evening arrives, replete with princesses, armed aliens, and toothless zombies.  Stores are filled with items to buy.  Candy is bought by the car load.  And everyone hopes for good weather to go door to door with bags and little buckets to gather up those Halloween treats.  In my day we also had to do a trick to go with the treat...but that was long ago and in a different time and place.

And now we are ready for....December 25th.  Yes friends.  Let's just skip over dull November and hurry to the end of the year.  Already stores have all that Christmas stuff out...decorations, toys, food, new things to wish for, old things that bring to mind our own holiday memories.  And who doesn't love Christmas?  I do.  My dad was the original Mr. Christmas.  He would celebrate it all year long if it was allowed.  So I am not being a Scrooge here.  Just wanting a lovely month in its own right to get a little recognition.

November honors our military and all those who gave their lives so we could be free.  Think about that.  We used to call it Armistice Day.  Study your history books and you will get a good feeling for what that meant to our country and the world.  So...thank you veterans for all you have done and do for us.   November brings hunting season.  Now who in this area can forget that?  I love the stories and pictures in the paper of hunters old and young who pose with their deer.  Now I know that some who read this will wrinkle their noses and humph with disgust.  So be it.  We have deer and deer in abundance.  That is that.  And close behind deer season is Thanksgiving.  Not a new holiday.  But one that has come to mean several things to different people.  To some it means family and friends gathered around a table full of food.  To some it means serving a festive meal to those who might not have one on that special day.  To others it means driving long distances to celebrate with relatives we see only once a year.  And to others it means football games and cheering on their favorite team.  But Thanksgiving is an important day in and of itself.  Thanks.  Thanks for everything we enjoy in this beautiful country.

And so, please don't let November go unnoticed and forgotten.  It is a full thirty days to enjoy and revel in frosty mornings and brilliant nights full of stars and moonlight.  Time to work and get ready for the coming winter.  A time to reflect on our blessings.  And a time to enjoy just living here, in this corner of the world we call home. 

Waiting on fall

Why am I so anxious for fall to come?  Why do I look forward to putting on my warmer jacket and boots when I take my daily stroll down the road?  Why do I long for color in the trees that stretch far beyond my view to the west and north and east?

I must confess.  I love change.  Especially when we have suffered through what seemed to be a dry and hotter than usual late summer.  But change is coming.  I can see it every day.

The thermometer in the morning shows shivering numbers.  The wind has a certain crispness to it.  The squirrels are extra busy searching for nuts to hide.  Geese are flying south.

I love fall.  We build a fire in the stove in the morning to take off the chill.  And sometimes even in the evening.  I take walks down along the road and try to find the elusive wildflowers that decorate the stony margins this time of year.  The latest rain has helped them grow and I am finding a few more here and there.

Sunrises and sunsets are spectacular.  That ruddy line of orange-red that heralds the rising sun.  The crimson of the setting sun that lights up the trees with glowing splendor.  It takes your breath away.

I can not imagine a world without an autumn.  Constant warm breezes and hot sun.  Not for me.  

I guess I am fortunate to be able to live in a part of the country that has changing seasons.  Yes, even winter.  It is all part of the price we pay for the glory that is fall.  And I am enjoying every minute of it. 

Blessed Rain

It began for us during the evening on Saturday.  Rumbling in the west, the dark cloud moved toward us.  So many times it splits there at Caney and moves south and north around our hill.  But this was a strong willed storm. It moved steadily east, conquering the dry fields and hollows in its path.

And how welcome it was.  Parched.  We were so parched.  Dry as dry could be.  The creek had not had a drop of water in it for weeks.  Everyone else got a little sprinkle here and there.  But, here, high on the hill in Luna, Mother Nature failed to deliver.  So dry that the grass crackled and crunched beneath our feet.

All through the night the blessed rain fell.  Hard at times with echoes of thunder and streaks of lightning.  The wind blew.  I could hear it rattle the rain across the flue.  But it was a welcome sound.  And I could sleep with that lullaby whispering to me.  Rain, blessed rain.

Sunday morning.  More rain.  On our way to church we crossed the slab with water running under it.  A sight to behold.  Those rough rocks and gravel seemed to revel in the water washing over them. As we joined in morning prayer I said a silent thank you to God for the rain.  I know that sometimes it is an inconvenience.  And we know what too much rain can do.  But this was just right.

I marked 3 and 7/10ths in the gauge when it was all over.  Not as much as some, but enough to green the grass and fill the ponds and lead us into this new month on a positive note.

As the sun shone on the wet grass, I smiled and felt a lifting in my heart.  Even in the worst of times we can look for rain.  And even though we might have to wait for it, the blessed rain will come.

Sorghum molasses

These were our companions for the past weekend.  Kit and Kate.  A pair of sister mules. They were hitched up to the sorghum mill as we made sorghum molasses down in the hills of Arkansas.  

What a treat.  Lots of  friends and lots of help.  The cane crop was not as plentiful this year.  We cut and trimmed and loaded it onto the trailer and pulled it down to the farm.  Setting up the mill was not a hard task.  And the rest went like clockwork.  Until we awoke on Saturday morning and discovered that Kit and Kate had taken an early morning stroll...somewhere.  Luckily they had found a neighboring field where the grass was thick and green.  There they were, happily grazing, waiting to be found.

Soon everyone was busy with the chore of making sorghum molasses.  The green juice poured out of the mill into a bucket.  When we had about 15 gallons of juice it was poured into the cooking pan and set on the fire.  Skimming the juice and tending the fire so the sorghum cooks evenly is an art.  And we had the people to do it.  Taking turns and visiting while the green juice turned to gold and then to a golden brown was one of the many pleasures of the day.  

While some people worked others sat in the shade and visited.  Some brought their fiddles and guitars and banjos.  Under the cool shadow of the oak tree we enjoyed hearing our favorite music,

Food was plentiful.  Everyone brought something to eat. Sharing lunch out on the porch or sitting in the yard, we visited and caught up with the news of what had happened in the last year.

The children loved to help.  They hauled the cane from the trailer to the mill, fed the stalks into the mill, and hauled the remains out to feed the cows across the road.  They worked as hard as any adult.  What a joy to see them working so steadily.  And seeing their smiling faces when the sorghum was finally ready to be poured out into jars. 

Finally, when the last jar was filled and the mules unhitched for the day, we all hugged and promised to do it again next year.  What a joy to do something together.  To forget for a time the pressures that await us back home.  To take time to talk and laugh and share stories.  

This is what life should be like.  All of us, sitting in the gathering twilight, knowing that we have helped each other enjoy an age-old tradition from a simpler time.  Makes us smile and vow to do it again next year. And we have jars of sorghum in our cupboards to remind us.

Tapping my toe, clapping my hands.

Hootin an Hollarin in is the air.  Andy and I have had the privilege again this year to teach the Queen candidates a figure or two for a square dance to open the festivities.  Bitter sweet.  That is the feeling I get as I see these young women moving gracefully through the movements of the time-honored and timeless dance of our Ozarks.

I will be sitting on the sidelines this year.  A bad knee has kept me from exercising and I just don't want to risk more injury to that vital joint.  It is improving.  Just not "danceable" as yet.

But I love to see the dancers take the floor each night.  And Hootin and Hollarin is a great time to go through the old familiar dances or to learn a few new moves.

Sally Goodin, Cross the Hall, Whirl Like Thunder.  The list goes on and on.  The night air, whether steamy or cool, always adds to the magic for me.  When I am dancing I lose track of time and place.  I see people sitting in the stands, but the blurred light from the streetlights puts a hazy glow over the crowd.  And I am in my own little world.  Following the voice of the caller as they call the next move.  Reaching out and taking that familiar, or new, hand and moving, always moving to the steady beat of the fiddle and guitar.

The music.  Nothing can compare with a fine fiddle tune set to a rapid beat for a great time dancing.  Sometimes the tempo lends itself to one dance or another.  It is really up to the caller to decide.  Two Little Hobos, a great dance to begin with, needs a smoother tune.  But Black Mountain Rag always brings up the square dancing blood and makes your feet almost fly over the floor.

So this next weekend I will be sitting on the sidelines.  Come by and visit a minute.  I would love to catch up with the latest news.  But please excuse me if my toes begin to tap a little.  And every once in a while I might clap my hands to the beat...and smile and look forward to getting out there, where I belong.

Sharing Joy

"Scuze me!  Scuze me!  Can you see the rainbow?", asked the little boy as he ran up to the stranger getting out of his pickup truck.  Pointing to the sky above the man's head he declared, as only a 5 year old can, "It's Right There."  The man  grinned and looking up, agreed.  Yes indeed, that was a mighty pretty sight.

We had planned on going for a swim that afternoon but rain intervened.  It was storming at the lake and we watched as puddles formed and the wind blew.  And after the wind died down and the sky cleared we looked up and saw a magnificent rainbow in the east, arching over the water.....colors of all kinds,dazzling to the eye.  My grandson Gus had never seen a rainbow.  He lives in Yonkers, just north of New York City, and for some reason he had never seen a rainbow in the flesh, as one might say.  He knew all about them..he recited the colors from red to purple for our information...even including indigo.  Yes, Gus is a master of rainbows...they are his favorite things.

We made a quick trip to the store to pick up some snacks and rest before we went for our delayed swim in the lake.  This is where the above conversation took place.

After the man and Gus admired the rainbow Gus stuck out his hand and said,"Hi. My name is Gus.  What's your name?"   The answer came with a smile....."Bill," the stranger answered..."Glad to meet you, Gus."

Running into the store Gus went up to the clerk.  "Have you seen the rainbow?", he asked.  "Not yet but I know it is beautiful" she replied.  And so it went.  Gus coming up to each customer....getting their attention and saying....Have you seen the rainbow?  And without a single miss each person greeted his question with either a Yes or No, not yet...and a smile.  So many smiles on that rainy afternoon.  So much happiness in seeing a small boy announcing a miracle.  

I like to think that those people who met my Gus felt a little better for that encounter.  

Sharing joy.  That is what it is all about, isn't it?

Milestones

Tomorrow I turn 74.  One year away from three-quarters of a century.  It is also my 52nd anniversary.  Yes, I was married on my birthday.  I thought it would make it easier for Andy to have only one date to remember...rather than two.  And he has never disappointed me!

1945 was a good year.  My family greeted me with much joy.  Two boys...and then a little girl.  I don't think my dad ever quit smiling when my mom had me.  He so wanted a little girl.  And I was it.  Spoiled?  Maybe just a little.  Those were happy years....and great memories growing up in a little town in Illinois.

And then I went away to college in Wisconsin.  One day I was standing near the stairs in the library.  I saw a pair of work boots descending....and who in the world wore work boots in college in 1964?  My friend introduced me to a lanky young man who was in her geology class.  And the rest is history.  I was smitten.  From the first date at Fraternity Informals until he asked me to marry him...long distance.  I was in Arizona.  He was in Wisconsin getting ready to head out to Maine.

Talk about a whirl-wind wedding...but thankfully it all came together.

The places we have been.  Prospecting for asbestos for Johns Manville in Maine(my honeymoon.)  Back to Wisconsin to work in a foundry(him) and wait tables(me).  Then the Army called.  Our first separation while he took basic.  Then to Augusta, Georgia and Fort Gordon where he took a year to become an Army Medic.  Then Viet Nam for a year.  Including a trip to Cambodia when I didn't hear from him for two long weeks.  I sat in front of the TV one night while our President announced that our troops had gone into that region...and I knew with heart wrenching certainty that Andy was there too.  Long nights.  Long days.  But he made it home.  Then back to college.  A few years being an assistant at WIU in Macomb.  Bought our farm in Oregon County.  Had a baby girl.  Moved to the farm.  Left there after two years.  And here we are in Gainesville..or the outskirts of Luna...going on 43 years!  Amazing.

What have I learned in 74 years?  Always trust your heart.  Say your prayers and go to bed with a clear mind and conscience.  And never forget to say I love you.... 

Perfect Sunday

Coming out of church at noon on Sunday I noticed that warm, humid feel of  a pending thunderstorm.  The sky was blue with white fluffy clouds as I made my way into town to run a few errands before heading home to Luna.  As I headed back north I saw gray blankets of storm clouds coming in from the west.  Just in time I parked the car in the garage, unpacked the groceries and ran through raindrops into the house as thunder began to growl above me.  I thought of friends who were camped on the lake and river for this holiday weekend and hoped that the storm would be over in a few minutes rather than last all afternoon.

As soon as I finished lunch I could see the sun breaking through and the clouds clearing.  A short-lived rain that miraculously brought a cooling wind to my hill.  I left the dinner dishes on the table, grabbed my book and went out on the porch.  

Heavenly!  The wind was cool and fresh.  The humidity had dropped to nothing.  Just a jewel of an afternoon lay before me.  I read a little.  I snoozed some.  But most of all I noticed the little things that came to my attention.  It is so utterly quiet up on my hill...especially on a Sunday afternoon.  Very little going on in Luna.  Which suits me to a tee.

Birds. Did I mention the birds?  We have a number of meadowlarks  nesting in the tall grass to the north of the house.  We noticed the adults swooping down and feeding their young in the nest buried somewhere in the tall green grass.  And now the young ones are learning how to fly.  A little awkward.  One ran into the eave of the porch just above my head.  He managed to land on the grass...upright and peeping, his beak open to summon help.  Peep.  Peep.  As if to say 'Hey, Mom, here I am.  Don't worry.'  And off he flew..a little unsteady but still he made it to a safe spot in the grass where he could recover.

A cardinal sang from his favorite branch in the oak tree.  Tree swallows have taken over the bluebird house.  A case of first come, first served I guess.  They are raising a brood.  I love to watch them perch on the edge of the entrance hole...and then slip down out of sight.  Looking forward to seeing the little ones pop out one by one.

All in all I was content to just sit and rest.  After all,it was Sunday.  Just a perfect day to spend doing nothing. Watching the clouds drift by, lulled to rest and peaceful thoughts by bird song and light winds.  Who could ask for a better day?  No one!  

Guitar Man

Saying good-bye to friends is always hard.  Especially when they have made your life so much more enjoyable.  Truman Lewis, who passed away this week, was surely a ray of sunshine that lightened every day.  

I first met Truman at the Tuesday night music jam that was held at the Senior Center in Gainesville.  This picture is from 2013.  Here he is surrounded by his music playin' buddies, Harold and Eldon.  You can see JR Strickland there too...in the right hand corner.  Music..and jokes...and fun.  That was what it was all about.

But this is about Truman and what he meant to all of us...and me too.  Even though his voice had gotten scratchy and his hands were not as sure on the strings...when it came his turn to play...he played with all his heart.  At this particular jam I remember him dedicating his song to his old school teacher..Valeta Crawford who was in the audience.  How she loved music!  And Truman knew just the songs she liked to hear.  Stories..he had quite a few.  He wasn't quite as loquacious as some of his buddies but he could tell a good tale.  

One night during break I sat down next to him.  He was really proud of the guitar he had that night.  Told me all about it.  Since I was a complete novice in all things with strings, I asked him some questions.  And he was so good about being patient with me and my lack of expertise.  

I guess that would just about sum up Truman in a few words.  Loved music, kind and understanding, and always ready with a smile and a good word.

We will miss him.  But I know if there is a bluegrass group up in Heaven, he is playing with them right now....and his voice is strong and clear and his fingers are nimble on the strings.  Play on Truman, play on.

Promises

In a few short days we will be going to a wedding.  I have enjoyed seeing the husband and wife-to-be smiling and holding hands, hugging and smiling some more.  Love seems to radiate from their faces.  There is no mistaking it.  They are full of promise.  And we wish them well as they begin their life together.

Another friend has a new baby.  When she looks at her I see what we all feel when we are new moms.  Such adoration.  Such amazement that this little life is here at hand.  How wonderful.  A little one...with a life full of promise ahead of her.  And we give her our pledge that we will do all we can to make it so.

And here is graduation ahead of us.  Little ones in Kindergarten ready to move up to first grade.  Taking that first step toward independence and the future.  High school seniors marching in to be honored for their hard work and effort.  Many have plans already.  They will join others looking toward the future with promise.  We who are left behind wish them well...knowing that the world that we grew up in is changing so fast we can scarcely keep up.

On Easter Sunday I joined my church family taking Communion and then making a circle, hands clasped and heads bowed for the benediction.  Promises.  Eternal in scope.  Love coming down to us and radiating from us.  As I lifted my eyes and saw my family through happy tears, I knew that this was the greatest promise of all.  Day by day, spring into summer and then fall and winter, we are here together.  Promises.  Sweet promises of life.

Spring is stirring

I know.  I am getting ahead of the game here.  Spring just seems to be taking its time this year.  As it always does.

But.  Yes, the peepers are peeping.  It was amazing to hear them sounding off even when the temperature was below freezing.  I told Andy that I thought they are probably keeping themselves encouraged while the water is slowly turning to ice around them. They must know what they are doing.  Or not.  Who knows.

We saw four big turkey gobblers crossing our eastern field today.  They seemed huge.  Just strolling across the open spaces, not a care in the world.  Looking for hens I guess.  They need to look nonchalant and not too eager.  Attractive to the ladies, but not too bold.  Tis the season.

I keep looking for my spring flowers to jump up and yell at me.."Hey Sleepy Head..It's Spring."  Haven't heard them yet.  But the trees are budding out.  And the air seems lighter and softer.  Even the sharp late winter wind has lost some of its edge. 

Waiting. Waiting.  I can hear and see spring stirring here on the hill.  I just need to be patient.  And wait. 

February Evensong

After so many days of clouds and rain it was a joy to drive home in sunshine this evening.  My favorite sunset journey is down Highway 5, south from Ava, headed straight for home.  Especially pretty when the sun is slowly sinking behind the hills to the west.  The light is just so soft and glowing.  Each treeline is outlined in gold and crimson.  Not a bright light that you see in the fall, nor the sharp light of winter.  But rather a peaceful blend of rose and orange and blue mixed with yellow tints.  Not being a painter, I would be hard pressed to mix the colors of a late winter sunset.

Today as I passed those familiar landmarks...the store at Squires and the turnoff to Thornfield, the Y store and Wasola, Almartha, and then Romance to the left and Nottinghill to the right...I noted each farm and house.  I know many people who live on this road..or just off it a little way.  And as I drove I thought of them.  Some are still living in their homes, some have passed away, but their memory lives on with family and friends.

 I felt a certain peace descend on me as the colors grew more muted, I said a prayer for each and every one who came to mind as I saw their home place bathed in light.

  It reminded me of evensong..that beautiful church tradition that I experienced when I was a young girl.  Songs and meditations and prayers as the sun is setting.  My mind went back to that time.  Sunlight glancing in the stained glass windows, casting wonderful beams of colored light on the pews and altar.  And I remembered the joy and peace I felt as I prayed and sang and listened as a child.

Evensong in February.  For all to see and enjoy.  The perfect end to a perfect day. 

Anxious for spring

I took this picture of a sundial at a nearby college a few years ago.  I was going through my pictures and saw it today.  And that old familiar mid-winter feeling came upon me.  Spring.  When will we see spring?  To say I am looking forward to constant warmer temperatures, budding trees, and green grass is a given.

I know that many of us are impatient to get this winter behind us.  But, stubborn as it is, it just won't let us go.  A few folks have been laid up with the cold, flu and other ailments.  Some are getting over them...and for some they just seem to hang on.

For me, I am looking forward to hanging out my clothes once more.  I miss the fresh smell of sun-kissed sheets and towels.  I want to open up the windows and feel that soft spring breeze coming in.

Today I am going to clean house.  I have really neglected it lately.  What's the use?  I tidy it up and get it looking good and in the next hour or two here comes more muddy boots and dust from the wood stove.  Cloudy days make the windows look especially dreary.

I try to not think about the weeks ahead.  The half winter-half spring mood of the Ozarks.  But it is easy to fall into the habit of not expecting things to improve.  Think I'll get out the seed catalog, look at some bright and sunny pictures of flowers and trees.  Anything to fill the hours..and days..until those spring dreams come true.

End of the day.

Yesterday we had plans.  But waking up to several inches of rain, a persistent flooded creek that kept us up on the hill, and the knowledge that this too would pass, changed them.

Today dawned bright and brilliant.  A perfect time to get things done.  We made our delayed trip off the hill, spent the better part of the time running errands, trying not to think about how much of this glorious day we were spending in town, driving from here to there.

As soon as we climbed the hill this afternoon, we were in Superman mode.  Unpack the car, throw the groceries in the fridge, shed our town clothes and put on our walking stuff, lace up our boots and away we went down the hill.

Perfect temperature in the high 50's.  A little breeze.  And coming up from the valley to our east the faintest hint of smoke.  We think that probably someone was taking advantage of the good weather to burn a dozer deck or other pile of unwanted debris.

Down the road to the east.  And then turning to the south.  A flock of birds was circling over head.  Trying to identify them, we paused and listened to hear a call or a random peep.  Nothing.  They circled to the east, headed to the north, came back overhead.  And then I saw it.  The faintest hint of golden breast.  Meadowlarks!  I heard one calling a day or two ago...just one faint call and nothing more.  But here they were.  A whole flock of them dipping and diving and finally coming in for a landing just to the west of us, at home in the grass made golden by the setting sun.

Walking down along our pine grove we could smell that wonderful scent of green needles.  Soft wind was blowing the tops but no birds or creatures moved near us.  Down to the "new pond"...up to the banks after the  generous rain yesterday.  And then on to the "old pond" to check where we had left a stick to mark its high point.  Down an inch or two.  This pond used to be so lovely.  Clear water. Lots of life.  But then a few years ago its bottom turned over and it has suffered ever since.  We think it must have a hole somewhere because it loses water rapidly.  But it was so good to see it looking like its old self.

And then on up to the house.  The sun setting.  The glow of red and yellow outlining the distant hills, the house, the tree.  Just a perfect evening.  And many more to come.  At the end of the day.

And so we begin....

Here we are.  Perched on the edge of a new year.  365 days ahead of us....a perfect blank slate.  Resolutions to get control of things that are out-of-control.  As if that is an easy thing.  How long has this been going on?  A few years, or months, or perhaps, decades?  You know the drill.  "I am absolutely going to do better this year"  Just name it.  You Can Do It.

Or so the feeling goes.  There is determination.  There is dedication.  There is resolve.

I'll not bore you with my long, long list of New Year's Resolutions.  Besides, they will go by the wayside as soon as this first month is over...or even before.  I know.  Been here many times before.  And that is how it goes.

But this year is going to be different.  I have learned some things about myself in the last twelve months.  Just as I learned things about myself each year I have lived.  I am a steadfast believer in examining what works...and what doesn't.  And the futility of banging the same rock with the same hammer, hoping for results.  

Taking out my mental broom I am sweeping out the dusty corners.  The places I have allowed to become crowded with negative dirt and dust, the detritus of broken dreams and ruined plans.  I will not lug this junk with me into this new year...not for a single day.  I can't change the past.  I joyfully empty my dustpan out in the clean air of the new year and see all that dirt blown away, never to return.

Here is a blank page in the book.  What will I write in it today?  Will it be something that is good and bright and helpful?  Or will it be a complaint about the hard road I have to travel.  Did I not notice that others have the same troubles as I?  Did I not see them stumble over the same sharp stones and grab onto something to give them hope..out there in the darkness.

The sun shines.  Even if I can't see it for the clouds. I will not take tomorrow for granted.  My job is to live right now.  To do my best to make my life count for something....making the sun shine for someone somewhere.  Even if they don't see it.

Perhaps at this time 365 days ahead I can look back and see that I have made a difference.  At least I can begin...today, right now.  

Happy New Year to all of you, from me.  Wishing you sunny days even when rain clouds gather.  And balmy winds even during the storm.