Woke to another blanket of snow this morning. Unlike Tuesday it came quietly, without the drama of high winds and forecasts of blizzards, power outages and flight delays.
I woke, and as is my habit, put on my socks and slippers and walked to the window to take a peek at the new day. Though overcast, it has a very pale pink tinge like a rare pearl, and the snow is just barely falling. Tiny, tiny flakes and my mind asks, "Are there really no two alike?" It seems impossible.
I put on my thick red rob, walk downstairs, open the front door, and walk out into the most profound quiet I've felt in a long time. I'd never thought about it before but 'quiet' is quite different than 'silence'. Silence is the absence of sound. Quiet has sounds but they're more reverent, hushed, respectful of life. If it weren't so cold I'd bring my pillow out and lay on the glider and just soak it in. Instead I get a blanket and wrap it around myself and go back out, breathing in and out, watching my breath disappear into the pearly morning. I hear no traffic, no snowplows, no snow-blowers, not even the rustle of the tiniest leaf that might be left on the trees. Just my breath, my heart and the snow falling. A rare moment.
Even now, as I write this, the moment is gone. The snow blowers have started and the pristine blanket of new snow is being shoved aside in favor of concrete and asphalt. Such a shame on this morning. I wonder if I'm the only one who witnessed that perfect, quiet moment. If so, it wasn't wasted. I'm thankful.
PS My neighbor is blowing our driveway. I'm humbled by the noise.
...is that you have no one to blame your messy house on
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Friday, November 26, 2010
The Brown Horse
My parents have a large picture in their house of a small herd of five horses galloping madly across a sandy desert dotted with sagebrush. The wind of their flight is savagely tossing their manes and tails. The sky has the dark bruised color of a gathering storm. I can almost hear the sound of their large hoofs pummeling the ground, raising clouds of dust that practically drown out the sight of the last two horses.
This painting has hung in my parent's home forever. For a long time it hung over their bed and I would often lay on their bed with my head at the foot and my hands behind my head, staring at it. I know it so well...The first horse, the one in the lead on the left, is white/silver and beautiful. He looks strong and commanding. His muscles and tendons are prominent and straining as he flies across the desert floor.
The black horse on the far right is a glossy blue/black. His head is turned to the left and his mouth is open...threateningly? or is he just whinnying in the joy of his swift and powerful flight? I always imagined that he might be scared of the storm, but I was a kid and storms could be scary. Now I think he may be a young upstart getting ready to challenge the silver stallion for dominance.
The third horse, the one in the middle, is a sorrel. She's got a bit of a dusty look from that raised by the first two, but her head is raised and her nose is up and she looks determined and strong. The last two horses are mere images and far too dusty to tell much except that they're there.
Anyway, last night while spending some time at my parent's home for Thanksgiving we were in the basement watching slides of when we were kids. The painting hangs there now and I was looking at it again feeling very homey and nostalgic. Two of my sisters were with me and Sheree mentioned to my dad that she wanted that painting, that it was hers because she was 'the horse girl'. 'Yep,' I thought. 'She is the horse girl.' (She has four now.) Then she told of how she would lay on Mom and Dad's bed and stare at it. I thought, 'Me too!' Then she went on to say how she would think to herself how she would love to have a 'blue' horse someday, just like that one. (Tinky is almost black and a real beauty.) I got to thinking about my own imaginings about that painting. (I was a 'horse girl' at one time too and love the idea of having a horse even now.) When I was a girl I didn't so much want to have a horse as I wanted to be a horse. (It is possible. Ask Jeni.) Which one of those horses did I want to be? Well, this is usually how my thought process would go:
The obvious choice would be the white horse. In command, powerful, strong and FIRST!
No, I could never be that horse. Everyone would want that one. Too much competition for that one. They're rare, like unicorns.
I was sorely tempted by the black one. So striking and shiny. I remembered the books by Walter Farley that I devoured one summer: The Black Stallion, The Black Stallion Returns. Wow, now that's the horse to be.
No...I can't be the black one. Too much competition for that one. After all there is only 1 Black Stallion, "The Black". Those books were in print so long because EVERYBODY liked them. I'd have to go through mobs of people before I'd get a chance to be the black one.
Well, there's the brown one. The Sorrel. The one trailing. The one in third.
Yes, I thought, I can be the brown one. I'll be a special brown horse among lots of brown horses. I liked that idea. That was attainable mostly because I wouldn't have to fight through crowds of others to get it. Lots of brown horses out there. Yep. I'll be the brown one. A good, strong, brown horse.
This painting has hung in my parent's home forever. For a long time it hung over their bed and I would often lay on their bed with my head at the foot and my hands behind my head, staring at it. I know it so well...The first horse, the one in the lead on the left, is white/silver and beautiful. He looks strong and commanding. His muscles and tendons are prominent and straining as he flies across the desert floor.
The black horse on the far right is a glossy blue/black. His head is turned to the left and his mouth is open...threateningly? or is he just whinnying in the joy of his swift and powerful flight? I always imagined that he might be scared of the storm, but I was a kid and storms could be scary. Now I think he may be a young upstart getting ready to challenge the silver stallion for dominance.
The third horse, the one in the middle, is a sorrel. She's got a bit of a dusty look from that raised by the first two, but her head is raised and her nose is up and she looks determined and strong. The last two horses are mere images and far too dusty to tell much except that they're there.
Anyway, last night while spending some time at my parent's home for Thanksgiving we were in the basement watching slides of when we were kids. The painting hangs there now and I was looking at it again feeling very homey and nostalgic. Two of my sisters were with me and Sheree mentioned to my dad that she wanted that painting, that it was hers because she was 'the horse girl'. 'Yep,' I thought. 'She is the horse girl.' (She has four now.) Then she told of how she would lay on Mom and Dad's bed and stare at it. I thought, 'Me too!' Then she went on to say how she would think to herself how she would love to have a 'blue' horse someday, just like that one. (Tinky is almost black and a real beauty.) I got to thinking about my own imaginings about that painting. (I was a 'horse girl' at one time too and love the idea of having a horse even now.) When I was a girl I didn't so much want to have a horse as I wanted to be a horse. (It is possible. Ask Jeni.) Which one of those horses did I want to be? Well, this is usually how my thought process would go:
The obvious choice would be the white horse. In command, powerful, strong and FIRST!
No, I could never be that horse. Everyone would want that one. Too much competition for that one. They're rare, like unicorns.
I was sorely tempted by the black one. So striking and shiny. I remembered the books by Walter Farley that I devoured one summer: The Black Stallion, The Black Stallion Returns. Wow, now that's the horse to be.
No...I can't be the black one. Too much competition for that one. After all there is only 1 Black Stallion, "The Black". Those books were in print so long because EVERYBODY liked them. I'd have to go through mobs of people before I'd get a chance to be the black one.
Well, there's the brown one. The Sorrel. The one trailing. The one in third.
Yes, I thought, I can be the brown one. I'll be a special brown horse among lots of brown horses. I liked that idea. That was attainable mostly because I wouldn't have to fight through crowds of others to get it. Lots of brown horses out there. Yep. I'll be the brown one. A good, strong, brown horse.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
A Loss
Loss is difficult.
A baby boy was miscarried this morning by my daughter at about 20 weeks gestation.
He was so perfect yet so very tiny.
At this Thanksgiving I'm grateful for a perfect and beautiful plan that brings comfort in the midst of heartache.
A baby boy was miscarried this morning by my daughter at about 20 weeks gestation.
He was so perfect yet so very tiny.
At this Thanksgiving I'm grateful for a perfect and beautiful plan that brings comfort in the midst of heartache.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Picture Chaos...
Chaos:
–noun 
1. a state of utter confusion or disorder; a total lack of organization or order.
2. any confused, disorderly mass: a chaos of meaningless phrases.
3. the infinity of space or formless matter supposed to have preceded the existence of the ordered universe.
4. (Obsolete) a chasm or abyss.
What kinds of things would fit under definition #1?
- A Prison Mutiny
- A tornado
- An earthquake
- Armageddon
- Eight Children in the Nursery today.
- A Greek wedding
- The main room in the Mental Hospital circa 1900
- Your first time using mass transit in a third world country.
- Listening to eight children in the Nursery today.
- The Gulf Oil spill of 2010.
- My mind after being in the nursery today for almost 2 hours.
- The Grand Canyon
- The Mariana Trench
- What I would gladly have jumped into when I realized I still had 1/2 hour to go.
Did you know that changes in barometric pressure will send a child into hyperactive outer space? Just heard that today from an experienced grade school teacher who also happens to be our Primary Chorister.
I believe it. I have a testimony of it.
Going to go spend some time in my nice, quiet, orderly, dark, hall closet now. Thanks.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Sweet Sweeble
My heart just goes all soft and mushy for both these little Dirlies.
She really wanted to just walk right into that pond. No stopping, no testing the water, just go.
She got so frustrated with me for not letting her walk into the water. *hahaha*
Saying Buhbye at the airport in Columbia. So sad. Soooo sad. Missing them.
A Fizzy Face Study
These are some of my favorite Fizzy pictures...
Fizzy and Grover looking up at the fish in the aquarium tunnel at the Atlanta Aquarium.
I said to Fitz..."Show me your Fizzy Face...
...now show me your happy face!
...Now show me your smiley face!
...Now show me your sleepy face!
...Now show me your smelly face!
...Now show me your sad face.
...Now show me your laughing face!
I Love these pictures, but this next one is my favorite...
This is his "I love my Papa and Papa Loves me" face.
Two very content and happy boys and Grover too.
Priceless.
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