Words.

One spoken, they dance like ✨fireflies ✨in the twilight of the recipient's thoughts forever. Considering this, let us speak words that build up, not crush. May we fill the air around us with words of ✨sweetness✨light and above all, the ✨kindness✨that gives wings to ✨hope. ✨

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes..

My life has been pretty much the same for years and years. I've lived in this town since 1987. And while I LOVE Kalamazoo, changes seem to be afoot. My hubs is starting to talk about retiring.  That's all well and good, but he's talking about retiring somewhere besides here.

At first it was Traverse City. I really like that town, but I wasn't sure I wanted to live there. But that doesn't matter anymore because now he talking about moving west to be out in the wild. Idaho to be precise. That will put us SO much closer to our sons that live on the west coast. At first I was like What?? No way!!! What's in Idaho besides potatoes?? But now I'm starting to embrace the idea..  Turns out Idaho is amazing!!! It's home to the largest forested wilderness in the lower forty-eight.  2.3 million acres to be exact!

We aren't leaving tomorrow or anything. A whole bunch of things need to transpire before this move can take place, selling the farm being the biggest hurdle. But that's fine by me. It will give me the time I need to say my goodbyes to the Mitten, and this amazing little city I love...

Mama

I miss my Mom. 

Always. But especially on Mother's Day. And her birthday. And my birthday, and Christmas and Easter and all the other holidays. I miss her when I have my coffee in the morning, thinking back to years long past..tiny tea cups filled to the brim with warm milk and just enough coffee to make it the lightest tan. 

I miss my mom in the evening as I reach for needle and thread to replace a missing button or repair a seam. I recall my mother patiently teaching my little sister and me how to sew. My mother's hands were never still. Her needle work was a wonder to all, but especially to those of us lucky enough to wear the work of her hands, or to sleep snuggled under one of her homemade quilts.

I miss my mom in autumn, while crunching leaves beneath my feet, I gather them into piles, the fragrance of their burning filling the air. I miss watching my mom can bread and butter pickles. I miss her fresh from the oven crusty bread, eaten with huge steaming bowls of beef stew or bean soup. 

I miss my mom in winter, when I come in from hours out in the snow with frozen fingers, nose and toes and warm myself with hot cocoa and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I miss watching with anticipation, as she made our Christmas outfits from the most beautiful fabrics, green velvet, antique lace and satin. I miss rising in the morning to the smell of freshly baked pecan rolls that were impossible to eat without everyone ending up in sticky disarray.

I miss my mom in springtime, when the early flowers start to bloom and even though I don't have any,  I know it's time to plant the Canna bulbs. I miss watching her sew matching Easter dresses for herself, my little sister and me.

I miss my mom in summer, when I wake to the sweet scent of the lilac bush and hear a cardinal trilling among its branches. When a back door bangs, when I hang freshly washed sheets on the line, when I work in my garden, I miss her. And when look across the porch and see my jug of sun tea turning amber in the afternoon light..

I miss my Mom. 

Calling me..

Sweat mingled with curry on smoky air,
humanity overflows at every turn.
Tunics and turbans. Punjabis and saris. Lehengas, salwar kameez.

Color. Color everywhere. A rainbow bursting from every crowd.

Naked toddlers, bellies bulging,
A people malnourished from rice alone.
Cattle wander loose and honored.
Pots filled with water to lure them near,
hoping they'll bring good luck with their thirst.

Painfully skinny, men run barefoot, down the rock strewn road.
Pulling rickshaws full of boxes and people. Delivery trucks. The human kind.

Chickens so lean they resemble road runners,
scatter in panic,
from those that would twist their necks.
Tonight one may lay on the table.
By tomorrow, nothing but feathers and bones.

Glorious chalk art filling the road,
leading the way to windowless dwellings.
Protection from evil, honoring gods.
Every god and no god, even the unknown god.
Lest they miss one
and in anger it reign down disaster on their home.

They walk to the well, pots balanced. Amazing.
The beautiful women, as slender as reeds.
They walk, hope balanced heavy on their hearts,
for food and clean water, that their babies might live.

Beauty and poverty abound in this land
of lovely, gracious people.
They offer you the honored seat at their table.
Cook their last egg and smile as you eat it.

Later they'll go to their bed mat and lay listening
as hunger, in it's dialect of pain,
speaks in their bellies once more.

Wild Places

I am most truly content when I'm in the great outdoors.
It's where I commune best with my Creator.
I am convinced that the meadows are His antechamber and the forest His temple.
The wilderness? His cathedral.

In it, He has created for me a soothing sanctuary,
a calm hiding place, a wondrous playground.

I hear His voice most clearly in these untamed places. Calling me. 

Speaking my name from the woodland, He draws me out..

I follow His voice, seeking Him. Never has He hidden.

Always I find Him.  Here.

I see His craftsmanship at every turn.
The sky is His canvas.
The heavens and earth His artistry.
He adorns the field with bird, butterfly and berry.
He washes my eyes with colors, blue, green, gold.
Shades so familiar yet unnameable, even though I try.
His palette defies replication, the tone and hue known only to Him.

His fragrance, the air itself, a sweet scent on the wind.
His incense is the pine forest,
the honeyed aroma of the wildflower.
His spice, the shaded glen.
In winter He speaks to me in the hushed tones of snow on pine.
The woods are tranquil and sleepy. I hear Him whisper...peace..rest.

Listen. do you hear?

All the earth and every creature that on it dwells,

Exalting Him in their own tongue.

The wind whispers His name. 

Holy. Holy. Holy is the Lord God Almighty.

Bees hum, birds sing His praises.

The high whinny of the horse announces His glory!

Holy! Holy is the Lord God almighty. 

Even the rocks cry out His name.

My spirit quickens within me to join the song.

The trees begin to bow and sway, applauding His presence.
He is here. He is here!
My heart lightens as I run to Him,
For tranquility and rest are in His bosom.
Safety and love are found neath the shelter of His wings,
My one true home is in His arms...

Here.  In the wild.

My Heart's Song

Awareness beckons.
Calling my mind to the surface,
towards consciousness,
away from dreams of the night.

Unwaveringly, my mind sets off on a road all it's own.
I travel a well worn route, walk it daily.
Down the miles and the years to where my children dwell.
But they are children no longer, these sons of mine.
Men now, years past mothering and the need for one.

Still it is a mother's heart that beats in my chest.
A drum pounding a song to my sons grown so far from me.
An anthem that could not be stopped if I desired it so.
The lullaby they listened to under my ribs
as they lay waiting to burst forth into the world.
My heart will sing this litany
till the last beat quiets in my chest.

A canticle so familiar and true,
strummed on my heartstrings
the moment I first beheld them.
When my heart swelled beyond reason,
so full of amazement and joy
that it must surely burst.

The lyrics never change.
They are the same, enduring.
Words of love and hope.
An acclamation brimming with motherly pride..
It is an ode full of joy and anticipation,
for who they are and who they will become.

It is a quiet hymn of thankfulness.
For I am blessed to know them,
to have held them in my arms.
It is a chant to the world
that I am holding them still.
In my heart. In my mind.
In my prayers.

My song is full and pouring over,
an aria that runs in an endless river
from my heart to theirs.
I am convinced this refrain will echo
down the years.
Long after I am gone from this place.

If they listen closely,
with their hearts open wide.
I believe.
They will catch the melody
of my heart's song,

Still drifting to them on the breeze...

Just an old chunk of wood

At first I see nothing beyond the familiar form.

The "me" I have become over the years.

The hardened block of who I am.

Recently though, life has come at me like an axe.
The first swing sliced cleanly through the branches of who I believe I am. It is now busy lopping away the bark covering the persona I have unknowingly created.

This slashing is painful to the extreme.
I wonder if can survive this much chiseling and gouging. It seems there may be nothing recognizable left.

I study my reflection.

It's still me that stares back, yet not me.

Hmm, something  new there, just behind the eyes.

Though still raw and rough hewn to behold,

it's evident.  A transformation is taking place.

An epiphany surfaces,
I am being sculpted.

A craftsman has eyed this timber it seems.
Considered it's natural shape and bend.
Determined the best means to free the heart within.
Artistic license is being taken.

This artist will shape me as he sees fit,
skillfully carving me into something useful.
My true grain is slowly beginning to show.

I am more than a little surprised.

The color is deeper and richer than I thought likely.
Much more real this "new" me.

I know this transformation is nowhere near complete.
So much more work to be done.
I can't imagine what the sanding process will entail.
When finished,  I cannot fathom who I will be,
or what I will look like.

Though still painful to endure,
I think I've found the key.

To abide this refinement,

I cannot not fight against my sculptor's hand.
I must yield to his touch. Trust the skill of his knife.
I will wait patiently..

and let the chips fall where they may..

Where is love?

Love is patient.

Love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.

Love is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.

Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love covers offenses.

Perfect love casts out fear.

True love cannot be quenched.

Love always builds up.

Love is God is...LOVE.

Truth. Fo sho.

Butterfly Love, the waiting game.

Hello? Tap, tap. Is this thing on? Excuse me, young people, your attention for just a moment please. Pam feels the need to yammer..

If I could impart one thing I have learned about love, it would be this. Guard your heart like a treasure.

Also, don’t rush to give your heart away...protect it from being dulled by casual encounters and...BELIEVE THAT LOVE IS WORTH WAITING FOR. Whoa, all that just sort of tumbled out, sorry. It was WAY more than one thing. But really..

I know, I know, Valentine's Day is practically here. Don't get me started.. Okay, I'll say it. I don't believe V-Day is a real holiday. I think it's a marketing creation. A total Hallmark shakedown.

Worse than not being Irish on St. Patrick's Day, it's a "holiday" that can leave you feeling remarkably unloved if you aren't in a relationship. Or if you are, but your significant other believes that when you say "Honey, you don't need to get me anything", you really mean it.
Anyway...

Love. It's everywhere. Love is in the air, in our hearts, on our minds. In movies, books, magazines, TV, billboards, argh! "Love" is crammed down our throats at every turn. Beautiful, sexy people throwing themselves at each other left and right. Of course we want that. We want that NOW! Don't we? We should HURRY! Shouldn't we?

The answer is no. Wait. What? That's right, I said no. Easy does it, darlings. I know "love" sounds wonderful and we SO want romance in our lives, but "real" love is a pretty serious pursuit. Because boiled down to it's essence, true love is sacrifice. But that's a story for a different day, for now let's talk about the waiting.

Consider the butterfly, (lets make it a girl butterfly, although this totally applies to guys too. They can be moths, practically the same thing, a little more macho and not nearly as cute. Obviously.) So. The butterfly goes through all sorts of stages before she is ever ready to fly. As an egg, there she sits, waiting. Caterpillar, growing and waiting. Pupa, more waiting.

Finally she emerges from her cocoon as a gorgeous winged being and off she soars on the breeze, right? Wrong. If she steps off the branch too soon, she will crash to the ground, most likely injuring herself in the process, perhaps permanently. So, guess what she has to do. This is the hard part. She waits.

But she's not sitting there twiddling her antenna waiting for Mr. Right Breeze to come along. No, her waiting is purposeful. She's busy, very busy. Maturing. Because, even though she is fully grown, her parts are all there and she has everything she needs to fly, she's a baby. A baby butterfly, one that still has a lot of developing to do. She's engaged in strength training for flight that takes time and effort.

She needs time for her wings to unfurl, time for them to mature and dry. She'll need to try her wings out a little, fluttering them while still holding tight to the branch. All this HAS to transpire before she can actually lift off. Only once she has patiently prepared herself, can she leap into the wind. It's the same with our hearts.

Sound boring? Lonely? It shouldn't be. Just the opposite, it should be a seriously appealing endeavor. You've got time on your side and you've got freedom. Time to figure out who the heck you are, and who you want to become. That will keep you busy for a decade or so anyway.

You should have the freedom to let your adult personality unfold and grow without the pressure to "act" fully mature that a serious relationship brings with it. You need time to have CAREFREE SHENANIGANS! My wise little Ellakins once advised me that "fun is everywhere if I would just see it".

The same holds true for friends. Future friends are all around you. Before you get too busy with being all grown-up, get out there and forge a few friendships that will last your lifetime. The opposite gender is an intriguing species, and I've heard they can make wonderful friends.

This is your time between times. Please value it. You are obviously no longer a child, but a relationship is NOT what makes you an adult. It should NEVER define who "you" are. Try not to run so fast from your youth that you leave your innocence behind, or rush blindly into the complicated relationships of adulthood with your wings still damp. If you do, you may tumble to earth, perhaps to struggle broken-winged and broken-hearted just above the ground.

Patience my precious friend, enjoy getting comfortable in your own skin. Then when your wings are fully dried and Mr. Truly Right comes breezing in, you can turn your eyes to the sky, take the leap.... and let your heart soar!

Thank you for your attention. Have a lovely day. <3

Torbellino

There's a change in the air, warm, sweet and full of turbulence. The wind hums as it picks up from the south. A whirlwind in the distance it seems; heading this way.

Look who's blown into town...

Ella Frances has a week long break from the rigors of kindergarten. In her five year old opinion, the best place to spend any free time is at Nonni's farm. Not that she doesn't love all her grandparents dearly and equally. It's just that Nonni's is where Punky lives. Punky is a small, sweet chestnut colored pony with a wild flaxen mane (think Tina Turner). A patient little equid, she has helped a steady stream of youngsters learn to ride.

Where horses are concerned, Ella is precocious to say the least. She has a fire in her heart for all things equine. As a baby, she was plunked on the pony as soon as she could hold herself in a upright position, and has been progressing at lightning speed ever since.

Last summer she rode lead-line in her first horse show and won a blue ribbon (as did all the entrants). The excitement of the show, the glitz of the outfits on all the beautiful cowgirls, horses everywhere, she was hooked.

Ella now discusses in detail, next year's show season, what sparkly shirt she will wear, what classes she will be old enough to enter and what horse she will ride. Where most little girls want the Barbie jeep, an American Girl doll or something Hannah Montana, El asks for riding gear and a black and white pony that jumps.

Since she arrived on Tuesday, I have not put on make-up or left our property for that matter. I'm surprised that she lets me shower and brush my teeth in the morning. Right after breakfast every day we are at the barn for chores then grooming, trot work, cantering, trail rides, jumping, barrels, bathing, stall cleaning, barn sweeping, evening chores... We don't come back to the house till after dark.

I hope I don't sound like I'm complaining, I relish every moment of our time together. As the mother of four sons, having a little grand-girl that hangs on my every word is a gift beyond measuring.

Yesterday as we were getting ready to ride she asked me if I had tan riding pants like hers, I told her I did. "What about a pink jacket like mine, Nonni?" Yes.. Before I knew it, we were dressed alike from head to toe and stood admiring ourselves in front of the mirror, Ella looking for all the world like a little Mini Me.


Today another one of Ella's adoring Grandma's (there are a bunch of us!) arrived to take her home to Tennessee and the parents who greatly miss her. Ella clung to me and cried. She said the time went too fast. She didn't get to ride enough, to be with me enough. I know. I feel the same.

It's hard to be this far apart. It breaks both our hearts when she has to go home. Our time is bittersweet. From the moment she arrives, she asks how many more days are left of this visit. It is always in the backs of our minds.

So now I begin my wait. I turn my attention forward, to Christmas and another school break. Then, once again, I'll feel that warm, sweet change in the air...

...and Bella Ella will breeze back into town.

A sighting of the ever elusive...

It was a rare sighting. They landed in our yard just before midnight after a weekend spent on the shore of Lake Michigan. To gain strength before winging their way back to Chicago, they returned once again, to a place of known food, shelter and shower facilities. We coaxed them into staying with promises of soft beds, endless hot water and a big breakfast.

They didn't stay long, just enough time for hugs, kisses, how are you's, and here eat this. Then, born to fly, they were gone and the nest sits empty once again.

The seasons of life have changed and I watch my fledglings soar off into the unknown, with me waving a frantic good-bye. It's hard not to be melancholy, they were nurtured in this nest. But you can't hold them after they learn to fly. They will just struggle in your hand until you release them. Then with a whir and a flutter, they ascend till they are just a tiny speck in the sky.

Still, I understand the seasons, so I don't despair. Just like the robins that disappear from my yard in Autumn, only to return every spring, they'll be back...

They know the way home.

Bella Ella

A year ago my oldest son and his beautiful wife ripped my heart right out of my chest and took it with them to live in Tennessee. They stole my granddaughter, Ella. Okay, perhaps "stole" is too strong a word, she is their daughter after all, and they had an excellent reason to go. They went in search of a more peaceful way of life, and of course they took their daughter with them.

At first, I held out hope that they would come to their senses and realize they just couldn't be happy living so far away from us. While being outwardly supportive, I found myself secretly exulting with every hardship and difficulty they encountered. Aha, I would think, now they are going to realize the mistake they've made and head home. But no. They are happy and thriving in the South. My little family has been "mountain folk" for just over a year, and now a serious development is unfolding. They are buying a house. So. They are not coming back.

My son and his wife moved to Tennessee for a variety of reasons, all of them compelling. They wanted warmer weather, mountains to bike, rivers to swim, a simpler life-style close to nature. I understand completely and am overjoyed that they have found contentment with a slower paced life centered on their family, but sometimes I am so lonely for Ella I can hardly breathe.

I can't remember what I did for fun before she came along. Being with her makes me appreciate God and this wonderful world he made for us to play and live in. For such a little munchkin she certainly has taught me a lot and reminded me of things I hadn’t thought about since her daddy and uncles were little. Things like-

Being outdoors is always more fun than being inside.

Admire the sky least once a day, it's an ever changing masterpiece.

Dance barefoot in the grass.

Hugs, kisses and smiles should be given freely and often. They make both the giver and the receiver feel good.

Anything and everything can be taken to God in prayer:
"Lord, please bless these ladybugs and help them find their way out of Nonni's house, before we have to send them to Heaven through the vacuum cleaner..."

It’s nice to sit on the floor with dogs.

Smell the flowers, even the wilted ones.

Remember to kiss your pony after you ride.

Gaze around in wonder.

It’s okay to cry when you feel hurt or disappointed.

Hold your hands up in the air and feel the breeze.

Get down really close to bugs and stare hard at them.

A nap always helps when you feel cranky.

Look for fun, it's all around you.

And just like gems, you can never have too many interesting rocks.

God bless you Ella Belle, thanks for the life lessons little girl.

My new reality, Ella in my life at Christmas and summers. That's not going to be enough. It looks like I will be burning up the road between here and the Smokies on a regular basis. So Ella and I won't have the casual, see you everyday relationship that we have enjoyed. But, we'll make it work.

Our visits will be precious. Our time together condensed to it's essence, like coal compressed till it's a diamond, and for that, it will shine all the more.