27 Summer Benedictions

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My summer has included grief, groans, and groping in the dark.
Same as you.
So this is not intended to be an episode of ‘my beautiful life’.
It is my retrospect of benedictions as I press onward.

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:: Farmer grandson in line to show his sheep at Stock Show ::

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 :: experimental gardening  growing Brussells Sprouts ::

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:: captivating clematis ::

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:: Mint, juice of one lime, Truvia, ice, and water ::

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:: her hair reminds me of a Fibonacci spiral ::

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:: halfway through The Pat Conroy Cookbook – a good book for foodies ::

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:: garlic scapes and wood rounds ::

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:: the moments before Susan from Munich arrived ::

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:: anniversary camping trip, Curt reading Shop Class as Soulcraft ::

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:: Hart Mountain National Antelope Refuge ::

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:: reminds me of Hank, the Cowdog ::

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:: glory, glory, glory!! a surprise sibling reunion! ::

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:: Chris & Jessie’s table set for an extended family dinner ::

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:: Who knew 80 could look so glamorous? ::

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:: this girl, our youngest grand, lives life with zest ::

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:: moving up the ladder ::

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:: breakfast with Jack & Stacia, who mentored Curt in his teen years in Los Angeles ::

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:: harvest golden tones ::

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::   Papa cheesing it up with our Seattle grandsons ::

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:: Fair is where you take the hogs in August ::

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:: my ongoing magnet project — thank you, Shutterfly! ::

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:: last year I saved zinnia seeds. My frugal self is exultant. ::

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:: squash blossoms, garlic and cilantro from the garden; the makings of quesadillas ::

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:: teddy bear doubling as a pillow ::

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::  day is done (pinching myself that we live here)  ::

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:: chipmunk visiting during my day of silence and solitude ::

This Is How We Roll

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In March my husband installed new flooring in our kitchen, covering up the 1993 white vinyl which remains the worst consumer purchase of my life. Silly me, I thought laminate was indestructible. I think not, Finknottle!

Curt started murmuring something about a plastic floor protector mat. No offense to you in the floor mat family, but they are, in my opinion, uglier than the underside of my kitchen vent hood.

We compromised with a low, backless shop stool that had safe-to-the-floor wheels. Since March, I’ve been hunching over!

I had no knowledge of the office wheel world, that there was even a difference between bad wheels and good wheels. I guess the hospital where he works is choosing these wheels for their chairs. He got rollerblade style rubber wheels and I have never been so happy with an office chair in my life! Smooooth ride! My grandsons love to get in the chair and scoot around. I’m thinking rollerblade wheels just may be the key to happiness!

It’s the little things…

10 Things about June

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When she saw Reading Cookbooks , Donna at Quiet Life
recommended The Pat Conroy Cookbook to me.

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 Her hair is so fine, it won’t stay in line. Her aunt fixed this pixie.

 

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Hanging plants at my house: a cycle of death and resurrection.
When blossoms are perky, I take a picture.

 

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 No dimples today. That’s okay.

 

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 Penstemon: a happy perennial. The bee’s knees.

 

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How to eat peanut butter and honey with sacramental gladness.

 

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 Garlic scapes: attractive parabolas

 

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 Oh, beloved clematis, you always amaze and delight me.

 

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 My farmer grandson ready for showmanship.

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My young friend with a beguiling smile.

We Were So Poor Stories

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I’m tempted to pity my grandkids whose life is bereft of We Were So Poor stories. When such stories are impressionistic paintings from the past, they surely are delicious memories.

A coworker of yore bragged about getting SIX. TEEN. cups of tea from one tea bag. He was so poor.

My friend asked her husband what kind of meals his mom made when he was growing up. He thought and said, We ate a lot of Spanish rice. She asked, What did you have with it?  Just rice. They were so poor.

Before we married our weekly date was splitting a $2.25 plate of chow mein. We were so poor.

After we married our grocery budget was $12 a week. My farmer uncle gave us a few bushels of tomatoes that I canned, Curt put a deer in the freezer, and tuna was on sale at $0.33/can. We were so poor.

A young couple moved to California from the midwest. When their folks sent a dress shirt from Sears for a birthday gift, they quickly exchanged it for cash to feed their babies. They were so poor.

One Christmas, we prepared our boys for a skinny Christmas. We didn’t have money and refused to go into debt to buy toys. That year ::takeabreath:: our boys wrote a note and put it in an envelope with twenty dollars from their savings. We hope this helps. We were so rich.

I’m pretty sure you have some We Were So Poor stories. Won’t you share in the comments?

 

My Thanksgivings

DSC_2423I’m thankful for the gloaming,
old hymns in minor keys,
For Reepicheep the Valiant
and our comfortable Jeep.

Forgiveness for besetting sins;
wood that crackles while it heats,
Bach’s glorious Passacaglia,
fresh mint in my smoothie.

For long long-distance phone calls,
long interlibrary loans,
long BBC programmes,
long tables set with love.

I’m grateful for grandsons, boisterous and brave,
for solo granddaughter’s exuberant cheers,
for garlic in olive oil, for book-lined walls,
for Welsh men’s voices, giving me thrills.

Pumpkin soup, spicy cauliflower,
Billy Collins’ poems, a good red,
Jack Johnson on a Friday night,
and uninterrupted sleep.

Truth, beauty and goodness,
goodness and mercy —
a life bejeweled in mercy.

For bedtime laughter,
down comforters,
freedom from debt.

I praise God for reconciliation,
John Rutter and
friends who want my books.

For the long lens,
Hand-painted cards,
alliteration and articulation.

For the befluttering be-prefix,
Besotted am I—beguiled—,
Bespectacled, bestowed,
Beholden, begladdened,
Beloved.

Extended family, a wedding in Maine, lingering memories.
Gathering from distant corners,
beauty bedecked with generosity.

Reunions:
Finding new friendship with old friends,
Finding old friendship with new friends,
kinship renewed, connections rekindled.

For a sister who suffers
Yet bears it with grace,
choosing silence
When tempted to complain.

Pesto, bubble wrap, a man and guitar on a stage,
Asparagus, steam, good water from the tap.

Sons who move in with their elderly mothers,
Daughters-in-law who joyfully rearrange life.

I’m thankful for the death of death,
for mingled tears, for clean grief.
For new widows who’ve discovered joy (!)
in the suburbs of sorrow.

Asian noodle salad, cilantro, Athanasius.
I will always be grateful for Athanasius.

I give thanks for comfy sweaters, for jeans that fit,
Direct communication and southern windows.

For a working esophagus, for toenails and elbows,
For friends who travel and post pictures,
Different cultures, different customs,
same humanity.

Countless gifts of love.