When the Birds Go North Again

I am sorting through some very old files of poetry and kept stuff.  It is slow work because I keep stopping to read this or think about that.  But today is the first day of Lent, an appropriate season for reflection.  I feel winter in my bones this morning. It has been a heart winter as well.  When I picked up the page with this piece of poetry, I felt as if the woman who wrote it (who died the year I was born) was speaking to me.  I know that God was.

"Oh, every year hath its winter,
And every year hath its rain--
But a day is always coming
When the birds go north again.

"When new leaves swell in the forest,
And grass springs green on the plain,
And alders' veins turn crimson--
And the birds go north again.

"Oh, every heart hath its sorrow,
And every heart hath its pain--
But a day is always coming
When the birds go north again.

" 'Tis the sweetest thing to remember,
If courage be on the wane,
when the cold, dark days are over--
Why, the birds go north again."

      ~Ella Higginson, a poet from the Northwest

A year ago when I began this blog, I wanted to learn, but actually knew nothing about the "how".  I am still learning, and now have two blogs!  At one time I thought I would merge the two into one.  Gradually I began to see they really were different kinds of containers, so I have maintained them both.  In these blog posts, I have collected family stories, my grandmothering pleasures, and other memoir and nesting style writing.  My other blog began in a more contemplative style, and features some of both my husband's and my photography, particularly in our garden.  But the words I post there today could go in either blog.  If you are curious, you can see this at http://www.stonesandfeathers.wordpress.com/

By the Book

"It is a good rule...to keep the clean sea breeze of the centuries blowing through our minds, and this can be done only by reading old books."   ~ C.S. Lewis

If you asked me how I spent my summers when I was growing up, I would not tell you "at the beach" or any typical vacation. The only times I remember our family going out of town for a week were a few summers when we went to stay near a clinic that offered hot mineral baths which my father took to ease his arthritis pain.  Those days we spent in a tiny motel with a kitchenette where we prepared our meals, certainly not remarkable by today's standards of getaways.

My main source of adventure and recreation for those hot Texas summer months was a small, plain stone building in a park near the center of our small town.  This was the Jacksonville Public Library.  I was allowed to go often to check out books.  I remember dark wood floors and the stacks of books lined up waiting for me to slide them from their shelves to pick my maximum allowed volumes to take home.  Today, my home is full of books, but I still go to the library, often taking my granddaughter along.  When I open a brand new book, I love the smell and the feel of the fresh pages.  But there is story in holding and reading a book others have held and read.  The Lewis quote reminds me beyond that, the new and the old are more than  age of the paper and binding.  I try to balance my reading by including long loved classics as well as the newly written must reads.

Off to a New Start

The first three weeks of the year have kept us guessing about what season it really is. First, we had the most severe and prolonged freeze in over 20 years. It apparently killed a ficus tree we inherited after our son's home was burned in 1994 that flourished on our back porch. I called it Phoenix. In spite of coverings and lights, the extended cold zapped it as well as ferns, fig leaf plants and other container plants too heavy for me to move inside. Then came a week of warmer weather but heavy rains. The last few days have seen short sleeves...Spring?

An English proverb says "A fair day in winter is the mother of a storm." I'll keep my coat and scarf handy. Meanwhile, in the vegetable garden, the broccoli and cauliflower thrive. I don't think I have ever seen baby cauliflowers. I like these little survivors.

eve of 2010

"The strongest and sweetest songs yet remain to be sung." ~Walt Whitman

I Still Do

Forty-six years ago the organ chimes rang seven times and I walked down the aisle of the church where we both grew up to meet the love of my life and make vows in that beginning which was called a wedding. In all the changes and challenges in my life, the promises we made to each other and to God have held fast. In joy, in sadness, in sickness and health, in poverty and wealth (both of pocket and spirit), in the face of what at times seemed insurmountable difficulty, we have moved through the years to this day of celebration. Grace is still at work in our lives. Among many reminders of memories made in our home is a small framed copy of this prayer which we asked to be read at our wedding. It is my daily prayer.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace
Where there is hatred..let me sow love
Where there is injury, pardon.
Where there is doubt...faith,
Where there is despair...hope,
Where there is darkness, light.
Where there is sadness...joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may
not so much seek
To be consoled....as to console,
To be understood...as to understand,
To be loved...as to love,
for
It is in giving...that we receive,
It is in pardoning, that we are pardoned, It is in dying...that we are born to eternal life.
~St. Francis of Assisi

There's No Business like Snow Business

Our granddaughters who live in North Texas had a White Christmas! Maddie made snow angels and snow balls. Santa had to leave the wooden playhouse in pieces because he had trouble putting them together in the heavy snowfall. No snow for us in South Texas, but I did watch White Christmas! Our family here gathered for the day, enjoying cooking and eating and gifting and singing around the piano, with a number of telephone conversations with the snow angels and their angel parents.