2020 Day 1

2020

Day 1

Sun shines bright. 

A new decade. My Spring. 

The last decade was Winter.

I refuse to make resolutions because it sets me up for failure. 

As an overthinker, I already evaluate on a minute by minute basis (oldest child).

I've realized my emotions are dictated by tiny today and my desirable, my perfect envisioned future. 

The gap is so vast and clueless I'm frozen in a moment by moment, day after day discouragement. 

But the last few new years, I've began looking over the coming  Y E A R.

Doables reflected in photo:
1. Intentional time for art
   A. Temperature quilt
2. Continue unpacking, purging, organizing
3. Self check - 'Are you overthinking? Just go with it.'
4. Local Ivy Tech

And that's enough to move forward in this day to build a good year.

Bless and be blessed,
Bobbie 

May Day

May, a month when hope blossoms.

This is my first Spring in my new home, the 6th month. It's a new build so the fact that it had a lilac bush on it was a sign I hadn't expected when I walked this property before saying yes.  In fact, today's Spring reveal of it being a white lilac was greater evidence that it's a smile from my Mom. Growing up, we had both lavender and white in our yard. The white was a start from my Mom's mom. My sister and I have had starts of the lavender from my Mom's last home but never a white one from our childhood home only a few miles away. So when I went out today to white blossoms, I was pleasantly surprised. I needed that invisible hug.

Going back a week to Easter day, I discovered a Mom-plant then, too. The day began with helping in church nursery, then I spent the day alone at home. Years ago, I had 30 people or more, mostly family, filling my home with teasing and tasting. I served my homemade noodles, Beef House rolls and much more. By the time we sat down to eat, we'd be full of all the finger foods laid out to keep people in my kitchen, interacting while we finished cooking. My heart sings just thinking about it. Then, once everyone left, I think, "Shoot, I didn't get to sit down and really visit with anyone because I was on my feet working and serving the entire time, making sure every sized person had everything they needed." 'Those were the days' I hope to repeat again in my future. I digress, kinda.

Easter. Weather perfect. I spent the day working. Did I already say alone? Since one of my storage units of six years had been moved to my new garage, I finally had access to my wet/dry vac. I was excited to FINALLY vacuum my 'new' car after a year and a half. Are you getting an idea why I can appreciate the small things in life I used to take for granted? Anyway, I moved and unloaded a few more boxes. My back hasn't calmed all the way down since but it's getting better.

Oh yes, Easter's Mom-flower discovery. During the first of the year mow (why does it take nearly three hours), I noticed a leaf shape from my childhood; a peonie. They've never been especially pretty to me but I enjoyed watching and playing with the ants as they helped open the buds. Mom loved peonies so I mowed around them in hopes they are peonies. If so, I'll transplant them after they bloom.

Violets. Who doesn't love them? I have one, only one, pale plant with many purple ones. Along with them, I used to pick them and dandelions. On May Day, I'd make paper cones, glue on a paper handle, fill them with wild flowers, maybe a bulb blossom of Mom's, hang them on the door handle of a neighbor, I especially remember an elderly couple and his spinster sister three, the Pughs. I'd then knock and run and ride to watch them discover the May Day boutique tradition my Mom taught me.

Today, all of my back yard is littered with petals from the neighbor's yard of blooming trees. It's like a belated May Day gift.

What's next? Other than the few surprise flowers, my yard is a black canvas for flowers and decorative grasses. I am a creative person and have always been good with plants and veggie gardens. But flower garden DESIGN is way beyond my capability. I also lack the funds to landscape. As an artist, my blank yard is a sin. It pains me. I desire unique flowers, ferns, plants and ground cover, textures, shades, differing heights and scale, alternating blossoms three seasons a year. And I dare not think of hardscape, tho I gather inspiring pictures.

Like Paul, I have learned to be content in whatever circumstance I'm in. Sometimes, for a minute or two, a dare dream beyond. I do because God loves to bless, He being a giver of good gifts and a rewarder to those who diligently seek Him. Thank you, Jesus.

May. May it be a blossom of hope for you.

Bless and be blessed.
~Bobbie

Rant

Since I haven't posted in a while, I thought I'd add my latest emotional belch. It has nothing to do with art. It's life. Oh the things you see and learn from working retail.

Rant:
Working in retail, you see the good and bad in people. Money shows people's heart. All day, everyday, there are some customers telling me how to do my job, I'm guessing who have never worked retail and CERTAINLY don't know my company's policies and rules I'm to follow. So I smile and wish them a good day. You can't let them steal your joy.

Then there's the 80 plus year old guy who is obviously in pain, hardly hears with two hearing aids, and is always upbeat and sweet. He is the type of people that I chose to affect my entire day. The mean ones come in and I let fade from my emotional bank.

Yesterday, a customer used the f word to me when I told her I didn't think something was on sale. But I checked. Corporate recently changed the item that used to never go on sale, making it possible. "Oh, that's a new change. Good thing we checked. Thank you," I said as I corrected the price. She left as 'pleasantly' as she approached the register.

Tonight, at closing time and passed, I recognized a woman and her 2 year old from my church come in to return items without a receipt and no way to look up the transaction. The item(s) were dated 2017 and had been discontinued so we couldn't refund her money without the receipt. She called one of the employees a 'lieing b____', took a picture of a manager and the 'lieing b' department head, threatened to post it on fb and report them to corporate. They were following corporate's instructions. When I told my fellow employees I knew her, she was from my church, the first remark was that it proves not all who attend church are Christians. Very true but in this case I don't know. Certainly in that moment she wasn't walking as Christ teaches and left everyone with a distaste in their mouth of her character and education level.

People, Christian or not, it's wrong to treat others with disrespect, to bully them so you can financially benefit, even moreso for things you don't NEED. If you can treat strangers like that, it shows how much worse you treat your family members. Yes, life has stress, but it doesn't ease it by taking it out on others. Are you on a time crunch, lunch hour, have a doctor appointment? Then don't go shopping and get upset that YOU are making yourself late. And read ALL the words on the 'sale' sign and coupon. The cashier didn't write it or mandate where to hang the sign. They're following the rules printed in black and white for all to read, so they can keep their job to pay their bills. Don't shoot the messenger.

I could go off on the materialism god and being shallow, selfish brutes making yourself your own victims but surely you have overcome these temptations. So in the meantime, get a grip. Only two things last FOREVER and one of them is people. Invest wisely.

Bless and be blessed,
Bobbie

It's never simple, is it?!

It's never simple, is it?!

I was planning to measure and dye paint several weaving warps for Linda @ Tabby Tree in Cicero, IN. The hurdles began immediately with my warping mill buried in my storage unit. I was able to borrow a warping board and measure out the first warp in Linda's shop, leaving the guide yarn (cotton) on the board to bring home. Being gone 6-7 days a week, I found a month or so later that not only had I not made time to measure out two more warps, let alone paint them, my cat ate most of the guide yarn off the warping board. She's weird that way. So I used acrylic yarn, made new guide lines and finished the other two warps.

A few days later, I set up all the supplies to begin dye painting. I soaked the warps and hung to remove excess moisture (but not totally dry). Meanwhile I began to mix up dyes and create colors only to discover I didn't have all the needed base colors. I was sure my large stash was in storage in my sisters basement 45 minutes away so I asked her to rummage through to confirm. A couple months later and the threat to tell on her to our Mom, who passed in '05, she finally looked and found them.

Now you would think all the glitches were behind me, so I hoped. NO. I realized, after a failure from earlier this summer, that for the first time in all my 28 years of dyeing, that dye power has a self life. I had a jar of yellow powder that was only a year old and it was totally dead.  So with my large stash of dyes from storage of 5.5 years, I certainly didn't want to dye paint these warps and the dye wash out.

I decided to test each dye needed (I'll test the other's later) by screening a grid on pfd cotton, mix up a small amount of dye needed for the warps, place a sample per square, record it's name&# on the fabric beside it, and wash the fabric to see what ones where still alive. NOTHING LIKE MAKING THINGS COMPLICATED.

So this is where I am in this 'simple' project. The grid has been drawn, made into a silk screen (btw, don't forget that part of my business is making custom thermofax screens for you), printed, set the fabric paint, and now the fabric is soaking in soda ash water. I will hang it to dry and be ready to start the next stage of laborious dye testing on it.

Will I ever get to dye paint these three warps? I certainly hope so. But not as soon as I or Linda would hope. The road to success sometimes takes more persistence and time than what we could foresee. Not giving up, is victory within itself.

 

So check in later, as Paul Harvey would say, for "the rest of the story."

 Bless and be blessed!

~Bobbie

2016 Mother's Day

2007?

I am privileged to be the mother of two beautiful daughter's.

I just drove by the 4th Street house where I raised my girls for the first 14 years of their life. I heard it call, 'Mo-ooooooom'. As I looked up its hill, the century old, vacant home came alive again.

I saw my children, my precious daughter's, running through the rooms, giggling, and playing with blocks and dolls on the floor. They were swinging on the playground, riding trikes and eating turtle salad while chatting around the round kitchen table. In that home, BreAunna came into our family, her two year old sissy mothering her with me.

I saw me dancing with them in the livingroom, twirling around. There we were singing songs with cassette tapes and cuddled in reading a book.

In every room and outside I see their friends laughing, cousins and adults teasing, playing, and conversions pass by. Oh, yes, the deck where Imri stinkers as she picks up her crying sister Bre, who wasn't yet walking. Imri giggles. So do I. Eleven years later I belly laugh on that deck watching a requested food-fight birthday party.

The sleepovers, parties, dress up box, holiday family feasts, pillow fights with blacks eyes, loosing teeth, a guardian angel sighting, stiches, and skinned knees, are all crammed into that space. The tears and turmoils and young childhood life, it all was witnessed by those walls and the eyes of my heart.

The days were active with ballet, tap, school and fun. I feel them beside me as we lie in Imri's waterbed reading a favorite book again, night after night, and Bible stories they ask not to end. I see their sweet faces as I stroke their blonde hair as we pray for those we love to be blessed and safe.

Their tiny hands in mine, their chubby arms around my neck, my leg (I called BreAunna my little Klingon), holding tight. I miss that. I begged them to stay little, to not grow up and leave me. Imri cried the day before turning four at the thought of such a thing happening. "I don't wanna grow up and leave you, Mommy." As I comforted her, I wanted to cry knowing that all too soon she would soon welcome that day.

I'm thankful for the privilege of being their mom. I gave it, I gave them my all. I almost didn't have the chance. Fear and physical impairments held it off. I've regrets of over-parenting yet comforted with Christ's forgiveness as He covers it ALL.

Now my girls are women, one a mother with demands much more than I. May they take the good I gave them, heal and grow stronger and sensitive from the hurt they had. Go in Christ and flourish. I'm proud to always and forever love you, special daughters. I'm proud to be your Mom, on Mother's Day and beyond.

Imri Grace and BreAunna Joy.

Revisiting My AFA Grad Celebration

In 2014, I received my AFA as Summa Cum Lade. I enjoyed time with my family. This is after grad and before our great meal. No alcohol is needed for this to happen. The progression tells a story.

Mother's Day 2015

My mom's favorite flower is gracing my doorway with its lovely aroma. Add popcorn with real butter and sewing to the day and it's a triple hitter of memories of Mom.

Now I see her quiet strength and adore her more. But she's gone. I was too busy loving, living, surviving, and conquering my daily life to sit quietly and soak her being in. And she let me. I missed out.

I breathe deep the lilac's scent and think of you Mom. Smiling.

Bless and be blessed,
Bobbie

First and Last

Only 3 feet tall
maybe 1/2 inch in diameter.
She's the last to loose her leaves,
the first to be in full foliage.
All the while
under the umbrella
of protection,
until her time comes.
He's like that
you know.
He provides an umbrella.
We can choose
to be blessed by it,
by them,
or run out from under.
If we wait,
our time will come,
to umbrella others.
All the while
He offers
a provision
of an Umbrella.
Always.
As it is always needed. 

Jesus

Bless and be blessed!
Bobbie

In A Blink

Dad has my socks on, dyed for him as a Christmas present. Mom has pics of my special little girls, grandbabes she loved dearly.

Both my parents past this month, 3 years apart, '02/'05. Having the socks put on dad before burial was a parting gesture of the way we lived, an attempt at me entertaining him, keeping him on his toes. Besides, surely it would help to keep his feet warm.

Dad & I, blurry but you get the idea.

Mom. Sis had her buried in a new outfit, her favorite attire, a nightgown and matching robe. In her hands she held her most precious gifts, her grandchildren, a picture of each sweet face.

My all-time fav pic of mom, an icon of being a grandparent.

I saw a glimpse of Mom a couple days ago. While applying mascara, it left as quickly as it came, but it was certain. Mom. I'm a decade away from her departure age. In the blink of an eye...

As I take time to fully miss them in this moment, I am thankful they lived during the best part of our family, all but gone now. And honestly, the last few years of their lives gave me the chance to be intentional, so as to have no regrets concerning them.

Relationships. Tomorrow they may be gone. Live today without creating a shoulda, woulda, coulda yesterday. Only two thing last for eternity: people and the Word of God. Invest greatly in both.

The Moon's Purpose

We are the moon.
He is the sun.
Reflect.
Shine bright.
The Son.

 11-23-15

Bless and be blessed,
Bobbie

Tiny Tree

Tiny Tree on November 12, 2015

Holding on.
Despite those around her.
Offerings of decay.
Regardless of the chilling temperatures.
Without being broken by the threatening winds.
Though blanketed with a heavy sky.
Ignoring the certain future.
Her roots grow deeper in the soil of warmth and nourishment.
Knowing this is temporary.
Having purpose.
Even if small for now.
For her guaranteed eternity will Spring forth new life.
Abundantly.
~Bobbie WV (Vance) in Christ 

Tiny Tree on November 23, 2015  

Tiny Tree on November 23, 2015
This baby tree
Is still green.
Yet weakening to yellow
While holding on.
All of its peers
Have given up
As the snow and ice
Invade their lives.
Its strength
Its resolve
Is encouraging indeed.
But it's OK, oh little tree.
You've been designed
For a time as this.
Sleep for now.
It is not death.
You'll awaken again
If in Him you'll rest.

Bless and be blessed, 
Bobbie

Raining Leaves

A week ago the trees were releasing a few crispy crunchy leaves. It's been a dry Summer.  This morning the breeze helps them simulate rain. The sky color and the depth of trunks are being revealed more as Fall progresses. White barked columns confess they've been there all along.

This is the season the landscape changes daily. No, every minute. Sitting still in nature with all human senses awake gives opportunity for creation's details to tell a story. It parallels with ours. What can we learn from it today? Lord speak, I'm listening.

Bless and be blessed,
Bobbie 

The Sound

It puzzled me at first. The sound. What is it? It's new. Occasional. Then I went back to reading and tuned it out.

As I ended my reading, I noticed it again. It's still there? The sound had continued for an hour. What could it be?

As I took in today's view of the changing woods outside my large window, I connected the new sound with what I was seeing.

A few weeks ago, I saw little sky through the layers of green leaves. I've seen it slowly change since. Today the blue has tripled to 1/3 of the view with  trunks and branches threatening to release its remaining yellow and green tiny dependents. It's enabled me to see playful birds that were formerly obscured. So many. Different sizes. Gone so quickly. More come.

Oh look, a robin lights upon the smallest of new trees and rocks sideways as a woman comforting a small child on her hip.

The sound. A leaf falls. It hits the crisp floor of those who have gone before it. Crisp hits crisp. As chips in a poker game. This year's rainfall is giving us less color but more sound. A gentle breeze comes and the sound multiplies. Round and round they dance. Swirling. Clamoring. A walk through, now that brings up memories.

A walk through. Can you hear it? Can you feel the weight of them against the top of your shoes and the front of your jeans? Can you see them lifting up and fluttering down as you kick them up? Can you smell their dryness as they turn to dust under your feet?

Yes, I know that sound. It just took awhile.

Bless and be blessed,
Bobbie

Remembering

STOP. 

Before reading, locate your ticklish bone. Put on your colored glasses while viewing this true story with a light heart. Leave criticism of my seemingly criticism of teeth, or the lack of them, along with sibling and parenting interaction on the shelf to find humor between the lines of life...

Yes. Those were the days. I remember them fondly. This time, I remember them as I think of my brother.

'Brother', I say. 'Get your teeth fixed.' You see, I'm the oldest of five. He's the only boy and fourth in birth order. The oldest. They feel they can boss their siblings around, no matter what decade of life they're in.  

Now Mom, a fine woman with a statue of 4'6", gave birth to five living children, five in seven years with losing one between giving full-term birth of her tribe. 

Mom centered by her silly four as the eldest, me, freezes them in time.

So. I give Bro a hard time for many years until he's left with a couple jagged things smiling back at me from under a nose that matured into looking like my Dad's. My brother does enjoy laughing, he certainly does. Apparently, tho I feel free to give him my wise counsel, finds obstinance a way of life. That is, until pain sent him to the finest of drive-thru denture establishments you can imagine. You've seen them. The service window is on the passenger side of the car. That way, while the victim, I mean patient, reclines in the passenger seat of the car, a friend can hold their hand during surgery and drive them home without ever leaving the driver's seat. Quite ingenious, I'd say.

And yes, sarcasm was a requirement in our family, passed down for many generations. Some used it for humor. Others, well let's just say, I chose to view it as water while putting on a duck's back.

Anyway...

Fast forward a couple years. Dear Brother now has his permanent false teeth. Uh, OK? Let's pretend that makes sense. Anyway, you've got the picture. Stop. You don't.

The boy never wears them. That's right. Under that dad-nose comes the same laughter, one that causes his cigarette in the corner of his mouth to bounce as the lack of pearly whites jets him into the distinguishing look of senior citizenhood. Oh, I can go on here, of how I quiz him on how he eats and his reasonings laced with contentment. If you were sitting in front of me, I'd even imitate his fine looks, that which my mom had as we five were growing up. But instead, let's get to one story from our childhood that  Mom's brood still laughs about: the subject of toothlessness and dentures.

Wait. I must first set it up with a broad paint brush.

Mom received a new set of teeth when I was around 8. Then, we had a station wagon. It was fancy in our estimation. The back seats could lay flat so we could slide all around as we sped along the winding country roads. Seat belts, you ask? No such things back then. So, we'd throw gravel in a hole of the rusted floorboard while watching the road beneath. I remember making sure not to put my full weight of 40 lbs near that hole in fear of losing a needed leg. But, it was great entertainment, unlike today's less stimulating vehicles.

It was in the back of that station wagon, with the seats laid flat, that I can still see clearly the back 'gate' being opened and Mom barely raising her head to reassure us kids that she was fine.  Still heavily sedated, deformed and blooded mouth, my mom's best friend, Emma, helped Mom into Emma's house to care for her while we ten kids roamed the cornfields, built tree houses, and marveled that chickens really did run around with their heads chopped off.  No, we kids didn't chop off heads. Emma's husband did. Now for those of you that are math challenged, Emma and her husband had five children, too.

Mom healed. But her false eating devise never fit as securely as one would wish. The up side of that is that it gave opportunity for Mom's five children to find laughter during trials in our home, at Mom's expense, of course. 

Many times, while being normal, carefree, irresponsible, playful, wild children, we'd hear Mom trying to figure out the name of the child that needed yelling at. Frustrated, she'd be going down the list of her kids, starting with the oldest, sometimes getting out only the first part of the names: 'Bobbie, Karen, Paul.., I mean War..., aaa Kath..., damn it, get in here.' Sometimes, about half way through Paula's names, Mom's top denture would dislodge and interfere with her ranting. Now THAT, did get our attention. We'd all stop, right where we were, and die laughing. 

The first few times Mom couldn't keep her 'mad' on and would laugh with us as she'd take her right thumb and push her teeth back in place. But soon, she'd muscle through and some of us would get 'what we were asking for'. Sometimes, if the culprit couldn't be found, she'd have all five of us line up along the couch to get a 'beating'. There was no wordy humiliation, no public demeaning. Just the switch, belt, razor strap, paddle, whatever was close. That was the way back then.

   
Now don't focus on the right or wrong of it all. Yes, my parents were very defective. But I grew up to be very responsible before the age of legally going into bars. I did plenty of that before I was 21.  Yes, I had a few years of rebellion and stupid living but I quickly saw the shallow and meaningless dead-end it'd bring. I also came to see my parents through adult eyes, not simply through a pained child. I gave them grace and forgiveness once I saw them as children in their parents' home. They parented better than their parents. I, in turn, parented better than mine. But my parents, they did they're best. They did love us. And I loved them. Forgiveness freed me to create more joy with them as their adult children and as they were grandparents. We five, became ten, then twenty-four, plus mom and dad, making a family now gone and I long for again.

5 Generations - Mom is standing behind Grandma, who is sitting.

Back when we were twenty-four plus Mom and Dad, we'd tell the story of when Mom would just lose it, her teeth, that is. Mom would we laugh with us. Good times, loving times, they were, even during the trials. 

Yes, those were the days.

Bless and be blessed,

Bobbie 

Her Daughters

Her daughters. Those still at home, young adults, love to hang with her as she runs errands. They don't think twice about sitting across the table several times a day, eating and talking over whatever crosses their minds, the events of the day. They joke often as they sit on the couch beside her.

Her daughters with families of their own, children of all ages, calls her daily, sometimes several times. They share the grandchildren challenges of the last few moments, funny actions and words. Sometimes they vent, cry, and talk of what God is doing in their lives.

Mom, not yet 60. Her adult daughters in several stages of life. They're friends. Deep friends. The girls intervene when a clerk speaks rudely to their mother. She needs no defenders while defusing the uncomfortable air. Dignity is her jewelry.

And father. He honors his wife with praise as their daughters watch. He is her shield. His girls also have his heart, trust, and full protection. And they know it. They walk in that confidence. How will the single ones ever find a husband of this caliber? One who deserves the young wives like their mother?

Is this a story? A dream? Even possible? It's what I had pictured for my life. Though it's not mine right now, I am happily blessed (and sorta sad) to watch it in several of my longtime friends' lives. So it's possible. Possible with Christ as each of these people's close friend and director of their lives. Yes, every man and woman, several generations, hold Christ as their #1.

He's real.

Bless and be blessed,
Bobbie
May 12, 2014

Lesson Revisited

In my mid-twenties, I was struggling with never having my dad's affirmation. Oh, I had tried to prove how worthy I was. My entire life, time after time, he'd grunt and move on, or lecture me for what seemed like an eternity. I longed to be loved by him, to have him proud of me. Why? After all, I'm an adult now. I couldn't shake the desire. I had been a Christian for a few years and truly knew The Father's love, undeserved, but with Christ, unconditional. That should have been enough.

Being one who evaluates before jumping in with my all, I was doing it with learning Biblical principles. Listening to one speaker helped turn on a light bulb about my dad. He gave an illustration. "If you were to go up to a floor lamp and hug it, would you be disappointed if it didn't hug you back? Some people just haven't the ability to love you back. And that's ok. You can still love them fully. Just don't expect anything in return."  From that moment on, I was free to accept my dad as he was, enjoy him and leave not wanting.

But that's not the end. Over time, grandchildren, my contentment and acceptance, my diligent growth and lifestyle, I saw him soften. Age can do that, yes. But some get bitter rather than soften. Several decades after the Lord helped me release my need for his love, my hard dad began to give me nods of approval, even a few backdoor words of affirmation. And some years before he passed, he began to returned 'love you'. He actually said "I love you" once, a full out, all three words, "I love you". He even told me he was proud of me and why.  That was over fifteen years ago.

Dad's been gone for thirteen years now. This morning as I awoke, grieved over rejection of one, really two, people I love deeply, I asked myself, "Why do I continue to long for their love and acceptance?".  Then the Spirit said, "Floor lamp. It's hugging a lamp."  Ah, yes. Right now, it's the inability to hug back. I've been tempted to stop hugging these lamps. It's been years. Should I stop hugging these unresponsive things?

No. As with my dad, I will continue to hug these lamps. I pray He releases me from the longing to be loved back while I hug away with contentment. Release me, oh Lord, release me. May my only need be Your love, that which I already have, unconditional because of your Son's ultimate sacrifice. Continue to pour out that same love upon them that they will know You, as my earthly father did before his death. May they take all the fullness you have for them, soften and live for you, now and forever. Amen.

~ Bobbie Vance
December 19, 2014
Dad would have be 83 in two days.

Mom's Fav

My mom's favorite flower is gracing my doorway with its lovely aroma. Add popcorn with real butter and sewing to the day and it's a triple hitter of memories of Mom.

Now I see her quiet strength and adore her more. But she's gone. I was too busy loving, living, surviving, and conquering my daily life to sit quietly and soak her being in. And she let me. I missed out.

I breathe deep the lilac's scent and think of you Mom. Smiling.






















May 10, 2015

Watching Fall

It may be the last pleasantly warm day in the Midwest.
The air is crowded this fine, sunny day.
They pass.
Flow so quickly.
Hundreds.
Without touching.
A twist here.
A wiggle there.
There are times when some simply float.
Others fly, fly higher, farther than their original domain.
Still gently.
Soon downward.
Until they rest.
Forming a blanket.
Layers.
To allow life to their creator source.
Life to that which lay beneath them.
Disturbed they rustle.
Creating a playground.
A memory of distant seasons.
The wind moves them.
The sound of chimes.
Left, they decay.
Some find fire.
How much we are like the Fall leaves.
10-27-14

Bless and be blessed.

Winter World

Because I seldom post, I thought it might be nice to add an occasional journal entry.  This one is from

Feb 1, 2015.

Trees dropping little snowballs. Visuals and sounds it bestows. Watching the multitude of ripples intersecting one another across the creek's surface. Listening to the thumps as the white covering on the roof gives way to its weighty, wet, falling comrades. It's just warm enough for the new snow to release itself into that which it came. Drip and drop. Clump and thump.

A pair of the sweetest looking birds come near my feet. Grey, tuffs, and cream undersides. What's that in it's beak? Oh look, the branch at my eye level became their next little flint. Two feet away I can see the peach just under their wings as they decide to rest toward the north, now switch, try south, twist, let her see 360 of me. Toodle lou, we must leave.

Tis the view through my windows. And it begins to snow again, so tiny, almost straight is its fall. This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.

Bless and be blessed,
Bobbie