ARE YOU READY?

Time to get our fingers ready to turn the page to a "new" year.

Thank you, Charles Schulz!

I don't know about you, but there are times I wouldn't mind repeating a year I loved. Of course, that would mean ignoring any and all sad/bad/irritating/frustrating/no-good things that happened that year. And, if we're honest, every year has them. Even the year we think of as "that perfect year" back when . . . .

Since we're not given much opportunity to pick and choose the year we want, we do have a few options. Such as:

• pretend the year didn't change. Just go on as before.
• mark through the year at the top of the calendar pages and insert the number we want.
• burn all calendars.

I admit, those aren't going to solve the problem of possibly having a bad year. (In fact, I can foresee some major train wrecks when we show up for an appointment we don't have, or don't show up for one we do have, or thought we had, or . . . .

So the only options left are:

• take a deep breath and go with the flow (remember to keep your head up so you can breathe)
• stop telling everybody you know how much you hate this new year (if they do, too, you won't be helping them any; and if they don't agree with you, you may have lost a friend)
• best of all: Think of This New Year as an Adventure!

Radical thought. An adventure! Not up for surprises? Not ready for an adventure? Feel bewildered by strangeness? 

Take heart . . . you're not alone! But, if you do accept the challenge to go with the Adventure idea, you'll also have company. After all, if you can't change it--and I've never known anyone who actually did get a new year changed--you might as well hang around and see what's going to happen. Who knows? It might be great!!

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I'm going to close with a quotation I've used before, because (1) I like Hal Borland, and (2) I agree with what he says. Here goes:

Wishing you a wonderful year ahead! 

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

 FOUR GIFTS

[This year Thursday's Child is again visiting you a few days before Christmas Day. I reread this post from a few years ago and realized--it is exactly right for this year of 2022 undertainty.]

In two days, it will be Christmas Eve. Gift-giving is a tradition at this season. We’ve searched for just the right thing for Aunt Susie, ordered what we hope will tickle our grandchild, maybe even made some gifts for special people.

If I could give each of you a gift, I’d wrap up four nice boxes and in each one there would be a word you could treasure the rest of your life.

In the first box I’d put Hope. Without hope in our lives, we can grow afraid of the future. It all looks bleak. Or endless nothing. Or terrifying. But with hope, we can see something greater than the fears we live with.

In the second box I’d put Peace. My favorite definition is on a mug I use to drink tea each day. It reads: “Peace. It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart.”

In the third box I’d put Joy. A few days ago I read in a small devotional book this thought: “Joy feels deeper than momentary pride, satisfaction, or relief. . . . A sense of joy brings deep contentment and is often expressed by gratitude for what we’ve been given.” (Lelanda Lee, author)

And in the fourth box I’d put Love. Love encompasses Hope; it brings Peace; and underneath all Joy you’ll find Love.

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Have a Happy Christmas!

 HOW'S YOUR HOLIDAY SPIRIT?

My Christmas Spirit went off and hid someplace. Or maybe he's visiting another of his people, helping them get in the holiday mood. Or maybe--{{gasp}}--he retired!

No use trying to figure it out. These past few years--pandemic time--have made it easier for me in some ways. (Stay in the buggy, it'll all become clear.) For instance:

• no shopping in crowds or noise or with a sense of Overwhelm
• no meals to prepare since none of us has a need to get together in a group (some of my children have their own familial pod gathering)
• no music to prepare for church services
• no gifts to wrap and mail

So, wouldn't you think I feel I'm missing out? Actually--not at all! Groups do overwhelm me; shopping is one of the very least of my interests, way down there with root canals and intestinal flu; and I'd much rather lick stamps to send checks and cash than make a gift look like the ones in the pretty ads on the Internet. About the only thing I miss is music, but I can still play music at home, either recorded or on the organ with my own ten digits.

Okay, let's list all the Christmas-y things we can do, even if we're locked down or just masked. Such as:

• Christmas movies - I have several and they're well-watched. The library has more. The Internet with its 10,000 opportunities to stream or subscribe or buy or merely watch (for free, they say) can provide enough videos to last me another 20 years or more, and in the meantime, there'll be newer ones available.
• Christmas stories - I hate to admit it, but I find every year that there are fewer and fewer good holiday stories; so many are just take-offs from other stories. 
• Christmas cooking - okay, I'm game for a nice meal. Baking cookies, though, isn't much fun if there aren't people to share them with, so I ignore the oven for the most part.
• Christmas cards and letters - my list grows shorter every year. So many people don't send any at all. Maybe I should hop on that bandwagon. But I do like to send a "family news" letter to some folks I've known for decades and who also know my children.
• Visits - via Zoom or other vehicles on the Internet. I've done that, once; but it's not one of my favorite things and takes a lot of planning with people in a variety of time zones.

Then yesterday, I got a song going through my head, realized it was "The Secret of Christmas," written by Sammy Kahn and Jimmy Van Heusen for Bing Crosby to sing in Say One for Me. The more the words came back to me, the more I knew they were the message I needed right now. So here they are, for you:

It's not the glow you feel
When snow appears
It's not the Christmas card
You've sent for years

Not the joyful sound
When sleigh bells ring
Or the merry songs
Children sing

The little gift you send
On Christmas day
Will not bring back the friend
You've turned away

So may I suggest, the secret of Christmas
It's not the things you do
At Christmas time but the Christmas things you do
All year through

Songwriters: Sammy Cahn / Jimmy Van Heusen

If you want to hear it, you can search for it on the Internet. Or you can hear Bing Crosby sing it in a small video I included in a blog post on December 24, 2019.

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I'll try to remember the secret of Christmas as I travel through the remaining days to the 25th of December. How about you?


Blessings,
Thursday's Child

 THE 3-LEGGED STOOL

You've probably come across this concept--perhaps in psychology, economics, education, leadership studies, and other settings.

I learned about it in my church:

Episcopalians value Scripture, Tradition and Reason equally. We often use the metaphor of a three-legged stool, with each leg of the stool contributing equally to our balanced approach. Each of the three sources of authority must be perceived and interpreted in light of the other two.

My normal everyday meandering thoughts don't often reach for that metaphor, but when I got a hint of an inkling for a blog post, there it was: the three-legged stool.

My topic was learning. Well, I've done that one before. Learning and Re-Learning. I've probably talked about lifelong learning--a buzz phrase that's been around for a decade or two in the world of education.

But this time--a different set of thoughts came along. Learning. Discovery. And then, the third leg of the stool, Sharing.

LEARNING   -   DISCOVERY   -   SHARING

We may be getting into chicken-and-egg territory here (to haul in yet another metaphor) when we discuss Learning and Discovery. Which comes first? It can be argued both ways.

As pre-schoolers, we learn about reading, recognizing shapes and pictures and adding sounds. Learning, yes. But also--Discovery. That word, ball, is what we say when we hold that object in the picture. If I'm asked to go get the ball so we can play outside, I know what to find in my playroom. If I'm asked to identify the picture in my little book, I can say ball. So, did I learn the word ball, or did I discover it while looking at pictures?

Probably safest to say: Learning is Discovery is Learning.

So far, so good. We could go on and on through our lives, learning and discovering and learning and . . . but so what? 

Of course I gave it away--we Share what we've learned and discovered. And how is that done? As Elizabeth Barrett Browning said, "let me count the ways." We Share practically every day without knowing we're doing so:

• explaining
• questioning
• writing a personal letter, entry in a journal, an article for publication, letter to the editor
• teaching another person
• suggesting a solution to a problem
• and so on and so on
  

I'd say, it's almost impossible not to share what we know. We do it without thinking, in our actions and our speaking. 

We also do it with thinking when we teach someone else what we know. Or when we make a suggestion in a committee meeting or to a neighbor or friend.

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This essay is short, because it covers so much of what seems natural in our lives. So here's the takeaway:

KEEP ON LEARNING

KEEP ON DISCOVERING

KEEP ON SHARING

 And while you're at it, have a blessed week!

Thursday's Child

CHOICES

I was going to call this essay "Opting Out," but that omitted its opposite, "Opting In." So I changed it to "Choices," because that's what Life is all about, after all. 

We choose our foods, our clothes, our furniture; we choose our friends, our mates, our mentors; and if we don't make those choices ourselves, somebody else will do it for us and we just might not be real thrilled about what we get. 

(If you don't believe all that now, read all the way through and then let me know. Or not, if you'd rather not admit your change of heart/mind. Or, you may not have a change.)

Yes, we flipped the calendar page today--or we will, once we get past our first coffee and a glance at the news. At our house there is a quasi-ritual about changing the calendar, because we have so many.

• Wall calendars - 8 at last count. Some are chosen because their pictures appeal to us; others were gifts; another one was a freebie given to my daughter.
• Desk calendars - 3 that I recall. They're all perpetual calendars, meaning they go through the entire year only by date; when we reach the end of the year, we turn it over and start the process again. (I have to confess, one was specifically for the year 2002; it commemorates Claude Monet and his art, and though it's pages have broken
  free and ready to fly off the desk, I keep it in check. Some pages are reproductions of his art; others are photos of Monet alone or with other members of his family.)
• Purse calendar - only one; it's available for making appointments when I visit medical facilities.
• Phone calendar - intended to reflect all the personal appointments already in the purse calendar, but occasionally something falls through the cracks and could be lost. (My fail-safe solution is to always carry both the purse and phone calendars. Belt-and-suspenders gal, remember?)
  
• Personal Daily calendar - a system I started a few years ago: Using an 8.5x11 spiral notebook, I allow one page per week--divide that one page into 8 squares (more or less square)--list each day's events or intentions or reminders. This is only for my own use, so I don't go into details. I can also remind myself that my sewing session for that day has been cancelled, or my knitting time won't take place that week. These are not rescheduled. They're Monday and Tuesday events. When they happen.

Once the calendars are up and running, I can relax a little. The new month has now officially started. If I've been diligent about putting my medical appointments on the kitchen calendar with the big squares, then both my daughter and I know where I'm going to be and when.

-----

Now comes the "opting" part. Let's take the typical day:

• Up at the normal time (this is iffy, but we'll assume it for a starting point). Make coffee, write in my journal.
• Next, watch an online program called Morning Prayer while I eat my breakfast.
• These two events are considered my normal morning routine.
• Then on to whatever "The Calendar" says is going to happen today, or needs to happen. If it's an event that requires me to go out of the house, I check the weather. Cold and wind are likely to keep me home, if I have that option. Both cold and wind attack my breathing, even with a mask. My energy is drained. If for some reason I absolutely have to go out and stay out for a time--shopping for groceries, picking up medications, going to an appointment--then I have to accept that there will be nothing more for me that day. When I finally get home, I'll be wiped out.
• By opting to do my errands/appts/etc, I've opted out of further activities later on.

-----

Years ago there was a popular saying, "Stop the world, I want to get off!" That was merely a clever way of saying, "Too much going on! I need to stop!" In those days nobody called it "opting out" but that was exactly what we wanted to do. Stop doing what we were doing, going to do, having to do.

On the plus side:

• Opting out means we're able to recover some much-needed time--for rest, for healing, for pursuing something important to us (reading a book, painting a picture, talking with a friend, cooking up a big batch of something yummy).
• Opting out can also help us cope with all the demands on our time. We don't have to say "yes" to absolutely demand or request. Really! It's okay to say "no" once in a while.
• Opting out can also give us the leisure we need to work through something thorny in our lives--a decision that has to be made, an issue that needs to be resolved.

On the minus side:

• Once you've got into the practice of opting out, it's a seductive business. Easy to decide it's "much-needed time" instead of just a way to get out of doing something else. The temptation to say "no" becomes less and less onerous; in fact, I've noticed I can say "no" without even thinking through the request being made of me. Hmmm.
• Opting out can also be a way of avoiding important issues--those thorny somethings in our lives. Too much avoiding becomes a habit. Trust me on this.

Always good to remember: Opting Out is a choice, yes. And if I may use a buzzword here, it needs to be done mindfully. Think about it. Pray about it, if that is your habit. You might even need to talk with someone about not-doing something that is being asked of you. You know your own self better than I do. You'll know how to proceed.

-----

Opting In may also be an important choice. Getting involved to help with problems in the church, community, family . . . again, be mindful. Not everything is your place to serve.

The main thing I know about Choices is this: Life would be a lot simpler if we had only to choose between TWO things at any one time. Right? Sometimes that happens. But what about those times when we have THREE choices or even FOUR/FIVE/EIGHT? I find it helpful to remember this: Simpler is not better. Having many possible choices can enrich our lives. It's our job, each one of us, to make choices to have the kind of life we believe is right for us. And, for others.

You want a simple life? Make choices to help that happen. You want a full, piled-up-high life? That requires different choices. Go ahead! They're yours to make.

Until next time, may all your choices be good ones!

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

 Happy Thanksgiving!

Today we celebrate  . . . well, something or other. Is it the pilgrims and Indians? Is it football? Do we actually look at the word thanksgiving and understand anything about it? Let's say yes to all of the above. Here are some other people's words to entertain you between courses of the big dinner. Or during time-outs on the field.

At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.     --Albert Schweitzer

 

Thank you, dear God, for this good life and forgive us if we do not love it enough. Thank you for the rain. And for the chance to wake up in three hours and go fishing: I thank you for that now, because I won't feel so thankful then. --Garrison Keillor

Wishing you a day full of the joy of living . . . with many more of the same to come.

 

WASTING TIME

Back in the days of teaching college freshmen to write essays so they could communicate with the written word in other classes and--with perseverance--graduate and even, perhaps, get a real job . . . as I say, back in those days, I had a wonderful mentor who recommended a particular textbook that I practically devoured. Lots of wonderful ideas--tons of examples from writers who knew what they were doing--meaty essays for dissection and consumption. . . .

One suggested topic was this:

• Take a vice and make it into a virtue.
  

Translate "vice" into "something lots of people think is unacceptable behavior."

That's what I'm going to do today--take the (often seen) negative concept "Wasting Time" and see if I can refocus our thinking to make it a citizen in good standing.

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My sense of wasting time is influenced--as I suppose it was for many of you readers--by my parents. If I was thinking about something, I was seen to be idle or doing nothing. Thus, I was chastised for wasting time when I could be doing something.

If I was doing something but not speedily, I was wasting time. After all, when that "something" was finished, I could move on to "something else."

Learning these fine distinctions, and others, was a long set of lessons known as Trial and Error. (Mostly error.)

I tried--really and truly--I tried to figure it out. But always there was something that just couldn't become clear.

Many years later, I began to get a glimmer--I was wasting something precious . . . Time. That meant, Time was to be considered worth preserving. Worth having around for a long time. To reinforce this idea, I heard "Waste not, want not." That one I got pretty quickly. Okay, if I don't waste Time, then I won't find myself in a state of want (old-fashioned expression for "lack").

As an aside--you notice that none of these discoveries came in a hurry. Go back three paragraphs--"long set of lessons"--that's what this became. Through most of childhood. And sometimes into adulthood. As I say, long.

Somewhere along the line I began to question; my thinking ran something like this:

• If Time is not to be wasted, then . . . where does it go?
• How do I keep it from disappearing?
• Does it keep accumulating? Stacking up in a silo somewhere, or a warehouse, or in an old trunk in the attic?
• And most important of all: Do I ever get to use it, all this stored-up Time?

Burning questions, I'm sure you'll agree.

-----

Looking at the subject through the lens of years lived, I can now see the fallacies sticking out all over the place.

The whole thing isn't literal. Isn't concrete. Time itself is a man-made concept. (Don't send a flock of emails telling me that isn't true. I'll agree it might not be true, but I believe it, so for me, it is true.)

Time is considered a measurable entity--nothing to be held in the hand, except as a watch or clock that measures Time can be held. The phrase "Time on my hands" was never meant to be taken literally.

And though it may be measurable, Time as we know it isn't finite. I never know how much of it I have to work with--have I used up most of "my Time" here on the planet? Is that the issue with "wasting" Time, fearing we'll run out?

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Now take "Wasting"--we all know we shouldn't waste our natural resources, our money, our food. But Time? 

Here's my forever, #1, Best-in-Show question: What happens if we do waste Time?

This measurable entity, this abstraction, this man-made concept--let's suppose it is possible to waste it. Do Time Police show up at the door, demanding entry to discover what I did with the Time I wasted? Will I be charged, tried, and perhaps convicted as a Time Waster? (Anyone know what the penalty is for that?)

Before you get worried, let me tell you what I believe happens. Ready?

"Wasting Time" is one of the ways we allow our creative selves room to work. 

• Artists "see" their subjects--on paper or canvas, in marble, in clay or bronze or silver or fibers.
• Composers "hear" their subjects--in the rustle of leaves or horns honking on a city street or water trickling or rushing or bursting its confinement.
• Writers "feel" the emotions they write about.
• Cooks "taste" in their minds as well as their mouths.
• Woodworkers, carvers, knitters, quilters--all "feel" the texture or strength or beauty of their materials.
• Scientists of all kinds look and think and write--and then share their ideas, think some more, experiment . . . .
• Teachers spend thinking time working out ways to express difficult concepts.

And so many more creatives go about their creative business while doing other chores and tasks.

----

Those of us who been subjected to the discipline of "Don't Waste Time!" have received a wonderful gift. Ready for this? We have been trained to multi-task. Yes, I know some of us are born with that ability. But if you weren't, and you were trying to live out your parents' teachings, you have learned to do two (or more) things at once: While you're doing something that's on the adult's approved list, you were also working out the dance steps, or the quilt pattern, or the way the roof fits onto the little shed, or what color to use when you paint the daffodils?

-----

Waste Time? By all means! You never know what you might invent or think up or turn out if you once let your creative self go whole hog. Try it!

Until next time,

Blessings

Thursday's Child

 MID-NOVEMBER . . .

Well, almost the middle of the month. Close enough.

Facebook folks are well into their month of posting daily gratitudes. Weather is changing daily--yesterday chilly; today a little warmer; tomorrow warmer still; next day cold/rainy/stay-at-home weather. 

I trawled through the long, long list of old blog posts to see what I'd said about gratitude in the past. Don't panic!! I'm not repeating an oldie-but-goodie. I just didn't want to inadvertently say the same stuff I've said before.

Why not? Because there's always something new to be grateful for. Some new blessing we didn't have last week or last month or last year. It's all part of Life Going On.

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So, here we are in mid-November, 2022. We're two and a half years away from the complete shutdown COVID-19 brought us in March 2020. We've had to change . . . shift . . . learn new ways to cope . . . figure things out again. Did you notice that? With so many things not happening or products not available or services altering, we had to actually pay attention to our lives. We had to take an active part in living, not just roll along as many of us always had. Now there's a gratitude for you!

Though I'm not in favor of a pandemic to remind me how to be grateful, the lessons are, nevertheless, welcome. Here are a few of them:

• new coping strategies - with shortages of paper products, foods we've always taken for granted, services we've come to rely on, finding alternatives.
• trying new procedures - order groceries online, pick them up in the parking lot of the store; call in orders for prescription refills or order by mail; "visit" a health care person by phone.
• changing habits - no "shopping in person" just to see what the store has (or hasn't); instead, learning to search online for a particular product or a type of product, possibly finding an alternative. Possibly even find a cheaper but just-as-good model, or, a better one!

Granted, all these "new" ways of behaving and living use up time--learning them, trying them out, fine-tuning. All that was time we could've been doing something else. But the positive side is this: we learned how to get along with a different way of doing things, even if they take longer. We haven't had to shut down our lives entirely; just made a few alterations.

An added plus: Some of these "new" ways are actually what we used to do, back in the day. Before Internet. Before virtual big box stores. Before hundreds/thousands of choices to go through before we came to what we wanted. In an odd way, I'm rather grateful that we had the chance to see how we coped back then.

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In my neck of the woods, many activities are "back to normal," as folks like to say. Which means, there's not enough concern about new variants on the same old theme of COVID to postpone sports events, holiday dinners, school dances, or family get-togethers. Weddings take place. Funerals take place. We see government leaders on TV without masks on their faces. This "new normal" may last--or not. We'll enjoy it while we can.

So I'm grateful, this November day, for (1) coping strategies learned; (2) new procedures shoring us up; and (3) a chance to change old, established habits. And (4) for reminders that we used to get things done 'way back when.

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

BABY STEPS

You’ve no doubt noticed that starting something new is no easy-peasy task.

For example—you retire. Ahead of you are seemingly endless days without your former 8 or 10 or 12 hours per day earmarked for a particular task or series of tasks. So you decide to tackle something new, say, woodworking.

Great! Get some books on woodworking. Go to the library and check out their back issues of magazines devoted to the subject. Find a mentor! (That’s the best of all—good old hands-on, show-me-how teaching.) (And an experienced mentor probably has all the expensive tools you may not want to buy right away. Check out a table saw, and you’ll see what I mean.)

After a few days/weeks/months of perusing the projects available, you decide on one. But—your mentor says, “better start with something smaller” (simpler) (less expensive). And you’re already discouraged. You really want to see that small (you thought) jewelry chest come to life. It’d make a great gift for your wife/daughter/auntie. Hmmm.

Now, why should you be discouraged? Everything has to start somewhere—the biggest, most complicated, and expensive projects—all had a humble beginning.

Discouraged? Well, of course you are! If you’ve lived long enough to be approaching retirement (see paragraph 2 above) you’ve not only learned a lot along the way, you’ve been injected with the idea that NOW is the best time to do anything, and NOW is when it’ll happen.

No Practice. No Trial & Error. No Baby Steps leading to a final goal. Uh-huh.

-----

I’ve now been retired for 15 years. Seems like every day I’m learning something new—not because I forgot how to do something, nor because I’m always trying different things. No, every day’s learning comes with practicing what I’ve been doing for years and years. The take-away for me is this: The longer I practice, the more likely I am to reach beyond where I’ve always been; and at that point, I embark on a new journey of learning. Same subject. Now deeper.

Somewhere I read that writing a novel doesn’t teach you how to write the next one. You learn that when you write it. So writing a novel teaches me how to write this one—and next time . . . . More practice. More trial and error. More learning.

A similar thing happens with painting, which is my current creative activity. I watch YouTube videos, I practice, I learn something, I paint using that technique. Sometimes I remember that technique and use it again and again. Then the next week’s video goes into detail about something else, and I’m on the learning curve again.

-----

Learning also happens when we make mistakes. (Some people say that’s exactly when learning occurs.) 

• Another example from my life: I’ve been knitting since my teens. Learning as I go. Trying new things. Now that knitting is only an occasional activity, I don’t tackle ambitious projects. But I still love the process of producing knitted and purled stitches in patterns. Then comes the day when I’ve been talking with my knitting buddy and not counting stitches or paying attention, and my project has gone into some kind of fit. It no longer looks like a square dishcloth, but now resembles part of an elephant, or maybe a hippopotamus. Backtracking from my mistake causes me to practice how to un-knit, how far back to actually go, and whether I can figure out where I can pick up the pattern again.

-----

Learning can be discouraging. I’ll agree with that about 97%. But why is that?

I suspect it has several causes:
·     Pride – if we’ve learned a lot of stuff already in our lives, why should this new thing take very long?
·     Time – along with our pride, there’s the time element—it keeps speeding up (seems like) and if I don’t learn this new thing pretty soon, I’ll be too old/infirm or lose interest completely.
·      Peer pressure – really? About learning something new? You betcha. Look at any magazine article or online set of classes. How many of them say something like “10 ways to look better in a week” or “7 days to a new you” or “make this table and chairs in a weekend”? Who says it can be done in X number of hours/days/weeks? Better question: Who cares?

My approach may not be yours. But here it is, if you care to hear it:

• It takes as long as it takes.
• It may take longer if you have more to learn. (Remember, those baby steps, practice, trial and error, etc.)
• It may take longer because you get interrupted by Life. (Remember this one? Life is what happens when you’re making plans.)
• It may take longer because you have to let go of somebody else’s expectation—and here’s a good place to remember: you don’t have to tell other people what you plan to do. They’ll give you advice, keep asking when it’s done, and wondering why it’s taking so long.

-----

Baby Steps. Think about a baby learning to walk. First there’s crawling, then standing upright. Next, walking along the couch, holding on. Then a tentative step away from the edge of the couch. A step or two. Then a fall. Unless the baby is hurt, it grunts and gets up again and tries to take off on two feet, no hands. Sometimes it even giggles when it falls. Now that's worth hearing.

Most of us started out like that—so why not use the Baby Steps method the rest of our lives? It worked before.

I leave you with two more words:

• EXPLORE - what you'll be doing while you're learning
• DISCOVER - all part of learning

Have a wonderful week filled with exploration and discovery.

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

 

 LET ME COUNT THE WAYS . . .

[I racked my brain for new things to say about Autumn, the season that tops my list of favorites. There was nothing more that I needed to add to this love song from a few years ago.]

(With apologies to Elizabeth Barrett Browning, I'm borrowing her phrase, "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways." From Sonnet 43 in Sonnets from the Portuguese.)

This is my love song to Autumn.

I love Autumn for its colors--never the same twice; adjusted and revised, tinted and deepened, over and over and over. Leaves, flowers, pumpkins, cornstalks.


I love Autumn for its fragrances--smoke from wood-burning fireplaces and stoves; the last barbecue of the season; the wine-y smell of fresh apples gathered into the barn at a local orchard; the spice of chrysanthemums ready to plant in flower beds.

I love Autumn for its sounds--lawn mowers and leaf blowers, the municipal vacuum truck; homeowners and carpenters finishing the last bit of repair or construction before the weather changes; rain--wind-blown or gentle--against the roof at night.

I love Autumn for the tastes we create, now that we can heat up the oven--raisin-studded oatmeal cookies, muffins, brownies (so quick to make!), apple pies and fruit crisps; chili in the slow cooker; pork roast with root veggies in the oven; soup, any kind, just so it's soup.

I love Autumn for the touch of soft leather gloves, the rasp of a hand-knitted scarf against my chin; the weight of a shawl or ruana over my turtleneck; corduroys and heavy denims for warmth. And socks! Heavy socks, reaching up the shins to keep out chilly air.

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As I gathered my thoughts for this post, a phrase kept playing in my mind: "Heaven and Nature sing!"

Well, of course they do! In every season Heaven and Nature sing a different song. I celebrate all of them--yes, even summer, my least favorite--but my true love is Autumn.

Even when we have the little season called Indian Summer, with its few days of sun and warmth, Autumn is much too short. Frosty nights are a foretaste of weather to come. 

But until that time, celebrate Autumn. Revel in her colors and tastes. Make room for cookies and soups. Heat up the outdoor grill one last time. Wrap up warm and go to your favorite team's football game.

Yes, indeed. Heaven and Nature sing!

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  CHANGE

[I'm repeating this post because (1) it's timely and (2) I've been distracted and sidetracked by a dying furnace . . . not a good thing with Autumn getting into high gear. So here's what I wrote some time ago. Hope it says something positive to you.]

We've just finished one third of the season of Autumn, and already I sense the big shift in temperatures, hours of daylight, amount of rain or sun. This time of year always finds me unsettled--not because of the weather, exactly, but because I know Autumn is progressing and will come to an end, and we'll be engulfed in Winter. I don't mean to hurry the seasons along--they seem to do quite well by themselves. If I could, I'd slow them down, so I could savor the sunny days and the few warm breezes that come my way. Yet, change is inevitable--time passes, life goes on, and everything changes. Everything.

You can always tell when the season is shifting, because I blog about transitions and change. Here’s the latest batch—they’re all visuals because I don’t have anything new to say about change.

 C. S. Lewis, known to many as the creator of The Chronicles of Narnia, became a Christian late in life and wrote many books about faith.

Maya Angelou is known for I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, as well as for many volumes of poetry.

Rumi was a 13th-century Persian poet, jurist, Islamic scholar, theologian, and Sufi mystic.

My  story--my life--is in my hands. Staggering thought, isn't it?

One early morning gratitude--mumbled while your eyes are trying to open, before the morning jolt of caffeine, before your feet hit the floor--just one expression of thankfulness can make a difference in how your day starts, continues, and ends.

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Change is taking place in my neighborhood. In the past year, three houses have sold, two at auction, a third in a private sale. This is remarkable because the whole street--one block long--has only 13 houses. 

Of the current occupants, only three were here when I moved in 36 years ago. We don't change quickly, but when we do--wow! Look out, world!

I expect to be here several more years--probably not 36, given the age I've attained. And I've made changes to my house; more coming shortly when the guys arrive to install a new furnace.

Since change is inevitable, you--and I--might as well try to embrace it.

Have a wonderful week!

SPINNING OFF . . .

Having just nearly confused myself with spin-off, sequel, sidequel, not to mention crossover, and not to be sidetracked by reboot or remake--as I say, now that I'm almost but not quite completely confused, I think I want to talk about a spin-off. My own, that is.

Take this saying: "Bloom where you're planted." Possibly Biblical, though not in those exact words, but the meaning is hanging around several passages of Scripture. This post is not about blooming where one is planted.

When I spun away from blooming where I was planted, I came to what happened after I moved on. (You may remember that my childhood was one of moving and moving on--17 times in my first 20 years.) 

Some people, I'm told, re-invent themselves each time they shift to a new place. 

• I'm grateful I didn't have awareness enough to do that because by now I wouldn't know myself.

Others take the old self (if you are't offended by that term) wherever they go--in some locales it fits right in; in others, it's the square peg in the round hole; in still others, the old self never actually enters into the life of the new arena.

Being a kid during all those years of uprootedness, I didn't have time to settle into one personality or another, nor to explore possibilities; time passed too quickly for experimentation and assessment.

But I did learn a couple of things:

• First, so long as I had school, I knew who I was, deep down. Being a student was more than a role to play, it was an identity I could wear like a second skin.
• Second, if I paid attention, there was always something I could learn about the place, the people, and (ultimately) about myself in each new location. This was a subtle thing that only became evident in later years. A lot of the learning was by osmosis.

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So, what did I learn?

• How to deal with different kinds of people. Not always a happy lesson. In southern Missouri I attended a one-room country school, circa 1951. A "city kid" like me (their assigned tag) couldn't understand what their lives were like. My book-learning was nothing to their life experience as farm kids. Good grades pleased the teacher, but made me few friends. 
• Feeling like a very small fish in an outsize pond. In a city the size of Wichita, KS (about 300,000 population in the 1950s), my small town self was again out of place; city bus schedules and routes were a mystery, going to six or more different classes with six different teachers in a single day was unheard of, and a racially integrated student body was like going onto a movie set every day.
• Going back to my hometown when I was entering high school. It wasn't as traumatic as I'd expected. I remembered quite a few of the students from my few years in the local elementary school. Some blooming began.
• Most of all: I learned that I wasn't much different from the kid who left home and lived in various places in the Midwest. I was still an only child, living with my mother and stepfather. I was one of 26 first cousins on my mother's side and one of 11 on my dad's. School was still my favorite place, though the public library ran a close second. And going to classes, learning new things, was where I felt most like myself.

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Now for the next step: What does a person do with that new self-knowledge?

I became a perpetual student, until teaching beckoned. Then it became blindingly obvious that all sorts of things can be taught--including choir music, knitting, sewing, letter writing . . . . And another blindingly obvious thought: I could still be a student! Keep on learning! Explore beyond the boundaries of my life!

I've often wondered what my life would have been had I not moved around a lot, met people from backgrounds different from my own, tried on new experiences. That knowledge is beyond me, but I've a motto that has served well over the years: "Nothing is ever lost, ever wasted." One small example: the characters in the stories I write come from years of gathering intel in move after move, state after state.

In a sense, I'm able to become all those people just by living in their stories.What I haven't experienced myself, I make up! That's what fiction is all about.

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My question for you--what have you learned when you moved on and bloomed in a new place?

Til next time,

Blessings from

Thursday's Child