home is a good place to be

"D'you get a hair cut, Brille?"
"Oh Abrum, you noticed!!!"
Chris looked up from his seat at the table as I flourished over to where Abe was sitting on the couch.  In typical fashion he was absorbed in reading an article.  I did a jig, partly in celebration of his keen observation and partly to see if I could  amuse him enough to get a smile out of him. I did get the smile and he said,
"Go on, kid, you're a nut."
"Tell me, Brumly, how could you tell?"  I sat on the cushion and looked inquiringly at him.
 "Well, they generally iron out your hair real good at those places once they've lopped off the hair."
"Dried it. Blow dried it," I told him. "It always makes my hair straight."

This morning Mama made breakfast. Her buttermilk biscuits and thick slices of bacon and daddy's fried eggs, gravy, homemade jellies and jams and - oh lands. It's good. The best part though was having ten people sitting around our table. Ten people that were very glad to be home and together. Daddy says we don't value peace like we ought to until we don't have it, or we see people who don't have it. Then we tend to be thankful again.  I want to be thankful for that peace all the time. Peace between God and me and between the people I love.  Daddy says it can't be taken for granted. We strive for it every day and hold it Precious and Valuable in our lives; we pray for it and live it, even when it's not easy to retain.
 I hope I can do that more.
That old septic tank, poor thing. It's been its lot in life to deal with the hard blows we give it. Well, it decided it'd had enough this weekend. So it stopped. Just plumb quit working, at least for a while. Thus, we washed dishes outside tonight. Anne handed me the water hose while she toted dishes in and out of the house. Jay came too with pots, whistling "Got A Whale of a Tale to Tell Ya Lads" and opening the door for Chris who toted more dishes in and more dishes out.

{Legend = Melody}
"I don't know why I've always liked putting things up my nose," Dawn said as we cleaned up the table tonight. "I just always have. Even when I was really little."
"Would you like having a nose ring, do you think, Dawn?" Chris asked.
"No.  There's a thought that Legend  put into my head not too long ago, that if you took the ring out and needed to blow your nose then the hole where the ring is would be like a whale when it blows water. That decided the issues of nose rings for me."
Chris' dark beard was spread all across his face in a large grin and his eyes weren't showing very much because they squint almost to closing when he laughs.

          ~ ^^ poor ole' Maple. may very well be the last spring she's with us, good ole' tree.^^~

        ^^ A.G and I are going to recreate Senior Photos with these new and improved poses. ^^

 ^the girls put a diaper on Jean Val Jean on account of the rain and him having been dropped into a puddle. by the way, these puddles have been around as long as our house and all of us have been alive. every rain they appear in our yard, and every rain we appear in them.

                             ^^ Jay's last night to be home…Gonna miss that boy.^^

"Loud sounds pups make," was 1. Across, Chris said. Merry and Jay huddled on the floor beside him as he read off clues for the crossword puzzle.
"Yips," I say from the couch between writing in the journal. Someone else offers "Yaps".
"Yep, Chris says. I think it's yaps. "Much trouble or confusion," he says.
From her room where Mama is in bed she says "Ado".
"Ah good one, Mama. That works.  I tell you what, ain't nothin' like a crossword puzzle to make you feel dumb."
"Man, I tell you what! I can't stand those things," said Daddy. "Make me see how daft I am right quick."
Something light rubbed my face as I was writing and something sounding like a cat was right at my ear. I turned and saw Jeremy in a white wig looking very much like a colonial redneck in a full cammo suit and that wig.  He spoke chinese about Oolong tea and sipped a little from his clay mug.
"Reads fast," Chris said.
"Pigs," Daddy rumbled from his chair.  Merry looked up at him like he was teasing and laughed.
"Oh Daddy, you're funny."
" Not enough space for rabbits, so it'd have to be pigs."
Merry looked very confused. "What daddy? Neither of those can read."
Now Daddy was the one who looked confused and said
"Well…he did say Breeds Fast, right?"
Merry's "Reads Fast" back to daddy was nearly swallowed in the burst of laughing that followed.  Daddy's face was his deep, hard laughing color again and, well, very few eyes of us were showing at all.

excerpt of an evening

"Five degrees outside this morning," Daddy had said. So he built a giant roaring fire that smoked grey puffs out the chimney and over the house.  

The boys have been home.  You can tell it by the extra coats lying on rockers or the couch.  Walking through the house in the evening you can see the eyes of Abrum peering just above the lines of an article he's reading.  Sometimes you'll find his eyes - not on the article - but staring at you, just to see how long it takes you to notice. Then you'll see the edges of his eyes crinkle as he grins and looks back to his reading. He always crosses his legs when he reads, but it never looks so fitting as it does on a winter evening by the fire. Chris says it takes him ages to write just one letter and that it's hard for him to transfer thoughts to words to paper.  He does it though, regardless, like he does now, head bent over his papers at the end of the table where daddy sits.  I've always imagined Chris to be a younger variation of my Granddaddy.  Especially now when he has his beard.  It's dark and thick and makes him look like a spanish pirate.  Anne brews tea and brings him a pot of it and a mug to pour it in.  Anne's tea is for the adventurous.  It's hot and good, mostly, but there are times she'll put strange unnamable things in it that one dasn't question if he dares to drink. 

 I was sitting on the arm of Daddy's chair slumped up against him when I realized how funny Jeremy was.  He was standing by the fire with a mug of Anne's Brew and hodge podge of clothes on, all mixed up and very eclectic of him. On his head was a toboggan, then a classy sweater over long sleeves and over that he wore a leather jacket. As for the bottom layers, there were red gym shorts, under which he wore long, loose fitting black and white checked pants, thick socks and flip flops. I laughed, but appreciated it whole heartedly.  I have a skirt that's tattered to pieces and a shirt that's full of holes and clorox stains, but it was one of my favorite outfits to wear. Much to Mama's perplexity and on occasion chagrin, I'd wear that outfit with blue leggings and flip flops on Lady Day. All the ladies would be there, and, as the kitchen adjoins the living room where they wait, I'd be seen of The Ladies and their children as I went in for vittles or drink.  Mama asked me a few times why I must wear that tattered skirt - it really did float tatters of material as I walked - but I just said it was a comforting outfit.  So she'd grin at me and say "suit yourself, darlin' but I think it's nearing the end of its rope". 

You know, we're all such funny creatures.  It'd be good for us, I suppose, to 

"To see oursels as ithers see us! " I suppose I'd laugh a great deal more that way.

on words

They're just consonants and vowels.  Just sounds organized into frameworks we call words.
What do they matter? But so much of our world is affected by words. Words from the President to the Nation, from Preachers to congregations, from Daddies and Mamas to children, from children to friends and siblings.   Words everywhere.  We couldn't live a normal day without them.
Perhaps I am more affected by them than others. But I think not.  If they are gentle, curious and encouraging, I want to do better and feel loved and am inspired by them. If they are hard, edgy, and said thinly and with annoyance or anger, it's hard to think of anything else.
Words are huge. Strange things, and powerful. There are some thing in the every day carrying out of things that can take little or no extra time, but that can affect the surroundings and people considerably.
Kind words are one of them and will never be regretted.
How much Words Reflect, too. It's as if they hold that magic mirror of the Beast's that says "Show Me Gabrielle," as soon as I open my mouth…That's kindly disturbing.
I hope I can grow in speaking well, and speaking gently.  Speaking so that instead of someone feeling discouraged, shoved away or inadequate, they might feel like they've just had a conversation consisting of 'Apples of Gold in Pictures of Silver'.

:: just a few of the many things proverbs has to say on the matter  :: 

'There is that speaketh like the piercings of a sword: but the tongue of the wise is health.' 12.18 

'The lips of the righteous feed many: but fools die for want of wisdom.'  10.19-21

'A wholesome tongue is a tree of life: but perverseness therein is a breech in the spirit.' 15.4

'Pleasant words are as an honeycomb, sweet to the soul, and health to the bones.' 16.24 

friday evening post

sometimes writing is like stage fright. the light is too bright and everything seems too big to swallow and words just won't come. but i figure if i stop thinking about it, and just do it, that's the thing that will snap the cord of indecision. i haven't written in so long on digital pages, and sometimes i wonder why do that when i have REAL pages? i don't know exactly. because of the other posts, that live here, i guess. but in any case, for the sake of fricassee and frying a hen, here is a post, little blog, you poor, forsaken old thing.

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Daddy's been trying to kill that blessed rat for days now. The loathsome thing will take all the food from his special-sized Rat Trap, and lumber off with it. I've heard he's huge. Mama and Angelot were talking and he ran right through them.  Angelot said it was the biggest rat she'd ever seen, and that's saying a lot, cause she's had a farm. The old thing is cunning too, apparently. But Daddy will get him. Yes, Sirree.  Last night I came home and saw also, beside the Giant Trap, a bowl of succulent blue poison. Surely Daddy will succeed this time. That Rat can run and hide, but it can't resist deliciousness. 

For some reason, spring is the only time I think of baby birds hatching and growing into fledglings. But there have been lots of baby birds. There are three that must have hatched a couple of weeks ago. Chubby, awkward little things that can only squeak and hang onto the telephone wire, they just sit there, preening, watching other graceful birds skim the air lightly and skillfully. One day, they will sing beautiful songs and gracefully duck and dash into the air with the best of them. Until then, I get to watch them from our porch every morning.  

Read this today while researching some photographers and was glad someone else had put into words what I've thought before:

"...You know how sometimes music makes you feel like you’re in a different place? Or it can grab you, accentuating some moment just so, making it a little more wonderful? How about when you see a photo, and feel instantly nostalgic for a place or person you’ve never been to or met, but still somehow, through that captured light, feel a connection? Music and photography are forever entwined, both as creative outlets and powerful emotional forces…"

life of a thought

almost i am persuaded that a thought has no form, no breath, no life, 

until it lives on paper. 

of my little dawn

Isaiah 40 has been a beautiful passage to me this week, presenting itself more boldly than ever I remembered it before.  I've read it over and over…again, it's that force of God that is forever protecting His little ones from those who would destroy them, and showing Himself a bold, fierce and gentle Father.  Some of my favorites…

40/10 − 11 

'Behold, the Lord God will come with strong hand, and his arm shall rule for Him: behold, his reward is with Him, and His work before Him.  He shall feed his flock like a shepherd: he shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom and shall gently lead those that are with young.'

This passage was applied to my mind today in a sweet way.  I was looking through old photos/documents {i wish i could say "in my attic, among some old leather cases and thick, dusty trunks…" but alas! it was all this villain-ish, virtual age} and found this picture of Dawn.  

It's a fine photo. Pretty clear. Kind of childishly sweet. But the thing that got me was remembering taking it, and realizing that the reason it was waist up was because at that time she was sitting in a wheel chair.  That seems so distant, most times, yet, during that dark season no one had the comfort of knowing she'd ever be healed.  The question of her ever walking, playing, sitting cross-legged to play a game or getting in bed by herself was besides the point.  We were simply trying to face the fact that she couldn't walk, that the pain she dealt with on a daily basis was unimaginable and the cause was as vague and unknown as the cure.  How gently God has gathered His children to Himself, though…He is merciful, gracious, kind.  He would have been the same, had He seen fit not to heal Moriah, but, oh His kindness in doing so!  We found out a month or so that the virus she'd been attacked with, also affected thousands of other people. 1/3 of those people recovered fully, 1/3 have relapses and chronic back trouble and 1/3 of the people affected never recover.

  Surely, He is gracious in mercy.  How can I deny that, when I see Dawn, healthy, strong {as an ox, I might add - she has the fortitude of a native}, full of vigor, life, bright imagination, a will so strong as to impress and even at times embarrass her piers and elders to shame?  

Thankful to this great God, this Mighty One who has 'renewed strength like the eagles' so that my sweet Dawn can 'run and not be weary...' and 'walk and not faint.'

a good day's end

         "Rose!" Dawn shouts to Merry, whom she calls 'Rosamond', "I'm going to take a shower, and by the time I get out, you had better have made those chocolate chip cookies!"  But then she runs to Merria and puts an arm around her neck and says winkingly "I'z jest kiddn, kid.  We love you…now make us some good little cookies, Rosamond…"

It's old carpet and blue and very walked and sat and wrestled and laid on.  I sat on it, back to a doorframe and watched her play.  She's tough and short and spunky, and I love her. I love watching her play.  It's a doorway to her very soul, I think. D Formsma bakes cookies too, and the most steamy, crusty-on-the - outside- soft- on-the inside - kind of bread you ever tasted. And cinnamon rolls. But this day she was out of the kitchen and at the piano, just for me, and I felt as special as I should have at this token of kindness. She introduced to me Franz Liszt and his  "Three Concert Etudes S.144 No.3 "Un Sospiro".  I've never forgotten him since.

  It's not just the piece. It's the way she plays it that made all the hot wet things come splashing on my cheek and hands.  I love it now, for many reasons, and have listened to it over and over again today.

  Good old home. I'm glad to be back after a summer of traveling.  I love traveling, but you know, it's good to walk in and be home and to see and hear all the things of home that make it what it is…The smell, the creaky benches, the way the front door slams, the way the back door stays open because no one remembers to shut it; the faucet that, even though it's new, has now followed in the footsteps of its Elder Faucet and keeps sliding down and turning off, most inconveniently; the lantana that has bushed over the very mailbox and stretches itself in all directions, oblivious to its eccentricity and merely absorbing all the beautiful sunshine it can manage; the way the purple bathroom trashcan is forever being turned catty-cornered then straight again, and how the rug never stays in one place, because some like it by the toilet, others by the tub, others by the sink; the sunflower in the back yard that we watched and waited for, and is now here, tall and gangly; the way the school room fan bangs when it's on high and how the books keep trying to fall out of the bottom of the piano bench, because it's so full; the back closets - the closets at all - and how they have too much, and ever room for more; the oven with a broken handle, the teapot that gets turned on without any water; the perpetual pot of coffee; the crickets outside the windows at night and the way the summer light comes through the kitchen window in the evening…home is a wonderful place, nor would it be without its little imperfections. 

 Tonight at prayer it struck me again what an unworthy recipient of all my Father's goodness I am. 

Does He not daily, even moment by moment open the windows of heaven to pour out His kindnesses on my life and family?  Daddy took my hand and squeezed it in his big calloused one as I sat on the side of his chair {I declare, one day that chair is going to have a panic attack and fall apart}.  Everybody went around and prayed.  That quiet evening restfulness.  Our family with that Great and Kind Friend who is always with us.  I like the way daddy's stomach rises and falls under my hand when he's holding it and the way he keeps holding it, even when mine gets hot like it does, and I like how the whippoorwill who lives in the front yard's evergreen tree seems to know the right time to sing his sweet, melancholy summer song. 

Merria just came and gave me a thumb full of chocolate chip cookie dough.

"Without chocolate chips, just for you," she says. 

All in all, I'd say that's a Good Day's End.

tuesday thoughts.

How quickly humanity turns on itself when confronted with distress, difficulty, disappointment, to search for what it can find only in the Great God who made us. 

 i would that i might trust more

in His goodness,

rest in His 

providence,

thirst for His presence,

abide in His will, 

that peace and sunshine of His face.

"And it shall be said in that day, Lo, this is our God; we have waited for Him, and He will save us: this is the Lord; we have waited for Him, we will be glad and rejoice in His salvation." 

                                                  - Isaiah 25.9

Tuesday Musings

He says to pick up where I am. So I do, because he says.

                                                                                                     Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Daddy sounds positively like a pirate when he sings in the shower.  

Getting ready for school this morning, Anna Gette scurried into my room and said,

"Rey-Moose, your room always smells like what I imagine an Israelite room to smell like."

"Oh really?" 

"Yeah," as she spread on lotion.  "With all the oils and such.  Tootles, Rey."  And away she scampered to carry all her portable property to the car.  Anna Gette carries more portable property to school with her than anyone I know.  Today we made 4 trips to the car loading it down, nook and cranny.  As always, she had two coffee cups and two straws and celery by her side. 

Chris' text to me yesterday: 'Just wanna say i think you're a swell sister and friend.  Let's get a boat and raincoats and wait for the water to rise enough that we can float away into the Hundred Acre Wood."

  Sweet Brother. 

It's dark and wet and dreary again this morning, but the coffee is perking and the early grey light even has some promise of goodness.  I can hear Mama and Daddy laughing in the living room.  Daddy's laugh in the morning is more like a great rolling thunder, low and rumbling.  He is fitly called Papa Bear.

 Last night Dawn stood at the foot of my bed in her usual place, rubbing my feet, the dear soul.  It had been a while since I'd been here to take part in this evening ritual of foot rubs and deep thoughts by Dawn. 

"Of all my fears when I was a little kid," she said, her long, golden brown hair tumbling over her shoulders and shadowing her bright, sober eyes, "Because, you know,  every kid has fears - of all my fears - my greatest fear was growing up.  I used to pitch tantrums in Mama's room and scream and kick my legs, I feared it so much.  I think I was more afraid of growing up than I was of the dark."

Oh, Childhood, you were a wonder and a terrible thing to leave. 

What is it that we fear so much in leaving it?  And what is it that we so long for when it's gone?

  For days like this Abe says to take it by the horns and make it what you want it to be.  'Roll with the punches or get rolled on', he reminds me of the old  adage, 'But in any case, shake off dull sloth, and gird up your loins, kid.'

Dawn is my 

daily inspiration. 

Don't ask why if 

you don't know.

For answers, please make your reservation for 

Thoughts With Dawn.

Call 770.787.4039 

and someone should answer the Land Line.