Not Pictured

We stole away, my friend and I, with equal curiosity.

"I wonder where that leads . . . ?"

As we stepped onto the boardwalk, we instantly knew that in partial answer to our question, a stench betrayed the presence of an unseen carcass.

Unseen, yes, but not undiscovered. Phew. Not pictured . . .

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We pressed on across the covered bridge and onto the path. I mused about the possibility of chiggers living in the straw-strewn path. "Probably not," she said. Twenty-four hours later, though . . .

Unseen, yes, but not undiscovered. Itchy. Not pictured . . . 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nearing the end of the quiet path, we lit upon a little sign. Privy to the remembrance, though not to its story, we paused for moment before continuing on our way.

Unseen, yes, but not undiscovered. Grief. Not pictured . . .

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Few people know how to take a walk. The qualifications are . . .

vast curiosity, good speech, good silence and nothing too much.

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

~End Quote

Chocolate Milk

Because it is her favorite . . .

The conversation went like this:

AK: I want more chocolate milk.

Me: May I please have more chocolate milk?

AK: Sure!

Our first "conversation" 18 months ago. ;-)

~End Quote

God's Sovereignty and the Six-Year-Old

Below is the conclusion of the matter -- a specific matter in which a favorite coloring sheet accidentally fell from his pocket into the water . . .

"This time I’ll try to make sure it doesn’t fall into the toilet.
But, if it does; it does. God makes everything happen. Sometimes it’s good, and sometimes it’s not . . . well, it’s always good.
I’m still going to try to make sure it doesn’t fall into the toilet."

~End Quote

Recipes

Memory is a peculiar thing, sometimes gentle and consoling, other times so painful. What a trigger of emotions it is! I suppose that's a given, and not terribly profound, but I'm really not trying to be profound.

This week, my friend lost her mom, and in listening to her speak from the depths of her loss, I heard myself. I don't just remember myself saying the very things she was saying -- I still say them now, three years after my own mother passed away.

For example, one thing that I feel so often is the desire -- the deep and intense longing -- to ask her questions. [Oh, Liz, I know you understand this.] Thankfully, my mother shared her thoughts with me freely and abundantly -- told me stories about herself and how she faced the many stages of her life with their varied joys and challenges, told me what it was like to mother me (poor soul), told me what her thoughts were about being a wife, a daughter, a niece, a mom . . . oh, my . . . she had answers for everything. I didn't always agree with her, but she had answers. More often than not, she had the answers. I am so grateful.

The most painful reality in all of this is that some of those answers were known only to her. And now they are gone with her. Just like that.

The day after I heard Liz's news, my dad called:"Hey! Do you remember how Mama used to bake chicken? I have the recipe, but it's incomplete." He continued telling me every detail of that recipe, and everything he could remember about that silly chicken dish, while my eyes filled with tears. I could have handled it on some other day, but not on that one. I was so glad he kept talking!

This morning I spoke with another friend who is also deeply saddened by Liz's loss. Ann began to speak of her own mother, whom she lost 20 years ago. She described the ache that just surfaced when she could not find (I should not have been surprised) -- one of her mother's recipes. ;-(

I have shared in the past about a special journal that my mother kept. Unlike her private journals, this one was written to be shared. Tonight I was poking through it and paused on a question that asked, "What was your favorite meal when you were a child? What made it your favorite?" Right there in the middle of the page was a recipe for chili. Of course.

I wonder how many daughters have felt the same over something as simple as a recipe? I wonder how many still reach for the phone when they just need to know? In so many ways, I find myself saying,

"I have the recipe, but it's incomplete."

~ End Quote

Inquisitive

During my morning blog stroll, I was interrupted by a little boy with a stack of currency in his hand. He asked, "Who is this? Is he a president?"

I said, "No, that's Benjamin Franklin."

"That hair!" he cried. "Yuck!"

And he continued matching names with faces . . .

Concerning Andrew Jackson, he remarked, "Davy Crockett didn't follow his orders." Did you know that?

George Washington's mug got this response: "Oh, yeah, he didn't look too happy on Mt. Rushmore, did he?"

Everything else is superfluous, I suppose. As is often the case, his focus and perspective are a bit -- uncommon.

Take traditional methods of nose-blowing for example . . .

~ End Quote

Peace with Prerequisite

Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace,
Whose mind is stayed on Thee,
Because He trusteth in Thee.
~Isaiah 26:3

In the '80s
with guitars in their laps instead of children
a little band of friends
week after week
gathered to share
what tunes the Lord would give
They would sing
the Scriptures together
so they wouldn't forget . . .

Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom;
teaching and admonishing one another
in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs,
singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord.
~Colossians 3:16

I think I will forever be humming Isaiah 26:3, Colossians 3:16, Psalm 121, and countless other portions because of those precious evenings spent in song.

~~~~~~~~~~

Early this morning, while I was exploring music videos with my children, my daughter shared the name of Laura Story with me. My mole-ing around brought me to the song below, and ultimately back to the Scripture songs and the promise of peace. Still humming . . .

Peace . . . it gets my vote.

~ End Quote

Marek

Oh, the National Parks are something else, aren’t they?

I’m not just talking about the landscape – though it can be breathtaking.
I’m not just talking about the history – though standing on the spot where
something or someone . . . it can be moving.

In addition to the obvious, we had the privilege and pleasure of meeting some truly warm, friendly, and helpful people that work for the NPS. Refreshing.

Until we encountered Mr. Grouch at a Grand Teton gift shop, we had only met the friendliest of folks. But, I don’t want to talk about him. ;-/ I want to talk about my favorite staff members...

Nancy . . . patient, knowledgeable, helpful . . . I was really impressed with this woman, so much so, I named my Yellowstone Association membership-welcome-wolf after her (which made her smile). I just don't think she ever had a wolf named after her before. Imagine!

I didn’t get a shot of Eric and his wife, a couple of retirees from Utah who chose to spend six weeks working at the Yellowstone laundry/shower house so that she, a photographer, could have inexpensive access to breathtaking vistas. We enjoyed conversing with them while we waited for our clothes to dry.

I did get a shot of the ranger who said my littlest fella made his day . . .

Q: Why do you want to be a Junior Ranger?
A: I want to be a Junior Ranger because I can see animals – but I really want to be a football player.

Honesty!

Yes, there were many others, but our favorite was Marek. What a sweetie!

This young man was from Poland, spending his summer in the Tetons. (You will thank me for sparing you details of how we managed to have about a dozen separate receipts at the gift shop in which he worked.*smile*) Here are a few tidbits of the conversation that transpired between us:

Me: How do you pronounce your name?
Marek: (I don’t know how to type this – just say it and roll that R like you imagine a Polish fella would)
Me: [practicing] Ma-rek.
[pause]
Marek: It’s just Mark.

Context: My girls had purchased all but four of the huckleberry candy sticks at the register. I decided, as he was ringing up my items, to throw one into my stack. Then another.
Marek: Look! There are only two more, would you like them, too?
Me: ;-P

Me: [holding a fist full of receipts] Marek, would you let us take your picture? Then you could say you got your pic taken with the woman who had the most purchases in your store in one . . .
Marek: . . . ever!

Okay, I know there is no way I captured his quick wit the way he shared it with us, but he was delightful young man, and we all left the store grinning. Thank you, Marek!


~ End Quote

Hey, Bales!

Me: Hay bales!
Jack: Mama, why are you waving at everybody?

Do you know how hard it is to take a good pic of a hay bale on a road trip? I've got a plethora of blurred shots from every state we traversed because I seldom saw them when we weren't driving -- and they were not high on the pull-over-for-this-shot list, I might add.

I don't know why I enjoy them so, but I do. Maybe it's because there is a peaceful, all-done-ness about them. Work is over, time to rest. Symbolic, I guess.

Hay tightly wound, most bales were round.
A few were square -- misnomer, there.
Some with a sheen. Some very green.
Many hay bales these eyes have seen!

Arranged in stacks, arranged in rows,
Or unarranged in random shows.
Much taller than you might suppose,
These bales of hay, who seem to pose.

When I was a very little girl -- two years old -- my mother overheard me say,

Little boy blue come blow your horn.
The sheep's in the meadow; the cow's in the corn.
Where is the boy who looks after the sheep?
He's under the haystack with Bo Peep.

*sigh*

You may return to your own lives now.

~ End Quote

Middle Girl

"He said it was preliminary;
that means I can make suggestions.
I love making suggestions!"

~ that's my middle girl

~ End Quote

Jack's Prayer

"Thank You that Mommy is back home.
Thank You that she has beautiful hair.
And, thank You that she laughs
when I smell her pajama shirt."

~ End Quote

Partial to Guitar

I love the subtlety and tonal range
of the acoustic guitar.
~ Dan Fogelberg

My chronicle begins before I was even born . . .

On my parents’ first date, 50 years ago, my dad took my mom to hear Andres Segovia in concert in New Orleans. Though my parents’ love for music was evident in their filling our home with both recorded and live expressions, I wasn’t drawn to the sound of the guitar until my high school years.



At that point it would be hard to say whether or not it was the guitar or the guitarist that first attracted me. I seemed to gravitate toward guys who played well. The ideal date? Give me strings! Acoustic, please.

Enter classical guitar. My junior or senior year in college, I had the privilege of hearing Julian Bream live at the university theater. I don’t recall ever having been literally on the edge of my seat before that night, and I spent the entire evening trying to see how he was getting so much sound out of so seemingly little movement. I just knew he had a third hand in there somewhere. Oh, he was smooth.



Within a few years following that concert, I listened to a recording of Christopher Parkening playing Bach. Wish list? Years later, I finally was given the opportunity to hear him perform with the Baton Rouge Symphony Orchestra. Up close! I could actually see his fingers without opera glasses. ;-)



During that decade, the sound of an acoustic guitar became my primary musical love. I would have given anything to have the skill to even approximate what I was hearing.

More? Yes, more. Hugs to a dear friend for introducing me to the music of Doyle Dykes and fingerstyle guitar! I have my favorites, but even my least favorite song still makes me appreciate the techniques of this man. It just doesn’t sound like he’s playing a single guitar. Amazing.



Once fingerstyle guitar was indentified for me, I began to recognize it in the music of others . . . what fun. Dan Crary, Stephen Bennett, Andy McKee, Don Ross, and others. Just play for me, okay?





I don't want to neglect to mention these little gems . . . Stephen Bennett on harp guitar and John Doan on harpolyre. Impressive!






*sigh*

~End Quote

In Memory

Yesterday would have been my mother’s seventy-first birthday. I determined, as it approached, neither to exaggerate nor to suppress whatever emotions I might experience that day. To say that I miss her is a gross understatement – she was an incredible woman, and her company was priceless. Without regret, we thoroughly and regularly enjoyed losing track of time together.

The day was not without great distraction, and in the middle of it, I found myself sitting on my bed after a phone call. I looked at my desk, and resting there was a little journal that my mother kept at the request of my brother and his wife. I picked it up, without thought of the significance of the day, actually, and began to read . . .

Recall some of the most important lessons you have learned in life:

“A lie does not change the truth.

When I was in first grade,

one girl did not receive a valentine card.

She was so hurt. When the teacher

asked why no one had given her a card,

I lied and said I did

so Anita (the student) would feel better.

I’ve never liked that day.

Of course, we never found the card.

Honesty is the way;

with others & with self

-- inside and outwardly.”

“Respect for others and their

space is a tremendous gift.”

“Time helps.”

“Keep your negative thoughts

to yourself whenever possible.

It can be devastating to have

someone hurt because of your words

& then it’s terrible

to be confronted with this by others.

Don’t join in others’ negative attitudes –

It’s never good.”

~ End Quote

Keeping an Eye on #88

"I have not played my last game of football."
~#88 (spoken adamantly last year)

Requesting some more noise from the crowd! ;-)

Note: If the slideshow doesn't appear correctly, try refreshing your page. Thanks.

It rained.
We watched.
He played.
We cheered.
They won.
Dream come true . . .

~End Quote

My Favorite Wildcat

Little things make the difference.
Everyone is well prepared in the big things,
but only the winners perfect the little things.
~ Bear Bryant

Somebody had a dream -- he wanted to play college football. ;-)


It was the first game of the season, and the weather didn't look friendly.


He stood, waiting to play, when the rains came. Oh, did it rain! Lightning, thunder, and the wettest wet stuff. It rained for over an hour, I am sure. Finally, the lightning appeared to have subsided, and the coaches decided to resume the game.

#47 watched a little longer . . . then it happened . . . we saw him run onto the field! Woohoo! Out came the camera once more, and . . .


What?


They called the game! Agh!


I'm so sorry. When you look up in the stands next time . . . we will be watching and waiting with you. We love you!

~ End Quote . . . almost

Looking Back

Found: One Sheep

“And O! be sure to fear the Lord alway,
And mind your duty, duly, morn and night;
Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray,
Implore His counsel and assisting might:
They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright.”
~Robert Burns

This afternoon I sat beside a woman who shared something with me that I had not heard in a very long time … it was simple, bare, transparent gratitude. I suppose it was not the gratitude itself that captured my attention; it was the object of her gratitude that held me.

I had heard a little of her story from others; but when she told it to me, it seemed so different. She shared no details, yet it felt like she had handed volumes to me. She told of a season in her life, a recent one, in which she had essentially ignored the mercies of the Lord and treated every person and thing in her life as more important than He. I wish I could put her countenance and her voice into words. I am so, so sorry. It is beyond me.

The gratitude, then? This was not a sappy story of pseudo-repentance. I have never seen someone so thankful for discipline and restoration. She saw her departure for what it was, and she offered no explanation for her present devotion than that of the grace of God. He drew her back in His faithfulness and love. She could hardly speak of anything else.

I was honored to share a meal with her and to hear her story.

The grateful person, being still the most severe exacter of himself, not only confesses, but proclaims, his debts.
~Robert South

~End Quote

Reservations for Four, Please

What a wonderful day together:
English Afternoon Tea at the Windsor Court Hotel in New Orleans
Happy Birthday again and again!

A spot of tea, please: Earl Grey, Chinese Yunnan, White Peach, and a special red berry.

I didn't get a decent shot of the scones. ;-/ These little sandwiches . . . delicious.

Our yummy dessert course dessert (first pic) . . . carried out and presented as strains of "Happy Birthday!" flowed from a harp! How very different from the obnoxious "Happy, Happy Birthday," sung at other local establishments. This was just lovely!

(Check out the audience on the piano!)

Celebrating our friend, second from the left. ;-) Love you!

P.S.
The Windsor Court gives new meaning to the phrase "hotel towel." Mole was pleased to discover an alternative to paper towels and automatic drying machines!!! Man, I love terry cloth.

~ End Quote

Beloved Dads

[insert photo of Mt. Rainier] "I don't just want to hear about; I want to see it -- from her kitchen window." ~ Max

What an unusual Fathers' Day we had. On Saturday, we invited my dad and my husband's parents over for a seafood boil in their honor. The most interesting thing about the afternoon was the conversation between my dad and my father-in-law. They are both somewhat shy and are so different in their loves and their lifestyles, that I honestly wondered what topic they would find to discuss. I looked out of my kitchen window, and there they were talking away:

. . . about sweet corn!

So, I snapped a few shots by which to remember that very special afternoon.

How I love these menfolk! Happy Fathers' Day!

His dad:


My dad . . .

And, the dad-of-dads, according to my children:


And, the latter and I are vacationing alone-iSHH . . . whaTTT a trip! ;-) He told his children farewell in the church parking lot this morning, and here we are 2500 miles away from them now. Wow.

In conclusion, this week we hope to get a photo of Mt. Rainier for that blank spot. I want my own. I'd rather not rip one when I can take one myself (weather permitting).

~ End Quote

What Are Little Boys Made Of?

What are little boys made of?
What are little boys made of?
Frogs and snails
And puppy-dogs' tails,
That's what little boys are made of.

~ English Nursery Rhyme

This is my week with my boys (large and small), while the girls and their dad are away at the beach, poor things. The days have not felt long, thankfully, and the boys' company has been unusually refreshing and quiet.

This morning began with an accidental rousing at 5:30 a.m. *groan*. We packed a lunch and headed to swimming lessons.

As you can see from the photo, we are not allowed to "watch" the children until next week. What you cannot see is that this row of parents actually covered the entire side of the pool. Peeking is not watching.

After lessons the boys spent a long time on the big inflatable slide . . . I had some inky business to finish.


Time to head closer to home . . .

When I saw this sign, I could not drive past it -- you see, I watch for it. Mr. Naquin only displays it in season.

We were happy to find his door open. ;-)

My apologies to those who dislike tomatoes.
These are simply delicious.

Purple variety? ;-)

One final errand . . .

The boys volunteered to check the mail and feed the dogs for friends who are on vacation. First stop: the mailbox.









We were also invited to pick their blueberries. Yum.


Home again.

One naps; the other outfits himself and tries on some history for size.



One more shot before I get out of the heat.

What a relaxing morning. ;-)









~ End Quote

The Sign Said, "Hot!"

INGREDIENTS: malitol syrup, scorpion, artificial flavoring and coloring (yellow 5, blue 1)

~ Scorpion Sucker, Blueberry Flavor


Yes, that’s an exact quote.

You, too, can have your very own scorpion sucker if you head straight to the Beef Jerky Outlet, eat the salsa that’s labeled “HOT!!!” – then cry! ;-(

I tried to explain to the owner that I was not illiterate; I was just curious.

He just kept asking, “Are you crying? Are you really crying?”

I was not amused.

He let me get a bottle of tea out of the cooler (not free), and begin drinking it, before he told me that only milk would cut the heat. I reached for the milk.

“Too late,” he added.

He also mentioned that oxygen heated up the oils, making the situation worse – i.e. just exhale?

Only time cooled off my poor little mouth.

But mine was not the worst story of the day.

This “gentleman” will allow you to sample almost anything in the store before buying, and THE thing to sample is called, “The Source.” Measuring at 7,100,000 Scoville Units, one drop of this liquid is hotter than police grade pepper spray. If you decide to sample it, you must sign a medical waiver.

[Note: The Scoville scale is a measure of the hotness or piquancy of a chili pepper, as defined by the amount of capsaicin (a chemical compound that stimulates nerve endings in the skin) present.]

For comparison purposes, here is an abbreviated list of peppers and their corresponding Scoville Units:

7,100,000 – The Source
5,300,300 - Law Enforcement Grade pepper spray
0,150,000–350,000 - Habanero Chili
0,030,000–50,000 - Cayenne Pepper & Tabasco Pepper
0,002,500–8,000 - Jalapeño Pepper
0 – Bell Pepper

While I was standing there, drinking my worthless tea and crying, a family walked into the shop. The two older sons headed straight to the counter and asked to sample “The Source.” They were given careful instructions: place on center of tongue; do not touch lips; if you need to vomit, please do so in the grass outside and return to sign the special bucket (many names on it already).

The pepper oil doesn’t heat up right away, he explained, after they licked the toothpicks. “For the next five to ten minutes, the oil will gradually . . .”

They weren’t listening.

With bloodshot eyes, they began to cry and motion for something to drink. He gave them milk.

I cannot describe the looks on the faces of these two young men. They paced, drank milk, bent over, hiccupped, and cried – it was an awful sight.

Finally, they stepped outside.

Now, back to me . . .

As I reached for my beef jerky at checkout, the smiling proprietor tossed the scorpion sucker into my bag.

“Free to you . . . because you cried.”

~ End Quote

Eating Jelly Beans Conservatively

You can tell a lot about a fellow's character by the way he eats jelly beans.
~ Ronald Reagan



I examine them.
I target the licorice and buttered popcorn flavors. *drool*
I avoid all brown ones, in case they are coffee-flavored. *shudder*
I savor them, one at a time, with my eyes closed.
Oh, oh, ooooooh.

I really don't want to know what that says about me.

~ End Quote