bobWHITE bobWHITE!

Dear Tony,

Tweet tweet! Chirp chirp!
Hooo hooo! Quack quack!
Cooo cooo!
BobWHITE bobWHITE!

A little bird told me I should send you a card to let you know you're in my thoughts.
the sentiment printed in the card

Yeah, I just had to throw on that last one! You probably even hear those birds up there in Summerville. I haven't heard any here. I have doves and owls and mockingbirds. Sometimes there are robins - I've counted as many as twenty in my birdbath! I also get cardinals and sparrows and a huge woodpecker.

Two years ago, I had two tiny woodpeckers. They laid claim to my flowering pear tree, encircling the trunk with tiny rows of tiny holes. as they spiral-hopped around it one day. I took some photos from the front door, but I hadn't wanted to scare them off. The photos aren't that clear, but I know what was going on!

This week is Spring Break. I have no plans to go anywhere, either. I'm having a stay-cation, as they call it. I am going to several of the Savannah Music Festival events, though, and for free! I'm an usher for them this year! I'm signed up to work at twelve concerts. So cool!

with my love!

***** ***** *****
(And on the back of the card, a pun!
I sent him the one about the four-loaf cleaver,
as St. Patrick's Day is Tuesday.
Woohoo!!!!)

almost time for the family gathering!!!

Woohoo!!! The family is coming in two hours!
As I had mentioned earlier, the December Family Gathering is at my house this year! Imagine that!
And I volunteered my house for the gathering!!!
Now, to share a few pictures before things get hectic around here.

How neat and clean the living room is!
And see the lovely snowflakes my dear Melaness gave me for Christmas last year?
Hung with care, they're lending a snowy edge to the entertainment center!
The Energizer Bunny stocking - an inside joke with my stepdad and the family - is also hung up there, off to the right side, so it's the first thing folks see when they enter.
(smile)
Yukon Cornelius, the 'Bomble, and various elves and misfits are out topside, keeping company with the Christmas-past photo of Mama.
And over on the front door? That's a yuletide greeting I latch-hooked as a teen for my Granny White, my Grandpa's mom.
Yes, indeed, lots of Christmases past mingled with the new!

The same is true for the Christmas ornaments on my tree.
The Angel atop the tree dates back to 1981, when I was stationed in Okinawa.
Mama made her for me! Also, the little red ceramic car - on its way over the river and through the wood! - and the gingerbread house and the rocking horse. I had a few more, but I added those to the ones Frank found and gave to me that first Christmas after her death. All were then distributed to my nieces and nephews - her many grandchildren - so all would have something she had crafted.
There are more recent additions to my tree, too! Those were gifts from two of my eldest great-nieces and I've hung the pieces about their eye-level. Watching as they espy them will be fun!
Yes, the tree is in the sunroom this year. It's only been up since Monday, but I rather like it in this new location! I needed for it to not be taking up valuable floor space in the living room, as I am expecting about forty people.
Forty people! In my little 1300 square foot house!

That's why I rearranged the dining set, too, bringing in the two extra chairs from other rooms for an octet.
I'm hoping to provide plenty of places for folks to sit and visit and eat, but also hope they'll mingle.

I'm hoping!
No fear, though - the aromatic configuration remains intact!
(smile!)

What about the guest room?
Well, I have that changing table ready for use!
I've even bought swaddling cloths with little monsters on them and a package of newborn diapers.

Yes, I did!
My nephew Michael, the one whose gone fult-tilt boogie into being a daddy by having twins, will be here and I want to be a true Great-Aunt!

And the plush carpet in that room will be a great place for little ones to play and rest, if the adults are making too much noise.
The loveseat in there will provide more seating, too.
Whew!

That rocking chair I brought home from Panama will provide a nice place for a new mother to nurse, too.
Tucked away in my bedroom, my personal aquarium, it'll be apart from the action, but still in earshot.

That lovely muted fuchsia throw?
Mama crocheted that.
The quilted pillow in the seat?
I fashioned that from clothing I had once made, then gave the pillow to my Grandmama, back when she was traveling so much between my aunt in Tallahassee, us in Savannah, my maternal cousins in Augusta, and her sister in Strong, Arkansas.

What about the bathroom?
Did I forget to gussy it up?
Frayed knot!
(smile!)
Inspired by I know not what, I hung one of my usual wedding-gift towels, and then...
here's the amazing part...
draped over it the two Christmas-themed hand towels my outlaw Kathy had given me a couple of years ago.
Looks good, doesn't it?
Yeah, surprised me, too!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some chip dip to make!

death of an oak

Here, I pay homage to the oak destroyed on July 15 and 16 of this year.
Even though I am the one responsible for its loss to my world, I am gladdened to know I have these photographs to document its existence.

Day 1, Tuesday, July 15: work begins.

Day 2, Wednesday, July 16: continuation and culmination.

panegyric for an oak

Planted
by a forgetful squirrel
before the house changed hands in 2001,
the acorn
from across the street
grew into a small tree between the two houses. Although trimmed repeatedly
(by yours truly) over the ensuant years, the tree continued to grow, eventually attaining a height which would have required the use of a ladder to keep its boughs in check.
Notice that use of the phrase "would have".
The tree, no longer beset by pruning tools, flourished.
Oddly, no birds claimed it as home. Ever.
The mockingbirds preferred the shelter of the nearby azaleas, cloaked by blackberry brambles and thorny vines.
The neighbor in the house on the other side of the tree began complaining about two years ago. He claimed the upper branches were having a deleterious effect on his roof. I reminded him that I would have been able to afford to have the tree trimmed when he had the tree cutters eliminating the pines in his back yard, about five years earlier. He did not recall.
Every few months, a card from a tree surgeon would be left on my door.
Time passed.
The tree continued to loft its weighty limbs into the air, reaching its fingertips toward the sun, the moon, the stars. Its leaves caught each passing breeze, rustling and singing.
Its roots continued to spread, taking shelter under the houses of myself and my neighbor. Eventually, that would be a serious problem, I knew. The roots of an oak reach out as far as do its limbs. The overlap of the branches atop the two roofs were evidence of the roots' encroachment upon those foundations.
Action would eventually be necessary. I knew that, but kept granting clemency to the oak.
After two of my neighbors called the city about my back yard, I decided it was time for action against the tree.
Time for the mighty oak to be felled.
"Mighty" was hardly the correct description. The tree was still so young! It should have had a couple of hundred years of time ahead of it.
Instead, the tree surgeon of my choice was called, a man recommended by my dear artist friend.
On the afternoon of Tuesday, July 15, 2014, Ervin came. After we agreed on the cost of ending the tree's life, work began.
Immediately.
I may have expected more time for me to accept the concept of killing the oak. At least I was aware that this was most likely the only time I would deliberately have a living tree destroyed.
I documented the act with photographs.
The tree surgeon was surprised, but did not discourage me.
He has a deep respect for these trees he fells.
I like to think he knew I had a deep respect for this oak.
I like to think I did, too.
I miss the sight and the sounds of it.
I don't think I realized what a loss I would feel.
I certainly did not realize what impact that loss would have on me.
Now, every morning, I am reminded that the oak is gone. The rising sunbeams, no longer blocked, beat against my bedroom window, seeking admittance, bidding me awaken at a ridiculously early time.
Now, all day long, the sun sends its heated rays toward that window, increasing the temperature in my already hot, un-air-conditioned, little house.
Now, every day, I am reminded of my death sentence on the oak.
Sigh.
Loss adjustment is still ongoing.
Perhaps, as the days cool and the nights lengthen, I will welcome the additional sunlight.
For now, the loss is still fresh and I am daily reminded: I had a living tree destroyed.
I don't know if Joyce Kilmer would have approved, but I have to believe he would have understood.
And none of that logic makes it any less sad.

wonderworks

I had SUCH fun at this place! It's a hands-on science museaum, in an "upside-down" building. I made this tree on a hill using a huge frame with plastic pushpins. I even managed to get this photo before a kid hit the reset button!

a singing bird

"Keep a green tree in your heart and perhaps a singing bird will come." So says the Chinese proverb on the yellowing newsprint, held to my refrigerator by a magnet my mother gave me. And so I have and so I do. And... a singing bird has indeed come. The singing bird first appeared to me on the 25th of February, but off in the distance, too far for me to easily hear or see. For the next few days, the image of the bird was all I could espy, still off in the distance, and though its beak was in motion, I could not yet hear its song.

On Saturday, I hesitantly trilled my song out there, reaching across time and space... and the bird answered, its song sweet and steady. Nice! But the bird was still so distant and I waited to see if it would fly just a little closer... just a little closer... if I were to gently approach. And the bird came, its song a nectar in my ears, renewing my spirit with its bright notes.

Now, the bird sings to me its song of hope every night. The notes trail after me as I go to bed and echo still in the hall, in the house, in my head when I arise the next morning. The bright and cheery tune keeps a smile close to my lips and in my eyes. Perhaps, someday, the bird will come to stay in my green tree, nestled deep in my heart. Perhaps...

invisible trees

"Am I gonna learn this time/ am I gonna try to get around it/ am I gonna reach the vine/ when will I realize that I found it?" So begins one of those songs that get into your head and and won't let go, songs with an ulterior motive, working on your subconscious mind. Moreover, the song is NOT one ever heard on the radio and I wouldn't have ever been exposed to it except I was married to a music man. The song is called "Invisible Tree" and it's sung by Josh Clayton-Felt, a young man taken off this planet by a strain of the great virus Cancer. I like the song, an anthem to a human tendency to make mountains out of molehills, to play what if. Now, there's a game with absolutely no winners and it's a real time-consuming and energy-sapping beast, engaged in more often than it should be.

"Some are gonna know it's there/ some will say you're only wishin'/ some are gonna be too scared/ don't wanna know what they are missin'." Not making a decision for fear of it being the wrong one, not believing in your own path because others haven't yet walked it, not asking for something desired for fear of hearing a negative answer; not making a move because of the invisible tree in your path, the monster in the closet, the bugaboo haunting your thoughts. The loss of faith in your own ability to choose your own path. How does that happen? One moment, you can see the future laid out before you, even the bends in the road being gentle enough to assure that the path is safe and bright. Then, an obstacle rises before you, cutting you off forever from that sure path and forcing you to make a decision: stay planted with past ghosts on that narrow blocked path, surmount the obstacle and regain your path, or force your way through the dimly lit underbrush to create a new path.

Well, I like to travel and have done so my entire life, ever since I was a baby and my mother would roll me around the apartment in the stroller to calm me. Since I cannot retreat into the past (because of the nature of time on this planet), and I have already climbed over this hurdle once before and cannot do so again, then it's my choice to forge a new way, yet again. Adventure, that magic word for me, awaits. One step at a time, my girl, one small step at a time to find a new bright future., acknowledging the presence of invisible trees and swinging on their vines.