A Moment of Magic

We had an anniversary the other day.

The years have added up for us 

since that wedding day in June long ago.

But alas, the celebrations have been few.

For many years something prevented us from even being together on the date.

It began the year our youngest was born.

 I was in the hospital for that 9th anniversary.

Then Jack spent many years at camp in Massachusetts

while I remained at home in New York.

More recently I have been in Alaska while he was in Texas.

And so had become our habit not to celebrate...

Until this year!

*********************

We planned to make up for these historic lacks and went to

San Antonio for a getaway celebration.

The night of our anniversary was magical!

Oh- not the sparkly, take-your-breath-away kind of stage magic 

that involves flames and drum rolls.

Rather an evening of quiet "specialness"...

It began high up in the tower restaurant at the grounds of the former World's Fair.

 The view from our window table was

wonderful and we watched the evening sky dim...

(rather breathtaking...)

And the lights of the city begin to glow.

In one hour the rotating restaurant had gone 360 degrees

 so we viewed all of San Antonio and its surroundings.

At least once!

(quite sparkling...)

There was a small, tented note lying on linen tablecloth that read "VIP"

but we didn't pay it much mind as we selected from the many choices on the menu.

Then one of us noticed the name on the top of said menu.

It was personalized!  This was OUR menu.

We are the "Davis Party".

Wow.

(Drum roll, please)

And for the final touch of magic,

a copy of our menu was lying by the candle,

rolled up with a ribbon.  To keep as a souvenir.

The great food was accompanied by countless smiles,

sighs and comfortable conversation 

that comes from years of being married.   

We were in no rush to leave.

You know, as I ponder the evening--it was the sparkling,

breathtaking kind of magic, after all!

B is for Bountiful.....

Not so long ago I celebrated yet another birthday.

Oh, dear.  How they DO accumulate...

But this one was well planned by Jonathan and Kelly. We had such fun. 

There was a theme to the day.

(For the record, I like themes!)

It ended up being rather a phonetic celebration.

How so?

Why,

B is for Birthday.

and

 B is for Bowling.

B is for Bowling Watchers and Cheerleaders.

B is for Balloons.

And a darling Boy.

B is for Borrowed Grandchildren

who make Breakfast in Bed for Grandma.

And just what do 2 children who cannot cook or use sharp tools prepare for such a special birthday meal?

Why, carrots, an apple, glass of water in a pretty cup,

and an orange.  Naturally.

My instructions were to use the sharp knife to cut the orange into sections without looking!

After all, it WAS a surprise!

(Fortunately, B was for Bloodless, too.)

 A bit later, we had a tea party.

We baked especially for the occasion.

B is for Bread.

Fresh, warm and just out of the oven.

Yummy!
(Ahem--definitely NOT Bummy!)

B is for Best. Card. Ever.

Not just for the art and message,

but the age of 51 is way off!!!

Way to go, Gigi!

(Please note the Birthday Bonnet.)

B is for Bathroom mirror poetry.

This message lingers long after the fun days ended.

I really do enjoy birthdays like this one.

B is for Berry Sweet!!

A Mother's Day Gift

Today is Mother's Day.

It was never intended to be a Hallmark day of greeting cards, flowers and gifts.

Those are all nice to receive, however.

The concept of Mother's Day began in the late 19th century to birth a progressive political agenda  

leaning toward issues related to women's lives.

Radical Protestant women were the instigators.

 (Somehow "radical Protestant women" is a direct contrast to the image of 

quiet, knitting church ladies in long dresses and bonnets.)

In 1870, just following the Civil War carnage, Julia Ward Howe 

(think "Battle Hymn of the Republic")

expressed the dream of all mothers in the following

rousing prose:

"A Mother's Day Proclamation"

Arise then...women of this day! 
Arise, all women who have hearts! Whether your baptism be of water or of tears! 
Say firmly...
"Disarm! Disarm! 
The sword of murder is not the balance of justice." 
Blood does not wipe our dishonor, 
Nor violence indicate possession. 
As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil 
At the summons of war, 
Let women now leave all that may be left of home 
For a great and earnest day of counsel. 
Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead. 
Let them solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means 
Whereby the great human family can live in peace... 
Each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar, But of God -

After having read this, can you hear the cry of her heart,

reflecting the heart of all mothers through ages?

What is this theme?? 

Peace and disarmament.

Of course!

It is the mothers who carry a babe within,

give birth, spend countless sleepless nights caring for    
and loving this child,

teaching, nurturing, healing, molding, shaping.

Worrying that goes on for years and years.

War is the direct opposite to her lifelong roles.

***************************

I now want to recognize my beautiful mother,

an honorable and gracious woman who has taught me 

so much through the years.

And continues to teach and advise me wisely.

A woman who loves God and her family.

Who prays daily, faithfully, for each of us.

A wonderful thing, to be prayed for!

Like a warm blanket draped over my shoulders

on a chilly night.

She is a loving mother who is loved in return.

By her children, children-in-law (Is that a word?),

grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

And to show her our love, we just may take her to one of her favorite places to eat--
the local Dairy Queen!

REAL Comfort Food

When we speak of "comfort food",

the images of macaroni and cheese or milk chocolate

often come to mind, almost instantly.

But today I want to pay tribute to REAL,

I say REALLY REAL comfort food.

You see, I had a brief date with a surgeon this past Monday.

His expertise and skill took less than 30 minutes.

My recovery will take, is taking, much longer.

A few weeks, in fact.

And, for this first week,

this innocent-looking walker has been my constant companion.  Thankfully.

But even though offering wheels on the front, I find it bulky,

awkward, noisy (especially at midnight) and ugly.

Just doing its job, of course, and I can't imagine my life without it

 as I hobble around unsteadily.

I will be SO glad to give it back soon.

(God bless anyone that has to rely on a walker all the time.

Grace and patience must accompany its use.)

Yet sweetness has overflowed during this time in my life.

Carrying armloads of dishes, bowls and plastic-wrap-covered

yummies,  a parade of caring, kind friends have come through our front door.

Love spoken loudly and clearly to Jack and me.

Smiles, warm hugs, prayers and delicious, warm

casseroles, salads and baked goods have blessed us.

We have feasted on wonderful meals.

When is a cool whip container not cool whip?

When it holds treasures prepared by a caring friend...

someone who has stirred, 
chopped,       
cut, 
mixed, 
measured and scooped 
fruits, vegetables, meats and dough.

Put effort and care into providing nourishing meals that will aid in the healing of my body. 

And oh, so much more!

My heart and soul have also been encouraged and uplifted by the daily visits 
of these dear friends.  

Sitting down to a table overflowing with delicious aromas 

and a variety of recipes has sped the physical healing of my body by ministering to my emotional side.

I am so grateful to these loving friends who have given so willingly 
of their talents and time 
to bring us such comfort food.

This comfort food has truly brought comfort
in many ways!!

Sidewalk Artist

Our sweet Gigi has been an artist 

most of her 8 years.

She seems happiest with paper and a box of crayons,

especially those with fresh, new points.

But she also gets excited about the sidewalk chalk

she has on hand at Grandma and Popeye's house.

She easily gets absorbed with what the chalk can do

on the broad expanse of driveway.

Her quiet concentration results in colorful murals

that, in turn,  give me a glimpse of her thoughtful creativity!

We see family portraits

that declare her love for us and

 even show Popeye with his white hair.

As she grows older, her pictures 

have grown more detailed.

They even include our darling artist 

posing in the spirit of her art:

here she shades her eyes from the chalk drawing

entitled "What a sunny morning!

(the actual sun was hiding behind some clouds that day.)

And here our girl rests to recover from

the drawing "What a night!!!"

Our dear granddaughter comes for little weekend

visits and I am always lonely when she has gone.

I am thankful that rain is a rarity here in Central Texas.

Our colorful sidewalk murals remain many days after Gigi

has gone home.   Thank goodness!

The Ethan Bunny

My long distance daughter is faithful in sending pictures via the internet.

It's a terrific way to watch my grandchildren 

grow and change and perform.

An alternative to the warm body, REAL presence,

mind you, but I am very grateful for these frequent up-to-dates.

When this picture came through yesterday...

I could NOT stop laughing!

I had to share it with anyone reading this blog.

Here sits my chubby, happy grandson.

Grasping his fat little hands, he laughs in delight

at this set of bunny ears...

while his eyes are completely covered by the mask.

One may think that the blindfold, however cute,

would upset him.

Not Ethan--he is tickled pink that we can call him

the ETHAN BUNNY!!

(Don't you want to just hug and squeeze this little man?

I know I do!!)

Do Trees Weep?

Once there were trees.

Live oaks, mostly.

These trees grew in open areas, their twisting 

branches forming wide canopies,  reaching heavenward.

Praising God, their Creator.

The leaves remained green all year,

changing over each March to fresh ones--

the new leaves pushing off the old.

Evergreen.

Through summer weeks of drought and heat, they grew.

Birds and animals sheltered in their outstretched limbs.

Cattle rested in their shade.

As God planned it, they absorbed the carbon dioxide we produced and gave back the oxygen we need for survival .

Then one day, in the name of progress,

large orange X's appeared on their silent, ancient trunks.

The birds paid no mind and continued to bring grasses to the growing nests within the branches, preparing for the day the eggs would nestle in these wee beds.

But there would be no eggs this year-nor any future years.

The abrasive noise of grinding engines disrupted the birds and all lifeforms nearby.  

The trees were torn down.

Not cut, but ripped out of the earth, twisted and broken.

Their roots lay bare.

Mangled. 

Disfigured.

The sturdy trees that had grown from a small acorn

and thrived for decades, perhaps a century, now lay

toppled and piled into a mass grave on top of the earth.

With frightening speed and efficiency,

this piece of machinery gathered up those grand trees that were now lying twisted and dying on the ground...

and reduced them to mountains of mulch.

And before we could even grieve for the trees,

these many piles of mulch were scooped into trucks

and swiftly hauled away.

To where, I wondered?

I stood for a long while,

camera in my idle hands,

staring in shock at the stark, barren landscape

in front of me.  

Where only utility lines are standing now--

brief days ago-- countless trees softened this landscape.

And this one oak to the left--

it is no longer there, either.

Who knows the years each of these trees had lived in these very places?

How can man's plans demolish so much life in one week?

One week???!!!

I am having a hard time driving down this road now.

I hear the echoes of weeping--

from the birds, the cattle, the small, scurrying animals...

and the trees themselves.

There will be no nests, no eggs, no fledgling birds.

No exchange of gases to help us breathe.

No shade, no greens, no rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Instead, a 2-lane country road becomes a 4-lane highway.

Noxious emissions from increased traffic will fill our lungs.

When is enough ENOUGH?!

When there are no longer trees but a world of asphalt,

will we mourn then?  Will we regret?

Do trees weep when they are being ripped apart?

I weep for them.  

Do you?