For the state of virtue is the restitution of the soul's powers to their former nobility and the convergence of the principal virtues in an activity that accords with nature.
Nikitas Stithatos.
It’s seldom trouble comes alone. I’ve noticed this: When things go wrong An’ trouble comes a-visitin’, it always brings a friend along; Sometimes it’s one you’ve known before, and then perhaps it’s someone new Who stretches out a helping hand an’ stops to see what he can do.
If never trials came to us, if grief an’ sorrow passed us by, If every day the sun came out an’ clouds were never in the sky, We’d still have neighbors, I suppose, each one pursuin’ selfish ends, But only neighbors they would be–we’d never know them as our friends.
Out of the troubles I have had have come my richest friendships here, Kind hands have helped to bear my care, kind words have fallen on my ear; An’ so I say when trouble comes I know before the storm shall end That I shall find my bit of care has also brought to me a friend.
Ain’t no use as I can see In sittin’ underneath a tree An’ growlin’ that your luck is bad, An’ that your life is extry sad; Your life ain’t sadder than your neighbor’s Nor any harder are your labors; It rains on him the same as you, An’ he has work he hates to do; An’ he gits tired an’ he gits cross, An’ he has trouble with the boss; You take his whole life, through an’ through, Why, he’s no better off than you.
If whinin’ brushed the clouds away I wouldn’t have a word to say; If it made good friends out o’ foes I’d whine a bit, too, I suppose; But when I look around an’ see A lot o’ men resemblin’ me, An’ see ‘em sad, an’ see ‘em gay With work t’ do most every day, Some full o’ fun, some bent with care, Some havin’ troubles hard to bear, I reckon, as I count my woes, They’re ’bout what everybody knows.
The day I find a man who’ll say He’s never known a rainy day, Who’ll raise his right hand up an’ swear In forty years he’s had no care, Has never had a single blow, An’ never known one touch o’ woe, Has never seen a loved one die, Has never wept or heaved a sigh, Has never had a plan go wrong, But allus laughed his way along; Then I’ll sit down an’ start to whine That all the hard luck here is mine.
This is my second "read" of this book. I usually don't read non-fiction because I read for enjoyment and escapism--that requires the skillful telling of a good story, which is something not usually found in non-fiction books. I like history, and this book is pure history. It's well researched and documented, which impresses me because I'm so bad at researching and documenting stuff. Anyway, this book is chock full of well-told stories that are even more fascinating and exciting to me because they are *real*. It's full of obscure facts that boggle my mind. For instance, most everyone "knows "that Kentucky was not inhabited because of it was so full of game that the surrounding tribes, Cherokee and Shawnee, "shared" it as a common hunting ground. WRONG! It was inhabited "first" by the "Fort Ancient People." I'd love to know more about these mound builders. After these people left or died out, it was inhabited by Mosopeleas, Honniasontkeronons (who were these people?), and Algonqins who were called "Shanwans" by the Iroquois, "Chaouanons" by the French, and "Shawanoes or Shawnees" by the English. This uncovering of such little-known facts make this a fascinating book to read. And the book has maps! I love maps.
Today I'm including a few pictures from the fruits and flowers in our yard right now. (Click on the pictures for a larger, more detailed view.) This year is so different from last year when the late frost and drought killed off everything that blossomed or fruited. The picture of the Zinnia is "just for pretty." Our pear trees are heavily laden with fruit, bending down the branches. Our figs are just beginning to ripen, and we're going to have so many that we won't be able to eat them all. The purple Amaranth (there is a green variety) is a "first time" experiment my husband is trying this year, so we have just a few plants to see if they thrive or not. (In the background of the picture of the Amaranth there is the gate leading to my poultry yard. You can see how stepping into my poultry yard is like stepping into a different and hidden world.) Amaranth is a grain, and is high in protein. My husband says of this plant, " Although allegedly indigenous to the New World, it is quite common in Europe and Asia. Amaranth comes from the Greek amaranthos (αμάρανθος) the "un-withering," or “fadeless” (flower). Another Greek favorite of this fruit is more colloquially known as “vlita” in Greece [Gr. βλήτα pronounced ‘VLEE-tah’]. " If we can get them to thrive, perhaps we will have an alternative source of grain if we need it. Perhaps. Finally, one of many "hands" of Pawpaws on our three Pawpaw trees. I love this fruit. I think it tastes like a cross between Pineapple Guava and Grapes, but others might not agree. It is soft and "custardy" inside and just lovely to eat. My husband says of this fruit, "This is now a rare North American fruit since it is an understory plant. When the Eastern forests' original, indigenous, old growth was cut down, the saplings of the Pawpaw could not tolerate the direct ultraviolet light from the sun and died. During the nineteenth century, the Dept. of Agriculture made very good efforts to improve the taste and varieties of this fruit. Unfortunately, they do not transport well and must be consumed within several days of becoming ripe. So, with the advent of mass transportation of fruits and vegetables in the 20th century, there was very little economic interest in the Pawpaw. It is historically interesting that during the Lewis and Clark Expedition to the Pacific Ocean there arose a circumstance in which the party was starving. They asked the Indians in the area for help, and they directed them to a grove of Pawpaws for sustenance. Thusly the success of this Expedition was directly linked to a North American fruit that is unknown to most people. The nutritional value, including protein, anti-bacterial, and anti-carcinogenic qualities are significant and are still being explored. Its scientific name is Asimina triloba, and is in the "custard apple" family. All of its relatives appear to be native to the tropics, which is evident by the fruit's appearance."
Something to think about:
If you are praised, be silent. If you are scolded, be silent. If you incur losses, be silent. If you receive profit, be silent. If you are satiated, be silent. If you are hungry, also be silent. And do not be afraid that there will be no fruit when all dies down; there will be! Not everything will die down. Energy will appear; and what energy!
Occasionally when I get so frazzled I want to scream, I go up onto the hill behind the house where I have placed a chair inside my poultry yard. It's quiet and seemingly isolated. During the summer, I can't see the house less than 50 yards behind me, and no one can see me, unless they know where and how to look. I look over the top of the hill, through the trees, and up into the sky. There is absolutely nothing to remind me that I live in an industrial world full of hurrying and scurrying to meet artificial deadlines. My chickens sometimes come and look at me as if to say, "Why are you up here? This is our yard." I love my chickens, even though they prohibit my husband and me from taking overnight trips together. Someone has to stay home to let them out at dawn and lock them up at dusk. This is necessary because these woods are full of Opossums and raccoons that would dearly love a nice, chicken dinner. Once, last spring, we were visiting some friends and stayed until a couple of hours after dark. I thought my chickens would be safe because their roost in their henhouse is over 6' high and I was sure that any predators would be so used to them being locked up that they wouldn't pay any attention to them. Wrong. When we got home, I immediately went up to my chickens to lock them in. I was met just inside the gate by a couple of the hens cowering under the bushes. Chickens cannot see well at night, so they are virtually helpless if they are left outside. Several other chickens were scattered across the poultry yard hiding behind trees and bushes. My husband and I, using spotlights, went lumbering through the bushes in the pitch dark looking for them and capturing them to put back in their henhouse. I was sure that I was going to find several corpses, but I didn't. I was lucky that night. Very lucky. I have no idea why whatever predator was up there that evening didn't kill at least one of my chickens, but they were all safe.
But I digress, and my husband has come in and has started reading to me about pawpaws, so I'm going to have to save this and come back to it when I can concentrate. Be sure to come back in a couple of days to see what I've added. NUTS!
This past weekend, I and my eldest daughter and her 3 year old son drove down to Mobile to visit with my other daughter and her 3 year old daughter. This was the first time all of "us girls" had been together since my son's wedding. (Who, by the way, has grown into a wonderful young man.) So much has happened to all of us during those years. We went to the Botanical Garden early one morning and it was beautiful. Then, when we were all tired and the kids were ready for a change, we got them milkshakes and took them to the kiddie park. I was hot and tired, so I sat at a table in a pavilion to keep out of the sun while my daughters supervised their children.
I watched my children push their children on the swings and remembered when it was I pushing them both on other swings. Then, not for the first time this weekend, I realize how superfluous I am. I married, bore children, raised them, and sent them off as young adults to navigate as best they can the rough waters of this river of life; and I hoped I had given them all the tools they needed.
I am so proud of these young women whom I hardly know. It feels so odd to be the one on the sidelines basically taking up space. I'm used to being the one in charge and responsible for all the mundane details that are so necessary. Now I watch my daughters performing the tasks I had always considered my own particular responsibility. And I feel superfluous. Nature is finished with me, and I am a hanger-on whose purpose and usefulness is over. This is such a strange stage of life; but I am tired--emotionally and physically tired--and I am ready, even grateful, for this superfluity.
Thirty-eight years ago this morning I got up early and the first thing on my mind was, "I can't wait until all this hoopla is over so Tom and I can be alone." Of course, it was a "bad hair" day. I had decided to fix it myself to save money because we didn't have any, and I usually did a good job. But, of course, not today. Besides, I've always hated the obsession with "getting your hair done." As it turns out, it didn't matter. It never does; it's all in our minds, the catastrophizing, that is. I walked over to the church and my girlfriends were there. My Mom and my youngest sister were there. My other sister was 9 months pregnant with her second child and couldn't make the trip. Everyone was laughing and being "girls." Except me. I just wanted it all to be over so I could get some peace and quiet. I have never liked crowds no matter how happy the occasion. I got into my dress, brushed out my hair and waited for the flowers. They didn't come. And didn't come. I finally, in my own inimitable way, called them and told them to get those flowers down here right now, after all, they had had several months' notice of the time and place! The flowers came. I'm usually a "go with the flow" type of person, rather quiet, but when push comes to shove, I can be a real B**ch. People are usually surprised; surprised at the difference in their perception of me, and surprised at how fast things can get done. Suddenly I was at the church doors with Tom and standing in front of the priest. We all processed down the aisle (since my Dad had refused to "give me away" or even attend) as the organist played Bach's Wedding Cantata. The church was full; people were even standing up along the walls. I didn't know any of them and wondered who on earth all these people were. There must have been 200 people there. I think Tom's Mom had invited the whole town. My parents sat in the usual pew. Mom cried and Dad made ugly, disapproving faces. My Dad had promised not to come, but I knew he would. I remember praying in front of the "Mary statue" for help to be a good wife. Finally, it was over and we were in the hall fake-smiling and wishing we could get in the car and zoom away. My Mom asked me if we were "really married" since the priest had never "pronounced" us man and wife. Pictures were snapped, congratulations all around, and at last we are in the car and rolling away from all that controlled chaos! Ah, what a wonderful ride that was! Through the Kentucky Bluegrass region, past beautiful horse farms, up to the historical town of Bardstown. We stayed at the Old Talbot Inn where Louis Phillipe, a once-French king, had stayed for a while at the invitation of the local Catholic Bishop. (The RC Cathedral was in Bardstown then before it was moved to Louisville.) The room where he stayed had been roped off, and the pictures his court painter, whom he brought with him, had painted on the walls were still there, along with some bullet holes from some rambunctious guests. We had ham with raisin sauce for our dinner. It was a quiet dining room, and people kept looking at us. I was embarrassed, but proud, too. I made sure everyone could see my newly-adorned left hand. We got up the next morning tired and hungry for a cup of coffee. It was Sunday morning, and the whole town was closed down. We walked all over the place, and everything was closed. We walked up to "My Old Kentucky Home," but it was closed, too, so we just walked over the grounds a bit and peeked through the windows. We were aghast that the town was locked up, so we just checked out of our hotel (Tom had to be at work that evening--he had a second shift job.) and drove the 45 minutes or so to Gethsemane Abbey (aside: my grandfather had once worked on the grounds as a gardener) for Sunday morning Mass, then home to our own little second story apartment. Tom's Dad had taken all our things over there and set up everything for us, so all we had to do was walk in. How very nice of him. It was a furnished apartment and I really loved it. The sun shown through the ruffled curtains in the kitchen and made it so merry. We had a huge (actually shared with the tenants downstairs) fenced backyard with trees and shade. Tom planted a small garden in a corner of that yard, so we had some fresh vegetables that summer, and I learned to bake bread. I read Tolkein's _Lord of the Ring_ for the first time all the way through that summer. So began my married life.
We've been having the usual Spring trouble with raccoons getting into my chicken feed. In past years they've been satisfied with eating whatever small bits the chickens left over from the day. This year, however, they've been breaking into my storage shed and taking the lid off the metal garbage can and feasting on the grain. I put a heavy cement block on the lid, but the first night they moved that out of the way and feasted anyway. They didn't move the cement block the past two nights. They got into the shed by pulling the front wall away from the frame. Yes, they pulled the wall away from the frame and crawled in. That's really not the feat of strength is seems to be since that corner of the shed has been well rain-soaked over the years, and the wood has become soft. However, I never expected them to rip apart a heavy, wire box trap. Makes me wonder what kind of raccoon is still up there. They are not the sweet, cute, cuddly looking "bandits" they appear to be. They are wild animals, and it's best to remember that.
My husband emailed the company that sells the box traps and ordered a new sliding "back door." (This trap has a sliding back door to release the trapped animal.) I included the pictures with that email. I also sent the pictures to a very old family friend who is something of a "woodsman" (not a hunter) to get his take on this ripped trap.
I just can't get over that ripped trap. I NEVER expected to see that. I mean, this trap is big and built to trap raccoons and animals of that size. Life sure is "interesting" out here in the boonies.
This is not "the" frog, but it was a frog just like this one. I took this one's picture in my back yard a year or so ago. Seems we have a plethora of frogs and other small fauna.
I was watering some hanging strawberry plants with a large pitcher. Apparently, unseen by me, a green tree frog was on one of those large leaves--one of those small, green frogs with suctions on their feet to help them hang onto things. He hopped onto the pitcher and looked me right in the face. At the same instant I saw him, he hopped right into my face and latched onto my upper lip! He just hung there all wet and slimy and heavy. Blech! Blech! I screamed because I couldn't get him off and I was afraid he would crawl into my mouth. My husband came running to fend off whatever monster had got ahold of me. By the time he got there, I had managed to knock that slimy sucker off my mouth and onto the ground. I ran into the house and washed my face and rinsed out my mouth with Listerine. He must have hopped away somewhere, because I couldn't find him. When I went back outside to help my husband with a project he was working on, he asked me if the frog had turned into a prince. LOL I told him, "No, it was just a slimy frog; and I already have my Prince!"
It's been a while since I've posted here. Paschal services were all I could have hoped for, except for the extreme fatigue that lasts for days and days. I think all the other bloggers have just about exhausted this topic for now.
I had to give back my dog Charlie. He quickly became stronger than I am, and he is a definite "alpha" type. It didn't help any that he liked my husband better than he liked me, neither, since he was supposed to be "my" dog. He tolerated me as the "alpha female," but looked to my husband for what was really going on. These two traits, his physical strength and his inclination to dominate, convinced me that I didn't need this particular dog. It didn't help any, either, that he was beginning to leave small bruises on my arms where he would take it into his mouth in "dog play." There was some thought among some people who saw him that he might have had a bit more wolf in him than a regular Husky. Perhaps. I don't know. He certainly looks like a wolf with is longer and more slender muzzle. I hated to give him up. He was a beautiful dog, healthy, enthusiastic, jolly, fun-loving. He was just too much "dog" for me. I kept thinking, I can handle him now, but what about next year, or in three years, or five? I'm getting older and weaker, while he hasn't even come into his prime yet. No, I definitely didn't need that dog, much as I wanted to see him running through my woods chasing rabbits and having fun.
Also as part of my "catch up" theme, I need to say to the very few people who read this that I probably won't be much online, not that I'm such an "online presence" anyway. It just seems that my life is taking a turn toward more "real" life and less "virtual" life, which is, I suppose, a good thing. I don't post to the couple of groups in which I've maintained a membership (one of them has had to move, and I really don't even know where it is anymore), and I've gotten a new Mac laptop.
Wow. Macs are soooo different. Take every--every--assumption you have about running a computer and trash them. Learning a Mac is starting over from scratch again. Man, I'm lost on this thing. So, my "virtual" world has shrunk to almost nothing, and this Mac seems to have actually shrunk it more.
My "real" world, however, seems to keep getting bigger. Exhaustingly so. Is this a good thing? I think I need a vacation.
This is Charlie. He's about a year old, and was a stray. He will need some filling out when he gets over all the excitement he's had in his life the past few weeks. We just brought him home Saturday morning from "The Dog Pound," which is an animal rescue organization about a two hour drive north of us. Charlie did not like the long drive home, but he's a very good and patient dog. He's a Husky, at the very least mostly Husky. I'm not sure about that long, slim muzzle and narrow skull. I had a Husky before who had beautiful black and white markings. She died last June (2007) of cancer. I've missed her so much. I hope Charlie and my cats can come to the same agreement that Suky (my other Husky) had with them. We're working on it. So far, so good. During the adjustment phase, I'm keeping Charlie very close to me. He sleeps in the basement so the cats can have the run of the house upstairs, but during the day Charlie is with me. I walk him three times a day, morning, mid-day, and evening. Those walks are either going to save me or kill me. My muscles are so sore and stiff! Charlie is a good dog, and always looks over his shoulder when he senses me lagging back and matches his pace to mine, but my triceps, glutes, quadraceps, and obliques are so sore. I'm tired, too. And stiff. I'd already been taking 30 minute walks several times a week, but those walks can't hold a candle to walking Charlie! We've been to the river, to the neighbors (he and neighbor American Bull "Drake" are going to be great friends), and into the forest. He loves it. Actually, I can't wait until he can be let loose to explore on his own. I guess it will be at least a couple of weeks. I have to make sure he understands that my cats are part of his "pack," and I'm the "alpha female," and my hubby is the "alpha male." So far he's understanding this.
Look what's getting into my chicken feed every night. These two mice manage to squeeze themselves into a heavy, plastic can that has a tight fitting lid. I don't know how they do it, but each morning they're there. I feed my chickens a mixture of corn, sunflower seeds, millet, oats, and some other grain I can't remember what it is. They seem to be very happy, chubby mice. Midnight, my black cat, likes to come up with me in the morning to let the chickens out, and she has fun in the storage shed when I release the mice from their imprisonment. She hasn't managed to catch them, though. I'll have to figure out a way to keep the mice from getting into the grain.
I cribbed this from Muttonings. Nice blog. You should visit it.
What I was doing 10 years ago:
1. Recovering from Graves' Disease. 2. Preparing to attend, against everybody's advice because I was so ill, my second daughter's graduation from the U.S. Coast Guard Academy. 3. Battling with the local public school. Don't ask. 4. Getting to know a new dog that wandered into our yard and became part of the family. (Suky) 5. Debating whether or not I should let my teaching certificate expire. (I let it expire.)
Five things on my To Do List today:
1. Laundry 2. Read "The Valley of Fear" (Sherlock Holmes) 3. Clean bathrooms. 4. Form and bake some clay "vomitaria" and hearts for my husband's Sandtray group. 5. Read the recent "Cook's Illustrated" magazine section on fish this month and maybe try out their poached fish recipe.
Five snacks I enjoy:
1. Veggie crackers. 2. Semi-sweet chocolate. 3. Fruit 4. Raw veggies and dip 5. Cookies
Five things I would do if I were a billionaire:
1. Make an appointment with my CPA and lay out a plan to keep the tax man from getting most of it. 2. Invest about 60% of it and form trusts from the interest/dividend income in the name of my children, grandchildren, a couple of monasteries, and a trust to handle my and my husband's medical care in our old age. 3. Blow some of it on completely re-doing the inside of my home--new paint, draperies, furniture, carpet in bedrooms, wood floors everywhere else, clean out and finish the basement. Hire a couple of people to keep the yard up and the house cleaned. 4. Buy a property that had a home with a smaller cottage also on the property, put enough money in a savings account to pay the taxes on the place for five years, and give it to a young friend who is really sacrificing to keep a roof over his mother's head--to the detriment of his own personal development. 5. Take that remaining bit, about 25% or so, and invest it and hope to live off of that for our retirement.
Five places I have visited:
1. Navarre Beach. 2. Nuevo Laredo, Mexico. 3. New London, CT 4. San Francisco, CA. 5. Mt. Shasta, CA
Five jobs I have had:
1. Mail clerk 2. Shipping clerk 3. Private Secretary (That would be called an executive secretary today.) 4. Substitute teacher 5. High School teacher
Well, I notice it's been two weeks since I've posted anything here. Lots of things have been happening during those two weeks, all having to do with my family; so I really don't want to post about that. Instead, I took a few pictures of the remaining bulbs still blooming in my back yard. Yes, they are all beginning to die back, but there are still plenty to delight the eye and lift the spirit, thanks to my loving husband. He planted them all for me.
For the past 10 days or so, something has been getting into the grain storage shed up in my poultry yard. I knew it was a racoon--how I knew, I don't know; I've just developed a sense. The little beggar learned how to unlock the door and get in. This is the time of year for it. The "critters" are coming out of their wintertime doldrums and beginning to roam farther from their dens. 'Coons are smart, which is another reason I knew it had to be a raccoon that was getting into my storage shed and stealing the food.
Yesterday afternoon we were away from the house visiting with some friends, and we didn't get home until well after dark. These critters tend to start roaming about an hour after full dark, so I knew that they would be in my poultry yard before I got home to lock up my chickens; but I thought it (I thought there was only one critter coming in) would just go for the grain, since the door was wide open. Well, when we got home, and I went up there to lock up my chickens, two hens met me just inside the yard, so I knew something had gotten into their roosting house and upset matters quite a bit. I rushed up to the house to see how many were left. I have only 7 chickens at this time, and there were only three in the house--two hens and one of the roosters. Well, I was convinced that I'd lost at least one hen and the dominant rooster. My husband came up to help, and with the aid of lights, we got the first two hens back into the chicken house. My husband then went back into the house. We were both convinced that the remaining two chickens were dead, and my husband is a sensitive type, and didn't want to find any dead chickens. I stayed up there, though, and searched around through the brush until I found the remaining hen crouched in one of the farthest corners of the poultry yard. I yelled for my husband, and he came back up. With me herding the chicken slowly in his direction, he kept his light off and when she got close enough to him, he grabbed her. In she went to the chicken house, and I stood there with the light until she could see her way up to the roosts, which are about 6' high. Meanwhile, my husband went back to the house. I was determined to find my dominant rooster, or what remained of him. So I stayed up there and crawled around through the brush some more until I found him on the opposite side of the yard hiding behind a tree and up against the fence. Now my birds are Marans chickens, and they are big. I mean this rooster's head comes up to my mid-thigh just standing there, and this breed grows very long spurs on their feet. This particular rooster's spurs are easily 4" long at least. The minute I got close to him, he took a defensive stance, and I knew this bird was not going to be picked up and carried to the chicken house like the hens. I yelled for my husband again, and told him I found the rooster and he was alive and apparently not hurt. Well, my husband was not too keen on the idea of grabbing this rooster, either. I told him to just open the chicken house door, and shine his light on it while I slowly herded the rooster in that direction. When he saw his house, that old rooster perked up and walked right in there. Of course, all the other chickens started squawking at this, but the second his feet hit the roost, they all got quiet. I shut them up and came back in the house. We were quite surprised that I didn't lose a single bird, but I don't expect these traumatized hens to lay any eggs for quite a while, if they ever lay again. Sometimes a hen that has been traumatized will just quit laying altogether, and these hens are old, so they might just stop laying. I hope not. I have an "order" (gentleman's agreement) with another Marans breeder/lover to sell me another half dozen pullets later this Spring when he hatches some out and when they get old enough to tell the pullets from the cockerels, but this might fall through, since Marans chickens are notorious for "throwing" more males than females, and sometimes you won't get a single pullet out of a clutch of eggs. Time will tell.
Before we went to bed, we set a trap by the roosting house and another inside the storge shed and left the shed door open. (The critter could get in there anyway.) I expected to catch at least one 'coon in the shed, and maybe another 'coon up by the roosting house. I was rather surprised to find a young o'possum in the trap up by the chickens' roosting house. I'm pretty sure that the varmint responsible for chasing my chickens around the yard after dark last night was the o'possum. He was caught nearest their house, and that raccoon was too big for the rooster to chase off and not get killed or hurt. All in all, I consider myself very lucky. Now, if the hens can get over their fright and lay a few more eggs, I'd be even happier--and luckier.
Here's a picture of this dominant rooster. This is not his best pose. He has his head pulled in and his tail down a bit, and he's giving me a mean look. I just wish you could see how big he really is.
We had a light dusting of snow again this morning. The ground was too warm for it to stick, but it did stick to the grass and trees. I've uploaded some pictures below. I believe if you click on a picture, you can see a larger version. It might work differently with different browsers, though.
Remember that animal burrow in my front yard I blogged about earlier? Well, I've been watching that area, and it's a cotton tail bunny rabbit. He only comes out well after dark (I didn't know rabbits were nocturnal.), so this (below) is the best picture I could get of him. I had to take the picture from the front porch, which is about 15' high and about 100' from the bunny, and it was pitch dark. I used a spotlight on him, but that didn't help much. It's not a good picture, so I found this one (right above) on the internet that looks a lot like him.
I'm glad it's a rabbit and not a fox or groundhog or armadillo.
by St. Nectarios Plagal First Tone (Tone 5) Refrain: Rejoice, O Unwedded Bride!
O Virgin pure, immaculate/ O Lady Theotokos O Virgin Mother, Queen of all/ and fleece which is all dewy More radiant than the rays of sun/ and higher than the heavens Delight of virgin choruses/ superior to Angels. Much brighter than the firmament/ and purer than the sun's light More holy than the multitude/ of all the heav'nly armies. Rejoice, O Unwedded Bride!
O Ever Virgin Mary/ of all the world, the Lady O bride all pure, immaculate/ O Lady Panagia O Mary bride and Queen of all/ our cause of jubilation Majestic maiden, Queen of all/ O our most holy Mother More hon'rable than Cherubim/ beyond compare more glorious than immaterial Seraphim/ and greater than angelic thrones. Rejoice, O Unwedded Bride!
Rejoice, O song of Cherubim/ Rejoice, O hymn of angels Rejoice, O ode of Seraphim/ the joy of the archangels Rejoice, O peace and happiness/ the harbor of salvation O sacred chamber of the Word/ flow'r of incorruption Rejoice, delightful paradise/ of blessed life eternal Rejoice, O wood and tree of life/ the fount of immortality. Rejoice, O Unwedded Bride!
I supplicate you, Lady/ now do I call upon you And I beseech you, Queen of all/ I beg of you your favor Majestic maiden, spotless one/ O Lady Panagia I call upon you fervently/ O sacred, hallowed temple Assist me and deliver me/ protect me from the enemy And make me an inheritor/ of blessed life eternal. Rejoice, O Unwedded Bride!
(Source and translation: Holy Nativity Convent, Saxonburg, Pennsylvania, U.S.A.) http://www.serfes.org/spiritual/november...
Original Greek text Text of Αγνή Παρθένε copy pasted from http://www.matia.gr.
Χαίρε Νύμφη Ανύμφευτε. Και κλήρονομον δείξον με, ζωής της αιωνίου, Χαίρε Νύμφη Ανύμφευτε.
(In the Roman alphabet below.) Agni parthene Despoina,ahrante theotoke Here nimfi animfefte Parthene mitir anasa,panedrase te poke Here nimfi animfefte ipsilotera ouranon aktinon lamprotera Here nimfi animfefte hara parthenikon horon aggelon ipertera Here nimfi animfefte eklamprotera ouranon fotos katharotera Here nimfi animfefte ton ouranion stration pason ayiotera Here nimfi animfefte Maria aeiparthene kosmou pantos kiria Here nimfi animfefte ahrante numfi pannagne Despoina Panagia Here nimfi animfefte Maria nimfi anassa haras imon etia Here nimfi animfefte kori semni vasilissa mitir iperagia Here nimfi animfefte timiotera herouvim iperendoxotera Here nimfi animfefte ton asomaton serafim ton thronon ipertera Here nimfi animfefte here to asma herouvim here imnos aggelon Here nimfi animfefte here odi ton serafim hara ton arhaggelon Here nimfi animfefte here irini kai hara limin tis sotirias Here nimfi animfefte pastas tou logou iera anthos tis aftharsias Here nimfi animfefte here paradise trofis zois te eoinias Here nimfi animfefte here to xilon tis zois pihi athanasias Here nimfi animfefte se iketevo Despina se nin epikaloume Here nimfi animfefte se disopo pantanassa sin harin exetoume Here nimfi animfefte kori semni kai aspile Despina Panagia Here nimfi animfefte thermos epikaloume se nae igiasmene Here nimfi animfefte antilavou mou,rise me apo tou polemiou Here nimfi animfefte ke klironomon deixon me zois tis eoniou Here nimfi animfefte~
What if you had a $100 gift card to the music store of your choice, what would you buy??
Well, I dunno. I'm not that much of a music person, but I do love to sing, so I'd look for something vocal. The thing is that I like the old stuff from the 1940's and 50's--the crooners. So, it's off to Amazon.com for me.
Perry Como Christmas [ORIGINAL RECORDING REMASTERED]
"Perry Como - All-Time Greatest Hits, Vol. 1"
Perry Como Greatest Hits 1943-1953
Very Best of Bing Crosby
An Evening With Andy Williams : Live From The Royal Albert Hall (2007)
The Legendary Crooners - Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Bing Crosby, Nat King Cole, Perry Como (2007)
I Wish It Could Be Christmas Forever
Dean Martin - All-Time Greatest Hits
This is harder than it seems. I cheated and got a DVD in there. The total for all this is $100.38, but I got FREE SHIPPING.
I was listening to a podcast from Ancient Faith Radio on "Resilience and the Canaanite Woman." The V. Rev. Fr. George Morelli Ph.D. gives a series of podcasts reflecting on the traditions, prayers, and liturgy of Eastern Orthodoxy with a goal of healing mind, body,and soul. In this particular podcast, Fr. George discusses the importance of "resilience" or "stubborn persistence" in continually turning to Christ for help and mercy. He makes the point that we are to persist stubbornly even when we feel that Christ does not hear us, even when (like the Canaanite woman) we know that we don't deserve His mercy, even when trouble follows trouble in our personal lives, and not to give in to despair; thinking, erroneously, that we should just give up asking for help if no help seems to come.
I would like to make my own comment on this theme of not giving up when we feel that no help is coming. Imagine a life in which your every whim and care were automatically provided for you. Soon you would become accustomed to a trouble-free life of ease. You would not even be aware that trouble existed. However, we do have troubles in our lives. These troubles, instead of leading us to despair over being "left orphan" and uncared for, serve to constantly remind us of our weakness in our physical natures. They lead us to continually turn to Christ praying for His mercy and help in our lives. If we were never aware that we needed help, we would never ask for it. So, when troubles come, instead of thinking, "Oh, no, not again!" Let it serve to remind you that you are not the autonomous, powerful, independent person you think you are; that you need to continuously persist in praying for help. If I do not know my weakness and incompetence, I cannot grow; nor can I have any faith, because it is just when we must depend upon God for help, that we learn faith.
For myself, I find that I tend to just want to give up "beating my head against a wall." I find myself thinking that Christ doesn't care, or He would help me immediately instead of leaving me hanging, so why should I continually humiliate myself begging for help from an uncaring God? I've finally discovered that, far from uncaring, God allows these times of troubles to teach us that our strength is in our weakness. (2 Cor. 12:10) This means that we are strongest when we realize our limitations, our true selves, and, like rational beings instead of hysterical ranters against fate, come to God and Christ as our Creator and Savior who knows, i.e. has experienced, our every heartache and trouble and so knows best how to help us. All too often I think I know the best solution or resolution to troubles, and God does not make that solution happen according to my planning. Then, if I can rise above my indignation and hurt pride that the problem was not resolved my way, I can look at the way it actually was resolved, and see that God has resolved it in a way that helps, encourages, and supports each individual involved. This has taught me to look outside of myself; even when I think I am already considering others first and me second, I discover that there is still more "looking outside of myself" that can be done. It's a Mystery.
Now that Great Lent is imminent, we will be facing inner struggles and, often, outward problems, and sometimes even personal or family crises. These trying times seem to come during this time of year when our spiritual struggle is intensified. During the coming weeks, it might be good to remember to be stubbornly persistent, as a little child stubbornly pesters its father, in our prayers.
This past Sunday, 17 Feb 2008, was the Sunday of the Publican and Pharisee. This is the first week of the Triodion, and the first week that we Orthodox prepare for Great Lent, which is itself a preparation for the Resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ.
Yesterday I was going to post something appropriately profound, but just couldn't muster up the energy. You see, I've had the 'flu for a week or so. So, once again, I find myself less than prepared for what some might call the second holiest of seasons of the Liturgical year. Holy Week and Pascha, of course, being the holiest season. During this week we are reminded that only sincere repentance is acceptable, and we're just fooling ourselves if we go through the motions perfectly without an effort at interior change. During this week we are reminded that "The sacrifice of God is a broken spirit, a broken and contrite heart -- these, O God, shalt Thou not despise." (Psalm 50/51) During this week we begin our attempt to be more aware of ourselves and our habit of making excuses for ourselves and discounting our bad habits. "Everybody does this, so it's not so bad." During this week we re-learn how to say, "Lord, have mercy!"
This morning we had some snow flurries here in north central Alabama. The local meteorologist is (tongue in cheek) calling it a "flizzard." It was only a dusting that stayed on fallen leaves and logs only, but it was a nice change. My chickens seemed happy about it.
My throat is sore. I was hoping it was just dry from sleeping with my mouth open because of stuffiness from allergies, but I'm afraid it's not. I think I just may have caught my husband's illness. He has been ill for a week, actually took off from work last Wednesday (unheard of for him), and he still feels ill, but much better. I guess I'm in for it now. I hate being sick. I am not a nice person when I am sick. Well, practice in patience and endurance coming my way it seems.
(P.S. It seems this blog looks better in Opera or Firefox instead of Internet Explorer.)
OK, this is my SECOND post for the day, so anyone reading this be sure to scroll down and read the more interesting one below this one. I just HAD to post this, though, when I saw it on another person's blog on OC.
My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Her Exalted Highness Duchess Suzanne the Profuse of Throcking by Hampton Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title
Here's the link to get your own "Aristocratic Title" if a link isn't included in the embed code. If you don't like the title you get first, just run your name through again for another title--one for your every mood! What fun!
http://www.masquerademaskarts.com/memes/yourtitle.php or http://tinyurl.com/245bdd
Have fun today; it's sunny and bright, and the temperature is just right!
Lately I've been wondering what people blog about and why some blogs attract a lot of readers while others barely attract one or two. I've read several blogs over the past couple of months and it seems that the best read blogs discuss current or social events. Something I take notice of, but I'm not a reporter, nor is this venue a journalistic source. Other blogs that have a fair amount of regular readers blog about their personal lives; what their kids are doing, what's going on with the hubster's job, what's going on in their Church or Church life. Well, that's fine and good, and it's helped me learn that my life is not all that different, but I don't think my children (who are all grown and married now) would appreciate having their lives spread over a public forum, nor would they like having their adorable children's pictures posted. That's probably been one of the hardest for me. I certainly have a LOT to brag about with my children; and my grandchildren are, of course, the cutest, smartest, and best grandkids in the world; and I'd love to share all this. However, who might read this? Right now I know of only maybe 3 people who read this blog, but who else might find it?
The past year for me has been horrific; and it has followed four stressful and emotion-wracking years. So, I guess you could say that those previous four years culminated in the horror of the past 12 months. Because of this I've probably posted some lame stuff and some "personal growth" stuff that's not very interesting. I've also backed off a lot just because of this very thing. But spring is here again, and I feel that this next 12 months will be the best I've had in years. I certainly hope so. I've had enough family problems and stress to last me another decade. Actually, this past decade has been harder than the decade before that.
For a while I was blogging almost daily on Yahoo 360, but that just sort of petered out. There I blogged a lot about the seasonal changes going on in the woods behind my house, with pictures. Maybe I'll get back to that. In fact, I do have an exciting (to me) natural development going on in my front "yard" (about an acre in size) right now. We've noticed a very fresh animal burrow located about two feet from where we are intending to put a greenhouse. If you live in the city, your eyes might not be able see it, being accustomed to sidewalks, buildings, trees growing from neat circles in the sidewalks, manicured lawns; but this burrow is easily at least 12" wide and who knows how deep? I'm not sticking my hand down there. It's big enough to accommodate a fox, an armadillo, or a groundhog, all of which live around here. This is mid February, which indicates that whatever dug this burrow is most likely a pregnant female making a den for her coming young. This will be so exciting to watch! I'm sure, though, that early in March when we have the workers come in to lay down a foundation for the greenhouse, that she will be frightened off. I just hope that that time will not hurt her coming brood, whatever animal she is. I will certainly make a point of watching at dawn and dusk to see what animal is there. I'm always up at dawn and dusk, anyway, taking care of my chickens. I am so excited about this!
Besides the new animal burrow, I saw a deer as I was opening up the chicken house this morning at about 6 a.m. (I was late.) It was just on the other side of the poultry yard fence in the woods browsing. What a way to start the morning!
This past week the hawks have come back. They seem to come in about three year cycles. I hypothesize that they have a rotating feeding range. They've been soaring over my woods and watching my chickens, who have not been happy about their return. Yesterday, as I was driving down County Hwy 160, a red tailed hawk flew right in front of the car! I almost hit it, since it was so focused on something across the road it didn't see my car coming until it was about six feet from crashing into my windshield in spite of me applying the brakes and trying not to wander into the oncoming traffic or go into the ditch to the right. It veered off just in time. What a sight!
More good news: after about six months of no eggs at all from my aging chickens, I found TWO EGGS yesterday evening when I locked up the chickens! I'm so happy about that! Now my grandson can have "real eggs," sans antibiotics, sans growth hormones, for his breakfast again. I've "placed an order" to a local breeder for six more pullets this spring/early summer, so if my current old girls go back to laying, even just a few of them, on a regular or even semi-regular basis, I'll have eggs again by next fall! No more insipid store-bought eggs! Yay!
You're interested in things such as politics, psychology, child care, and peace. I wouldn't go so far as to call you a hippie, but some of you may be tree-huggers. You're the type of people who are interested in bettering the world. You're possible the least nerdy of them all; unless you participate in other activies that paled your nerdiness compared to your involvement in social activities. Whatever the case, we could still use more of you around. ^_^
Sometimes when life brings a soul-wearying day as it did yesterday, I wish for someone to just be with in a restful way. Someone who is not judgemental or accusing. Someone who won't sugarcoat her comments, but will just be there to support and encourage and remind me that I'm not the only pebble on the beach, but in a kind way. Someone who can and will recognize when I need support and give it, even though I'm doing something stupid; and then later, when I'm stronger, tell me I was doing something stupid. Last year about this time I thought I had several such friends, but I found I was sadly mistaken in my perception of the relationship. However, God in His goodness has not left me alone, but He has sent me one such beautiful soul. Even though she is semi-invalid and pain is her constant companion, she finds time and energy from her heavy workload and worries to encourage me, pick me up with a funny story, remind me gently that I'm not the only person who has troubles, and tell me when I am right and when I am wrong. What a treasure. Thank you, dear friend. You know who you are.
Non nobis Domine, Domine Non nobis Domine Sed nomini, Sed nomini Tuo da gloriam
Not unto us, O Lord Not unto us, O Lord But to Thy name But to Thy name May all the glory be
Thursday, December 20, 2007
We had rain today, and wind. Gusts of wind toppled trees and shut down power in many places all over central Alabama. After the rain, the weather made the setting sun look like it was burning down the woods behind my house.
Turtlerock has tagged me, and I'm tagging Athanasia and Mimi; so here goes my second blog post of this day!
1. Wrapping paper or gift bags?
Giftbags, or delivered to their homes by the online retailer.
2. Real tree or artificial?
Potted rosemary pruned into a cone shape. I put little red, velvet bows on it, or tiny brass bells. This year, though, there are no rosemary plants to be found, so we'll make do with a beautiful poinsetta and some artificial decorations from the Dollar Store.
3. When do you put up the tree?
Whenever we can find the potted rosemary in the store.
4. When do you take the tree down?
Around Theophany (Jan 5 / 18), or when it shows signs of serious dehydration from the dry, indoor air. Then we plant it outside.
5. Do you like egg nog?
Yes, but I've never made it. It's been decades since I've had it.
6. Favorite gift received as a child?
A baby doll and two, beautifully illustrated story books.
7. Do you have a nativity scene?
No. I could never get "into" the schmaltz of the "holy family" and the "baby Jesus."
8. Hardest person to buy for?
My husband. He is impossible to please. He even admits it.
9. Easiest person to buy for?
Grandkids! I have to seriously rein myself in from buying every toy I see.
10. Mail or email Christmas cards?
Both. I email to friends whose snail mail addresses I do not have, and mail to those I do have. (I'm supposed to be getting those out this morning instead of doing this, so I hope they actually get sent out!)
11.Worst Christmas gift you ever received.
I really can't remember a "worst" Christmas gift.
12. Favorite Christmas movie?
Oh, there are so many! Most anything with Bing Crosby or Jimmy Stewart.
13. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present?
I don't think so. Been tempted to, though, if I could be sure of who gave it to me in the first place! It just wouldn't "do" to accidentally give it back to the giver!
14. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas?
Do I have to chose just one?
15. Clear lights or colored on the tree?
Colored, if I have lights at all, but nothing blinking, PLEASE!
16. Favorite Christmas songs?
Today the Virgin, White Christmas, O Holy Night, O, Come Little Children.
17. Travel at Christmas or stay home?
Go to Church, break the long, weary fast, refresh and recoup for the rest of the winter.
18. Can you name all of Santa’s reindeers?
Can't everybody?
19. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning?
Whenever it's convenient. Some presents are exchanged at Church, family presents whenever I see them, whether before or after Christmas.
20. Most annoying thing about this time of year?
Too many unrealistic expectations. (I do put them on myself most of the time, though.)
21. Favorite ornament theme or color?
Red, green, and gold.
22. Favorite for Christmas dinner?
Hmmmm. Whatever we're in the mood for. I usually long for scrambled eggs, melted cheese, sausages, toast with real butter, and coffee with real cream.
23. What do you want for Christmas this year?
What I always want--peace and quiet and a happy family.
Winter has finally come to north central Alabama. This week has been cold and frosty. I awake to temperatures of 20F and a hard frost on the ground. The world is icy and even the clouds show blue with cold and red with their chapped cheeks. Everything seems to have stopped. The world hides from the anger of the lost light and warmth. Even when the sun breaks over the horizon and turns the blue and red morning into bright silver and ice, the world is encased in cold. Gone are the yellow and orange hues of Summer. Here for a time are the blue and silver-white hues of ice and cold. There is no pre-dawn songbird cantata. The birds twitter nervously and search anxiously for any water that is not frozen. They explore deliberately and thoroughly for any seeds and berries left on bushes or trees. There is no background music of crickets, frogs, and cicadas that accompany the life-throb of Spring and Summer. The world is silent; it hides and waits. It goes in to itself to search the darkness down deep to recover the buried life that has been exhausted by the exertions of the Summer.
Just for fun, I thought I'd embed this 1935 film of Dickens' "A Christmas Carol." This one has a different ending from the more familiar version, but I think you will like it.
"Seymour Hicks plays the title role in the first sound version of the Dickens classic about the miser who's visited by three ghosts on Christmas Eve. This British import is notable for being the only adaptation of this story with an invisible Marley's Ghost and its Expressionistic cinematography. This is the uncut 78 minute version."
This morning my mind is full of thoughts that stumble all over themselves for attention and instead just make a jumbled mess in my mind. It's one of those "Gracie Allen" days for me. I'd like to get at least some of these thought straightened out enough to at least resemble something coherent, but it may take a day or two for my "Gracie Allen" moment to pass. In the meantime, I'll post this schmaltzy story that I received in the email this morning. It's really cheesy, and probably totally just made up, and it's been going around the internet for years, but I love it every time I read it. It reminds me to be kind, even when I'm feeling frustrated. It also reminds me of that quote attibuted to St. Philo of Alexandra, "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle." So, at this time of the year when everyone is rushing to buy stuff and so prove that they are good, loving, better, or whatever; when tempers flare in the rush to prove themselves to be "loving and caring," I thought this story just might cause one or two people to pause and think about their priorities. It certainly causes me to pause.
Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. When I arrived at 2:30 a.m ., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, and then drive away.
But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself.
So I walked to the door and knocked. "Just a minute", answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie.
By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.
There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.
She kept thanking me for my kindness "It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated".
"Oh, you're such a good boy", she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, and then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?" "It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.
"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice".
I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long." I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.
"What route would you like me to take?" I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.
We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing. As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now"
We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.
Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair. "How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.
"Nothing," I said
"You have to make a living," she answered.
"There are other passengers," I responded. Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.
"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."
I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life
I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift?
What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?
On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life.
We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.
But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.
PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT 'YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID, ~ BUT~THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL
![[Image credit.]](http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Image:Folio_164r_-_The_Canaanite_Woman.jpg){kind=link}