Most of you know that I had surgery a few weeks ago. My recovery is going well. But I’m beginning to lose patience with myself and I’m beginning to think I may never wear pants with an actual waistband again.
So I set myself a goal of walking outside every day and appreciating spring…because, let’s be honest, there’s something about spring. Since I generally share my week with you, I thought you might enjoy seeing my world in living color.
In case you’re wondering, the extreme close-up shots are taken with my iPhone 5S with an Olloclips 14x Macro lens. The rest are a combination of my phone and my Nikon D3200.
There are times when life gets too big, my vision too full of debris and clutter that threaten to trap me. And I must focus small to get through. The macro shot bringing life down to leaf-sized, manageable pieces. There’s just something about the tight focus.
So I bring you the beauty in the small, tiny veins of a brittle leaf, the light caught in the edges of an evergreen needle, and the rich brown rings on a fungus. May these humble images bring you a moment’s joy for the week.
As I sit here writing, a fall wind is rippling through the trees, late afternoon sun is dripping horizontal gold through my curtains. The riot of color outside my window makes me smile. It is, undoubtedly and, for us non-philosophy students, unarguably beautiful.
This golden snippet of time is something I look forward to all year round. The memory of days like this is what gets me through the bleak winter months. Well, that and my down parka.
See, there’s something about beauty—especially in it’s classical, fall afternoon sense.
Part of being human is the ability to recognize, look forward to, and remember beauty. Tweet This
I’m fairly certain that my dog, Odie, as smart and crazy as he is, fails to really recognize the breeze, the trees, or even a perfectly cooked steak as beautiful.
There’s just something about a creek…or, if you’re from the South or small town Indiana like my Gramma, a crick.
We had one of these magical places behind my house growing up. It was home to a huge rock, a towering sand cliff, and more horsetail reeds than a kid could possibly make into pretend salads. We hunted frogs, fish, and imaginative respite.
It was my home outside my home. So when, as an adult, I saw a creek meandering behind a beautiful house, my heart fell in love…despite the fact my husband and I were planning to move elsewhere at the time.
Weed clogged and dirty, this creek was basically run-off from all the neighbors’ yards complete with resident frogs and occasional fish. The fact that I was enormously pregnant didn’t stop me from weed-whacking the entire backyard and meticulously laying out newspaper to stop the weeds from coming back up. I still don’t know how I did it. I could barely touch my toes.
In the 8 years since we moved, our creek has filled in a bit and the frogs have moved out. My kids don’t seem quite as interested and I don’t know which came first—the disinterest or my neglect of it.
However I’m beginning to suspect that my decision to not attack the weeds and debris in our creek had a lot to do with the disinterest.
There’s reasons. Good ones. But not good enough ones.
If you follow me over on Facebook, you know we have a slightly eccentric Shetland Sheepdog named Odie. We rescued him when his previous owner moved into assisted living and had to give the puppy back to the breeder.
From the first day we brought him home, Odie has been an endless stream of funny stories. And since we’ve officially entered the “dog days of summer”, I could use a smile. And I suspect you could use one too.
So let me introduce you to my puppy.
Odie is an adorable mass of brown, black, and white fur. Extremely smart, but when we first rescued him, scared of everything, even the grass (seriously). Although he loved to be pet, he preferred hiding in his crate to playing fetch with the kids.
At first, the only way we could coax him outside was if I took a treat with me to bribe him into the grass, and stayed nearby. So I was shocked when a few weeks in, Odie greeted Romeo, our neighbor’s cat, like he was a long lost friend. Trotting with his puppy tail extended long behind him, Odie was clearly inviting the kitty to come play.
The cat, however, wanted nothing to do with this new situation and came up hissing and spitting. Odie, now recognizing that the kitty was not an old friend, took off running in the opposite direction. No doubt looking for his crate. But to his puppy delight, Continue reading ““Dog Days” of Summer”→
It’s time for one of the two Thursdays of every month where I give a nod to the things that make us stop and say, “There’s something about . . .”
This is something I wrote awhile ago and it fits perfectly with one of the characters I’m working on . . . and to be honest with me sometimes.
There is something about shadows —that absence of light— that kids instinctively fear. Adults have a more educated view that thinks the dark patches really can’t hurt us. That there isn’t anything hiding inside trying to get out.
But if I’m honest with myself, there’s still something about the dark.
I can hear the whir of the dryer just under the sound of the kids playing soccer in the front yard. Dinner isn’t made. It’s five o’clock. And I can’t make myself worry about it. I’m having too much fun watching the kids laugh as they chase the ball—my girl with focused determination and my dude with antics and laughter.
The sun is breathing the first heat of spring and my skin soaks it up. Sometime within the last few days the daffodils have shot out of the ground and the buds have tipped, nearly bursting with their glorious yellow skirts. And the robins, frogs, ducks, heron, and other fair-weather friends have returned in full force creating a symphonic cacophony of summer sounds.
I can’t get enough.
In two months time it will all be so ordinary. And it’s a shame that the wonderful ordinary will go unnoticed.
I’ll be tempted leave behind the wonder when the everdayness wears the glory thin.
So today, I challenge myself along with you to remember. Remember the blackness of the ant crawling across the sun warmed deck. The fluffiness of the first dandelion gone to seed. The smell of fresh air and dirt stained kids.