The last week has been heavy with sad and tragic events from around the world. As we leave June and enter another month, let’s lighten the energy with a beautiful quote by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow about planting kindness wherever we can.
“Kind hearts are the gardens, Kind thoughts are the roots, Kind words are the flowers, Kind deeds are the fruits, Take care of your garden And keep out the weeds, Fill it with sunshine, Kind words, and Kind deeds.” — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
From the deepest, darkest part of the ocean to where I feel more at home, following a path on terra firma…
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening — Robert Frost
Artist Micell A. via Pinterest
Happy Father’s Day!
I learned a lot from mine about a lot of things, and I think that’s also most likely where the ancestral sarcastic form of humor emanated from as I passed it on to my son, the master of snarky, biting, brilliantly accurate commentary,
DNA is strong here…always a daddy’s girl.
He’s the one who first started calling me “Rosebud”. The addition of “Princess” seemed to make a lot of sense, especially when he did things like giving me HIS birthday so I’d be able to have another day of celebration (and presents).
I’m sorry he never got to meet the original Angel Boy; they could have talked for hours about literature and life.
At the time my dad was college age, he was prohibited from pursuing a medical career all because of Jewish quotas, the barriers Ivy League universities erected to limit the number of Jewish students.
He would have been so proud of Angel Boy’s Yale doctorate. where they previously practiced overt and rampant anti-Semitic and racist policies.
According to Dan Oren’s book, Joining the Club — A History of Jews and Yale, Yale University’s informal admissions policy to restrict the school’s Jewish student body to around ten percent ended in the early 1960s.
That’s pretty disgusting part of America’s history, don’t you agree?
Anyway, after a little detour to protest racism, I hope everyone has a happy Sunday!
We had been playing house with her dolls and I styled their hair with braids or headbands and even a sparkly tiara, when Angel Girl said,
“Grandma, take your hair down.”
“Why?”
Those giant eyes scrutinized me with piercing discernment.
(This not-quite-four-year-old is actually quite judgy and has no problem letting me know if I’m wearing the right clothes or if my shoes are tied properly. Definitely some of my DNA, haha.)
“I don’t like it up in a scrunchie, I want to brush your hair.”
Uh oh, I thought to myself. I remember another little girl who used to love to brush my hair and it always turned out to be an exquisite disaster.
When hair is as curly as mine, it’s next to impossible to brush. The only time I can attempt it is when it’s freshly washed and I comb in product.
But will I say no? Not on your life.
“OK, I replied, “but PLEASE be as gentle as I am with your hair and T’s hair. You know it hurts to pull.”
Eye roll. “OK, Grandma. Sit down and turn around.”
Yes, ma’am! These are definitely two bossy boots angel kids.
For the next few minutes, while the angel stands behind me, all is silent as her brush unsuccessfully attempts to glide its way through my hair. She was intensely concentrating on arranging my hair into a semblance of “style.”
I feel her little hands twisting and pulling and puffing up certain areas. I’m afraid to look.
“What are you doing back there? Can I look?”
“Not yet. Grandma, hand me your scrunchie.”
“Here you go.”
Somehow the scrunchie is now imbedded in all of that twisting and spiraling and brushed out tangled up curly bird’s nest of her creative endeavors.
I know it’s going to be a long hard road to untangle the knots, but when she finally tells me she’s done and I can look, the pride (and love) in her eyes was totally worth every bit of it.
“Am I beautiful now?”
“Yes, you ARE beautiful now, Grandma.”
In her eyes, I am, and that’s all that matters.
Later, after the kids were tucked away in bed, I slathered conditioner on my hair, took my wide tooth comb and spent a good half hour or so untangling the knots, and fell asleep with a smile on my face.
These are the rare moments that weave a tapestry of joyful memories. However, I wouldn’t dare share a photo of my medusa-like hair catastrophe!
The practice of daily affirmations is a great way to reframe our mental patterns, shifting into positive thinking while learning to dynamically rewire our brain with neuroplasticity.
~Sylvia Plath The Bell Jar
“I closed my eyes, took a calming breath and listened to my heart call I am… I am… I am…”
(In 1982, Plath was posthumously awarded the Pulitzer Prize for her Collected Poems.)
Try these I am affirmations:
I am excited for this day.
I am so grateful to be alive.
I am lovable.
I am worthy.
I’m going to have a great day.
I am open to opportunities.
I am alive.
I am full of joy.
I am at peace.
I am positive.
I am safe.
I am a wonderful person.
I am happy and healthy.
I am.
🩷
I’m so excited! This is the first time I’ve ever seen a Red Admiral butterfly. I had installed a solar powered fountain in the pond only minutes before when this little guy came to visit and take a drink. After that, he spread his wings on the sun warmed rocks and I was able to get a good look.
I hope he hangs around for a while…I’ll try to capture better photos if I see him again.
The Red Admiral (Vanessa atalanta) has much more black than the Monarch. It has a black upper forewing with a bright, diagonal red-orange band across it and spots of white on the tips. It also has a red marginal band on its hindwing and the underside is a mottled brown.
I found a poem about this butterfly and had to share. I wasn’t able to learn a lot about the poet, David Wood, but I certainly do like his poems!
Sonnet 68: Red Admiral
Patrolling small stretches of the hedgerow
Like a silent sentry on guard duty,
Other butterflies they will overthrow;
The Red Admiral, nature’s real beauty.
Seen fluttering throughout summers hot days
From buddleia to Michaelmas daisies,
And sheltering from the suns golden rays,
All the people will sing of their praises.
But they cannot survive the winter’s cold
Their life is all too brief, a crying shame:
Alas none of them will ever grow old
Their short life is all part of nature’s game.
Their beauty we cannot take for granted
For they are delicately enchanted.
We’re drawing pictures at the dining room table. I’m not a very good artist and can really only draw butterflies and whales while my companion was creating something that could only be described as nothing I could identify (of course I’d never reveal that.)
She’s an extremely chatty and precociously verbal 3.5 year old, a nonstop talker from the moment she wakes up until the moment she closes her eyes, exactly like her big brother.
Honestly, they are both the most interesting people I know—of any age. I love to spend hours upon hours conversing with them about whatever is in their hearts and minds.
“Here you go. I drew this for you, Grandma!”
“Oh my, that is SO beautiful. Thank you!”
“Grandma, do you know what? I’m going to invite you to my birthday party.”
The way she said it was like a queen bestowing an honor upon one of her subjects. This upcoming birthday is the subject of many conversations. Turning four is a BIG deal.
“That’s awesome, Angel Girl! I accept your invitation. I will love to come to your party. Who else will you invite?”
“Some of my friends from preschool and my brother and that’s it.”
A couple minutes later…
“Can you make a unicorn cake, Grandma?”
“Hmmm, let me think. Yes, I believe I can, Are you sure that you’ll want a unicorn cake for your birthday?”
“Yes. I’m sure.”
“Well, you’re planning well in advance as your birthday isn’t for a few months. Do you think you might change your mind?”
“No, I won’t. I want a pink and purple unicorn cake.”
“You got it, a pink and purple unicorn, no problem. BUT if you change your mind, that’s OK, too.”
Why do I have a sneaking suspicion that my party invitation might somehow be connected to my ability to bake? Am I being cynical?
Upon reflection, if I could accomplish a decent job on her brother’s Pokemon Ball cake for his 7th birthday (and I did) I think I can attempt a unicorn cake for Angel Girl’s 4th year around the sun. It’s really just a horse shaped cake with an upside down ice cream cone in the center of its head, but don’t tell HER,
There’s nothing better than to be able to grant those kinds of wishes.
“Push…fold…turn…”
It’s a mantra of sorts. Do you know what I’m talking about?
Picture Angel Girl wearing my Hello Kitty apron on the other side of the kitchen table, mirroring my movements and my mantra, “push, fold, turn…“
I toss a handful of bench flour on the silicone mat so the dough won’t stick, and hand her a portion of the cinnamon roll dough to start kneading.
“Like this, watch me. With this part of your hand, push…fold…turn.”
“Like this, Grandma?”
“That’s perfect. Let’s say it together.”
We work and speak in harmony…”Push, fold, turn. Push, fold, turn.”
“You can tell it’s ready because it feels smooth. How does your dough feel?”
“Super smooth, Grandma!”
“Awesome! Now we’ll let our dough rise and finish creating our yummy cinnamon rolls.”
“I can’t wait!”
“Neither can I, but we have to follow all the steps to make your Great Grandma Charlotte’s recipe exactly like she taught me.”
After the dough doubled in sized, both the Angels helped to roll it out, sprinkle with sugar and cinnamon, and they allowed me to complete the process.
One more proofing (no one was patient) and the sweet bread was finally ready to bake.
Dad and Mom came home JUST as they came out of the oven and we all gorged ourselves on more cinnamon rolls than we probably should have.
Dad complimented me, “These are really the best you ever made!”
Do you know what the secret ingredient was?
I do.
It was the sweet, loving assistance of two curly haired angel kids.
Push, fold, turn…
“Remember, the entrance door to the sanctuary is inside you.”- Rumi
As I dug a hole for a new plant in the garden last weekend, I had to laugh out loud at the thoughts swirling in my head.
Sometimes when I garden, my brain goes into an almost trance-like state lightly touching random elements in my subconscious like a butterfly drifting from flower to flower.
With no apparent rhyme or reason, my brain began to ponder the top ten things I would do if I won the lottery (which I never will because I don’t play).
At the top of my list is DIRT.
If I had unlimited funds, I’d buy so much good soil that I could replace all the clay and concrete-like death-to-all-plants earth in my gardens. Instead of buying a bag or two at a time, I’d get a dozen truckloads delivered of the finest growing medium that money could buy.
I wouldn’t mind at all loading it up in a wheelbarrow, in fact, it would be a JOY to don my work gloves and shovel that sweetly perfumed soil. I might roll in it too, like a dog–that’s how much I wish I had that loamy organic earth.
Of course, I’d go to South Coast Plaza and splurge on some Chanel, but the dirt would make me equally as happy.
In no particular order, here’s my lottery wish list….
💰Dirt
💰Chanel
💰Fix some things around here
💰A little cosmetic fix on me lol
💰Buy presents for everyone
💰Donate to a few awesome animal rescues
💰Travel to Peru and Paris
💰Visit all the beaches that have beach glass (and a lot of seashells)
*Sigh*
Forget all the other stuff, the truth is that I’d be overjoyed with a mountain of dirt on my driveway.
I’m back to the land of reality, dreading the hot and dry droughty conditions I’ll be faced with this summer as I mourn the death of many of my plantfriends, but for right now, I can enjoy their colorful beauty.
What would YOU do if you won the lottery?
