“The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.”
“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.
Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees.
The winds will blow their own freshness into you,
and the storms their energy,
while cares will drop off like autumn leaves.”
“Keep close to Nature’s heart… and break clear away, once in a while,
and climb a mountain or spend a week in the woods.
Wash your spirit clean…”
John Muir
Is it a feather or a cloud?
I looked up and there it was displayed in a beautiful horizontal position in the blueblue sky, so I ran inside to grab my camera and my phone. When I returned, it was still there, thank goodness.
My question is this: is it a feather or a cloud? A cloud or a feather? What do you think? Is there symbolism or is it simply a cloud that looks like a white feather?
Even taken from different perspectives, still the same.
I have found a few white feathers here and there and I wonder if a sky feather symbolizes these same spiritual qualities???
White feathers imply purity, peace, love, hope, heaven, angels, and protection. It’s also a message from our ancestors that everything is well on the other side and is a blessing of wisdom in connection with the moon. White feathers significantly mean that everything is okay; a reminder to keep the faith and stay strong.
(https://www.speakingtree.in/allslides/white-feather-meaning-and-symbolism/the-feather-implies)
Have a wonderful weekend!
My plans were to post this on Sunday, Valentine’s Day, but I’m getting the second dose of the Covid-19 vaccine tomorrow and if predictions are correct, I might be too sick to do anything but lay on the sofa rolled up in a warm blanket and watch Netflix or reruns of Bewitched, so here it is!
Happy Valentine’s Day!
I’ve always loved Valentine’s Day in spite of the commercialism. In elementary school, I looked forward to the day we’d give and receive those little Valentine’s Day cards (including the inedible heart-shaped candies.)
Later on, I especially cherished Angel Boy’s handmade cards –which I saved–every single one of them.
There’s something lovely and old fashioned about being thought of as someone’s Valentine, and I like that a lot.
I have simple wants; a bunch of wildflowers is treasured as much as a dozen red roses; all gifts from the heart are appreciated whether it’s a Chanel or a seashell. Or a handmade card from the Angels.
These flowers are called alstroemeria. Native to South America. I prefer their other name, Lily of the Incas, ‘cos it sounds exotic. I’ve been growing them for about fifteen years. Surprisingly, they do quite well here and are drought tolerant. I’ve even been able to successfully dig up and divide the tubers.
I hope you’re having (will have) a happy, happy day!
If only she could see her namesake or the one that’s a curly haired clone of the other one, that would be truly awesome; however, today we’d be celebrating her 106 years on this earth and that wasn’t meant to be.
She died in 1987 from pancreatic cancer, still one of the most horrible and painful diseases. We took care of her here at home with the help of hospice. Since she was a head nurse, she taught me things like how to do her IV and heparin locks, and she’s the reason why I’m a great caregiver and caretaker. I’m forever grateful that I was able to care for her until the end.
Angel Boy 1.0 was –without a doubt– the love of her life. Here she is with AB at 18 months, the same age as Angel Girl 2.0 is right now. They were best buddies. She would be so very proud that he grew up to be a great dad AND a tenured professor before he was forty years old. (Notice the clever way I slipped that in?) We knew he was VERY smart.
Always fashion forward, I found some old pics of me and mommy. It’s true what they say. You never stop missing your mom, no matter how old you are.
I wonder what I’m reaching for…
Here I am the same age as AB 2.0, just about five years old. Funny thing to share is that I still braid my hair like this in pigtails (like right now) and I still don’t know how to throw a ball, but I DO know for certain that my ribbons perfectly matched my outfit. Always. Check out the saddle shoes that were never dirty.
Happy birthday to the original CharChar; you are missed.
Since I recovered from the side effects of my first Covid-19 vaccine, I walked to the beach on a foggy Sunday morning.
I noticed a lot of police and fire truck activity on the bridge overlooking Agua Hedionda Lagoon so I walked over to one of the officers to ask what was going on.
He told me that someone had reported an empty kayak had washed up along the shore and they were following protocol to search for anyone who might have fallen off and needed to be rescued and offer medical assistance.
It’s very possible it was simply a case of a runaway kayak that had come loose from wherever it had been stowed, but they were in full on search and rescue mode.
I left after a while because it didn’t look like they needed my help (haha) and walked back home.
As I walked away, a woman stopped to ask me what was going on. She was maskless, so I told her I don’t speak to people who don’t follow the mask mandate, and kept going. Yes, her mouth dropped open, but I stand by my comment.
It’s simple. Wear a mask!
Subsequently, I learned they searched for more than two hours and didn’t find anyone–or at least I assume they didn’t because there was nothing on the news. If I hear an update, I’ll post the info.
P.S. Me, police, fire, and rescuers were wearing masks. There’s no excuse NOT to follow county guidelines. I hate it too, but I DO IT.
At the risk of being accused of always having my head in the clouds (guilty!) I took this photo a couple days ago right about 4:30 or so in the afternoon directly across the street from Casa de Enchanted Seashells.
I’ve never seen the sky like this–Picasso-esque–almost as if these shapes are petroglyphs or messages speaking to me, but I can’t seem to decipher the code.
I’m not very good at comprehending signs from the Universe. For example, a while back I would be drawn to notice 5:14 on the dot, AM and PM, every single day for a couple of weeks. That’s my birthdate, so it must mean something important, right?
I never could figure it out, but subsequently, there was 5:41 AM and PM for a few days, and I have absolutely NO IDEA if that’s some kind of karmic joke or if it was mere coincidence. Like sometimes a rose is just a rose? I dunno, but it confused me and made me feel ignorant because if it WAS a message, what was it? Who was it from?
Sometimes I’m simply not very smart because 5:14 is popping up again unbidden. WTF? Mom, is that you? If so, WHAT DO YOU WANT? Sheesh, she can so annoying.
It’s a little early for this blossoming activity because SoCal can’t decide if it’s winter or spring–looks like spring won the contest.
They smell so delicious, I might have to try Helena Rubinstein’s Apple Blossom perfume which was originally released in 1936 and is still in production. The license from Helena Rubinstein was acquired by Kent Cosmetics in 1988 and according to the manufacturer, the formula is still the same.
Hmmm, I’d be curious to see if any human-made scent could duplicate the purity of intense fragrance contained within these five little flower petals. If so, I’d be tempted to bathe in it every day.
When I can’t seem to locate my own words to express how I feel, I turn to Mary Oliver.
She speaks for me, to me, through me.
Sleeping in the Forest
I thought the earth remembered me,
she took me back so tenderly,
arranging her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds.
I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,
nothing between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths
among the branches of the perfect trees.
All night I heard the small kingdoms
breathing around me, the insects,
and the birds who do their work in the darkness.
All night I rose and fell, as if in water,
grappling with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.–Mary Oliver
When I look up, I see sky.
Fascinated, I find childlike joy in the wonderfulness of clouds; undulating, alive, and in motion.
It has come to the attention of my brain that I seem to write a lot about weather.
Sun, heat, rain, hail, snow, clouds, fog…I wonder if that’s because there’s really so little weather here in SoCal. For a majority of the time, it’s sunny and warm. Or sunny and hot. Or sunny with drought-like conditions. This isn’t me being critical of our weather; I’ve simply reflected upon how much of a weather watcher I am.
From the monsoonal–like deluge
that transformed a dry river bed into a not-so-dry river bed
to a beautiful sunset.
I was driving on a favorite street — do you have a favorite street? Mine is one that offers a breath-taking view of San Gorgonio and San Jacinto, mountains to the north of me. They received several feet of new snow during the same winter storm.
This sight is so beyond magnificent, it literally took away my breath for several seconds.
Hand to heart, as I was snapping a few photos of the snow covered mountains, one of my most special songs came on the radio, Fleetwood Mac’s Landslide, with the iconic lyrics, “And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills –‘Til the landslide brought me down.”
A mindful moment of perfection.
I love Stevie Nick’s live performances.
