Mind Yer Manner's...

I have always Thanked people when they hold a door for me, or, smiled and either given the country head nod in passing, or, said,  "hello"...

It just makes me feel better to use these simple, often forgotten manner's. And it makes me feel good when other's extend the same courtesy to me...

Lest you think I'm patting myself vigorously on the back for good deed's done, I'm really not.

I am, patting those who do the same for me, you, anyone,and everyone, sending a hearty, high five-knuckle bump!

I spotted some shiny little beetles last week, livin' La Vida Loca on a milk weed. As I watched, I saw something very interesting, and would like to share it with you...

As one busy little beetle rushed from one severely eaten leaf to the stem and up to a fresh, juicy new leaf, I noticed a Daddy Long-legs layin' in wait at the tip of that leaf. No sooner than L.B. 's tiny barbed feet touched the bottom of the the leaf, Ol Daddy, he jumped up and slid effortlessly into the center of the leaf, with his legs on either side, his body tightly hunkered down in the center...

As L.B. proceeded unperturbed up the leaf, Ol Daddy, shifted his body to one side while arching his legs...L.B.'s steps never faltered...

Then I saw it!!!

Look!

There it is!!!

The country head nod, and the smile, with a hello!!!

Have a great week-end!!

Smile and remember;

We're fool's whether we dance or not. So we might as well dance.

Summer Time...

I've heard it said that, Deep Summer, is when laziness gains respectability...
I don't believe it's laziness, that draws us to porches, patio's, or hammock's, it's not laziness that pulls at us to find a shady spot to spread a blanket and picnic an entire afternoon. Nor is it laziness that entices us to nap away the heat of the day...

I do believe that it is our inner sense of renewal, of rejuvenation, the need to store warm memories for the cold winter months ahead that quietly call to us from the shaded Summer breezes...and by so doing we recharge, and replenish depleted stores within ourselves...we awaken or revive waining or exhausted goal's, ideas and dreams, often held deep within ourselves...and we find the pluck we need to keep ourselves going...

Time passes.
Make no mistake about that.
What we do with our time is of great importance...But you know...

Sometimes...this...is the most important thing you can do.

Even the world finds time to rest, and to just be still.

Smile and remember;

We're fool's whether we dance or not. So we might as well dance.

Little Cabin By The Big River

As we turned off the narrow strip of asphalt road and began winding our way through the sun dried stubble down to the biggest river crossing along the Oregon Trail, where we found a spattering of tiny, one room cabin's, staggered about a day park along the mirror surfaced river, meandering silently by...

We stepped from the car, and were suddenly and silently transformed to a place void of time. Where the most pressing thing was the lure of the porch swing, rocking you as serinely as a babe in mother's arms, while wrapped in the shade cooled breeze...

We were unprepared for the flood of childhood memories that came along with the first slam and bounce of the wooden screen door. Eliciting stories mixed with childish laughter from we two unrepentant hon-yocks...Funny how we found we both loved and missed the sound...So we took full  advantage of the gift and let 'er bounce...

This little cabin by the big river, along with all the surounding beauties, held just the right amount of respite Honey and I needed...

Smile and remember;

We're fool's whether we dance or not. So we might as well dance.

Goin Fishin'

Every one should go fishing once in a while.

Don't get me wrong.

I don't particularly like to fish.

To me, they are slimy and stinky, and I most certainly would never touch one!

Ewww! *Shutter*

 But I like to go fishing.

You may be asking, why in the world I would propose such nonsense.

Its simple really.

Because, you might just be needin  a little sumpin-sumpin like this...

Look...no rush, no, stress, no time really...

You may want to go sit in a boat, or on the shores of a lake, reservoir, stream, or even go so far as to do as "Simple Simon" and get your mother's pail.

I always take a camera and book, lots of water and some snacks when I go fishing...and then I kick back and just Be. I be, calm and unhurried. I be, resting and rejuvenating. I just be...

There is just something, so soothing, about the sounds of water. The rhythm of the gentle lapping on the shores, the gurgling as it rushes over rock's, or mummers as it ambles lazily along.

The great thing about Goin' fishin' is that you may decide you would rather spread out a blanket in the shade and take a nap, or go for a stroll along a mountain path, or a plethora of other things that just help you unwind...

Honey and I are taking a few days and Goin' Fishin'...


Smile and remember;
We're fool's whether we dance or not. So we might as well dance.

The Dog House

One hot July, that this time of year tends to remind me of, when I was 5 or 6 years old, I was asked to do a very big job. All. By. Myself. I was on top of the world!

The job was, to feed the cats every evening, for my Aunt and Uncle that Summer, while they went for a week's vacation. It was pretty straight forward, all I needed to do was open the can, put the food out on a dish, then set the dish just inside the...dog house...door? 

I could not even begin to imagine why you would want to feed your cats in the dog house?! But hey, I wanted to prove I was big enough to do the job. So off I happily skipped, to the little white house on the corner to fulfill my responsibilities!  

Upon arrival I found the brown paper bag sitting peacefully on the little back step containing the hand crank can opener, a fork with can's and plates that I would be needing. I opened a can, chopped the icky, smelly, sticky, stuff up, all without spilling any of the ooze, and picked it up to put it in the dog house...

They didn't have a dog...

I hunted, and looked, why, I bet I marched every inch of their property...I could not find that dog house to save my hide. Wondering what in the world to do, I knew I needed to ask for help, so off I slowly trudged back up the block, with that grody plate of cat food in tow, to ask my Dad where the dog house was.

He laughed a lot and told me he would come back down with me to show me. The return trip down the block, with me still carting that stinky plate of cat food was made.

He showed me a little room that had been built at the end of the car port, then showed me were in the back there was a door to the small room, containing a single bed, coat rack and small wooden chair with a lamp perched in the center of it.   He told me to go ahead an put the plate right inside the door. 

"Ok", I thought, while setting it down, here came the cats on the run. 

The return trip was filled with the 20,000 questions of my young years,  I bombarded my Dad all the way home about that little room... why, it didn't look like a dog house to me, at all! 

His laughter filled answers told me that I might not think so now, but it was, indeed, a dog house, and even went so far as to say that one day, my husband, might have one just like it...

Grown ups!

 Smile and remember;

We're fool's whether we dance or not. So we might as well dance.

Either The Fence Post Or The Flower...

I love looking at the world through the eye's of a dreamer with an endless imagination. Who happens to thrive on photography...
But sometimes I forget that about myself. My perspective becomes a little tired, a little warped.
Sometimes I get to feeling a little more like this ol fence post than I care to admit;

Ah...but then...that inner child of mine, skips nobly out, and perusing the situation sees, that there is much more here, than may originally meet my little eye!  Why, what at first glace may look the forlorn, barrier standing sentinel to numerous restrictions and hardships, is in reality fortifying, and teaming with beauty. 

Allowing me once again to regain my perspective, while widening my view, of the unnoticed depictions in the panorama that is my life. To dream those dreams, that are to big for my britches, to imagine things, beyond my current ability to achieve, feeling the gentle breezes of encouragement, passionately caressing me to be who I know deep down that I am.

Where I find contentment, either being the sturdy little ol fence post, undergoing the transformations that may come, or, the loud, imaginative, dreaming, little flower, producing grandiose pictures and plans for my world, happily at its base. 

Ahh...life is good...

  

Smile and remember;

We're fool's whether we dance or not. So we might as well dance.

Confessions Of An Organized Hoarder...

I used to think I was just a collector of fine item’s and other such treasures, but now? I've come to believe I’m more than that.

*It* crepes like ivy gone wild into my thoughts every time I even drive past a garage sale or second hand store. When someone is de-junking and cleaning. When I try to de-junk and clean and can’t bring myself to part with anything!!!

I’m not sure when the organized hording came into being - I was seldom if ever organized. In. My. Life.

In the past my compulsive orientation toward gathering would easily be described in this way…If I see *it* I feel responsible to save *it* in case the ever elusive *Someone* needs *it* and Heaven forbid I not have *it*!!!

What is *it* you ask?

*It* could be, but is not limited to the following:

Empty boxes of any kind. Cereal, cracker, Avon delivery, shoe, printer paper, etc. For mailing packages, making patterns, wrapping gifts…

Patterns. Sewing, knitting, crochet, cross stitch, tole painting, embroidery, (yes even coloring books).

Paper. Stationary, cards, notebooks (every size), loose leaf, Post it notes, grid, lined, plain, colored…

Pen’s & pencils: All types - yes I even have empty pens for pattern tracing.

Gift bags and wrapping paper.  I know huh! I used to laugh at Gramma for keeping them from gifts she was given to use later.

Elastic bands. Mine are in a baggie in a drawer instead of a door knob or rocking chair arm.

Yarn. For yet to be made projects. I have at least a 5 year supply of it, yet I’m always on the look out for more!

Needles. Knitting, crochet hooks, hand sewing, curved, straight what ever.

Old bed sheets. For crocheting throw rugs. Some cut into strips and rolled like yarn, ready to go.

Old levies. For quilts I’m going to make someday.

Fabric. She who dies with the most win’s is what the bumper stickers have told me for years!

Tables. My current count is at 7, I gave 2 away to a good home recently - with the provision they come back to me if they get rid of them…Why!?!? Big news!! We gave one of them to good will and didn’t bring anything back in it’s place!!! (Did I mention that is only tables...no chairs? People must like to keep their chairs).

If someone tells me they are getting rid of something and it is good - I rack my brain for...someone - anyone, I might know who could use it - or if the someone I know, knows someone who could use it. Often I bring it home “just until I can find someone who could use it“.

It’s like I have this barely contained, deep rooted feeling of responsibility to find it a home where it can still be useful.

You may ask what in the world I do with all the *stuff* I gather from the four corners of my world and I would answer you that I use it.

Or… save it for when I have time to use it.

Or… I put it in a box I’ve saved and store it for the still elusive Someone.

I am also a stacker/piler/crammer/tucker.

You can’t really be a proper hoarded without these essential traits can you?

The one saving grace in this is that when the stacks/piles/wedges begin to creep beyond the allotted space I begin to obsess about the mess and set well intentioned goal’s to clean and de-junk! I gather the empty boxes and I attack the task with the well meaning intention of dismantling and eliminating all offensive traces of the problem.

Problem is - I can’t bring myself to actually donate much of it to any cause-be it , good, bad or indifferent.

I have a designated spot to stack the things that ‘are still to good to be garbage, but taking up space’. It’s size fluctuates like the ocean’s tide.

I tell you these things not so you will know what a weirdo I really am, or to embarrass myself, but rather to encourage myself to lighten my load, to organize my house, my life, myself.

This is only the visible view of this particular stack in the basement...

If I would just, cut the levies to block's for Pete's sake, then recruit the sister's and get them tied! Pull out my big ol wooden chair spindle hook and get to work on crocheting the three big rug's I'm needing...

A huge stack down... Viola!

Smile and remember.

We’re fool’s whether we dance or not. So we might as well dance.

Summer's Crazy Quilt..

That's is what this Vallie's floor has always looked like to me.

I've seen it from the top most ridges of the surrounding mountain's as we have dropped down in from the other side, from the back's of horse's, as we've climbed to hunt, as well as from long hikes and jeep rides to escape the cities heat and breath the cool mountain air, I've seen it coming and going, in both the light of dusk and dawn, from high and low...and I never tire of it.

I love the azure canopy, as the breezes waft gently over the lengthening crop's, inviting them to join in a festive dance of sort's. You can hear the birds chirping from nearby tree's, fences and barns as you feel the heat burning off the cool of the morning. The lowing of cattle grazing lazily in a meadow. All the while drawing in the heady sent of new mown hay.

A few things rush pel-mel into my minds eye almost every time I glimpse this cray quilt; The look of rapture that comes to Honey's face, as he is carried to another place or time, once again to be wrapped in the quilts, comforting feeling of *home*.  Followed closely by the sound of rain bird's, large and small, that brought such comfort through our open window's the year's we lived on Sugar Lane. Always I seem to hear, echoing over the fields of time, the sound of my boy's voice's being carried over a little patch of quilt, sometimes singing, sometimes cursing, as they moved the heavy awkward sprinkler pipe every night and every morning through the bug infested fields. I have never gone past a *line* anywhere, without looking to see if it's straight and if it has a *geyser* spewing forth precious water until it's tended to.

I do so love the crazy quilt's of Summer...

 

p.s. This particular line...bows. 

Smile and remember;

We're fool's whether we dance or not. so we might as well dance.

Hot Flashes...

Yes I have to admit that hot flashes and other such trifles are a big part of my daily life...

Unfortunately as I grow...up...they have changed.

But that is a complaint that isn't worth dwelling on at any given time.

Instead of regaling you with embarrassing stories about myself ... I thought it would be nice to share some hot flashes every one might enjoy...

Smile and remember:

We're fool's whether we dance or not. So we might as well dance.

It's My Thing...

I have always been content to do my own thing. I don't like to follow to many rules other's make up, when I am certainly capable of making up perfectly good rules all by my own self. Maybe it's that old "spoiled youngest" thing that bubbles cheerfully inside me, maybe I really am just pleasantly obstinate, or, maybe God's plans for me were to stand out, even if it is only in my own mind...

All I know is...

I like me.

Walt Disney once said that "the more you like yourself, the less you are like anyone else, which makes you unique".   Take it from me, I am unique! It may be the water I drink, or the unquietable kid inside, but I am perfectly happy being who I am. 

Most day's that is... 

I would probably still dawn a tu-tu or dance in a Summer rain storm in my night clothes if given the chance. But because I understand I should have some sort of propriety in manners and conduct I have tried sporadically throughout the years, although not whole heartedly, to fit a mold I thought the world held for me. It's like the proverbially square hole round peg thing...

I am only now coming to realize that it is my "uniqueness" that draws people to me...like moths to a flame...I don't even have to leave home, as my daughter recently told me, after a woman I never saw before, and who lived in a completely different State was leaving our home, after just "stopping by" for an hour or so stay, to ask about the *cement chunk hill* in our back yard, and discussing various type of lost arts handwork we both enjoy, she being heavily laden with some newly gained treasures from a pile of things to be taken to good will and leaving behind her personal information so we can stay in touch...She is a dear, and I'm so glad I was able to meet her!

And the fact that she stopped told me, that there are other soul's like me out there...

And today I'm content to be...weird and happy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6I0Brji5NRg&feature=fvsr

 

Smile and remember;

We're fool's whether we dance or not. So we might as well dance.

Photo found on a google search, artist unlisted.

Ode to a Root Cellar

I'm an old fashion kind of girl.

I like the way things are done the old fashion way...

Dishes by hand at the kitchen sink.

Laundry blowing on the line out back as they dance dry in the sun.

Gardens weeded in the early morning or the cooling part of the evening.

Playing...I mean working with the irrigation water...

Bottling and drying produce *when it's on*. The reward of a hot job well done and seeing the beautiful results.

It gives me a chance to slow down for a few minutes in an ever hurrying world.

I have noticed a little building to the side of an old house we pass, every time we go over the hill to visit the valley, last time we stopped so I could take a few pictures. (Honey gets a little embarrassed when I do this sort of thing) I walked up to the door and knocked, no answer, so I walked around the corner of the tree shaded abode to see if I could locate an owner, to ask permission.

There was a younger-ish woman folding clothes just inside the back door calling out to her children playing in the back yard. I made myself known from a distance, so as not to frighten either of us, and she smiled as she brought her folding out to visit. I asked if I could take some pictures of the root cellar, she told me that around back was a door to get in the top part and smiling gave me the tiny tour. 

Later we asked Honey's Mom about the little structures. Some, like my Grampa's, were humble dirt holes with a dirt covered roof, complete with trap door, a rickety wooden ladder the only means of entry leading into the depths of the cool chamber, others more elaborate structures, often mimicking the house it went with. She told us that when she was little, she would hide in the top part of her Gramma  Pherson's root cellar, but can't remember what, if anything, was kept in there. The cement room half was lined with shelves holding assorted jars of produce from the family's combined garden's, orchards, and berry picking outings from the year. Along with barrel's filled with sawdust, hiding carrots, beets and other assorted *roots*, with net bags overhead filled with onion's, apples or bag's of flour and other necessities.

 

A store against want.

Many things from the past have gone by the way side, sadly, root cellars are one of them. Every now and again you can glimps on of the all to often unkempt skeletons standing as silent monuments of sorts...yet they are still very much alive and well in hearts, minds, and maybe even a yard or two, of the old fashioned folk...

Smile and remember;

We're fool's whether we dance or not. So we might as well dance.