Tuesday Thankfulness | Playing for Time

Okay, let it snow…

02 Dec 2025 Leave a comment

***

We knew this would happen, and “all the sudden” here it is! December 1st arrived yesterday and brought with it a brief heavy snow, so it’s official: For those who celebrate, Christmas is on its way and so is winter. I played the Old Card and chose to observe the first snow of the season by abstaining from the gym and my Monday workout, which turns out to have been the wise decision. When Kim got home from pickleball he said the streets were crazy and so were the drivers, and then I read that parts of town looked like a parking lot. This lil’ troublemaker didn’t need to be leaving tracks out there, so home and fireplace it was and it was lovely.

By now you know I’m not a holiday fanatic, or even much of a fan, but I do love the seasons, warts and all. Cold, heat, rain, snow, all good in their time because I’m fortunate enough to have a safe place that’s in out of the weather, and when I walk around town I realize what a big deal that is. The world has changed immeasurably in the new millennium, but the milk of human kindness hasn’t entirely soured yet. Every day on our local Facebook page I see proof that we still know how to love each other. Some typical posts:

“I have a bag of potatoes I need to share with someone while they’re still nice. Can you use them?”

“I found a wallet on the sidewalk today. If you’ve lost one, please provide pertinent details and we’ll git ‘er done.”

“I’m new in town, single mom, and my car’s sitting in my driveway with a flat tire. Can somebody recommend a reliable service for me to call?” (Gives general area of town.)

Followed quickly by: “Ma’am, I’m close to your neighborhood, I’ll be over in just a few minutes, no charge.”

“I have one less working guy to feed this evening, so if you need/want a plate of hot food, stop and get it on your way home.”

And on and on every day, the little stops and starts, the deep breaths, the choices made, the life sustained. They’re the golden threads, the tiny veins and capillaries that nourish this great human mating ball and keep us from annihilating our species. They’re the stuff life is actually made of and we don’t see a fraction of it.

On this sunshiny, sparkly day, though, things seem a little clearer… just for a bit… and it feels nice. I still have enough Pollyanna left to hope for a profusion of sparkly days ahead… and to hope we’ll know what to do with such abundance.

Image by Judy Smith

Totally random…

05 Aug 2025 Leave a comment

***

Soooo, we’re into yet another new month, for good or ill. It’s still summer, it’s still gonna be hot, and the world is still in a wackadoodle state of mind, but happy August, boys and girls, the countdown to Christmas has begun.

Our summer skies have been just this side of eerie, and I finally realized that we were getting smoke from Canada’s fires. At times we can smell it in the air and it hangs heavy over the river. This is fair trade, considering that Canadians must feel like they’re living in an apartment above a meth lab most of the time. Thank you for your grace, northern neighbors.

It’s been a summer sprinkled with small discoveries of great import. I learned that choosing a new doctor just might provide fascinating (i.e. life or death) tidbits concerning certain meds and their dosages. I am now acing the test on that chapter. A second discovery has to do with people and their faces. Most everyone with distinctive features reminds me of someone else, and I finally realized it’s because I’ve been roaming the earth long enough to have seen those features in endless combinations on a never-ending succession of faces, thus making them all seem somehow familiar. It’s comforting except when it isn’t. Full disclosure, there are a few faces I’d rather not see again in this lifetime.

A key summer discovery was that coffee and herbal tea are not the same animal, and that caffeine has much more to say to me on a daily basis than I knew. Got a wild hair to see if I might feel more serene internally without the influence of coffee, so I quit cold turkey. Started drinking a delicious herbal tea. Felt somehow healthier. Cleaner. Let’s face it, righteous. By the time I’d slept away five afternoons in succession I was pretty disillusioned about the whole thing, so caffeine it is, at least for now, just less of it. I am not above accepting a little help with daily living.

These are hard times, so do what you can to entertain joy, which is mostly found in the simple things. Good coffee, lovely tea, excellent food, kind and astute friends, love shared… it’s all joy. And there are always flowers somewhere.

“Wildflowers” by Aoife Dowd, Irish artist. Oil on canvas.

Image by Judy Smith

Ah yes, the New Year…

31 Dec 2024 Leave a comment

***

This morning, because her words reached me and are doing their intended work, I’m borrowing from Rachel Alana (R.A Falconer), Midwives of the Soul, with deep appreciation for her gift.

~ This year, dear friends, may we all lose weight!

The weight of expectations. The weight of self-criticism. The weight of disconnect that fills us with a deeper hunger. The weight of not always loving. The weight of a worn and weary world. Of not always accepting, seeing, and inhabiting this precious and sacred body that we’re in.

~ This year, dear friends, may we all exercise!

…our holy will! Our sacred sense of purpose. Our vision and hard-earned wisdom. Our discernment and our shining hearts. In ways that enrich connections, with our bodies, our souls and those we love. And even to the world.

~ This year, ah yes… may we all start the work of quitting…

…that collective Kool-Aid. The negative self-talk. The small-assed living. That cacophony of cockatoo-voices that drown out our souls. And old habits: Those used to stop us hearing our pain, our disappointments, and all things much better loved, seen and accepted right down to the very bottom ~ and to find true freedom, through a connection with our deepest souls.

And…

~ This fine new year, (well, here’s the best…) May we all be rich!

Yes, utterly and completely rich. Wildly and unapologetically. Rich in love. Life. Connection with one another and all that really matters. Filled to the brim and bubbling over; more again and spilling over that. Full of laughter, acceptance, joy, and less of worry. Less of sorrow ~

Rich in renewed experience, of a whole new year!

Happy 2025, dear friends!

~Rachel Alana (R.A Falconer)

Midwives of the Soul

Image by Judy Smith

What nourishes you?

13 Aug 2024 Leave a comment

***

Delicious morning. It rained in the night, with increasing darkness after 8am and rain continuing for a few more hours. Southwest of us Emporia got 5″ of rain this morning, flooding their downtown and other areas, so an extra hour or two of early darkness for us is nothing. As a farm girl and incurable melancholic, rain is a lifetime friend and my happy place. It’s been summertime only every other week or so, days in the 90s and 100s interspersed with cooling, nourishing rain, to the point that in midAugust everything in sight is still green and glowing.

The lush tapestry outside my windows only adds to the sense of hope that’s been let loose in the world over the past month. Joy feels so much better than gloom and doom, and it suddenly feels okay to hope… to cautiously believe things will improve instead of digging deeper into hell. So yeah, rain, happiness, hope, love, it’s all cool, and the coffee tastes extra rich this morning.

Image by Judy Smith

First this, then that…

02 Apr 2024 Leave a comment

***

This morning it’s in the low 40s and raining intermittently out of gray skies, so winter is proving to be like many of us when it comes to letting go. Spring will gradually assert herself, however, until we’re finally in it for another cycle. Meanwhile, the yard people have been here all morning in the drizzle, mowing, raking, trimming, covering all the flower beds in rich black soil, creating the ideal environment for all those new little seeds that are just bursting to… burst forth.

Remember David and Darlene Dove, our faithful renters from last season? They’re back, big and round as robins, and in a rush to find housing. They scoped us out for several days running but we weren’t sure they’d stick around. The baskets of asparagus ferns they lived in last year aren’t planted and hung from the railing yet. Our frost-free date is still at least a couple of weeks out, so we provided temporary accommodations, anchored to the rail, and finally this morning they’ve been making themselves comfy. And when the baskets do go out, they’ll have a yard with its own canopy, lucky ducks!

We hope they stay. They’re no muss, no fuss, the babies are cute, and they add to the general sense of peace, with their soft cooing and their willingness to share the space with us.

Now the sun’s shining and I’ve written myself happy. Hope your day has been just as sweet.

Image by Judy Smith

The Art of the Dull

26 Mar 2024 4 Comments

***

A heartwarming thing happened last week. While speed-romping through social media I caught sight of a page called Dull Women’s Club, halted in my tracks, read far enough to confirm what I was seeing, applied for membership, passed muster, and just like that… women and stories I identify with like a lost tribeswoman. Both misery and joy love company. These poor dull fascinating creatures are joy-filled rather than miserable and they showed up just in time for a needed reset on my part.

First off, it gives me a great sense of relief to put an accurate name to my persona. I’m a bona fide citizen of Dullsville and it’s time to own it. Signs of dullness include but are not limited to: A deep satisfaction in one’s home environment; quiet hours for uninterrupted reading and/or writing; enjoyment found in gazing at the same intersection every morning, the cars, the people, watching the neighborhood wake up; the joys of a walk to nowhere, at one’s own pace, absorbing the sights and sounds of spring, inhaling the fresh air. So dull. So life-giving.

Non-Dulls are the ones who leave the house at 9pm primed to party all night. For a lot of Dulls, on the other hand, 9pm turns out to be the perfect bed time. Non-Dulls thrive on activity and excitement. Dulls thrive on peace, simplicity, and not feeling rushed or pushed.

The so-called Dull Women I’m meeting in “the club” are anything BUT that. They do all the things, they simply do most of them on their own or with a select few people, and they take unmitigated joy in the little things. Same here. It takes a lot of energy to be FUN if you’re faking it. It feels more copacetic to stay quiet and enjoy the things I love, and let the Funs manage the social calendar.

Schematic for a Dull day:

Get up at 6am and drink coffee in silence until awake enough to communicate nicely. Can take four or more hours
Look at the internet. Yes, ALL of it
Do that well-known list of mundane tasks inherent in every 24hr time slot
Read things
Write things
Eat things, wonderful things, from the best kitchen in town
On a good day there will be napping involved (gasp!!)
Watch TV with the cook while we sip nightcaps
Give in to coma-mode no later than 10pm

See? Dull. Kimmers isn’t a Dull. He leaves the house several times a day, he knows people all over town, he has an idea a minute for keeping life NOT dull. In short, he’s a fun guy, so keep a good thought for him… he didn’t realize he was hooking up with a Dull since I was still in shock when he found me.

The past couple of years have been rife with learning opportunities, always a good thing whatever the process. The Dull Women’s Club is a microcosm of daily living, including the inevitable petty squabbles, and it’s affirming, freeing, and comforting to know “I’m not the only one.” That may be one of the greatest needs tied up with being human. “It isn’t just me, so maybe I’m doing okay.”

Whether you’re a Fun, a Dull, or a Hybrid, be your best you, you’re the nearest one to the subject, therefore the obvious choice.

Image by Judy Smith

Such an oddball planet…

05 Mar 2024 6 Comments

***

Good morning from the heartland. I’ve accidentally fallen off the blog wagon lately… so who’s still here and how’s it going?

It’s been a month since I last published a post and that’s crazy because every day during that time I’ve opened a blank page, sipped my coffee, and stared out the windows while words and thoughts played around in my brain cavity. Sadly, that’s ALL they did, though, so I’ve discarded several insipid drafts and stopped in the middle of a few others but saved them for the one sentence that may hold water sometime.

So… I’m still here and hoping for your peace and happiness today.

Winter was disappointingly brief, although I realize as I speak that she could whip back around and bite us hard at any moment. It was 80° two days ago… what will THAT ultimately cost us? Nice, though, and we’ve already been haunting the balcony at every opportunity.

With my winter project basically finished, I’m at loose ends again. It’s always good in wild times to have something worthwhile to focus on because although that doesn’t change the situation, it does redirect our attention enough to filter some of the impact of what comes at us nonstop. Goals are good. They help keep anxiety at bay, herd my thoughts toward the positive, prevent existential loneliness from devouring me from the inside, ad infinitum. Better look for another project…

The daily realities of human existence are too ridiculous to be taken seriously… and too serious to ridicule. The maelstrom of emotions that accompanies every day’s load of happenings… it takes all we’ve got to stand up against its effects on us. And since we have no power over any of it the little things truly matter. A Monday morning bagel. A leisurely drive with time to rubberneck at all the progress around us. A just-for-the-hell-of-it Mickey D’s breakfast, shared at our table. Weekend breakfasts into infinity. All the Life-Is-Good vibe we can pack into a day because we do have a finite amount of time in which to do that.

And now we all see why I haven’t been writing… I don’t seem to have a whole lot to say. Except for this: You’ve helped me this morning and I thank you. Thoughts fill my head during every waking hour but by the time I get here to write they’ve faded like mist. Highly frustrating, but ya’ gotta get back on the horse at some point and ride, so instead of a cry morning this is feeling more like a git ‘er done day. Thx for muddling through it with me.

To the cross-country sister of my heart who messaged me to say “I miss your blog posts” … thank you for saddling my horse for me.

Image by Judy Smith

Moving right along…

02 Jan 2024 Leave a comment

***

How was New Year’s Day? Pretty sure we did ours right. Bagels for breakfast, tuna sliders for lunch, and crockpot chicken n’ gravy with mashed potatoes for dinner because every lazy day is about the food. And in between, nothing but wall to wall football, which I love because I watch the parts I’m interested in while locked into iPad cruise mode in the background. We saw actual blue sky yesterday, and I do believe we’re being graced with it this morning as well. Let’s do this.

In yesterday’s post I talked a little bit about my grandmothers. We shared a farmstead with my dad’s parents, my mom’s parents were thirty miles away, and there was a great-grandmother living ten miles from us who was a pretty amazing person in her own right. I’m privileged to have grown up with them, been loved by them, been influenced by each of them in unique ways, and I owe them a tremendous debt of gratitude. My dad’s mom, born in 1889, told me stories of her mother-in-law, my great-grandmother Salome, who, among other exploits, faced down Confederate soldiers who commandeered her Indiana farm. The only Civil War battle in Indiana was the Battle of Corydon, in which Morgan’s Raiders fought, and Corydon was the nearest settled town to the family farm. Great-grandma Sally stood on her porch armed with a rifle and tried to limit the damage being done to her property and belongings, until she saw the futility and gave in to cooking her precious livestock for the invading soldiers. They camped there until they’d gone through all the provisions before moving on, and Grandma Sally lived to fight another day.

I watched and heard about these women throughout my younger years, marked how they handled the things life gave them, kept detailed mental notes, and it’s all served me well, insofar as I’ve stayed present for it.

Facts established after decades of observation:

Life doesn’t get easier as we age. It gets different, it finds new challenges to throw at us, it keeps us on our toes to the end if we’re paying attention.
On the other hand, there’s a certain measure of peace to be found in laying down the things that are not ours to carry anymore. That doesn’t make us unnecessary in the world, it just puts the reins in the right hands.
As we gradually age out, there will always be things we don’t “get,” according to everyone younger. I’m losing the desire to ‘splain, but we do get it. We simply need that self-justifying energy elsewhere.
This morning I’d love to sit with all the women who directly preceded me and compare notes. “Is this how you felt when… ” “What did you do when… ” “What were your greatest frustrations and joys?” I’d ask if they’re disappointed to see women’s rights in basically the same place they each left them. I’ve outlived my mom by almost ten years so far, and she was writing about that subject twenty years prior to that, so gird yourselves for the never-ending haul, women of all ages.
The older I get, the less I talk. There’s always something I could say, but if I’m going to keep up my habit of learning one new thing a day it requires listening, which I find infinitely relaxing. DISCLAIMER: Depends on who’s talking and in what tone of voice.
As a lifetime sentimentalist who invariably had trouble letting go, turning loose of what isn’t meant for me is one of my new favorite things. This includes a past full of people I will never see again. Knowing I can be a psychic handful, I make it a point to let people off the hook in their dealings with me, face-to-face or online, thus I say a lot of silent goodbyes. Nothing personal, I just like REAL, so if someone finally exceeds the limits of my meds, or I feel like I’m being a nuisance, I slip out the back…

You just slip out the back, Jack
Make a new plan, Stan
You don’t need to be coy, Roy
Just get yourself free
Hop on the bus, Gus
You don’t need to discuss much
Just drop off the key, Lee
And get yourself free

I already broke a 2024 intention this morning, so you know what THAT means! Get back on the horse and ride, girlie, life goes on so go WITH it.

I wish you personal success with any and all resolutions, intentions, plans, and dreams for the coming year. Most of all, I wish you joy.

Image by Judy Smith

Moving right along…

26 Dec 2023 Leave a comment

***

We woke up to a dusting of snow everywhere except streets and sidewalks, and now (9am) the flakes are falling thick and fast. A few hours late for a white Christmas, but welcome anyway, soothing, and predicted to last into the wee hours on Wednesday. We MAY see some accumulation out of all that, but so far it’s settling like rain.

The Day After any major human observance usually provides for a bit of downtime, thanks to the inevitable sudden stop, when my thoughts turn to years past, other times, things seen, lessons learned, memories made. This Christmas Day was beyond sweet, other than the ignominious losses by all our football teams, but ce la vie. Rita suggested the menu, Kim cooked it all to perfection, and it was so stellar as to temporarily wipe the taste of defeat from our mouths.

Grilled Salmon Filets
Pasta in Creamed Pesto Sauce
Roasted Asparagus
Crostini

After dinner and between football heartbreaks, we played a hilarious game of Ransom Notes, which Rita won. We had two lifelong reader/journalers and a songwriter vying for best/funniest/grossest/most offbeat phrase, and it worked like it was scripted. Our reward, both winner and losers, was the VERY SPECIAL ICE CREAM, of which my baby sister became an instant fan.

A sweet time. We knew other family members were spending the day scattered but happy and cozy, which makes everything all the better. I hope your holiday was and is what you need it to be, here at the close of 2023. And I hope 2024 will be very good to you and yours. Keep it simple.

And keep it real…

Image by Judy Smith

Nature… purest portal to peace.

24 Oct 2023 1 Comment

***

Three days ago our little corner of the world was on fire in varying shades of red, orange, yellow, gold, and green. By yesterday evening, most of the vibrant hues had morphed to dull and drab, and now this morning’s wind and rain are sending drifts of leaves to the streets, yards, and sidewalks. Soon the naked trees will reveal that the houses directly across the street are still in existence after spending several months hidden within the forest.

It’s a fall day in all its glory… the weather, the ever-changing flora, and the aromas from the kitchen, where Kim’s cookin’ up a batch of chili. This needs to be filmed as background for any feel-good movie you wanna make… all the beauty and none of the angst, isn’t that what we’re after? I felt sad the other day, knowing that all the blazing colors I was seeing from my balcony would be gone in a heartbeat and winter will follow, but sadness doesn’t quite fit the natural tumble of seasons, the roll of the tides. Those things simply ARE and are necessary to our existence, so it’s my outlook that has to change, and as it turns out change is what it’s ALL about. Everything. We don’t come here knowing how to live, and we aren’t allowed an excess of rodeos for finding out, so it’s a scramble to pull it all together within the allotted time frame. The role played by change can’t be overestimated. There ya’ go… musings from someone who’s observed a lot of autumns… just a freebie.

Unsolicited advice from here: Roll With It. Whatever comes in, put your head down and go. There’s so little in life we can influence in any measurable way, it seems wise to choose our real battles carefully. Fall taught me that. Those unbelievably-brilliant leaves were there for the seeing all weekend, but when they fade, that’s it… ’til next time.

There are two things I hope for you:

That your autumn won’t be overly-blessed with melancholy, and
that your heart will remember spring.

Image by Judy Smith

Out On a Limb

15 Aug 2023 4 Comments

***

When I am very old I shall live in a tiny house

nestled in the arms of a generous tree.

I’ll sleep late some mornings, past ten even,

and wake to birdsong, filtered sunlight,

and coffee made by tree fairies.

My address will be known mostly to squirrels, birds,

and the occasional drone, with a path just witchy enough

to make a poser think twice before approaching.

The views will be so spectacular I’ll seldom be tempted

to reorient to ground level, and anyway there will be stairs.

Or maybe I’ll install a giant slide, because although I’ll be very old

I’ll never not be a kid.

My books will live with me, and there will be two kittens

who will snuggle me as my bones grow tenuous.

They’ll absorb the words I cannot speak

and absolve me of every shortcoming

because they will have no stake in any of it.

I will at last be thin again unless the birds have mercy on me with sustenance,

but it won’t be as I imagined so I shall henceforth, from today, honor my squishiness while it lasts.

Those who want to gaze upon my astounding wrinklyness,

under cover of having “coffee, or tea, or drinkies,”

will be turned away in lieu of those who know me.

The ones – you know who you are – used to my stubborn opinions mixed with naiveté,

the never-ending search for validation, explanation, justification, restitution,

the neediness that dares not name itself.

When I am very very old, I shall be wise.

I will comprehend mysteries.

I will know The Meaning of Life.

Or not. Time, as “they” say, will tell.

But won’t you be lonely? you ask.

Of course, isn’t everyone?

JSmith 08/15/2023

Image by Judy Smith

Go home, weather, you’re drunk…

18 Jul 2023 Leave a comment

***

Odd summer so far, blowing hot and cold, perpetually cloudy with storm threats, or blazing blue skies hanging in without relief. Which is to say that it’s Kansas in July when all bets are off. It can get very warm here in the summertime, but…

Or Texas, or the Sahara…

Not much shaking here. Still opening a box once in a while and doing the “keep, toss, give” routine. Down to maybe four boxes, so I’m pacing myself now, because you should always keep a little something back for when you feel a need to procrastinate. Things I’ve learned about STUFF:

We’ve already passed the middle of July, so yet another Kansas wheat harvest took place without my notice, which means this farm girl is slipping. Slipping the traces and living the life in front of her. I love how we get to live more than one life as we move from birth to death, each one a complete or unfinished package with lessons attached. The pic below was taken in the late 1990s, maybe twenty-five years ago, when a pair of Roper boots, some faded denim, and a tank top would take me through a fifteen-hour day on “my” combine, day after day until everything was in the bin. There are things about it I miss: the productive solitude, the wildlife in the fields and tree lines, the scent of fresh-turned earth, just-harvested grain, rain in the air, being at the center of something vital and needed. There are things I do NOT miss, and some of those would be fifteen-to- eighteen-hour days that started before dawn, never enough sleep, being cook, field hand, parts runner, laundress, bookkeeper, therapist, and a pile of other seed caps that fit from one hour to the next. A lot of the details would slide from conscious memory without a photo now and then…

While I was revisiting my farming days, another memory came to mind:

I backed out of the garage one morning to go to work, noticed something large to my immediate left, and found myself making eye contact with a good-sized cougar sitting on his haunches next to the driveway. We looked at each other in wide-eyed wonder for a beat or two before he casually turned and sauntered toward the cattle pens north of the house. I called the farmer on the radio, he slipped out the side door and into the car, and we cruised along the road while Mr. Mountain Lion slowly padded next to the fence line, rarely breaking eye contact, before ducking into high weeds and disappearing. He was likely a bold young turk, looking for a mate far from his Colorado stomping grounds, and was the only one of his kind spotted in my 35 years on that farm. There were herds of deer, coyotes, wild turkeys, abundant rattlesnakes, and a mama bobcat who spent two consecutive winters in our old washhouse raising her kits, but that silky cougar was a one-off and I’ll never forget him.

NOTE: With a less than 15% chance of rain in the forecast for this morning, it’s coming down in buckets, with soft hail mixed in, and the temp is 75°. Enjoy your Tuesday, whatever the weather gods have in store!

Image by Judy Smith

Good thing wrinkles don’t hurt…

20 Jun 2023 1 Comment

***

Good morning. Remember my childlike boasts about how much I love getting older? Of course you do. You said at the time, “Who does she think she’s kidding?” There are days when I do sort of hate it, but not as much as I despise the idea of being dead, so when I meet a compadre on the road from here to there, it means everything. I’m letting that fellow pilgrim speak for me this morning:

The other day, a young person asked me: – “What does it feel like to be old?”

I was very surprised by the question, since I did not consider myself old. When he saw my reaction, he was immediately embarrassed, but I explained that it was an interesting question. And after reflection, I concluded that getting old is a gift.

Sometimes I am surprised at the person who lives in my mirror. But I don’t worry about those things for long. I wouldn’t trade everything I have for a few less gray hairs and a flat stomach. I don’t scold myself for not making the bed, or for eating a few extra “little things.” I am within my rights to be a little messy, to be extravagant, and to spend hours staring at my flowers.

I have seen some dear friends leave this world before they had enjoyed the freedom that comes with growing old.

Who cares if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 in the morning and then sleep until who knows what time?

I will dance with me to the rhythm of the 50’s and 60’s. And if later I want to cry for some lost love… I will!

I’ll walk down the beach in a swimsuit that stretches over my plump body and dive into the waves, letting myself go, despite the pitying looks of the bikini-wearers. They’ll get old too, if they’re lucky…

It is true that through the years my heart has ached for the loss of a loved one, for the pain of a child, or for seeing a pet die. But it is suffering that gives us strength and makes us grow. An unbroken heart is sterile and will never know the happiness of being imperfect.

I am proud to have lived long enough for my hair to turn gray and to retain the smile of my youth before the deep furrows appeared on my face.

Now, to answer the question honestly, I can say: -I like being old, because old age makes me wiser, freer!

I know I’m not going to live forever, but while I’m here I’m going to live by my own laws, those of my heart.

I’m not going to regret what wasn’t, nor worry about what will be.

In the time that remains, I will simply love life as I did until today, the rest I leave to God.

Dame Judy Dench

***

Image by Judy Smith

I believe I can fly…

30 May 2023 2 Comments

***

Good morning on a perfect spring day. With exactly three weeks left before summer arrives, the weather’s in Chamber of Commerce mode and I’m here for it. Kim went walking early this morning and then rode his bicycle back to Einstein’s after they opened, for one of my beloved bagels. The sun’s shining, the air is cool and still, and the lawn service mowers are droning away four floors down, the ultimate in morning contentment. Kim might go across the river for PickleBall, I might take a walk, maybe apply myself to something productive… and the day will spool out.

Meanwhile, in Dove world, life is progressing day by day. This morning the chicks were side by side in the nest, one parent was on the railing a few feet away, calling softly, and the other was perched on the neighbor’s balcony doing the same. The babies are about ten days old now, and biology says that at two weeks they will vacate the nest to make room for new siblings. I must say, they look as grumpy about that prospect as you might imagine, but it seems flying lessons are imminent.

Derek and Diane are not this robust yet, so we likely still have a few days to enjoy their presence. And then the all-knowing internet says they’ll hang around the nest for another week or so after they get their wings, and we’ll proudly watch them as they come and go. My, they grow up so fast, don’t they?

Speaking of which, if you didn’t grow up, as I did, hearing the call of mourning doves, check out the file at the top of the page that will open in the link. Turn up your sound, and wait the few seconds between calls. Ignore the “9 min” detail, nobody’s gonna hang with it that long. Probably. Depends on how sleepy you are.

ML166991841 Mourning Dove Macaulay Library(opens in a new tab)

I grew up on a farm with my grandparents living across the drive, and I spent lots of nights sleeping in their house. When a grandkid was there, Grandma folded back the sheets on the big bed in the guest room and it was grandma/grandkid sleepover time, leaving Grandpa all alone in the cozy bedroom just off the kitchen. Generations of mourning doves built their nests in the evergreen tree outside the guest room window, and their dreamy calls rendered me comatose every night I slept there, so to hear them now outside my own windows is to have come full circle.

David and Darleen have been out there most of the morning, stuffing little craws full of yummy seed mush, fussing around the nest, and offering parental support from six feet away while steadily distancing themselves from the whole situation, bit by bit. They’ve been good parents thus far, so I’m sure their gently-offered encouragement goes something like “You’re fine, we’re still here, no worries, just over here on the next-door balcony. Going seed-hunting, kids, BRB. Do your stretches while we’re gone, stick your little necks up but not too far, we saw a cardinal nearby this morning. Exciting times are coming, so spend your time preparing.” To which Derek and Diane can only utter a simple “Huh?” as they have no clue what lies ahead for them.

Because we have opposable thumbs and self-awareness, we fancy ourselves higher than the flora and fauna that surrounds us. The sad truth is, trees communicate with each other better than do most humans, and benign friendly birds have a lot to teach us about what matters. The world could be a much softer place, but it isn’t, so we have birds and flowers and sheltering ferns to cushion reality. On a spring morning in the 21st century, with the smell of fresh-cut grass in the air, that’s almost enough.

Image by Judy Smith

Yay, we have baby(s)!!

23 May 2023 3 Comments

***

We can see the top of one tiny head, and I’m surmising from its heavy fuzz cover that both eggs hatched a couple of days ago. For the first four days they’re fed crop-milk and then graduate to seeds, so we’ll see increased activity to and fro keeping them satisfied.

Only a mother’s love, amirite?

DISCLAIMER: We have not touched the babies. We will not touch the babies. These are pics of mourning doves being raised by experts.

We’re loving our front-row seat at the Nature Table, and we’re glad David & Darleen Dove tolerate us so graciously. Okay, baby names? Let’s do this!

Image by Judy Smith

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