Today's mantra:

Take a deep breath

Release

Repeat

I remember this place

this spot here on the sand 

where summer days unfold 

like a quiet melody

Colors blend 

from brown to taupe to white 

as the surf rolls onto the shore

Blues and grays meld together

darkening with the depth of the ocean

The wind lifts my hair

birds cry out in a cacophony of chorus

In the distance

ocean meets sky

The edge of the world 

or the curvature of its spine

Love Knots

Cozy. That's what I'm looking for today. It's cold outside, at least the inside of my house is making me think that. Sometimes, I get all bundled up before heading out somewhere, only to find out that it's warmer outside than it is in my house. In the summer, that's a good thing. In late fall and winter, not so much!

If you're with me on Instagram, you've already heard the story about the quilts in the photo above. You heard how I was always nosing around in antique stores looking for old quilts. I didn't mind a little wear and tear because that's what made them special to me.The two on the bottom of the stack came from my mother-in-law's yard sale before I joined the family. Freebies and in wonderful condition. The one second from the top was an antique store find, and the one on the very top is extra special because I actually got to meet the person who made it.

He was Uncle Olen on Craig's side of the family. He pieced quilts in his older age sitting with his wife in their small apartment in Atlanta. He made two for Hannah when she was a baby. One with pink tones and one with blue because I didn't want to know whether we were having a boy or a girl. And he made this top one for us.

The quilts remind me of childhood years at my grandmother's house on my father's side. I didn't spend too many nights there, but I do remember being deep in the middle of quilts on a cold winter night in their white frame house. The quilts laying heavy on my body but keeping the cold out.

They remind me of a poem I read with my students each year.... "My Mother Pieced Quilts"
and of Alice Walker's masterful story.... "Everyday use." Mama and Maggie might not think my displays are necessary, but I think they would be glad to know that the quilts have seen a lot of use. Everyday use. If not now than at least in the past.

It's getting close to the anniversary of my mother's death. December 11. She didn't quilt, but she did spend hours and hours making clothes for her three girls. Easter dresses, school clothes, even when I was grown, she would make clothes for me. So, although she didn't piece quilts, she sewed and with every tiny stitch a little love was added.

I love autumn months.

I love the slight chill in the air,

the smell of burning wood

and the sight of golden leaves 

littering the ground.

I love long sleeve t-shirts

made of soft cotton

and socks and real shoes.

Not those flipflops

that scream of

summer.

I love hot chocolate

with mini marshmallows

floating on top

and sweet potato casserole

with its marshmallow topping darkened

by the warmth of the oven.

I love hearing the crunch of leaves

as I walk through the woods

and seeing how they swirl and dance

in the breeze as they

pirouette to the earth.

Sometimes

there are leaves

with kamikazi attitudes.

Darting toward

my windshield

with reckless abandon.

I love early nightfall

and how it practically demands

that I settle in early for the night.

With lights shining through windows

and dogs curled up at my feet.

 Food baking in the oven
steam rising off the river.

Fall
Autumn
Colorful world
at my fingertips

Finding Laughter

Earth laughs in flowers.

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

I loved that quote when I came across it,

and it seemed perfect for these roses

that grow in my mother-in-law's garden.

She's always been a flower-tender,

my mother-in-law,

with beautiful blossoms

and leafy green plants

growing in her yard.

Even at 86, she's still out there,

tending the flowers ~

planting,

watering,

weeding.

Digging in the dirt.

And happy to be there

where laughter springs forth

from the Earth.



My husband's parents (who treat me like I'm their own)...
have been married 66 years! Precious, aren't they?


I'm taking part in Susannah Conway's

To check out other photos from The August Break, click here.



A few scraps here and there...

My grandmother was a gatherer

of fabrics, trimmings, and buttons

When visiting her she would put her hands on her hips

and say, "Rob, let me show you what I bought...."

Then she would make her way into the other room

where she would pull lengths of fabrics

from dresser drawers and cedar chests
showing me patterns and buttons and trims

Her stream of small talk never stopping

not even for a breath it seemed

Like my grandmother, I, too, am a gatherer

of papers, trimmings, and buttons

When my sisters visit I put my hands on my hips

and say, "Let me show you what I bought...."

Then I make my way into my studio

and flip through portfolios of papers
ephemera, and other embellishments

I had gathered throughout the year

My stream of small talk rarely stopping

except for a breath now and then

Thinking about her, I realize that we are a lot alike
my grandmother and I
talkers, gatherers, planners

I was named for Queenie Anne

(although I only got to keep the "an" in her name)

and we were born just one day a part

both lovers of justice and balance and beauty.


Queenie Anne at her surprise birthday party....

and with my mom.
I love the expression on my granny's face.



Luckily, I became the keeper of my grandmother's buttons.





(I fell in love with the two fabrics shown above.)

And just like that, I was thinking about my grandmother.

Sometimes a Wish...

is just a wish. At other times, it's the path that leads to your dream.

The Dandelion stood there

daring the wind to send it sailing

it bent with the wind

and snapped back

wavering

slightly

in the

air

Forgot the birthday candles, again...

Sidney Lanier's, that is. Last year, I really wished that I had brought cupcakes to celebrate his birth. This year, I thought the same thing. Somehow doling out the money to buy cupcakes for 99 students doesn't seem like such a good idea. And bake? Nah.... That didn't happen, either. But it would be such a fun idea, wouldn't it?

We did watch a short video about the poet and read "Song of the Chattahoochee." That's going to have to be enough this year.

Happy birthday, Sidney!

Driving down the highway...

you would never know that a long, winding trail lay hidden in the trees and vegetation beside it. The three of us traipsed along the trail yesterday afternoon, dogs in tow (or perhaps people in tow), as twilight began flirting with the last rays of the sun.

I had dropped back a bit, enjoying some solitude as the others pushed forward. As I walked, I couldn't help but make the metaphorical connection to life.

I noticed how at times the trail curved ahead of me, leaving me wondering where it was leading. Isn't life often like that? We know we are traveling a path in life, but we're not quite sure where it will lead. It seems we have to have faith to keep moving ahead, even when our destination is none to clear.

In some spots along the path, trees and bushes closed in on me, making it a bit more difficult to see my way. Vines hung low, causing me to duck under them. I even saw caution tape in a few places along the route. Caution tape. I guess the caution tape in our lives are those hunches we have.... the feeling that maybe this isn't the best idea afterall. We don't stop. We don't turn back. We just move along a bit more carefully.

And then, there are times when the path is wide open and easy to follow....

Even then, don't we wonder sometimes what would have happened if....

I think of Frost's poem, "The Road Not Taken," as I watch my daughter on a switchback coming toward me... almost. It seems true that we can never go back, but we can come close to picking up the pieces.

And as darkness begins to descend in these woods, I look up to see a fiery sunset. A reminder it seems, that there is a light at the end of every journey. And that the sun is always shining, somewhere, even in the darkest of times.

Today Could Have Been a Celebration....

We've been reading and studying poetry the last couple of weeks, a nice repreive from all of the essay-writing we tackled during the fall. It's such a nice change of pace as we peer into the words of poets past looking for examples of alliteration, personification, and imagery... the magic pixie dust of writing.

This week, as we read about Sidney Lanier, we realized that this is his birthday week, and that today, February 3, is his birthday. Oh how I wish I had thought ahead and bought a birthday cake in honor of this amazing poet. How fun it would have been to bring party hats to school and let my students partake in the festivities. But, I thought too late and wasn't too sure I would be willing to pay for a sheet-cake big enough for 93 hungry eighth-graders. And they wouldn't want me to bake one myself.

But it was a good idea. Maybe next year?

In the meantime, here's a favorite of mine...

The Song of the Chattahoochee

Out of the hills of Habersham,

Down the valleys of Hall,

I hurry amain to reach the plain,

Run the rapid and leap the fall,

Split at the rock and together again,

Accept my bed, or narrow or wide,

And flee from folly on every side

With a lover's pain to attain the plain

Far from the hills of Habersham,

Far from the valleys of Hall.

All down the hills of Habersham,

All through the valleys of Hall,

The rushes cried `Abide, abide,'

The willful waterweeds held me thrall,

The laving laurel turned my tide,

The ferns and the fondling grass said `Stay,'

The dewberry dipped for to work delay,

And the little reeds sighed `Abide, abide,

Here in the hills of Habersham,

Here in the valleys of Hall.'

High o'er the hills of Habersham,

Veiling the valleys of Hall,

The hickory told me manifold

Fair tales of shade, the poplar tall

Wrought me her shadowy self to hold,

The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine,

Overleaning, with flickering meaning and sign,

Said, `Pass not, so cold, these manifold

Deep shades of the hills of Habersham,

These glades in the valleys of Hall.'

And oft in the hills of Habersham,

And oft in the valleys of Hall,

The white quartz shone, and the smooth brook-stone

Did bar me of passage with friendly brawl,

And many a luminous jewel lone --

Crystals clear or a-cloud with mist,

Ruby, garnet and amethyst --

Made lures with the lights of streaming stone

In the clefts of the hills of Habersham,

In the beds of the valleys of Hall.

But oh, not the hills of Habersham,

And oh, not the valleys of Hall

Avail: I am fain for to water the plain.

Downward the voices of Duty call --

Downward, to toil and be mixed with the main,

The dry fields burn, and the mills are to turn,

And a myriad flowers mortally yearn,

And the lordly main from beyond the plain

Calls o'er the hills of Habersham,

Calls through the valleys of Hall.

~ Sidney Lanier 1877

P.S. Happy Birthday!

Photo: Sierra Club

Have you ever fallen in love...

with someone you just couldn't have? Years ago, during a college astronomy class, I fell head over heels in love with the constellation, Orion. That gallant hunter who fills part of the winter sky with his presence....

At the time, young and working my way through college, I felt a connection with Orion. I considered him a guardian watching over me. Even now with the passage of time, I find myself waiting for that first glimpse of him during late fall and early winter. Soon, he will be gone again, watching over someone else in another part of the world. But I know that as soon as the nights lengthen across the shadows of day, he'll be back to watch over me. And I'll send another kiss his way.

I wrote the poem during college and remember it still.

Telephoto Tuesday

a little lizard happened by

and got right in my way

i had to snap his photograph

before he rushed away

oh, what fun to look around

and see what nature brings

from bright green lizards on my deck

to birds that like to sing

Poetry on Demand

One thing I have my students do each year is to write a poem from a random group of words. The first time around, each pair of students pulls a list of four words from a cup and work together to create a poem using those words. Afterwards, I let each student choose the words they want to work with. I'm always a little in awe of some of the poems my students create. Like this one....

I lay on the grass
until sunset

in the moonlit sky
I felt God's presence

at that moment
I think He blessed me

and this one....

All alone
on the rainy midnight trail
a traveler moved along
his horse was spooked
by sounds of the wild
he tried to grip the horse's mane
but slipped
Off into the night the stallion ran
his body bruised
his muslces sore
the traveler crawled to a nearby bank
and lay on the cold, wet ground
dying
Now just a spirit in the wind
but some say
on a cold, rainy night
a lot like that night
you might
you just might
hear him crying out in pain

Aren't they great? And these are their first drafts... completed in less than one class period. Poetry on demand so-to-speak.

sPriNg fEveR

i must have it...

spring fever that is

as i sit in the shade
of an old umbrella
i listen to the birds sing
while the leaves
whisper their own melody

the puppy wags her tail
while dreaming

i look up at a blue sky
and remember
blissful moments
of springs past

of creating poodles and giraffes
out of cotton candy clouds
that hung suspended in the sky

of hunting the juiciest blackberries
plumped up delicious
on the hill behind the house

of sitting quietly
with a book in my hands
as dusk began to settle
all around me

i sit here now
and think about
what i should be doing

no... instead
i'll succumb to spring fever
i will...

enjoy

create
savor
and experience

this blissful joy

called spring

'Twas the Day After Christmas

'Twas the day after Christmas
and all through the house

boxes, wrappings, and bows

were littered about.

The stockings still hung

by the chimney with care

but goodies and gifts

were no longer there.

My one child was nestled

still snug in her bed;

she had stayed up too late
should've been sleeping instead.

And I in my PJs
sitting at my computer,
felt bad for my husband,
the workday commuter.

He had opened the office

always diligent it seems
so that people with new cars

could cover their insurance needs.

I knew in time

my vacation would end,
86 essays and grades
on me would depend.

But until then I'll sit here,
create, play, and pen

poems and greetings

for all my googleblog friends.

And then I'll find time

for some afternoon jogging;
scratch that, instead

I'll relax with my new "Artful Blogging!"

I hope you had a very Merry Christmas

and that your New Year will be a blessed one!

Life

What is life

but a series of events
disconnected and connected --
from mundane moments
to those that change your life forever.

A single day may not seem like much...
splashing in a pool
sharing some minute slice of life.

Yet wrapped together these moments
become the tapestry of life...
colorful, strong,
gently-woven memories.

By: Roban Johnson
August 6, 2006