Speak Up Saturday- I Learned Life Isn’t Fair

12 May

We  welcome author, Rebekah Lyn to Speak Out Saturday.  Rebekah has published her debut novel, Summer Storms and is almost ready to release Julianne, a novel set in coastal North Carolina.  Rebekah  has her own blog, Rebekah Lyn’s Kitchen but since she was busy editing and needed to rant we offered Speak Up Saturday as a quick vent.  A link to her blog is in the sidebar. So, Rebekah, rant away.

Driving around this weekend, I saw a bounce house in a backyard, presumably for a child’s birthday party.  It made me think about how things have changed since I was a kid. Growing up, we had birthday parties at Burger King or McDonald’s.  I remember wearing a paper crown and sitting in a booth with my friends.  Those were great parties.

As I continued driving in my nostalgic state, I noticed many of the houses had plastic play sets in place of the metal swing-sets I grew up with.  These play sets are fine I guess, but I feel bad for the kids who don’t have the chance to ride the glider, one kid on each side, pretending it was a horse.  I learned not to let my bare legs touch the slide after the first time I burned them on the metal that had been baking in the sun all day.

Sure some of the kids I grew up with had big wooden tree houses or forts, and I only had the rickety old metal swing set, but I had monkey bars, a slide, and swings.  I could climb up the support poles and make my way across the whole set without touching the ground.  I wasn’t scarred for life because some of my friends had nicer things than me.  I learned life isn’t fair, but it is what you make of it.  I’m glad I grew up in the time  I did; I had the chance to learn from my mistakes.

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Being Still

10 May

On the Porch

Onisha Ellis

‎ This was my friend Wanda’s Facebook post this morning.

“Quiet Time” on front porch sitting in rocker with a cup of Newman’s listening to the nesting birds chirp or “tweet” their new song! Flag waving gently in the breeze and shaded by the sun-filtering oak tree. Being still …….. ♥

Adding to my friend’s observations, I’m sitting on my porch now, listening to the wind wave the trees and the tink, tinkling melody of the wind chimes,a gift from a friend. A neighbor has decided to rev up a very sick sounding motorcycle. At first I am extremely annoyed then realize even this is a part of being still. What I am hearing is a neighbor with a problem and if I had the skills I could offer to help.

Now our porch dog, Gus has arrived. He belongs to the neighbor with the sick motorcycle and comes everyday to say hello and accept any treats we offer.

Our bird feeders are full of finches today adding their color and cheery chirrup to the sound on my porch. I think maybe God created the birds and insects to serenade us, even the bees.

I love being still, I wonder why I don’t take the time to do this every day.

Psalms 46:10

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Patio Visitors

9 May

 We’ve added a new blogger to bring a male point of view.We are so pleased to welcome Bill Lites.

Bill is a retired engineer living with his artist/writer wife of 55 years in Central Florida.  He was born and raised in the Southwest, did a tour of duty with the U.S. Navy, attended college in Southern California and ended up working on the Manned Space Program for 35 years.  He currently spends most of his time building and flying R/C model airplanes and supporting his wife’s hobbies with framing and marketing.  Bill’s children and their spouses, two grandchildren, a sister and her husband, also live in Central Florida so he and his wife are rewarded by having family close to spend quality time with.

A Slice of LIfe

Bill Lites

When my wife and I first moved to Central Florida and bought our new house, our patio consisted of a 10’x10’ concrete slab outside our back family room door.  After we got our dog, Baron, we began feeding him on the patio to help avoid the mess in the house.  He didn’t always finish everything we gave him so sometimes there would be food left in his bowl at night.

Since our house backed onto the woods we began to have quite a variety of animals come onto our patio to check out any leftovers.  We had frogs, raccoons, possums, foxes, skunks and who knows what else.  We never really knew what to expect when we looked outside at night.

One night as we sat watching TV in our family room Baron started whining at the door.  It was very dark out and when I turned the light on it only made a glare on the glass door.  As I started to open the door, Baron sprang out through the opening like a streak and was after something heading for the woods.  It was a possum.  They were both running flat-out but Baron was catching up fast.  Just then, the possum stopped in its tracks.  Baron was going so fast that when the possum stopped he ran right over it, skidded to a halt, whipped around and was on the possum in a flash.  But, what was this?  A dead possum?  It wasn’t  moving, not even breathing, just laying there dead as could be.  Baron sniffed around it from all sides, tried to roll it over with his nose and sniffed some more, but to no avail.  Finally, he gave up and came back in the house.

I looked out two or three times during the next 10-15 minutes but the possum was as dead as ever.  Then, the next time I looked, guess what?  No possum!  Sure enough, it had come back to life and just strolled off into the woods.  Now I know what is meant when someone says they played possum.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-2 NIV

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to live and a time to die.

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Touching Heaven

7 May

My Take

DiVoran Lites

We have a friend who calls himself a hedonist. I think that means pleasure seeker. I suppose I must be one too. It’s certainly a pleasure in the afternoon after my nap to brew a cup of coffee (with dark chocolate powder added), cut a California navel into triangular slices and take a book to the back porch to read.

Spring days are so fantastic. When I finished my refreshments, I put my book down to just sit and be for a while. Almost immediately, I became aware of what was going on around me. Everything I heard and saw seemed sharp and clear.

I heard:

hammering as if someone were putting on a new roof.

a rooster crowing

an airplane humming over,

our calico cat chattering at a green anole lizard on the screen

a cardinal too-too-tooted his spring song.

Then the AC came on and I couldn’t hear anything else. Civilization encroaching, thank the Lord for it!

As I looked around the yard, I saw:

yellow, orange and purple flowers, swaying against the fence

dried weeds on the other side that looked like fluffy ostrich feathers,

a brand new sunflower seeking the sun,

Close up I spied a:

pothos growing in a pot

cat in a basket

Chinese Tallow tree, with Florida ferns growing under it,

green garden wagon with balloon tires (one is flat),

stool made from an overturned porcelain pot with a red rubber stepping stone for a seat.

Closer yet:

I touched the binoculars,

picked up the napkin basket,

fingered the salt shaker,

smelled the orange peels on a small white plate,

moved the driftwood I use for a book prop,

and smoothed my hand over the slick cover of the large print book.

Does all that make me a hedonist? See how self-indulgent I am? I not only took the time to jot all that down, I enticed you to take the time to read it too, (I hope). If yes, thank you. Your company pleases me very much.

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Blackbirds, Mourning Doves, and Robins

5 May

We are delighted to have Patricia Franklin as our first contributor to Speak Up Saturday.

Patricia Franklin now lives not far from the small town in the shadow of the Sangre de Cristo mountain range in Colorado which was settled by her ancestors on both sides. She and her husband are Jeepers and researchers of family histories. She has three children and three grandchildren, and spends happy volunteer hours at a multi denominational shelter and charity center. While self-effacing and laid back, she has a brilliant mind and a feisty sense of humor. She’s a small woman, but coming from a family with five brothers she knows how to hold her own.

Blackbirds, Mourning Doves, and Robins

By Patricia Franklin

Blackbirds nested in our lilac bush one year. They hogged the bird bath and dropped trash in it. It was yucky. Last year we had mourning doves. They were quiet and clean, and we kept an eye on them until they hatched and fledged. This year the blackbirds returned, but we chased them away.

I’d been walking around the bush for a few days looking up in the branches to make sure the blackbirds didn’t come back, when suddenly I came face to face with a perfectly formed nest on a lower branch. I’m surprised I missed it, but that was because I looked way up, while this nest was at eye-level. As I watched, a mother robin flew in with something small in her beak to finish up a perfect nest. Now we have a robin’s nest in a location where I can see it from my patio or from my kitchen window. I’m thrilled.

The mama robin is around every morning, but when I go out, I can’t see anything. Because the nest is wide and deep I wonder whether the eggs are in the bottom where they can stay warm without her. Or maybe she’s hunkered down in there too. I don’t know, it’s a mystery.

My biggest fear is of the neighbor’s black cat. He snatches birds right out of our backyard. Maybe my husband will build a fence around the nest. No, that’s not going to happen. Last year he was forced to let a hay crop grow under the bush so the birds wouldn’t be disturbed. He didn’t much like that. Yikes, I can hear him cutting the lawn now. I’d better get out there and guard my little flock while I can.

Bird Nest

Bird Nest (Photo credit: Sikachu!)

5 May

Speak Up Saturdays

4 May

We have decided to open our blog on Saturdays to writers who have something they would like to say. It can be an interesting story, a bit of whimsy, advice or poetry, it can even be a rant. For the moment it will be called Speak Up  Saturday. If you would like to speak up you can tweet me @onisha, @silly girl or comment on the blog. This Saturday will be a life long friend of DiVoran’s Patricia Franklin. Stop by in  the morning and see what she has to say.

Headlines!

I Don’t Recycle I Curb It

3 May

For the first time in my life I am living in the country. Well, not living, spending the summer in the “hills.” I began  growing fresh herbs last year  and this year will have a full-fledged garden. I don’t even mind weeding, which I NEVER did in town.  I am loving every minute of this new country life.

There are however, a couple of things I miss.  Have you driven through the country and wondered why some people have so much junk in their yards? No trash pick-up.I had heard  commercials plugging their product by offering free removal of your old appliance and thought they were pretty lame. Here in the hills if it can’t disguised in a contractor bag as household trash you have to haul it to the landfill, have them weigh your vehicle, then pay on the way out after they weigh you again. Who knew?

The other thing I miss is curb shopping. It is such a simple yet mutually beneficial process.  I  put  a useable item to the curb  hoping someone will be able to use it. Most of the time it disappears before I get back in the house but occasionally a shopper will knock on the door to verify the item is free. I’ve found my own treasures too. Just a couple of years ago I did some dumpster shopping from the house next door and got some mighty fine T.V. tables, barely needed washing.

I guess living in the country has taught me to appreciate the town advantages I took for granted. Oh, I forgot to mention shipping boxes, don’t get me started on that.

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Do All Girls Want To Be Princesses?

1 May

My Take

DiVoran Lites

A mother and her two daughters moved in next door with the grandmother who had been there for several years. I met the youngest child at the back fence one day. She was a tall two-and-a-half years old and wore nothing but a diaper. She had long, fine, dark hair. I discovered later that her skin is sensitive to some fabrics and that was why she was dressed, or undressed in the way she was.

We sort of communicated for a while and then she signaled for me to wait. When she returned she had been turned into a princess in pink tulle with a diamond tiara and a big ball.

A few months later Janie’s mother and I stood in her driveway talking. The Princess was there too, and this time she wore a blue net skirt. When I told her how pretty it was she and went got the rest of the costume and her mother helped her into gossamer wings and a feathery headband. With a small blue scepter, the outfit was complete.

“She loves her princess clothes,” said her mom. “She wears them out. I have to start taping them together. We bought this one for her to wear to Disney World to meet Ariel, Jasmine, and the rest of the princesses in fantasy land.

I know exactly how the little girl feels. I read, The Princess and the Pea when I was about eight and the minute the queen acknowledged the girl in the story was a real princess, I knew I was one, too. It was the pea, you see. It had to be the kind of pea they use for split pea soup because she could feel it way down under a bunch of mattresses. She was sensitive, and so am I and so is Janie.

There was one contender for my role. It was my beautiful little granddaughter, I let her be a princess, I had no choice and I didn’t want it to come to a vote. But as soon as she went away to college I took back the title. Do all girls want to be princesses? Judging by the number of outfits available, I’d say we do.

I got proof of that this morning on the way home from church when a  hot-pink, compact car came around the corner with big curled eyelashes over it’s headlights. The front plate said, “Da Princess.” I think whoever owns that car wins. What do you think? But anyhow, just for fun, here’s our neighborhood princesses.

Illustration in a collection of Anderson's Fai...

Illustration in a collection of Anderson's Fairy tales. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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Thanks For Sitting With Me

26 Apr

An elderly neighbor has a good size garden. Each spring two or three lawn chairs are set in the shade on their vacant property heralding the beginning of planting season. Someone tills the land and stakes appear for the tomatoes. The plants always flourish; the garden is a model of tidiness and weed free. At harvest time the vegetables are picked and then the garden begins its winter rest. Seldom do I see who does the work although I often see men resting underneath the shade.

I am thinking this is similar to creating a book, painting or raising a family. We see the fruit but don’t always see the actual work and like the farmer it’s nice to have someone to rest with in the shade.

Here is a picture of my attempt at a winter garden. It was so warm in Florida I started a potato bag. Unfortunately the vines didn’t like the transition to a western North Carolina spring and all but one died. Can’t wait to plant again.

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