Completely gone…

Pretty cool, huh?

(continued from previous post)
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Enchanted Phenomenon in the East

 Look closely

 something magical is happening…

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The fairy babies have been released and they are everywhere!

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Everywhere!

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Waiting for their papas and mamas to come for them…

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Do you believe in fairy babies?

Look close…

When the first baby laughed for the first time,
the laugh  broke into a thousand pieces,
and they all went skipping about,
and that was the beginning of fairies.  
J. M. Barrrie (1860-1937)
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I love number Five

Five is my favorite number.

I was born on a number five.

I have five treasures as my children.

In August I will have five grandchildren.

And my first grandchild turned five yesterday.

I love my number five!

This post is to honor my Trevor James.

A jewel was born in our family five years ago. He was the most beautiful baby; so quiet and content.  But we soon discovered that he was not reaching milestones that were “typical.” As he grew we noticed he separated himself in his mind and voice from our world and his actions often seemed like he was an island, but he is not. He actually longs for us to join him. He has unique gifts. He is a professional spinner and is a marvel.

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He communicates through energy or actions but not with words. His spirit is powerful and strong even though it sits inside a frail little body. God made him exactly right for a purpose. I believe he is a spiritual icon; a sort of earth angel, which gives a message to us as offered to either tap into or pass by. Many rush past or ignore. It takes an effort to be with him but the time is a gift. When I am with him I feel at home from a place deep inside. When I am away, I miss him and the spiritual energy that flows from him that seems to quench a thirst that I can’t get filled anywhere else. I have learned a great deal over the past five years from this little boy. He makes me better.  Life gives us wonderful surprises and I never realized how rich learning and growing with an autist could be.

Happy Birthday Trev Man.

Grammy is  your best buddy forever!

I know you know I love  you and that you love me back…

Version 2

 

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A letter to you

boy surrounded by books

Dear wanderer and seeker,

Let’s take a journey together of words.

Where shall we begin?

Coming with me is booking a ticket into a new life, new land, new mystery, new time…

I am your guide and

will thrill you,

terrify you,

and wrap my arms around you for comfort…

Me, unopened is dead.

Me opened is discovery and enchantment.

Let’s take a journey together of words.

I am waiting for you.

                       Jump in,

                       Your Book

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Come on over!

Here’s your spoon.

Come have a taste.

Welcome new followers

I have decided to combine the insightful flavors from my “Cancer Together; What do I do now?” blog and add it to this big potpourri bowl “Have Fun With It” to create a recipe for life’s crazies and joys.  Come close; licking your fingers is allowed.

If you are new, scroll back to some old yummy morsel posts and have a little snitch. I’m all over the place with what I like in this big beautiful world.

But isn’t that just like food….

for thought?

I am excited to also introduce to you a new blog on my passion; Preserving that mysterious and wonderful time called “childhood.” Please take a peek and send others.

 Only One Childhood

Thank you for visiting and enjoying the treats-

 Life is wonder-FULL. 

Have fun with it…

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One white Marguerite

If you would ask me what my favorite flower is

it would be a white Marguerite daisy.

Daisy

I have never told this story to anyone before.

It was in a High School art class.

You know the elective that all your friends sign up for to have a social period.  We were to bring in a real flower as part of a project. I forgot until the day it was due so ripped a white flower from off of a bush in our backyard and brought it to school wrapped in a wet paper towel.

For the assignment we were to fold a 12 by 18 in. white construction paper in half then over to the side to open into four rectangles. We were to draw our flower in each rectangle realistically, in abstraction, in cubism, and in a unique view point.

The teacher insisted that we sit for 15 minutes and study our flower and if we goofed off we would receive detention. And then she set the white egg timer clicking the time and sat down. There were a few snide comments and some giggles but soon a hush fell over the classroom.

Have you ever taken 15 minutes and stared at one flower?

 It is a long time…

At first you look at it and your mind takes a picture and you think, okay I saw it…

And then you move in to take a closer look. It was a white Marguerite daisy, I found out later. It did not have five loopy bright colored petals with a bright yellow circle center that most of us doodle on paper and gets made into a giant sticker to stick on the rear of Volkswagen Beatles. 

Every single petal narrows to the end that attaches strong into the center then tapers out to a curve which cups just a tiny bit at the end.

Each petal has hills and valley ridges that stripe the petal which change the white to different shades.

When the petals stretch out they overlap because it is crowded.

The petals feel like silky fuzzy paper.

The inside has hundreds of little curly balls clustered together and grab to a center orb.

They appear yellow but when you look closely they are a variety of golden earth tones which also change in the light.

The flower has a green stem made of long strands of vein like fibers and at the jagged end, where it was ripped from its life source, is an opaque white center that drips fluid.

At the top underneath the white petal umbrella is a star shape cup made out of green leaves with points at the tips. This cup tucks the entire flower perfectly inside to hold it upright.

The timer went ding. The chatter resumed. The class bell eventually rang and we left. I completed the assignment in a few weeks.  I loved that picture.

I grew up with a mother who spoke to flowers and a father who spoke to animals. They did not only model reverence for earth’s gifts but to be enamored by them. 

But 15 minutes with a Marguerite daisy converted me.

I believe I finally saw God as an artist

and I have been in complete admiration ever since.

 

 

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Just a little morsel of spring to taste

Frances Hodgson Burnett’s, The Secret Garden is one of the most magical full-sense spring experiences. You will never look at nature and her healing powers the same again.

Here is just one little morsel to taste:

“A sudden thought made her scramble to her feet,

“I can’t wait! I am going to see the garden!”

…She unchained and unbolted and unlocked and when the door was open she sprang across the step with one bound, and there she was standing on the grass, which seemed to have turned green, with the sun pouring down on her and warm sweet wafts about her and the fluting and twittering and singing coming from every bush and tree. She clasped her hands for pure joy and looked up in the sky and it was so blue and pink and pearly and white and flooded with springtime light and she felt as if she must flute and sing aloud herself and knew that thrushes and robins and skylarks could not possibly help it. She ran around the shrubs and paths towards the secret garden.

“It is all different already,” she said. “The grass is greener and things are sticking up everywhere and things are uncurling and green buds on leaves are showing…”

…When she had reached the place where the door bid itself under the ivy…and she pushed the door open…

“Oh Dicken! Dickon!” she cried out. “How could you get here so early! How could you! The sun has only just got up!”

“He got up himself, laughing and glowing, and tousled; his eyes like a bit of the sky.

“Eh!” he said. “I was up long before him. How could I have stayed abed! Th’ world’s all fair begun again this mornin’, it has. An’ it’s workin’ and hummun’ and’ scratchin’ an’ pipin’ and’ nest-building’ an breathin’ out scents, till you’ve got to be out in it ‘stead o’ lyin’ on your back. When th’ sun did jump up, th’ mor went mad for joy, an’ I was in the midst of th’ heather, an’ I run like mad myself, shoutin’ an’ singing’. An’ I come straight here. I couldn’t have stayed away. Why, th’ garden was lyin’ here waitin’!”  pg. 155-157

 

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