Missing Mama

A mother is the truest friend we have; when trials heavy and sudden fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends, who rejoiced with us in our sunshine, desert us when troubles thicken around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts. ~Author unknown, c.1875

In my first job after college, one of my tasks was to help write obituaries for a daily newspaper.

There was a list of area funeral homes, and I called my portion of them every day. The person on the other end of the line would read the obituary information aloud while we’d type it in for publication.

One of the traditionally black funeral homes regularly pronounced their deceased as having been “Promoted to Glory.”

I’d never heard that expression before, but I really liked it.

It’s positive, when we usually think of Death’s calling as something to be feared, something to be dreaded.

Who doesn’t want to be “promoted”? Students advancing to the next grade level? Employees seeking bigger challenges and more pay? And perhaps, anyone hoping for a happy afterlife?

I’ve often been “accused” of being Little Debbie Sunshine, but honestly, isn’t it better (and healthier) to try to find the positives in every situation, rather than miring yourself in gloominess?

So, on this second anniversary of my mom’s passing, I’m trying to rise above my grieving and imagine how happy she must be … surrounded by all that Glory!

Miss you, Mama.

Silent Sunday

Is not this a beautiful morning? The sun shines into my soul. ~Nathaniel Hawthorne, American novelist and short story writer

Finding Beauty

Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us, or we find it not. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson, American essayist, philosopher, poet

It’s
A nice
Surprise when
You’re shoveling
Snow outside, look up,
And see a tree outlined
With frosting on its branches.
Only Mother Nature can make
Such a beautiful, decorated
Work of art from a leafless maple tree.

Note: Poetry form is Etheree. Snow was from December (it’s in the 50s this week!)

Living On Hope

Life without hope is a year without spring. ~William Arthur Ward, American motivational writer

I Monkey here.

Y’all aren’t going to believe what nearly happened!

Continue reading

Green Eyed Monster

The Jealous are Troublesome to others, but a Torment to themselves. ~William Penn, English writer and founder of the Province of Pennsylvania

When

Silence

Is the mode

For us to “talk,”

You must realize

That problems won’t be solved,

Feelings will be swept under rugs,

And a satisfying, peaceful

Relationship will never happen.

I guess this is the way you want it though.

 

The only way to thaw out a cold war

Is for the parties to meet midway.

Somebody has to make a move,

And the other one does, too.

Relationships never

Survive jealousy.

Isn’t it time

You met me

Halfway

Now?

 

Note: This poetry form is called Double Etheree.

Monkey Gets Hurt — Part Two

Best doctor in the world is the Veterinarian. He can’t ask his patients what’s the matter. He’s just got to know. ~Will Rogers, American humorist, author, and actor

I Monkey here, with a continuation of yesterday’s tale.

(What, you haven’t read it? Leave right now and do so or this part won’t make sense. We’ll wait.)

Since Mama wasn’t getting any medical help from my dogtur, she promptly called another vet but was told I’d have to wait two weeks before they could see me.

Holidays, you know.

In the meantime, they told Mama to keep me quiet so my paw can heal.

Don’t they know how impossible it is to keep a herding dog quiet??

Continue reading

Monkey Gets Hurt — Part One

Best doctor in the world is the Veterinarian. He can’t ask his patients what’s the matter. He’s just got to know. ~Will Rogers, American humorist, author, and actor

I Monkey here.

Mama’s cleaning the house, or decorating, or some such nonsense, so I’m commandeering her laptop because I have something BIG to complain about.

And her blog is just the place to do it.

Continue reading

Time for a Wee Break

Leaves do miraculous things. ~Hal Borland, American writer, journalist, and naturalist

This is the Red Oak that my son Domer helped me plant last year:

Red Oak, September 2024

I did the best I could with its care — watering it, talking to it, and trying to keep the bugs off it.

One of my neighbors (a Master Gardener, no less) advised me to buy that green bag zipped around its trunk so I wouldn’t have to guess how much water to give it. She said a slow, steady drip would provide a proper foundation.

Still, the nasty Japanese Beetles chomped on it with glee. Notice the ragged limbs on its right side:

Red Oak, November 2024

Notice also how miniscule it looks, particularly in the number of leaves and that skinny trunk.

Red Oak is supposed to be a fast-grower, but I started to fear I’d never have shade.

What a difference a year makes:

Red Oak, November 2025

I hose-watered it this year — deeply and on a regular basis throughout the growing season. I sprayed it with something called Neem Oil and banished the bugs. And my oak grew taller and fuller, with a much bigger trunk and leaves that were almost as big as my hands!

And notice that delightful red-orange color!

I guess I did something right after all. Or perhaps, the tree is thriving in spite of me.

Anyway, Happy Fall, y’all! And Happy Thanksgiving feasting! I’m taking a bit of time off but will catch up with you in December!

(Nearly) Wordless Wednesday

Around and around the house the leaves fall thick—but never fast, for they come circling down with a dead lightness that is sombre and slow. Let the gardener sweep and sweep the turf as he will, and press the leaves into full barrows, and wheel them off, still they lie ankle-deep. ~Charles Dickens, English novelist, journalist, and social critic, from Bleak House

Dazzling Autumn

Summer ends, and Autumn comes, and he who would have it otherwise would have high tide always and a full moon every night; and thus he would never know the rhythms that are at the heart of life. ~Hal Borland, American writer, journalist, and naturalist

Do

You know

What a joy

It is to see

Autumn exploding

In brilliant shades of bronze,

Scarlet, lemon, and orange

When nobody thought the leaves would

Do anything but turn brown and drop

Before winter’s chill could make the trees bare?

 

 

Note: Poetry form is Etheree.