Category Archives: Seasonal

Celebrating Halloween

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Halloween has never been one of my favorite holidays.

Sure, I did trick-or-treating with My Favorite Domer when he was little, and we decorated the house and enjoyed candy corn.

But too much mischief takes place at that time, all under the disguise of “harmless fun.” And too many adults try to take over the dressing up from what should be a kids’ occasion (something about seeing a “witch” behind the teller’s counter at my bank doesn’t sit well with me!)

But my fondest memory is when Domer was little and in day care. There, they learned by heart a darling story by Erica Silverman called Big Pumpkin.

“Once there was a witch who wanted to make pumpkin pie. So she planted a pumpkin seed. She weeded and watered, and after a while a sprout poked through. And then a pumpkin grew. And it grew. And it grew. And then it grew some more.”

The witch tries to yank the pumpkin off the vine but fails. Along come, in turn, a ghost, a vampire, and a mummy. All these characters try to remove the pumpkin from its vine, but they, too, are unsuccessful.

Finally, a tiny bat appears, acknowledges the size of the pumpkin, and volunteers to help.

The witch, ghost, vampire, and mummy survey the size of the little bat in relation to that of the pumpkin and start to laugh.

“I may not be big and I may not be strong but I have an idea,” the bat says.

By holding onto one another and working together, the creatures are able to remove the pumpkin from the vine. The witch makes pumpkin pie and invites the others to her place to have a slice.

Then she takes one of the seeds and plants it for the next time.

The story’s not scary, the rhyming is age-appropriate, the lesson is reasonable and something most of us want our kids to hear.

So, instead of competing to see who can dream up the scariest costume or get away with the most mischief or gorge ourselves on the most sweets, perhaps we might consider curling up with our little ones and introducing them to a good book.

How do you celebrate Halloween?

Good-bye Fall

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Fall is coming to a close in my area — or maybe it just feels like that.

Leaves have mostly turned; many have already dropped off. The days are shorter, the daylight surely is. Flowers are slipping into dormancy, my Sheltie’s winter coat is thickening, and there’s a crispness in the air. Homes are adorned with pumpkins and Halloween decor’.

As I write this, a steady rain is pattering upon our patio outside. The sky is gray and bleak.

But sunlight and beauty linger in my camera from last week, so I decided to post the pictures before the snowballs start flying. Hope you enjoy them!

Sugar maple leaf turns golden

Sunlight streaming through trees

Dogwood tree turns coppery

Leaves on tree, leaves on ground

Tree turning red and gold

Tree turning gold from its top down

Weather forecasters are predicting another long, harsh winter for folks in my area. I think it has something to do with La Nina. Whatever, I’m not looking forward to ice. Cold I can take; snow, too, in dribs and drabs. But ice? Not my favorite.

How about you? What part of winter do you dislike most of all?

School Leaf Collection Projects

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When did teachers stop requiring students to make leaf collections in science class?

I remember making one in junior high; so did my sister. But none of our kids did.

Could it be that today’s teachers think all kids have to do is Google stuff if they’re interested in leaves and trees?

When I was that age, we didn’t have Google, and teachers recognized the connection between physically doing something and learning.

So we had to scour the countryside for actual leaves and fruit; take detailed notes on the shape of the tree, the appearance of its bark, and its location; preserve the leaves between pieces of wax paper inserted into big thick books; and organize the whole thing into some sort of folder.

For a grade.

We quickly learned:

  • where in town the interesting trees could be found
  • to be careful with those leaves, gathering intact specimens rather than bug-bitten ones
  • and to work quickly, before frost fell

I can still hear my dad cautioning me, “Don’t wait ’til the last minute, Deb. Some trees lose their leaves in winter.”

A certain protocol came about with school leaf collection projects and for a shy kid like me, it was uncomfortable.

You had to find the tree, then knock on the owner’s door and ask if you could have a leaf for your collection.

Not borrow it — you weren’t bringing it back!

Most folks didn’t seem to mind. Some told me to help myself to the lot of ’em. They were going to fall off anyway, and this would mean one less for them to rake up and burn.

It was a happy day when no one answered the knock on the door. Only then could I grab the prize leaf and RUN!

Thanks to my forward-thinking, yet practical, teachers, I did learn about leaves and trees. To this day, I can identify many trees by their shape, bark, and leaves.

My Favorite Domer finds this fascinating though a bit odd. He never had to make a leaf collection so one tree looks pretty much like another to him.

Sad.

So who else out there has memories of leaf collections in school?

Determined Weeds

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Weeds, I’m afraid, have gotten creative in Central Illinois.

It’s been ages since we’ve had significant rain — the figure that sticks in my mind is less than an inch in the past 30 days, combined with temps in the 90s. We’re not as bad off as Texas and Oklahoma, but a drought is a drought.

Just this week the national Drought Monitor upgraded most of Illinois (except the Chicago area) from “moderate” to “severe” drought status.

No kidding. When everybody’s yard looks like this:

Dried-out lawn

Well, that looks like a drought to me!

Some cities have taken to voluntary or mandatory conservation. Stream and lake levels are low, crops are beginning to suffer. The rains that flirt with our area seem to fizzle or produce just a few drops before moving on.

So our weeds are showing up in the most unlikely of places.

Like in between bricks:

weed in bricks

and in driveways:

driveway weeds

and on sidewalks:

sidewalk weeds

alongside fences:

climbing weed on fence

in between landscaping rocks:

weed in rocks

and even in the streets:

street weeds

The weather casters keep promising us rain. They can promise all they want; they don’t control the weather. But it could be worse — too much rain, in the form of hurricanes, is just as devastating as too little.

Meanwhile, the weeds don’t seem to care. They’re invincible, tenacious, and ever-present. As Dave Barry has said: Crabgrass can grow on bowling balls in airless rooms, and there is no known way to kill it that does not involve nuclear weapons.

Are you being a persistent weed today?

Mercury is Retrograde again

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It took a comment from one of my online friends (Hippie Cahier) on another friend’s blog before I realized what was happening here.

Have you noticed a snarl in communications of late? Is your e-mail, like mine, suddenly depositing itself in the Bulk Mail folder rather than your customary Inbox? Are you finding people more quarrelsome, equipment more likely to malfunction, and your own ability to focus out-of-whack?

Me, too!

Blame Mercury going Retrograde.

Huh?

While I refuse to organize my day around the astrology column in the newspaper, I kind of enjoy reading it. Astrology, after all, is one of those ancient arts, and people since the beginning of time have turned to the stars for explanations of why things happen when and how they do.

Remember it was Astrologers from the East who were among the first visitors to the newborn Christ Child and His Family!

But as a  Catholic Christian, I realize astrology isn’t exactly “up there” with the kind of Biblical study we should be doing. Nor is it an “exact” science.

Deciding to learn more about this Mercury Retrograde thing, I did some online research.

Mercury, as we all know, is the planet closest to the Sun. It orbits the Sun once every 88 or so days and is said to rule the constellations of Gemini and Virgo (as well as the folks, like yours truly, who were born under one of those astrological signs).

“Retrograde” is a term astrologers use to describe a planet’s apparent backward motion through the zodiac. Planets don’t actually travel backwards; it’s only that they appear to be doing so.

Mercury rules communication, commerce, thinking, education, and transportation. People who must use their minds (writers, consultants, teachers, salespeople, orators) also come under Mercury’s rule.

So when Mercury goes Retrograde, we see a rise in misunderstandings between people, a disruption in negotiations, breakdowns of phones and computers, and other snags — all because some key component has gone missing (Mercury being the little trickster he is!). Astrologers are quick to advise us not to make important decisions or do anything requiring clear, logical thinking during this period (which runs from Aug. 3 through Sept. 9).

So, to all my writer friends, maybe it’s not Writer’s Block. Let’s just blame it on Mercury Retrograde!

An End-of-Vacation Surprise

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Guess what I found when we returned home from vacation??

Blooming Crepe Myrtle

Ta-Da! One of the three Crepe Myrtles we planted a year or so ago has decided to bloom!

I was stunned, to say the least. Sure, we’ve had ideal weather for it — hot and dry — but I never expected it to produce flowers this soon! And in my favorite color, too!

You can’t really tell from this photo, but there are buds literally all over this plant. It’s going to be spectacular soon and, if it holds true to others of its species, it will stay gorgeous right into Autumn!

Before I forget, here’s an update on the Crepe Myrtle I’ve been babying since the landscapers snapped off the solitary green shoot it was producing at the beginning of this season:

"Baby" Crepe Myrtle

Yep, no blooms (yet!), but its foliage looks healthy, don’t you think?

The third plant looks much the same as this “baby,” though I think it’s a bit taller.

We all complain about the heat, but I guess it’s been good something!

Beating the Heat

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Staying inside the air conditioning and away from the sizzling heat isn’t my idea of much of a vacation.

Nevertheless, because the temps were so high (mid-90s, at least) and the humidity matched, that’s just what we did during our recent trek to south Mississippi.

We in the Midwest region of this country are familiar with high temps and humidity. We suffer through them for a few days, then joyfully praise the Creator when a welcome cold front slams through, reducing the heat and stickiness.

But some sections of our land haven’t been as fortunate. People in Texas and Oklahoma have endured weeks of heat; in fact, the entire South has had day after day of scorching temps, punctuated by popup thunderstorms, which refuse to cool things down or dump the prayed-for rain.

Makes for drought conditions, leading to things like wildfires and a ban on fireworks. Bummer.

There’s something refreshing about our Midwest summers. Sure, daytime temps get up there in the 90s, but like as not, the evenings cool down. People can talk walks after supper and even open their windows at night!

South Mississippi wasn’t like that. Far from it. We’d go to bed at night, and the temperature would be in the 80s; waking up the next morning, it was still in the 80s (and if it’s that hot at 7 a.m., you know it’s going to be unbearable by noon!).

It’s the kind of heat that sucks the breath right out of you the moment you venture outside and drenches you with sweat by the time you go back in.

My poor Sheltie in his long, silky coat, truly suffered. He’d go outside to potty, then race back in, claiming a spot on the cold tile floor or next to the bathtub or in front of the air conditioning vents.

He’d give me the look that begged, “C’mon, Mom, find the blasted zipper in this fur-suit and get it off me!”

I noticed a lot of people on the beach near the Gulf waters, where at least a nice breeze makes the weather more tolerable. Swimming pools and shopping malls also are welcome diversions. But not for dogs.

Somebody should build them a water park!

Celebrating Crepe Myrtles

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Right now, I’m having a mini love affair with crepe myrtles.

It started a couple of months ago when we had some landscaping done, and the workers accidentally broke off the emerging shoot from a newly planted crepe myrtle on one side of our house.

No big deal, they assured us. It’ll grow right back.

Seriously?

I wasn’t taking any chances. Frantically, I fertilized and watered it, checking daily to see whether it would produce another shoot. At length, I saw a tiny speck of green, which grew and multiplied into what’s now an almost-foot-high plant!

There are lots of varieties of crepe myrtle. Some are hardier for cooler climates; some are shrub-height, some are trees. When they bloom, they do so in a variety of colors, including pale pink, watermelon pink, lilac, coral, and white. Crepe myrtles love lots of sunshine and summer heat; they do best in Zones 7-9, which encompasses the southern region of the U.S. from about Cairo, IL, south to the Gulf of Mexico.

While I’m farther north than that, the store where we bought this plant assured us it would do just fine. I hope so because I can hardly wait to see its predicted watermelon pink blossoms!

On a recent trip to South Mississippi, I enjoyed a profusion of crepe myrtles along the highway medians, in people’s yards, beside office buildings. Oddly, the farther south we went, the fewer the explosion of flowers (probably something to do with the coastal region’s wetter weather conditions).

Anyway, I captured a few photos of some crepe myrtles for those who (like my blogging friend Wendy over at Herding Cats in Hammond River) aren’t familiar with this gorgeous plant.

Enjoy!

White crepe myrtle

Lilac crepe myrtles

Pink crepe myrtle

Crepe myrtle bark

More crepe myrtles in lilac

Watermelon pink crepe myrtle

Another Bittersweet Father’s Day

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Sunday marks my third Father’s Day without my dad, and I’m here to tell you it doesn’t get any easier. Time doesn’t heal all wounds.

My dad passed quietly on the very last day of the year in 2008 after a three-year battle with cancer.

His doctor said he smoked too much, though he’d quit decades before; drank too much, though he’d quit that, too, years before his diagnosis and the start of chemo and radiation.

Other “experts” would say Daddy didn’t eat right (he had a sweet tooth, okay, but nobody should have to die for that!), and he didn’t exercise enough (though he practically lived on the tennis courts when we kids were growing up).

But yes, he passed too soon.

He never got the opportunity to see his last grandchild (my son) graduate from high school; never got to see his other grand-kids graduate from college; never got to see his wife re-learn to drive or handle the finances; never got to see the new landscaping around the house.

Daddy and Mama on their Wedding Day

He left before I could soak up his knowledge of running a business and apply it to my own. Before I could ask him to beta-read my novel and see if it’s publication-worthy. Before I could ask his advice about so many things.

I won’t be picking out a Father’s Day card for him this year nor will I plan a special outing. I won’t be grilling or fishing or playing board games or a thousand and one other things Daddy would have enjoyed doing.

But neither will I sit around mourning. Daddy wouldn’t have wanted it.

He loved to laugh and tell jokes and stories; he loved to see his family happy and healthy and active.

He didn’t particularly like tears, especially on the faces of his wife and daughters.

So while a big part of me weeps, the greater part of me rejoices. Daddy no longer lives here; he’s been “promoted” to a new and better place.

A place where there’s no more sadness. No more tears. No more pain. No more heartache.

I’m confident I’ll see him again, too. And this time, I won’t roll my eyes and say I’ve “heard that story before.” I’ll listen to his soft Southern drawl, savoring every word, every moment, and I’ll look into his blue eyes and remind him how proud I am of him and how very much I love him.

Love you and miss you, Daddy.

Mowing can be Hard Work

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Inadvertently, I’ve found myself in possession of a new job — lawn mowing.

It started simply enough — our wonderful yard man informed us back in the winter months that he needed knee surgery and wouldn’t be able to mow for us this summer.

After calling around, we found a “substitute.” Unfortunately, this man’s work paled in comparison. He wouldn’t edge, wouldn’t weed-eat, wouldn’t sweep the sidewalk and driveway afterward. He refused to show up until at least 10 days had passed (in the summer, our lawn needs cutting at least every 5 days). He wasn’t agreeable to planting extra shrubs, and he charged a ridiculous amount to clean the gutters.

So I volunteered to mow between his regular appearances, spelling him off, as it were.

A week or two passed, then My Favorite Domer arrived home for summer break. Hearing about the problem, he offered to spell me off and climbed aboard the riding mower, heading for our backyard.

He’d made a few rounds when I noticed the humming had ceased. Next, I heard the back door slam.

Uh-oh, I thought.

Fearing the worst, I ran to the kitchen.

My son was white-faced and shaking. “I think I just decapitated a baby bunny,” he told me.

Now I love bunnies. And I hate the thought of a bunny in trouble. Knowing I couldn’t look at what I expected was a gory scene, I told him to take a shovel, scoop up the remains, and toss them far into the field behind the house — far enough away to prevent our Sheltie from feasting on a bunny dinner.

He wouldn’t do it, said he couldn’t. When he appealed to his grandmother, she took care of bunny’s “burial.”

And when he begged me to finish mowing the back yard at least — where mother bunnies invariably safeguard their little ones in ridiculously shallow nests, despite the adult Sheltie who regularly patrols the area — I agreed.

How could I not?

He was so upset and at least for now, has condescended to mow the front yard, assuming that no bunny nests are tucked away there.

I guess I’ll earn that job, too, should he ever see another bunny pop up from its hole!