Trees have right-a-way.

 Trees are patient.  Trees go and grow wherever there is food, water, and light. Trees do not care what year, decade, century or millennia it is.

Rainbow Eucalyptus

Roots can put on bark...

 

 

 

 

In California, Santa Barbara  

Moreno bay fig tree, brought to US by sailors from Australia

 

pring and early summer.

Camel Thorn (Vachellia erioloba), Africa

 

Cannon ball tree

Cannonball Tree (Couroupita guianensis)

 

 

 Methuselah , 5000 yrs old

Great Basin Bristlecone Pine (Pinus longaeva)

Arbol del tule

 

 

 

We were there twice recently. Yosemite Park

 

 This would be quite a tour to take. Wish we could see these miracles of creation in life.

I was a 8-yr old tree climber.  Dad kept tearing down our boards nailed to a monstrous maple. We gave up, but my 9 yr old brother Robert, 5 yr old Bill, and 3 yr old Mary grabbed an ax and we went down to the creek to cut down trees and make a cabin.

 

Now I have to take the next two weeks carefully. Sigh. Please keep commenting. It means a lot to me.

Gift given

 

Great Aunt Evangeline always visited on my birthday, as regular as calendar and clock. Auntie E was full of so many things, most of them really irritating.  Adages? She had them. Shameless bragging? Overload there. A hoard of wisdom?  Good there, too.

Auntie E was a bland plain woman, with legs like stems. So utterly huge to the point of bursting, her size dominated any room. A successful business woman, she owned her own brokerage, always possessing great insight on sales and trends. And, believe it or not, that lady had a great golf swing. 

Yet, for all the things I hated about her, I loved her for them. In so many ways, Auntie E was a vessel of kindness to all she knew. While I possessed just a vestige of humanity, Auntie E loved and was loved, cared and was cared for, gave and then was given. 

I was none of those things. Still am. Yet, I will continue trying.

source

 

This is a re-post from 2018.  My rt. hand has a few weeks before P/T and I am avoiding abusing it. Please leave comments! You have no idea how much I enjoy them.

 

Field Awaiting

 

 

Morning misted grass

Velvet brushed green

Beckons, cries out

For a child,

Shoe-less and wild.

Race across bare grass

With bare feet

Unfettered and free.

Hedge to stone wall,

Run and invite all

Follow, come, join...

Weeping eyes reply,

Cannot run, sadly sigh...

Travel ahead and discover

Fields touched by many.

Through golden gorse,

Beneath rowan trees,

Still, but for wren and sparrow hawks.

Come, follow...

There is yet another

Field awaiting, 

Weeping eyes.

By Robert Sheridan

 

       Hedge trimming     

 

 Can you imagine walking along this road? Feeling the mist in the air?

 

Ireland 

Dr. says surgery was a major one. He removed 4 arthritic bones in rt. wrist. World of pain. Please comment! I look forward to your words.

Lard for Life

 

                                                                                    Retro   

My farmer father with my brothers worked incredible hours to "put food on the table". Mom raised an immense garden to can and freeze. We ate well and were richly provided with food.  

So looking at the LARD and its happy people made me giggle. When a hog was taken to slaughter and butcher, we had tidily wrapped frozen good stuff in the freezer, and, as an added present, we had a new fresh 5 gallon tin of white lard.

The female ancestors of my family knew how to bake pies, oh boy, using lard for the crust. BEST CRUST ever. Fried chicken could not be more crispy and delicious except when fried in LARD. 

It

                                                            My mother would be horrified.

                                                               Gotta have it

                                                                                                                                         

So many stories about lard can be told, not all pleasant.

 

The journey continues with my hand. See the Dr. tomorrow. Please leave messages...your words are a bright spot in my day.

The three winds

Source

On the island of βrju Vindúr, life was defined by directions of three winds. A treacherous wind blew in from the ocean, while bitter cold wind swept down from mountains.  Winds from valleys sneaked in over green hills, blasting unexpectedly.

One at a time would have been acceptable, but usually two or three gusted through the town of Bakkafjörður all at once.  Merely walking up or down a street necessitated clinging to a wall, or hanging on for dear life on a ship rope strung along streets. 

Needless to say, villagers were noted for exceptional muscular development.  Even so, none could walk up or down streets without assistance.  However, one man had this skill, and he mocked other villagers as he strolled along, hands in pockets, posture straight.  Only his hair waved as winds blew.

Eiður was such a man.  No humility existed in him.  Pride emanated off him. Oh, how others grew to hate him.

He had the chance to leave the island on a ship delivering goods (as you can imagine little could be grown there).  Hopping aboard, he waved at villagers who wished all sorts evil to descend upon him.

Eiður returned after a month with big smiles and stories to tell.  But he had no idea that a month away from three winds had changed him.

He stepped off the ship and was immediately thrown to his hands and knees.  Trying stand up, Eiður found himself again creeping like a dog along streets to his house.  He could not stand.  He could not pull himself up on the ropes. 

From there on, Eiður moved from one spot to another, crawling.  Villagers watched him.  Justification was theirs.

Í andlitð!

(In your face!) 

This language is Icelandic, taken from a site, Translating English to Icelandic.

Company of Heroes

This story is strictly metaphorical.  No such island exists in Iceland, altho there are many other amazing islands and land forms! This was originally posted in 2014, and then in 2019. 

 

Had hand surgery on Sept. 7, so I am pulling posts from the vault.  Please leave a comment! My hands will be itching to write, so I will be reading your comments. 

Hello, my baby!

 Chuck Jones is a name unknown by many in the current generations.  I was in my early teens when I learned his name. Once I started to see similarities in the art work, then I looked up what he had accomplished.

That man was amazing! Unique for his time, he created characters that were beyond what had been seen before.

 The following are my all time favorites:

This list of his creations and their characters is long. Are there some you might recognize.  Cartoons Chuck Jones created

 

I had surgery on right hand.  It wasn't pleasant.  Please oh please leave your comments. They are fun to read, altho I can't respond.

Fish on the line

                                                                         

I enjoy fishing.  Really.  Catching fish is other story but I give it a good try.  One time my brother Don and I went deep sea fishing in San Diego.  Amazing. I learned to bait the hook. I laughed when it fell off and some stray mackerel grabbed it. Good memory.

Fishing went well 

  

His mom will always remember this. 

 

An outdoor boy 

 Daddy and daughter, good times.

A previous post had a 3 yr. old catching a fish, with Daddy's guidance. This is a followup.

I had surgery done on my right hand, 9/7. Please add your comments to keep me enjoying life. I love reading what bloggers write and think.

Big vacations are overrated.

     

Luggage    

In years past, we have taken big trips.  I don’t know why we feel we have to take a big trip, but back then we must have seen big trips were a rite of passage.  We visited our daughter and husband in Switzerland in 2007.  We went on a jaunt to Utah in 2008.  We went to Hawaii in 2009.  In 2010, I made numerous trips  to Illinois. In April 2011 we laid Mom to rest.

All but the 2010 trips involved many suitcases, copious planning, mail put on hold, newspaper redirection, instructions for plant watering, and a variety of snippy- tight lipped words to each other about not forgetting things (well, mostly from me).

“Why do we do this?”  We have asked ourselves.  So we did a ‘mini-trip.’ And here are the results.

 

My own personal 'Bear in the Forest"

Our Cabin at Woodlandpark Manor in Idyllwild, CA

Alpine strawberries--incredibly sweet

Holly berries

The new totem pole in down town Idyllwild, Ca

Tahquitz Rock in Idyllwild, CA  This is popular for rock climbers.

 

Flowers are everywhere in Idyllwild, CA

To check out this awesome mountain town, click on Idyllwild, California 

Now, I ask you, which is the best thing to do:  take a big trip, or just take a trip?

 I am having surgery on my right hand.  I will post clever stuff on this site.  I want your comments.  It will be like a break from having pain.

Life and its bumps

 

 

This is an Xray of my right hand.  The damage on the wrist is pretty big.  Arthritis and such.  Surgery is on Sept. 7.  

Sooo, I am posting posts from the vault.  They will be clever and engaging, one hopes.  PLEASE oh PLEASE read and comment on them.  I won't be writing for two weeks or so, and need to hear from people whose writings I follow. Keep  me sane!

Izola's Barbecue

 

It was a grand old river city, right on the Mississippi River.  Just below Hannibal, Missouri, the city of Louisiana had been a busy place since its founding in 1817. 

The Stark family log cabin

Mansions were built here, fortunes made here. Louisiana was a place for barges to stop and unload. Even now, Louisiana, MO, is visited by many who follow the river along Hwy. 79 down from Hannibal.

 

One of many old mansions in the city

Can you imagine the heating bill for this?

Many memories sprout up when I recall Louisiana.  The one about which I write today is:

Izola’s Place

In October 2009, the autumn leaves were beginning to be glorious.  My mom would say, “Oh, in another few days, well, then…”  My Aunt Vada picked Mom and me up for a drive around Louisiana, Missouri.

When they were children, their mother’s family lived there.  Back and forth across a bridge built in 1928, Mom and her sisters spent a good part of their growing years there.

At dusk, we decided to pick up something for supper and cross back over the river to Illinois.  “Say, now, there’s a place I’ve always wanted to try,” I ventured.  “Izola’s Place, off Hwy. 79, on the way out of town to St. Louis.”

Izola's Place--go south on Hwy 79

I ran in and ordered three smoked pork steak sandwiches, which came with sliced white bread and onion.  It was almost dark when we got back to Mom’s house.

 

Izola's barbeque

Aunt Vada opened one Styrofoam container and asked, “Susie, how many of these did we order?”  We put the steak on the largest plate Mom had, and it lay over the edges.  “Three,” I answered.

Go to Izola’s Place to see for yourself.  Those steaks were amazing.