The time to walk away

Pinterest.com

Time comes in all lives when a person says “That’s enough…I’m done…”  It is turning off the tractor, closing the grade book, handing over the keys, and walking away.

Point of this post:

Recognize when it is time to stop, to walk away.

You know when it is time, you can feel it.  Do not deny the hip, knee, or shoulder.  Do not ignore pain or sense of exhaustion. Growing old is serious business.

A number of issues forced me to retire from teaching, a good ten years early.  Pain took me out. Changes in state requirement were strangling teachers and education.

Mainly, joy was leaving me. 

When that joy is gone, it is time to stop, to walk away, and head to something that returns joy to you.

Have you done that? Can you do that? 

 This was written back in 2019, I think... Life was different for me then.

 

Now a days, I have to really search for joy. 

Instead I must, absolutely must, search for moments of joy 

 

and celebrate them. 

 

Not hours of joy, but just moments of joy will be good.

 

 

s

November to December

   This a re-post of 2010.  I liked it, and juggled some words about to post it again in 2017. Now, here in 2019, I post it again.

Why is this post going up in early November, you may ask.  Christmas 2016 my husband's family went on a cruise because Mom Kane had died in February and none of us wanted to be home, without her.

It wasn't Christmas for any of us, we acknowledged it then and now.  Now, each year since 2016 we gather in one home or another and talk about times with Mom and Dad, and the joy they brought to Christmas.

This year, 2019 my husband and I will dance up a storm around the tree with our teenage granddaughters, laughing about all the other dances of the past. WE will stop our dancing after a few minutes while they carry away the night.

YouTube: Flash Mob, 2010

Merry Christmas!

 

Children meet music and hold onto it for life.

Music is eternal. The first notes were likely around a campfire of some sort. Love of music starts early and lasts forever.

4 yr. old playing F Chopin Nocturne in C sharp major

3 yr. old drummer from Novosibirs, Russia

YouTube: You are my sunshine....

3 yr. old Angelica with Emilio Piano

 

 102 yr. old man 

From a toddler to a centenarian, music lives in their fingers and brains. They give joy and hope to the listeners.

 

God bless them all.

It. Is. Time

 

Pinterest.com

Time comes in all lives when a person says “That’s enough…I’m done…”  It is turning off the tractor, closing the grade book, handing over the keys, and walking away.

Point of this post:

Recognize when it is time to stop, to walk away.

You know when it is time, you can feel it.  Do not deny the hip, knee, or shoulder.  Do not ignore pain or sense of exhaustion. Growing old is serious business.

A number of issues forced me to retire from teaching, a good ten years early.  Pain took me out. Changes in state requirement were strangling teachers and education.

Mainly, joy was leaving me. 

When that joy is gone, it is time to stop, to walk away, and head to something that returns joy to you.

Have you done that? Can you do that? 

Christmas of our past

Our own "Monkey Ward" book; we wore that thing out.  We kept it up into February when it was shredded. Are there are Wards fans out there?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

These gems are from "Google Images vintage 1950s Christmas photos", Pinterest, and many other great sites.

Reel 'er in.

 Need something to happen that brings joy into your life? God gives us children. including teenagers, but this little fisherman?  Joy abounds. Joy leaps. 

Find joy in the smallest of places, for there is where the greatest treasures lie (along with a fish).

“Find ecstasy in life; the mere sense of living is joy enough.”
― Emily Dickinson

“To get the full value of joy you must have someone to divide it with.”
Mark Twain

“Pan, who and what art thou?" he cried huskily.
"I'm youth, I'm joy," Peter answered at a venture, "I'm a little bird that has broken out of the egg.”
― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

“Do not abandon yourselves to despair. We are the Easter people and hallelujah is our song.”
― Pope John Paul II (Karol Wojtyła)

Where joy is found... site where thoughts about joy may be discovered.

 

Repost from 2009. Worth another read.

The Lark in the Morning

Meadowlark by James Audobon

Dear thoughts are in my mind

And my soul soars enchanted,

As I hear the sweet lark sing

In the clear air of the day.

For a tender beaming smile

To my hope has been granted,

and tomorrow she shall hear

all my fond heart would say

.

I shall tell her all my love,

All my soul's adoration;

And I think she will hear me

And will not say me nay.

It is this that fills my soul with its joyous elation,

As I hear the sweet lark sing

In the clear air of the day.

Wikipedia.org

Sir Samuel Ferguson, Born 10 March 1810, Died 9 August 1886

Sir Samuel Ferguson, "Perhaps the most Irish Poet 

in the 19th century, because of his interest in Irish mythology

and early Irish history, he can be seen as a forerunner of 

William Butler Yeats and the other poets

of the Irish Literary Revival."

Wikipedia.org 

Be as a bird perched on a frail branch that she feels bending beneath her, still she sings away all the same, knowing she has wings.

Victor Hugo

joy of quotes

Just what we need

Remembering Lilacs

To say we live in perilous times is an understatement. There have never been such horrific events happening in the age of technology. We made the supposition that we are in a state of invulnerability, thanks to this age of science and research world-round in our mutual lifetimes. The timeline of tragedies can be pinned on a map. This map will now a deep black hole burned into it. 

Depression and anxiety are like a seeping gas. When it starts to get to me, I seek that which can fill me with peace.

 Claire Cosby and daddy 

At age 4

YouTube site

Seeing such love, talent, and joy between Daddy and daughter, well, is 

just what I need, what we need.

About Joy

Pinterest.com

Time comes in all lives when a person says “That’s enough…I’m done…”  Turning off the tractor, closing the grade book, handing over the keys and walking away.

Point of this post:

Recognize when it is time to stop, to walk away.

You know when it is time, you can feel it.  Do not deny the hip, knee, or shoulder.  Do not ignore pain or sense of exhaustion. Growing old is serious business.

A number of issues forced me to retire from teaching, a good ten years early.  Pain took me out. Changes in state requirement were strangling teachers and education.

Mainly, joy was leaving me. 

When that joy is gone, it is time to stop, to walk away, and head to something that returns joy to you.

Have you done that? Can you do that? 

Joy to the World

We never see snow at all, so this was such a treat. We left the next day, for LAX California

The year I was born: 1951.
The day was: 4th

And on December 4, 2016, I turned 65 (sixty-five, yup).

It was the best birthday of my life.  Our son John married Arlette Foy, and we rejoiced in a big way.  Chicago sparkled all on its own.

This was a truly joyous day, just can't tell you how much.

John and Arlette Foy Kane

In the pass way

John and John, son and father

Lily and Clara, our granddaughters

Cemetery across the road from our hotel

Our hotel looked out on a cemetery

Catching the snow coming down

On the balcony of the hotel

Flying in to LAX

And then...

John and Arlette with Flynn, born May 6, 2018

Grandpa and Grandma

July 2018

Today is my 67th birthday. I look good, a few wrinkles or more, surrounded by those whom I love, my husband of 46 years, and a field of happiness around us. 

We are blessed.

Thank you, God.

Take Me Out to the Ballgame!

It is that time of year.  Red Sox, Yankees, Blue Jays, Rays, and Orioles are battling it out as the American League Eastern, along with other parts of the country doing the same.  

The fans are passionate, really passionate.  There are sports jerseys on fans of all ages and sizes.  Being clueless, I did not even know there was any sort of competition at all, except sport bars showed little else.

Baseball passion goes deep.

How 3 year olds play ball

A three year old  races to home base.

22 month old at the practice cage

That's my boy! 

Indeed, baseball passion runs deep and it also starts early.  Toddlers are the best of any team ever.

Back When We Were Invincible

Lumbar region

As I stretch out on my recliner with ice packs on my lower right back, I recall the day I damaged my right lumbar vertebra.  It was January 12, 1987, when a rare ice storm had blanketed our town, leaving everything damp and slippery. 

Walking down stone steps carrying items for breakfast, my right foot slipped up and my right buttock slammed down.  It hit the steps hard, along with other parts as I rolled on down.

The resulting bruise was the size of a legal-sized envelope and as black as black could be.  Can't describe the pain, which lasted for a long time.  And now, thirty-one years later, I recline with ice pack on L-3 and a bottle of Ibuprofen on the counter. Didn't go to the doctor because the roads were impassable for three days. And doctors in Ireland were one to a town. A nurse friend looked at it, frowned and said to head to hospital if I felt a moving pain up, a clot.

Not black as black like mine

But this post is not about me.  It about all who live in this retirement community who also manage to experience their own ice packs and pain.

Lewis Pearce, an eighty-eight year old gentleman and friend, has had three knee surgeries. Walking with a cane, Lewis lights up when he relays what he enjoyed so much when he was eighteen. "I went skating every night and man, could I skate!" He could circle the rink, leaning over at the curve and sliding his hand along the floor. "I was as slick as that polished floor! And it was worth these crippled knees!"

Other residents talk about swing dancing at the USO every night.  One woman had a huge garden every year and drove a tractor to plow up the soil.  Another man rode a Harley, even after he skid out. Others did... They loved those experiences which enriched their lives and gave them memories about which to smile.

The worst was my mother, who worked alongside my father on the farm.  She did the work of a man.  In the last years of her life, I swear every bone in her body throbbed from over use and arthritis.  But this put food on her table for her family. She was invincible back then.

We all were young, thinking we were almost invincible.  And maybe we were in our own perspective.  And, it was worth it. 

Except for the fall where my fall has taken me out after many years, letting me know that I was young once, but even right after that, I was invincible in my own way.

Anyone out there who once knew invincibility?

Welcome Home!

From Wikipedia

Bandagedear.com

Such simple two word sentiment, yet this duet cries out with emotion and sincerity, hearts swelling with joy, and flooded by happy tears. 

Welcome home!

To return home after a long absence is framed by two words.  Memories of my parents opening a door and stepping out onto their porch remain strong long after those many trips back home have ended.

Welcome home!

 

When a carrier docks at port, Marines who been on tour for six, nine, or more months  race down the ramp to families holding a sign that reads "Welcome Home, Daddy/Brother/Son!" Hugs and tears mingle with confusion when Daddy picks up his little girl who was only three months when he left.

Welcome home!

Welcome home! You are loved and we missed you.

Welcome home! We lived for every phone call and letter.

Welcome home! Photographs of you and yours lay on almost every flat surface.  Photos are smudged with fingerprints and clear of dust.

Welcome home, followed by Come back!  One happens but the other may not.

       Live for the days of "Welcome home!" and rejoice.

Fire in the Snow

Snow happens.

When cold blows in from Canada, pushed up by warm wind from Texas, snow happens suddenly and furiously.  Only older siblings, big enough to sink only to the knee and then leap into the snow face first, could rejoice.

For two small children, enjoyment was peering out through icy panes and wishing.  Mom…Mom…Mom…Can we go outside, too?  Mom? Mom?  Mom relented only when Mom became unbearable.

Two and four years old, Mary and Bill were wrapped, bundled, booted, and mittened, then given instructions:  Stay on the porch.  Both nodded solemnly.

Mom stood at the kitchen door, staring through the lacy ice crystals at five children enjoying the snow.  Then Bill launched off the porch into deep white sea. Bill, she sighed. 

Stomping out the door, Mom grabbed him by scruff of his coat and pulled him up.  Then Mary whispered, “Mommy!  Mommy!  Look!  Fire in trees!  Fire in snow!”

Fire in the trees?  In the snow?  She beheld glorious cardinals perched in bare trees.  Fiery cardinals with black masks.  Brave cardinals in frigid air.

Mom hollered, “You kids get in here.  Been out long enough!”  But she continued to watch until fire became scarlet birds winging over snowy horizons.  

Fire in the Trees


For those bloggers in the beginning of a long winter, this story is about the snow of 1958, which has been called the mini-ice age.  Keep warm, enjoy the beauty as much as you are able, and Merry Christmas.

Samuel and the Test...Part 3

For those who do not about part 1 and 2, here are the links:
Samuel, part 1  and Samuel, part 2

Source: Great projects for kids

Nana smiled as she looked in the rear view mirror.  A multi-colored Samuel was asleep in his car seat.

When complete silence had been all that was heard, Dr. Anna and Nana had nodded and the observers approached the room where three-and-a-half year old Samuel had been so busy, laughing, giggling, and creating.

Nana opened the door slowly, entering a transformed room.  In the middle of the room beneath the table, Samuel had curled up to sleep, holding pristine shoes in his arms.

But, the room, oh the room. 

The floor was a swirl of color that curled around the room, around and around. 

How did he…must have used his feet to scoot…No, it’s smoother than…What the… He used the cardboard…Slip n’ Slide!  My son loves that…

Source: Dreamstime

In the corner were the discarded and used up materials.  Gallons of white glue had been liberally streamed around the floor, followed by squirt bottles of expensive acrylic paint.  

Torn box lids lay around the room, showing that Samuel had surfed, scooted, slid, twirled around the room many times.  A trail of all colors remained behind him as he laughed gleefully.  

Then Dr. Anna pointed to the walls where colors poured down the wall with little boy hand prints creating waves upon waves. Oh, the hues in those waves.

Not Samuel's work, but check at this source.

Nana tiptoed around the paint to the wall beneath the observation mirror.  Discarded markers lay in pyramid heaps.  Her heart caught in her throat and tears glistened in her eyes.

What to do next?!

Source: TACLUDA

One of the curses of a migraine life is that it must be lived indoors, away from the light, in nearly complete silence.

The only joy of such a life is a focused expression.  Whether it is writing or some other creation, the scope is narrowed and intense.

Think of a funnel.  Pour a liquid in the broad end and forcing it to condense, collapse in order to exit a narrow port.  Kinda sounds like giving birth, which I guess in a sense it is.

Writing is one joy, when I can retrieve the words from a reluctant brain that hurts intensely.  Samuel and Adventures in the Sock Drawer are part of that joy.

For Benjamin

Colors and color combination.  Working with shapes.  Putting them in a pleasing, exciting pattern is the reward. Sewing and quilting is that reward.

For Eli (still in progress)

For Aimee

For Benjamin

Wall hanging for Erin (unfinished when photo was taken)

Obviously, I have had many migraines.

For me

But I have much joy.

P.S.  There are other quilts, but could not locate my photos. Dang.