Sleepy Day

The sun decided not to get up this morning. Which meant, of course, that I didn't truly didn't get up either.  I might be walking round, tackling the projects of the day--laundry, groceries and popping dinner in the crock pot--but I still feel like I have yet to wake up.

Even Lydia, with her limited knowledge of meteorology and seasons, commented as we left the grocery store that it was already nighttime. "No Sweetie, it's morning, but the dark clouds make it seem later than it is." Or, like the day just never really started.

Sunday afternoon the sun glinted off the golden leaves as they danced in the breeze. The shade was a bit chilly, but sitting in the sun was toasty; I was almost tempted to cast off my sweater. Norah even rode her scooter to school and back wearing shorts and a t-shirt, shaking off my suggestion to grab a wrap. The last vestiges of summer were enough to keep us warm.

But not today. Today I sit wrapped in a scarf and I'm waiting for the kettle to whistle, needing a warm mug to thaw out my fingers. If my to-do list was done, I'd snuggle on the couch under my down blanket and read a bit, my feet buried in slippers.  Maybe even doze off.  It's that kind of day. The kind where the only glow comes from the lamp in the living room, turned on at 2 o'clock in the afternoon and doing its best to cast off the gloom of a pending winter.

Fall is giving up and snow is predicted for Wednesday.

"Boo."

That's right, Winter, I boo you.  I'm not ready for bundling and layering, for boots and scarves and hats, for scraping windshields and shoveling sidewalks.  I'm not ready to plow through snow on our way to school or feel the biting cold on my nose and cheeks.

Boo to you, Winter.  At least give us some sunshine.  yawn...

_____________________

Maybe I was a little hard on Winter.  In fact, my husband would gently remind me that I booed Summer just a few months ago. "I can't handle this heat. I don't want anyone to touch me; we just stick together, such sweaty kids. I can't wait to wear clothes again."  It would appear that I have an issue with contentment.  So, boo to that, too! 

333 words inspired by the word boo:  (verb) to show dislike or disapproval of someone or something by shouting “Boo” slowly

Snowflakes

I wrote this last Friday when we were still frozen and white.  Now we have rain (?) and puddles with the sound of gurgling rain gutters at night.  But, winter isn't over yet ... 

We've reached that moment of winter when we lose the magic of a snowflake.

The days barely creep above 20 degrees and the street out front has only just been cleared of the snow from before Christmas.  (Look!  We can see the asphalt!)

The yard is hibernating beneath several inches of brittle snow - crunchy with sharp edges.

The sky is cloudy, but no promise of fresh snow, fluffy flakes, or powdered sugar falling from the sky.

It's the blah of winter ... cold, colorless and crisp.

So to help us appreciate that white arctic blanket that still covers us, a little tale about a snowflake ...

I shiver, feeling an arctic blast billowing through the frozen cloud, twisting my sister ice crystals and me sideways.  We six link arms (and toes and elbows and knees) in a peculiar game of Snowflake-Twister, spinning and spiraling out of our cloud home toward the snow-covered earth below.  Laughing and giggling, we float past a tussle of boys, our brothers, engaged in a six-armed thumb wrestling match and soon we spy the frosted branches of the evergreen trees.  A surprising gust of air tosses us in a loop; we squeal and cling to one another, watching the winter wonderland spin around us.  And then we stop, perched on the tippy-top of a blue spruce and I hear my mother exclaim, "My Girls, how you sparkle!"

image site

This was written along with my mini-writing group of elementary school girls in response to what we learned last week about snowflakes.  We discovered that snowflakes are always six-sided, formed by ice crystals bonking together and that they form in different patterns depending upon the temperature.  We had just five sentences to describe the life of a snowflake, from the sky to the ground.

In the Bleak Midwinter

As I sit to write this Monday afternoon, it is bleak.  And grey.  And cold.  And sunless.

And bleak.

Which leads me to one of my most favorite Christmas carols.  So I guess today's blahness was worth it!

Enjoy a little musical interlude with Corrinne May.   I love this little snapshot of an artist truly loving what she is doing.  Her joy in performing is evident in her smiles ...



In the Bleak Midwinter
In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the Beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.


Text: Christina G. Rossetti, 1830-1894
Music: Gustav Holst, 1874-1934


What a powerful picture painted with words and song.  The bitter cold held at bay from the new babe and mother by the stable walls and the animals who lived there.  The humility of His birth contrasted with the majesty of Heaven looking on.  The rejoicing of the angels at this miraculous birth and that first snapshot of worship ... a mother's kiss on the head of the Son of God.


But the final verse is what really touches my heart.  


What do we have to give as a gift to Jesus?  
We are poverty-struck in the face of His glorious riches.  
We are empty of anything of value when it comes to His all-sufficiency and majesty.
We lack anything of worth when compared to His incomparable wealth.


The only thing of value that we have to offer Jesus is us.  


Christina Rossetti penned it well.  What can we possibly give to Jesus?  


Only our hearts will do.  


And what if our hearts are in the midst of a bleak midwinter?  What if our hearts stand hard as iron?  I believe Jesus will take our icy hearts, too.  He doesn't want anything to come between His love and our hearts.

Winter Wonderland

Today's post has been inspired in a variety of ways ... "Winter Wonderland" pouring forth from the iPod in the kitchen, the kids' hopes and dreams for a snow day, Mama Kat's writing prompt and a snapshot from the archives ...

Sledding
We're all bundled up 'gainst the chill,
Ready for speed and a thrill,
We've pulled on our boots,
And our comfy snow suits,
Now we're ready to take on the hill!


We five trudge out into the snow,
Each with a blue sled in tow,
The snow's up to our knees
And it's frosted the trees,
Laughing, we've not far to go!


We're headed just across the yard,
Frosted white like an ol' Christmas card.
We'll build a jump here,
With hopes we can steer,
As big brother packs the snow down hard.


The sun peeks through clouds in the sky.
On a sled, my wee sister speeds by!
We trudge back to the top,
We don't want to stop ...
So glad the hill's only thigh-high!

In this time-warp snapshot, my cousin Megan and my brother, Joshua have made a Morgan-sandwich.  My baby sis, Allison, stands guard at the top of the hill and little cousin Corrine is either coming up or headed back down!

We three are ready to careen down the hill, soar over the jump and (hopefully) land in the fluffy snow there at the bottom.  Now let me pan back a bit so you get the whole effect:

Different snapshot, same yard.  Here my sister and I are standing proudly next to our Oblio and Arrow snow creations ... inspired by hours of listening to The Point.  To the right of me and the dog, where the picture is cut off, you can just see the crest of The Hill.  Mount Kilimanjaro it was not.  In reality is was simply a berm along an irrigation ditch.  In my mind's eye, it was more.

It was a winter wonderland.

Winter Wonderland

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening,
In the lane, snow is glistening
A beautiful sight,
We're happy tonight.
Walking in a winter wonderland.

Gone away is the bluebird,
Here to stay is a new bird
He sings a love song,
As we go along,
Walking in a winter wonderland.

In the meadow we can build a snowman,
Then pretend that he is Parson Brown

He'll say: Are you married?
We'll say: No man,
But you can do the job
When you're in town.

Later on, we'll conspire,
As we dream by the fire
To face unafraid,
The plans that we've made,
Walking in a winter wonderland.

In the meadow we can build a snowman,
And pretend that he's a circus clown
We'll have lots of fun with mister snowman,
Until the alligators knock him down.

When it snows, ain't it thrilling,
Though your nose gets a chilling
We'll frolic and play, the Eskimo way,
Walking in a winter wonderland. 

Growing up in that little house in town with the vast tundra of winteriness stretching out beyond, I did a lot of dreaming.  (And a probably my fair share of conspiring!)  In the midst of childhood, my future was a crisp white canvas.  What fun to imagine what life would be like!

What would I be when I grew up?

Where would I live?  

Who would I marry?  

That childlike and innocent dreaming about life is so fresh - untarnished by the hard parts of life.  And that's the same childlike faith that Jesus calls us to - to trust Him completely in the midst of the hard parts of life.

There is great comfort in walking alongside Jesus, dreaming about life and facing unafraid the plans that He's made.

Walking in a winter/spring/summer/fall wonderland!

_____________________________

Prompt #5 ~ Write a poem about a snow memory.

Time-Warp Wednesday

Welcome back to another Time-Warp Wednesday!  It has been such fun for me to browse through old (and older) photos and find some fun snapshots to share with you.  Today we are taking a snowy walk down memory lane ... don't forget your boots and gloves!

Growing up we lived in a tiny house with an enormous yard.  While the thousand square-foot, shake-shingled, hundred-year-old house was cozy on the inside; outside, the yard was immense.  I believe that our house actually was perched on several town lots, hence the size.  The portion of the yard with the house was dotted with lilac trees, a honey-suckle bush, a giant blue spruce and an apple tree.  But back past that was a large stretch of lawn with numerous cottonwood trees on the perimeter, several boulders (that will be another Time-Warp post) and ... THE sledding hill!

When we were younger, my siblings and I would spend hours out on the hill.  We would pack down the fluffy snow with our floppy, blue plastic sleds.  Joshua would be the first to go down since he was bigger.  Then we girls would do our part.  Eventually, we would have a pretty good run prepared.  With each trip down the hill we packed the snow and polished it ... increasing our speed with each run.  Sometimes we even built a ramp at the bottom so that we could speed down the slope, shoot off the jump and land, sprawling, in the frozen tundra!

Here is the snapshot that brings back such fond, frozen memories:

That little cutie in the front (with the snow packed on the outside of her fur-lined boots) is my baby sissy, Allison.  On the front of the sled is my cousin Megan.  She appears to be sitting on my lap.  Perhaps she didn't what to get her tender California hiney to get cold!  That's me right behind/under Meg :) and Joshua, my big brother is ready to shove us down the hill.  The little hiney in the front, by process of elimination, must belong Megan's younger sister, Corrine.

Can you feel the excitement?  Can you feel the cold?  Can you feel your toes going numb?

I so terribly wish that our photographer had also taken a snapshot from the bottom of the hill looking up to get the whole effect.  She wouldn't have needed to back up much because that hill really only came up to about my hip.  And that's really saying something because I'm short.

Our sledding "hill" was a short, little embankment up to the ditch that ran along the west side of our property.  Our trip down on our sled took approximately 1.2 seconds.  It took us four big steps to get back to the top.

In reality it was more of a knoll.  A mound.  A hump.

But in my memories ... it was a Hill. (With a capital "H"!)  A big, powdery, frozen hill to careen down on our sleds.  We would go over and over again until we couldn't feel our fingers or toes and Mom made us come in and (painfully) thaw-out in front of the pot-bellied stove.

How many other memories are so much bigger because we were so small?  How many other memories are so magical because our eyes were so young?

That is one of my goals as a mom:  to keep my kids enjoying the small and simple bits of life ... because someday they will look back and those moments will be big and magical!