Shakespeare on Spring

As I sat down to write this, I kept thinking about going for a walk instead. Distraction does nothing for concentration and much for procrastination. Then, as I went to the kitchen sink and looked out, I saw Shakespeare, looking like he needed adventure. 

So, after getting Adrienne in the mood for a walk with us, we were off. I had an ulterior motive. See, if Shakespeare wanted to run (and I knew he would), Adrienne could do that part and I could save my poor aching knees. Why did I never think about how walking a dog could alter the way my knees cooperate? 

(This is Shakespeare typing now.) 

Really now, I am not that hard on the knees. 

If my lady could only just keep up the pace, then all would be quite lovely. 

All she would have to do is put her nose to the ground and GOOOOOO!

See how easy I make it look: 

As we walked and talked, we took in the beauty all around us. To see the beef cows grazing with their babies tagging along, out in the oh-so-green pasture is calming. (Not so calming when they are out grazing the flower beds, but that's another blog.) 

Calming? Did my lady say "calming"? 

Oh, that herd of bovine is just waiting for me to frolic about with them and then we'll see how calming it is. You know, between you and me, I think I could keep those cows out of my lady's flowers. Now I just need to convince her of that. Maybe if I didn't just run off like a shot out of a cannon when they let me loose, she'd believe me. Maybe. But it's all so exciting! 

See how it makes me smile? 

 If the bovine in the field make Shakespeare smile, with that big tongue of his lolling about, this is what makes me smile (without the tongue hanging out, that is.) SPRINGTIME!!
I love the lacy mantle of light green that is starting to blanket the mountainsides, mixed with the red buds barely containing themselves from bursting.

Apple blossoms make me smile too.

Even skunk cabbage is beautiful in the Spring. Shakespeare even thinks so. He told me.

Ahem, I would rather chase skunks, thank you very much. 

We have started extending our walks back to the woods and for whatever reason, Shakespeare wants to check out this tree (see below). Every. Single. Time. And every single time I say, "No!" because there is a lovely patch of poison ivy growing there.

Poison ivy, pssshh. Like I am worried about a little patch of weeds. 

Someday, this tree and I will meet. 

Someday. 

I don't think so, dear Shakespeare. 

Spring, Oh Spring

You make me want to sing,

or rather, howl at the moon

shining bright over the fields, the cows and the blooms.

I smell the brown earth as the rain makes it green,

and gaze about in wonder at all I have seen. 

The puddles, the chickens, the lone mourning dove,

the mud and the rain; I think it is love. 

And for now, I'll bid thee adieu. 

Until the morrow,

when light through yonder window breaks. 

Parting is such sweet sorrow. 

Shakespeare, oh Shakespeare, what am I to do with you? 

Love,

Dianne

No One Makes a Roast Like Mom

My favorite meal growing up was beef roast with baked potatoes and peas. My mom would put the roast in the oven, letting it stew in it's juices all morning, letting the meaty aroma tantalize our senses. The best way to bake the potatoes was to just leave them au natural, not wrapped in tinfoil, but allowed to cook until the skins were crispy and the insides steaming hot.

Lunchtime couldn't come fast enough.

We would often eat around 1:00 or 2:00 in the afternoon, whenever Dad would come home from the farm. If he was really busy, we'd take lunch to him in the field; usually some kind of cold fruit soup and fried egg sandwiches with mustard and lettuce. Blackberry soup, banana soup, strawberry soup...whatever fruit was on hand or thawed made up the soup along with icy cold milk and bread. (I haven't had any in years, but it sounds good to me now!)

But back to the roast beef. The delicious roast beef. The glorious roast beef.
No one could make a roast as good to me as my mom's. No one.

We'd gather around the table, each in our normal spot because if we sat out of order the food just didn't taste the same. Dad would say a blessing on the food and our day and then we would dig in. Savoring each bite, each tender bite, I would think how blessed we were to have roast or steak so often. Being a farm family, we had to watch our nickels and dimes and meat was expensive. But for us, eating beef wasn't a luxury like it was for so many because we would butcher one of our own cows. Beef may not have been extravagant for us, but my mom made it a feast fit for a king.

It was that good.

Then, after the meal, we'd clean up, saving the broth that the simmering roast had produced. My second favorite meal? Greasy spaghetti.

Yes, you read that right. Greasy spaghetti was what we called it, but to everyone else: Beef Noodle Soup. Not that the broth was greasy, but in comparison to regular tomatoey spaghetti, it had a more slippery texture. Greasy. And I loved it. I still do.

But I have never been able to quite duplicate how my mother made her roasts. There probably was no real secret to it, she just had the knack for it. Oh, did she have the knack.

Mom, if you're reading this, this is definitely a hint that I would like to eat this on my birthday. Just thought I'd mention it. I see no reason to be subtle about roast beef. Hint. Hint.

Now, I have to decide what to make for supper. Hmmm. I see some beef roaming out in the field. I wonder if one would like to jump in the roaster for a while.  Maybe the one that keeps standing in my flower beds.

Love,

Dianne

Dear Bridget....Love, Me

I started keeping a diary when I was twelve years old. On a tablet of recycled newsprint, yellowish in color and with just a bit of a crumbly texture, this was the place I wrote about school, friends, boys, family, vacations, and the highs and the lows of any given day.

Every entry started with "Dear Bridget" and ended with "Love, Me". Often punctuated with an assortment of frownie faces or smiley faces, this tablet was full of my secret thoughts that I strove to keep hidden from my sisters. I always thought I was successful in this, but really, was I? Hopefully, if they read this now, they won't admit to it. Some things are better left unsaid. 

I continued to journal on and off again through the years, never in a locked diary, but in an assortment of spiral bound notebooks of various colors and sizes. I would often start journaling at the start of each pregnancy, but then dwindling off as my time slipped ever more quickly through the hourglass. Babies have a way of doing that. You know, speeding up the sand so that before you know it, they are 21 and you are wondering about all the moments you missed jotting down. 

I always had good intentions. I wanted to remember each cute phrase, each moment that made me laugh or cry. The good, the bad and the ugly. But Life would happen and it got busy. The notebook would be left unfinished once again. 

In a way, that's good. It meant that life was full. Life was dynamic. Time to write fell to the wayside. 

As of late, that's a little how my life is again. (Disclaimer: Except for the pregnancy part!) Busyness takes ahold and I don't take the time to write. I think it is somehow not as important as the dishes, the laundry, exercising, running errands, going to appointments, meetings, cooking...

But it is. 

It gives me balance and keeps me focused somehow. I just don't like it when the writing becomes lumped into the same place as the dishes, the laundry, exercising, and running errands. I don't want "write the blog" to become a chore on the lengthy "to-do" list. 

But I miss it. 

I have scraps of paper with ideas, thoughts, and moments to remember. I just don't have time. Unless I don't do the dishes. 

Wait. I like that idea. 

Love, Me

A Moment to Hit Pause

Life has been crazy as of late. Or should I say crazier? Work has been extra busy and that means extra nights there, which messes with my daytime schedule, appointments, lessons, carpooling, etc. Then, fit in exercise and general household tasks and well, life gets crazy.

But today, in the midst of case management, emails, scheduling issues and rescheduling, I am taking a moment to pause, for a breath. For a heartbeat. For a deep heartfelt sigh.

I see the grass turning green,
     the sprigs of Lily of the Valley poking through the unturned soil,
          the first blooms of the daffodils and tulips as they gaily nod their heads in the breeze,
               and I feel the wind gently kiss my cheeks.

If I hadn't hit pause, made a conscious decision to stop, I would have missed it altogether. I am usually rushing from place to place, job to job, in hopes of an elusive time when things will slow down. Always, just on the edge of tomorrow, is a day to relax and rest. Elusive, almost mythical, sometimes it feels like the joke is on me.

But I want the last laugh.

Life is busy, but I can decide that it isn't going to control my every waking moment. When I come home from work, why is it that the first thing I tend to do is scan the sink for dishes? Then, before my jacket is even off, I am filling the sink with water. I don't even stop to realize that I just worked a 12-hour shift and it is okay to let it go for a little while. I do not need to be super-mom, super-housekeeper, super-anything. At least not every single day.

So, as the sound of "My Favorite Things" plays through my head, here are a few of my favorite things from the moment I took today to pause. To breath. To let my heart beat at a normal, relaxed pace.

And just because..."Whiskers on Kittens"...

...and these are a few of my favorite things....

Love,

Dianne

Being a Morning Person

Red and black sweatshirt with some random geometric graphic design.
A pair of preppie-ish blue and white plaid shorts.
Grey Converse sneakers.

"Ryan, you don't match."
"Yes I do."
"NOOO, you don't!"
"Well, it doesn't matter."
Exasperated sigh from the sister with the fashion sense.

The mother intervenes.
"Ryan, it really doesn't match; please find a different shirt." (because the sweatshirt has the sleeves cut short and is not my favorite). He slumps off to the kitchen where his clean clothes are, still in the clothes basket with the scent of fresh spring air still lingering in the seams.

He digs through a clothes basket and what does he change? His shorts. The sweatshirt remains.
Then he puts on a pair of khaki shorts, changes his mind, tries jeans, then goes back to the khaki shorts.
With eyebrows raised and head slightly down, he looks up at me as if asking, "Just for you Mom, is this better?" I smile as the clothing harmony has been restored once more. And the boy is off to see what there is to eat and finish putting the various odds and ends into his backpack that he deems necessary for survival.

The girls are in and out of each other's room, borrowing shoes and scarves. I like when they are like this; it reminds me that I too am a sister. I think my sisters and I borrowed each other's clothes once in a while, but not much. Adrienne has to drive to the school this morning, so she is giving the others a ride and they can leave 15 minutes later than usual. That extra time makes the morning less crazy, less crammed.

Breakfast? On their own for the most part, as it is most mornings. I envision myself making pancakes, eggs, or waffles, but in reality it rarely ever happens. The last egg sandwich on toast I made Ryan ended up in the back seat of my car only about 1/4th eaten. They just aren't in the mood for breakfast, unless it is Saturday or Sunday and we have more time and Leo is here. So, it is either cereal, peanut butter toast, yogurt or fruit most days. Maybe not the "ideal" breakfast of champion mothers, but for me and them, it'll do.

Either Amy or Heather fed and gave water to Shakespeare, and I go out to untangle him and go on a quick walk to expend some energy. His energy, not mine; I haven't even had my coffee yet. The air is refreshing beyond belief and I inhale deeply. The blue sky with clouds edging the horizon is promising a beautiful day, but then Shakespeare and I are suddenly being pelted with raindrops. What!?! Raindrops in the sun? The pond was speckled with drops and the shower lasted, maybe, a minute.

The girls and Ryan went out the lane, I finished walking with Shakespeare and now I am waiting for the coffee to brew. I like mornings, I do. It's just that I am usually still asleep. Maybe, just maybe, I could be a morning person. Not a morning morning person, like getting up at 5 or 6 AM put a morning 7 or 8AM person.

"The best things are nearest:

breath in your nostrils,

light in your eyes,

flowers at your feet,

duties at your hand,

the path of God just before you."

Robert Louis Stevenson

Love,

Dianne

~A Word From Shakespeare ~

(With Guest Writer: Shakespeare)

Greetings from the vale from whence the springs flow, the breezes doth blow, and we embrace the return of the crow. So says Shakespeare, the "Bard"er Collie. 

A bard, by definition is "a poet, especially a lyric poet". Now I may only look like a border collie to you, but don't let my looks deceive you; underneath that adorable furry exterior lies the heart of a poet. 

Today, I took my lady for a stroll. I wanted to run, she wanted to walk. She thinks she is training me, but really, it is the other way around. You should have seen her jog. Buwahahahahahaha. My lady thought I was barking at the cats, but I was really having a good dog laugh. Oh, but don't tell her that; I like it when she attempts to run because I can run then. This is me trying to persuade her to pick up the pace again. I believe she was catching her breath, but she said she wanted to take my picture.

We sat for a while close to a fence with the most enticing creatures on the other side. All my herding instincts said, "GO GET THEM!!" but my lady was not convinced. She doesn't think I am ready yet. She's probably right but oh, to give those creatures a merry chase would make my tail wag in excess. 

Please oh please? 

Harumph. I guess that was a "no." 

I did learn something today though. These creatures do not like when I jump at them. Their rather large feet kick up the dirt and they looked at me rather disapprovingly. I'll keep trying though because I think they would be good friends once they get used to me. Who wouldn't like this face? 

My lady and I kept walking. There were some fun springtime things that I liked and she let me check them out. Oh, it was puppy bliss. 

Leftover snow, mud puddles and MUD. Be honest, don't you want to play in it? Really, I don't know why my lady didn't get down and roll. 

From the land of level acres

the sun warmed the air,

and the breeze, still holding a breath of winter

gave a hint of not having a care. 

For the puddles of mud and water beckoned,

a chance to frolic and play;

to run with the wind on this, an April Spring day. 

If only the lady would lope along faster,

and I didn't have this leash, 

but I need to learn some manners forthwith

or a kick in the head may be my reward. 

Not from my lady, but from those big creatures

(She called them "horses") 

So for now I'll be content and listen to my teacher. 

~Shakespeare the "Bard"er Collie

Love,
Shakespeare and Dianne

 P.S. This is Dianne. While Shakespeare thought I should roll in the mud, I didn't think I needed to give the neighbors any reason to gossip about discuss my activities. While the mud was lovely, what I liked was the touches of Spring finally bursting out of the ground.

P.S.S. Don't believe everything Shakespeare writes. Especially about my jogging ability.