This is an unremarkable photo of an unremarkable piece of land. The only remarkable thing about this is what’s no longer there. When we first moved here, that space was occupied by an old farmhouse with a matching set of old bachelor farmers who were brothers. They kept to themselves, but we occasionally saw one of them if our mail got dropped there by mistake. One of them would drive up to our back door, honk his horn, and hand off the mail. Very few words were spoken at those times. The house and outbuildings aged along with the brothers, looking vaguely sad and neglected. First one, and then the other brother died and the property went up for sale. The house was in such disrepair that no one wanted it. Eventually the city bought it and the whole neighborhood got notice that the house would be taken down in a controlled burn as a practice exercise for firefighters.

On the appointed day we all gathered to watch the execution. It was exciting and terribly sad at the same time.

I wondered just how long that house had been there, and how many children grew up there, and how many birthdays and anniversaries were celebrated there, and if those in the household had seen hard times, and who came running out that front door with joy when the snow melted and spring had come… I wondered about those two old bachelors and wished we’d taken the time to get to know them. A whole lot of history went down in flames that day.

Now go back and look at the original photo. You’ll see something you didn’t see before: a memory.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

I made a tremendous discovery this morning! A Christmas cactus that was given to me over a year ago has finally bloomed:

So what? I don’t usually do well in the tending of plants. My daughter had left her Christmas cactus in my care when she left for college and between forgetting about it and then overwatering it, I pretty much destroyed it. With the helpful advice of a Gardening Master friend of mine, I was able to revitalize the roots of that sad, desiccated thing in a jar of water and then handed it off to the aforementioned daughter with a sigh of relief. When I received another one, it seemed a cruel irony, albeit a much-appreciated gift. I mended my wicked ways and sought to give it better care than its predecessor. After more than a year went by without any blossoms, I assumed the worst and wrote it off as just one more plant tending failure on my part. Yet, somewhere in the secret and hidden parts of that cactus, a flower was just waiting to delight and surprise me.

Is it possible that our prayers are sometimes answered in the same way? We look at what we can see (which is very little), and can be tempted to despair that God is not listening, nor is He acting on our behalf. And it’s unavoidably true that some of our petitions will not be granted, for God knows what we need better than we do. As C.S. Lewis said, “In our ignorance we ask what is not good for us or for others, or not even intrinsically possible.”

But sometimes God is at work in the secret and hidden places, waiting for just the right time to reveal what He has wrought for us. The next time I am discouraged about what seems like unanswered prayer, I’ll remember the extravagance of that blossom.

“Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us,  to Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.” Ephesians 3:20-21

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

How hard can it be to take a walk every day? That’s what I told myself when I resolved that this year, in 2020, I would go out and walk every day with my camera in hand. It only took seven days to break me down. To be fair, I’ve been sick since the year started, so it’s taken a rather Herculean effort just to keep up with it. Today I woke up feeling crummier than usual and decided, nope, not gonna do it. I took a gander at the sunrise but wasn’t feeling the shout of joy. I sat with my tea and kleenex close at hand and enjoyed the beautiful feeling of being sedentary. Ahh…I was settled in for the morning.

Then God completely outfoxed me. It started snowing, one of those magical soft snowfalls, and it was like the sirens singing with their irresistible song. “Come outside…you must come outside…” I obeyed the imperative and went out.

The first photo is of our glorious Christmas tree. If that doesn’t fill you with delight, contact me and I will refund your deflated hopes and restore to you the curmudgeonly spirit with which you started your day.

As for the rest, as usual, I photographed as I went along, finding some colorful lizards and a sporty little frog on my journey. It would have been too much to ask for more than that. I spiced up the froggie photo on a couple different photo processing apps. You’re welcome.

Snowy Haiku
The snow beckoned me
With soft hands and wintry song.
I dared not say no.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning. All except the frog.

I went outside in my pajamas and slippers this morning to get a photo of the sunrise, as much as we see of it here. Even though I am usually awake at sunrise, I hardly ever go out of my way to see it. Sunrises and mornings are everlastingly hopeful, even after a dark night of tragedy (not that I had one of those last night).

For His anger is but for a moment,
His favor is for a lifetime;
Weeping may last for the night,
But a shout of joy comes in the morning.
Psalm 30:5

Think about uttering a shout of joy next time you see a sunrise – that’ll get you off to a good start.

I got my Daytimer all in order this morning – took out the old sheets from 2019 and replaced them with the untouched purity of the 2020 sheets. This also was a bit of a sunrise moment – it’s a new day, a new year! I’m looking forward to the satisfaction of checking things off my To Do list everyday with a shout of joy.

My walk yesterday doesn’t appear to have made a dent in the bronchitis going on in my lungs, but this did not keep me from going out again this morning in search of Destination Happy (see above photo), whatever that means. I found things and identified them, which made me feel like a bonafide nature lover. Here’s what I found:

I think these might be rabbit prints, but I could be persuaded that they belong to a squirrel.

And here we have a touching moment between two squirrels. They met, chattered, discussed the best places to find food, and then they parted. I was channeling Aragorn as I created this detailed tableau from the two sets of prints.

One of many deer prints I found. I’ve walked in that cemetery during the winter so many times and never once did I look at the ground. This was a day of seeing things that I usually overlook. Allow me to share with you a poem I found recently that I’d like to establish as my blog motto:

God be in my head,
And in my understanding;
God be in mine eyes,
And in my looking;
God be in my mouth
And in my speaking;
God be in my heart,
And in my thinking;
God be at my end and at my departing.
Anonymous, 16th century.

Thank you, Anonymous. I like the way you think.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning, a morning which will start with a shout of joy and hopefully not a lot of coughing.

I might have to start getting a little more clever with my blog post titles. How about this: Day Six of Being Sick. That would draw the sympathetic reader right in, as well as the curious (just how sick is she?). Plus there’s a little bit of alliteration to appeal to the literary minded.

In spite of my diseased state I still went on a walk, having developed a completely unscientific and untested theory that if I took in great gulps of cold air, it would have a purifying effect on my lungs. I even entertained a little animated movie in my head about what this would look like on a microscopic level: the millions of mighty molecules of frigid air swooping into my body and delivering sucker punches to the bad guys and then carrying their dead bodies out when I exhale. I think this could make a pretty good superhero movie.

Up until today, I’ve been lugging around the 70-300mm lens, but today I decided it was time to go back to the 18-55mm lens and give my arms and neck a break. Here I am looking mysterious and otherworldly as I go about with my camera.

Our Christmas tree is outside now, planted in some snow in the back yard so we can still enjoy looking at it. I’m sure you will recognize this as being a branch of a balsam fir that just recently held an ornament or two. I love everything about this photo…

Also captured what happens to purple coneflowers when succumbing to the ravages of winter. A moment of silence, please.

Near the end of my walk I saw something that made me so happy. I hope it makes you happy, too.

I had to trespass on this property in our neighborhood to get one closeup of these beauties, but it was worth it – don’t you agree? Fortunately, no one came running out to chase me away. They had two trees festooned in this manner. Unknown neighbor, I salute thee.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

I recently read the book “On Writing” by Stephen King and among other things, he was a big proponent of establishing a habit of writing every day, rather than waiting for the mood (or the muse, as it were) to strike you.

“Don’t wait for the muse. As I’ve said, he’s a hardheaded guy who’s not susceptible to a lot of creative fluttering. …Your job is to make sure the muse knows where you’re going to be every day from nine ‘til noon or seven ‘til three. If he does know, I assure you that sooner or later he’ll start showing up, chomping his cigar and making magic.”

I want to take more photos and do more writing, so I’m combining those things by trying to do a short daily blog about the pictures I take that day. I expect there will be plenty of days in which the muse is hiding, but I’m hoping there will be days when he shows up, chomping his cigar and making magic.

An apartment building is going up across the street from our library. I can see the men working on it from my water aerobics class three times a week. I resented its intrusion at first – how dare they put an apartment building where my favorite parking lot was? I’ve always had a hard time embracing change. Yet I have to admit a fascination with the process that starts with a hole in the ground and ends up as a sound structure in which people can live. A blueprint becomes reality; someone’s math becomes someone else’s living room; my parking lot becomes someone’s home. I guess I can live with that.

I turned around and made my way into the library, passing this charming trio of imperatives on the way. It’s a chant I will no doubt hear throughout the year as I endeavor to meet my Goodreads Book Reading Challenge goal of 100 books in 2020.

And here is a the prize at the end: a book I’ve been eagerly awaiting for a few weeks. I may be posting the fruit of my efforts as I go through it. Or not, if the muse has rejected me utterly in this department.

This was more of a “slice of life” post. Thanks for joining me.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning unless you say “please,” like Westley did.

The world seemed a colorless place today.
The sky was a closed door,
Bolted and shut,
As if guarding all that azure
Behind the clouds.
I looked for some bright hue
And saw a scarlet ball
Perched on a tree, quiet and still.
A sign caught my eye,
Bold proclamation in red!
Vivid memorials in the cemetery
Declared a love not forgotten.
And I remembered,
I remembered what Jesus said.
I read it twice this morning:
Be of good cheer.
Be of good cheer, daughter.
And with good cheer,
I walked back home.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

Ever since I discovered the ability to listen to podcasts on my phone, I’ve been joined at the hip with them on my walks. Wither I goest, my podcasts goeth along. But along the way, I’ve forgotten how to listen to the world around me – I walk outside, but I’m not paying attention. This morning, I disconnected from my good friend Podcast, and tuned in to radio of the natural world. It was a relatively warm day in Minnesota (a balmy 35 degrees) and I was surrounded by so much birdsong, it seemed like spring. Naturally, all these birds were hidden. Every time one of them would appear on a branch, by the time my camera swung up to position, the bird had disappeared. I heard the hum of cars and trucks on the freeway in the distance and the musical sound of some jingling bells – maybe wind chimes? I spent most of my time looking at tree tops, admiring their stark and bare beauty against the sky. The photos were all sort of blah, so I did some “enhancing” on Aviary. If you look closely, you can see that a careless chickadee allowed me to capture him in one of these photos.

This is my Father’s world,
And to my list’ning ears,
All nature sings and ’round me rings
The music of the spheres.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning, but maybe not until after breakfast.

We watched the first episode of The Mandalorian last night and I ended up dreaming about it all night long. I just wish I could remember the dream – the only thing that comes back to me is that groups of Mandalorians were wandering about wearing cloaks and looking like monks. Why couldn’t Baby Yoda have made an appearance?

I’m going to endeavor to take more photos this year (famous last words). Here’s the first batch, with old and new Christmas decor. The newest item is the gnome I got from my husband this year. I’ve become quite enamored with gnomes for some reason.

I’ve started the Great Christmas Dismantling, motivated somewhat by the fact that our Christmas tree is shedding needles faster than the Charlie Brown Christmas tree. I hate to put away all these bright things that give our house a great deal of cheer. It’s time to remember these words that Christ spoke to His disciples, and thereby to us: “In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.