Down in the valley, the valley so low, Hang your head over, hear the wind blow Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow Hang your head over, hear the wind blow
Most of you are humming that tune in your heads now. It’s the way I’ve ended most Skype calls with my mother for the last couple of years. I play it on the piano and sing the melody and more often than not, she rises to the occasion and squeaks out a little harmony. She can hardly see now, she can hardly converse, but music is still the language of her heart.
Roses love sunshine, violets love dew, Angels in heaven know I love you. Know I love you, dear, know I love you. Angels in heaven know I love you.
When she is gone, I do not think I’ll be able to sing that song without weeping.
Angels in heaven know I love you, Mom!
I’ll delete this if I hear the wind blow down in the valley so low in the morning.
It’s a balmy evening, so I’m outside listening to bird calls, the sound of the wind pushing trees around, and the occasional passing car. In Minnesota we have waited a long time this year for warm breezes and being able to go barefoot. It’s a welcome foretaste of summer.
My children found the perfect Mother’s Day gift for me, the gift of allowing me to tell stories every week that will accumulate on a website and be printed out in a book (with photos) at the end of a year. Each week I get a question to prompt me and then off I go. If I don’t like the question I can pick another one. For someone who loves to tell stories but always worries that I’ve told them too often, this is quite a boon.
I suppose that’s really why I started this blog – as an outlet for storytelling. And I don’t want to just send them out into the ether. I always love hearing your stories, too, and getting your feedback. I was contemplating today that my blog audience is composed mostly of my friends and family. I like it that way.
Across the street I can see a child swinging on a swing set. Boy, does that bring back memories. I used to love swinging back and forth, going higher and higher and then jumping off. Sometimes I’d lay back while I was swinging and just watch the sky above me. Sometimes someone else would push you and when you got high enough, they’d push right through underneath you. That was exciting. I used to wonder what would happen if you swung so far that you went right up over the bar and back again. It seemed like it would end badly, so I never attained to it.
When I was in my early 30’s I got on a swing to re-experience this joy from my youth. What I actually experienced was a distressing amount of dizziness. Apparently this is a sport for the young.
(From the free photo library)
It’s appropriate now to contemplate and enjoy Robert Louis Stevenson’s classic poem called “The Swing.”
How do you like to go up in a swing, Up in the air so blue? Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing Ever a child can do!
Up in the air and over the wall, Till I can see so wide, River and trees and cattle and all Over the countryside—
Till I look down on the garden green, Down on the roof so brown— Up in the air I go flying again, Up in the air and down!
I’ll probably push this blog post on a swing until it goes ‘round and ‘round the top bar – then we’ll see what happens.
Egrets don’t really have any way of hiding, do they? Unless they’re standing against a snowy background (which they never are), these huge white birds are easy to spot and photograph, for which I bless them and thank God.
I’m guessing the egret might have stayed where it was and posed if I hadn’t stopped, pointed and said loudly to my husband, “LOOK!” Rookie mistake.
I was actually on the hunt for killdeer, since you can hear their shrill cries out over the fields. With clever eyes, you can spot them flying, but always just out of reach and never seeming to touch down.
Speaking of clever eyes, as we were walking the other day, I thought I spied a rib cage out in the brush. You don’t see that every day. I meandered down to get a closer look and as we suspected, it was the remains of a deer. Odd place to die, though – in a very narrow wooded area between the walking path and some houses. If you watch as many murder mysteries as we do, everything starts to seem sinister.
I went out last night just before we went up to bed so I could get a photo of Mr. Gnome shining his light upon the yard. It’s a terrible photo – I think I can do better. While I was crouched down with my phone getting the photo, something rustled in the leaves right by me and I sort of freaked out. I’m easily spooked.
This has definitely been a musing post, but not necessarily an amusing post.
I don’t think the world would miss this blog post at all if I deleted it in the morning.
My mother liked to tell the story about taking me to the drugstore when I was perhaps three years old. In my mom’s words, “The clerk talked to her without much response. She’d just look. Finally, when she’d been asked a direct question and still just stared, I urged, ‘Well, say something.’ She reached for my hand, and thus fortified, murmured respectfully and shyly, ‘Something.’”
Those were the days when you could still describe someone as being shy and it was a description, not a condemnation. Somewhere along the line, that word began to smack of being a character flaw, so it became the more acceptable word, “reserved.” I’m not shy, just reserved.
And then later still, the whole introvert vs extrovert thing came along. Oh how I used to envy those natural extroverts in my life (you know who you are). What I wouldn’t have given to feel at ease in a group, always equipped with the right thing to say instead of being frozen into silence. But now, people are eager to identify as introverts, so that worked out pretty well for me.
I think it was the experience of being in college that taught me how to be less awkward around people. I realized that even if I was feeling unbearable shy, I could overcome that and find my inner “extrovert,” so to speak. We’re all just combinations of those things anyway, depending on the circumstances, don’t you think? Sometimes I’m cheerfully expansive and able to handle any and all social situations. Sometimes I’d rather withdraw into my shell and let everyone else do the hard work of socializing.
I’ve heard it said that both introverts and extroverts can go to a social gathering and really enjoy it. The difference is in how they feel afterward. The introverts are drained and need to recover (this is me). The extroverts are energized and ready for more.
That’s all I’ve got to say on the subject. But I’d love to hear what you have to say about it!
This is me, perhaps on a shy day.
I might have to delete this post unless I’m recovering from a social gathering and don’t have the energy.
Keep in mind that the word “excitement” here is a relative term. Seeing as how our backyard is a model of quietude and stability, it doesn’t take much to shake things up.
We now have a gnomish presence in our yard. Up until now, I’ve had to be content with the gnomes of our neighbors, but no more. Mr. Gnome cleverly gathers sunlight during the day and uses it to light his tiny lantern at night. I like to think that the fauna in our yard appreciate this service.
The Squirrel Task Force (aka my husband) has been hard at work deterring squirrels from our bird feeders. We are cautiously optimistic that we have outsmarted those little devils at last. Not that we begrudge them food; we just want them to get their own instead of taking the bird food.
The violets have created quite a blue din in the yard. These brave and hardy flowers are quite happy to run the gauntlet of a late and cold spring just to bring cheer to our hearts. Well done, good and faithful flowers, well done.
Wasn’t that exciting?
I’ll probably delete this post by the light of the Gnome Lantern in the dead of night.
Lynniebeemuseoday 