I’m still wending my way through the family photos, documents and records. Last year I finally finished assembling my mother’s side of the family, and this year I’ve decided to tackle – AND FINISH – my dad’s side of the family. I need all caps for that statement for the days when it seems like an impossible task.

My grandmother was born in Norway in 1900 and emigrated to the United States with her parents and younger sister when she was six years old. As I’ve sorted through the family things, I’ve come across several of her journals, letters and essays, as well as about a dozen poems she wrote in her later years. The earliest one I have was written when she was 63 – two years younger than I am now. I wasn’t quite four years old at that time.

Morning Worship
In the hushed, sweet stillness of the dawn
I feel Thy presence near. I see Thy wonders
In the twinkling radiance of the morning star,
In the miracles of nature and the universe,
In the purple haze of distant hills,
And I pause to give thanks for all Thy blessings.

How sweet to think of her looking out on the world and giving thanks to God for her blessings.

Old Memories
Old memories of by-gone days
When love was new and life was sweet,
As time went on, came tribulations,
Doubts and fears and desperation,
But that was oh, so long ago.
Now we are old, time’s running out
And memories are growing dim.
So lower the shades and close the door
Upon the past which is no more.

She was 70 years old when she wrote that one and seemed to be anticipating the end coming soon. As it turns out, she became widowed at age 72, the end having come for her husband first. What a shock that was for her. One of the journals she left behind is essentially a grief journal, the things she wrote after her husband died: the anguish, loneliness and anger she felt. I was 14 when he died and it barely registered in my emotional life. I was sad he was gone, but gave no thought to the impact it had on my grandma.

Mystery
The profound mystery of life, and death,
The two extremes of our existence.
We know not where we come from
Nor where we go from here.
All mankind is born to die.
From the very moment of birth
We are preparing for death,
In another time, another place,
Another life in the great unknown.

She wrote that one just six months after her husband died. I don’t think she ever imagined she would live so long without him, but she didn’t pass away until she was nearly 96 years old. Think of it – almost 24 years as a widow! She depended heavily upon her two sons, my dad and his younger brother, my Uncle Roger. The following poem isn’t dated, but I like to think that it was written years after she was widowed, as she was learning to face life on her own.

A New Day
This is the dawn of a new day
With new thoughts and ideas,
And inspiration in my mind.
I live to learn about life and people.
Loved ones who have done so much for me,
Give me new strength, new power,
And faith to believe that I can conquer.

It’s not award-winning stuff, but it gives me a window into the woman she was, a woman I didn’t really get to know very well as anyone other than just “Grandma.”

Rest in peace, Grandma.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning. I said “probably.”

Over ten years ago I went through a phase of taking “artsy” sermon notes. I’ve always had a hard time concentrating on auditory content, so it helps to take notes or even just do random doodling while listening. I know I’m not the only one – raise your hand if you’ve ever doodled during sermons.

The artsy sermon note taking was an attempt to marry art with note taking. I’d do some general background painting on watercolor papers and then bring those to church to take preliminary notes on during the sermon. Back at home afterward, I’d write over my penciled notes with ink and then do some illustrating and coloring in. It was a fun endeavor, but rather time consuming, so I eventually quit and went back to regular note taking and/or doodling. It all helps my mind to focus. Otherwise my mind goes quite far afield!

And next is an entry from my “daily cartoon” phase when I first got on Instagram. That lasted about a month. Again, fun while it lasted, but hard to keep going. Some of them were watercolors, and others were of the stick-figure variety, which is my specialty (ha ha!)

I still feel that way about stretching. Ow! Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

I’m going through a phase of deleting these in the morning – it probably won’t last.

For the beauty of the earth
For the glory of the skies
For the love which from our birth
Over and around us lies
Lord of all, to thee we raise
This our hymn of grateful praise.
Folliott S. Pierpoint, 1864

These photos are my “hymn” of grateful praise for all the beauty and glory the Lord has put before us. May you hear the music of praise as you look at them.

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A visitor to our fountain. I was gone, so hubby grabbed my camera and got a few photos through the screen. Isn’t he (or she) a regal creature?

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For the beauty of each hour
Of the day and of the night,
Hill and dale and tree and flow’r
Sun and moon and stars of light,
Lord of all to thee we raise
This our hymn of grateful praise.

I’ll probably delete with grateful praise in the morning.

I’ve got good news, which I’ll save for the end of this post. Firstly, a few photos demonstrating the kinds of things going on in our realm.

The first jar of pickled banana peppers has been duly pickled.

And the parsley and dill have been picked and dehydrated.

This is as bad as the flattened frog photo – I’m sorry. We haven’t had nearly as many Japanese beetles this year as in the past, but they still come and wreak havoc on some of our plants. This year, they’ve been particularly fond of the zinnia leaves, raspberry leaves, and hollyhock leaves. Yesterday I saw them on a frail flower of our new clematis. “How dare you!” So I don’t feel too bad about killing them. It’s stewardship.

But here’s a bee doing some good work. I applaud him. It. Whatever.

A sweet little bouquet of strawflowers. They feel just like paper – it’s weird and fascinating.

Now for the good news. Last February I submitted ten of my poems to a publisher for consideration in a whimsical poetry anthology for children that they intend to publish in 2025. I found out a couple days ago that at least one of my poems was accepted AND is being used in a spreadsheet that will be featured as part of a Kickstarter campaign to raise money for the book. Isn’t that exciting? It sounded like others of my poems might be used too. I’m just so THRILLED!

I’ll probably you know what in the you know what. IYKYK

The flattened frog
Has got a prob
That nobody can cure

His webby toes
His warty nose
Have lost all their allure

His croak is dead
Just like his head
He’s had his final leap

The flattened frog
Should not have trod
Right under someone’s feet

When life hands you a flattened frog, you make a poem out of it. I apologize for subjecting you to that photo one more time.

The flattened blog
Has got a prob;
I simply must delete.