C.S. Lewis spoke of a kind of love that he called “Gift-love,” the proper aim of which is “to put the recipient in a state where he no longer needs our gift.” He goes on to say, “We feed children in order that they may soon be able to feed themselves; we teach them in order that they may soon not need our teaching. Thus a heavy task is laid upon this Gift-love. It must work towards its own abdication. We must aim at making ourselves superfluous. The hour when we can say, ‘They need me no longer,’ should be our reward.”

This is so true about parenting, about mothering. What a wonderful reward it is to see your children independent and flourishing as adults! And yet, it is not unalloyed joy; there is a small measure of grief mixed in when they fly off and leave behind an empty nest.

Empty Nest
They are gone – my heart is grieved.
They are flying! My heart rejoices.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

Tonight we have a waxing gibbous moon with the full moon expected on February 9th. The moon will set tomorrow at 5:29 a.m. How many of you will be up at that time to watch it go below the horizon? I wonder if it ever happens that the sunrise and moonset happen at the same time (or sunset and moonrise)?

The Folly of the Gibbous Moon
I once saw a gibbous moon,
That was keeping the sky in tune,
It begged of the sun a great boon,
“Oh let me stay up until noon.”

This was overheard by the loon,
Who flew off to tell the baboon,
Who immediately started to swoon,
And had to be hit with a spoon.

The sun had no choice but to croon
To answer the impetuous moon.
It sang and the song was a tune,
That created a lunar balloon.

“I suspect you’ll be full very soon,”
Said the sun to the gibbous moon,
“And then you’ll shrink up like a prune,
So you may not stay up until noon!”

I don’t know what’s gotten into me – two silly poems in as many days. Must be the moon.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

The Ballad of the Birdies

Said the red bird to the gold one,
“Come fly away with me!”
But the gold bird shook her feathers,
“I cannot leave with thee.”

Said the red bird to the gold one,
“We’ll blaze across the skies!”
But the gold bird trembled softly,
“I don’t think that is wise.

“We’d soar along together,
We’d fill the earth with song,
Our lives would be so happy…
…but our lifespans are not long.

One of us will go first,
The other will be left,
To think of that great parting,
Oh darling, I’m quite bereft.”

Said the red bird to the gold one,
“My dear, you are quite right;
Let’s inquire of our Maker,
He may pity us in our plight.”

The two birds twittered a prayer,
The Maker heard their sighs,
Those silly little bird brains,
With their silly little cries.

He offered a solution,
“I’ll turn you into stone.
You’ll always be together,
You’ll never be alone.”

Said the red bird to the gold one,
“Come sit close to me,”
Said the gold bird to the red one,
“I’ll never part from thee.”

Thus the two birds sit in silence,
Their feathers turned to stone,
But they’ll always be together,
They’ll never be alone.

Do you think I’ll delete this in the morning?

Ahh…now I feel rested. And so do you, I hope. To catch up on the big doings of the weekend, the headline has to be that the sun came out on Sunday!! (Appropriate day for it, now that I think of it.). I had a feeling it might not last long, so I took great big gulps of it, like a huge celebratory drink. When the sun went back behind the clouds today, I was not discouraged, lads and lassies. My sun-belly is still full. Of course, tomorrow, if we’re still in un-sunlit lands, all bets are off. I’ll be back to moaning about “Day 341 of sunlessness.” At that time, one of you must give me a bracing slap in the face. I mean it! The words “In everything give thanks, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus,” are all the bracing slap that I’ll need. Apply as needed.

Other than that, allow me to share with you some photos from the last couple of days. I’ve noticed that crows tend to perch at the very tippy top of the trees. I find that rather bold, don’t you? It’s got a sort of “Lord of all I survey” kind of vibe to it. I saw three crows perched on the top of one tree, having a little meeting that was probably sinister. A group of crows is called a “murder.” Coincidence? I think not. At any rate, as soon as they knew they were being observed, off they went, so I can’t actually prove that it happened.

Here’s what happens when you spill your peas on the snow:

And here’s what happens when you take a photo of the lovely sunset clouds and realize later that almost everything is out of focus, but you kind of like the effect anyway:

You probably expected greater things from this blog after I took two days off. Oh dear. Let’s finish up with a sunny photo, which will make all things right again.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning…

I’ve got good news – I’m going to restrict my blogging to Monday-Friday and take the weekends off. Why is that good news? My dear readers, you will be getting a break from the incessant emails notifying you of yet ANOTHER blog post from me. 🙂

I’ll probably delete this in the morning…

Day 233 without the sun. Of course, that’s an exaggeration – what else can you expect from someone who overuses exclamation points like I do?

I walked into my warm house after work today, looked out on the cold, bleak landscape, and said “phooey.” I’m not going to sugarcoat or censor this blog for you – that’s what I said: “PHOOEY” (probably said it in capital letters, too.).

Instead of a real walk, I decided to go across the street to look over the property where the house burned down last year. The city has been using it as a place to dump excess snow. I saw branches stripped of their bark and thought, “deer!”

Further back, there was an exciting moment when I saw, for a fleeting moment, a deer behind the snow mounds running away. Here’s proof:

I stood for a long time in the cold, waiting.

A cardinal took pity on me. At first he played hard to get, but then he came out boldly into the open and played to the camera like a professional model. We had a silent conversation in which I thanked him for his courtesy and he opined that for a camera-toting human, I was tolerable.

Greetings from the un-sunlit lands.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

I don’t remember how old I was when I figured out that our household was an unusual one regarding music. It turns out that having a mother who played Chopin, Scott Joplin rags and all manner of folk songs and classical music on the piano was not the reality that any of my friends had in their homes. I am embarrassed to say that I not only took it for granted, I didn’t even particularly value it.

My mother lived and breathed music (still does) – I can hardly remember a time when our house wasn’t filled with it. My dad was a band teacher, and generally left his music at the office, but he had an undergirding appreciation for music that also permeated the household. We all learned to play instruments, we all learned to play the piano and we all sang – some more than others, it’s true. My mom could spend hours playing the piano and singing, but with six children she didn’t often have the opportunity for extended sessions, so she grabbed the time when she could. With a great deal of long-suffering, she taught most of us how to play the piano (two of the six of us had to get their piano instruction outsourced, my mom being wise enough to see that those two needed a teacher who wasn’t also their mother). With the exception of my oldest sister, none of us came close to my mom’s level of expertise, but she made sure we knew how to read music, a skill which all of us eventually came to appreciate.

Everything I know, enjoy and love about music was nurtured and encouraged in our home, as much by osmosis as by intentional instruction. I visited my mom today and she spent some time at the piano, although she’s not able to play as often as she’d like. Half blind and with arthritic fingers, she still has that musician’s touch. I love watching her fingers move over the keys.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning…but maybe I’ll sit down at our piano first and see what I can do.

The skies and trees were crow-infested today. I didn’t take any photos of them – I was too busy thinking about the Alfred Hitchcock movie “The Birds,” and wishing I’d never seen it.

How many days has it been since we have seen the sun? I trudged along under dull skies and later thought of Eustace, Jill and dear old Puddleglum when they ended up in the Deep Realm Underland and the warden there kept telling them “many sink down, but few return to the sunlit lands” (The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis). Sunlit lands, where are you? These are times that call for simple faith: Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. The sun is where it always has been, seen or unseen. It helps during these long passages of sunlessness to remember that.

I took a longish walk, the camera slung around my neck growing heavier with each step. Yesterday’s hoarfrost was gone and there were no poems swirling around in my head. In the end, the photo I took today that I liked the most was one I took through our kitchen window: a chickadee in flight. I love how the wings look.

I greet you from the un-sunlit lands.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

He giveth snow like wool: he scattereth the hoarfrost like ashes. Psalm 147:16

HOARFROST
A beautiful coat,
Covers graceful limbs and leaves,
Like the breath of God.

Oh, how I love the hoarfrost days of winter!

I’ll probably (but maybe not) delete this in the morning.

Let’s wait a moment and see if Stephen King’s muse shows up (the guy with the cigar that makes magic).

.

.

.

.

.

.

I don’t see him anywhere. Do you? Of course none of that makes sense if you haven’t read my January 4 blog. In lieu of any sort of magical muse appearing, I’ll give you some random thoughts for the day. After all, I can’t feed you C.S. Lewis quotes all the time – it’s too rich a diet for every day.

‘Twas the third day in a row in which it was snowing while I walked. I quite enjoyed it and almost didn’t mind having my hands freeze while I was taking photos. I ended up back in the cemetery where I am always by myself. It’s like entering a secret vault that no one else knows about. I like it that way. I strolled along having happy snow thoughts and wished for a squirrel to come pose for me. My wish did not come true.

As I was nearing home, a man approached me while I was walking with my camera and asked, “Are you a photographer?” It was my husband, teasing me about an earlier post I’d written about delusions of grandeur. I asked if he wanted my autograph. While I was out gallivanting around looking dewey-eyed at all the snow, he was doing the practical business of clearing it from our walkways. We can’t all be dreamers.

Well, I knew there’d be days like this when I decided to write a blog every day. Sometimes there’s just not much to say. Too-da-loo, peeps!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.