November Ladybugs

I passed the bougainvillea today and a wink of reddish-orange caught my eye. In the November sun, ladybugs had gathered to drink in its warmth... and play a little "leapfrog".

Another ladybug was catching all the sun it could get atop a fennel blossom. For being late on a November afternoon, it was wonderfully warm. I ended up going out in the back garden and following this ladybug's example... except I chose the chaise lounge instead of the fennel to soak up the rays.

If the fire is burning, the cat will be there

As soon as I build a fire, Suzette plants herself in front of it. This is a regular ritual. When I have to throw another log on the fire and tend to it, I often have to maneuver around her because she won't give up her post. The ironic thing is that she's our cat with the thickest fur.

Who walked life's journey in them?

Click image to view larger

When visiting the town of Clovis in California's Central Valley, we always like to pop in to the antique stores in the old town center. There are always some wonderful treasures to enjoy even if we don't buy them.

During a visit last year, I had my camera in hand and photographed some of the well-done displays. One had two pair of beautiful antique shoes. I've enjoyed the photograph privately ever since but didn't share it with anyone else because I wasn't quite happy with the photograph.

Then today, I decided to play around with my digital art skills. As I perused some of my "second string" photographs for good candidates I came across my shot of the antique shoes. I knew that I wanted to play with it and see if I could make the composition into a piece of art that captured the thoughts I had when I saw the shoes.

Every time I have looked at this photograph over the past year, I've found myself reflecting on who must have worn those shoes over the years. What roads have those shoes traveled? Did they carry their wearer through tragedy or triumph? Or both? And now they sit in an antique shoe with price tags hanging on them reflecting prices that can never match the value of a life lived. How can what those shoes have "seen" be summed up in a price tag of $145.00?

If you would like to use this photograph on your blog or have a copy for your desktop,
please ask me and I will be happy to send you a free digital copy.

And Let Your Cry Be No Surrender...

If you will indulge me, please let me introduce you to my Irish-Scottish third great-grandfather, James Munce--a published poet in his homeland of Donaghadee in County Down, Ireland and later Glasgow in Scotland. I have recently become acquainted with one of his poems that has a repeating phrase in it which has become my personal mantra as I move forward in the face of the challenges of life. For me, the title of the poem should be "Let Your Cry Be No Surrender" but he chose the title "To A Melancholy Companion" probably because that was the original reason for the poem.

I shared this poem with my Auntie this week, and today I felt like I needed to share this poem here on the blog.

To A Melancholy Companion
by James Munce
copyright 1881

It’s cowardice to fear the world,
To dread its frown or court its favour;
Still act an honest manly part,
And shame it with your good behavior.
Keep in the path o’rectitude,
No matter how you may offend her,
With truth and honour on your side,
And let your cry be no surrender.

Let factions fight and bigots rail,
They’ll only have their day o’ power;
The empty titles here obtained
The teeth o’ time will soon devour;
Let all actions have a grace,
Approv’d of by your great Commander,
A harmless walk, a holy aim,
And let your cry be no surrender.

Tho’ care may sometimes cloud your brow,
Be not cast down or seem dejected;
The hand which holds the reins of State,
By it ye’ll always be protected.
With fearless spirit face the foe,
And bear the lash when Heaven sends her,
And from an honest noble deed
Still let your cry be no surrender.

Why should you murmur at your lot--
You cannot mend it by repining;
Although the cloud appeareth dark
It always has a silver lining.
In envy, malice, fraud, or filth
Let no such guests in you engender;
Forget, forgive, and onwards steer,
And let your cry be no surrender.

You may not aye hae cash tae spare
To help a friend who seeks to borrow,
But you can always sympathise
With friend or stranger when in sorrow.
Still act an open, manly part,
And scorn the name of false pretender;
Should faith or friendship seem to fail,
Then raise the cry of no surrender.

Let fortune frown and use her lash,
Try with a cheerful smile to mock it,
Still persevere ‘gainst wind and tide,
Altho’ you have empty pocket.
Still let your heart enjoy that peace,
The gift which Heaven alone can send her;
Should pride or passion interfere,
Then let your cry be no surrender.

And never try to rouse yourself
By pointing out another’s failing.
The weak, the weary, and oppress’d,
Give them what aid you’r fit to render;
Be generous even to a fault,
But let your cry be no surrender.

I fondly hope from this ye’ll see
The path you tread is one of folly,
At state or station to repine,
And wear a look of melancholy;
Forsake the path that hides your bliss,
Stand forward as your faith’s defender,
Maintain your ground and face the foe,
And let your cry be no surrender.

My dear blog friends... whatever your foe may be today, may you maintain your ground and let your cry be, "No Surrender!".

The Miracle of the Kalanchoe--A Metaphor For Life

As I was walking the gardens today, I realized that it was three years ago today that I returned home from the hospital after undergoing the surgery that changed my life (if you don't know about my story, you can take a brief detour by clicking here to read it).


After making that realization, I went to the sheltered edge of the pond under the pomegranate bush and found the kalanchoe that lives there in a pot ever since I brought it home with me from the hospital 3 years ago today. It was brought to me as a gift by the president of the women's organization in our church congregation--the Relief Society. She brought it to me shortly after I came out of surgery. The kalanchoe's bright red blossoms formed a round orb of color that had brightened my hospital room for those days of initial recovery.

The kalanchoe now has a permanent home in the garden. Even though it's supposed to be a houseplant grown in the nonfluctuating climate of the home or a greenhouse, I chose to keep it outside so our plant-munching cat Dee Dee wouldn't destroy it. The kalanchoe spent its first winter in the open-sided shed (that is now long gone). After the frosts of that winter I moved it out to a partially sunny location next to the pond-water's edge where the shade of the plum tree and pomegranate would protect it from the summer's intense sun.

When the next winter came, I didn't move the pot. It stayed there through the frosty coldness of December, January, and early February. The insulation of some overgrown grasses around it had protected it. It has survived all frosts since then.

I still don't know how a sensitive plant like that makes it through the cold winter months but it always does. And it always blooms when the warmth comes--even if it hasn't ever been quite as showy as the first day I saw it.

The kalanchoe, and its ability to weather the cold and the storms despite all evidence that this plant variety shouldn't be able to withstand them, is a miracle to me. It is a reminder to me that miracles, large and small, happen in our lives everyday. We are only privileged to witness those miracles if we open our eyes and hearts to see them.

The kalanchoe is like many women I know. They survive amazingly difficult and insurmountable trials in their lives despite all evidence that they should not. And those women continue to bloom again and again, often very privately. Even though the trials are bound to continue to come, they survive. And even though their blooms may be less glorious than in years past, they are blooming nonetheless. And that is the miracle.

Rain, Glorious Rain!

After many months of no precipitation, we have finally welcomed our first significant rainmaker storms of the season! We usually don't have rain from about May through September. But this year is stretched out a bit longer. Our soil desperately needed the rain, and it got it. We've received about an inch and a half since Halloween, and it's wonderful! Other neighboring micro-climates in the Greater San Francisco Bay Area received more--up to 5 inches in the Santa Cruz mountains where the big redwoods grow.

I snuck out between downbursts and shot some photos of raindrops on roses (one of my favorite things--just like Maria Von Trapp). I am always struck by how beautiful raindrops on flower petals look.

And today my Auntie came to visit me for the day. As we toured the garden, we got caught in a downburst. It felt great! We managed to pick three nice pomegranates off what's left of this year's pomegranate crop for my Auntie to take with her. Picking pomegranates in the rain with my Auntie... I can't think of a better thing to do on a November afternoon.