I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles.–Audrey Hepburn
Today’s theme for #AugustBreak2019 is PINK. Susannah Conway founded this event several years ago; and while I’ve always enjoyed the artistic challenge, I love best that when I scroll through my social media feeds, I’m meeting up with creatives who, like me, are exploring ideas and techniques that move them past their comfort zones. Not to mention, it’s so much fun to peer through their windows on the world!
Here’s the deets…wanna join us? Just create a photographic image that somehow illustrates the theme of the day, and then share it on your favorite social media networks. Easy-peasy. No need to use a high-end camera–a cell phone snap is totally fine! Simple or abstract, fancy or straightforward…you get to translate the daily prompt however you want. It’s group play, but even better, because you get to make up your own rules!
This magnificent monarch drifted into our backyard, a splash of sunshine on a warm summer day. #RoyalVisitor
She fluttered among the milkweed plants for several minutes, making touch-and-go-landings and then drifting upward.
With the assistance of my zoom lens, I soon realized she was curling her abdomen around their long, oval-shaped leaves. She pausing for a quick moment on each, and then wafted over to the next plant.
Can you guess what she was doing?
She was laying eggs on the undersides of the milkweed leaves, where her caterpillars will eventually feed and grow!
How lovely, to witness firsthand this first stage of the metamorphosis cycle. Not to mention, a refreshing break from the 24/7 news cycle.
And if we can’t save the world, and who says we can’t, then let us try anyway. Perhaps we have no superhuman powers— can’t see through buildings, can’t fly, can’t bend the bars of cages— but we have human powers— can listen, can stand up to, can stand up for, can cradle. And if we can’t imagine a world of peace, and who says we can’t, then let us try anyway. Perhaps we start tonight—on a Wednesday. Thursday works, too. Or Friday. Doesn’t much matter the day. All that matters is the choice to meet this moment exactly as it is, with no dream of being anyone else but our flawed and fabulous very self— and then, wholly present, bringing this self to the world, touching again and again what is true. — Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer (excerpted from MANIFESTO)
A fight broke out on the adjacent hillside, just after daybreak. The animals’ movements were cloaked by dense chapparel, but their battle cries echoed through the canyon. First, the bark-howl of a surprised coyote, followed closely by the low pitched, guttural growls of a bobcat (similar to, but more robust than a domestic cat). It seemed to me a territorial dispute, which the coyote apparently won, because as the bobcat’s angry yowls faded, the coyote’s yip-howls got louder.
As if on cue, a stranger rolled up in his late-model sports car. I watched from my picture window as he rushed out of the drivers’ side door, cell phone poised for snapshots. His timing was impeccable, from his point of view, but he apparently left his common sense at home.
“Here, boy,” the man called out, as he inched his way into the bushes where the coyote was singing his victory song. He responded to the yip-howls with kissing noises. “Come,” he said, followed by whistles, ignoring completely the coyote’s territorial warning as he advanced.
When nature refused to answer his beck and call, the man threw up his hands and retreated. As I watched him climb back into his convertible, I couldn’t help but wonder how far removed from nature we sometimes are, to assume a scene from nature begins and ends with us.
(I didn’t want to encroach on the coyote’s territory with my camera, so I offer you instead a zoomed-in photograph of a hummingbird who helps stitch together the wildflowers on the hillside and the cultivars in my garden.)
This Swallowtail visited my garden, earlier this week. It perched itself on a nearby Pentas Nova, oblivious to the camera slung around my neck and the pruning shears I carried.
It lingered for a long while, basking in the sunlight and sipping nectar.
I snapped a quick photo and then observed quietly from a distance.
I was mesmerized by the slow, steady rhythm of its beating wings and the seemingly infinite patience it demonstrated as it unfurled its proboscis and drew it up again, probing for food in one flower and then another. A metronome of the natural world, its tempo was unaffected by the take-offs and landings at the bird bath adjacent, fluttering palm fronds, and the swirl of activity at the goldfinch feeder.
And in those singular moments, I was a student again, learning life lessons in nature’s classroom.
When heavy winds blew over the pass, I drifted out of my lane. My tires whined and shimmied over the roadside markers.
I gripped the wheel a little tighter, re-entered my lane, and let up on the gas.
A second gust pushed me sideways. My dashboard flashed yellow. Please Take a Rest, the warning light read, with a coffee cup icon for extra emphasis.
I arrived safely, don’t you worry! But I’m just now thinking: Wouldn’t it be nice if our touch-screens suggested a timeout if/when we swerve out of bounds on social media?
Be like the flower, turn your face to the sun. –Kahlil Gibran
On Summer Solstice and every day, I’m wishing you the bright warm glow of sunshine on a field of day lilies, and the sparkly magic of fireflies in the moonlight.
After the marine layer clears, but before broad daylight, the sun sets the lemon tree aglow.
A hummingbird zips past my picture window, returns and perches on a flowering branch. I snap a quick photo–a reminder of this sacred moment– and then we greet together the dawning of a new day.
I’d love to spend an afternoon with you, swirling ice cubes in frosty glasses of fresh-squeezed lemonade. We’d talk and swing, feet tucked under our bottoms, in the cushioned glider on my wrap-around porch.
Meet me at the corner of idyllic and realistic. When you come through my garden gate, you’ll no doubt be greeted by hummingbirds and fragrant flowers. I’ll offer you iced tea or hot chocolate, your preference. But truth be told, my front porch has a pretty small footprint. There’s room here for a sprawling fern, double doors with beveled glass, and a shaded bench that provides visitors a quiet spot in which to daydream.
I bought the porch bench for a song, about two years ago. It was sun-bleached and scarred, as you can see, but far sturdier than it looked. It’s got good bones, I told myself. With a little bit of elbow grease, I’ll bet I can restore it to its former glory.
Thing is: I love the patina of timeworn furniture. I prefer a subtle glow to a high-gloss sheen. If I were asked to define my decorating style, the closest I’d come is coastal-garden-casual. Chic, but not pretentious. Storied, but not shabby. I’m a sucker for vintage pieces with character. If that also describes your design sensibilities, here’s a quick-and-easy way to refresh your front porch bench:
Gather some soft cotton rags and protective gloves.
Accessorize your newly restored bench with comfy pillows and cozy throws.
Sit a spell, listening to the songbirds as you drink your morning coffee.
I love how my bench turned out! It really brightens up that corner, don’t you think?
On a related note, I came across a new book on Facebook: RESTORATION HOUSE, by Kennesha Buycks. I offered to review it, based on our shared interest in creating a warm, welcoming home–a sanctuary, if you will, for family members and guests. But since I wasn’t yet familiar with her blog, the religious overtones took me by surprise. Envisioning a beautiful house, Kennesha says, isn’t limited to furniture placement and choosing the right color palette. It’s a spiritual journey, as well, whose goal is a Christ-centered home that “gives life and connection to all who enter.”
In her introductory chapters, Kennesha describes the unmoored feelings that came of being the wife of a military professional. They moved from pillar to post, many times over, within the span of a few years. As the daughter of an interant preacher, I remember how painful it is, to be repeatedly uprooted. I remember the perpetual impermanence, and the emotional tug of that elusive place called home. Over time, Kennesha resolved those yearnings– first by anchoring herself to faith, and then creating a design aesthetic that mirrors her personality and religious leanings.
RESTORATION HOUSE is a highly personal book, tailored to a very specific (i.e., Christian) audience. Written in a casual, blogger’s style, it provides readers with fresh ideas for home renovations and remodeling. The photographs are beautiful, stylized representations of her preference for all things “simple and minimal, yet not too minimal, cozy and warm yet uncomplicated.” Pull up a chair, the images seem to say, Let’s break bread together, you and I, and bring to the table our dreams and aspirations.
Given the heavy emphasis on her spiritual journey (including verses from the New Testament, Bible stories, and prayers), I’d describe it as a devotional, more so than a how-to book about home interiors. That’s an observation, not a criticism. When asked, “If you could design a mug, what would it say?” Kennesha responded, “Do you, boo.” In writing RESTORATION HOUSE, she does just that.
Two years after I brought it home from the garden nursery, my pineapple guava tree is finally blooming–edible flowers that, left untouched, magically transform themselves into sweet, juicy fruits. And I’m remembering today a sweet little folk tale I read when I first planted it.
“Honi and the Carob Tree” speaks to me of the quiet joys that come of communing with Mother Nature, being rocked in the cradle of our ancestors, and mothering our loved ones. Pull up a chair, and read it for yourself. Breathe deep those fragrant memories and revel in their sweetness.
One day, Honi the Circle Maker was walking on the road and saw a man planting a carob tree. Honi asked the man, “How long will it take for this tree to bear fruit?”
The man replied, “Seventy years.”
Honi then asked the man, “And do you think you will live another seventy years and eat the fruit of this tree?”
The man answered, “Perhaps not. However, when I was born into this world, I found many carob trees planted by my father and grandfather. Just as they planted trees for me, I am planting trees for my children and grandchildren so they will be able to eat the fruit of these trees.”— A Talmud tale, via SPIRIT OF TREES
