Your Photo Shoot Might Be Over If...

...your model stands up in the prop...

 ...holds out his arms and starts crying to be rescued.

Yes, I think our shoot is over.  It was fun--for me!--while it lasted.  ;-)

Why Do We Love Roses So Much?

Out of all the glorious flowers that bloom here and there and everywhere, why do we elevate roses to such an exalted position?

No other flower seems to have quite the reputation for expressing love that roses do.

Why are they at the top of the heap?

Was there once a king who gave roses to his beloved, thereby making that species famous?

Was it a poet who first immortalized them as the flower of love?

 I'm sure some historians would know the answer and could describe, in great detail, the origin and development of our affection for roses; but maybe the answer is simple.

Maybe we just love them because they're beautiful.  ;-)

When All Else Fails

When toddlers are grumpy and can't seem to settle into a cheerful activity...

...sometimes, all it takes to help them be happy is...

...letting them play with water.

It works {almost} every time!  ;-)

The Story Behind the Song

I learned something new tonight.

During a concert of the Touring Choir from my high school, the famous (in my circle) Mr. Hartzler, choir director extraordinaire, mentioned that the song "Precious Lord, Take My Hand" was written after the death of the author's wife and baby (the story is here).  I had never heard that before, but that knowledge makes the words even more poignant.

As I sit here tonight and wind down at the end of a busy, full day, I can say with that powerful hymn, "I am tired, I am weak, I am worn," but now I know that my fatigue and emptiness are nothing compared with what Thomas A. Dorsey was enduring when he wrote that song.

Still, I'm so very grateful that my precious Lord leans down to wrap my hand in His strong one.

Dear 16-Year-Old Me

"I don't want to see a new blog post from you when I get up tomorrow morning," my dad told me this evening after supper.

With 11 guests expected for lunch tomorrow, in addition to our normal 8, he knew, after looking around my messy kitchen, that I had my evening's work cut out for me and didn't need to stay up late because of any kind of obligation to blog.  So, when he told me he didn't want to see a new blog post, I suppose that was his way of saying, "I love you."

I love you, too, Dad; but I didn't quite follow your advice.  I know I don't have much time tonight, but it doesn't take hardly any time to post this--a video I've been meaning to post but then forgot about.  Today, at Riven Rock Park, while I slathered sunscreen on your grandsons while they danced in and out of the frigid mountain water, I thought of this video and remembered its vivid warning about skin cancer.  I guess I'd have to say that, in my life, the only warning about skin cancer that was more vivid than this was when you discovered a cancerous mole on your arm.  Thinking about that makes me exhale deeply with gratitude that yours was caught so early and dealt with so effectively.  It also inspires me to keep coating my boys--my "I-don't-want-to-stand-still," "don't-get-it-in-my-eyes!" boys--with sunscreen.


With all of that said, Dad, here's a video for you to watch when you wake up.  As for me?  I'm heading back to the kitchen.  ;-)

From Dreams to Reality

When we lived in Israel, I got a book--a plain red book with blank pages--to fill with ideas for the future, dreams about the house we would have when we returned to the U.S., pictures I cut out of magazines that sparked my interest and gave me inspiration for future homemaking plans, etc.  

Many, MANY of those dreams haven't come true--and probably never will.  (For example, I thought we would buy some land when we returned and build a small log home on it; instead, my parents sold us the home place, and we've been here ever since.)  But on one page of my dream book was a page torn out of a magazine (probably Southern Living) with a picture of a tree on it.

The tree was a Chinese fringe tree, and I liked it so much when I saw it in the magazine that I decided I would try to have one someday.  

On one of my birthdays (maybe the first one I celebrated here after our return from Israel?), my dream came true, and Jeff got a fringe tree for me--actually, two.  

We planted one in front of my dad's office (which is now their home) and one in front of the other house on the property, the one in which they were living after they moved out of the home I now live in and before they moved into Dad's former office.

When I was down in that corner of the property yesterday, I had to admire--as I do every year--the lacy, delicate fringe that this tree dances in during the springtime.

 Not all of my green-thumb projects turn out well, but I'm happy that this particular one did.  It's lovely when reality turns out to be as nice as the dream was all along!  :)

Planting Boys

I'm just not sure we have enough boys around here.

 Do you think if we plant these two fine specimens...

...more will pop up??  ;-)

* The holes in my parents' flowerbed were actually there because of the Bleeding Heart flowers we were transplanting.  After reading an online article about how to transplant Bleeding Hearts, I recklessly took on the job--after all, Google makes us all experts, right?  I joked with my parents that if the worst case scenario happened and both Bleeding Hearts died, I'd buy them new ones.  That was the only kind of guarantee I could give them.  I'm not a landscaper after all...and after doing that job in 90 degree weather yesterday, I don't think I'd ever like to be one!  ;-)