About Face

One of the most beautiful roses I grow, in my opinion, is the rose shown above, "About Face." Classified as a grandiflora, "About Face" features lovely, high-centered blooms shaped like the roses you'll get in a typical florist bouquet. Generally the blooms are larger than those of floribunda roses, a class of tough roses that produces continuous clusters of flowers. I added "About Face" to the garden because of her unusual coloring. The bloom above is actually past its prime, if you can believe that. The closed buds are fiery red, leaning to orange. As they open, you see the top of the petals are golden. They are the largest blooms of the 20 or so roses I grow now, and they are the most exquisitely shaped. The first flush of bloom produces abundant blossoms, then there is a brief pause before more are produced. From then on until frost there are constant flowers coming on. Although afterward there are not as many flowers on the plant at one time as with the first flush, there is almost always something on the plant to cut for bouquets. Oddly, these absolutely delicious blooms produce no scent. I keep sniffing at them in disbelief. Oh well. I'm enthralled with the beauty of "About Face." I think she's a keeper! "About Face" photo by JulenaJo.

Valentatting: The Rose Heart

Isn't this a lovely bit of "Valentatting?" It's tatting perfect for Valentine's Day--or anytime for someone who loves roses as I do. The flower is a variegated pink and the frilly heart surround is dusty green. I found the pattern at:

http://www.georgiaseitz.com/2002/neudorf.html

It works up quickly, and I love the outer edging, which looks like cluny tatting but isn't. I realized halfway through finishing the edge that I need to loosen up a bit. Trying to keep things tight was making a curl where it should lay flat. Hopefully, blocking the piece will smooth it out.
Neudorf's pattern calls for a tatting needle, but I used two shuttles instead. I also did not cut and tie the central ring; I just started in with the chains. It doesn't make as neat a center as the one shown with the pattern, but I don't think it's worth the trouble of working in loose ends. I may change my mind after I've finished and blocked it. Tatted Rose Heart photos by JulenaJo.

New Home; New Rose

A young friend of mine closed on a house recently and is eagerly anticipating spring landscaping for the first time. He asked me to recommend a rose--something easy and that would not grow too large. For a second my mind raced over dozens of possibilities, but then I settled on a sure bet and said, "Any of the Knock Out roses will give you tons of color, and they are completely fuss free." "Sounds perfect!" my friend said. But is it?
From the above photo you can see the deep, blue-tinged foliage and the juicy raspberry color of the Knock Out rose. Other colors are available now, including a pastel version called Rainbow Knock Out. They are not fragrant, which is a huge strike against them in my opinion. I live for the heavenly scent of roses.
My first rose garden featured Madame Hardy and Felicite Parmentier, two heirloom varieties that bloom gloriously in spring for a few sweetly scented weeks and then are gone for the rest of the year. Most years thrips would find their way into the hearts of the pale, fragrant blossoms, causing them to shatter and shortening their season even more. Other years some of the many-petaled buds would ball and turn to mush. It is a challenge to celebrate the blooms I do get, while bouncing back from each year's inevitable disappointments. Growing a variety of different roses helps. Each of the different types of roses have their own charms to recommend them, and often when one rose does poorly, another will thrive. But some years are mighty disappointing.
I finally added Knock Out to my own garden because I wanted something to be always, reliably in bloom. I wanted a rose that wouldn't drop all its leaves with black spot late every summer. I wanted one rose that would never let me down. Knock Out is that rose.
I hope my friend will be very happy with his new home--and his new roses! Knock Out rose photo by JulenaJo.

One Month Nearer

We were lucky.
We didn't have as much snow as many did this week. We didn't have the ice that paralyzed the southern parts of the state. Still, as you can see in the photos I took from the center of the road in front of our house, there was enough to keep road crews busy.
The worst part of our weather was, as it so often is, the wind. Although it wasn't blowing when I took the photos, gusts of wind wipe out the roads in a short time. Visibility is impaired by blowing snow, and unexpected drifts on top of ice make travel treacherous.
This was the last day of January. There's a possibility of more snow in the next few days--and winter is far from over. But we are one month nearer to spring. I'm ready. West & East photos by JulenaJo.

Sweet 16

This young lady is my baby girl--pictured with birthday cake, with her grandmother at the beach, and with Roxy, in heels for a dance, and with her horse. Today she celebrates her Sweet Sixteenth Birthday. I'm so proud. Happy Birthday! xoxo

Gallica Gentleman

This gentleman is a gallica, an heirloom rose blooming once in the spring, magnificently. 'Tuscany Superb' is his name. He's tough, shrugging off Ohio's bitter winters and blazing summers with aplomb. Although he can be a rogue, sending suckering canes where he will, this one indiscretion is easily forgiven. His deep crimson, velveteen petals hide a coronet of golden stamens at the heart of each blossom. Everyone who sees him will comment on the rich color and satin sheen of his many blooms. His musky cologne entices, but does not overpower. His foliage is neat and green, borne on a tidy, smallish shrub. Tuck 'Tuscany Superb'--and other once-blooming heirloom roses--into the back of a flower bed where they can be enjoyed in the spring, and grow into green oblivion for the rest of the summer. Tuscany Superb photo by JulenaJo.

Carefree Delight

One cannot help but love the name of this rose: Carefree Delight. I first discovered this rose at the Whetstone Park of Roses in Columbus, Ohio. There they grow in partial shade that does not seem to hinder bloom one whit. Huge hedges of them are covered with masses of small, carmine pink blooms. There is zero fragrance, but there are plentiful small hips in the fall. The attractive foliage is glossy and deep green, reminiscent of holly leaves.
In my more open garden, Carefree Delight performs well, but not with the astounding vigor of the ones growing in the protected park garden. Even so, it makes a nice spreading shrub that provides great cover for rabbits and birds. When it's in its first flush of bloom the foliage is barely visible behind the masses of flowers, and it blooms in continual flushes right through the season until hard frost.
Although Carefree Delight is listed as a shrub rose, it performs like a ground cover in my wild, open garden. The winner of numerous awards, Carefree Delight is a hard-working, tough plant that requires minimal pruning or care to look great as a hedge or in a small grouping in the yard or garden. Carefree Delight photo by JulenaJo.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Well, on one count we got it wrong, but on all other counts we got it right.
My sister, brother, and I decided to spring a surprise dinner on our father this weekend for his birthday, which is January 28. There was a break in the Ohio weather so my sister and her husband drove up from Tennessee and got a hotel room in Dayton for the night. She's the one who hatched the plan, basically. All I had to do was lie, lie, lie. I told my dad we were busy on Sunday, our usual day of getting together, and could I join him for Mass on Saturday night instead? I suggested a church near Dayton, said maybe I'd take him to Skyline Chili after Mass for his birthday because he likes it and it's cheap. (Skyline Chili originates out of Cincinnati: chili, beans and cheese over spaghetti. Great combo!) He eats dinner out almost every night, but usually at a place that is far less "fast food" than that. He likes it, though. It would be fun to eat there for his birthday, just for kicks, I told him.
So my husband and I drove Dad to church. While we sat in the pew, waiting for Mass to begin, I excused myself to use the ladies' room. In the lobby I met up with my siblings, and we all walked in and sat beside and behind Dad. My brother lives in the Dayton area, and so Dad wasn't TOO surprised to see him join us. However, my sister touched his shoulder from behind and said, "Happy birthday." He turned around with a polite but reserved expression on his face, expecting to see a stranger there. Then he did a double take. "YOU'RE here! How did you get here?" Such happiness broke over his face as comprehension washed over him that all of us kids were there to celebrate with him. It was a gift to us all.
I said, "Well, we couldn't let your 75th go by without celebration, could we?"
Dad retorted, "I'm not 75! I'm 74!"
Ha! Well, the joke's on us. But we celebrated anyway.
We didn't go to Skyline. Maybe next time, dad. We took him to the Paragon Supper Club and enjoyed a fantastic meal seasoned with much laughter. Then we went to a nearby bar for another drink and more laughter. We were tired for the drive home but it was so worth it.
As the temperatures dipped once more into the teens, my sister quipped, "Next year, you're coming to MY house for the birthday party!" We decided we would--but maybe in March. This January stuff is for the--snowbirds!
Happy birthday, Dad! Dad & Boo photo by JulenaJo.

Redeeming Love

This weekend I devoured a wonderful novel that my friend Cheryl recommended to me, Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers. When she slid it over the Library check-in desk toward me, urging me to read it, I glanced at the cover, dismayed. A bodice-ripper, I thought, Cheryl reads bodice-rippers? Oh, no. I couldn't bear it. Yet when a friend recommends a book, I like to at least give it a try.
Boy, am I glad I did.
This is an inspirational historical romance. Whew! Francine Rivers is a writer who came to Christ later in life, and this was the first novel she wrote after that. Much of the above made me want to avoid reading this book. I generally shun romance as I find so much of it unrealistic and sappy, and I often find what passes for "inspirational" writing to be preachy and condescending. Rivers' novel features wonderful characters in a plot so gripping I could not put it down. Although the story is deeply satisfying in itself, the way the lovers, Sarah and Michael, grow personally, in their love for God and for each other, opened my heart to spiritual and emotional growth, too. All who walk the path of Christ, regardless of denomination, will welcome the messages revealed in Redeeming Love. Thank you, Francine Rivers! I look forward to reading more of your books. Thank you, Cheryl, for recommending a great read!
And now, readers, I urge you: do yourself a favor.

Happy Pogonip!

Pogonip, as I understand it, isn't really a happy thing. It's a special form of dense fog that contains needle-like crystals of ice. To go out in it spells doom because one risks being lost in the fog and freezing to death. Even more deadly is breathing in the fog, for the ice crystals wreak havoc on the lungs. Hence, the Farmer's Almanac periodic warning: Beware the Pogonip!
What I woke up to this morning is probably hoarfrost. I think that's an ugly word for something so beautiful. Sometimes I say rime instead, but that reminds me of an ancient mariner. So I say pogonip. Technically incorrect, but a fun word to say.
It was foggy and cold and ice crystals formed on the trees. Before daylight, the fog dissipated. I'll have to drive to work soon and will be unable to take a photo of the truly glorious sight of crystal-cloaked trees on fire with the sun. Alas! Photos by JulenaJo.

Winter Hike 2: Ash Cave Moustache

Another weekend, another winter hike. This one was in Hocking County, where Gourdo is originally from. Due to the severe cold (and my unwillingness to climb cliffs anymore), I told my family I'd accompany them, but only if they went on a very short hike, not the entire six-mile jaunt.
We drove to Ash Cave, which is where the annual, organized winter hike ends. It's a short, flat hike, and you get to see a spectacular frozen waterfall. Although I was impressed by the ice formations, it's my understanding that some years there is a column of ice from the top of Ash Cave to the bottom. Amazing.
Also amazing was the "moustache-cicle" sported by one hearty hiker. I saw many hikers with moustaches or beards, but only one with a moustache-cicle. I was too polite to take a picture, and, truth be told, it rather repulsed me. When we caught up with another relative later in the day and shared our impressions of the hike, he said, "Man, you should have seen the frozen moustache on this one dude!" And we all knew he was talking about the same moustache. The more he described it, the more certain we were. On a hike where everyone looked like everyone else--parka, scarf, hat & eyes--and you had to look twice to make sure you were talking to your own kid or spouse, it is no mean feat to stand out from the crowd. The icicled hiker certainly earned his "15 minutes of fame" this weekend as the hundreds of hikers who encountered him will all remember seeing him. That's how impressive I believe it was.
Sorry. It's kind of gross. I hope the beautiful photos I did take make up for the icky image I've painted with my words.

A Lark Under the Snow

Minus fourteen.
Fourteen
Below
Zero.
That's how cold it is here tonight. That doesn't even account for windchill, which makes it even more deadly.
Driving home tonight I noticed how snakes of crystalline snow seemed to loop and coil across the road, illuminated in the headlights of the car. The flocks of horned larks and snow buntings that I'd seen all week gathered in flocks beside the roads, eating grit from the snowplows, were gone tonight. No doubt they had settled in a field somewhere under an insulating blanket of snow, gathered in a tight knot for warmth. There were few cars out. Some wouldn't start. Others started, but took an impossibly long time to warm up. Roads were encrusted in crunchy snow, and underneath that was hard, glassy ice.
I'm glad to be home for the night. I'll just pile on the blankets and the Roxy and settle down for this bitter night like a lark under the snow.

What Madness?

Much of Ohio is under a winter weather advisory, and here we are expecting 2-4 inches of snow, single digit temperatures and I believe the wind is supposed to kick in later. It's not pretty--see how dark the photo is above? It was taken this morning well after daybreak!
To my mind this winter weather is gloomy and vaguely threatening. I just saw my daughter drive off to the classes she takes at the university branch campus. She was apprehensive about driving in this, as am I, but soon I will get in my little car and head off to the Library. People must have something to read in weather like this, after all.
Sometimes people remind me of ants. When I was a child I used to lay on my belly in the grass and study the mad scurry of ants in their relentless search for food. I think of this image quite often as I follow the flow of traffic to town for work and shopping. Unlike ants, however, our busyness continues even in the snow. What madness is this?
The thought that cheers me along is the knowing that, at the end of the day, there will be a steaming bowl of chili to eat, warm slippers for my feet, and a good novel to spirit me off to a faraway place and time. Gloom Photo by JulenaJo.

Beautiful Day for a Walk

I'd been looking forward to a Saturday sleep-in, truth be told. Gourdo, aka the Gourd King and my husband, had other ideas. Today there was a winter hike scheduled along the Miami Erie Canal towpath, and he had volunteered to help. Did I want to accompany him?
What I heard from the little voice in my head: "What, are you kidding? Have you lost your MIND? Leave me alone, for pity's sake. It's raining ice, man!"
What I heard coming out of my mouth: "Sure. I'll go!"
Argh!
This exchange took place at 7:30 a.m. during an ice storm. Can you believe it? Nevertheless, I was committed to the long haul, and off we went. At first, I thought we'd be set up serving hot chocolate, coffee, yogurt and granola bars at the starting point of the hike, but that station was covered. Then I thought I'd be encamped at the Miami Erie Canal Corridor Authority (www.meccainc.org) center in case visitors showed up. Just as I was settling down at the center wishing I'd brought a good book or my knitting along, Gourdo called from the trailhead asking, "Do you want to hike?" Again, there played the dissonance between mind and mouth, and before I knew it we were crunching along an icy towpath.
Ohio was divided in thirds by two canals hand-dug in the early 1800s. The Ohio and Erie Canal is on the eastern part of the state and the Miami and Erie Canal runs though the western part, where I live. At the time, the canals opened up not only the state but the heart of the settled nation for commerce by linking Lake Erie and the Ohio River.
Though canals were quickly put out of business by more efficient railroads, many of the communities that sprang up along the canals seem reluctant to let them go--and for good reason. The towpaths offer excellent hiking, and in this neck of the woods, it coincides with the Buckeye Trail, a hiking loop through the entire state (www.buckeyetrail.org). Feeder ponds and Grand Lake, a vast manmade reservoir created to provide canal water, now provide sporting types with great fishing and boating. Wildlife enthusiasts may be rewarded with sightings of abundant birds, including bald eagles, great blue herons and ducks. Small mammals abound, as well as the occasional deer or coyote. In addition, the canal and its locks are historical treasures.
Today our historical treasure was covered in ice, though. Sleet pelted us as we hiked a short 2-mile section of the towpath, encrusting and thoroughly drenching my cheap parka. In spite of the elements, we encountered several intrepid hikers, and they all (I am not even kidding) greeted us with, "Beautiful day for a walk, isn't it?" I couldn't tell if they were being sarcastic or not, so I just agreed with them.
Due to the sleet, I kept my head down for the hike. There were lots of rabbit tracks along the trail. We saw big flocks of Canada geese. The prettiest things were the icy teasel heads and wild rose hips that grew in swaths on each side of the trail. Although I feel like my thighs might never thaw, I'm glad I went. It really was a beautiful day for a walk. Winter Walk photos by Gourdo.

Rosy Resources

My annual excursion to the Columbus Rose Festival (June 13 & 14 this year) is one of the ways I decide which roses to grow in my own garden. Although the Whetstone Park of Roses is more sheltered than my own windswept property, there I see roses that are reasonably hardy and get an idea of their general appearance. I decided to try Fourth of July, pictured above, after discovering it at the festival one year.
Fourth of July was an All-America Rose Selection in 1999, the first time a climbing rose garnered the award in 23 years. You won't wonder why when you see a row of trellises covered with them at the festival. The sight dazzles the senses: firecracker blossoms in sprays from top to bottom of the 8-foot canes, healthy green foliage, and sweet rose fragrance, too.
If you're looking for an excellent resource to assist in choosing roses for your garden, check out the All-America Rose Selections web site, www.rose.org. Make an early summer visit to the nearest public rose garden, too. There's no more heavenly sight than a park filled with hundreds of roses in bloom. Fourth of July rose photo by JulenaJo.

Addendum: After my husband, the Gourd King, read the above post he informed me that the Columbus Rose Festival may be canceled this year due to lack of funds. Apparently, an article in the Columbus Dispatch said the festival lost money every year. If that's so, I can understand why they have to end it. If the city can't keep the garden going, however, it would be a great loss to gardeners and rosarians all over the state. It's just another indication of the miserable condition of our economy right now--the Gourd King's company is laying off workers, and the Library is faced with a budget cut, too. We see no end in sight, and it's alarming.

Aliens and Angel's Wings

Work, even when you love it, is sometimes just work. On days like that it's best to remember things that made you laugh.
We used to have a poster in the children's area with a cartoon UFO and alien on it. One day a gentleman came up to me at the circulation desk and complained, "Hey! The eyes aren't right on that alien! Go take a look!"
I have to confess, I looked, but I'm not really sure what an alien's eyes are supposed to look like. I still wonder how HE knew!
A local festival takes place in the city parking lot right outside the library doors every summer. There are all the usual rides and games, and a lot of the workers from the festival use the library. One morning during the festival, a ragged little boy came running up to me at the circulation desk: "Are carney kids allowed in here?" Yep. Carney kids are allowed. And aliens, too--see the picture?
It's a sad sign of the times that a surprising number of children filling out an application--these are children old enough to fill out the card themselves, mind you, not preschoolers--have to ask a parent or stepparent for their current address and phone number. No doubt this is due to blended families and an increasingly mobile society. But we had one middle aged man who didn't know his name. Now that was a problem. Come to think of it, this was the same fellow who thought the alien's eyes looked funny.
I am the shortest person on the staff and find shelving a challenge sometimes. One day I was grousing to a coworker as I struggled to place books on the higher shelves, "Shelving is going to be the death of me." Suddenly, a book fell from the top shelf and bounced off my head, as though cued by my words.
Oddly, it was The Book of Heaven (Zaleski & Zaleski). At least I know where I'm going.
Back when fax was new, a woman timidly asked if we could fax a document for her. We said yes and ran her paper through the fax machine. "What a miracle!" she exclaimed as the process was explained to her. She happily offered a prayer over the fax machine. I think that particular fax was not delivered via the telephone line, but by angel's wings.
And speaking of the biblical, a man came into the library and asked me if we had laminating service. I replied that we didn't and suggested a local print shop that did. He said, "Ah, ok. Do you know how much they charge for lamentations?"
Sometimes the work is just work. And other times...well, it flies on angel's wings.

Auld Acquaintance: Belle Story

One of my all-time favorite roses is Belle Story.
I grew her in my previous garden and hope to have her blooming in my garden again soon--perhaps even this spring. I feel I've been without her far too long.
Some roses are more fragrant. Madame Hardy perfumes a couple of acres when she is her glory--but she blooms madly, passionately only for a couple of weeks each spring and then she is spent for the year. Others bloom more heavily, bearing great bowers of blossoms that completely hide the foliage. Belle Story does neither of those. Her blooms are borne singly or in small clusters of three or so--each unassumingly presented for admiration. She earns her place in my affection for her loveliness. Her blossoms are exquisite open cups of clear pink petals with stunning knots of gold stamens at the heart. They are, in a word, perfection. The foliage is healthy and the size of the shrub is reasonable, about 4'x4'. Belle Story is hardy in my northwest Ohio garden, USDA Zone 5.
I never coddled her or fussed over her, and she bloomed repeatedly, providing a steady supply of sweetly fragrant flowers from spring to fall. Her sister, The Herbalist, another Austin favorite of mine, bloomed beside her, and the two of them kept me in delicious bouquets all summer.
Why did I ever let them go? We razed an old farmhouse to build a new one on our property and the entire yard was torn up. There was no practical way to save old landscaping. We were fortunate enough to keep the few trees dotting our property.
I think now that everything is settled--after all, it's been six years or so--it's time to bring these dear "auld acquaintances" back into my garden once again. Belle Story photo by JulenaJo.
~~~~~
"Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind ?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o' lang syne ?"
~~~~~

Planning the Possibilities

Thoughts on January first seem to play about on all the possible ways to make the upcoming year more fulfilling than previous years. As a gardener, this means planning what to grow come spring. An idea I've been toying with is growing cut flowers and herbs for the local farmer's market that takes place every summer Saturday morning in our little community. To that end I've been compiling lists of flowers excellent for cutting and herbs that I think people might like to buy fresh. If I continue with my knitting and tatting, I'll offer the results of those handicrafts for sale, too, and my husband, the Gourd King, has dried gourds to sell. 2009 looks like a year where the economy necessitates earning whatever extra income one can, and what more fulfilling way to do so than gardening and handwork?
So far my list of cut flower seeds to buy includes (in no order): sunflowers, larkspur, cosmos, globe flower, daisies of all kinds, snapdragons, zinnias, strawflower, love-in-a-mist, baby's breath, and statice. Herbs I'm thinking of including are: lavender, blue balsam mint, basil, chives, cilantro, dill, fennel, rosemary, sage, tarragon and parsley. Just typing those lists fills me with happiness and eager anticipation of the 2009 growing season.
One of the daisies I know I'll be growing this year is shown above, a blue-eyed daisy, arctotis grandis. I'm not sure I can harvest and sell them as cut flowers as the blossoms close at night, but aren't they lovely? The reverse of the silvery white petals is pale blue and the foliage resembles dusty miller. I saved the seeds from last summer's plants so I can grow even more of them this year--even if I can't sell them. Some things a gardener just grows for the pure love and joy of it, you know? Just thinking of these beauties makes me smile. I can't wait for spring! Arctotis Grandis photo by JulenaJo.

Handknit Gift: A Good Thing

Knitted dishcloths!
That's what I gave everyone this year. I wanted to share photos of them ages ago, but had to wait until after the presents had been given out so as not to spoil the surprise.
I came up with the idea because two years ago our library director learned to knit and presented everyone on the staff with all-cotton, hand-knitted dishcloths. I thought my dishcloth was too pretty to use at first, but once I did I was hooked. It was easy on the hands, tough on dirty dishes, and the perfect size. I preferred it over all my other dishcloths. Consequently, I completely wore it out!
Back in the fall I mentioned the dishcloth to my boss, telling her how much I loved it, in hopes that she'd take the hint and make new ones for us all this Christmas. Instead she helpfully offered to look for the patterns she used. Well, that backfired, didn't it? I had to learn to knit and make my own. While I was at it, I decided to knit them for my mom, sister and aunt.
I feel good about giving a personal, pretty, and practical gift. The best part for me, though, is that the entire time spent making a dishcloth my heart is focused affectionately on the intended recipient. And that, as Martha would say, is a good thing. Dishcloth photo by JulenaJo.

Merry Christmas

May your travels be safe, your heart and home full of light and good cheer. Merry Christmas! Vintage postcard.

Nice Ice?

Santa brought me a present: a new camera (Canon Powershot A590). Thank you, Santa!
I'd been taking pictures with my cell phone or eschewing photos altogether ever since my beloved Nikon froze up on me. I'm not much of a photographer, but digital cameras are so easy. An ice storm last night gave me time (the Library was closed till noon) and opportunity to try out the new camera. Ice shots from the garden. Nice. Ice photos by JulenaJo.

The Ages Impearled

I love old books of poetry. The wording is so flowery, so interesting and unusual. In this, a lovely Christmas verse from my latest "find," An American Anthology, 1787-1900, Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed., we find the "ages impearled" by the light of the Christmas star. What a vision! I've never heard this poem before, but apparently it's a seasonal folk song. Enjoy.

A Christmas Carol
by Josiah Gilbert Holland

There's a song in the air! There's a star in the sky!
There's a mother's deep prayer and a baby's low cry!
And the star rains its fire while the beautiful sing,
For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a King!

There's a tumult of joy o'er the wonderful birth,
For the virgin's sweet Boy is the Lord of the earth.
Ay! the star rains its fire while the beautiful sing,
For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a King!

In the light of that star lie the ages impearled;
And that song from afar has swept over the world.
Every hearth is aflame, and the beautiful sing
In the homes of the nations that Jesus is King!

We rejoice in the light, and we echo the song
That comes down through the night from the heavenly throng.
Ay! we shout to the lovely evangel they bring,
And we greet in His cradle our Savior and King!

Artwork: Albrecht Dürer
The Nativity, probably c. 1509/1510
Rosenwald Collection

Christmas Memories

These are my most vivid Christmas memories:
My father's parents had an aluminum tree with the revolving fan light that made it change color. They lived next door to us, and on Christmas Eve, when grandma turned on the tree light, we knew it was time to go visit. The cousins and I got to drink Cokes from little glass bottles.
Mass at St. Augustine's. The full choir sang Christmas songs and the organ thundered so it felt like Heaven opening up. The music was so loud I was half afraid, and totally in awe, and I always thought, "This is surely how the shepherds must have felt when the angels proclaimed the good news."
The family Christmas at my mother's parents' meant the door to the formal living room would be opened up. The room was always cool and pale and beautiful--and strictly off limits to my cousins and me every other day of the year. A white tree glistened in front of the big picture window and the huge dining table where the adults would eat was set in sparkling Fostoria ware. There were dishes of ribbon candy and divinity that looked too pretty to touch, but no one ever told us to leave them alone.
My siblings and I went around in the weeks leading up to Christmas with our eyes trained to the sky hoping to see Rudolf. We knew Santa was secretly watching our every move, and we knew we were regularly naughtier than nice. But still, somehow, we knew that Santa loved us and was all-forgiving. The proof was in the presents, and none of us ever got the parentally threatened lump of coal--even though I was pretty sure one or the other of us deserved it some years.
The strain of a carol, the twinkle of a light, and it all comes rushing back. Thanks for all the Christmases past; thanks, too, for Christmases to come.

Open to Suggestions...

I've been grouchier than usual lately. All kinds of excuses for it come to mind. Seasonal Affective Disorder is definitely topping the list, but there are more. Holiday stress, menopause, an inherited tendency to depression, and poor coping skills are all factors. Yes, I admit to the latter. I'm not so good at coping with daily stresses. Snapping at people and overeating are my modus operandi. If a half dozen Christmas cookies taken orally twice a day could cure depression, I'd be healed!
For years I battled depression medically, using Prozac, Zoloft and the like. Then we had an insurance changeup, and I realized I might not have drug coverage in the future. I asked the pharmacist how much my prescription would cost me without insurance copay and was horrified at the response--over $400 a month. I tried quitting cold turkey at that time. Dear Readers, do NOT do this!
I suffered extreme dizziness, nausea, and whacked out thoughts. I thought I was dying. It took me a while before I realized I was experiencing withdrawal! How silly of me! I thought withdrawal only happened to junkies. Well, guess what?
I went back on the meds and started anew to wean myself gradually. It took weeks of tapering the dose and adjusting to each new, lower level before I was completely free. There were occasional dizzy spells even doing it that way. These are some powerful chemicals at work in the brain.
I found that symptoms of menopause are masked by using antidepressants. I never had a hot flash, mood swing or sleepless night. I do now. I also realize now that I did nothing in the way of learning new coping skills while I was medicated. So basically, it prevented me from growing and maturing.
This is the first winter and Christmas season in years that I have been med-free. I know I may require some medical assistance to regulate my brain chemistry in the future, but for now I'm not experiencing the crippling depression that sent me to the doctor in the first place. I'm functional and up to living. I'm able to work, and I'm knitting and writing to keep myself going. But this morning I snapped at my husband for no reason, and even to my own ears I sounded like a petulant, spoiled child. I'm not looking for perfection here, but at least some semblance of self control. I'm open to any and all suggestions for cultivating patience and coping with stress, but I am thinking that Nike might have the real answer to this (and so many other things in life, too): Just do it.

Owl Moon

Recent nights have been clear, sharp, and cold. The frozen grass crunches underfoot and sparkles in the light of the full moon. When I take the dogs out for their 11 PM potty break I hear a Great Horned Owl hooting in the woods. My little dog, Roxy, who is far cuter than she is intelligent, barks like a ninny at the owl, completely derailed from her business. How can any creature get THAT distracted? It's amazing to me. You'd think as soon as that cold air hits her...but no.
Anyway, according to my guide books, the Great Horned Owl is one of the earliest birds to incubate eggs, doing so as early as late January. No wonder he's out there every night announcing his presence--he's seeking a mate. Good luck, Mr. Owl!
Recommended book: Owl Moon by Jane Yolen. Yes, it's a children's book. Read it anyway. It will take you all of ten minutes and you'll love it.
Goodnight!

Beautiful Snow

I have had little time to write, so I instead share a couple of stanzas of a poem written by another. It's appropriate, though. I hope you love it as I do.

BEAUTIFUL SNOW

by John Whitaker Watson
from Beautiful Snow And Other Poems (Philadelphia, 1869)

O the snow, the beautiful snow,
Filling the sky and the earth below!
Over the house-tops, over the street,
Over the heads of the people you meet,
Dancing, Flirting, Skimming along. Beautiful snow! it can do nothing wrong.
Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek;
Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak;
Beautiful snow, from the heavens above,
Pure as an angel and fickle as love!

O the snow, the beautiful snow!
How the flakes gather and laugh as they go!
Whirling about in its maddening fun,
It plays in its glee with every one.
Chasing, Laughing, Hurrying by, It lights up the face and it sparkles the eye;
And even the dogs, with a bark and a bound,
Snap at the crystals that eddy around.
The town is alive, and its heart in a glow,
To welcome the coming of beautiful snow.

Christmas Rose

Of course there are roses on our Christmas tree. These paper mache hearts are old-fashioned and sweet, aren't they? I love that they bring me roses in December.
The Christmas trees in the women's magazines every year are so gorgeous. Works of art, really. "Southern pine swathed in billowing gold chiffon, magnolia blossoms, and cut crystal icicles," or "fragrant balsam boughs bedecked with vintage mercury glass orbs of silver and gold." They remind me of women in elegant ball gowns, and a tree like that would be as out of place in my house as the designer gown. Our tree bobbles with little gourd Santas, grown by my husband and painted by his mother. A handful of ornaments made by the kids when they were in elementary school dust the boughs with glitter. There's a tiny stuffed rabbit, a pair of wax Santas, and crocheted angels and stars--each with a loved one and a story behind it. To hang any one of these ornaments on a House Beautiful Christmas tree would be like pinning a macaroni brooch on a Vera Wang.
So I'll flip through the books and magazines again this year, and I'll ooh and ahh over the pretty trees. But there's no more meaningful Christmas tree than the one set up here in my own living room. Christmas Heart photo by JulenaJo.

Penguins and Polar Bears Welcome

Sometimes we don't have snow until Christmas or later. Not this year. When I got out of the Library tonight at 8 PM the snow was shooting needles out of the west. One side of the car was frozen. Global warming? The penguins and polar bears can come to Ohio. There's no global warming here. Fortunately, little Roxy, our yorkie-lhasa apso mix, is a great footwarmer. An extra blanket and Roxy. Who needs more? Roxy photo by JulenaJo.

Round Two

I view Thanksgiving as Round 1 in the holiday battle. The rounds continue until January 1.
We are still in the fight, having survived Round 1.
Actually, I'm lucky in that my husband does so much of the cooking, cleaning, shopping and other holiday preparations. In fact, if it weren't for him, the holidays would pass us by without my paying them any notice. He loves all the holidays, but especially Christmas.
My husband's ideal of Christmas does not feature an artificial tree, but this year we have one. We could no longer justify spending so much each year for an item that we'd throw away in two weeks, so when he spotted an artificial tree on sale last February for less than half the cost of a fresh cut tree, he snapped it up.
He put it up this weekend, and we both like it. No muss, no fuss. One of the first ornaments on the tree was the calico cat I gave him for Christmas when we were dating, followed by the ornaments we've added to our collection every year, including a few homemade ones.
The tree looks so real it's amazing. As for that lovely aroma of a real tree? The power of the mind is so strong (or is it weak?) that when I look at it, I swear I smell pine.
Suggestible? Yes, no doubt.
Happy? You bet!
Let Round Two begin! Calico Cat photo by JulenaJo.

Discerning Our Place

The planetary alignment of Venus and Jupiter was breath-taking tonight, and I understand the crescent moon is supposed to make a show in the next evening or so, making it even more beautiful and unusual. Do try to catch a glimpse. Here's a link that explains what's happening: http://www.skyandtelescope.com/observing/home/35217944.html
I'm no astronomer: I know three constellations: Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, and Orion. I know the moon, the sun, and the occasional planet--with the help of a source like the newspaper or Internet to tell me what I'm seeing in the case of the planet.
There is some primal pull to the sky, though, isn't there?
It's like gazing into the eyes of God, trying to read His expression there. We look to the heavens for clues to the past and to the future. And, somehow, as we study the sky, we hope to discern our place in the universe. Is it any wonder the ancients worshipped the sun? Even today we talk of raising our prayers to God in heaven above. The logic of my adult mind argues that heaven cannot be in the sky, with angels gliding about on clouds of gold, but my childlike faith insists that it is. So I pray, turning my eyes to the sky--even as the ancients did, and I feel that God is listening when the planets align in some glorious way. It may be childlike, but that sense of wonder fills me with joy. Evening Sky photo by JulenaJo.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I'm most thankful for family, friends and health. And for all of you who read my words here. Thank you!

Rugged Rugosas

In June my sister-in-law happened to visit us and said that she wanted to put roses in her garden. She didn't want fussy things. Only roses that could thrive on neglect. Did I have any recommendations?
Did I indeed! Rugosas!
I have just two in my garden: Wildberry Breeze, shown above, and Blanc Double de Coubert. I plucked a startling white blossom and handed it to her. I instructed her to sample the fragrance. "I want this!" she said.
Well, of course she did. Who wouldn't? The rich damask fragrance of Blanc Double de Coubert is heavenly. And the rose blooms all summer on a tough plant that thrives on neglect. In fact, the only thing you can do to harm a rugosa rose is to spray it. I've seen rugosas defoliated by well-meant, but damaging sprays.
Wildberry Breeze, strongly perfumed of cloves and rose, was my first rugosa. Look at her photo above. See the deeply veined leaves? Rugose means wrinkled, and that's how this class of roses earned its name. The tough, leathery leaves are impervious to disease, and insects leave them largely alone. In autumn, the foliage turns yellow, adding interest to the garden after the flowers have faded. In addition, there are large, orangey-red rose hips on the shrub--rich in Vitamin C if you care to make a terribly tart tea from them. I don't. I leave them for the birds.
The rose suckers, sending shoots out all around the base of the parent. This is a good thing or bad, depending on what you want in your garden. I don't mind it, as it means free plants. If they meander where I don't want I dig the suckers out.
One note of warning, however. You'll want heavy gloves for any deadheading or digging of suckers: the rugosas are well-armed with dense prickles over every inch of their thick canes.
I think my sister-in-law was sold. I expect she'll have rugosa roses in her garden come spring. Perhaps I'll add another one or two to my own plot, as well. My December garden work will involve scouring garden catalogs for "wrinkled roses." It's a task I eagerly anticipate. Wildberry Breeze photo by JulenaJo.

Rings of Love

Today was well spent. I took a break from my obsessive knitting to teach my mother to tat.
Mom started tatting lessons at the library this fall, but she is always so busy that she missed several of the lessons.
She called me: "I'm making rings all over the place. Rings, rings, rings. Now what?"
So today we learned chains and joins. I expect the next call for a lesson will be when she runs out of thread on her shuttle.
There was a lot of laughter and goofing around, but mom is a dedicated and determined student, so I know she'll do great. I tatted rings and chains with her, but of course my work went faster than hers. So while I waited for her to complete each section, I studied her face, unbeknownst to her.
She reminded me so much of grandma, that it took my breath away. Just the way she held her lips as she concentrated on her handiwork. Her mannerisms are similar, yet uniquely her own. But I heard grandma coming through in all the laughter and the fun mom takes in the simplest things. "Oh, what the heck did I do now?" mom laughed when she tangled her ball thread in her ring. It was just the way grandma would have said it.
My grandmother has been gone for 16 years but it seems like yesterday sometimes. She was my best friend and I loved her dearly. The missing her never really goes away altogether. She was an exceptional woman, whose name comes up in family conversations very often. My mom is much like her, and I hope that someday I am, too.
Suddenly an aching love for my mom and my grandmother pierces my heart. It takes the breath away. Yes, today was indeed well spent. Rings and chains photo by JulenaJo.

Knitwitted

Knitting has become my new obsession. I do not know why, nor what I expect to accomplish by it, only that, for the time being, I must knit. I should be making at least a pass at housework. I should be tatting or painting. I should curl up with one of the library books that follow me home from work like stray puppies.
I should be doing so many other things. Things that have meaning, purpose. But, no, I knit. See the results of my obsession? Will it be a scarf? I love scarves and have quite a collection of them. This will have to take its place in my collection as the ugliest. The colors are fine: muted autumnal shades from gold to russet through various shades of green and back to gold. The yarn is a simple acrylic worsted. That's fine, too, plenty soft enough and washable--very practical. But it took many rows before I figured out the whole knit, purl technique. And now I'm doing knit 2, purl 2 over and over. Before long, I'll be breaking out in cables. It will be a sampler scarf, evolving in design as I learn new techniques. It will be ugly, but warm as any others I own. It will have many flaws and flubs, no doubt, but no one will wonder where I got it. They will take one look and know I made it myself. You know what? Many people will say, with a hint of envy in their voice, "I wish I could knit," when they see me wearing it. Then I'll get that great feeling inside that one only gets when one does something creative and wonderful. And maybe that's why I'm so knitwitted these days. Knitpurl photo by JulenaJo.

The Fifth Season & Survival Pie

We're in our longest season here in Ohio. You have Summer which is 2 weeks hovering near 100 degrees and humid. Fall--the week the leaves change color and drop--very crisp, clear blue sky. Winter is the week or so where it's so cold if you spit it freezes before it hits the ground, but you don't dare spit because the wind will whip that ice bullet right back into your face and inflict serious damage. Spring is a wet sneeze between winter and summer.
Our fifth season is the approximately 11-month-long season called "Gray." We're in it now. It's windy. Might have wet snow with little or no accumulation or maybe rain. Or maybe just a bonechilling, pervasive damp.
Because my ancestors lived here in Ohio for many generations, my people have adapted survival techniques. The number one technique is baking. You bake lots of cookies, pies and cakes, and then you eat them. The number two survival technique probably is tied with number two: Open and pour the alcoholic beverage of choice, and sip till the chill is off. Both techniques are followed by a nap. It's survival mode that's making me fat! Oh, and I'll have my survival a la mode, thank you.

SURVIVAL PIE (OATMEAL PIE)
Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

9 inch unbaked pie crust

4 eggs
1 cup sugar
3 Tbs. flour
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/4 tsp. salt

Beat eggs till frothy; combine sugar, flour, cinnamon and salt and add to beaten eggs. Mix well.

Combine:
1 cup light corn syrup
1 Tbs. melted butter
Dash vanilla
1 cup quick oats

Add oat mixture to egg mixture and blend well. Pour into pie crust and bake on upper rack of oven at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 45 minutes or until done.
Tastes similar to pecan pie, but more economical.

Addendum: I just realized that my blog title "Fifth Season" is a pun. Ha! Survival of the fifth season requires a fifth of your favorite beverage!
Addendum #2: The word "fifth" looks funny after you type it a while.

Rambling Jo

This was a busy day, full of good things. First and foremost: rain. We've had 24 hours of soft, drizzly rain. I can't remember the last time it rained. It's been extremely dry here all summer and fall. I'm glad to know the new roses (I did finally plant them) are being settled in with some moisture before the ground freezes. Watering with a garden hose just isn't the same.
Then I spent a busier than usual 8 hours at the library. I create our quarterly newsletter and am on deadline, so there is a lot of extra work right now. It's nearly complete, thank heavens.
As I was clocking out at work, I noticed 2 crafty ladies (Sarah and Cheryl) waiting for me. They were there to teach me to knit.We went to a cozy corner of the library and settled down with yarn and knitting needles. An hour and a half later I had about an inch of what will be a new neck scarf in a flecked oatmeal worsted.
Knit. Purl. Is it this way or that way? Now what did I do here? Oops! The needle fell out of the row of stitches! Help!
They told me I'm a natural. How kind is that?
Cheryl was attempting a new technique, too, and after our session, she gave me the skein of hot pink yarn and round needles she was using, as well as a ball of tatting thread in my favorite color, a lovely peachy coral. What a sweetie!
My cell phone buzzed as we were finishing up our knitting lesson, and it was my 15-year-old daughter, wanting me to help out with the horses. She cleans stalls at the farm where her horse is boarded, and it helps her out time-wise if I clean her horse's stall while she finishes up her work. It gives me a little exercise and a chance to be with my daughter and the horses, so I don't mind.
We ran to the store after the stable to pick up just a few things. Then home to a hasty, late supper. Check the e-mail. Jot my thoughts here.
It's off to bed with me now, though. I just read what I wrote: what a ramble.
Good night!

The Tall and the Short of It

Remember the children's book, "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day" by Judith Viorst? Well, for the most part, that's how my yesterday was. So when my husband went to work today he said, "I hope your day goes better than yesterday!" Bad omen.
I stumbled out of bed and into the shower. I lathered my hair with shampoo and the shower head popped off and hit the wall behind me. Oh, it didn't hit me. No, no, no. I am WAY too short for that! Never fear!
My husband is over a foot taller than me, and he built our house. The shower was installed by a tall person, for a tall person. I always have to adjust the shower head in the morning as he has it aimed to hit his chest, thereby clearing the top of my head by an inch or so. And another thing: we have no water pressure--or so I thought until the shower head went zinging by. Without the shower head to diffuse the pressure there was plenty. Only thing was, it was all hitting the shower wall over my head and I had no way to divert it down! After many little leaps and attempts to direct water downward using the palms of my hands as deflectors, I managed to get adequately rinsed. It wasn't ladylike. It wasn't graceful. But it was resourceful.
BTW, I did supervise the hanging of the kitchen cabinets, the bathroom mirrors, and the coat hooks in the mud room. If I hadn't, he'd have installed them so high I'd need a little stool to get a coffee cup out of the cupboard, or to comb my hair, or to hang up my coat. I must have been out running an errand the day he installed the showers.
Anyway, the day did improve after the shower mishap. I wonder what adventures tomorrow will bring?

A Tisket, A Tasket...A Box Full of Workbasket

A package awaited me when I came home from work today. At first glance, I thought perhaps I'd been sent books from the Quality Paperback Book Club. Sometimes I forget to respond to their monthly mailings so they send me books that I don't really want. The kind of day I had, I really wouldn't have been surprised.
Upon closer inspection, I saw that it was from a long-time friend of mine who's moved several states away. I couldn't imagine what she might have sent me.
Inside were about two dozen old Workbasket magazines. Wow! Jackpot!
She knew I'd learned to tat, saw these in a library sale room, and thought I might like them. Can you imagine? I've been scouting flea markets and second-hand book stores for these. It's the tatting pattern payload! The crafter's treasure chest!
Even more valuable to me than the box of old magazines is my friend. Thank you, dear friend! You can't imagine what a day-brightener your thoughtful gesture was to me. Thank you!

Apple to Zelkova

This year our old apple tree produced a bumper crop. As you can see from the apple in my hand, it's an odd-looking fruit--nothing at all like the apples in the market. We never spray the tree, so they are wormy and bumpy, but if you want to eat just half a crisp, delicious apple and take in absolutely no pesticides, this is the one for you. These apples need a long time to ripen and were too sour and green to eat until recently. They are delicious now that it's November. Does anyone have any idea what variety it might be? The tree was one of only a couple of trees that were our property when we came here.
We have planted a veritable alphabet of trees & shrubs in our yard since moving here 16 years ago. Here is the list, to date:
Apple (3 varieties), Arborvitae (2 varieties)
Buckeye, Buckthorn, Burr Oak
Caryopteris (blue mist shrub), Cedar, Cherry (Nanking shrub), Crabapple
Dogwood
Elderberry ('Black Lace' Sambucus)
F
Ginkgo
Hawthorn, Hemlock
I
Juniper, Japanese maple
K
Lacebark Pine
Maples (Silver, Sugar)
Nanking Cherry
Oak (Bur, Pin)
Pear (ornamental and Bartlett), Pine (White, Lacebark, mugho)
Q
Redbud (Forest Pansy), Redwood (New Dawn), Rose (several)
Spruce
Tuliptree
U
Viburnum
Washington Hawthorn
X,Y
Zelkova
Apple photo by JulenaJo.

Rose Ramblings

One winter day I bought a $5 bunch of flowers from the grocery store and enjoyed them for several days before they dropped their petals. This single rose far outlasted all the others, and defying the odds, opened into an enormous blossom. I just had to take a picture.
The $5 was well-spent, if you ask me, as I get so hungry for flowers, especially roses, in the winter. The temporary fix will never fully compensate for the lush reward of my own rose garden, however, because this gorgeous, florist-grown rose had absolutely no scent.
It's astounding to me that, in the course of developing roses for the florist trade, hybridizers went so exclusively for form over substance. In breeding for a perfect, high-centered bloom that lasts long in the vase, little thought was given to fragrance or disease-resistance.
Nowadays, we've seen a complete turnaround in rose hybridization. William Radler developed Knock Out roses, with foliage seemingly impervious to black spot. Black spot is probably the most dreaded rose affliction--and the reason many people consider roses too persnickety to grow. Not only does Knock Out rose foliage radiate healthy indifference to disease, but the flowers come on continuously from spring to frost. The only thing that would make it perfect is scent. It has precious little.
David Austin, probably the most famous rose hybridizer of recent history, has bred a whole new type of roses, the so-called "English roses." Austin's roses remind you of those that bloomed each spring on grandma's farm with their profusion of petals and heady perfume. Unlike grandma's roses, however, these roses bloom again and again all summer long. Thank you, David Austin!
Will the next generation of roses bring about a blending of Knock Out's disease resistance and bloom power, and Austin's form and fragrance? What a wonderful thought! Unnamed rose photo by JulenaJo.

FYI: Comments & Seize the day.

Two friends of mine complained recently about how challenging it is to comment on a post. I believe I have resolved that issue. All you have to do is click below the post where it says "0 comments" and type what you want to say in the box that opens. Of course, sometimes it doesn't say "0 comments;" sometimes it says "2 comments" or "1 comment." One time the comments got into the double digits, but it was some kind of spam. Weird. Spam just happens everywhere, doesn't it? If you're reading this and you've unsuccessfully tried to post a comment in the past, try it now and see what happens so I know if it works. Thanks!
Weather Note: It's going to rain and drop 30 degrees--tomorrow, I think. Seize the day!

Three Things

I have just spent the better part of an hour on the Official Website of Katie Melua, listening to excerpts from her albums. I discovered this jazz singer recently, when I watched the DVD Miss Potter. She sang the song that plays during the closing credits. I was so full of emotion after the movie that the song dang near moved me to tears. I had to hear more.
I was not disappointed. In fact, I was thrilled. I will be obtaining all of her CDs, I imagine. I'm one who prefers silence over music most of the time, so these soothing, silky, jazz vocals must really be something, eh? Go to her website and listen: www.katiemelua.com.
So these are three things I am wholeheartedly recommending:
1. Anything by Katie Melua, but try "Nine Million Bicycles" or "Thank You Stars." Both tracks are on her Piece by Piece CD. Listen a couple of times all the way through the CD and you'll be completely addicted.
2. Miss Potter. (Now available on DVD!) Based on the life of Beatrix Potter, this little movie is a charmer. I always loved her beautifully illustrated children's stories. Now I feel I know and love her, too.
My third recommendation is the novel I read while on my brief excursion to Tennessee (with apologies to all who've already heard my rave):
3. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows. I'd read the positive reviews at work, but the only part of those reviews that sunk in was the word "uplifting." The title led me to believe it was one of those sassy, man-bashing Southern novels that there seem to be so many of these days. You know the ones: the wise-cracking women hate men throughout the novel, but fall in love in the end. Insane! I clung to the word "uplifting" from the above-mentioned reviews and gave it a chance. It's NOT set in the American South. It's British! And it's historical. And it's wonderful.
Enough said. With apologies for the fuzzy book jacket photo by JulenaJo.

Psalms of Lace

See what the tatted beginning from the other day worked up into? This old-fashioned looking edging would be fantastic on clothing or a guest towel or any number of accessories. However, it isn't flying off the shuttle as quickly as I'd like. After a false start and beginning again, and hours of work--including some serious ripping out and re-doing--I don't have enough of it to adorn anything except maybe a small pocket. I believe my tatting teacher intends for it to appear in her new tatting book, so I won't divulge the pattern. (I know, that's a bummer.) As soon as her book is out I'll let you know where you can get it, though.
The shuttle flies, tying me to my past, creating for my future. Everything falls away except the rhythm of my hands. It feels like ritual, like prayer for those I love. Knots, like prayer beads, counted silently in my heart. Psalms of lace spill from my hands.
Tatted Edging photo by JulenaJo.

November View

This is the view if one looks south out over the back yard now that Farmer John has cut the corn behind our house. Actually, the trees have shed most of their leaves, so the scene is even more stark than when the picture was taken last week. But if one watches carefully throughout the winter there will be much to see. White-tailed deer will wander out of the woodlot to glean the cornfields. Red fox search for field mice. Occasionally, a northern harrier will tilt and careen low over the harvested fields. At night an owl may call from back in the woods. And, of course, there will be the hair-raising quarrels of coyotes and the excited chittering of raccoons. Oh, and the excited bay of hounds in pursuit of the latter on the nights when hunters turn out looking for them. All in all, there is very much to see and hear. One only has to remain vigilant. Photo by JulenaJo.