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.