Image this for a moment. You're travelling to a strange country. It's eerily similar to yours, except that they speak a different language. Some of your friends didn't like their journey, others encouraged you, and there were some who said they were happy there.
You've researched, and know what would be needed for the trip. Life's a adventure to be lived, isn't that right? Arriving there, it's hot, and dusty, and everyone else seems to know what they are doing except for you. Even the directions don't make sense. There's a lot of wandering around in circles, and you're feeling a bit lost. Just as you start to wonder if this is all been a mistake, you remembered a guide book someone had given you. Cracking it open, you skim the pages and begin to pick up a few phrases. Marveling that the street signs seem easier to read, and that things were beginning to make sense. That's how my journey to Word Press has been.
I've been on Blogger for almost 7 years. It's a great platform, and I encourage you to stay there if you're happy with it. This isn't a post about WP versus Blogger, that's a personal choice for each blogger to make. We need to stop telling each other what to do, go, stay, leave, look for something else. I've read that moving to Word Press is a learning curve. There's no doubt there.
I went in circles for much of the day, things looked familiar, and then they seemed to disappear, and pop up somewhere else. But I am figuring it out, bit by bit. And to be honest, I'm loving the process of learning something new to me. "It's not hard, it's just different." For this blogger different is good. I can hardly wait to show you what I am creating for The Light Laughed, it's still a little while off, but it's coming along nicely. Would you, do you, will you, consider moving? Never, maybe, hmmmm not sure, absolutely not? It's a journey, that's for sure.
You know when you've not been yourself, and you start to feel a bit better? So you are inspired to go and do something, and it feels so good to do anything at all, that you kind of over do it?
Even when the little voice inside of your head says… "don't do that, you're going to be sorry." And even though you know for certain that the next day you are going to pay for it, but you just don't care? Because the sun is shining, and there are honest to goodness green things coming up between the dead leaves. And that feathered bulge on the branch might even be a Robin singing it's heart out. You have to do something, and it's not gardening if you just wander around the yard is it? So you go and do what you are not supposed to be doing. Which is gardening.
But you lie to yourself, telling that inner voice,"I'm not raking, I'm just…planning." Yes planning the garden. That's what I am doing. Not planting. Nope, oh no not me…just moving this teeny tiny little plant a wee bit over. Because I'm planning.
The garden. With that you squish the teeny tiny voice in your head like a bug. And you tell it," I'm not bending, not me." "I'm…well, I'm squatting." "It's squats…millions of people do those all the time." "Some of them actually like it, and now I know why." You tell the squeaky little voice in your head,"I kind of like exercise, everything is going to be fine." And then you wake up the next morning. You can't move. And everything hurts, things you didn't know could hurt, do. Blame it on the squeaky little voice who should have known better, and the squats. Because YOU, weren't gardening. I'm going to wait until next week to unpack those boxes at www.thelightlaughed.com I haven't moved over there just yet. I still love being Jane@Muddy Boot Dreams, so for now I will be keeping my social media sites the way they are, and using the new name for the blog until things get organized.
The world is made up many different types of people. In my simplified version, there are Bloggers, and Non Bloggers. It's my blog, I can do that here. There's also a secondary group consisting of Background buddies… long suffering non blogging friends, and loved ones who get to know much more then they ever thought possible about the blogging world.
Gotta love anyone who can listen to a Blogger ramble on without their eyes glazing over after the first few minutes. I love mine, bless his non- blogging heart. While he doesn't quite understand the difference between Word Press, and Blogger, or why one over the other, he does try to be as supportive as possible. When I finally wander down to the TV where he is sitting in our matching recliners, sigh… bleary eyed, and half mind-edly still living in the blogging world, he always asks how it is going, sweetie that he is. Working behind the blog stuff doesn't interest him either, tweaking, sorting, and decisions about plugins, widgets, and themes are not something he finds interesting, but he's good at listening. For a little while at least…as soon as I see him nodding off, I change the subject.
As bloggers. It's ingrained in our lives. It's as much a part of how we see ourselves, as anything else in our makeup, we live and breathe blogging. It's our identity along with the myriad of other wonderful things that make us uniquely who we are. And we couldn't do it without the support of our background people. The ones who tell us it's all going to be fine, when no one else reads our posts. When something doesn't work right in our blog. The one's who offer to track down the person who left a mean comment on our blogs and give them a hey, that's not nice take that back kind of talking to.
Let's celebrate the background people, the ones who are"the situations we blog about, who make the funny comments we repeat on our blogs, and sometimes even become our slightly unwilling photography models." Where would we be as bloggers be without our background people? You rock our blogging worlds background people…you keep us blogging on! PS: Dedicated to my background guy, the one who will listen to my blogging post when I read it out to him, give me his honest opinion, and then not be offended when I ignore it and hit publish anyways. And never say"I told you so." I have another post coming up at the end of this week about blog hero's. The techy, and knowledgeable people who so happily give us advice, show us how, and help us out when we need it. Thank goodness they are all part of our blogging worlds. The WP move…for those of you that are interested. Going along smoothly, almost done, it's down to widgets, plugin's, and final tweaks. I'm still trying to fix a few things, and then we will be taking this baby for a test drive. It's pretty, and bright, with lots of white space, you all know just how visual I am. I'd like something clean, uncluttered, and easy for you to read. I want my new home to be a fresh, beautiful place, sparkling with laughing light.
I woke up this morning. Now that’s always a really good thing. Trust me. But I had a hangover, and I don’t drink. So that’s not a good thing.
I woke up at 4 am, and 4:30, and 5 am, and 5:30, and 6 am. You get the picture don’t you, my head hurts. They say it’s spring, I don’t believe them, except. The alarm clocks are well wound, and working fine.
First we have the Bootsie clock at 4 am. And every half hour or less after that it chirps, chimes, meows, pings, knocks stuff down off of the furniture, scratches on the door. Jumps on my head… We might need to upgrade to a quieter model. Say one that automatically puts itself in the garage at 4 am. Then the crows start, the cawing the complaining, the screaming, oh what neighbours they make, they have issues. We have to up the rent in those trees outside of our bedroom windows, to see if we can get better tenants. The furnace was on at night which means despite the time of year, it’s probably snowed, again. And the roaring noise and sparks was from the snowplough getting more overtime this season.
Phil the flirting pheasant was pecking at the shiny bumper on the truck, peck, peck, peck… he’s in territorial mode who’s that other handsome bird he sees… there are no photos, it was dark outside. The robins trill, that’s one alarm clock I love to hear… they can leave holes in the lawn everywhere, they make up for it by singing so beautifully. But then the eagles start in and everyone is tense… fly by breakfasts are only good when you are not on the menu. The doves start to coo, the owl stops hooting, the chickadees are complaining that I still haven’t cleaned out the bird house from the last rental tenant… but it’s cold outside, because it was spring, and then suddenly it wasn’t. But no one thought to tell the cat, or the birds. My head hurts… I’m going back to sleep, wake me when it’s really spring.
The longer you blog, the more you learn. The more you learn, the more you realize what you need to do in order to keep up. The more you do, the more you realize that there is so much more you don’t know. And this goes around in a vicious circle until you have blog burnout.
Follow any good blogging websites and the advice ranges from: do this, to do that, and never ever do that. Click on over to another site, and you will be told to do the exact opposite. About the only consistent advice might be: DO NOT USE WORD VERIFICATION. That’s great advice.
I like blogging advice, and I like tutorials, hints, and ideas on how to do things, I like social media… but that’s just me. You might have other things that appeal to you. That’s OK, we all don’t have to be the same kind of bloggers, remember that village I wrote about a while back? But there comes a time when we have to question if everything we are reading is important enough to us to follow through on, or should we just use our own judgement on certain things. How much free time do you have, and how much are you willing to spend blogging, and promoting your blog? And for what reason, monetary, growth, friendship? When did blogging become about learning SEO, key words, transparency and social media, and less then connecting with your community?
There are some experts out there that will tell you to make sure to hit all of the social media sites to promote your new post, Google+, twitter, Face Book, the works. I have also noticed that despite the thousands of followers they have, some of those sites have very few comments, it makes you wonder what’s up with that? Are they so busy building a empire of social media influence that they don’t have the time to interact with anyone? They will tell you not to have two columns of sidebars, not to forget to put up your social media icons, not to use more then 3 colors in your design, and to make sure your posts are under 300 words, while others will say at least 1000 words. It can be exhausting to read, and process and I haven’t even written a blog post that day.
I personally can barely put out a project a month, much less one every day. But that’s me, there are amazingly some bloggers who can do it, and good on them. I used to blog every day, and while I agree it’s made me a better writer, and photographer, practice makes anyone better, all that blogging would improve anyone’s skills. But I find that I need time to get out there with my camera, because as much as I love blogging, and I do love it, I love photography even more.
I will still continue to participate in my chosen areas of social media, I will still be posting on my Muddy Boot Dreams face book page, and I have a Google + page for MBD, but I will also be out there with my camera a lot more. It’s important to me to hone those skills, continue to develop my eye, and forge a new path for myself. As I am mulling over tutorials, hints, and ideas that I come across on how to use social media, I am going to be reading about, and using only those ideas that I feel are really worth my time, and effort. Some are well worth it, but I am leaving it up to my inner blogger to decide which ones I believe in, isn’t blogging supposed to be about fun, and community, along with learning to do new things?
How many social media outlets do you regularly participate in? Does your blog have a FB page, a G+ page, are you on Pinterest. Do you follow fellow bloggers personal, and blogging social media sites? Let’s continue the conversation in the comments, I’m curious about how many of you have expanded beyond the blog. This post was inspired by Brenda from a Cosy Little House, one of my favourite seasoned, and beloved bloggers who has written a great post atBrenda’s blog tipswhere she is sharing her opinion about blogging, virtual assistants, and linky parties…… click on over, it’s well worth reading.
Bright lime colored garden clogs clip along the path wondering where the snow went so suddenly. No more slipping, cold feet, spring is a delight. Cat drifts between my legs, playful, warming black, skittish in the sun. Sniffs deep of something mysterious, dirt scattered high, rolling in the dry gardens under the pine.
Birds swoop by, waving hair, seed scattered on the ground feverishly pecked. Unwelcome Crows caw in the trees, territorial, new, jangling the neighborhood. The mind planning, sunning, thinking, reminding. No twisting, no weights lifted, stretch in the warm sun. Not the time for gardener's boot camp. Patience that those weeks of moving tender shoots, and scattering of seeds will wait until later. Try my patience, turn my resolve. This gardener yearns to plant. To think. To dream of fashioning something beautiful out of nothing, with dry soil, and tiny seeds.
Trees burst overnight with buds. Swelling not just in bodies. Weeds appear to laugh at efforts to shake them free with feet, determined to stay, and thrive. Cat crouches, furry bottom wiggles, streaks across the lawn, birds scatter. Children's laughter drifts behind him across the grass. Weeds still remain.
For now. Plot, dream, wander. Through garden beds. Weeks will run, time will out, the garden will still be there. Sun warm, fingernails dirty, trowel in hand, it will wait. Time will heal,the garden is impatient. And so am I. Jane@Muddy Boot Dreams On a Wednesday: Slivers of moments captured in a weekly post, evolving, descriptive, a memoir of life.
PS: A big thank you for your supportive, and understanding comments, it's been a journey, but I am hopeful that things will get back to normal as my back heals. And yes, my fingers are itching to get back into the garden, but that has to wait a little while.
What is it about Men, and their recliners? That love/love relationship they have with big comfy chairs. Overstuffed, overly large, comfy, cushioned, clicker hiding, reclining comfort. Usually delegated downstairs to the “man cave” along with the big screen TV, so as not to add a note of discord to the beauty of the feminine decor that inhabits the main floor in many houses.
Years ago, one of the biggest choices, and compromises in our then new marriage was the choice of furniture for our new home. The experts will tell you it’s all about children, where to live, money… but it’s furniture, trust me. His stuff, your stuff, how to combine our stuff… big time. My husband came without baggage, other then a absolutely tasteless off white vinyl Swedish modern, IKEA knockoff, footstool equipped Sears special. He declared undying love for it. I declared undying love for him, but not for the chair. A tie breaker? A deal maker? Would it be him, or the chair, or would I have to live with the evil step child of a chair in order to be happily ever after with Prince Charming. We compromised, and went shopping. Thus began the search for “I’ll know it when I find it.” Months later, and more stores then I ever want to visit again, after numerous discussions, disagreements, compromises, and bargaining, he happily settled into a beautiful, clean lined recliner that we could bo th live with. It cost as much as a few mortgage payments but we were happy.
Finding something that pleased both of our tastes was a lesson in subjectivity. But we finally learned to live happily ever after with this new step child, both of us coming to love the chair that took center stage in our living room. Time marched on, we moved up here the chair took a beating from the moving company that manhandled many of our precious items. It started to grow metal springs like curly hairs from it’s back, transforming from a gentle well behaved piece of furniture to a squeaking, sagging, jolting beast shedding foam chips, and black greasy dust every time someone sat in it.
We gazed with dread upon flyers, and catalogues… how would we ever find a chair that would fit into our family without discord. We searched, he sat, I encouraged, he declined, I sighed. Chair after chair, store after store, there were contenders, close calls, and compromises. We were rather rusty at choosing, it had been more then a decade since we last adopted a step child chair. Then one snowy blustery, the first day of spring he found it. He spied it sitting in a row of 20 or so like minded chairs, he sat, he reclined… and declared it the one. Like true love, he knew instantly.
I’m not sure what the future will hold, it’s his true love, I am merely the [wicked] stepmother… but you know, it might grow on me like the other one did. Tell us about your recliner stories… especially if they are the horror story ones… lol.
Being able to sit down to eat a meal after so many months of pain is… Well, totally wonderful. Indescribable. I hurt my back last summer, something went the wrong way, my back went the other, and I herniated a disk. L5, low down…it was pressing on the sciatic nerve that goes all the way to your toes. Yes it was a very big ouch.
Not nice at all. I don't suggest it. Apparently I was one of the unlucky 5% of people who require surgery. And it affected my ability to blog, there were months when it was difficult to get near the computer. Because I couldn't sit, I would stand at my drafting desk, write a sentence on the laptop, pace out the pain, and go back. There were times when I thought I might have to give up blogging. To distract myself, I decided to research a move to Word Press, and go ahead with the name change that had been in the works for ages. What else can you do?
And then a cancellation call came from the hospital. The surgery was last Tuesday, while I am glad it's over, I still can't believe it. I'm very thankful.There were a lot of prayers said. And answered. I'm also thankful that you've stuck with me through what has been a erratic 7 month adventure. It's been a long road. I'm looking towards the future, I've got some interesting things for you, and for the future of this blog as soon as I am healed. Lets see where our blogging journey's takes us. PS: Thinking spring, and sending warm up wishes to all.
Spring is sleeping. The deep, long relaxation of the innocent. Childlike curve to her cheek, not to be woken yet.
We wait on the frozen ground, hoping to see her stir. Eager to start the day, the month, the season with her… Hoping that she will be in a good mood when she wakes. We hold our breath when she turns over in her sleep. And watch the snow flurry down when only minutes before there was sun. Discontented sighs from her sweet breath make rain clouds burst.
Birds try valiantly to wake her by singing only the softest notes, but it’s not working. They need to nest, to start the cycle, hungry, and cold they wait. Worried. Wake up Spring, the ground needs your tears to grow, the trees need your warm breath to bud, and release their leaves.
Winter won’t leave until you wake up, packed in among the drifts that refuse to melt, like a cross bear in hibernation. Lurking behind shadows, cold, damp, and dirty. It’s time to let him go back to where he lives the best. You’ve slept long enough… Summer will be waiting soon for her chance to shine. Wake up.
Rustling birds disturbed by progress down the rural road fly by, flicking from branch to branch. Soon there will be nests, eggs and chicks. Life moving in circles.
My heart swells when I see the mountains bearing less snow, spring is arriving. Bleeding hearts, red stems shaded, cold, but determined to grow through the soil.
Pink blossoms give me a heart shaped thrill. Ferns unfurling, hairy, and brown, green hidden deep, soon to show. Hosta striped stems swirl from the ground, poking, pushing. Buds breaking, no spilled tears. Branches ripening, reviving.
Come spring! Come warm weather! Leave, snow covering the brooding mountains. Bring shine, and laughter to our world. Reach deep into my gardener's heart, and make it swell. PS: If spring has not reached your part of the world, I will send a wish that it will come soon.
I wrote and scheduled this post last week, and completely to my Gardener's embarrassment forgot that it was the first day of spring today. There's a pretty good reason why, and I will be sharing that along with a few other things on Monday's post, see you then.
Many photographers start out by taking photos of flowers.
Flowers are easy, soft, pretty colors, they pretty much do what you ask of them. And they rarely take a bad photo.
Somewhere along the line you decide to try “real people.” Your family, your friends, your spouse. Eventually most of them shy away from the camera when they see it pop up in your hands. There might even be a few confrontations involved when you over enthusiastically click away at them. But none in my opinion are as difficult a subject as yourself. I had a very challenging client the other day. Whining, complaining, pouting, wouldn’t look at the lens, wanted to focus on the image on the screen instead. That’s my job, not hers. Wouldn’t take my gentle directions, wouldn’t sit still. Complained about her hair almost continuously… bad haircut by her former stylist in December, it’s not growing out… those new grey curly hairs are taking over… ”look at them ugh.” She spent most of the session insisting that she was not photogenic, all the while tilting her head in odd directions, covering her face with her hands, and moving at the last second. She complained that she didn’t have any makeup on, that the light was too harsh, she was hot, she was cold, she was tired, and the chair was too hard. One time she picked up her cat, and despite the struggling of the fur covered beastie managed to subdue it long enough for a shot. Bribery was involved… kitty treats.
Difficult? Yes. Challenging, yes, fun? Not too sure about that for either of us. Was it possible to get a good shot of her? She insisted that she was not photogenic, and that’s why she is always behind the camera, instead of in front of it. We chatted about inner beauty, and how women are always self critical, learn to see the beauty inside, and you won’t focus on the faults I told her. Was she one of the hardest subjects I have ever shot? Yes Was she me? Yes. Did I learn more in this session about posing, making my subject comfortable, finding the best angle, making her look her very best, and coming up with a pleasing shot for both of us because of this? Yes. Will it make me a better photographer, definitely! I have so rarely been in front of the lens… too many 6 foot tall beanpole shots as a teenager, stop shooting me from below, I’m not a tree. Reality in a 4 x 6, “hey is that really how I look,” for me to trust anyone with a camera in their hands. I’m camera shy, and that’s why I hide behind the lens… it’s where I’m comfortable, watching, looking, recording…
I’ve included a few tutorials on Selfie’s… I know that I needed all the help I can get, and maybe you will find something in there helpful. Christina Greeve how to take a great professional selfie. [This is my favourite, she’s amazing] How to take a great selfie 7 tips for great selfies My advice, relax, enjoy, watch your background, and keep clicking, after all one of them has to turn out eventually, let your inner beauty shine. OK, so now you’ve read the entire post, and maybe even gone back to check, and you are wondering where the photos are… take a look at my About page, there is one there. I’m not big on having lots of photos of myself out there, so that will have to do for now.Jane @ Muddy Boot Dreams
Those last few days when winter blows. Harsh, unpredictable… unforgiving. Make you realize that although spring is hovering nearby, winter will not give up yet.
Winter is upon us, snow flakes larger ending up on the ground than any others we have seen all season. White ground, frozen water, gloomy skies. And then suddenly it will change. The sun will come out, snow melts away. Birds sing with such a force it’s easy to disbelieve that winter was even here. Outside the doors, a feathered orchestra tunes up, each player trying to drown out his competition. Harmoniously out of tune… bird song is never harsh.
Flying, hopping, fleeing, jumping, dashing, spring is in their hearts. It’s made them mad, and not in anger. A cacophony of trilling, cawing, calling, chirping, singing. Cat’s roam, they know that the birds are careless this time of year. Sullen eagles perch on dead trees, all the better to see you my dear fine feathered friends.
Hawks visit feeders left alone the rest of the year. Deer search the yard for green grass, and are as disappointed as I. But the feathered ones sing, call, and hope. Winter may be upon us, but spring is waiting.
Winter has returned to the dark hole it hibernates in to avoid the other seasons, the snow is nearly gone.
It feels as if it was never here. Invigorated by the warm breeze, we, and I use the term we loosely, had just finished raking the entire yard. And surveyed the cleaned up brown patches flecked with emerging green with a sense of accomplishment. One item ticked off of the spring cleanup list. A hour later the wind rose up in a fury.
Gust swayed the tall Fir trees, cracking branches with a terrible bangs, blowing dust, gusting from every direction. The tidy landscape changed to a full on scattering of enormously long branches impaling the soft ground as they fell from 40 feet up. Too dangerous to stay outside we retreated inside. And watched with dismay as all of our hard work was undone. We were out there too soon, and have to cleanup once again. We could view it as a chore, something that had to be done, reversed in a matter of hours. But in that sweet moment we were living life, the warmth of sunshine on our pale seasonal skin, air fresh in our lungs as we called out to neighbors walking by. The breeze mingling in the strands of our hair, jackets thrown to the ground, green blades of grass revealed with each raking, that moment can't be taken away from us. Laura at Simple Serene Living wrote a encouraging post about bookmarking life, living the moment as it comes. It made my heart sing, and it was a good reminder, despite our best intentions, we sometimes rush through life, missing moments when they come by. Being outside in the spring sun, that was a"bookmarked" moment that made the work worth while, despite the outcome. Do you find yourself rushing, ticking off items on your to do list, or do you tend to live each moment as it comes? I think it's truly hard to keep living in the moment, but oh, when you do…it's sublime.
PS: My move to Word Press, and a new URL, is on the back burner for the next little while. That's OK, because thanks to Brenda at Cosy Little House, I just figured out how to resize my images properly, so I will have some time to practice. Like the spring storm, life can have a way of throwing things at you. You have to be able to move with it, stay flexible, and move forward, so that's what I'm doing here. The new URL will go live, just not this week, or maybe not the next week either. I'll make sure to let you know what to expect when we are once again, closer to that date. For now I am encouraging you to live those fleeting moments, things change rapidly in life. More PS's: Have you checked out our The Over 40 Blogging World facebook group? If you are over 40, it's a wonderful place to hang out with fellow bloggers who are supportive, and passionate about blogging. And…one last thing. My World Wednesday isn't on for this week, look for my next post on Friday, see you then.
It’s lacking in subtly… The ground bares it’s dark grin from under the trees. Opens it’s mouth to show the slow decaying of the snow.
Fields patchy with pearly white, speckles of winter, fir needles, dust, fallen branches. Pretending to be open and honest, but hiding ground h ardened with ice, rocks unmovable, abandon the rake for today. Foolish gardener, dragging out tools, gloves, and hope. A long winters rest soon to be broken, but today, no fingers in the dirt. Sun warms the skin, breeze cools it down, walk it off. Forecast that varies from day to day, inaccurate by so many degrees no one pays attention to it anymore. Winter jacket, scarf, gloves one day, change to t-shirt, tank tops, shorts the next. Bare winter white legs, not yours, glowing like florescent worms, blinding eyes, sunglasses needed, and not just for the sun. Can’t see where you are walking, don’t fall off of the road.
Dogs frolic at gates, when only last week they chased snow from the blower. Watch where you walk, roadside messes, no one picks up after them. Stinking treasures long hidden under melting snow. Birds fly, worms in mouth, stark branches easy to perch on. Stock up, there’s a sale on twigs, and there are nests to be built. Pairing off, deciding who’s to stay home with the chicks, and who will go out and work. Trees feel a stirring deep in their roots, sap warms and migrates. Buds swell with the increased light. Snow still hides new shoots of grass, ice coats shaded ditches while water melts, and runs in full sun. Black bird clinging to bull rush sings such a haunting melody you cannot help but stop and listen, twined among the heart, tugging so softly it’s ages before you realize it’s stopped. Play that again you ask, and he does, it’s as beautiful as you remembered, he does well at Natures version of the dating game. Floating whispers of fuzz from deconstructed cat tails line a nest, pulled by a bird so small it hardly shows up. Massive in attention to detail, only the softest parts for it’s new nursery. Sheep watch from across the field, the ram at full attention, it’s his flock, and you are the interloper. Go away, nothing to see here he tells you, unfriendly woolly creature not at all like Mary’s little lamb.
Cows, milk chocolate, and dark brown, stare out of the door of the red barn, languidly chewing cud. The smell of manure fresh on the air, pungent is too soft a description for it’s strength after a long winter inside. No muskrat available to come for tea in the stream today. Woodpecker drills new holes in the poplars that hang out by the stream. Pussy willows soft grey cushions, just out of reach of finger tips, icy slopes make wet feet less appealing. Horses stand, three down, fourth up, no tipping over here, sleepy, ignoring your sweet nothings, no food in your hand, go home.
The long stretch of road that leads to home, fields of farm animals on one side, golden grain to be grown on the other. Chicken barns reflect the light from the mountains, eagles watching for clean out days from the park nearby. Walk the last few blocks slowly, make them last as long as possible… acknowledge the sun, smell the scent of spring, feel a deep stirring in the soul. It’s spring, and it’s calling to you.
This was a post that I wrote almost a year ago. Because it still makes my heart beat faster, I thought I would tweak it a bit, and share it with you again. Here’s to a early spring wishes for everyone.
“Come here,” she whispered… her soft voice carried over the snow banks. “Feel the sun warm your skin, listen to the bird’s song. Loosen your winter jacket, take off that sweater. Unwind that scarf. I have something to say to you, and it’s important.” “I want you to dance among the wet moss in the lawn. Watch the fir cones fall onto your truck with the resounding plunk of a musical note. Know that you will be cleaning up the lawn… again.” “Did you forget to lime?” “Too bad,” she coo’s… ”it’s going to rain, and the grass will grow, you will be lamenting not having seeded when you could.” “But don’t worry,” she says, “you will too busy counting new green leaves to feel bad about it.” “Poking the dark earth to see the tiny sprouts of green, and listening to the bird song early in the morning as the sun wakes up before the alarm.” “You will be gazing on the setting sun, as it glows in the west… bathing clouds in pearly dust.”
Her trilling laughter echoes through the neighbourhood, among the garden tools. rakes, and piles of pruned branches waiting to be picked up. It’s picked up by the birds, and carried by the Ravens far into the mountains where the deer have gone. Spring whispers her promise to us not caring what tomorrow brings. She knows that fickle as she is, it’s up to her.
No matter if we complain of snow, just days before her arrival, or turn our faces towards the ever increasing warmth of the sun, it’s on her agenda.
And so we dance to her tune, turn our ears toward the bird song, listen for the sound of buds swelling, sap rising, the rustle of ground thawing, knowing that spring will keep her promises, but on her own time. Come soon spring.
Spring seeks to fulfill it's potential. As s now blowers hibernate, and neighbors appear. Heavier, older, happier.
Trees stretch, bees swarm in harmonious black clouds, honeyed splendor in a wooden crate. Fields thaw, flood, fill. Dust flies, buds swell. Ducks speckle the fields like crumbs of a cookie dashed to the floor. Cat stricken with unknown fever, rolls, runs, jumps, and suns as birds watch from trees.
Window cracked. Open Sounds of nature's symphony crawl in through the screen as night comes on to fill it's shift.
Tiny frogs croak, calling to mountains that glow with the last light. Geese, and ducks, honk, quack in formation, carried on the soft breeze. Spring arrives softly.PS: Just in case you missed it, I'm moving from Blogger to Word Press at the end of this week. So Muddy Boot Dreams new home will be at www.thelightlaughed.com. You can read about it here. I really look forward to seeing you there, and hope that you will come along to see my new home. Maybe I can get you to help unpack some boxes when you come to visit. And have you seen our new FaceBook group, The Over 40 Blogging World, that Laura from Simple and Serene Living, and I created? The response has been overwhelming wonderful. It's a great group of friendly bloggers getting together for support, and learning. Please check us out. Jen .
It’s the petite department… again. I feel like Godzilla lumbering among a group of sprites. Little women, tiny, short, petite, small… did I mention short, are everywhere flitting about.
My Dad wouldn’t be caught dead standing here under the glaring florescent lights, with sore feet, and aching back from peering down onto what I swear are shorter then usual racks of clothing. Maybe I’m just the replacement husband, the fill in, the handler. The one standing on the sidelines awkwardly hanging onto a corner of her handbag, parcels weighing down my arms. Pretending that I did not accidentally wander into this bastion of femininity, also known as the “petite department.”
Where is the normal sized stuff I want to shout! Actually where is the tall girl/women department? There isn’t one, ther e never is, there are not enough of us to warrant our own department. It’s becoming a Mother/Daughter shopping ritual for me to stand there acting like I’m really about 2 feet shorter then my six one, lurking in the “petite department.” I’m outstanding, and I don’t mean talented, did you catch the drool tone of my voice, underlaid with love for my Mom. Please don’t leave me a comment telling me how much I should appreciate my much shorter Mom, I love her dearly.this is just a odd situation, that’s all. And I guess if you are not tall, you are really not going to understand, just pretend, and laugh nicely. I love spending time with her, but when we end up “just to take a quick look dear,” in the petite department I really stick out. Couldn’t that become the domain of my normal sized sister, the one who doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb, a green giant, or a bean pole? I dread the double take of the sales clerks, as they sally forth with armfuls of delightful little frocks… something I haven’t fit into since I was 12. “My dear” one well meaning salesperson whispered into my ear one time … ”you are shopping in the petite department, and you my dear, are NOT petite.” Really, and all this time I had no idea. Ack, I'm… I’m tall, I had no idea.
Since then I always make sure to only rifle through the doll sized clothes when no one is gazing at me… it’s a great way to look like a shoplifter. Each time I look into the magical dorky mirrors in the petite department, the woman who is towering over the glass looks tired, pale, and her clothes that seemed to be perfectly fitting when she left the house, are now too short in all areas. What do they treat the air with in here? Shrink spray? Even the chairs are petite… ever seen a six foot one skinny giantess slouching on a wire framed boudoir chair? Hang out with us, and you will.
The worst is the sad look of sympathy from a well intentioned sales associate who purses her lips and apologizes for not having anything to fit my extra tall arms and legs. I kind of knew that when I read the sign over your store… ”Good things come in small packages” Yes, but equally good things come in tall ones also. Jane @Muddy Boot Dreams If you were a reader of Laurie’s blog I love a cloudy day, you will be happy to know that she is back to blogging, here’s a link to her new blog. And if you have never visited her drop by and say hi, she’s delightful, and we are all thrilled to have her back. http://ilovedacloudyday.blogspot.ca/
Where I live now there are more piles of snow dotting the landscape then there are patches of grass. We expect snow in Winter, but when it hangs on too long there are some pretty antsy gardeners.
My well meaning friends back where I used to live are sending me photos, and telling me that spring is 6 weeks early, when it seems that mine is later then ever. Have you ever been in this situation? Every time you get a email it's someone s haring sprouted green leaves, and avenues of Cherry trees dripping with blossoms. Meanwhile the only thing dripping at your place is your nose. Nothing can make you ooze sap faster then a pruned rose bush in May then photos arriving on your ice cold computer in March. Lush blossoms sprinkling the virtual page, when all around you are bare, dark branches and patches of snow. It's not that we don't love the photos…it's the sentiments attached, they seem a little thorny, spiking jealousy in our gardener's hearts. Here's my list of top 5 things not to say to gardeners with sodden, frozen, soil, hidden under a avalanche of snow at this time of year. After all, I should know, at one time I was one of those obnoxious gardeners who sent friends pictures of snow drops in January, and look where I live now. Talk about garden karma. 1. Spring will come to your place eventually, did you know that ours is earlier each year? 2. Shall I send more photos to make up for your long winter?3. You can garden inside can't you, start some seeds, you can plant them outside in a few months.4. You could take up crocheting, all gardeners love to crochet.5. I'm sure there are nice greenhouses where you live, you can visit them until spring comes along. Oh yes, as soon as they plow the driveways, and shovel the snow. Or maybe I can take the huskies, and the dogsled out for a run. No, really, stop making us envy you spring will come to us, just stop rubbing it in. To pass the time until spring arrives, check out the new Facebook group that Laura, from Simple Serene Living and I have created. The Over 40 Blogging World is a FB group for woman bloggers providing positive support for each other no matter how big, or small their blogs are, or which platform they use. It's a fun group, and we would love to see you there. We'll have virtual, calorie free cupcakes too! Chocolate, and vanilla.PS, just a reminder I'm moving my blog this week, so expect a few glitches. I'll still be the same blogger, showing my photos, weaving my stories, it will just be at Word Press, and under a new name www.thelightlaughed.com. You can read about the change here. I'd would love to have you come along as the journey continues.
Other people are tiptoeing through their thawing gardens searching for signs of spring, peering under bushes, smoothing back soggy brown leaves from under gently budding branches, but that’s not us. We’re still slipping and sliding in a rapidly melting cover of white slimy stuff that seems to have coated every inch of brown lawn. Our weather people are still gleefully describe the weather as wicked, and bitter, and we don’t even live in the frigid part of Canada. We judge spring’s immanent arrival by the cessation of the oncoming rumble of the snow plow. It’s loud grumble shaking windows, and tipping paintings on walls, red sparks flying 12 feet into the air from the contact of a metal blade on a dry road.
Up here we prepare for spring by watching for snow tire removal specials to show up in our local paper, and look for “remove chains to avoid fines” signs to be posted on the highways. That’s when we know it’s really spring. Our first spring up here we were puzzled to see neighbours emerging onto what had been in the winter a deserted street, and raking piles of dark sandy gravel from their front yards. It was only when maintenance crews drove by picking up the gravel that we understood. The sand and gravel that is spread here is counted in the thousands of tons, per month… not like the coast where a truck load lasted all winter. And the accumulation on your lawn can run in the inches.
When the glass replacement companies start to offer chip repair, and windshield replacement times are booked solid, that means it’s almost spring. It is now safe to book the annual windshield replacement and hope that it lasts through the fall. It’s a far cry from being one of the first to find the snowdrops in my secret place on the coast in January, gleefully emailing photos to every contact I could think of, smirking over the relative lack of snow in our previous climate. Don’t they say no good deed goes unpunished. In response to my lamenting the lack of snow drops, my husband merely told me “there are lots of snow drops out there, a whole yard full of them falling from the sky. Just not the kind that I was looking for darling. We know spring is coming when we start to get a early morning 4 am wake up call consisting of cawing, and screaming, as newly returned crows defend previous summer territories despite the foot of snow. Phil the pheasant is feeling frisky, flirting, trying to talk to the hens into a starring role on “ My 5 wives.” Our purchase of bird seed, and suet goes from two or three mega bags at a time to a more sedate ordinary sized bag once a week.
As the convocation [yes, a group of eagles is called a convocation] of eagles start to find food in places other then the rank smelling manure piles of deceased chickens from the commercial chicken farms down the road, we know that Bootsie, our cat can go outside unescorted. As long as someone keeps a eye out for bears, or raccoons in the backyard, or the newly emerging mosquitoes don’t carry him off. When our pristine mountain water turns cloudy, and suddenly smells of chlorine, we know that it’s spring time, and the water turbidity has forced the township to revert to wells temporarily.
Big changes compared to where I used to live, would I move back, never. Yes my snowdrops come in liquid form now, but think how many I have… more then I would ever have if I still lived by the ocean. My spring comes a little later, but it’s just as blissful.
