Seasons Come & Seasons Go & Downton Abbey

      Question: What ring tone does a robin choose for its cell phone? Answer: Wing, wing, of course!

      Here is a "not-so-vintage," March 28th nature-themed entry from my 2012 journal that will hopefully begin to warm us into soon-coming spring, as well as 2013's early, March 31st Easter:

 

      "As I sip tea at the dinette table, I look out my bay window, enjoying our backyard. A squirrel scampering along the top of our wooden fence and the pretty evergreens catch my attention. Setting my cup of tea down, I swallow the soothing, warm brew. Not many free experiences could be more peaceful.

 

      I suddenly hear a distant... 'thunk'... from somewhere, and when it repeats, my attention is piqued: "Where is that 'thunk' coming from?"

      I arise to look to our small backyard red bud tree. The 'thunker' is resting on my special tree. We planted that treasured tree 3 years ago. Our son’s workplace was giving out free “trees” and asked if we wanted one. When he handed us a long and skinny stick, it was rather comical because we expected something that resembled a tree. I considered using it to play fetch.

 

      I planted it in a large pot on the back porch just in case it would survive the winter. Alas, it did survive, two winters in that pot before I replanted the tiny... tree, into the backyard. The little fledgling looked so vulnerable, I worried about strong winds blowing it over. I found in the garage a long-handled hot dog grilling fork to hold its trunk steady. Alas, the first summer winds did crack its center stem, but we clipped it and hoped for the best.

 

      That little stick is a survivor, and it is the small tree at which I gaze. It has a skinny branch large enough to perch a friendly (or not so friendly) 'wing-winging' rrrrrobin whose calling card is 'thunk, thunk.' She has an unusual affinity for that branch; I've noticed her sitting on it much of the day.

      The tree is a couple of yards from our bedroom's bay window. I assume it is spring nesting time, and her reflection in the glass disturbs her... she believes it is a danger to her territory. She adamantly flies a close 3-yardsticks to attack herself and, bam! She crashes her breast into the window and flies back to dizzily land onto her safe little perch. It takes a few minutes to stare herself down for the re-attack. This goes on much of the day, and her little foot marks cover my bedroom's bay window.

 

      I am happily reminded that I didn’t pay to have those windows washed. It certainly would have been a wasteful investment as thunk, thunk... she attacks herself again, and again, and again."

      And now, seasons come and seasons go...

 

      Thunk, thunk, thunk  lamenting blogs have bammed and dizzied this writer's mind. 
Like my beloved red bud tree, tough winds have come, branches were chopped... and I AM ever grateful to be a soulful, fighting, assaying SURVIVOR...of   1) Complex childhood alcoholic dysfunction;  2)  Melancholy, mute Mother... "Ada's"... voicelessness;  3)  Depleting and life-threatening breast cancer;  AND,  4)  Residually-sinister, sucker-punching, self-absorbed, cynic-essaying, demeaning depression.... They do NOT kept me down.  My feelings are written about the first three in past blogs, and I duck the blows of the fourth. This small font represents "Downy's" meticulous and... mindful... management.

      As a side note, certainly Downton Abbey's beautifully-refined Mary will be a soulful, fighting, "comeback" survivor in Season IV. Rather than remaining ever enervated, D. A. writers will re-kindle disheartened and downtrodden Widow Mary's character to spirited and energized focus, for the sake of her beloved Downton AND her new little bundle of life and joy... AS WELL AS for the sake of downtrodden viewers. We request positivity, please! D. A. seasons come and D. A. seasons go.

      As spring approaches, with its hope of colorful crocuses and daffodils... positive new life is coming soon, as well as beauty. I anticipate, and I watch and listen, for thunks and other nature orchestrations, created by the colorful Artist and Atoning One: * the FOREVER Substance Behind the Shadows *.

      For your D. A. viewing enjoyment, click the following link:  * "TEEN's" creative staff perfectly orchestrates the entire cast of D. A. to perform oh, oh special: "What Makes You Beautiful" *
 

The Tremendous TOO's, Two's & 2's





 Warning! 

This blog contains dramatic content as well as a syrupy Valentine's message. Any hazardous, heart-softening side-effects cannot be the responsibility of this writer. The reader proceeds at his or her own risk. 

     My sabbatical (a/k/a exile) from work gives me extra time for superfluous things, like photoshopping pink skies, crafting, and receiving blogging inspiration from TV, books, & movies.

      Sabbatical or not, I always take time for back-to-back, quirky Monk episodes (DVR'd, to fly through commercials). Neurotic Investigator Monk TOO reacts to everything. He uses at least half of this country's disposable germ wipes. In one notable episode he becomes TOO annoyed with incense and music streaming into his apartment from the street corner below. He determines to evict the incense-burner, and approaches a colorfully-dressed African man, sitting cross-legged, Indian-style: Get off the street corner, man... Peace and love... and here's a few bucks to move elsewhere.

      As the African man looks up at Monk, his baritoned, steady, heart-wrenching reply is: I cannot move, sir...... This is sacred ground..... My wife, Ansara, was murdered by a hit-and-run driver on this street corner,  just 2 weeks ago........ I must mourn for her.

      Monk's demeanor immediately changes and his facial expression visibly melts. Monk's wife, too, was murdered... 7 years earlier; the case is unsolved, and the sorrow is still fresh, like it happened yesterday. The kinship of unsolved, tragic murders compels vigilante Monk to team with this widower to successfully find the hit-and-run driver. Monk helped someone else seek closure.

      My daughter and I together watched as characters on Downton Abbey a/k/a Downer Abbey Season III experienced sudden tragedy. I was caught by surprise as Mother Cora watched Daughter Sybil die in childbirth. The sadness is incomprehensible. My stunned reaction was: How could the writers do that? NO WAY!! They didn't warn us in the previews! This is TOO sad!! I'm so glad I wasn't watching this sad episode alone. 

      My cherished "daughter-visits" are few-and-far-between, with a 450-mile drive between us. I so love my daughter and identify with her young-mothering days, filled with diaper changes, food prep, Thomas the Train, diaper changes, nap, diaper changes, et cetera, et cetera. Even though it has been over 25 years since babies filled my home, I remember... and I help, by babysitting our tremendous 2-year-old.



Flower-powered two fearlessly face the bloomin' tremendous 2's

      During my last babysitting adventure, wills clearly clashed about whether the Law of Physics and gravity are true as they apply to ball-playing on steep, uncarpeted basement steps.

      Two-year-old boys will be tremendous boys. The dare-devil plays ball on the steps, is clearly and fairly warned DANGER, to no avail. I snatch the ball and unsuccessfully try to distract him. He tearfully demands the ball back. I do not yield; my grandson's safety and well-being are non-negotiables. I pray for him under my breath, and he eventually points upstairs, seeking binky-time, which equals crib timeout. 

      We take the long climb up the steps together, to his room, to claim our sides of the ring: He takes the crib; I the nearby rocker. Hearing his squeaky, binky calisthenics, I know he needs consoling...

      ... DeDe loves you...

      I begin to remind him of our morning activities, and mention his hands and feet and nose, and then... we imagine tickle tummy together; I giggle energetically, and finally he breaks his silence, giggling too. After 10 minutes of happy-therapy, for both of us, we hungrily head downstairs to eat PBJ's.

      We eat, he studies me, and I keep mostly quiet. After a nourishing sandwich and milk, it is nap time, so we head right back upstairs. I place him into his crib, and he earnestly stretches his arms to me. He trusts me to rock him. I do. After a few minutes I feel his muscle-twitches as he, uncharacteristically, snuggles in my lap... falling sound asleep. Ahhh, priceless.

      Timeout (a/k/a exile), heartache, and clashing wills happen and produce an urgency to seek some sort of closure, and we also need to feel comforted. Life can be painful; it is unfair; we feel hurt by people... and sometimes we feel hurt by God.

 

      When my 62-year-young Mom was tragically ripped from my life in a fatal car wreck, my heavy heart ached and angered at the same time. It was unfair. Losing her prematurely and so suddenly was incomprehensible to my stunned, 35-year-old mind.

     Mom and I were never "close close," and I regret I wasn't a better daughter. I deeply miss the only person on this earth who loved me, with her kindred mother-love. My being resonates her ethereal, creative, flower-powered essence. I can't help but embellish thrifty and resourceful decorations, capture and caption clever photography, and write gushy and gooey grandchild word pictures. Maybe these ethereal outlets represent my need for closure.

      The Mom-wound sometimes re-opens. HE sees my pain, and His consoling words are...

      ... God loves you...

      Rather than harsh, circular self-talk: It's been 22 years... get over it... Lots of people lose their mothers tragically... or, they lose them eventually in some way or another. I need this world to be perfect with no pain! We weren't that close. Get over it. It's been 22 years. Who really cares anyway?!?

      "I will not waste a good exile creating cynicism to mask my pain" (thanks, Austin J). There is ONE who identifies with me. He viewed the pain and sorrow of His only and Perfect Son being tortured, dying on a wretched and despicable cross. He could have stopped the madness, but He nor His Son yielded, because it was for MY redemption and rescue.

     A Perfect Being lived in this imperfect world. People crucified Perfection. I will remember that during this time of Lent.
    
     [Here is the good, gooey, gushy, syrupy part...] Trusting, and feeling gently rocked (by the ONE who perfectly identifies with pain AND priceless joy) is one of the things I need on Mom's February 15th birthdate... as well as receiving yesterday's sealed and delivered, "pinked," heart-cloud Valentine, specially signed...

      ... God loves you...

      ... forever...  *the FOREVER Substance Behind the Shadows*

Treat suggestion for a sweet-toothed tremendous 2-year-old
Pour about a teaspoon of colorful cupcake sprinkles (the long-shaped ones, not the colored sugar) onto your child's high chair tray. They will attract your child's sight and taste senses. They are small, so it is also a coordination exercise as it takes finger dexterity to pick up each one from the tray (let them do it) and enjoy!