I was never a pink girl, but flamingo pink gets me. I must pause for that pink.
My family has several flamingo stories. One is about Daddy and the other about little Rose.
Daddy said if there were jobs in heaven, he wanted to help birds. He paused. We waited for him to say bluebirds, but instead he said he wanted to help the flamingos. Mr. Bluebird turns pink!
My son and I distinctly remember the Rose and Flamingo Pink story. We were out on our deck making a model of a flamingo out of trash for his first grade project. Four-year-old Rose wanted to be involved. I gave her all the paint squirt bottles and told her to mix up flamingo pink for our future bird on a paper plate. We turned our attention back to our big pop bottle body, paper towel roll neck and assorted trash for legs, beak, feathers and feet.
Rose was busy mixing paint unattended. I assumed a mess was being made. My son and I were bending the wire legs when Rose announced she was done.
Her brother and I looked over at Rose and the plate. It was full of the perfect Flamingo pink! No mess. No other colors just that pink with a hint of peach.
We were stunned. We looked at each other and then little Rose. The irony is she does not even like pink. I hope she will wear these socks I bought for her anyway.
Socks souvenir for Rose
So flamingos will always hold my attention and bring back memories of little Rose and my Bluebird Daddy.
Flamingo art made of BEADS.
The house in Palm Springs had a Flamingo Pink theme. So we now have another set of pink stories. Here are pics of the Palm Springs Pink.
Close up of beads. Amazing!WOWZAToo cute to use.Our pink doorPink private patio. Flamingo friends.Pink and white chairs with lovely shadows.
We took a trip up to the top of the San Jacinto mountain on the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway.
I loved that some windows were open to let in the breezes as we ascended to cooler temperatures. I appreciated that the tram innards slowly rotated, so everyone got to see the surrounding views without moving about. I wanted to hold on to my window, but it moved.
Photo by Palm Springs Aerial Tramway
The rotation and dips at the towers took some getting used to. I did not take photos during the ride. I was busy staying vertical.
The views from the top were spectacular.
Palm Springs Wind Farm
I was more relaxed on the trip down due to prior exerience. While my friends hiked down this trail and back up again my sis and I watched a short movie about the biodiversity of the mountain wildlife and the wind conditions between the two mountains, thus the wind farm.
I have been in a writer’s funk since I put away the book about the Pearson Women. There has been some guilt about it. Now that I am my own Mama Bear, I am better about doing what is best for me even when guilt is involved. I am working on getting strong again after my three hip replacements in two years. I am proud of the results so far.
On Sunday, my bookclub discussed Kristin Hannah’s book THE WOMEN. We had enlightening discussions about the many events involving the main character, a Vietnam surgical nurse, and her two best friends, her parents and several love interests. Reading this book involving a controversial war was an emotional rollercoaster, but we were all glad we had pushed through and read it.
At the end of our discussion, I mentioned what I call ‘time circles.’ There a few were examples of this phenomena in the book.
This got me thinking about a strange event that occurred while I was cleaning out my mom’s house on Enwood.
I noticed two books in the office trash can. I wondered why my sister had thrown them away. There were stacks of books everwhere. Why these two?
When I asked her about it, she did not know anything about the books. We pulled them out of the waste basket. Neither of us recalled having ever seen these two old books.
Of course I thought it was a sign from Daddy. I pulled them out of the trash and read them both. One was a book about Vietnam, the other was a book about marriage.
I was disappointed. They seemed like old- fashioned propaganda from the 1960’s. The mystery of those books has stuck with me. I had no clue what either had to do with me…
UNTIL TODAY
You will have to wait for the circle’s completion. Sometimes you find the end of a circle and sometimes you find a beginning. I call the beginning sign a ‘ heads up.’ The two books I found two years ago were a ‘heads up’ for events happening now. WOW!
I am going on a trip. I may blog, but this circle must wait. It will need my full attention when I return. Rest assured that I will hitting this ‘time circle’ hard when I get back.
There it is. That researcher’s excitement that I have been missing. Hooray!
My dove nest got relocated due to poop and peskiness. Rose’s car was being pooped on and Mr. Flower did not enjoy the company of dive-bombing doves. He startled them leaving for work in the dark. No eggs were involved.
The nest was removed. The plastic sleds were put on top of the old wooden sled to discourage future nesting. I am not happy that my friends were made to feel unwelcome.
I was sitting in the carport lamenting my loss, when I spied a pile of sticks on a frame with hardware cloth attached to it in the front corner of the carport. It is a bit too close to Mr. Flower’s precious truck.
New nest
I climbed up on the trusty ladder again to get a better view. There was that familiar little eye looking back at me.
This is the most beautiful bearded iris I have ever seen. It is also the only hybrid rescued from the vole attack at Enwood, my parents’ former home.
Let’s Dance bearded iris
I feel blessed that it survived being eaten, being moved and being transplanted. Its real name is ‘Let’s Dance’ but I will always think of it as Daddy’s Last Iris.
I was surprised by a young dove that was not surprised by me while I was home. I walked with in feet of it before seeing it. It stared at me like I was just another part of the landscape.
Young dove watching me pack my car.
The doves had been watching us from up in the carport trusses. They were habituated to people coming and going, so they were not startled by a person passing.
The nest sits on top of an old sled. I wanted this title to be Sledding Doves, but that would be too much of a stretch, even for me.
Messy nest hanging off the old sled.
I climbed Daddy’s sturdy ladder to take a peak at the nest. I was eye-to-eye with the dove when my head poked above the ceiling joists.
Howdy Dovey
The nest was a messy pile of sticks. Just enough form to keep the eggs from rolling away. I read that doves take turns parenting their young, so I do not know which parent was on the sticks.
Our new neighbor.
I am happy when wildlife settles down around my home. These doves were a sweet surprise.
I have been wandering and pondering this morning. It is a day that needs balancing.
My mama died on the morning of April 12, 2025. She has been gone a whole year. One Thanksgiving, one Christmas, one birthday and one Easter. I am planting a pink garden on the mountain in her memory.
I am home now. The site of more loss. Life goes on whether you are paying attention or not. There are things lost whether you are paying attention or not. Many things disappear while you are not looking.
My garden has missed me. My house has missed me. I am okay with that. I do not have the strength nor the stamina to stay here. I must not lose myself.
I toured my gardens with my camera this morning. I took only lovely photos to share, except for one.
This scene you will recognize. These two statues are named Lily and Moss. I have written stories about them. Today, I will let a photo tell the story.
There are many kinds of loss. I miss my well mama, but not the sick suffering one. Her loss was gradual. We lost bits of her long before April 12. Little steps that sometimes went unnoticed. That’s how loss works. It is sneaky.
I came home for a few days. I have hauled most of my small plants out of my workshop. I cannot budge the big ones. Mr. Flower will have to assist.
I hate to admit that my heart no longer loves them like it used to. I feel their need pulling me down. Thank goodness I have given about 2/3 of my collection away.
I did some weeding and trimming today. I also took photos of my garden. Here are a few.
This huge azalea must be protected by fence. Any sprout that sticks out is eaten twig and all my the herd of fifteen deer.
Little Much bearded iris
This gentle iris was surrounded and strangled by some bullies, especially pink Persian Berry. It has thrived on this bank in isolation.
Rose and I spotted a visitor as we sat in the swing. Our friend the fox trotted across the yard and headed up into the woods. I was thrilled to see it looking so healthy.
Our neighbor the fox.
My iris bed has two types blooming now. Persian Berry and Thunder Echo.
Persian Berry (back) and Thunder Echo iris
I am glad to be home, but next time I come, I will have my assistant joining me. Seeing so much to do and not being able to do it was frustrating.
I have always admired trees. Their shape and their shade are appreciated. There are some trees that I especially love. I remember these as important landmarks. I look for these old friends when I return to those places.
I went back to the picnic spot by the mountain stream yesterday. I took a bag of root chips, water and my camera. I meant to bring a book, but it was left in the kitchen. I go to this place to read. There is spotty phone service and no internet here, so it keeps me form scrolling the horrific events of war and politics. I make myself take breaks between calls and letter writing and posting and sharing…
I wandered around with my memories along the banks of the streams. There have been changes. I will share that later. I was looking for things that have not changed. I need some mooring right now. What could be more steadying than an old, familiar tree?
This was one of the sights I came for…The Tree in the Dale.
It stands in the middle of lovely sloping pastures. From the picnic site, only its crown is visible. It peeks over the hills. Seeing just its top was a comfort. I was not up for a hike to its shade.
I just wanted to put my eyes on this tree that I have loved through time. I keep returning to places of the past. Searching for echoes. Hoping for old threads to attach myself to.
I really needed a visit from my flowers this morning. Mr. Flower knew this. On his one day off, he took the time to tour our yard and photograph my flowers.
I have kept his shadows in the photos to remind me who took these pictures. This is a very sad fifth anniversary for our family. Actually it was worst day of our lives, especially for him and his mom and sis.
On this day he has chosen to send me flowers.That’s what love looks like. The real kind. The long game.
Thank you so much hubby. Enjoy your day at the farm. Hug your sister. Carry on.
Here he is photographing our thirty-six-year-old azaleas. I was young then. I could not decide on a color, so I bought one of each. My first horticultural experiment at the lake.
I tried another new trail today. I am picking flat places to walk by myself. Any time I hike on uneven terrain or wander off the trail, some stumbling starts. I did not take my walking stick today, so I had to be extra careful.
Brackets and moss on a dead tree.
Today’s walk was on one of the roads around the Flat Top Manor, which is also known as the Moses Cone Estate. The mansion is not open yet, but you can park and walk the grounds.
Moses Cone Estate
I am happy to report that I wobbled but did not fall down today. I also got some pictures of lovely bracket fungi. I found colonies on several dead trees. Brackets are identified by color, top texture and pores.
I did not risk climbing up or down banks to identify these. We will appreciate them from afar.
Large bracket
I also spotted a single Bloodroot bloom.
Bloodroot flower
Finding all this and not falling down was a win:win!
Bummer. I have done too much hovering again. My ‘Fire Lily’ orange Clivia has squealed on my overzealous mothering by putting up a short stalk with only two flowers.
CLIVIA after too much mothering.
I brought it to the mountain because it is a favorite. I wanted to keep an eye on it. It needed to go to the cool basement and kept dry. Instead I kept it upstairs and watered it with the other plants. It’s a baby, it needed to grow!
I will not make the same mistake next fall. I will be able to carry it down the stairs and check on it without watering it. I have avoided steps and hills for over two years.
I walked two miles for the first time since hip surgery with my friend Libby yesterday. That was my post surgery goal. Hooray. I plan to soon return to the trails with my trusty walking stick which turns into a seat.
Let’s hope my more mature Clivia ‘Good Hope’ won’t end up with a short stem, too. It is usually a show stopper when it’s giant yellow bloom opens.
I cannot see a pansy without thinking of Mama. The earliest flowers at Enwood were pansies. The flower garden at the lamp post was called ‘The Pansy Bed.’
Photos of Mama’s pansies
This is our first spring without Mama, so planting pansies feels different. The first time I went to buy some, I cried and left. But I returned yesterday and took my time perusing the pansies and thinking of Mama.
Delta Tapestry
Her pansies had to be pinkish but complicated. I chose Viola Collosus ‘Rose Medley’ and Viola ‘Delta Tapestry.’ Rose Medley got put in a pot this morning.
Viola Collosus ‘Rose Medley’
I clipped some blooms to press between parchment. I plan to put these in a frame in the Pansy Room.
Flattened for drying
We named the bedrooms here on the mountain. Mama’s namesake is The Pansy Room. The door is marked by a big beautiful pansy sticker.
Door of The Pansy Room
There are pictures of Mama’s pansy bed at Enwood on display. There is a photo of Mama standing by her pansies in a colorful dress.
Mama with her pansies at Enwood.
Rose and I have found pansy fabrics to use in that room. Rose even has pansy sheets for her bed in there.
Pansy material
Not to leave Daddy out, another room is ‘The Bluebird Room.’ That post will come after my sister and I finish repainting Daddy’s bluebird houses. Stay tuned.
I usually love spring. This year I miss my gardens, but I am constantly reminded of my lack of stamina. It is frustrating for an over-achiever like me to run out of steam before finishing simple projects. It happened again today.
Mr. Flower just sent me these photos from home. Home is on a hill with steps inside and out. The house on the mountain does not require cilmbing hills nor steps, but one hip or the other hurts just about every day. I listen to that pain. I am not ready to push through it. My body has been through too much trauma and slow healing to risk further injury.
I am happy to see these familiar faces as I rest before “round two” of chores and projects. I wanted to be “Strong by Spring.” That has been my mantra. I will continue to carefully work toward that goal.
Here are today’s blooms from home.
Quince in a fence.Daffodils on a hill.Poncirius bloom fully opened.Thalia being gorgeous.Almond bush from Enwood in full bloom.
I have abandoned over thirty years worth of gardening work at Wildwood. Every time I go home I work too hard try to make up for lost time. Mr. Flower tries to get me to relax. We did sit a spell in the gliders out in the sunshine one afternoon. Neither one of us can sit still for long.
This is my second spring away from home. The spring before that I could barely walk, so technically my garden has been neglected for three growing seasons. I am amazed it is not worse. My husband tries to manage the worse spots. I noticed scattered piles of last year’s dead foliage. I appreciate his efforts.
I am not strong enough to tackle the garden rehab myself. I am still working on my own healing. I feel overwhelmed looking at all that needs to be done back at home. My husband has too much responsibilities of his own to pick up my slack. Judge me if you must. I am in survival mode. It was me or everything else. I chose me.
I silently walked the deck perimeter each morning with my coffee. I peered over the railing to see which plants were sending upgreen shoots. It was a bit liberating to see needs and not try take ownership of them. I know my limits. Set-backs are too brutal to risk.
I will brag that my gardens have good bones. My plants were well-chosen, well-placed and well-planted. They are surviving without my hovering. That was always my goal.
Sweet Betsy reminds me of my friend Sandra. She had an Aunt Betsy and wanted part of this plant. She planted it in her yard in Charlotte.This quince, Chaenomeles ‘Double Take Orange Storm’ is in a fence because the deer would demolish it.White by the Gate Camellia must also confined to a big, tall circle of fence. This tiny flowering almond bush came from my parent’s home on Enwood. I am so glad I took some before we sold it.I almost missed the Edgeworthia blooming. These blooms have a magical scent.Clusters of Starflower, ‘Alberto Castillo’, Ipheion uniflorum used to be in many locations around the gardens, but the deer herd has nibbled most down to stubs. These stray bulbs were the only ones with blooms.
I am glad I made it back home for a garden check-up. I will try to get back more often now that there should be less snow to imprison me. This last set of blizzards made me rethink my present location for the first time ever.
Weeds will always win whether I am fighting them constantly or not. I may eventually have to hire some help while I am home. Weeds winning does not make me sad.
Palmer wanted me to see his three new trees during my visit. He said folks hit their brakes as they drove by to get a better look. I spotted them as we pulled in to the drive.
Jeepers, creepers where’d he get those Weepers? They are weeping peach trees, ‘Crimson Cascade.’ The foliage will be deep maroon. Mature size is said to be 12 feet tall and eight feet wide. Hardiness Zones 5-9.
Weeping peach ‘Crimson Cascade’Double blooms
He got these at different places. He noticed the slight color differences. I had trouble differentiating the three because my camera, my computer and my phone all morphed the pinks.
This one has less of a coral tint.Hot pink double, stamen not as pink
I have a habit of doing a full shot with identifiable location and then a close-up or two. This habit has helped me keep track of plants. During this visit I took 224 photos, so any little hint helps.
Prunus persica, Hot pink with hint of crimsonThis color seems between the other two.
I also focus on similar groups at once to keep them together for comparison. I have blogged for almost eleven years so I have developed some skills. I do not count on my memory.
Here are Palmer’s the three weeping peach trees. Their form is slightly contorted which gives them interest. The blooms cluster near the twigs.
Palmer said they were covered with little peaches last summer. I hope I get to see that. Squirrels got them, so I better get a fruit alert.
If I were not friends of Lucy and Palmer already, I would have left a note in their mailbox asking for the names of these weepers. WOW!
He should have his own blog. He has created an amazing botanical garden. My good friend Lucy is his wife. Their dog zealously guards the garden.
I went to visit my friend Palmer’s gardens while I was home. There was much to see. I call him Palmer because he has an unusual collection of palm trees.
Male blooms of Chinese windmill palm.
I was particularly interested in this one that was blooming. It is a Trachycarpus fortunei. It is also called a Chinese windmill palm, Chusan palm and Hemp palm.
It does resemble a windmill.
I have not had much opportunity to see palm blooms upclose. The form of these opening blooms was unusual and complex.
Male buds in sheathing
These palms are evergreen and also dioecious, which means separate sexes on separate trees.
Panicle of male blooms on Trachycarpus fortunei.
This one is cold hardy. Palmer says this one has survived a period of 7° F. I wish I had had more time during the visit to discuss his other palms. This is one of the hardiest palms. My research claimed it as a Zone 5.
Buds opening
I promised to return when a particular tree is blooming next month. I will take better notes then.
Palmer’s other passion is weeping trees. Stay tuned to see several of those and an amazing array of azaleas.
I went home this past weekend to switch out some of my cold-weather clothes for some warm-weather clothes and to do some plant maintenance. Things went well even though I did sustain three injuries. Two of these involved my mean plants. Mr. Flower tried to assist and supervise but things happened if he turned his back. This is how it goes when you lose yourself in your work. Injuries are expected. Supervision is needed.
The finger that got smashed was the same one that I trimmed the tip off of years ago. I always receive a souvenier from my cacti when I get near them. I do remove the outer tips from the Century plant’s lowest leaves, which are also dangerous. My worst injury came from the meanest plant in the yard, Poincerius trifoliata.
I deserve this stab as punishment for purloining one of the fruits from a southern plantation and smuggling it out in my brazier. The little bitter orange was forgotten until that night when it rolled across the floor of the hotel room while I was changing into pajamas.
These are technically deciduous shrubs, but send up long sucker shoots which need managing. Also, the center needs to be cleared enough to allow airflow through it. These plants can be used as a formidable hedge and the fruit can be made into marmalade if enough sugar is added to mellow the bitter.
I dressed for battle in double gloves and my Pawpaw’s old hunting jacket with a squirrel pocket in the back. It is made of thick canvas. Mr. Flower has suggested a hard hat for next year’s trimming.
Pointy Poncirius trifoliata
I was innocently butchering the shrub by the fish pond when I was mercilessly stabbed in the head. It did hurt, but I continued on with my work like a good little warrior.
The long limbs must be chopped up to burn if not carefully placed out of the way to be used as a fence. The thorns can penetrate a tire. Its nickname is Flying Dragon. I should have been discouraged by this name, but I am a fool.
Some thorns are over 3 inches long.
No one realized I was injured until I turned around to speak to my husband and neighbor. They both gasped. A picture was taken. Then Mr. Flower decided to take over the clippers for the next shrub, which is on a bank.
This shrub cannot be trusted.
We carefully arranged the removed sucker shoots around two hydrangeas which get eaten down to the ground every spring by our hungry deer herd. One hydrangea is pink and the other is blue. I have not seen a bloom on either in years.
Blooms may mean fruit.
There is one new development with the Poncirius. It is blooming for the first time. This makes things complicated. You see the fruit might fall or be carried off and the seeds may germinate. This pointy plant can become a pest in the south. I am surprised at my biologist self for bringing it home. I intended to keep them in pots, but they got too big and mean to bring in.
Mean
People tend to make their own problems. I know what I must do eventually. But this year, I just want to see if it will make those cute little bitter oranges. Don’t judge!
Hiding in plain sight involves two things, clothes and mannerisms. If you are supposed to be a person of authority, that just leaves clothes. Meakness onstage is not an option. Fake it ’til you make it!
If you are a women, camouflage clothing entails the ‘muted colors no-clevage look.’ Pants and shirts are a bit too big and leaning in the unisex direction. Holding attention without being flashy is tricky. There must be subtle details like an interesting brooch or custom button or unflashy/untrashy jewelry. This describes my ‘hiders wardrobe.’
Sometimes items purchased were way too big and required altering. My trusty seamstress, Nadwa, asked repeatedly, “Why you buy your clothes too big?”
Now that I have given up the stage, I am purging these carefully selected and augmented costumes. I look at each one in dismay. I even try some things on hoping to find a redeeming quality. They feel too much like uniforms with bad memories clinging to them.
Here is my set of blazers I call the ‘ Grand Jury Jackets.’ This stint of hiding was the most problematic of all, that year was much more complicated than the ‘Middle School Momish’ collection or the ‘College Lecture and Cat Lab’ assortment.
Grand Jury hiding was tricky. As assistant foreman I was required to get up from the desk which was center-stage during each officer’s swearing in and walk to retrieve the appropriate files from other jurors on stage.
The auditorium was filled with other jurors. The witnesses were law enforcement officers. I will add that most of these men and women were impressive and dedicated. The testimonies involving felonies were sometimes hard to listen to. I did almost hyperventilate several times.
So now that I have explained the purpose of the ‘ Look at Me but Don’t See Me’ wardrobe, I would like to share some photos. These costumes were not cheap and required careful selection and augmentation.
No special order. I served July to June. I will not share the year.
Peach with rolled up sleeves. Two custom buttons.Perfect match of peach flecksBIG, boring blue with no buttons. The previous month must have traumatized me. Totally invisible outfit. I wore this one several times. May keep it.Mysterious Planet button.Almost the same blue as Boring. Custom button.Button like a woven basket.Red Really? Must have been for February.This button has official looking dignity!Dark green, wsy too big and heavy. No new buttons. Must have been depressed this month. Hell, I got depressed just looking at it!I wish this one wasn’t so big.
Handmade button from Etsy shop MyOnblawnes by KattieQ in the United Kingdom. The button is a keeper!
My friends say I am not an introvert, but I am. I have developed coping mechanisms like these blazers to make me feel safe when I am forced to be brave against my will.
I wear myself out being brave alot. So does Rose. It’s not easy acting like an extrovert on stage when you would be happier being invisible backstage painting the props.
Wetlands are important habitats that tend to disappear as humans move into an area. Natural wetlands actually help the surrounding area by slowing runoff and filtering water. I am glad Boone created this beautiful site for walkers to observe.
Wetlands play vital roles
Wetlands includes many plants that serve as food and shelter for wildlife in the area.
Boone has created a wetlands habitat along its walking trails so that the plants and animal inhabitants can be viewed up close.
I was thrilled to hear and see a pair of redwing blackbirds when I visited the area last week.
Redwing blackbirds
This is a great way to encourage wildlife to live in the area and control water runoff and possible flooding. These signs help visitors identify the inhabitants in the area.
I look forward to watching this area change throughout the spring summer and fall. Stay tuned.
I needed to go to a place that grounds me. These are shaky times and I needed some mental mooring. I went to where I always go when I need peace.
Tuesday morning, I was shaken by the unthinkable. War.
Evergreen Island
I went to Evergreen Island to clear my head. By some strange miracle, I was the only person there. This has never happened before. I guess folks were at the polls or watching the war unfold.
Stone wall full of life
I do not take my safe life for granted. I am disturbed by the unrest everywhere. Humans baffle me. Nature makes more sense. I brought my camera with me especially to photograph this stone wall.
Fern, lichen, algae and moss coexisting
I have studied this wall for years. It brings me peace to see a mix of species living together in harmony.
Foliose and fruticose lichens among moss
There is moss, ferns and lichen living on these old stones. There are forms of algae, fungi and bacteria that cannot be seen. I also see signs of animals living inside the wall.
A hole in the wall home
These living things coexist and share nutrients, space and moisture.
The stone wall plant and fungi condo
This symbiosis between species has taken thousands of years of adjustments to attain balance.
A heart in the wall
I wonder how long it will take humans to learn to live together?
My plants that got moved to the mountain have been in a slump. I have been puzzled by their lack of progress. I water and feed them consistantly, but no new growth had shown up for months… until lately.
Limbs in limbo. Ho hum
Three weeks ago the Night Blooming Cereus started sending up some little flat blades. Sprouts started sprouting!
Sprouting
The Queen of the Night started putting out new leaves and stems. I was happy to see anything new. This plant has doubled in size! The lovely baby leaves are soft, bright green and shiny.
More green on the Queen
Then the leaves elongated and put out leaflets.
Leaves and new leaflets
Even my new starts sent up shoots. What inspired this development?
New stems.
I know the days are getting longer. I choose believe this is my first sign of spring coming.
The Cereus seems to suddenly be serious about growing. Let’s hope they get this excited about blooming.
I am not one to stay inside. The weather on the mountain has been a bit harsh lately. When the ground is slick with snow and ice I have to stay on the porch with my new hips. The decking out there still has streaks from my pacing with my walker during my months of convalescing.
When the storms come from the north, I can pace out on the porch and not get wet. Weather from the west is a different story. The wind blasts across that porch like a freight train. If you get near the railing at the western end you feel like you could almost be lifted off your feet.
During some of the snowstorms this winter, I actually sat on the porch in my coat and watched in silent wonder. That did not happen during this last winter blast that rattled the screens and made me thankful for the brick walls. My neighbors lose siding during these hell benders. They call me ‘ The Third Little Pig.’
This morning the weather has finally settled and I felt the need to go out. The porch in front of the door and to the east was still covered in snow. No problem. I now have a racy red Valentine shovel delivered to me by Mr. Flower. Don’t judge ladies. He also brought flowers and chocolate. LADIES, he has had forty years of training, so curb your envy.
MEN just because you covet every tool does not mean your sweetie wants a vacuum cleaner for Mother’s Day. Yes, you got away with that with your adoring mama, but do not try to pull that two-for gift crap on your wife. If she needs a vacuum cleaner let her pick it out. What do you know about it? She’s not surprising you with a weed-eater.
I digress.
This morning hauled my Valentine shovel out to that porch and cut me a walking path heading west.
Now I can pace on half the porch when the ceiling gets on my nerves. I am grateful for this gift. My other snow shovel was a bent wimp. The flowers will fade and the chocolates will be eaten, but my love shovel will endure!
I went to the place that my Daddy wanted his ashes spread yesterday. I took my lunch there and ate in my car. I got out and took some photos. It is peaceful, private and conveniently located near their house. Daddy was always thoughtful like that.
Daddy’s chosen resting place.
The plan was for the whole family to gather at this location. We were instructed to play his favorite hymn sung by his favorite soprano. Mama negotiated the length of her speech, three minutes max per Daddy. Then we were to take turns silently sprinkling his ashes. I found a blue heart dish with three circles just for this part.
This ceremony has not occurred yet. It has been hard to get all of us on the mountain at once. When we finally all got there, the weather was bad. I had nightmares of Daddy trying to sleep in snow. So we postponed the event until spring. Then Mama died. There went three minutes of the ceremony.
Now we have two urns full of ashes. Daddy’s is bluebird blue and Mama’s is pink, of course. Mama claimed she wanted to be sprinkled with her sister’s ashes at a different, less convenient, location. Did she mean this, or was it the dementia talking?
My daughter, Rose, gave me a pep talk about letting the ashes go last night. They wanted to be set free and sprinkled in nature she said. I know they liked this idea. I do too, on beautiful, sunny days.
For now, I will sit quietly with the blue and pink urns while I remember my parents. I am not ready to let the ashes go.
Pink and blue. What would you do?
What will we do with the urns then? Store them to wait for the next dearly departed. That’s as creepy as keeping a coffin at the ready in your garage. Yes, we know someone who got a good deal on one!
I do not know when I will be ready to let the ashes go. I will continue to visit the spot to acclimate myself. My sister will have to make the call on Mama’s sprinkle site. She haunts me enough already. I don’t need anymore guilt with her name on it.
I missed Winterfest here because of a snowstorm. By the time the ice on my road had melted enough for me to get downtown, only the giant demo ice sculpture in the park’s gazebo was left. I saw it shining in the sun as I got out of my car.
Ice bird after melting.
The gorgeous upper wing looked like glass. The big bird was surrounded by water from its melting. I stood with a young mother admiring what was left when she asked, “What kind of bird is that?”
Big wing, small beak
The details of the wing made it look strong with long feathers like an eagle in flight, but the beak was thin and pointed. The head looked more like that of a dove. The beak was not the hooked, flesh-tearing shape of a raptor.
Pointed head and beak like a doves.
So after days of melting in the warmth of the afternoon sun, this bird had its details softened. The wings still looked big and strong like an eagle’s, but the beak looked thin like the dove of peace without the olive branch.
This hybrid ice bird made me ponder America at this point. Can we be both strong like our national bird the bald eagle and still be a symbol for peace like a dove?
What will it take for this country to morph into something both strong and peaceful? I hope we figure that out.
FLOWER
The link below is from the town’s facebook page so you can see other sculptures including a smaller version of the bird in question.
I am skeptical about everything. I collect information carefully and take notes and pictures. I did these things when a video popped up about a new treatment for dementia, Alzheimers and Parkinson’s disease.
Dementia will likely be my fate, Parkinson’s is my friend’s. I desperately search for anything that might interfer with the progression Parkinson’s symptoms and memory loss.
We slowly lost parts of our mother over many years. It was heartbreaking to watch. I do not want to drain my family’s energy and resources by becoming a burden. We have worked really hard for what we have.
The video included two famous doctors that I respect. It also included a mention of indigenous population with high dementia incidences in Guam. Two famous actors were interviewed who claimed they had been helped by the supplement.
The cause of supposed memory decline was caused by numerous pollutants, especially cadmium chloride. Cadmium is a toxic metal. The video claimed the metal could be removed by a special honey and damage restored by an herb. Too good to be true!
Then a white and purple bottle appeared. I took a screen shot of it. Thank goodness I did this. I tried to save the video, but it disappeared. I sent it to my sister.
I searched for the bottle on the internet. The purple and white bottles looked slightly different than the photo I took. The fake FDA sticker strategically covered the brand name.
I have been spending alot of time in one of the chairs we call ‘Daddy’s Chair’ by the window in my parents’ bedroom on the mountain. More snow came last night. I watched a firetruck and ambulance drive by with lights on. There was a car slid off the slick pavement in the curve up the road. I could see the flashing red lights through the snow and passing cloud. It was getting dark.
Traffic lined up in the white and darkness waiting to pass. The emergency vehicles finally left, but the line of traffic stayed. Two big dump trucks went around the line, on the wrong side of the road in the dark. They must have had a mission involving the mishap.
I kept leaving the window to do chores and coming back to check the line of stopped cars and trucks. Some turned around and left. Others pulled up to wait. This went on for over two hours.
I washed dishes. They were waiting. I took a shower. Still waiting. I read a chapter. Still out there. Were they cold? Hungry? Tired? Probably yes to all three.
On the community website folks ask about the safety of those involved. No complaints or whining. Just concern and sharing information. Communicating while patiently waiting.
I saw it all from my daddy’s chair by the window. His morning lookout. Daddy would sit here to drink coffee in the mornings. My sis and I would sneak in with our own cups and sit on the edge of our parents’ bed. Sometimes our poor mom would still be in bed and have to scooch over to make room for us.
We would discuss what Daddy had seen out the window and what he hoped the day would bring. We would catch up on the neighborhood news. Swap stories and quietly laugh as others slept.
I thought about those times as I kept coming back to that chair to peek out the window into the darkness, hoping not to see a row of lights still stranded out in the cold.
My being here on the mountain keeps my parents near me. Especially when I sit in my Daddy’s chair by the window.
I could have headed south before the storms. Back to my other home where someone else would haul the wood and build the fires. But what would I gain from that, being comfortable and cared for like a cat?
The fiery beast.
I was raised to be smart and strong. But mishaps have happened. I feel I have lost those attributes. I have things to prove to myself. Even now…Especially now.
This collosal storm has raged for days. I have studied the ice, snow, wind and rain. This has not been a relaxing experience, but a necessary one. I belong in the world, not protected from it.
The first wave of snow was heavy and dense. It glistened as it blew and clung to the trees. The temperatures dropped and the wind picked up. By that second white afternoon, I felt I must prepare for power outages. Water was stored in every bathroom and the kitchen.
I rolled out the kerosene heater on its cart and lit it to be sure it worked. I got out flashlights and candles. There must be heat and light.
All pipes in the basement were safe except the one climbing up the front wall which supplies an outside spigot. That pipe was double-wrapped with paper bags and packing materials.
Packing materials for insulating pipe against outer wall.
A fire was layed in the beast of a woodstove my father bought used from some mountain folk down a dirt road. I remember we thought he was unwise to buy that giant rusty box. My daddy always saw the veiled possibilities in things.
Rusty box stove that Daddy refurbished.
I hauled in seven more wheel barrow loads of firewood into the basement. I placed the wood in lawn chairs, so I would not need to lift heavy pieces from the floor. I had been saving cardboard and scrap paper to start fires with. Such is my habit of burning or recycling as much as possible.
Will this be enough wood?
I was exhausted by about 3:00. I felt the tipping point of the ice-loaded trees was eminent. I opened my bedroom blinds and got under a blanket to wait for the sound of snapping trees.
Too much ice.
Sounds started slowly and softly. The wind picked up and pattering noises got louder and faster. This was not the loud crackings that I had expected.
I got up and looked out. Instead of limbs falling, the ice on the trees was slipping off the branches and crashing to the ground. A rain was loosening the ice’s grip on the limbs. The thuds and plops went on for hours. Rain had arrived just as the ice had gotten too heavy for the trees.
This miracle rain had saved the trees and the power lines. Now the grass was a mat of hard-frozen ice with sprinkles of shiny ice shards on top.
The next snow came at dark and continued through the night. This snow was like fine glitter that did not cling to things. It sparkled and blew like fairy dust filling the sky and making dunes in the low places and against any barriers to the wind.
Snow left in the lee.
The snow and winds filled the skies for another day. The winds roared like a train that next night. Snow blew through the screens and filled the space against the windows.
Laundry room window with packed snow.Layers of snow behind the screen door. Snow dune behind it on the porch.
Dunes drifted from place to place. Their shapes and textures changed throughout the day. Holes in mounds seemed to form for no reason. Points jutted out of piles as if the wind had been blocked like a lee behind a stone, but no stone was visible.
Sculpted snow dunes and icicles at picnic table.
The wind is still blowing tonight. I am sure the dunes will be different in the morning. The sun should shine tomorrow. Some ice may melt.
A snow drift covers the road . The red stake marks my driveway.
What did I learn? I learned where the wind follows the contours of our property. I saw how it split around our house and strengthened as it headed down the slopes. I now know how the water flows and where the snow drifts and where the ice melts last.
I had to prove that I am capable of taking care of this house and myself. I will no longer let fear tell me what to do. I need to rely on myself.
I am glad that I did not lose power. I am grateful that my driveway and road are somewhat clear again. I will adapt to any changes that happen. I appreciate assistance but do not expect it.
My family predicted I would be lonely on the mountain. My husband insisted on checking on me during a lull between storms. I enjoyed his company but worried about his driving in the snow. We want everyone safe but there will always be risks. Worry and fear are not anyone’s friends.
Snow dune moving this way all day long.
I was raised to be smart and strong, but mishaps happened and I forgot who I was for a bit.
I had to stay on the mountain with myself to remember.
If you are in ice right now. There is one thing to watch. The posture of the evergreens. These trees have evolved through ice and snow. They are designed to bend downward instead of breaking. Right now I am surrounded by evergreen trees covered in ice. They are holding up well. When the load starts to be too much, the limbs will bend down and rest on the limbs below. They will start to look like a closing umbrella.
Trimmed bottom limbs
If you trimmed off the bottom limbs, there will not be lower support and the whole system may collapse. I have a trimmed evergreen out one window and an untrimmed tree out from another.
Untrimmed lower limbs.
These two trees will tell me when/if the ice is too heavy to hold. Once the cracking starts, other types of trees are in danger also.
When this collapsing starts, the probability that you will lose power increases greatly because limbs and trees will come down.
We are also expecting wind later. Wind is not a friend to ice-covered trees. If the temps get really low, sap will freeze and trees will explode.
It has been going on for weeks now. I have been calling it the ‘Pink Sparkle Emergency.’ I have been searching for all things pink. Pink was Mama’s favorite color. I thought it was just a habit, this looking for pink in January. Her birthday is in January.
I found a pink heart dish for her gift. I got out a pink candle holder I made years ago. I will light the pink candle on her birthday. I thought the obsession would stop.
Ready for Mama’s birthday
It got worse. I needed a pink shirt and pink snowflake jewelry. Shirts came. Wrong pink. The jewelry did not sparkle enough. I shopped until my new hips hurt looking for the right sparkle and the right pink.
Finally, I have the right pink. The right pink? What does that even mean?
The right pink?
I was hoping the emergency was over. I hoped I could finally relax.
Last night I had a pink sparkle dream. There was a little pink sparkle dress. Maybe it’s from too much Wicked watching and Golden Globe viewing?
When I woke up this morning, I saw it in my mind. The perfect pink, the perfect sparkle.
Mama’s perfect pink sparkle dress
It was my mama’s evening gown. I called home and made Mr. Flower take photos. Just to be sure it was safe.
I have not been searching for the perfect sparkly pink. I have been searching for my mama.
Tomorrow is her first birthday after her leaving us. Grief does strange things.
I write about FEAR because it has been and will continue to be a part of my life. My family and I have experienced an inordinate amount of uncertainty and emergencies. The fear is always here, but we do not cower and stop because of it. We do not give it power.
Our family members have learned to pack fear in a bag with the needed supplies and get on with our lives. If you have read our book or blog, Seizure Mama and Rose, you know exactly what I mean. Fear is the uninvited guest at each event and the elephant in every room.
I have my own new fears now that I am being brave with my two new hips. The presence of fear requires the presence of bravery. My new fear is that old-lady worry of “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.” Only my version does not occur in my kitchen. I fear falling on a mountain trail by myself. Please do not bother to”muther me” by telling me not to go. Keep your fear for someone who needs it, I have plenty.
I have been using a trekking pole at Evergreen Island. The trail is flat and open. I love walking there, but I need more nature than that.
I have a new gadget to try on the trails. I will share how it performs in the coming weeks. I was lying in bed inventing this and decided to google search.for a walking stick with a seat. Someone beat me to this invention. I love that its name is ‘Ta-Da’ because that’s what I yell when I do hard things or fall down and get up.
TA-DA hanging on its handy hanger.
So this is my new weapon against fear of falling in the forest. I can use the seat to sit on when my hips hurt, also. This accomodation lets me continue to do what I love by removing the fear barrier. Sometimes it is better to accommodate fear than fight it.
My mama’s birthday is next week. She would have been 94 years old. Her favorite color was pink, so I am in the habit of looking for pink gifts in January.
Pink shimmer snowflake.
I was stopped in my tracks by this lovely pink snowflake in front of a shop named The Funky Tulip.
Charming
It is a great day for swinging in a pink swing. It is almost 60° on the mountain!
Lured to the window by sparkling pink.
I was drawn closer by the display pink decorations in the window.
Of course I had no choice but to pop inside. Pink and sparkle together gets my undivided attention.
Sweet box
I found more pink furniture and items inside.
Pink!!!
If you love pink, this is your kind of place. There were other colors too but I ignored them.
Dreamy dress. If I were thin!
I will keep thinking pink this month as I remember my mama.
The pair of Storytellers’ Chairs have returned to the mountain fully restored and ready for more. I have been busy saving the stories as well. Legacy isn’t just about things.
In the 1960’s the chairs were a plush green. They sat in my grandparents’ livingroom overlooking Hibriten Mountain. My maternal grandfather was the main storyteller.
Grannypaw in green
In the 1980’s the chairs were covered in a rosy velvet. They were in my parents’ home in Charlotte.
Daddy in rosy Hong Kong
Now, they are a lovely blue and sitting in the family room of my parents’ dreamhouse in the mountains of North Carolina.
New blue and the Zebra, too.
You may recognize the Zebra table nearby. Having these important family heirlooms restored and placed here makes me feel like more time circles have been completed.
I have fond memories of times with the former owners of these chairs. I miss my precious relatives who are no longer living. I especially miss my mama, Dottie Ann/ Kiki and her younger brother Uncle Jim both of whom we lost in 2025.
Uncle Jim and Dottie Ann/ Kiki/ Mama
These family pieces being restored and ready for more years with our family brings me both peace and joy.
Many thanks to Blue Ridge Upholstery in Vilas, North Carolina for doing such an excellent job for us.
One of our family traditions is to ride around town looking at Christmas lighting and decorations. We found a new favorite this year.
We visited the known hotspots along the main streets. There are two streets with rows of giant, blow-up Santas with an occasional snowman. There is a neighborhood of assorted lighted balls hanging from the trees. We even found a street of blow-up nutcrackers in town.
We visited the usual yard near us with dozens of the old-type of plastic lighted figures. (I have posted on this one before.) The choir on the bleachers was missing this year, but the snowmen, ceramic look-alike trees, toy soldiers, teddy bears, angels and a nativity scene were present in the presentation.
My husband and son found our new favorite while looking for something else. That is how life works!
This neighborhood was developed in the hundreds of acres of nature that surrounded our home for decades. I was glad to see the sparsely populated development in the previous woodlands getting into the holiday spirit.
Several of the yards were over-the-top lit up. There was even a lighted herd of deer where a real herd probably bedded down back in the day. They had a good assortment of Santas and snowmen and lights of all colors strung across roofs and trees. Just when we were getting to the deadend of the road, we spotted a bright glow on a hill.
Wowza! The over-the-top yards got topped by the most ecclectic grouping of lighted figures ever. These folks did not stop with tradition!
There was a gingerbread house with two dancing cookies.
The tree in the middle of the yard held colorful lighted ornaments. There were several angels. The gold one had flapping wings. The lighted mailbox’s door opened and closed. There were cute teddybears here and there.
The giant word JOY was behind the tree and Merry Christmas was down in front. Big lighted candles and snowflakes were scattered about. These images were fancy versions of the expected holiday decor.
This should have been more than enough cheer to spread, but these folks were not done yet. They had more to say this holiday.
Front and center of the glowing menagerie stood the three stand-outs of the ensemble. A golden Statue of Liberty glistening beautifully was noticed first.
Beside Lady Liberty was the silver Eiffel Tower, and beside it was a big, glowing Ferris Wheel.
WOWZA!
There is a story here. I hope I get to hear it before I leave town. I will let you know if/ when I do. It is going to be difficult to stay away until I know what inspired such a display.
Merry Christmas readers. I hope you each have an over-the-top holiday with events full of twinkling lights and dancing cookies and liberty.
Before I start this post, I would like to announce that I have been blogging via my phone for the past year or more. This is my first time back on a computer on the mountain. Boy, did I see past mistakes! Between the tiny screen and the tiny keys, it was hard to see what I was sharing. I have finally moved back to a computer because the book I am writing got so big it needs Scrivener for me to control it. My printer has decided to work as well, so this has been an exciting morning. There have been other technical difficulties, but that is nothing new.
Back to the three signs. Dismiss these if you wish. When events go way beyond coincidental, I call them signs from the Universe. That is what I say happened last week. I have posted about the copy of the letter that was sent from my mother to my aunt and back again. I also shared that the envelope from Canada did not have a date stamp. That catches you up for the rest of the story.
The next day two more related events occurred. The Universe knows that I am slow. First, I found the envelope that my mother mailed the copied letter to my aunt in. It had a date stamp of Dec 16, 2005. That was twenty years ago yesterday. My Gran died in 1995. Thirty years before that. I guess my Mama had been too busy to go through the box and read all the letters until then.
Both envelopes for mailing the copies back and forth.
So the third time I saw the letter I realized I needed to look closer than just to write a summary on a post-it note. That’s when the surprises started. The first paragraph blew my paternalism theory for the book out of existence.
The first sentence was, ” Well ’tis done____ for better or for worse! The letter goes on to describe their efficiency apartment and includes a hand-drawn map of it. This map is the only thing I remembered from seeing the original letter in the box disguised as a book. My goal then was just to get them in order.
The next several paragraphs glowingly described things in the apartment. Then comes the sentence, “I wish you could see my ring! … It’s platinum with five diamonds. The engraving is exquisite. It has EMD – DIP 5.10.’29 on the inside.”
Here comes number two bonus of the more than coincidental events. My sister called to tell me to look for some things I had found earlier and bring them to her over the holidays. I really wanted to do it later, but was afraid I would forget. I stopped what I was doing to go find that box and stick it in my suitcase.
The box in the box.
I opened it to be sure it was the right box and there inside that box another little box. Written on the top was “Wedding Ring (Broken).” I opened the box to find two pieces of a platinum ring with only one diamond left embedded in it. I got out my jeweler’s loop and looked inside it.
There it was! EMD – DIP on one piece and 10. 29 on the other.
My Gran’s wedding ring mentioned in the letter.
Believe what you wish. I am just sharing the facts.
This is my first winter on the mountain, so everything is a first for me. The wind woke me up this morning. I looked out the back window to see snow tornadoes swirling where the wind met the corner between the house and the garage.
Circles mean things to me. They are a sign that I pay attention to. I know these swirls are due to the blowing snow, the wind direction and the configuration of the corner. I also know that natural forces create supernatural events.
See partial snow circles left by the swirls.
I stood mesmerized by the swirls. I remembered back to teaching about breaking waves with water in a fish tank and how the water swirled back when it hit the edge. I thought about how wave swells are really circles under the sea. Nature does not have corners nor deadends. Wind and water find their way out, over or through eventually.
I am in a time-circle now. Here on the mountain circling through the past of my family, again and again. Trying to find my way through to a present where all the pieces fit together.
Now, it is actually snowing. The air is white and fiercely dynamic. I am in the midst of a giant snow swirl.
This will be our first Christmas without Mama. I am making memorial ornaments for me and my sister. They are pink, Mama’s favorite color.
I will share the steps for doing this. You only need plain ornaments, decorative napkins, glue, foam paint brushes, glitter and scissors.
Remembering Mama
I use paper plates to contain the mess. This is a really messy project. That’s why I love it!
Do not sigh or sneeze PLEASE!
Used yogurt containers, Choboni flip and Qui, are great for glue and water. I labeled my glue containers M for matte and G for gloss. I have used both so you can see the difference.
Peel the back two layers off your napkins. Save these for cleaning up.
Peel off plain ply layers from the back.
Also remove the top hanger of the ornaments. Do not lose these in the mess!
I stick shewers and my fingers in the top holes to hold the balls.
Hold by the hole.
Cut out the central designs to be featured on your ornament. These go on first. Plan your spacing and arranging.
Sometimes parts get cut off and must be replaced, like little paper Frankensteins.
Soldiers with new hat and new legs.
Then either hang or perch them on something to dry. This means leave them alone for a bit. Repeat again until totally covered.
Hung on a skewer.
If this were a Decoupage Party it would be time for Mimosas and snacks. Since I am alone, I am using the down time to write steps as I go. Pausing is hard for me.
Now use the napkin scraps to fill in the blank parts of the ornament. Overlap as little as possible. Glitter and glue will cover the booboos.
Glue more, hang to dry more.
Lastly, you cover any bare sections with custom cut pieces of plain background from the waste left from the napkins.
Let’s talk glitter. It is possible to do a perfect job of decoupage and ruin it with the wrong glitter. Very detailed designs need white, extra fine glitter. Do not use irridescent unless you want to add color, or there is a simple design, or lots of repetition or you want to cover up some ugly. Some shaggy irridescent glitter totally blocks the design
Fine white rose irridescent on left, mixed sized bling in the middle called party blend /snow swirl, white iris on the right
Party Blend or bling should be used on plain ornaments as a featured texturizer.
Party blend glitter on the left on a flat white. Flat white ornament/ no glitter on the right. Easy enough for children. Ribbon can be glued around the sides.
I usually save all residual glitter and mix it on the last ornament. I hate the ball glitter. It rolls. Do not buy it…ever.
Let the completed ornaments dry over-night. I usually use clear spray to seal these, but don’t have any here.
Almost done.
Warning, if you sigh alot or sneeze, this may NOT be the craft project for you. I am a sigher and usually send tiny pieces of napkins and glitter all over.
floweralley 