Rainbows and Songs

The eminent philosopher, Kermit the Frog, pondered the age-old question, ” Why are there so many songs about rainbows and what’s on the other side?”

With all due respect to Kermit the Frog, of whom I am a great fan (he is after all a frog and I am a collector of frogs), I have to say, “Have you ever looked at a rainbow?”  And the answer is, Of course not!  Kermit isn’t a real frog, for pity’s’ sake, he’s a Muppet.  He’s never looked at anything!

But for those of us who are real flesh and blood and have looked at a rainbow, is it any wonder that there are so many songs about them?  I was blessed to see a rainbow yesterday.  After yet another wet, gray,  dreary day in the Puget Sound, a ray of sun poked  thru’ the mist and lo!  all the colors of not just one, but two rainbows!  It was the perfect end to the week.

Sorry, Kermit, but it’s obvious why there are so many songs about rainbows.

YooHoo! Hello there!

I work at a high school with all of its drama and cliques, athletes and nerds, winners and losers.

The other day I was returning from an errand to another part of the school.  It was a sunny day (okay, the truth is  it was a sunny few minutes in the day). Ahead of me a short distance were two of the special needs kids walking together to the lunch room. They chatted cheerfully with each other and I thought, how nice that they have each other to walk and talk with.  These special needs kids are not overtly shunned or made fun of;  instead they become “invisible” and the other students just don’t see them.  So we walked along, me behind the two kids making their way to the lunch room, me thinking how nice they have each other.

When from behind me I heard a happy voice call each of the two special needs kids’  by name, wave, and said, “Hello!”  I turned around, a bit stunned, and saw one of our school’s very pretty, very bright, popular girls walking along and waving past me to the two special needs kids, calling them by name, and smiling happily.

The two recipients of the hello and wave and smile looked back, waved,then continued on their way.  To them it was just a smile and a wave.  But to me, well, it changed my day.

Wearin’ of the Green

I  haven’t imagined it. It really has rained a lot this year.  We’re over 2 inches above normal for this time of the year.  It has been a gray, dreary, wet end to winter.

But all of this wet has made for some spectacular green.  My daffodils are up and some of them are  even daring to show off their yellow flowers.  The tulip’s green leaves are just starting to emerge from the earth.  And our grass is so green it almost hurts my eyes.

It’s a lovely scene and I especially enjoyed it today when the sun came out from behind the clouds.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day.  I hope you got to enjoy some of  God’s green, too!

Tsunami Sadness

I want to weep.  The tragedy  in Japan following the earthquake and tsunami breaks my heart.  It’s impossible to understand the devastation. The people in Japan were living their lives, just like you and I are doing at this very moment. Working, sleeping, eating, worrying, relaxing, and within a heartbeat their world was destroyed.  Everything is gone.  Their homes, cars, family heirlooms, pictures of their babies.  Gone.  Friends and family gone. Nothing left but rubble.  The earthquake and tsunami are  gone, too, and have been replaced by nuclear reactors that are on fire. There is no food, no water, no shelter, no family. And now the snow is coming.

Where are the small happinesses in this? Where is the tiniest happiness?

I am relieved because I am safe and my family is safe, that this disaster happened “over there”, far from me.  But this is such selfishness. Thousands and thousands of people are not safe.  There is no happiness is this tragedy.

There are, however, lessons to learn.  I must learn to treasure each of my moments.  I must stop fretting about trivial interruptions and disturbances in my life.  I must let my loved ones know I love them.  I must understand that this is truly a global community and what happens to some affects all. And  I must take action.

I must donate money to a charity I trust.  The amount seems so pitifully small compared to the need but if we all gave our “pitifully small amount” it would make a tremendous difference to those in need.  I must pray for the people of Japan who have been devastated by this earthquake and tsunami.  I must pray for those who are  helping. And I must pray for me, that I will learn these lessons, do what I can, and trust God to fill the gaps.

And I may weep.

Daylight Saving Time Swallows My Victory

You’ve been there.  Your favorite team is playing.  Matter’s not if it’s your kid’s little league team, your high school team, or your hometown NFL team. They are your favorite and you are with them.  Today’s game started slow but they’ve picked it up and have been in the lead, albeit not by much, since their faltering start.  And then in the last minutes they widened the lead and victory looked certain. But alas!  Something went wrong in the last seconds and the other team pulled ahead!  Your team lost!  You can’t believe it!  It was looking so good. You were basking in the certainty of victory and then it was gone.

This morning was just like that.  My day starts early.  For the past few months I’ve been heading out for work in the dark. My team was behind. Then this past week my team picked it up and were coming on strong.  I’d open my door to head out for my day and there was a bit of light! And the next day it was light a bit earlier.  And by the time I’d arrive at work it  really was daylight.  Ah! Daylight. Maybe even the promise of sun! My team was going to win!

Then Daylight Saving Time surged into the lead and my winning daylight was over taken by darkness. Victory was swallowed up in defeat. Dang!

For now I have to take solace in second place, longer daylight in the evenings. But my team will be back!  And daylight in the early morning will make a comeback!

I’m Not Seeing Much Spring Out There

Punxsutawney Phil promised us an early spring but I’ve learned to never trust a rodent.

It looks  like the middle of December. The clouds are thick, gray, and heavy with rain.  My yard is a swamp and my pathetic potholed road is flooded. The thermometer can barely reach 45 degrees. It’s almost mid-March and I’m not seeing much spring out there.

In years past by mid-March I’d have a forest of daffodils and crocus blooming.

This year I have one blooming daffodil.  One lonely daffodil that is brave enough to bloom.  The rest of the flock is shrinking into the earth trying to stay warm.

I’m very proud of my one brave daffodil.  It’s not afraid to be the only one blooming, to stand alone, and be an individual.   It’s shining its yellow cheeriness announcing the advent of spring.

Even though there’s no spring.

I probably can’t trust daffodils anymore than I can trust rodents. But I’m digging my one blossoming flower that is not afraid to bloom in winter.

And The Score Goes Up Another Notch–2

I'm still learning this blogging. Sorry for the poor quality of this picture. These are kittens we raised a couple years ago

Our cats refused to take the Four Temperments Test but I’m pretty certain where they score.  Miss Kitty and Marshall Dillon, our two “old” cats are phlegmatics. They are people-phobic.   Strangers terrify them.  Last week we had an assortment of  guests at our house;  adults, teenagers, little kids. Marshall Dillon freaked as soon as the first folks came in, ran to the back door, and began howling.  I set him free.  Miss Kitty tried to hide in the bathroom.  I rescued  her  and let her hide in our bedroom for the rest of the night.

But our “newbie”, Oliver, is a sanguine. He’s the socialite.  All those people to adore him!  He lapped up  the attention letting one and all handle and manhandle him.  He was petted, loved, and carted around by adults and little kids and loved it all.  After our guests were gone I thought sure he’d had enough people-time when I found him under a table.  But as soon as I crawled into bed, to read for a few minutes before turning out the light, Oliver was right there with me asking for more attention and purring contentedly.

It’s been about 3 weeks  since the new kid was added to the mix.  Our ” old” cats still hate Oliver and let him know their opinion as often as possible.  Oliver is scared of them but he acts tough.  It isn’t looking like this is going to be a big, happy family any time soon.  Still,  Miss Kitty and Marshall Dillon haven’t moved out yet nor have they maimed the new kid. I guess that means there’s hope.

Washing Dishes

My family can deal with me building fires in the wood stove in winter. They enjoy the warmth.  Hanging wash out on the line in the summer makes no sense to them but it’s okay. But washing dishes by hand! This is too much for them.  This isn’t the 19th century, for pity’s sake.  We have a dishwasher!

Part of the reason I do it is because I’m cheap.  I can’t see spending money running a dishwasher,  which sprays water on the dishes for an hour (accomplishing what, I don’t know), when I can wash those dishes in 10 minutes and save a bunch of money on electricity. I save money by hanging out the wash and building a fire, too.

I got to this point in my blog then stumbled along writing, deleting, writing, cutting.  I couldn’t find just the right way to explain how washing the dishes makes me feel.  So I set the blog aside, to let it marinate in my mind.  I’d take a break and read some more of an old book I found, Papa’s Wife.  And there it was, just minutes into my break, on page 188.

A story of Swedish immigrants at the turn of the 20th century, tonight’s reading has Papa trying to decide between continuing his  brief career as a farmer or going back to being a preacher. And there in Papa’s dilemma was the explanation of my feelings. “Hard as the work was at times, no one complained.  It was always a happy tiredness, the kind that comes from the satisfaction of work well done.”

That was it!  Washing dishes isn’t the hard work it was a century ago, when first the wood had to be chopped, then the water pumped from the well and heated on the stove.  But there is still the satisfaction of having done a job, and done it well.  The dishwasher doesn’t provide that satisfaction.

Now, I don’t want to go back to the days of Papa’s life, before indoor plumbing, electricity, and central heat and air. (When the fire’s not going I appreciate my furnace!)  I don’t envy Papa or any of history’s citizens who lived before these luxuries.  But there is something to be said about doing a “difficult” job and doing it well, participating in the process.

I’ve built tonight’s  fire and washed the dishes.  No furnace or dishwasher tonight.

(But if you come up with a machine to do the dusting, I’ll buy it!)

Call When You Get Home

Almost 4 decades ago I left home and moved across the state.  Well, most of me moved across the state. My body moved across the state but part of my heart was left behind. So over the years, several times each year, I’ve traveled back “home”,  to  visit  my parents, the house I grew up in, the neighborhood I played in.  At the end of each visit, following hugs and kisses and thank you’s for all the great food and fun, the final admonition is always,  “Call when you get home.” Because no matter how grown up I am my parents always worry and wait for the phone call assuring them that yes, indeed, I am safely home.

A year and a half ago our oldest daughter  married and moved across the state, (but not to my home city) taking her belongings, and part of our hearts, with her.  Our travels are now divided between “home”, where mom is (dad has been gone  for 13 years) and our daughter and son-in-law. And it’s just the same at the end of a visit with the kids.  Following hugs and kisses and thank you’s for all the great food and fun, the final admonition is always, “Call when you get home.”  Because it doesn’t matter that we’re the parents and they are the kids, they worry and wait for the phone call assuring them that yes, indeed, we are safely home.

And because Call When You Get Home is secret code for I Love You.

And The Score Goes Up Another Notch

Some say you can never have too many pairs of shoes. I  believe you can never have too many sunny days. (At least I’ve never experienced such a thing here in western Washington.)  Others say it’s impossible to enjoy too much chocolate. My daughter’s mantra is, you can never have too many cats.

Black, striped,  tabbys, long haired and short haired, mutt cats of all kinds have lived with us  for short, or longer,  times.  But for the past couple years we’ve done well with just two cats, Miss Kitty and Marshall Dillon. Great cats. They’ve learned to navigate the harsh cruel world and have avoided being eaten by the coyotes.  They come and go at their pleasure frequently staying out all night and sleeping on the sofa all day.    It’s a good arrangement. We feed them, pet them, let them in and out.  And as a thank you they occasionally get up off the sofa and catch a mouse.  It’s worked well.

But the score was tied at two cats for too long and a couple weeks ago the score went up another notch. Our daughter, the homeless cat magnet, brought home another cat. The latest addition is a male orange tabby.  He appears to be young but has an air of confidence that our two grown cats are entirely lacking.  “Oliver Twist” as he’s currently known moved right in. He wasn’t intimidated by the bad words Miss Kitty and Marshall Dillon  inflicted upon him.  Even the hissing and spitting and cuffs on the head haven’t damaged his ego.  At least not too much.  That I can tell.  I hope not, anyway.

Part of me does worry though.  Will Miss Kitty or Marshall Dillon hurt the new kid?  Or will they get fed up,  pack up, and leave? It gets a bit heated around here when the three of them meet up. The fur flies and the air turns blue.

I’m thinking maybe you can have too many cats.