It’s “Hey Rene J” Today!

This absolutely had me laughing aloud as I sipped my morning joe yesterday. No reason other than a really good one. Enjoy your Wednesday – and may the wind, which could be at your back, actually die down today and allow a nice, warmer walk. (Old Irish Blessing)

How rewarding to see small puddles on the deck, the neighbor’s lawn greening, and the pear trees considering their buds. In another micro-clime ten houses away the daffodils are blooming. Such a hope-filled season, at least until we get the next round of winter weather.

Years ago I implemented a program here called, “Daffodils in the Ditch.” I planted about 100 bulbs each year for a few years in my ditch. It was a simple idea and really pretty. Unfortunately, the poor soil, weather factors, and lack of a proper way to always hydrate them probably caused their slow fade out of existence. That’s what I miss when these April showers come around – the cheerfulness of color.

Thus, I’ll have to keep the floral purchases coming until I see my little tulips bloom and the cherry trees blossom. Flower power!

My spouse has gleaned something from my upbringing. We had an interesting guest list this Easter of those who were regulars and those who were alone. He invited friends who had recently lost wives and the friend who received the great news from his CT Scans. We celebrated with neighbors, who are the family. I’m humbled to have hosted this gathering. I just feel so blessed.

That’s it.

Tomorrow is Easter Monday. Used to be a holiday…it is. Xoxoxoxo

One of the loveliest lines of poetry from Gerard Manley Hopkins and a fitful sonnet for our Good Friday thoughts. It speaks to finding our purpose and living it, and finding that we are to be Christ to others.

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies dráw fláme;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves—goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying Whát I do is me: for that I came.

I say more: the just man justices;
Keeps grace: thát keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is—
Christ—For Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father through the features of men’s faces.”

My childhood did not contain plastic candy-filled Easter eggs. Mom would dye a dozen hard-boiled eggs and hide them in the house, because never was there an Easter Sunday where your pretty dress could be seen underneath the winter coat you had to wear. Thus, no eggs were hidden outside by The Bunny.

One year we couldn’t find an egg. My mother had four children, so exhaustion had to play a role in forgetting the hiding spots. We even had a dog who could have sniffed it out, but no such luck. It was months before it was found on the floor behind a curtain, leaving us to consider it was a dud egg since it never even emitted an odor.

These are the fond childhood memories of Easter I retain: the bowl hat, the dud egg, and cold weather.

Thankfully, maturity brought me to the true understanding of Easter and the joy of being able to sing, “Alleluia,” again. I still dye eggs and wear my winter gear most years. Alleluia!

Percy Bysshe Shelley’s, “Ode To a Skylark,” sprang to mind this morning as I retrieved my daily news publication. The songbirds are bright and musical already, and their twittering hymns cheerful and promising. Here’s a lovely line from the poem.

’Tis Spring.

Thanks to my nature-photographer friend, “Pom,” I get lots of reels on Instagram about animals. They are entertaining and often very sweet. Today featured a squirrel.

This squirrel – no lie – brought a cookie for the lady who feeds him daily. He gently crawled up the railing on the steps to place it on the ledge of the brick facade by her front door. Full-sized, frosted cookie. Of course, now I’m feeling a tinge of remorse for removing those little pests from the yard and relocating them to the plains of Kansas. Maybe I should be feeding them so they quit eating my siding on the house? It might be a safer alternative than sprinkling the porch roof with cayenne pepper?

Then again, my squirrel-wrangling husband would be out of a job and he needs something to do with his spare time. 🤠 Time to set the humane trap again and give the newest pest a vacation.

See the eldest girl in the middle with the ugly bowl bonnet on her head? That was me. See the cute younger sister with the brimmed hat and ribbons? That was my sister, “Pindy.” The third sister was much younger and probably had a blanket wrapped around her.

I was so jealous of my sister’s hat. I do not recall how many years I had to have a bowl on my head, but I probably rebelled enough to get out of hat-wearing after a couple of years.

Perhaps this early chapeaux is what sent me on a life-long love of hats? I have at least 40, and I seem to find myself drawn to them whenever I am lucky enough to be wandering through a clothing store. I have them in hat boxes and stuffed in a closet. Why don’t I wear them more often? The brims. My favorite hats all have super wide brims, the kind someone behind me in church or otherwise would not be able to see around. The kind that don’t fit in the car when you slide in. The kind that draw attention when worn.

I guess I made up for the bowl bonnet years in a rather disproportionate way, didn’t I? That settles it. I’m wearing a hat this Easter! Wait – I don’t have a pink one to match my outfit.

Shopping anyone?

My plan was to wash the windows on the main floor today, of which I can reach both inside and out handily. In my morning convo with a friend, “Pat,” I learned that washing them before a snowstorm is foolish and should be avoided.

Now my day is free! Happy Saturday!