Winter blues...

February 28

I always knew I didn’t like January or February... but I had forgotten why when we moved south.  So fast the soul forgets about the perils of yesterday when you’re happy!  But, we're back here again, back to the land of snows.  And I haven’t been feeling well for so long now, that I have forgotten how to smile wide and hard inside.

 

The big square table hasn’t been used in a long time either—not for breakfast, or lunch or dinner any more, like we used to.  It was always a happy table back at the little white cottage, a throne of sorts where we would enjoy hours eating, or reading, or just looking at the glories outside at any time of day, any time of the year. 

I used to embellish it with whatever I had on hand… little things that make me happy, flowers, candles, a plant or two, books...  

But now the table sits in a room all to itself with windows that overlook the street on one side and to a neighbor’s house on the other.  It is not a pleasant thing to have to look at your neighbor’s old car parked across your window... so close, that you can almost reach out and touch it, or his huge trailer on the back, always erasing the sky from my sight.

And thus, I can’t find a place to ‘land’ here—so it seems.  A place where I feel comfortable enough, and happy enough to just sit and be.  It has to be, of course, a place from where I can look outside and contemplate the world outside my windows.  I work upstairs, on the second floors, where my only view are the rooftops and the revelation of the far away mountains.  For that I am thankful.  There’s a single tree too, tall enough to be seen from the bay window where I sit and work, and sometimes a flock of birds would fly by to it and rest for a while on thin naked branches. But that's about it.

 

March 2

By early evening every drop of snow had melted away. Rivers of water poured forth from above and below cleaning the skies, cleaning the earth.  And thus, the wheel of time is turning.  If I look outside my window I can corroborate it.  Shadows are gathering up in little cumulus of light, and the slant of cheerless wintry glow that surfaces around mid afternoon over the somnolent garden is slowly shifting... slowly; very slowly... things are changing.  

If I pay close attention to my surroundings, I can see only blue against the last remnants of white, and the evening light is promising; it carries within itself a faint intonation of spring...  Hope!

"For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience" (Romans 8:24-25). 

That old garden in the roses

Saturday, February 24—more snow.  We woke up to more snow… it all started with a light dust of snow that as the day progressed, it quickly turned into some big puffs that soon covered every inch of ground in our little world.

And it snowed all-day-long.  Plunging temperatures. Blustery winds. Pitch darkness by 6 p.m. The polar bear is definitely not my spirit animal.  My heart is full of summer dreams, and I’m fancying warm southern days and pyramids of tall green trees.  And there’s a garden in my dreams I’ve already seen.  I remember this and this and this…

And I remember this too...

 

Would I see all this again?  Are all these glories I see in these old photographs still here?  Could it be possible?  Because all I see now in my garden is emptiness, and white white white... nothing else.  No flowers, no bushes, no petals.  I can hardly believe I once had all that beauty contained in my very own backyard… what would I be seeing here this spring and summer will be a total surprise.  I just don't know.  Would all those roses of yesterday come back again this year?—to greet me back home, to enchant my heart again with petal dreams, and pastel shades of pinks?   I can only wait, and hope. 

Snow...

Thursday, Feb 22nd

It has been snowing since last evening… 

...a tin-tan-tin of a light snow, but the ground, with its gardens, woke up swathed in blankets of icy-whites.  I wrapped up myself in layers and layers of clothing, put on my old flowered-gardening boots and out I went to ‘feel’ my little world.  All senses awaken; caressing the scent lingering in ices, the harshness of frost, the mood, and aura of the atmosphere... 

It is beautiful… all beautiful.  Beautiful to watch the snow from the comfort of a warm home, as it gently falls down in white puffs of smooth clouds.  But still more beautiful, and more amazing to me is to be able to stay home and enjoy the little glories of my days… slowly, and as the soul pleases. 

While watching snow fall from my windows, I decided today was a good day to wash all bed linens, so our big, comfy bed got a new look for a few hours...

…until everything gets washed clean, and dried and fluffed up, and the room can go back to its usual look.   

  

Looks good, but it won't stay looking like this for long...

I hear someone outside blowing off snow and I smell the aroma of coffee downstairs, and far, far away behind the horizon the slashed peaks of the Owyhee’s have disappeared.  

All is ashen white...

...all is fine with my soul… 

I can hardly believe it… those old days of yesterday when the moment I woke up it was get out of bed, get dress, go out and shovel all that snow, get in the car, hit the slippery freeway and spend your entire day enclosed in an office tolerating some very awful boss and feeling miserable… perhaps one day I shall share my story with you, but not now… now the snowy garden is calling my name, the earth sings in particles of ices, and now the ground is firm, and cold and my boots walk the winter garden with assurance and a lightness to it that pleases my soul… I’d not talk about yesterday.  Today is precious.  Tomorrow is in God’s hands.

The girl in the painting

For some inexplicable reason, I love original portrait paintings, those odd ones, painted by unknown artists… particularly fun is to hunt for them in thrift stores and second-hand shops… I’m always on the look for them…  if you get lucky, you’ll always find some of the best bohemian looking portrait paintings ever.    

On President’s day, this past Monday our local Goodwill had a 50% sale going all throughout the entire store… everything 50% off.  That’s when I went by, and discovered this beauty!

I was super lucky to have found her! 
And only for $3

I always love to give my newly found treasures a name, and always look for it on the back of the paintings, in case it already came with one.  Like with my lovely Judith here…

 She came with her name on the back of the canvas…

She's a large painting, and I just love her!

She looked perfect in our little aqua and white kitchen at our little white cottage 

This particular canvas I just found was enclosed in some sorts of a removable wood frame… pretty, but I like the simpler canvas look better.  So, I removed the canvas from the frame, and that’s when I found the name of the girl in the painting, although... it could be the painter’s name?  I duno!  Would you help me figure it out!

Is it Jenn Blue?  Jean Elle?  Jeane Lue? Jeane Blue?  I wish I be a graphologist so I can figure this one out!  What do you all think?

 Here it is in another light!

Although the portrait is a little bit dark for my taste, and I would have preferred some livelier colors instead, I think she’s still beautiful, and it goes perfect in my gypsy room!

I don’t know why the painter chose to add the dripping paint along neck and arms, and the rather creepy dark spot on that one side of the neck… as if suggesting a gash? or a horrible wound?  Or maybe it was just the intention of a bad painter?  Maybe?  Is she supposed to be a sad girl?  Then maybe her name should really be Jeane Blue?  Nay, it is Jennelle me thinks, and she’s a nostalgic, but beautiful gypsy girl!

Leave your comments!

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Wow Us Wednesday @ Savvy Southern Style

Dear Diary...

The warm spell we had a few weeks ago is gone, and again the land has been immersed in deep, deep cold.  We had a flurry of a snow yesterday, which means that a gust of cold flew by our little world, and it brought in a light burst of snow that lasted all day and which means that I haven’t been able to go outside for the last two weeks and the work I'd started in the garden has come to a complete stop.   All I can do now is look outside the window and wish, and dream and dream and wish away my days in flowers.

 Days ago, when I was working in the garden I uncovered from the ground yet another little treasure—my friend Mr. Theo here!  

Oh, it was such a nice discovery!  I had forgotten all about him to the point that I didn’t even noticed I was leaving him behind when we moved south… he must had fallen off the top of the stone where he used to live, and I never noticed it back then… as the years went by, he got buried away in the ground, and now it was almost a little miracle finding him!  He has lost all his beautiful colors from his lovely green skin; must probably, by not having been eating properly, but I will make sure he gets his beautiful green colors back again on his cheeks real soon…

My husband the fisherman bought himself a new truck on his birthday the other day… you know, one of those humongous manly truck, meant only for boys.  But of course, it really is my truck… really!  That's what he says!  

You see, I was going to need a new car soon, because mine was very old, and had many many miles on it, and it had started giving me problems... so then on his birthday the other day, the Fisherman went out and got 'me' that monster!  

His reasoning was that because I had always loved my old Ford-explorer-sport-trac, I needed something better this time!  So he upgraded it!  With that monster of a truck!  I know that he secretly bought it for himself, of course, but he still swears it is mine!  But don't tell him I know that Ok, cause you know what... I'm loving it too!  Yes!  I am learning how to handle myself properly like a true lady riding a monster, and I think I’m doing pretty good thus far!

I’m trying out all the pretty fabrics that my bloggy reader-friend Barbara send me, and this week the sofa in my little bohemian-gypsy room is wearing the lovely peacock fabric with glitter all over it…  it looks so pretty!

 My magical tree is still looking splendid!

A foretaste of spring inside my very own home for sure!

If you haven't read it yet, you can read the story of how magical this tree truly is 

on my previous post! 

The long weekend is almost over and the Fisherman will have to go back to the office to his regular 7 to 6 schedule. Ugh, we miss all that time we used to have in our hands, but he’s happier here, and we had a splendid weekend, going to different coffee places in the very early morning for breakfast, visiting quaint old neighborhoods in downtown and spending time at Barnes and Noble with a cup of coffee and some great books, just as we used to do years ago.

 I do hope you too had a lovely long weekend, my friend! 

The Budding of Aaron’s Staff

I need to be surrounded by Nature to feel whole.  My spirit and soul crave the nearness of God through Nature.  One of the things that have always come more natural to me than life itself, is finding God in Nature… in the songs of birds and the tickling of water, in tall trees and soft grasses, I always find Him there…  I call upon the beauty and power found in Nature to remind me of my Heavenly Father, and the wisdom and goodness that exist in Him. 

Nature is my church and my safe haven.  I didn’t have any problem attaining this when we lived in our little white cottage.  The woods skirting the gardens were the walls of my holy sanctuary, roses and crepe myrtles the pews and kneelers, and birds were my fellow worshipers.  But in these parts of my little world, things are much different.  

Winters are harsh and long, and Nature goes dormant for a very long period of time.  Birds and feral cats are nowhere to be found, and on top of that, we’re surrounded by huge two-story houses on all four corners.  That’s why many years ago, I created this little ecosystem of a rose garden.  But the garden has been unloved and unkept for so long, that now is not even worth of calling it ‘a garden’ any more…

On top of all that, it’s been a cruel January and February for me.  My little heart has been broken by the pain brought by death. Days and weeks are long and there are days when loneliness sets on my spirit like spiderwebs.  The worse is, not being able to feel God’s nearness when I need Him the most.  He seems so far away… even in my worse days, when He’s supposed to be closer to me than ever, I cannot seem to find Him anywhere.  

So, I’ve been talking to Him lately... asking Him to show his lovely face upon my sadness, through a sign that can assure me of His presence in my life…  

…and I go and sit outside in the very early hours of morning, when it is cold and the only noise you can hear is the distant roar of cars, waiting to find ‘this miracle’ somewhere in the meager winter garden… I’d go out at noon too, and at sundown when the world’s lights turn dimmed and the earth becomes quieted again.  And I’ve been telling Him something that He already knows:  I'm hurting, my heart is heavy with sadness. I'm in desperate need of you... I need to reconnect, to be reassured of your love for me, and your promise of resurrection.  Your promise, oh Father: "I will ransom them from the power of the grave. I will redeem them from death. Where, O death, are your plagues? Where, O grave, is your destruction?"

But He doesn’t speak.  Not even a bird would come by to assure me that God is ever so near.  Not a single leaf, nor a flower.

Then, while cleaning the garden the other day I discovered something glorious sprouting from the ground. I felt around the soil and my cold fingers touched the hard-pointed tips—hostas! I said excited.  Yes, they were hostas! I was sure. But who had planted them?  I knew it hadn’t been me, and I was certain neither the people who had rented our house and ruined my garden.  This was definitely the miracle I was expecting!  The little reminder from heaven that I was not alone in my pain and that God does know and cares.  

I was elated with joy, my heart thanked my Creator in the faith of a little child… but then, that night, all of a sudden it dawned on me how very wrong I had been all along. You see, I had sadly realized that what I had thought were hostas were not. There was no miracle, only the old tulips I had planted many years ago.  How disappointed and sad I then felt. 

But oh, how we benefit from the tremendous power of faith! God can never let us down. He would never let our little faith die without first proving his faithfulness to us.  And little did I know what God had in store for me!  I was bound for a much bigger, incredible miracle than what I had in mind! For blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, and whose hope is the Lord. You see, is not that God doesn't answer.  Is that our thoughts are not his thoughts, neither are our ways his ways…. and it wasn’t precisely in the garden where God wanted to show me that, indeed, He was very near… it was inside my very own house instead!

I couldn’t believe my eyes the moment I entered this room the other day to find this…

and this...

From a dead tree... without any roots whatsoever, in the middle of winter, inside my house, out of season, without a drop of water, or sun.... white blossoms on branches I had pruned off  the lilac tree.

And white blossoms, not the regular lavender of the lilac tree… white, which symbolizes faith, and the belief in something bigger than yourself…

Yes, that dead, half of a lilac tree with no roots whatsoever I had brought in from the garden after a pruning to use as decoration had flourished… and it had not only sprouted, but it had budded, and blossomed!  Just like Aaron’s staff…

I cannot explain how could this had happened, other than it was the Creator, giver of life Himself to remind me that He is very near to those who believe in Him, that He is the Life Giver and the resurrection and the life. He had said:  Whoever believes in me, even though he dies, will live. Although the wages of sin is death, God, who alone is immortal, will grant eternal life to His redeemed.  To my dear mother who had believed in Him all her life.

For how could some dead branches, with no roots whatsoever, with not a single drop of water or sun to help it grow would flourish like that in the middle of the winter… and in just a day!  This just escapes my imagination… 

God never ceases to amaze me… oh, He is indeed ever so near!  His thoughts are not our thoughts, neither are our ways his ways….

Clearly, it is God’s desire and plan to establish a relationship between human beings and Himself.  If only we desire it.  He created us so we can have a special Father-child relationship with Him.