# Lyn's Place ~ Welcome



## Lyn (Nov 7, 2014)

First, let me say thank you to the member that made this diary suggestion and to management who so forthrightly implemented it.


I am drawn to the diary entry because I can put stuff here,  place whatever I want  into the ether and let it breathe just for the pleasure of placing the whatever words I string together through the keyboard into  a home of their own without any parameters  or criteria other than what may cross my mind.  It is my space to be read or not as others would like or not.  If you  read, a heartfelt thanks, but mostly I just am very pleased to have the bit of carved out space, a space off my own.   


I do like to dabble in creative writing, sometimes from my life experience, sometimes from prompts based on the use of random words or ideas, sometimes from a picture.  I like to use vignettes, drabbles and the short story as vehicles for my thoughts.  Some of that like today may find its way here.  I find  creative writing helpful in keeping the cobwebs at bay in my gray matter.  It is hobby that I find helpful and fun. 


I have had a good life, raised three boys, been a homemaker and wife for almost 45 years and was a medicolegal editor until last year.  I have led a mostly very ordinary existence by excitement standards but if I were given a do over, I would not change anything other than the thinning hair gene I seem to carry from my father.  


Today it was random thoughts  that formed  caused by a picture in my Google+ account.  Suddenly Josiah came to mind (he is a character who has visited me before and for whom I have written other vignettes).  So today, because he presented himself , I let Josiah visit.






It stands alone, fortressed by ice-shrouded trees.  A light shines through a single window hinting at  perhaps a warmth within.  There are no tracks in the snow, either to or away from the solitary little cabin in the wood.  To the untrained eye, it looks an inviting place, a sanctuary,  perhaps a place to pen tales of dreamy things like love or maybe tales of fairies, or of princes and princesses. But to someone like me who knows how to see, the only stories to be told are the secrets of the terrified souls who from time to time reside within its  rough-hewn walls.  


This is no sanctuary, no retreat.  Indeed,  the little cabin in the woods  is a  hall of horrors.  My name is Josiah Cross.  I am the purveyor of terror.  The cabin is mine.  Won't you come in?


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## Lyn (Nov 8, 2014)

"Do you prefer to travel or would you just rather stay home", she asked?  


I read Dan Brown and it sets the hankering for Europe, or finish a Tana French novel and Ireland calls my name out loud, asking me, "Do you not want to see where Rionach was born, walk the green hills..."  The rub lies in the words "prefer" and "rather" that there is the possibility of choice that lies outside of the "just me" I sometimes toy with when I am brutally honest and allow what’s probable to enter my thoughts.  Sometimes I indulge in imaginings like having a nose like Samantha Stevens (Bewitched)  or Scotty's (Star Trek) transporter, or even a Magic Carpet, and I'd never stop traveling until I had seen every nook and cranny possible on this big blue sphere.  If I could just sling on a backpack and wear some comfy crosstrainers, I'd give the Roadrunner competition, but these days just getting to Colorado to see my son and his family or to the shore for sanity takes the strategic planning of a war.  So for now I will  travel in books with a cozy afghan across my knees and  a cup of honey-sweetened nearby tea to sip.


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## Ameriscot (Nov 9, 2014)

Enjoying your diary.


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## Pappy (Nov 9, 2014)

Me too....Pappy.


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## SeaBreeze (Nov 9, 2014)

Me three!


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## Lyn (Nov 11, 2014)

Thank you all for commenting.


Early this morning there was a news blurb.  It seems the Presidential Medal of Freedom is going to be given to a number of worthy Americans on November 24.  One of the recipients will be Representative John Dingell (D-Michigan).  He is the longest serving member of congress in American history.   I lived just three short blocks from the Capitol and went to a parochial school in the '60s.  We used to have fundraisers selling The World's Finest Chocolate Bars.  My friend's mother was Representative Dingell's secretary.  In those days, walking about the Capitol  and the halls of congress was pretty unrestricted.  We would knock on the doors of  representatives and senators alike.  When i think back on it, it was amazing that we were able to do that and not only that but they would buy our chocolate bars. There were three of us in our little sales entourage.  We sold chocolate bars to Dingell, Dirksen, Humphrey, Boggs and others whose names I do not recall.  We sold them more candy than they could have possibly needed or wanted.


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## SeaBreeze (Nov 11, 2014)

Interesting Lyn, I still buy those candy bars sometimes!


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## drifter (Nov 12, 2014)

We've all got all this experience. What'll we do with it? Writing is one way to dispose of it, might even help unscramble some of those sticky brain cells and besides, I know how I do it but what makes it readable is finding out how you do. Keep it up Lyn.


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## Meanderer (Nov 17, 2014)

Hello Lyn, I want to thank you for being among the first group of brave bloggers in the Senior forum.  I have no experience reading or writing a blog or diary.  Growing up it seemed to be a "girl's thing" & private book, kept under a tiny lock & tiny key.  I have been interested in the early diaries of the civil war soldiers, who wrote with a zeal and passion knowing it would be read by family, if all worked out well.  I just wanted to encourage you to write, and keep writing.  I wish you wouldn't use so much ether...as I am falling asleep.ZZZZzzzz.


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## drifter (Nov 17, 2014)

I'll look for more from you, Lyn. I also do my traveling by books and occasionally have a creative moment. Welcome.


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## Lyn (Dec 5, 2014)

It's been a while since I have visited the diaries.  Most of any writing lately has been to make lists.  It rained most of the day today.  It was a cold and gray day.  I found a word prompt over on AARP.  So I gave it a fling.  Really strange the places you end up from a line of words.  So I guess I will put what I came up with here.  The #2 piece for the same set of words is very dark, so fair warning for anybody who might read.  I also had to go out today and hunt for the cat food bowls.  The raccoons have taken to running off into the woods with them. They are missing again.  I'll let DH do the tracking tomorrow since he waited until the sun went down to feed the cats.  Yes we feed ferals.  We  also trap and have a working arrangement with a SpayNeuter Clinic for shots and neutering, a nice package for $60 as long as we bring them in in the trap. I guess they don't want to be doing pets for that price. Over the past year, we've trapped a dozen, one a month. Once we trapped a cat that had already been done.  Actually took it into the vet, but they found the tattoo they leave behind so we were able to just bring it back home.  I think we've got them all.  There have been no kittens since last spring and those poor things were killed by a dog who periodically gets loose.   The the other day I did see a great monstrosity of a cat, gray with a bobbed tail.  He had a collar, so I guess he belongs to someone, just came here to dine.   Anyway, just stuff and nonsense...

Directions:  Use the words below to write a short story, poem or essay. They can be  used as written or in any other form (‘ing, ‘ly, ‘ed, ‘un, or hyphenated with another word).

Quilt
cedar
hope
train
ice cycle
possibilities
teacher 
_Bonus word: restless_

_#1 - A beginning - I am surprised how this unfolded.  I had not planned  to be where I am with a  puzzler.  I have to figure out who took Ryan and why.  Were her parents killed accidentally or murdered, or is there something else?  What does the family know, if anything.  How about the investigator, what does he know? -- just a few of the many questions I am left with from this 8-word prompt.  _



_A Past_

_Her parents were dead.  She had no memory of them.  She was two when ”it” happened.  The “it” is a dark place in her mind.  She had been kidnapped at the time of her parents’ death according to the investigator hired by Gran.   Now twenty-two  she is  in Purcellville, Virginia, living with a grandmother she did not know existed until three weeks ago.  When Ryan thought about any of it too much, she slipped into a deep melancholia.  Gran thought it best to go slow, to let things work out in a paced fashion._

_Today was a good day.  Ryan hummed as she descended the stairs with the _*quilt *_in her arms.  She stopped short when she saw her grandmother  at the bottom of the stairs.  Their relationship was still new.  This woman whose face reflected her own, whose  hair was the color of muted fire was her grandmother.  It felt odd to say it even when said just in her own mind. _

_“Is this what you wanted Gran? she asked.”_

_“ Yes darlin’.”_

_But before her grandmother  could say anything more Ryan asked, “was this sewn by hand?”_

_“Indeed.  It was sewn by the hands of your great-great-great-great Grandmother.”_

_Gran sat herself down on the steps and Ryan  sat down on the step beside her.  _

_“Her name was Rioghnach (_*r ee - OH - n uh)*_. Ryan was her family name.  You  carry the name of  her clan as your given name.”_

_“The quilt is so beautiful, intricate, and apparently  terribly old, quipped Ryan.”_

_They both stroked the surface of the quilt gently, almost as if to sensorily take in its past through the skin of their hands.   Gran smiled._

_“An heirloom, yes.  Rioghnach brought the quilt with her to Minnesota.  She is the family’s only mail-order bride._

_“Mail-order Bride!” said an incredulous Ryan._

_Gran smiled, “Is is really any different than the eHarmony.com of today.  You see, Rioghnach lived in Roanoke,  Virginia.  Much of the male  population on  the East  Coast was married, lost to the war, or had migrated  West lured by the promise of gold.  She was a _*teacher*_,__ but  she had no property and little in the way of prospects.  Her brothers were the heirs.  What land and wealth there was in the family would be theirs.  Rioghnach was in her early-to-mid-twenties and quickly losing her marriage marketability.  She wanted children, a family, her family.  When she saw the add for brides in her church bulletin, she wrote in her journal  that for the first time  in a long while she felt her life again had  new _*possibilities*_._

_“But she was around my age.  I’d hate to think I would have to make the decision to marry someone I did not know,  mused Ryan.”_

_“That was the way it was in the late 1860s .  We really have come a long way, baby,” said Gran  smiling._

_“So who was the lucky man, Ryan queried?”_

_“Let’s go upstairs to the attic and I’ll show you, said Gran.’’_

_Ryan bounded up the stairs carrying the quilt with Gran following along behind her.  Once in the attic, Gran  opened Rioghnach’s  _*hope*_ chest.  She moved things around and pulled from its caverns the picture of Viktor Fister (Red) and Rioghnach Ryan taken on their wedding day._

_“Wow, no wonder.  We never stood a chance did we?  Red and Rusty!,” Ryan quipped, as  she fingered  her own red tresses._

_They poked around in the chest.  There were pictures, baby clothes, birth and death records, mementos of all sorts.  And there were journals -- personal journals, garden journals,  house journals. -- so many.  In them,  the lives of the Fisters were recorded. It was a past Ryan could touch. _

_Gran went on with the family history.  She told of Red’s emigration from the Netherlands, how he wanted  more from  life and was willing to risk all to have his grab at the gold ring.  He went to the mine fields where he was successful in securing enough gold  to buy property  in Minnesota.  He built his house, plowed his fields.  He had his dream, but he was lonely.  Women were as scarce in the West as men were in the East.   He wanted a family.  Through his church he wrote letters stating what he had to offer and that he desired very much a wife to share his good fortune.  He wanted a family.  One of his letters found its way  to  the small Methodist congregation in  Roanoke.   Rioghnach  and several others  wrote him and exchanged pictures.    Soon he was only writing Rioghnach.  Their courtship was carried out through the  mail for a little over a year.  Red proposed to Rioghnach who said yes.  She traveled to Minnesota by  _*t**rain*_,  and they were married almost as soon as she stepped away from the rails.   Over the years  eight  children followed, four boys and four girls.  Rioghnach and Red were inseparable.  They were married just shy of sixty years when Red was killed after being thrown from his horse.  Rioghnach followed him three years later.  She was just too lonely without him.  _

_Ryan blinked the wetness from her eyes.  The emotion that brought on the tears felt new, different. Gran sensed she was overwhelmed.  Gran carefully  returned the family treasures to the _*cedar *_chest.   _

_“We have time sweetie.  Don’t worry we’ll get there.   For now how about a cup of hot chocolate  and some of those  shortbread cookies?” _

_“Yes, that sounds soooo good.”_

_As they left the attic, Gran pointed to another cedar chest.  _

_“That one was your mother’s.  When you’re ready  it’s there for you,” said Gran.  _

_“Yes, I’d like that.  Funny, all of this time I thought  I had no one, that I was nobody,” Ryan whispered. _

_ Gran smiled gently and patted Ryan’s hand and was only able to get out the words -- “I am so glad we found you, you were never a nobody child,” -- before Ryan hugged her fiercely.  _

_“When you’re ready, you’ll meet the aunts, uncles, cousins --  you are not alone Ryan,” Gran said._

_The chocolate and cookies finished, she washed  up the cups and plates, and  Ryan kissed Gran on the cheek. _

_“I‘m  feeling _*restless*_.__   I think I’ll go to Barnes & Noble.  I want to journal,  and I want to  start today.  I don’t like feeling lost. I think journaling will help me find my way.”   _

_Gran just nodded as Ryan  put on her coat.  As she descended the front porch  steps, her trailing hand freed  the railing  of  its newly  formed _*ice  cycles *_.  The icy rain was turning to snow.  Her  thoughts  strayed  to  a farm in Minnesota, to a family of which she was a part.  She was happy.  _



_Again the words are:_

Quilt
cedar
hope
train
ice cycle
possibilities
teacher 
_Bonus word: restless_


_#2 -- A piece for integration into something else.    Dark._

_A Dark Heart_

*Hope*_ is like a _*train*_.  No track impediments, the ride is smooth; but, a defect, a bad switch -- derailment-- catastrophe ensues.  His death the impediment -- no them -- the catastrophe.  She can hear the echo from the gaping maw of the so called well intentioned, their utterances of -- “a better place,  God’s will,  a life lesson, we just never know, time heals, just hang on.”  Chattering, chattering away, self  serving --  the voices -- discordant.  Her mind a silent scream, “how do they not know what I know?”  The dead do not speak.  They do not tell tales of shiny lights and welcoming arms, or of a better place.  The dead do not assume the role o_*f teache*_r simply by failure to draw in breath.  The dead do not comfort. They leave black holes waiting to devour what comes near. Time is  not capable of healing the heart  rent to pieces,  the chunks skewered on the_*  ice cycl*_e-shaped dagger of grief; and  God, what of God - where is  he, under what rock  can he be found.  Is he behind the curtain and like “The Great Oz”    just a sham?_

_The water rolled in and out, alternately a roar then a whisper.  She sat wrapped in a_* qui*_lt,  but it could not warm her. Into the horizon , her  stare  vacant,  her emotions blended into an emulsion until there was no distinction between pleasure or pain.  There was just numbness.  It flowed like spilled  glue and hardened trapping her in the nowhere. Her_* possibilities*_ whittled into useless scraps, she keened; her sorrow broadcast to the waves.  In that moment came the whisper.  She would not wait for memories to be set adrift by the scent of_* ceda*_r in some future year of reminiscence of what never was to be. She stood. The quilt puddled at her feet.  She stepped, one step, followed  by another until  each footfall took her first into the alka-seltzer fizz, then deeper, then deeper still, until the sound of the sea’s throwing itself  on the shore was behind her.  It’s salty mouth closing in a rush over her,  _*restless*_, unrelenting, hungry, swallowing  whatever it might find.  _


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## Lyn (Dec 7, 2014)

Songs are always flitting in and out of my mind. Sometimes it’s one song all day long, but then there are days like today.  I feel like the  Walter MItty of songs.  


Early this morning II knew almost immediately that good  would not apply to this day.  A flushed toilet that would not fill, a faucet without so much as a drip.  The saga of the well continues.  At about this point in time,  in my mind  I hear Don Williams singing “Lord I Hope This Day is Good.”  That was not going to happen, but Don’s tune made me feel better.


We had to downshift from frugal H20 use like rinse-soap-rinse showers (insert turns water off  at each hyphen) to  *terribly * frugal H20 use  meaning water hauled from the creek to flush and bottled water to drink and to clean up with (2014?).  We decided to put off calling the well guys until Monday morning, although we are getting to know them so well maybe they would have liked to come to Sunday dinner.  I wonder if that would qualify us for a discount.  Is there a saying about “throwing your money down a well?”  Well we have to have water, I was just hoping for another eighteen months. 


We only had a couple of gallons of bottled water at the house, so that meant a trip out.  Really not a good move on a Sunday a couple of weeks before Christmas.  Traffic was backed up everywhere.  The stores were crowded.  Baskets were hard to come by.  Tempers seemed to be just held in check.  At this point, my mind drifted into  Roger Miller’s “Can’t Roller Skate in a Buffalo Herd.”   I smiled - I can be happy if I have a mind too!


Poor DH’s only gear left is slow.  We most often take two baskets when we shop, his and hers.  He heads off to pick up a few things on the list and then I speed shop the rest, and we meet up somewhere in the middle. But not today, one basket was all we could get after we waited in line just for a basket.   Ha!!!!! at this point it's  “Stuck in the Middle With You, Stealers Wheel.”  


On the way home, the woman in the car in front of us was weaving from side to side, so much so that she managed to run up on the curb and must have over corrected and ended up flipping her car.  Luckily the speed limit was only 30 mph, and truth be told I don't think anybody was going that fast.  Traffic came to a standstill.  She was ok but was going to the hospital to be checked out.  Seems the woman may have been texting.  DH forgot his diabetes emergency supplies.  With the wait for things to clear so we could get back on the road, his blood sugar had fallen too low.  Luckily I carry tablets in my purse. He was upset with himself for having forgotten his supplies. He did not feel up to driving home , which was fine, I drive.  But guess where my glasses were?  Then I hear sh boom, sh boom 



If nothing else I have a new appreciation for my cell phone and  the beginning of  an eclectic playlist!






[video=youtube_share;skFWsc_-i14]http://youtu.be/skFWsc_-i14[/video]

[video=youtube_share;DohRa9lsx0Q]http://youtu.be/DohRa9lsx0Q[/video]

[video=youtube_share;Q9G0-4TWwew]http://youtu.be/Q9G0-4TWwew[/video]

It occurred to me after listening to the songs, that now is one of those opportunities to be grateful, and look for the silver lining

I am thankful to have that creek nearby.
I am thankful to be able to have bottled water at my disposal.
I am thankful that we must be doing better collectively.  It has been a long while since I have seen so many people Christmas Shopping. 
I am so thankful I carry those tablets!  I did not even get upset with DH for forgetting.  
I am thankful that woman was not severely hurt and the rest of us were able to avoid crunching cars.
I am thankful for my cell phone, good neighbors, and last but not least, Music!!!!


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## SeaBreeze (Dec 7, 2014)

Wow, you and hubby had some day, glad you got through it okay and the music helped a bit....hugs.


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## NancyNGA (Dec 7, 2014)

Oh wow, Lyn, what a time you have had!   Tomorrow will be better.


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## Lyn (Dec 7, 2014)

SeaBreeze said:


> Wow, you and hubby had some day, glad you got through it okay and the music helped a bit....hugs.



I am not the only night owl, I see.  Thanks for the commiseration.  It is appreciated.  There is always the music -- just now Spinning Wheel popped in to pay me a visit.  Love my tunes!  Good Night and I wish you the best in this new day!


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## Lyn (Dec 7, 2014)

NancyNGA said:


> Oh wow, Lyn, what a time you have had!   Tomorrow will be better.



Tomorrow, Tomorrow, is only a day away...  Actually it is already here!  Thank you.  Good night, and I wish you only the best for your new day!


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## Meanderer (Dec 23, 2014)

Hello Lyn!  
Well..how is everything going in "Lyn's World"?  Hope all is well!


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## Lara (Aug 3, 2015)

Enjoying your diary, Lyn. It's fascinating!


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## Lyn (Oct 31, 2015)

*It's Been Awhile*

As long as I can remember my bolthole has always been writing or the attempting there of, music, and running. I have been in sore need of all three for such a log time now.  But as most depressives know, we sabotage ourselves all the time and never are we so good at it as when life twists us in knots and makes every minute of every hour and eternal slog to right an upside down boat in a perfect storm.  I think its been almost a year since I first signed up here and almost as long since I carved out this little niche to write about stuff -  anything, everything --  so long as I wrote.  But as the proverb goes "the road to hell is paved with good intentions.  

The long and short of it, it has been one bad year.  The road traveled has been the one less traveled by the many I hope.  From car accidents, to kidneys failing, followed up just for good measure by a left-brain stroke all suffered by the man of my dreams, the father of my children, my bad boy, my lover, my friend. We still -- are -- though a bit worse for wear -- and though life has been like riding in bumper cars for a while now have this urge to put words out there in the great somewhere again, and I thought I'd begin here where I am anonymous and this will be read only by those who choose to do so. 

He does not like being without me as I am now his voice, his talisman, his lucky charm.  So, for three days a week for four hours at a time, I sit by his side as the machine does it's work.  This venue from which I write is so unlike the place I had imagined in my mind.  The machines like soldiers standing sentry, the beeps and warnings that flash, the red filled tubes of blood ingressing and eggressing are not the pictures I thought would grace my walls.  The windows I look through are not the ones I thought for inspiration the ones that looked upon golden oaks and hollys, instead there is just a parking lot.  But the people here inside this great cavernous room, the ones who sit in chairs bound to the red tubes and the others who play the role of angels serve as my inspiration.  How they all just put one foot in front of the other and go on. So it is here though not where I had expected to be, it is where I am, and I have chosen to put a little spring in my step as I too just go right foot, left foot into my future from this place that is a shield that holds back death, the dialysis unit.

I want my words, my music, and my fleet feet back and I know to have them I have to take them -- though to be honest these days a power walk will work too, lol.  

[video]https://youtu.be/HUgwM1Ky228[/video]

Indigo Girls ~ I"Closer To Fine"

I'm trying to tell you something about my life
Maybe give me insight between black and white
The best thing you've ever done for me
Is to help me take my life less seriously, it's only life after all
Well darkness has a hunger that's insatiable
And lightness has a call that's hard to hear
I wrap my fear around me like a blanket
I sailed my ship of safety till I sank it, I'm crawling on your shore.

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountain
There's more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in crooked line
The less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine.

I went to see the doctor of philosophy
With a poster of Rasputin and a beard down to his knee
He never did marry or see a B-grade movie
He graded my performance, he said he could see through me
I spent four years prostrate to the higher mind, got my paper
And I was free.

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountain
There's more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in crooked line
The less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine.

I stopped by the bar at 3 a.m.
To seek solace in a bottle or possibly a friend
I woke up with a headache like my head against a board
Twice as cloudy as I'd been the night before
I went in seeking clarity.

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountain
There's more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in crooked line
The less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine.

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountain
There's more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in crooked line
The less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine.

We go to the bible, we go through the workout
We read up on revival and we stand up for the lookout
There's more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in a crooked line
The less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine
The closer I am to fine
The closer I am to fine


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## Lyn (Nov 5, 2015)

Scattered Thoughts

Today has been a good day. I managed to get some more leaves raked. They are still falling and will re-cover the ground I have uncovered, but they will get less and less and eventually, the ground will be free and waiting for snow. This will be the last autumn for me here, so it is a bit bittersweet all this raking of leaves.


*"I’m going to stand outside. So if anyone asks, I’m outstanding." ~ Anonymous
*

Such a simple little line.  It made me smile and feel a bit giddy when I first read it.  You know those little bubbly feelings of mirth that rise and then becomes a heartfelt laugh.  Thank you Anonymous.  Someday, I intend to meet Anonymous.


*Stress*

The confusion created when one's mind overrides the body's basic desire to choke the living sh*t out of some a**hole who desperately needs it!!!

Have had a lot of this override in the past year ~ so far so good, but it's getting real close.


*"What Makes Sammy Run"  by Budd Schulberg* ~  It's a book I read lifetimes ago, yet it has surfaced in my gray matter more than once in the past few years.  Could there be a proliferation of Sammy Glicks? 

Finally, I'll bring this day to end with a bit of bourbon and  Steven Wright --

"Sponges grow in the ocean. That just kills me. I wonder how much deeper the ocean would be if that didn't happen."


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## Lyn (Nov 7, 2015)

I've been raking leaves for days, gathering them, putting them in the various compost heaps I have placed on the property. As soon as I have an area clear, the wind will begin to wrestle with the leaves that still hold on, and without fail that bit of uncovered green is covered again with a new red/gold carpet. If rain falls, leaves fall.  It's a cycle that will come pretty much to an end sometime this month.  All I need do is to keep at it and eventually this job will make it off the todo list for this year, and in the spring the grass/weeds will have survived another winter. 
I just need to keep on keeping on and it will happen. I can count on it.

The oaks stubbornly hold onto many of their leaves, especially those toward the lower limbs.  The American Beech seem to hold onto most if not all of their leaves for pretty much the entire winter.  I have observed this phenomenon for awhile but until a couple of years ago, I did not know that this retention of dead plant matter had a name -- Marcescence. I like the way it sounds when you say it almost as much as I like the sound the leaves make when they are stirred  by a cold January wind. After a snow I like to walk through my woods. You can easily identify every A. beech in winter.  They stand like sentinels scattered throughout the woods swathed in dry leaves the color of cafe au lait.  

I will miss these trees and many other things about this place when it is no longer mine.  I hope whoever follows takes time to just listen and look for all the small wonders in this little two-acre plot, the tree frogs and toads, a hummingbirds aerial antics, the woodpeckers knock. So many critters -- racoons and fox, possums and deer, even a bear last year. Funny I always thought in terms of the house, but it is not the house I will miss.  It's this piece of land, the trees, the critters, the wild partridge berry, the Jack in the pulpits I have nurtured for years on the forest floor.  This place is the kind of place I dreamed of as a kid.  I got lucky.  It was a great place for my boys to grow up. With reluctance, I know it is time to pass it on.


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## SeaBreeze (Nov 7, 2015)

It sounds like a quaint piece of nature there Lyn, I too love the fall and the sound of the breeze rustling through the leaves.  I have many to deal with on my small suburban plot, and have to start to rake before another snow comes.  Still plenty on the trees, my pear tree in the back yard seems to really hold its leaves these past few years, Marcescence...interesting.   The creatures sound lovely by you, I'm sorry you'll have to part with your property.


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## Lyn (Nov 8, 2015)

SeaBreeze said:


> It sounds like a quaint piece of nature there Lyn, I too love the fall and the sound of the breeze rustling through the leaves.  I have many to deal with on my small suburban plot, and have to start to rake before another snow comes.  Still plenty on the trees, my pear tree in the back yard seems to really hold its leaves these past few years, Marcescence...interesting.   The creatures sound lovely by you, I'm sorry you'll have to part with your property.



Thanks SeeBreeze.  I quite like knowing what the state of being is called, though there seems to be quite differing opinions as to why certain trees exhibit marcescence and others do not.  Yes, I will miss this place, but "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:"  It is time.


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## Lyn (Nov 8, 2015)

*Joy Is*

I was asked once upon a time, “How do I bring joy into my life?”  My answer then was I bring joy into my life first by being open to all the places it can be.  With my eyes open wide to see it.  With my mind open to its many possible forms. Though time has passed and my circumstance has changed, I still think it is largely up to me to open my eyes and see.

JOY

Joy is spirit.  It is a fairy with gossamer wings. It will float on a breeze.  It will send you to your knees thankful for its visitation.

Joy is the early morning sun's rise.  It's in the call to creation 'wake up' in  the herald of a new day. All nature’s creatures burst forth in joyful chorus--shh--just listen it sounds like Hallelujah!

Joy is the armor that surrounds me.  It keeps me strong and safe in a world that sometimes misses the mark, that errs in choosing the dark instead of the light.

Joy is growing things, be it children, flowers, vegetables, or a loving relationship.

Joy is the trying of something new just because I can.

Joy is holding my grandchild in my arms and knowing in him I will carry on.

Joy is music, laughter, a good book. It’s in the reading of a sonnet, a poem, or watching a butterfly on a bush.

Joy is the peace I give and in the peace I receive from being on the best terms with life that I can be.

Joy is  breathing for another minute, for another hour, for another day.

Joy is just the living of my life in the day-to-day wondrousness of being.


Unknown: 
_"The great teachings unanimously emphasize that all the peace, wisdom, and joy in the universe are already within us; we don't have to gain, develop, or attain them. We're like a child standing in a beautiful park with his eyes shut tight. We don't need to imagine trees, flowers, deer, birds, and sky; we merely need to open our eyes and realize what is already here, who we really are -- as soon as we quit pretending we're small or unholy.""
_


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## Lyn (Nov 11, 2015)

*There's Commitment  and then there's Commitment!*






Prompt for blog:   What is the biggest commitment you have made this far in life? 

Marriage would be the one that comes to my mind.  It is the one I recommit to year after year, day after day, and there have been times when it has been moment to moment.  But it’s been forty-five years plus six months, so I would guess in most quarters that is success.  I don’t know that I would roll out a carpet or engage a big band to mark our longevity.  We just are and have been for a long time, a  knit one, purl two crew,  as tight as that.  Every now and then a stitch got dropped but mostly we are intact.   I don’t know that there is a secret, except we had three boys to raise and that one fact took precedence over everything else.  We believed their best foot forward was us together, a family, and that never wavered no matter what.  With that as our main goal, we were able to iron everything else out no matter how impossible it seemed at the time, and there have been times when we questioned if we were committed or needed commitment! (That’s a joke son, just a joke).   So through the rights and wrongs and up and downs, we managed to get through one year then another and then another until here were are now.  I don’t think either one of us would know where to go or what to do without the other.  So who knows maybe we’ll make fifty.  Boys are grown and left home long ago, so there’s no reason to stay unless we genuinely want to all things being equal.  (267)


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## rider1046 (Dec 1, 2015)

Shucks, Lyn. Just do like I do. Wait until the leaves all fall, set the lawn mower to it's lowest setting, and run over them a couple of times. No need to do all that raking.


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## Lyn (Nov 14, 2018)

Wow, it's been awhile.  I forgot I had started this journal.  I loaded Firefox, the first time in quite awhile, was cleaning out favorites and whatdyaknow -- there it be.  So many things get lost in the caverns of my mind.  Anyway hubby is still with me.  It is amazing how we can keep going when we are falling apart, a bit here, a bit there.  Sold my house, my mother's house, and with the hurculean efforts of my sons, we (mom, hubs, and me) are now living just 8 minutes from our oldest son and 25 minutes from the youngest in beautiful Moseley, Virginia.  So many changes.  A little ragged but blessed.   I had this yen to reach out.  I spend a great deal of my time taking care of others and have been recently working on taking better care of me.  That may well mean, I will come here to blather about whatever, probably share a few tunes.  See if I remember how to add a vid.   Music is such a friend. 

 So hey to all who read, hope you are all well.


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## SeaBreeze (Nov 14, 2018)

Good to see you again Lyn!  Sounds like things are going well for you and your family in Virginia, very happy for you.  Glad you'e going to give yourself some well deserved 'me' time, good idea for all of us now and then.


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## hollydolly (Nov 15, 2018)

Welcome Back Lyn...it's been 3 years almost to the day, doesn't time fly?....

Good to hear your news


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## Lyn (Nov 18, 2018)

Holly Dolly and SeaBreeze thanks for the welcome back.  

Hubs is labile.  His emotional swings are sometimes exhausting.  "If you're in a bad mood, take a deep breath" does not compute.  

Bluegrass meets Rock, I wonder what my dad would think?  Anyway they fit the mood and go good with a glass of wine.






[video=youtube_share;M5DmHi1SHeM]https://youtu.be/M5DmHi1SHeM[/video]


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