1973

A summertime picture of me in my "hippie" outfit! lol

A Bit Of Nostalgia

That's me, making mud pies (and other culinary creations) on a Fall day when I was about 6 years old.

Update and A Stolen Joke

Oh my goodness!  It is 70 degrees right now, and tomorrow the high is only going to be 47*!!! 

I just completed visiting every journal that I regularly read (and some new ones I've been checking out).  So if you haven't heard from me yesterday or today, then drop me a note because I must have lost your link.

And now I'm starting my semi-hiatus.  I'm going to crochet with my daughter, clean to my little heart's content, write in my book, write in my other two "book" journals, work on my book, and continue interviewing my mother and hopefully making some more entries in that journal (on my sidebar) -- not today, I mean over the next few months. 

And I still have Mary Jo's interview questions to answer and a couple of memes that I've wanted to do but haven't done yet.  I will leave everyone with a joke that I stole from  Linda.  It is hilarious:

THE HALF-WIT

There was an old cowhand who owned a small ranch in Montana.
The Montana Wage and Hour Department claimed he was not paying proper wages to his help and sent an agent to interview him. 

"I need a list of employees and how much you pay them," demanded the agent.

"Well," reported the rancher, "There's my ranch hand who's been with me 3 years. I pay him $600 a week and room and board. The cook has been here 18 months and I pay her $500 a week plus room and board. Then there's the half-wit who works about 18 hours every day and does about 90% of all the  work around here. He makes about $10 a week and pays his own room and board and I buy him a bottle of bourbon every Saturday night."      

"That's the guy I want to talk to, the half-wit," says the agent.  

"That would be me," replied the rancher.

I just loved that one!

Tags: Jokes

I Spoke Too Soon!

Not long after I posted that last entry the sun disappeared, the wind picked up, and it started pouring down rain!  We're supposed to have gusts up to 45 mph and possibly some hail.  (I think we had some hail damage to our roof in August, and I keep forgetting to call our house insurance to see if it's enough damage to file a claim.  I really must remember to do that.)

I fear the cold weather really is going to move in tonight.  I'm not sure I'm really ready for that.  But at least we're not expecting snow like Guido!

But Winter has yet brighter scenes--he boasts

                Splendors beyond what gorgeous Summer knows;

Or Autumn with his many fruits, and woods

                All flushed with many hues.

William Cullen Bryant -- Autumn Piece 

I'm travelling around to all the journals I'm currently reading this afternoon to make sure I'm caught up with everyone.  Then I'm going to write for the rest of the day I think. 

It's a "something hot and comforting" kind of day for dinner, so I believe we'll have chicken and dumplings -- haven't fixed that in a while.

Eler Beth is finished with her lessons for the day and is crocheting and watching Animal Planet.  Andrew just got in from school, had a snack, and is on his computer.  (Another thing keeping me busy for the next few months -- my son's a Senior this year!)

There are some things I've been meaning to put in thisjournal and will try to do that today to get them out of my "to do" folder.  

Ah, listen to that thunder.  I'll probably have to get off the computer soon for safety reasons. 

Tags: William Cullen Bryant

"There Is A Harmony In Autumn, And A Lustre In The Sky..."

It is another gorgeous Fall day with lots of sunshine and a nice breeze, although a bit cooler than yesterday. 

I am probably not going to be posting as often as I have (and sometimes I don't post all that often anyway).  I realized recently that the amount of time I could spend reading and commenting in journals can get excessive if I let it.  At least for the next few months I plan to read only for a set amount of time on certain days of the week (we'll see how that goes!), and I won't be commenting as often.  So please don't think it strange if I suddenly don't comment in your journal as I have in the past.  There are no journals that I am currently reading that I don't want to read -- I've become so familiar with everyone that I'd feel strange not keeping up with everyone's world.  So I'll drop in to say hi only occasionally although I'm probably reading you at least once a week. 

But family obligations are not only a priority, they seem to be necessary to my own happiness right now.  I have mentioned before that I suffer from anxiety and depression and have for years.  I have also for years been able to control them with medication and with lifestyle adjustments when needed; it is time for another lifestyle adjustment right now, I'm afraid.  I don't know if it's my age (getting older, you know, brings hormonal turmoil), or if it's a change in my chemical imbalance that has nothing to do with aging, but I have been battling a few more incidents of depression than normal lately -- the time of year perhaps?

I do not want to adjust medication, so I have, after reflection, analysis, and prayer (not necessarily in that order), found that right now it is by cocooning myself in planning and executing my daughter's lessons, along with little special outings with her, and in devoting more time to my home that I am finding the rejuvenating influences I need to cope from day to day.

It's strange, isn't it, that one can be so happy within oneself and in the company of one's family, and still have to battle depression.  I simply adore my husband and children.  There is nothing I would not do for them.  (Thomas brought me to tears yesterday because there was a figurine on Ebay that I've wanted for years and that is rare, but I would never have thought of indulging in buying for myself because I knew the price would go up.  Well, a little bird named Eler Beth told her Daddy about it, and he insisted that I try to win it.  I wouldn't hear of it because I knew it would go $200.00 or more.  MAYBE  if I were working and bringing in a paycheck, but I would never ask Thomas to buy it for me, and I told him so.  He sat back and clasped his hands behind his head and said, "Well, get it for me.  I've always wanted me one of those."  Well, I didn't get it, but just knowing that he wanted it for me made my heart fairly burst.)  Anyway....

I do not feel the journal reading that I do is a chore.  It is an indulgence that I will allow myself because I do deserve an indulgence once in a while.  But I can't do it as much as I have and still do the other things that I need to do to make myself feel good every day.  It's wierd, I know, but right now I just want to clean and cook and paint walls and re-decorate and things like that.  Those things should be chores, shouldn't they?

I also want to spend more time writing in my two other journals which usually get pushed to the side in favor of writing here or reading other journals.  I want my books catalogued for my own pleasure and I want to finish the book I'm writing.  Getting up at 5 in the a.m. and writing for an hour or so before the kids get up has been working, but I want more!

I will post an entry here when I feel like it but not to just keep this journal updated, and I will drop by everyone's journal at least once a week and say hi.  So I just didn't want anyone worrying or wondering where I was.

I hope everyone is having as beautiful a day as I am, and I hope everyone has a splendid week ahead!

 The day becomes more solemn and serene
    When noon is past; there is a harmony
    In autumn, and a lustre in its sky,
Which through the summer is not heard or seen,
As if it could not be, as ifit had not been!
        Thus let thy power, which like the truth
        Of nature on my passive youth
Descended, to my onward life supply
        Its calm, to one who worships thee,
        And every form containing thee,
        Whom, SPIRIT fair, thy spells did bind
To fear himself, and love all human kind.

-Percy Bysshe Shelley,
Hymn to Intellectual Beauty, 1817

Tags: Percy Bysshe Shelley, Hymn to Intellectual Beauty

A Very Nice Tribute

I just have to share this wonderful tribute to a 90 year-old grandfather.  Please read if you haven't already.

"Seasons of Mist and Mellow Fruitfulness...."

What a gorgeous day here in Southern Indiana!

It has been sunny all day with a nice, warm breeze blowing.  There is a chance for showers tomorrow afternoon and then cooler weather will set in for the remainder of the week, so I'm going to try to enjoy as much of this day as I can.

Yesterday was much like today.  The kids and I took a drive through some parts of Harrison County and enjoyed the Fall colors -- such as they are!  At least we did get a little bit of color change this year -- finally!  More than I expected at least.

I've been washing some bedclothes this afternoon and getting them out on the clothesline.  It's been a bit of a lazy Sunday afternoon but I have accomplished a few things.  I just posted a few items on Freecycle, and hopefully I'll get rid of a lot of things that way this week.

Well, I just wanted to pop in and say hello and wish everyone a great Sunday.  I leave you with the entire poem "To Autumn" by John Keats.

                                   To Autumn

SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twinèd flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barrèd clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Thanks to Donna for the graphic.

Tags: Autumn, John Keats