There I stood staring at the windfall of leaves that covered almost every inch of the lawn in my back yard. I overwhelmed myself. Where did all of those leaves come from? Then I remembered …

When my trees were planted I was ecstatic that I would have shade, from the Maple and the River Birch, and apples, and pears, and peaches, and not to forget the grapes and blackberries. Yes!

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Now it’s many years later and my trees are mature (that means very tall and bountifully leafy). Every season I relished their abundance; fresh, jammed, and bottled. But nooooowwww, now it’s fall – do you know why they call it fall? HA! Because all of the leaves FALL to the ground and then I get to pick them all up!

Which is what I did – I raked and raked and raked those crispy, dead leaf remains into piles, and piles, and piles, and piles then I spent another at least half day bagging them – it was grand exercise – bend and stretch, twist and turn, lift and drop. That night my muscles were so sore I felt every one, individually screaming at me to just stop moving!

I hate leaves!!

This morning I took the Mala Dog for her morning sniff and wander and found myself walking a worn field road alongside very old, very enduring cottonwood trees. Then I realized I was smiling while crunching leaves under foot, and noticed silver gray cottonwood leaves flicking up in drifts in front of my Asolos. I smelled the dusty leafy air and reveled in every leafy memory that floated into my mind and I smiled more broadly.

I love leaves.!!

Just takin’ it easy. Smith’s Trout Haven Lava Hots Springs ID Happy Independence Day … remember Freedom isn’t Free! Pay attention people .

Sweetie and I have been on a Southern US Coast Tour this past month … there is so much water down this way!

I’ve also adopted the all inclusive noun-verb y’all into my western vernacular.

Yesterday we left Nashville heading to Memphis when we took a sharp left and visited the Shiloh Civil War Battlefield. Beautiful and Sacred.

My thoughts passed over the contention and anger permeating our hearts and country at this time in our history. Dissenting isn’t wrong, but civility should remain strong. Anger and hate lead to this:

I offered prays to the men known and unknown on both sides of the divide. And I pray for sweet unity and grace to fill our hearts today as we remember…and hopefully never forget.

Thanksgiving!

I’ve spent my share of hours complaining that my body wasn’t this, wasn’t that. I’ve compared my body to her, and her. I’ve compared my older self with my younger self. I’ve compared my waist size to a barbie doll. In those comparisons there was never a thing that was uplifting; nothing loving, nothing kind, nothing strengthening, nothing enlightening, only a darkening of my mind and my heart.

Then one day I learned a truth … a truth that resonated throughout my soul.  I am not my body. I am a daughter of the Heavenly King, and I am an eternal being with purpose and potential. My body is the vehicle God has given me to accomplish his will here upon this earth and it doesn’t matter what size I am, what color I am, how tall or short I am. When my time comes to return home to Him and have left this body behind it will only matter that I used His gift of this body to accomplish his will; to love as he has loved, use my hands to serve as He has served, and if I used this gift to be a gift to my brothers and sisters.

For what about my body am I grateful?  I am grateful that I have a body to be grateful for each day.

“We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience”.
~pierre teilhard de chardi

 

For what taste am I grateful for today? A single taste? One special flavor? Is it summer or winter? Today is halfway through fall when lemonade days have faded into warm teas, but it is not quite hot chocolate time in front of the fire. So while I can’t pick one special flavor or taste  …  at this very minute I am grateful for the cinnamon-raisin bagel with a light smear of cream cheese and this perfectly heated cup of licorice tea that are tickling my taste buds after a brisk morning walk.

Time to sip the last of the tea, toss the bagel crumbs and napkin and head out again into the fall sunshine … rake some leaves, trims some bushes and maybe while I’m working I’ll think of another taste that I can be grateful for at lunch.

 

 

 

 

 

For what memory am I grateful? I am grateful for the gift of memory. I can’t pick a single one to share and yet sitting here flipping through memories I’m reliving ones that make me smile and laugh, memories that make me cry and I remember broken hearts. I am finding memories full of joyful tears and a heart that is so full of love that it bursts each time I hold them close. There are the memories of fear, and aloneness, memories of my own quiet desperation and despair. Memories of triumph and memories of failure. The memories I hold most dear are the ones wrapped around my family and friends who are my family; my Sweetie, my children & their children & their children, children who aren’t me but are my heart. They hold my parents, friends from then and friends from now and family near and far.

Memories that are me, my tapestry, the ever changing me. Today’s memories include baking a cake from my sister’s recipe, bread from my grandmother’s recipe, meatloaf adapted from my mother’s recipe and as I baked and cooked I remember them and that makes my today’s memories make me smile. Other memories from today are riding my bike along with Tinkr as she learns new smells to hunt and she saw a cow up close and personal where one had never been before in her lifetime. My memories are of Sweetie’s smiles and hugs and all of these memories of today will make my tomorrow stronger, happier, and full of love.

I’m stealing and rearranging the Lay’s potato chip commercial … For What Memory are you Grateful? I bet you can’t pick just one.

 

What Sound am I Grateful for Today?  So far today my favorite sound is the crackling of the wood stove because it is cold inside this morning. How grateful I am for being able to hear the crunch of my footsteps down the gravel drive, the bark and yip of puppy and older dog tugging a branch through the bushes, the boil and bubble of heated water for tea, and living so far from my family the sound of an arriving text or the ding of an incoming call.

But I’m missing sounds this morning the sound of the summer’s birds flitting through the sagebrush in the yard, the rush of the spring dried up over the summer, and the sound of voices I won’t hear again on this earth. So, I’ll be calling you soon, just to hear your voice and tell you I love you.