Happy Fourth of July!

 

Happy

Please remember that fireworks are not allowed in Riverside County, California, but there are several spectacular shows planned around the area. Since we have a rescue puppy, we will probably hold her and try to keep her calm all evening. Unfortunately, many people forget there are also people suffering from PTSD who would rather not hear the loud explosions caused by fire-crackers. Even sparklers can be dangerous to small children, and the smoke can bother those with inhalation and respiratory issues. I've also noticed that birds, bees and butterflies are affected by the toxic fumes. Fortunately, there are many ways to remember our freedoms: music for example, dancing, singing, swimming, and of course eating are a few basic ideas. Lawn games like badminton, croquet, football and tag might be fun. Plus there are board games, puzzles, table tennis, and good old fetch with the pooch, or pooches. Either way, have fun, and celebrate responsibly. 

Timber

 

I love trees. I think trees know that I love them. Still, one had to be trimmed, and the tree fought back. Two chirping birds landed in the leaves above my head. It’s like the tree had lobbyists or flying spokes-feathers. Maybe they were sent to warn me. Or a nest?

I’m on a hill with a hand saw, the branch gives way, grazing my face, nicking my hand and bruising my chest. Of course, I saw stars for about an hour. My only excuse, “I thought it would fall the other direction.” The worse parts were tongue lashings from family and friends.

“NO”, they said. “You could have killed yourself. Never again”, they said. “What if you were knocked onto the cement at the bottom of the hill?” All right, I capitulate. A friend brought over hydrogen peroxide and Band-Aids. I’ve been through worse, and I’m sure I’ll live. I love trees. Let them grow. Sorry little birds. 

Nervous Birds!

 

When I look at the birds, I feel sorry for them. Outside in the cold, they sit on barren trees, exposed to the elements, in what folks in California describe as cold weather. 

In ancient times, way before they had fast-talking meteorologists, there were natural ways to figure out upcoming changes in the weather. I don’t mean fast-talking as a slur, but here, during Golden State winters, we have a lot going on.  Periodically, I even worry the forecasters need to take a breath, lest they keel over on camera.

Arms gesticulating in front of a giant map, they inhale and explain how rain is swooping in from the north, while heat is coming in from the south. There’s a dangerous current blowing in from the east, snow in the mountains with light precipitation in the valleys, a heat wave in the desert, and hazardous rip currents at the beach, with an onshore flow that will bring coastal fog to low-lying communities.

Oh, my goodness, it all sounds so exciting, even my heart begins to race! (It doesn’t take much during this stay at home order and pandemic.)

As a viewer, we try deciphering the diagrams pertaining to our area, but somehow, the predictions rarely match reality.  Maybe we live in a micro-climate? While the doppler radar can foresee our future, we scratch our heads wondering where our home fits into the analytical scheme of things. Still, we’re a sucker for entertainment so we keep watching the weather report.

But outside, there’s something different going on. “Relax,” the birds outside my window seem to chirp. “You have a home— so stop complaining—stay inside. Sure, it’s cold—it’s winter—duh. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re busy. We need to build a nest as soon as possible. I need a twig. I need to call my friends. How am I supposed to raise a family? I need to sing to warn the others that bad weather is coming, and I need to find food to sustain me when it’s cold.”

Every night at 5pm, hundreds of crows fly overhead.

Okay, I see their point. Just like weatherpersons speaking faster in winter, they fly and flit with a greater urgency. Time is of the essence. Based on what I see, it’s going to rain tomorrow.

50 Not So Boring Ideas for Staying At Home

Does it sound like this in your home?

“I’m bored.”

“Can we go do something?”

“Do we have to stay home?”

“Mom, did you know some people go to the beach?”

“You just want me to do chores.”

“When can I go to school?”

“I already washed my hands.”

“I don’t want to stay home.”

“Can I walk the dog, again?”

“Read? Why?”

Not everyone likes staying at home but it can be fun. There are so many fun things to do and none of them are on television!

Here are a few ideas to help make the stayathome situation better.

Most of these require adult supervision:

1.       Read to each other (Prizes for best listener?)

2.       Bake something together

3.       Play board-games or invent one of your own.

4.       Plant a container garden

5.       Use a Karaoke App. (There are many)

6.       Dance together

7.       Learn to crochet or start a new crochet or knitting project

8.       Pull out the Play Doh and make beads for key-chains.

9.       Let the Lego imagination take hold of your inner creator

10.   Sew pretty pillows and don’t forget to have a pillow fight.

11.   Mix some fruity, non-alcoholic cocktails. Cranberry juice and pineapple?

12.   Have you ever made ice-cream?

13.   Plan an appetizer menu where everyone contributes something unique.

14.   Jigsaw puzzles will make the time fly by.

15.   Practice reading or math with flashcards.

16.   Paint a room together. Get help with the masking tape.

17.   Coloring books are not just for kids anymore.

18.   Camp out in the backyard with a tent and maybe S’mores

19.   Learn to set a fancy table with cloth napkins

20.   Assemble a centerpiece from silks, or arrange flowers from the garden.

21.   Take photos and make a collage. Old magazines might help too.

22.   Draw or paint a painting of birds, flowers, bunnies or butterflies.

23.   Do you know how to play chess? I bet someone would like to learn.

24.   All right, a few computer games won’t hurt.

25.   Wash and dry the family pets. Take photos.

26.   Don’t forget to pray together or at least quote an inspirational Psalm.

27.   Practice handwriting and penmanship or calligraphy. It’s a lost art.

28.   Call your far away relatives and make sure they’re okay.

29.   Write follow-up letters to those same relatives. Add decorative stickers.

30.   Press some flowers into the pages of a thick book.

31.   Write poems or haiku

32.   Find an exercise video or play virtual sports on a Wii.

33.   Make some bread dough and create the world’s greatest pizza

34.   Braid a rag rug from scraps and old sheets.

35.   Make paper mâché from old newspapers and some flour.

36.   Keep a quarantine journal to look back on these strange times.

37.   Rearrange a closet or pantry and recruit some helpers

38.   Learn to play an instrument by watching YouTube videos.

39.   Go for a nearby hike but practice social distancing

40.   Make candy—taffy, toffee, brittle, honeycomb, divinity, fudge, etc.

41.   Make a fort or castle with old boxes.

42.   Have you ever tried tie-dying a tee-shirt?

43.   Learn a new language. There are so many to choose from!

44.   Time to organize the photo albums or create a scrapbook

45.   Put on a family show! Costumes, makeup and lots of laughter!

46.   Can you do macramé? Flower pot holders? Christmas gifts?

47.   Memorize one poem by a famous poet.

48.   There’s upholstery, woodworking, sculpting, weaving and more.

49.   Make a jewelry box with fabric, shells, buttons and glue.

50.   Okay, binge-watch any television show you want. 😊

Above all, stay healthy and STAY HOME!!

The Voice of Spring-(A poem)

Spring’s Voice

Spring pulled me aside to gossip about winter.

She blew in my ear,

gave me chills,

made me grab my jacket.

Pointing out the brittle leaves,

complaining about the frost,

she even whispered the truth about the bulbs.

‘They won’t be coming up.’

Her erratic laughter echoed in a layer of fog.

Daunting, wet words drenched my path with rain.

‘Be still,” I said.

‘I can’t,’ she replied.

‘Show me your buds,

Let me hear the birds.

Better yet, tell me about summer.’

The branches swayed,

a swoosh of mist filled the air.

‘You’ll miss me when I’m gone.’

I ran for the house,

As a storm approached.

‘Yes, I will.

I’ll miss every cool breath of wind

howling under the window,

distant rolls of thunder;

distinct cloud formations,

even showers pounding on the roof.

Yes, dear Spring.

I’ll miss your voice.’

-Eve Gaal

A Post of Memes

Thought I'd write a few inspirational memes.

 I took the photos too, and don't mind if you share these.

Hope you liked this post. I'd love to see your comments. Thank you!

Transitioning into Fall

“And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.”

From: Ode to Autumn by John Keats

Many friends look forward to the end of summer and the cooler temperatures. Fall is a warning that it’s going to be cold. Winter is on the way. It’s like a yellow light telling us to prepare to stop.

Or shop…for Christmas, before the bad weather and crowds make it difficult. 

A time when I’m not sure I’ll need a sweater, but should take one anyway. The leaves change and most of them are blown down the street. Frightening Halloween decorations fill store shelves and spiced pumpkin lattes are the rage at the coffee house. Restaurant menus reflect the harvest with less salad and more soup.

It’s a time to let go of open-toed shoes and sleeveless tops. I hang up my beach towel and fold away swimsuits. It’s getting darker and the days end faster. Instead of evening rays of light, we turn on lamps. Instead of outdoor activities, we turn towards cooking, reading, crocheting, sewing, television and computer games. The sky is bluer than ever and yet the forecast is a calculated cornucopia of various predictions. The world does a quick-change backstage for the third act, exactly like a star!

Even the birds fly faster. They make their nests. I hear them communicating as if to say they are making progress. Maybe this year I will embrace this amber-hued transition with the same joy as the flock outside my window.  It’s not just about their nests. They are pulling me in, making sure I notice how hard they work. They entertain, spread their wings and chirp. I’m pretty sure they want me to love this season as much as they do. Shamed into the truth, I have no excuses.

Focus On Love

Last month, a friend persuaded me to take part in National Novel Writing Month or NaNo, as it’s called by those who like to suffer. (Sorry, I’m joking.) While I love writing, I feel a goal of fifty-thousand words in one month is unreasonable. It’s a big deal to finish and miraculously, I finished. At first, I didn’t think I could do it. Plus, I started three days late. Things looked hopeless.

Finishing however, had to do with the fact that I had a story running around in my head, which had to get out. So, even though I complained about the thirty-day deadline, in some ways I feel lighter. Free from a heavy-duty tale about world peace. Half way through, the topic felt enormous. In the mornings I did research and, in the afternoons, I typed away. I had to write like the Dickens to make sure my version of War and Peace came to a resolution at fifty thousand words. And so, by the grace of God and of course His legions of angels, who give me ideas and help me write, I completed my next novel. Hooray!

Speaking of angels, it’s almost Christmas. A time to reflect on the year, to remember others, and to share delicious snacks and special moments with friends and family. It’s also a time that can be hectic and filled with tension, traffic and old-fashioned traditions that seem overdone, almost ridiculous. The best we can do is focus on what’s important. 

Our mall Santa

Once we’ve tuned out the mall-muzak, perhaps we can hear the little bells, the song of the bird in the yard, the trickle of rain on the window. We will hear the excitement in the child’s voice upon receiving a gift, a tone of gratitude in the shopkeeper’s ‘thank you for your business’ and the delightful sound of wrapping paper ripped off packages.

I know it's hard to see the singing yellow bird
in the middle of this tree but he almost looked like a canary!

Beyond the bustling crowds are families baking cookies in cozy kitchens and elderly friends wearing bizarre sweaters, gathering for a social at the Senior Center. There are childless couples, empty- nesters and those who are alone but still volunteer and try to be part of the festivities. The intangible gifts are everywhere. Every new day is a memory tomorrow—every moment is yours. If you focus on what’s important, (like I did with Nano) you can do anything!  

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all my friends and family!

A Plethora of Roosters or a Peep of Chickens?

Not a flight of swallows or a murder of crows--not a siege of herons or a gaggle of geese....

Nor an exaltation of larks or a dole of doves but perhaps a plethora of roosters....

A month ago, we had a few roosters decorating our kitchen. I have this idea that the rooster is an image of forgiveness. So much so, that I wrote a short book about it, called The Fifth Commandment. In my short novella, rooster symbolism abounds. If you haven’t read it, then please click here.

Originally, we had one big rooster on the top shelf that my husband painted, and two old ones on the second shelf.  Both of the smaller ones were gifts. Then, at the end of July, my artistic friend Melodie gave me a gray, wooden hen. She painted it with, what now I believe, are alluring red flowers. Guess these roosters saw her coming, because a few days later my kitchen underwent a transformation.

See that gray hen on the right?

Within a couple of days--as if they spent every night awake--they reproduced! (Another friend brought us a box teeming with feathered fowl.) Now, I have an entire farm of roosters and every time I glance up at that shelf, I wonder.
What just happened? 
Does this mean I'm forgiven? 

My Neighborhood Walk

A few weeks ago, I posted about unusual coincidences related to seeing things clearly. On my daily two-mile walk through our neighborhood, I found eye drops, bottled tears and reading glasses on three different occasions. One of the funnier comments received on my blog, suggested the neighborhood might not be as tidy as I may have thought. Since I don’t see anything out of the ordinary, I figured I’d post some pictures of our walk and let my followers see firsthand.  (We also have a homeowner’s association that comes down on anyone wanting to be sloppy.)

Walking inspires me in so many ways. 

This may not look steep but it's a huffing and
 puffing grade on the way home.
When it's chilly I jog down hill.

I see things I’ve never seen, almost every time. I meet neighbors, breathe fresh air and notice patterns in nature. I frequently see lizards, rabbits and squirrels. From our home, we can walk to a  grocery store, hair salon, dentist and dangerously delicious places such as: donut shops, pizza parlors, taco or burger joints  and gourmet restaurants serving local wine and craft beers. (Walking is a wonderful way to drink without driving. But I have heard that texting and walking can be hazardous, so be careful.)

Walking has many benefits, most importantly, exercise. 

 Did I mention flowering trees, blossoming hedges, daffodils, tulips, lilies and roses? Climbing vines, clematis and bougainvillea? This is the best time of year for observing the colors of nature and if you're  a photographer, grab that camera and zoom in, before the heat of summer takes some of the pizzazz away. (If you are allergic to pollen there are many over the counter allergy medications that can help you cope.) 

Learn

If you're a writer, stop imagining the rose petals and how they curve around each other when you can see them with your eyes.  The clouds, the weather, the chill in the air. Later, your prose and poetry will benefit from the experience. 

The point is to put down the tablet, computer game and maybe your Smart phone and forget about technology for part of an hour. It will recharge your cells, your thoughts will sharpen and the ideas might flow. Try it and observe. Justify the walk. What did you see that you haven't seen before? What made the walk unique? 

Take your dog. 

Did I mention our pups Pinky and Fiona enjoy walking too? In fact, they LOVE it.  

Oh, and we live about five miles from a large body of water called Lake Elsinore, thus explaining the cute visitor in the photo below.

                                         It's a glorious time of year for walking.

                                               I hope you can get outside soon. 

Right on our street!

  

Have I inspired you to take a walk?

Amazing Grace

I Once Was Blind but Now I SEE

The other day I related a story to some friends about something that happened during my daily walk. As a person who enjoys poetry, I’m always looking for that symbolic connection and the mysterious meaning behind the vague metaphor. Especially when I’m alone and it feels like a personal message. My friends called this a “God Story.”

Corvids of some sort looked like they were squabbling over a small bottle. At first, I thought it was a Christmas bulb but the bird who won possession flew across the street in my direction. He landed on a tall lamppost that I’d soon be approaching. He made sounds and seemed excited. I’m glad I kept an eye on this wild looking crow, because at this point, he eagerly flapped his wings and even went to the bathroom before I wandered near. At the exact moment I passed the lamppost, he dropped his prize into the gutter, which, had I stopped, would have landed directly next to me. Wondering what type of bottle it was and what it contained, but not curious enough to stop, I continued my journey. Thinking back, it seemed the bird wanted to communicate something.

 Once home, I told the story to my husband. He had a flurry of interesting questions about this somewhat unimportant event, but suggested it needed a conclusion. He asked what I thought was in the container and I said it might be nail glue. Discussing it made both of us curious, so I decided that if the bottle would be there the next day, then I would take a better look in order to answer some of our questions.

There it was in the same place the bird had left it, under the same lamppost. I bent down to see the label and it said: Sterile Eye Drops. And that’s when it hit me. Tears. A bottle of tears.

To me, with so much sadness in the world right now, it sounds important.

Is it a cry for help from the other side?

Could it be a gentle reminder to focus or to keep my perception clear?

What about you?

What if you experienced the same thing? Would you think this means something? 

Night Swimming

Fiona the wild rescued Chihuahua sent away the ducks but they kept coming back. They were sneaking in at night for moonlight swimming in our lap pool.

It sounds romantic but they were also not using Charmin bath tissues or even those newfangled flush-able wipes. The pool guy would clean around the gluey mess at the bottom and insist on higher fees for managing the indelicate mess. The bacteria level made it a risky swim akin to jumping in a toddler pool after lunch. And the area around the pool became dangerously slippery and downright disgusting.

 Finally, after many silly ideas such as a scarecrow which didn’t work and looked ugly, and a small toy crocodile in the shallow end that also didn’t work, because California ducks have never seen crocodiles, thus have no reason to fear them, we came up with a creative solution. We found a metal sculpture of a menacing peacock. Once painted—it looks realistic and bam—no more ducks. 

Grateful

How do we start thanking God for all his blessings? I'll admit I am rather insecure, but do you ever feel your prayers aren't long enough or good enough? Will it ever be enough?

I imagine the tradition of leaving cookies and milk for Santa began because children wanted to show appreciation for the forthcoming gifts. Since ancient times, farmers planted bulbs in autumn so the beauty of God's spring would manifest itself in gardens with bold colored tulips and daffodils. Symphonies by famous composers give homage to God and His wonderful works. Every grandma baking a cake for others is serving slices of love and parents who spend time teaching children how to ride a bike or swing a bat are naturally sharing gratitude with their family.

Here in California, we have just suffered through a giant drought and right now, we're thankfully up to the fourth inch of rain this month. Speaking of suffering, this has been quite a year, hasn't it? But it's almost over and many of us, just like an overgrown and gnarly rosebush, survived in spite of all the year’s difficulties.Besides praying of course, I choose to write poems of thankfulness. How about you? 

  

Mercy Rain

Eve Gaal

(Previously published at Christian Poets and Writers on Facebook)

To the prayer caught in my throat.

The Heimlich maneuvered gasps of spiritual praise.

Me, the spec of dust imbued with His touch,

part of His plan.

Me, drooling

on bended knees,

head down

pathetically waiting and shaking.

Typical textbook.

He won’t yawn,

He is the Master of My fate.

The spring,

the summer

even winter and orange leaves in fall.

He is the thrill of the beginning and the best ending.

The excitement

both outside and within my soul.

Who am I that He brings me doves and flowers?

Who am I that He soothes my tired nerves

placing roses and endless beauty along my path?

I inhale,

gurgling—embarrassed by spittle as I try to get my words out.

What can my lowly heart do to show my love?

Breathe, I tell myself.

Do not fear.

Grateful tears run down my cheeks

I bow,

feeling His hand pulling me up

moving me towards the window

where the ashen sky  looms with a chance of showers. 

Here's wishing all of you a Happy and Healthy 2017!!

Magical Yard

It doesn't look
like this anymore!

Very few perfumes come close to the sweet fragrance of red roses blooming in your own backyard.

You can see our gazebo through the buds

 It’s a heady combination of a gift from above blended with gritty soil, hard work and true love. The rain in California helped too.

Hundreds of buds!

 They really exploded this year into a giant infusion of magical, sweet-smelling blooms. Oh and the hard work had nothing to do with me. I’m a writer, not a gardener. I'm grateful for true love.

These roses are called the Mister Lincoln,
honoring our 16th President.

Surrounded by beauty!

 I think I mentioned, last year we had some ducks that enjoyed hanging out in our yard too and they are back—well kind of—you see there’s a sort of power struggle going on between our rescued dogs and the wild ducks. Pinky weighs between 20 and 25 pounds and most of you have already heard me ramble on about my five pounds of terror- Fiona. 

Duck Dynasty?

 Anyway, these two romantic ducks look like they’re over ten pounds and for the most part everyone has been getting along just fine. (You stay on your side of the yard and we’ll respectfully stay on ours.) 

Sorry for the
fuzz--taken from a
window.

The rose bushes however, are apparently out of bounds, because yesterday when I went out to enjoy the aroma of those roses, Pinky noticed the ducks waddling around underneath the thorny bushes. She dived after the large male.  Feathers fluttered and the canard sans à l’orange,  flew up into the air and beyond the fence. Pinky looked shocked. Her eyes followed the birds into the sky and then she looked over at me. “Yeah,” I said. “Bet you’d like to do something like that-- pretty nifty trick, huh girl?” She wagged her tail and sniffed the ground before looking into the air wondering how something bigger than her frightening little sister could become airborne. Still stunned, her tongue dripped with excitement and her eyes became bottomless pools filled with animated question marks. I laughed and reached to pet the top of her head. “Haven’t you ever seen magic before?” I asked before heading for the house.

I took this shot of a double rainbow
--above our yard
 --from an upstairs window, last week.

“We better go inside so the ducks can come back.” A few hours later, they were back. We’ll probably have baby ducklings again this year. Guess they like the scent of roses.

Meanwhile, Fiona wrote this:

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

Where did the ducks go?

We haven’t a clue.