Last summer we came back from Florida with a bucket full of good-sized, stark white seashells that I let Maris keep to play with.  I found her on our porch the other day mixing paints and asked what she was going to do in a trying-not-to-sound-like-a-wet-blanket motherly voice.  She said she was making me something.  I pushed back the dread of what might have to be cleaned and cheerfully told her I could not WAIT to see.  What she brought me is the most intense combination of tangible love I have ever received.  She painted me seashells:  God’s treasure from the sea and my treasure from God bearing the name “of the sea”.  I marveled at the swirls of different colors as she held them up for my inspection in her small, paint-smeared hands.  “Do you like them, Mama?” she asked.  And suddenly nothing else mattered:  not the paint on her clothes, or in her hair, or on her great-grandmother’s glass table on the porch.  I knew they could all be cleaned.  But this precious gift was made for me.  So unique and such a treasure — just like my daughter.  I have her first two mixed in with some shells that sit on our coffee table.  I found those three beautiful pink conchs in Mexico about two years ago and for me they represent our little family.  Interestingly enough, my mother’s aunt (both passed away now) painted a seashell mobile with shells from the same island for the birth of Princess Grace’s first child.  They were suspended by driftwood and my mother said her aunt framed the handwritten thank you she received from the Princess of Monaco.  I believe they each received a personal gift they both treasured.  English Clergyman Thomas Fuller said, “Memory is the treasure house of the mind wherein the monuments thereof are kept and preserved.”  Every day my angel adds a new treasure in my chest of memories.  And they are beyond measure.  Achukma hoke.

As a rule I am very wary of seeing dead things hanging about.  Obviously I am not a fan of hunting.  But ever since I was little I have admired the beautiful butterflies behind glass that are often sold in mineral shops.  I never got one because I figured they were killed to be preserved.  To my delight I discovered there is an entomological school in Peru that raises and studies butterflies.  When their life has ended they carefully preserve and sell them.  The money they generate goes back into the school for research to protect and preserve them for future generations.  I have a stunning male Morpho didius and I am able to admire him from both sides because of the way he is mounted between the glass.  His underside is brown and he has detailed rings that remind me somewhat of a peacock.  Every afternoon for the briefest span of time the light comes in a certain way and his exquisite wings are incandescent under the sun’s radiance.  I look forward to seeing it and I am reminded that God always shines His light upon us.  The moments of shadow and darkness can never be dimmed by the inevitability that His love remains with us forever.

“What the caterpillar calls the end of the world the master calls a butterfly.” ~ American writer Richard Bach

I had forgotten how important my locker was when I was in school.  I never went to preschool, but apparently they have their own “cubbies.”  It has their names, holds their clogs for when they garden, their precious art work, party invitations, goodies during the holidays, their lunches, water bottles, backpacks, sweaters, nap mats, etc.  I notice my little girl always has a special rock, leaf or twig in hers each day along with her discarded hair bow.  (Note the bow in her hand in this picture.)  Sometimes I am the lucky recipient of one of her finds; sometimes she pronounces it’s for her collection.  I have come to look forward to seeing what treasure she has unearthed each day.  Today she excitedly pressed three acorns in my hand — one for me, one for her, and one for Daddy.  Another time a boy gave her a rock because he knew she loved them.  Her teachers have been very patient about letting her gather her gems and place them carefully in her cubby.  We have always taken walks as a family and tend to stop when we find something interesting.  She has inherited her love of nature from both sides.  My mother adored flowers and birds; my father loved all wildlife and trees.  They instilled in me a passion and respect for nature from as far back as I can remember.  When my husband was a little boy he used his money to buy rock collections from the places they traveled.  His maternal grandfather studied geology and loved minerals.  We marvel at the sunset, moon, and stars each night whether we’re outside or just looking up through my car’s panoramic sunroof.  Mother Nature surrounds us.  Her voice is the wind that rustles the tree branches and her reflection is the ripples of the water in the lake.  Her tranquility is the sight of birds in flight and her palette is the color of riotous wildflowers in bloom.  Her scent is of freshly fallen rain; her mysteries the dampness of the earth.  Her caress is the warmth of the sun; her companions, the wildlife — from frequently seen squirrels and rarely seen bunnies, to possums and raccoons, foxes and coyotes, and armadillos and turtles.  We have counted dragonflies and listened to cicadas; held doodle bugs and June bugs in our palms; and we always say hello to the anoles and the geckos.  Because of my little cub I have slowed down to watch a spider weave her beautiful web and watch a colony of ants march laboriously by.

“Nature will bear the closest inspection.  She invites us to lay our eye level with her smallest leaf, and take an insect view of its plain.” ~ American Essayist Henry David Thoreau

It’s funny; we grow up and forget about the little things.  Things that are not so little when you’re little.  And things that should be big when you’re big.

One of the greatest joys of having a child is getting to be one yourself again.  Funny how “important” things get in the way of life and we stop going outside just for the sake of playing.  It seems we must always be doing something work related … whether it’s for our job or at home.  This was one of those days.  My sweet four year old had gone with me on all my rounds without complaint.  I was tired and she had on mismatched clothes.  Through for the day, I just wanted to go home.  But on our way we passed a lovely park we had often seen but had never visited.  On a lark I said, “Hey, do you wanna go to the park?”  She shrieked with glee, clapped her hands and her eyes lit up.  “Yes, please Mama!”  I made a resolution right then not to let “life” get in the way of living.  These are the precious pieces of time that cost nothing but are absolutely invaluable.  So we ran, we giggled, we explored, we seesawed, we sang silly songs and had an all around wonderful time.  Who cares how we were dressed?  That was, without a doubt, one of the most precious, well-spent hours of my life.  We both left glowing and happy.  My Daddy used to say that time was the one thing that could not be replaced.  He was so right.

“When was the last time you spent a quiet moment just doing nothing – just sitting and looking at the sea, or watching the wind blowing the tree limbs, or waves rippling on a pond, a flickering candle or children playing in the park? ~ Writer Ralph Marston

So do yourself a favor and get out just for the sake of being out.  Look around you and enjoy.  I vow we are going to do so a lot more often.

I remember what a big deal it was when I was little.  Now that my little girl gets to do it, I think I may be as excited as she.  For her first show and tell she brought seashells.  Maris’ name means “of the sea” in Latin and we have made it a point to go to the beach every year since she has been born.  This was when I discovered my passion for shell collecting.  The only other time in my life I had been to the beach was when I was in the Miss Texas USA pageant.  We had a very busy schedule and I was unable to hunt for any.  I remember my mother loving shells.  She had spent time in Florida with her Aunt and Uncle in the summer when she was in college and had a lovely collection.  Mama used to let me play with them and I just cringe now because I think I chipped them and some of them are not so readily found anymore.  Fridays are show and tell days at Maris’ school and I love that we choose something together to bring.  So today was another show and tell day.  At least this time I was prepared.  Once I forgot and I fished up the sea life animal cracker box from the floor of the car.  In my defense, it had all sorts of beautiful color pictures and interesting facts about the ocean and its inhabitants.  Today she brought a book on what makes a rainbow.  I always love hearing how it went and she always seems so proud.  If you could choose something now for show and tell what would it be?  What do you treasure?  There is a Chinese proverb that says, “Tell me and I’ll forget; show me and I may remember; involve me and I’ll understand.”

We received a bonsai tree for Christmas.  I have always wanted one and particularly love ours because it has three main branches.  There are three in our little family and it also reminds me of the Holy Trinity.  In addition I like its shape because, according to Japanese tradition, the bonsai represents the three virtues of truth, goodness and beauty.  It is harmony in nature contained.  This is a Juniper, one of the top three species used for bonsais.  Apparently it is a favorite because of its natural flowing shape and slow growth habit.  The word “bonsai” is a Japanese pronunciation of an earlier Chinese term. “Penzai”, which literally means “tray plant”, stems from the ancient Chinese art of depicting elegantly formed trees and rocks in miniature landscape.  I am surprised and happy to report is the ONLY living thing in our house which our cats have not destroyed.  Even they must appreciate and respect its zen beauty.  I love to watch the water trickle by the rock each day as I water it.  A quietly peaceful addition to our house, it has been no trouble at all to keep.  Bonsai author John Yoshio Naka said, “There are no borders in bonsai.  The dove of peace flies to palace as to humble house, to young as to old, to rich and poor.  So does the spirit of bonsai.”

Last night was 2016’s Full Wolf Moon.  When I posted this pic on Facebook a friend from church was good enough to inquire as to its significance.  I thought how lovely it was of her to have taken the time to ask and to want to know.  So I decided to publish this for the benefit of anyone who might also be interested.  “Full Wolf Moon” is January’s full moon.  It got its name by some Native American tribes because at this time of year wolves would often howl in their search for prey which was scarce.  Food shortages in winter months meant they had to scavenge wherever they could and travel closer into villages.  I have full blood friends in many Indian nations but since I cannot say for sure to which tribe(s) it should be attributed I will only speak to what I know.  My paternal grandmother was Choctaw.  Each month has a name relating to the seasons and, later, also a Europeanized name since they were “colonized” by the French.  Until the early 1800’s, Choctaws used a calendar with the months based upon the phases of the moon.  The basic meaning of the word “hashi” (month) can also mean the moon, hashi ninak aya, “sun that travels at night”.  The year was divided into two segments:  hashtula, winter, and tofa, summer; each having six months.  Winter began around September 22, with Chafiskono, the autumnal equinox.  Summer began around March 22, with Tek i Hashi, the vernal equinox.  Listed below are the modern and older Choctaw names:

Hashtula – Winter:

October:  Aktoba  (Hochafo iskitini)  Little Hunger month

November:  Nofimba  (Hochafo chito)  Big Hunger month

December:  Tisimba  (Hashi koi chito)  Big lion month

January:  Chanueli  (Hashi koi nakfi sushi)  Lions’s little brother month

February:  Fibueli  (Hashi watonlak)  Crane month

March:  Macha  (Hashi mahli)  Wind month

Tofa – Summer:

April:  Eplil  (Tek i Hashi)  Women’s month

May:  Me  (Hashi Bihi)  Mulberry month

June:  Chuni  (Hashi Bissa)  Blackberry month

July:  Chuli (Hashi kati)  Sassafras month

August:  Akas  (Hashi Takkon)  Peach month

September:  Siptimba  (Hashi Hoponi)  Cooking month

Month names also sometimes vary now according to location:  Mississippi (Choctaw homeland), and Oklahoma, now a separate tribal nation.  They were the first to be forced to make the Long Walk on the “Trail of Tears” in 1831.  Driven out of their ancestral lands, they were marched by militia into what was then Indian territory to make way for white “settlers”.  Thousands died along the arduous journey as it was made during winter’s harsh sting.

“My friends, circumstances render it impossible that you can flourish in the midst of a civilized community. You have but one remedy within your reach, and that is to remove to the west. And the sooner you do this, the sooner you will commence your career of improvement and prosperity.” ~ President Andrew Jackson

Wolves, like Native peoples, are STILL treated abysmally all around our world every single day.  After centuries of willful, deliberate destruction of both by Europeans, one can only pray it will finally come to an end.  Achukma hoke.

About two weeks ago I got a hyacinth bulb at the grocery store.  I wanted the blue but of course got pink because it’s my little one’s favorite color.  It’s in a clear vase so you can see all the roots and the bulb resting on the top is purple.  After bringing it home and showing it to Maris she didn’t seem too impressed.  She just saw a big bulb and four green things sticking out of it resembling giant blades of grass.  The first several mornings I would explain to her that a bloom was coming.  Then before the week was out she shrieked, “Mama!  Mama!  Come look!  COME LOOK!” and there was the tiniest still-green bud in the center that reminded me somewhat of corn.  The next day it was taller, and by the next it was definitely showing signs of pink.  We named her Hyacinth and I couldn’t help but think of Hyacinth Bucket (“‘it’s pronounced ‘Bouquet'”) of “Keeping Up Appearances Fame”.  I told Maris that Hyacinth would have a sweet smell when she bloomed that would fill the whole room.  I’m not sure why I thought it would take longer.  One day it was a bulb and then overnight it just sprouted and started blooming.  That’s what my little one is doing now; she’s budding and blossoming into the great woman she will one day become.  In the blink of an eye …

“Bloom like a flower; unfold your own beauty.” ~ American author Dr. Debasish Mridha

I was so excited!  We were getting three of our skylights replaced yesterday after eight years of looking though a dirty opaque kind of haze in our loft.  Two men worked non stop for at least six hours as I nervously checked the skies.  At first we were only supposed to get rain.  Then it became a possibility of thunderstorms.  Literally as the last dome was dropped into place and drilled the first raindrops fell.  Just minutes later the heavens opened unlike any storm I can recall in Texas in December.  It had been warm all day and humid.  You can see the clouds passing over from the picture I took when our first skylight was removed hours before.  Warning sirens started wailing outside, alerts began blaring on television, and texts where buzzing on my iPhone like crazy.  Thunder boomed and lightning sparked.  A set of our locked French doors blew inward into our den from the storm knocking down our Christmas tree.  My little one started getting scared.  I remember being very afraid once in elementary school when they used to have those “duck and cover” drills and a tornado passed directly over us.  After about two hours things subsided and Maris asked if the “tomato alerts” were over.  As people began reporting losses of homes, cars, and even lives I began praying for all those two legged and four who were still in harm’s way.  Frankly I am astounded that people out there still do not believe in human induced climate change.  The Titanic always comes to mind with the arrogance of man’s supposed triumph over nature.  Whoopi Goldberg said, “That’s the thing about Mother Nature, she really doesn’t care what economic bracket you’re in.”  My father taught me to always look to the animals.  Our wolfies were calm, therefore so was I.  Daddy was such an incredibly wise man not far removed and sanitized from nature.  A few years ago people were perplexed when they looked around and noticed all the animals were gone about a day before that terrible tsunami struck in Indonesia.  Now they know why.  So look to the skies but also listen to the animals.  The fallacy is our patronizing belief that they need us.  The truth is we need them.  All of them have things to say, from the wild horses that run the plains to the smallest sea horse that clings to fragile plant life in the ocean.  All are worthy of our protection.  Achukma hoke.

In our neighborhood there is a great, big tree whose branches spread and drape gracefully far and wide.  No other tree around resembles her, and our little family of three looks forward to seeing her and touching her whenever we go on our walks.  Across from a creek with a little bridge the tree stately towers.  In spring she produces a delicate, fresh fragrance.  In summer she provides shade in the glaring, unrelenting heat.  In autumn her green color remains as the other tree’s leaves are turning.  But in winter … in winter we discovered she produces a beautiful cone that is shaped like a wooden rose in bloom.  She is our enchanting tree and never fails to delight us.  I did some research and discovered the tree’s natural habitat is in the Himalayan Mountains but it has become a popular ornamental tree in the United States.  It is a Deodar cedar and has been called the most graceful cedar desired for its tall silhouette and gently drooping branches.  The Sanskrit root word for “deodar” roughly translates to “wood of the Gods.”  They can grow up to 250 feet in their natural habitat.  In the US they reach a height of about 70 feet with a maximum spread of 40 feet.  The cones take two to three years to develop as they turn from blue to reddish-brown.  Today is the Winter Solstice, and yet on our morning walk she had one precious rose waiting for each of us.  We all carefully held her delicate offering of wooden blossoms so perfect in their symmetry and so surprising in their shape.  What a joy and what an incredible treasure.  On the darkest day of the year we were each bestowed a rose by this “our” enchanted tree.  They are precious and priceless and our family collection now totals sixteen.  How lovely and fitting that she has even called to mind one of my very favorite Christmas hymns, “Lo How a Rose E’er Blooming”, first written in German in 1599.  I love both the words and the melody and will close with the original two verses:

Lo!  How a rose e’er blooming
From tender stem hath sprung!
Of Jesse’s lineage coming
As those of old have sung.

It came, a flow’ret bright,
Amid the cold of winter
When half spent was the night.

Isaiah ’twas foretold it,
The Rose I have in mind;
With Mary we behold it
The Virgin Mother kind.

To show God’s love aright
She bore to us a Savior
When half spent was the night.