Heart Warmer

Your life will be richer
if on this day
you will make
an effort to:

Mend a quarrel

Search for
a forgotten friend

Dismiss a suspicion and

Replace it with trust.



As I flipped my daily devotional calendar this morning and read these words, my Heart grew Warmer. Here's praying yours does too.

Hardy Buggers

Our brief stop at our pond place produced a day's worth of crawling.

On the drive home, I picked off a handful of ticks. Dan reaped more than two dozen. I cringed, "You must have stepped into a nest." We threw them into a water cup. Some sank. Others floated. Dan said, "I wonder if they even breathe?"

Before bed, I advised Dan to strip down, throw his clothes directly in the washing machine and jump into the shower. I did the same and ran a load of laundry. The next morning, I lifted the washer lid to shift the clothes into the dryer and found a woodtick still clinging to Dan's T-shirt. I thought: Surely, it's dead.

Moments later, the tick began to move. I ran to Dan with this survivor. He said, "See, I told you. I don't think those things breathe."

Whether ticks breather or not, they certainly are Hardy Buggers.

From These Shores

of our pond place, I hear a loon call. I echo his. And he mine. We chat until he disappears beneath the surface.

More than five years has passed since we first called this spot ours and dreamed of building a little cabin – a getaway not far from home. Someday... maybe those dreams will be realized. Until then, this big stone waits for its chance to become the front step.

And I wait for my chance to commune with the loons that nest here – regularly – From These Shores.

Inclement Weather

Spotty storms and overcast intervals typified the elements this entire week. It's been a tough test of character for our three boys fresh out of school on Summer Vacation.

To break up the monotony of staying indoors at home, I offered to drive them into school to eat breakfast and visit with friends who also chose to take part in the "free meals" summer grant program.

On our drive home, we noticed standing puddles from the heavy overnight rains. A closer look at the gravel road revealed worms on its surface.

"Hey guys!" I said stopping the truck. "Jump out and take a look at the ground."

"Worms!" Aaron shouted. "Will you – "

"Take you fishing?" I finished his question with a nod. "You'll need something to hold the worms."

"Do you want this?" Aaron asked lifting up an orange juice cup. "I was going to save it for Isaac since he didn't come for breakfast. But..."

"We've got OJ at home," I said. "You don't want it?" Aaron shook his head. I drank the juice, put the foil wrapper on the cup bottom and handed it back. Within minutes, Aaron and Noah filled the cup with enough worms for a heavy day of fishing.

Back home, we convinced Isaac to join us by offering to stop back at school for lunch – a hot ham and cheese sandwich with trimmings.

Out on the fishing pier, Aaron and Noah baited their hooks and wet their lines. Each lost a couple worms, but failed to hook a fish.

Wind rustled across the lake. An occasional gray cloud blew overhead sprinkling us with rain drops. Moments later, sun rays peered through the sky.

About 45 minutes into our fishing trip, heavy rain pelted us and bounced off the water.

Waves of wind swirled the lake's surface as the raindrops danced drenching us in their amazing warmth.

"Hurry! Jump in the truck," I hollered to the boys as I pulled out my camera to capture the inclement view from under the oak tree.

Inside the truck, I asked, "What time is it?"

"10:30," Isaac said consulting his watch. I replied, "Should we wait to see if this passes? There's still a half hour before lunch is served."

Mixed reactions met my question. While waiting for a consensus, the rain quit. Aaron and Noah grabbed their rods and bait. Isaac snatched my camera.

At the end of the dock, Isaac snapped a self portrait.

I retrieved my camera before he started shooting video of Aaron's wishful attempts to lure a bass.

A bus from the local group home stopped, unloaded and walked out to the dock's end. Their leader asked about the boys' luck.

"Nothing but the fun of trying," I said. "After a week of rain and staying indoors, it's enough."

She nodded adding: "You know, the whole area is under a tornado warning until 4 PM today?" I raised my eyebrows and said, "Well, that explains the weather."

The group loaded the bus. I pondered loading up too. "Come on guys! It's gotta be lunch time now."

At that moment – Aaron landed the season's first catch: a sunfish.

The damp weather caused my camera shutter to jam and open only partially. Attempting to focus, I said, "I don't think this will work."

I snapped. Aaron moved in for a look.

"Hey that's a cool effect!" he said.

Yes! Cool for Inclement Weather.

A Tune

While paging through his music looking for a practice piece, Aaron tapped out a percussion piece on his flute keys. I said, "Wait! What's that? I like the sound."

He cringed looking at me like I was nuts. I said, "Listen! Do that again." I grabbed my camera, flicked on the video mode and recorded the result to post here! Listen closely to hear Isaac's "Fluffybottums is our guy" comment.

Celebrating summer sounds!

Spotty Dog

I received an invitation for a baby shower.

I didn't even wonder: 'What to give new parents?' I knew – a homemade blanket. It's the gift that keeps on giving – sometimes even through preschool. The question was: 'What theme?' Boy, girl, or... hmmm.

My hubby suggested: 'Check their gift registry.'

Ah, ha! Inspiration strikes: plush puppy, lullaby CD and a pacifier pack. All awesome accessories to soothe baby to sleep. (We know. We had three!)

At the fabric store, I found thematic prints to sew a blanket and got a bit more for a matching crib sheet. In the baby aisle, I saw sweet puppy slippers – clearance-priced!

Now about that baby shower...

Who can wait – for Spotty Dog's Debut?

A Writer Writes...

Sometimes for publication to the masses;
Other times for a selective group;
And at times, for individual eyes.

In those times, a writer must choose:
typed or hand-written
pencil or pen
paper or card
boughten or homemade?

Yes, the "Martha-within" speaks. And then, this Writer Writes!