My Grandma Hallet gave me a Roger Williams piano music album when I was eight.
I don’t really know why, necessarily. It was used, so she probably got it at a yard sale or a thrift store because she did not have money, really, to spend. It was probably a birthday gift. It wasn’t groovy or cool, but she knew I loved music and was never far from my little record player. And so I came to love it. And especially the song, “Autumn Leaves.” I secretly danced to it…
This leaf drifted from a tree in my front yard yesterday and landed at my feet, like a gift. I will probably play with it at www.picnik.com at some point, but this is just as it came. And truly, the autumn produces colors like no other, does it not? Glory. That is the color of fall. What started green and bright and light, unfurling after a stark winter, now reaches its’ full and most beautiful stage, and having held on with strength and determination throughout the summer, through both drought and drenching rains, now falls, now tumbles. Now, peacefully and content with itself, dances right down before me, a gift. Glory.
Missing my Grandma Hallet. I wish she could know what her gentle spirit meant to me.
October is orange. Of course. But it is also a red that is so full of depth and dimension and fiery-varience it can hardly be described.
My neighbor’s Maple has languoriously (not a real word, I know), gone from deep late-summer green, the leaves still fully affixed due to mild fall days and nights, to a light-to-deepening golden peach-to-orange over the past week. Then yesterday, I swear, as I walked back into the family room with with a hot cup of coffee, it went red. Just like that, before my eyes. It nearly took my breath away. Moments before, a glowing, lovely amber-rusty orange, then, poof.
~
Red. A fully florid, cherry, sanguine scarlet. A puce, a rufescent russet, a bloody, blushing, gushing, infrared hot pink mixed with flaming chestnut and rubies and gleaming copper, all at once. It is shimmering and irridescent fuschia, yet dense and heavy garnet, a ruby. It is bittersweet in both color and the evoking of raw autumn melancholy.
October is orange.
October is red.
“The well of nature is full today. Time to go outside and take a drink.” ~ Diane Ackerman quote. Photo, piknicked, of course. Vignette. Cropped, etc…This photo was taken Oct. 22, 2010, but it looks almost exactly the same out my window today. Almost.
First I invited people over for dinner when I totally have a WWM Board Meeting tonight.
Dang. The menu was pretty good, too:
Pomegranite-Basil Pork Loin, a gluten-free Rice Penne (only because some one bought it and it was in the pantry, I love gluten myself) tossed in a garlic, extra-virgin-olive-oil with my very own garlic and basil roasted tomatoes – all carmelized and sweet, but tangy, too. Mmmmmmm! Corn in garlic sauce, of course, and a beautiful Insalata Caprese – with fresh tomatoes from my garden, naturally, and maybe some of the sweetest balsamic ever.
However, though my guests and Dave still get to eat it, I must go to my important meeting.
I shower.
I prepare dinner (I hardly ever cook, btw – let’s just keep honest here!), I reach into the fridge and kaboom! I dropped this like a bomb.
WHO PUT THAT THERE??? {me}
And even though it was only about a quarter-full, that darn Lousiana Hot Sauce went as far as 18 feet into my carpeted family room, hit every cabinet and counter, totally splayed on the white appliances – all of them! It somehow went around the corner into the laundry 6 feet. It is high and low and everywhere! Plus it machine-gunned my ankle and cut my hand and may I just say – hot sauce in a cut is no buneno!!???!
I fear for everyone’s safety tonight as I cannot seem to get all the glass. More just keeps showing up???? Vacuum, sweep, mop, scrub, vacuum, mop, sweep, scrub, dry the floor, more scrubbing, a light mop another vacuum and still with the clanking glass on my shoes and in the vacuum.
I also discovered in my 2nd shower that hot sauce stains your skin. Uh-huh.
If anyone at the board meeting says they are craving buffalo wings for some unknown reason, I am coming home.
{this is going to seriously impact my crime-show watching…now when a defense attorney says there just isn’t enough blood evidence to convict, I may have to side with them – and that is just not me :: I’m a prosecutor by nature}
‘Tis Autumn, and the morning sun knew, on this particular dawn, not to actually “break.” It would have been too much.
The light is more reserved and golden now. Not as spritely-bright as a few weeks back. Sort of low and leaning.
This morning, it entered quietly, very quietly. Just sort of eased its way into the room.
Hush, a gentle hand on the forehead.
The bird chatter, even, the few in the offing who dare to breach the quietness of the morning whisper, is reverent and careful this morning. The air is still and the leaves that do move flutter in total silence.
Since I don’t plant them anymore and they just show up unannounced throughout the garden, the faithful marigold rarely gets mentioned, but are glorious nonetheless, brughtly greeting me, quite self-sufficient where others need so much attention.
In a hospital, just after a violent attack against a person’s body has produced a flurry of loud surgical intervention by medicine’s best, the wounded one is wheeled to a safe inner sanctum and loved ones, clutching prayer beads and folded over, rock back and forth to the rhythm of the faintest clock ticking. The waiting begins and supercedes all else. The waiting is the thing.
That is how this morning has arrived. Quietly. Reverently. Carefully.
Which turned out w a a a a a y better than they should have for my little $69.99 Kodak digital camera.
Check out this weed. This was in the mountains when Dave and I were there a few weeks back. It was getting ready to spread its’ seed everywhere. I just like how it captured the almost explosive-movement. No touch-ups. Just this. As weeds go, pretty lovely.
And then these two. With really good cameras you can adjust the focus so that the things you aren’t focusing on are blurry, out-of-focus. I do not have that option. But my camera, for some strange reason. did that anyway. I think I may have been zoomed, I am not sure. But I love how it blurred the background. These are not touched up. If I’d known I’d stumbled into something, I’d have tried more of whatever it was. *smile
Look at that crazy-awesome background blur.
Secondly, Hunter enjoyed trying a feather and ink for alphabet writing recently.
Thirdly, Peaches & Cream, from Palizzi Farm. As amazingly sweet and delectable as it sounds.
I LOVE corn on the cob. Did you know that? Love it. It is the Iowa girl in me.
Here they come, walking down the street. Get the funniest looks from – everyone they meet. Hey-hey for grandkids!
All together now – JUMP!
Remember when we were kids and adults made us smile for pictures when the sun was totally in our eyes? Yeah, well, now I have done that to my own grandbebes. I just thought they should experience it. Haha.
Peek-a-boo, little monkeys
Gemma drew her family
And other things.
Granddaughters are sweeeeet!
Little tiny Amelie walloped her cousin, Gavin, the other day and when her daddy said, “Amelie-no hitting,” she crossed her arms and lowered her shoulders with a decided **harrumph** and plopped herself down. It is hilarious thing to see such an itty-bitty pull such a big-girl move. It probably won’t be that cute 6 months from now, but it sure was this week.
Tredessa got her dress. And I can’t show you, of course, but she is beautiful in it.
Engagement to her cute guy? Check. Amazing ring? Check. Location for the wedding (a barn!!)? Check. Dress? Check.
This is just wrong. Right? Probably. But it is evidence that the grandkids were here.
THIS? Is a good morning sight! Fresh from the garden!
I should mention, I had just dropped the green beans into boiling water for 10 seconds and then quickly submerged them into ice water to shock them green-green and make them positively delectable for random all-day-long munching. Mmm. Mm. Mm!
And in honor of the first day of autumn, I am making red beans and rice and missing my brother, Joe, whose gorgeous first born will walk down the aisle tomorrow to be married. {Mrs. Elise Leonard, aka Elise-the-Niece}
You’re just going along, enjoying summer living, and then the veins of the leaves go blood red and begin pumping color into a random branch here or there. Fascinating!
“I can picture it in my mind’s eye and it’s beautiful, Clark.” (Christmas Vacation) I can also see it here at my blog and remember and smile.
Dave is teaching for the county here. We went really-really-really almost-above-the-timberline high to get here, over Monarch Pass. Here is a sign Dave saw in the county building:
I am visiting lots of wedding sites and www.marthastewart.com greets me with a countdown each time I log in, which I have to say does not really thrill me.
So, like 75 days now…actually less. Luckily, though, Ryan and Tredessa are having a small family wedding, so we should be able to pull it off. I mean I have got all the talent in the world in my fam!
In other wedding news ::
Elise-the-Niece is getting married to Matt in 11 days.
This gorgeous beauty will be at my house, along with little Miss Sawyer by the time we get home. All the way from hot-hot-hot Texas!
Better bring a sweater, Stef.
Dave and Tara are celebrating their 8th anniversary today.
Love your love, my sweets. 8 very, very good years.
Rocky and Jovan will celebrate their 5th anniversary Friday.
Five beautiful years for two gorgeous lovers! Congrats, my sweets!
So
I am catching up on reading and writing and organizing my computer files and photos and downloading video and editing video and getting room service every morning. From Dave.
And I have suddenly realized I want to start thinking ahead to:
Yes. It is time.
UPDATE 9/14/11 :: Apparently rain in Denver = snow in elevations over 10,000 feet. Living in Colorado this long I should know that, yet am here, expecting up to 6″ of snow tonight, in flip-flops and a hoodie. Hehe.
“Back side” of the cabin, where the trail leads down to the middle fork of the St Vrain. This is where you can usually find me. {NOTE: my poor little cheap Kodak could not, try as it might, capture the water. It always just whited-out, but that is water down there. It’s OK, though, it did pretty well on colors and textures.}
Rushing waters.
Dappled sunlight. Warm, hot even. Yet a cooling breeze blows over. Fresh. Exhilarating mountain stream baths. Blue-jays cackle loudly on their way by. Hummingbirds swooping and frolicking, feeding frequently and zooming in so close I am afraid they will scratch my glasses lens.
The chipmunks try to hide in the shadiness of low brush, but betray themselves by their own relentless chatter.
The path down to the water on the left. The path up the driveway on the right.
The blue of the sky :: what blue is that? From where does it get that depth and clarity? Bluuuuuuuuuue….saturated with intoxicating substance. Mmm.
How many different greens am I seeing? How many different textures?
Moss, earthy and sweet. Moss is safe here. Is that why I am drawn? Did my very name at birth identify a part of my souls’ homeland that draws me, still?
Large boulders stand settled, immovable for the truth they represent. The waters flow freely around these altars, splash against these planted “tables.”
“You prepare a table before me”
The Aspens quake like the religious sect of old, the trees clapping their hands and roaring their applause to great God. When the breath of the Lord blows through, the forest-stadium is filled with home-team-victory ear-piercing, loud, standing ovation excitement. I cannot quit watching the leaves – trying to capture them by digital recording – knowing it is all for Creator. They’ve never learned to dissipate their purpose in delighting Him by doing what anyone else thinks they should do. It is all song and dance to Him, for His good pleasure.
He and I keep laughing at these tiny, energetic hummingbirds. They are just so happy and busy, so full of life.
Laughing with God in the mountains at Peaceful Valley is so good. He is giving me a clue about what makes him happy, what brings His smile. I feel like He is letting me in a secret. I am giddy to find that the birds of the mountains crack God up.
This is the Rocky Mountain {most} High.
Omygosh, I am weird, but wow I love it, too. My Father is putting on a show for me, or maybe, more accurately, He is letting me see the one being put on for Him. He claps. He laughs. He sings along. He sees that His creation is good. Here I am, lucky enough to sit in the Divine box seat with Him.
I am struck by how all of creation just does what it does and is in constant worship by very nature, created to bring Him glory. I wonder what the heck we are doing?
I can’t help singing Andrae Crouch’s old song~
If I was a tree all I could do is lift my arms to You, Lord
If I was a bird, all I could is sing a song to You
If I was the sun all I could do is shine for You
Everything You made I know You made to give to praise to You
But You created me in Your image to give You the highest praise
Yeah, that’s right. I sang my head off. I was created to. I couldn’t help it. The waters splashed and pushed by loudly headed toward destiny. The birds did sing. The trees did clap their hands, the sun shined brilliantly and I sang and laughed and cried. My soul sang. It sang. I was born for it.
Peaceful Valley was…peaceful, in its’ own raucously full-of-living kind of way. Good times.
With all due respect to laborers far and wide across the miles and the years, I am ceasing from my labors for Labor Day weekend. In the Rocky Mountains. Near a rushing river stream. White waters and trees. Cold, cold baths and the roar of nature. Some reading, Some writing. Some meandering through wooded areas. Singing my heart out as loudly as I want to for no one but God will be able to hear next to that roaring river. Zzzzzzzzzzzzz………..
NOTE TO SELF: To get all this and more – must pack!
I spent $7.99 for a tropical houseplant the fall of 2002, October, I believe. It sorely needs re-potting. It just insists in gargantuating constantly. {I believe I just made up a new word}
Friday afternoon I lopped off 3 big meandering “branches” and threw them on top of the trash.
Saturday morning I came down to the kitchen and was greeted by a
“What the heck gives? We still have plenty of life left in us.”
And it is true. Every few months, I trim that plant up and then vase the trimmings and get a week or three of pretty, big green leaves. Still, I was surprised they seemed to have suffered no major damage, tossed aside as they were. I plopped them into a large apothecary. Today I am very happy with my reasonable decision to keep them for as long as they wish to be here, in spite of my initial laziness.
Though houseplants in general give me the heebie-geebies, this one continues to romance me with liveliness and spontaneity. $7.99 well spent.
Missing my Grandma Hallet. I wish she could know what her gentle spirit meant to me.
