A DIFFERENT PACE - Going with the flow

My daughter has several "favorite" flowers. One of them I could never grow successfully. No matter what I did, they died on me. But every years I'd plant some again. Today I'll "plant" a beautiful picture with a bonus, a little ladybug - another favorite.

Here Crystal, these will last you for as long I you want them too.

Until a couple of years ago, gardening was my ultimate thing to do, weather permitting. I would turn all the lights on inside the house and open the shades to stay out late in the spring time, sick with planting fever. In the summertime I'd get up before sunrise to enjoy the stillness and savor the sweet scent of the garden in full bloom. Of course I'd slip bak into bed most days! And I took naps on the swing, ahhh!!! On rainy days, I sat under the big umbrella, curled up in a comfy chair. I just about lived outside. I still would, but it's not possible right now. I miss it. Soon again...

♡ ♡ HAPPY ANNIVERSARY ♡ ♡

Ten years ago our family grew by one. My son Don-André married Marcela. This is a special day. Thank God for my daughter-in-law and my beautiful grandchildren, Jacob, Samuel and Naomi. Thank you Lord for Your Hand of protection and provision and for the many miracles You have done.

♡♡♡ I LOVE YOU ♡♡♡

GLOOMY DAY - My cup of sunshine

I'm only human, I'm just a woman,
Lord help me believe in all that I am and all I can be,
Show me the stairway, that I have to climb,
And Lord for my sake, teach me to take, one day at a time.

ONE DAY AT A TIME, SWEET JESUS, THAT’S ALL I’M ASKING OF YOU,
LORD GIVE ME THE STRENGTH TO DO EACH DAY, WHAT I HAVE TO DO,
YESTERDAY’S GONE SWEET JESUS, AND TOMORROW MAY NEVER BE MINE,
SO HELP ME TODAY, SHOW ME THE WAY, ONE DAY AT A TIME.

Lord I know You remember, when you walked among men,
And Jesus I know you're looking below and it's worse now than then,
Pushing and shoving, and crowding my mind,
So Lord for my sake, teach me to take, one day at a time.

Beautiful old song. My prayer today.
I may not have the words just right, correct me if you know them.

MEMORIES OF ANOTHER PLACE, ANOTHER TIME - Still the same after all these years.

♥En francais...
Back in August, I wrote a little story about carefree days in Switzerland. I thought it would be nice to show the river Thièle lined by beautiful poplars. Quite a change between summer time and winter. The swans stay all year round. In the winter season,
they move in town and live on the river banks under the main bridge. They are protected and add much charm to the area.
It's solid ice. But not for skating. They have outdoor skating rinks.
My mother always talked about how during very cold winters, the edges of the Lake of Neuchâtel would freeze up in waves. Well... it's pretty close. I am well adapted!!!
The pictures are from 2005 "La Matelote" - Sailing club - Yverdon - Switzerland. www.lamatelote.ch
♥Pour mes amis de langue française.
Il ya quelque mois, j' avais écrit une petite histoire à propos des peupliers dans la ville d'Yverdon et ses environs. Le vent (qui souffle la plupart du temps) produit un son distinct dans le feuillage frémissant. Les photos sont de ce petit coin. Une amie me dit que les memoires sont un trésor impuisable. Nous pouvons revivre ces moments et les visiter aussi souvent que l'on désire.

THE SCARF - Seed of compassion

Early fall wind was blowing in swirls of red, gold and brown. I loved the rustling sound of leaves, dancing like flowers on the sidewalk. The trees had lost their fullness and stood as giant stick people. It was getting colder every day. I walked briskly across the street to catch the bus. One glance at my watch - too late - I'll have to take the next one. At least it wouldn't be long. In Geneva, buses runs practically night and day, just a few moments apart during rush hour. In fact, sometimes the bus doesn't even stop because it's full, and a couple of minutes later another one follows. It's actually much more convenient to take the bus - no need to look for parking, stress over traffic or schedule. And there are stops everywhere.

As I waited, a frail elderly man slowly approach the station. I smiled and he smiled back. I asked him where he was going, and we began talking. My bus came and went. Other buses with divers destinations came and went. People got off, people got on. I wasn't in any hurry to go home anymore, this man had my attention. Besides, nobody was waiting for me. I was single. Come to find out, he was by himself too. He told me how he lost his wife and lived in a small furnished room. Yes, he had children, and even grandchildren, "all grown up", he said. Busy with their careers, not really in touch with him. His clothes, and shoes were of good quality. He wore an overcoat, a little worn but well tailored. He was clean with a close shave. I could see the the vestiges of a handsome, well groomed gentleman. Now stood before me an old man, forgotten - or maybe just a burden pushed aside.

"Are you hungry?" I asked while thinking to myself, it's about that time. Why not? Then I said to him: "Let's go get a bite to eat, my treat." I knew of a cozy little Mom & Pop restaurant nearby, so to dinner we went.
After that, we had a date once a week. He never asked for money, or anything else. Just someone to talk to. I learned about his life, his wife, their children. He loved them all. Now, he didn't even know for sure where they were . But he had been living in the same place for a long time.

Something happened to me. The thought kept coming to my mind over and over again - this could be my grandpapa. He is somebody's father, somebody's grandfather. This could be my grandpapa... Lonely, forgotten old man. I looked forward to our dinners. Winter would soon be here in full force, it was already dark early, raining off and on, cold. Then snow would fall, covering everything with a beautiful white ethereal blanket. How fun, muffled sounds, roasted chestnuts vendors, icicles, frosted windows... Then the holiday season, family gatherings, homemade goodies, warms embraces, late night fires with friends, gifts...

I wasn't much of a knitter in my younger years. But I bought yarn and needles and embarked on a work of love. A scarf. It took some time and a lot of taking apart and starting over until I got it right. It was maroon, long, thick and soft, knitted in the simplest stitch, with fringes on the end.
I was so excited to bring it to my next dinner date with the old man. Sure enough, he was at the bus stop, waiting. He took the bag offered to him and slowly pulled the scarf out. He wrapped it around his neck and his face shined with joy. This was our last dinner together.

It was still almost a month until Christmas. But I never saw the old man again. I looked for him in all the places were we had been and all around the avenues and boulevards near my work place. To no avail, he had vanished. No one had seen him and he didn't turn out in any rescue mission in the city.

The Master Gardener planted a seed that fall. My heart was forever changed.

HANDS - Silent words

The first hands in my life were those of Dr. Fréco. He delivered me in my parents home. He was our family physician and made many house calls during my childhood. My grandmaman had a terrible time with something in her back. For years she went from one doctor to another, with never more than a temporary relief. Until one summer, while vacationing at our house, she had another bad spell. Dr. Fréco had planned a home visit to check on me and the mumps. The touch of his hands was soothing. He straightened her back and the pain was gone for good! She told the story until the end of her life.

My mother's little sister "Tati", painted on porcelain. Entire dinner sets and tea sets were adorn with delicate blossoms. Scenery depicting days gone by and architectural beauties were applied in monochromatic tones on plates. Bouquets and flowering branches decorated vases, chargers, unusual glass bottles. She painted ravishing roses on canvas and silk. Stock cards and paper place mats could turn out a masterpiece if it fancied her to draw and nothing else was readily available. She had a knack for crafting with velvet, brocade and gold leafing. Her home was furnished with antiques from all over Europe. She owned a boutique filled with clothing bought from collections viewed in Paris, Rome, Munich, Vienna. She was beautiful and her surroundings reflected her love for art. She was an artiste, and painted until she no longer could.

My grandpapa had the largest hands I have ever seen. He had the frame of a tall man, but his growth was stunted after a childhood fall down a staircase. He developed a hump in his left upper back, more noticeable as the years went by. His shirts and suits always needed tailoring to shorten the sleeves. That's probably why his hands appeared even larger. He could work on the most delicate projects. He repaired our watches, clocks, miniature doll house furniture, transistor radios and of course any electrical or mechanical device. In his old days, his eyesight failed him. But I remember watching him eat peas with a fork, blueberries with a small dessert spoon. The silverware looked out of proportion, but he used it with deftness. At my wedding, he played a tune on the cups, glasses and plates. It was a riot.

My cousin Marianne, took classic guitar lessons. I was fascinated by her long slender fingers and her olive complexion. She took after our great-great-great grandmother, from Ottoman descent. She was my best friend and confident for many years.
I admired her, specially her gracefulness. She studied to be a special education teacher - and became an outstanding one. Her hands were like butterflies.

My favorite man in the world was my Uncl' Alphonse, one of my father's brothers, my godfather. His hands were rugged as farmers hands are, but with a gentleness about them in the way he tended the young shoots in the vineyard, the livestock in the barn and "Pierrot " his horse. He cared for kittens and dogs, the fruit of the earth and handled everything with respect.

My mother had the most tender hands, quite large for a women, but as light as a feather. She made heavenly pie crusts and pastries, weightless meringues and anise cookies, superb cakes with frothy mocha frosting. She canned, made preserves, jams and jellies, dried herbs bouquets for winter comfort cooking. She knitted without patterns, everything from hats to gloves, dresses, pullovers and knee high socks with intricate designs. Her fingers swiftly working a thin cotton thread with a crochet hook, she produced laces for table runners and handkerchiefs, doilies for framing and all sorts of elaborate gifts for friends and family. There was also embroidery and needle point. Even folding and ironing clothes looked like a work of love for every crease was precise. She played the violin. And she sewed... just for the asking.
At home, except when she read a book before bed, my mother's hands were never idle. More often than not, she was busy for someone else's enjoyment. She was a giver, gentle in all her ways.

My granddaughter Naomi, "Mimi", has little baby hands (even though she is growing fast). The other day, she caressed my shoulder and my arm in the most loving way. It was as a whisper of love, and her eyes were speaking from her heart. Is this how the brush of angel's wings feels?

These hands have spoken to me and enriched my life.

Today, I know Jesus. My hands belong to Him.

We are His hands on earth. Reach out and touch someone. Share Him.

... the Savior's hands. My life is in His hands.

IN THE GARDEN - ... the desires of your heart

Quelques mots en français pour les amis qui visitent de loin.
Les dernières semaines ont été difficiles pour moi. Suite d'une maladie, il voilà que je prenne des pillules qui m'interdisaient d'aller au soleil, et de passer beaucoup de temps dehors. Alors là, c'était comme demander à un papillon de ne visiter qu'une seule fleur!!! Démoralisant pour le moins dire...
La photo - Et oui... c'est une vue de mon petit coin prise depuis sous l'ombrelle où j'aime me reposer. Il y a du plaisir sans fin... au jardin.

Simple pleasures in the garden.

My two youngest children have a little joke going on: What to do with Mom if she wasn't able to get around any more - sit her comfortably in the garden with pots, plants, soil, seeds and things - check on her once in the while. Where is Mom? Oh, outside in the garden. They forgot to mention: books about birds and insects, binoculars and camera. But it's pretty close. Of course there's got to be a bunny running around and a dog and a kitty too. Simple pleasures.

This is the view from my favorite spot in the garden. The swing seems to be everybody else's favorite spot!!!
It's my place, and mine to share with all who would. Come and sit a while. Feel the peace. Sleep if you'd like. The birds will sing their lullaby.

If nature is your thing, forget time, God will meet with you there as He does with me. Thank you Lord for this little spot.