Love and Hot Chocolate

      

      You and I, perhaps, have grown out of fairy stories long ago. And I will assert that nearly every one of us grows out of it too soon. It was not our fault — it was our misfortune that elder people, who should have known better, stole the fairies from us. They knew but one world, these elders, and they had forgotten the joy of living in two.

      Many, I know, hold it harmful to keep children too long living in the realm of faëry. They say it helps to make a woolgathering habit of mind, and so in time unfits the adult for the practical work of life. All of which I firmly believe to be wrong. Never did men and women have more need of a refuge in the exercise of poetic imagination than in this bustling age; and the happiest people I know are those who keep a keen delight in poetry and the things that are only to be seen by an inner eye.

      There is a connection between the fairyland of youth and the poetry of mature years. Let a child but keep hold long enough of the gossamer thread that runs back into the realm of faëry, and in time it may join on to the world of higher poetic fancy.

~John Crawley, "The Realm of Faery," Reveries of a Father

'Winterthur' Viburnum

Just as he has filled his stomach to capacity with dinner delivered on demand, my purring little friend has wedged himself between the chair arm and my right hip, which is magical as no space exists between the chair arm and my hip, yet here he lays with his legs comfortably laying across my leg and his head resting on my belly bump, knowing he can just about get away with anything on earth he wishes.  

Licking his right paw and rubbing it over his right ear, he ignores my aching left arm arched over his body trying to type out this post.  He’s stopped purring,  I’ll fix that.

A gentle rubbing under his chin, his purring reeves up again, then… oh no, he gets up, walks across my legs and curls around, plopping down into my right arm area, grazing my nose as he goes into his comfort zone, and as I wipe a tissue across my nose and fur with it, arch my right arm over his body to continue typing, a massive ache escalates quite fast from zero to nine in less than 60 seconds causing me to wish I had never thought about typing a story at all today.

I need my ice water. What! All I can produce from a brain swimming in words is ice water.  Where is my ice water before I have a meltdown!

Well, Vic popped his head into the room, and my cat Austin made a beeline to safety from a man whom he loves dearly if food is available, otherwise he shrinks from sight and scoots into another room.  I tell Vic the secrets for bonding with him, but he has no patience to stay the course.

Anyhoo… my subject flew the coop, leaving me no inspiration to continue.  I’d write about Charlotte, but she’s a secret cat appearing at mealtimes before being absorbed back into the house until bedtime.  I’m blessed with two cats who know their names, but don’t always come on demand.  They only appear if they feel like it… so annoying.

Austin said you were in your ‘me’room typing a story.  I was going to roll around in the plethora of lint clouds in the kitchen and dining room, lick it off my fur and puke it onto the living room rug, but daddy vacuumed, and I am left with nothing.

And I am being told this because…

…because, as Santa Claus, we have a request for toys to replace the ones you gathered up and dumped. 

And what toys do you miss?

What toys did you dump?

I asked first, but it’s clear you had no favorites or at least one would pop up into your memory.

Oh pleaseee… we don’t want those dorky toys as replacement.  We want better toys.

Well pardon me, Miss Lottiedah, do you have a list of the better toys?  Is this request from Austin also?

It would be from Austin if he didn’t melt into your lap and forget about life every time you go into your writing room.

Well, I have a lap cat and a bedtime cat.  Guess which one spends more time with me.

Well, if you took an afternoon nap, I would be spending more time with you, Mommy.  Anyway, what about the request.

Request?  What request was that?

New toys, Santa Mommy, new toys!

Isn’t it a tad too early for Christmas present requests, Charlotte dear.

Oh, Mommy, Mommy… There is no starting point for requests in life.  It just always is.  You could learn a lot from me.

Well, Ms. Einstein, I think I’ve learned enough to last two lifetimes.  I’ll pass your list along to Santa.

Oh please, Mommy dearest, daddy ratted you out years ago.

Just give me the list and I’ll make sure you get the presents.

Here, Santa Mommy.

Why is it folded so many times? 

To give you time to not freak out, coolest Mommy ever.

What the… tell you what, dear Charlotte, cross the first item off the list, then come back with a list written with words one half inch high on one side of this index card I’m giving you, since Santa is old, partly blind, and running low on funds this year’s end.

Why must I cross the first item off the list, Mommy meanie.

Oh, please Charlotte, I wasn’t born yesterday.  Why do you want a singing canary in a birdcage?  Why not forget the birdcage and just ask for the canary?

Well, if you insist.

I can see a big lump of coal coming your way this Christmas.

I can see we just keep getting dumb presents for Christmas, because there is no Santa.  There’s just you.  Forget the list.

                         *************************************************

Mommy was sad that night as she laid alone in bed, for Charlotte never appeared.  Oh, how Mommy wished there really was a magical man who could whip up a present on demand, and deep in her heart she always pretended such a man really did exist, for what is life without a bit of magic.

Mommy sighed and let herself drift off into serenity as she listened to soft music and felt the cold of night settle around her.  She rested peacefully, knowing her presents this year would have to be spot on with a cat’s prospective of the concept of life and Santa.  She created the monster, and it seemed she would be living with it for some time to come. 

Isn’t life grand.   She thought that sarcastically, but caught herself saying it again, only this time with conviction.  Sometime during the night Charlotte silently found her place next to Mommy on the bed.  

All became well in this little corner of the world as Mommy dreamed of a mob of canary wings flapping all around her head, as Charlotte leaped through the air with the greatest of ease, claws extended and mouth open, shouting Hallelujah, there really is a Santa Claus!

Austin

'Sparkleberry' Winterberry

I have no idea what this plant is.

Beautiful Poison Ivy in her fall color.

Wolf Spider

Calico Aster with some type of small bees.

Eastern Calligrapher Flower fly

Lonicera sempervirens, Coral Honeysuckle

Northern Mockingbird in the Blackhaw Viburnum

American Beauty Berry

Fall Blooming Crocus

Spicebush leaves

'Winterthur' Viburnum Leaves

Last of the Aster Paten flowers

Left is Wild Petunia seed heads 

waiting to burst open to scatter the seed.

Right are three Aster Paten seeds 

waiting to detatch from the seed head

and fly away on the wind.

Northern Red Oak Acorn is bitter and not loved by squirrels.

A multicolored Asian lady beetle or Harmonia axyridis. 

Found on neighbor's purple fountain grass.

Rome Beauty Apple

White flesh, but sometimes different degrees of red show up.

This one is quite colorful.

Love and 

a cup of hot chocolate.

Doesn't get much better than that.

This Post is Linked To:

Saturday's Critters

Like a leaf gently falling, Autumn is letting go and beautifully transitioning.

 

Oh, melancholy lady…

your night sky is filled with starlight

as Cassiopeia makes her rounds

In the celestal dome of ebony,

yet your sadness transends this beauty 

like floodgates overflowing with sorrow

as you hide in all this darkness

without a tear to be shed.

Hear the night whisper its lovesong

as it wraps itself around you.

Fill your inner emptiness with you

and as you drift in this pensive mood

reflect at what matters most

what will bring you back to life.

Let go, let go, the night whispers.

I cannot, she whispers back.

What makes my life, my life

it's all still here, tethered to me.

Let go, let go, the night tempts once more.

I... I cannot, she whispers once again.

The night gives up its hold 

washed out as the day appears,

and she feels the sting of solitude

as its thoughts resonate within her.  

She wishes the night to have lingered longer

as she struggles to make sense of it all,

as to how one begins to dig up 

that forgotten sense of purpose.

 

She wonders if any of it really matters, 

if it will always be beyond her reach.

She flounders in her little pool of pity

as the thought of judgement of her peers

overwhelmes like a swarm of stinging wasps.

She wonders if wondering really matters -

she's thinking not, besides, what's the point.

Yet, she illuminates with this morning

as if she is hand in hand with the sun, 

rising to begin her search 

for crumbs of meaning of her life,

to stitch them all back together 

with the broken threads of her existence,

this enigmatic lady of earth.

Northern Cardinal

Saturday, October 4                                                                         

A late appearance has turned my breakfast of old-fashioned oats with a chopped Honeycrisp apple and pecans thrown in laced with cinnamon, vanilla extract, and a bit of maple syrup into a welcome noon outdoors on my deck as I am serenaded by a lively mockingbird shifting through his repertoire of lovely tunes.

Gentle breezes wash cooling air over me when they decide to grace with their presence.  As I gaze past the deck railing, the towering swamp sunflowers fill my vision as if they are a chorus of angels shouting hallelujah, fall is here.

The tiny white flowered aster that came with the yard and has stuck around like a visiting relative no one can persuade to leave, I think is Calico Aster, Symphyotrichum lateriflorum.  We decided to make peace with it this year and let it cover all the bare spaces.

 

It grows too tall and sprawls over everything to shade out that which we already planted, therefore we pruned the main stem of each one about a foot off the ground to make it act like a ground cover.  Insects adore it, so it is a win with supporting their lives in the garden.

Several hours before breakfast I spent in the backyard pruning two small Arborvitae shrubs so I could reach the prairie garden with ease.  We didn’t quite put the ease in there, but that is for a next time pruning.  It’s been decided that the only way to navigate all areas of this yard is with an all-terrain rollator.

A Bluejay is loudly calling, and wonders of wonders, I still have my tree frog who lives somewhere under the siding or in the gutter by the sliding glass door.  It’s loudly chirped a few times, and I suppose it’s thinking about migrating to the garden to partake of dinner.

Vic worked on his garden chores, then it was pleasant talk with the going home traffic really reeving up to overly loud with some horn blasts thrown in for good measure, you know, the type of person who thinks if they keep blasting the horn as they follow the culprit on down the street it will actually make a difference.  Vic’s off to get us potstickers and steamed broccoli for dinner outdoors, since no mosquitoes are out.

A red wasp is checking all the deck posts to see if a morsal might be found for a late nest tidbit.  The Merlin App said we heard a Red Shouldered Hawk cry earlier in the day, but we never could find it.  It’s been pleasant waiting for dinner. A few Cardinals and one Chirping Sparrow stopped by the bird bath I can view from the deck, otherwise, everything is quiet except the never-ending traffic.

 

Saturday, October 11

It’s late afternoon, and as I sit listening to some chattering from the Bluejays, a Katydid chimes in for a while.  It’s a downer day for me, meaning I’m still processing news of a dearest friend being incurable.  At my age, any loss is magnificent. Vic joined me for an afternoon of chatting and observing insects being carried in on the wind or wings.  We are never totally alone.  The insects make themselves welcome at our table.

It's been decided, and Vic’s off to Burger Republic for our dinner outdoors.  The swamp sunflowers are filled with large and small bees, skipper butterflies, and other insects.  The side prairie style garden, and the front garden in the sunny areas are covered in masses of Aromatic Asters blooming abundantly and filled with insect life.

Traffic has picked up, and it amazes me how many people get off so early.  Just heard a cricket make itself known.  I love listening to crickets.  I have a quirky sound going off in my right ear once in a while, sounds like a cricket is living in there.

 

Squawking Bluejays and a very vocal Red shouldered Hawk were creating a commotion earlier in the day, but the Blackhaw Viburnum shrub covered much of the view from the deck, so I saw nothing.  Very frustrating.

Tuesday, October 14

We saw the Red Shouldered Hawk as we were returning home from the chiropractor.  Not up close, as it was circling high in the sky over our neighborhood.  Quite a large bird, so it is an exciting find to add to the list of birds that visit our garden.  I’m sure the Bluejays have been quite excited also trying to not become dinner.

Life’s sort of okay.  Most trees still have their leaves, but the shrubs have begun to let theirs drop to the ground, and many of the earlier flowers are merely seeds and dried stems.  The bird feeder hasn’t been filled consistently for morning feeding, so I fear we have lost our sparrows and finches for the fall and winter.  It’s exasperating when I no longer control these things.

I’m in my writing room at the end of the day with empty thoughts, and a vacant stare.  Nothing more to say, as the richness of colors that people always look forward to in autumn will not appear here until November this year.  The Dogwood tree already has it leaves changing colors, as well as some of the shrubs, but the autumn crocus has not yet begun its journey to see daylight.

So I bid you a fond farewell until next month, because this month wore me out.  I write in the Word program, and when I copied to paste to a blog in progress of putting together like I have done multiple times before, it vanished into thin air.  After panicking a bit, I finally gained entrance to the cloud and found my writing to copy and paste back into Word.  

Before that I could no longer download clipart, so after consulting the internet, I found my default programs and fixed it.  Before that, I wrote the poem, then added to a blog in process of putting together and changed it a zillion times over a span of five months.  Nothing comes easy to this youngster.

It's late in the evening, but midnight has not struck the hour yet.  I am catless, sitting in an empty livingroom, with a monitor screen staring me in the face waiting for a beautiful ending to these narratives.  Sorry...

...I'm going to bed.

Sweet dreams to all of you who visit.  You're much appreciated.

    Yvonne

I think, a Fiery Skipper Butterrfly on Calico Aster, 

Symphyotrichum lateriflorum

 

Thought to  maybe be an inbred white aster, 

the disk changes from yellow to later purplish, thus the name.

Seed heads from Butterfly Weed, Asclepias tuberosa

that have just escaped the seedpod as a whole;

waiting for a breeze to begin dispersal.

Aromatic Asters, 'October Skies', 

Symphyotrichum oblongifolium...

...with European Honeybee

...with some type of Skipper Butterfly

...with a very small bluish black bee.

Green-spored parasol mushroom (Chlorophyllum molybdites)

Seedpod of Purple Coneflower

What is left of the empty seedpod

from a Butterfly Weed as it grows old.

American beautyberry (Callicarpa americana)

Callicarpa americana var. lactea or Callicarpa americana 'Alba' ,

it can be called either.

I think it is a clone of the original plant,

although mine are formed from seeds of the cloned plants, 

so no longer clones, 

as they are not reliably to come true to form. 

Swamp Sunflower, Helianthus angustifolius

Outer Yellow Ray Florets are to attract pollinators.

Disk Florets are the smaller dark colored 

individual flowers in the center.

I think the tiny yellow part in the center of each disk flower 

is a male or female reproductive organ.

I'm not sure which.

After pollinated, each flower will turn into a seed.

The Disk Floret will eventually contain many seeds.

Winterberry 'Sparkleberry'

Symphyotrichum patens, Clasping Aster

Mine grow between the two Oak Trees, 

so they are more prostrate because of the shade, 

but they bloom well.

 American dogwood, Cornus florida

The smaller green balls are the 

immature flower buds for next year.

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Does okay in the sun.  

We monitor it and when it seems stressed,

we water it.

Leaves beginning to display autumn colors.

No idea of the name of this tiny spider,

on the mock strawberry plant.

Maybe Lerema accius, the clouded skipper,

difficult to tell with closed wings.

Google offers Panoquina ocola, The Ocola Skipper butterfly,

but that's a little iffy, although not impossible. 

Tallest Swamp Sunflower stem on left is about 9" tall.

I think all the spring and summer rains helped with it's height.

European Honeybee

Zelus luridus, also known as the Pale Green Assassin Bug

Eggs hatch shortly after laid, 

but the nymph (shown below) will molt 4 (sometimes 7) times 

before becoming a winged adult the next June.

They produce one generation per year,

but we have quite a few of the nymphs being carried 

on the breezes to all parts of the garden and beyond.  

We had one join us for lunch, 

and one landed on me and had to be removed to safe haven,

They overwinter in bark, under logs, and in crevasses,

and are semi-dormant during that period.

They are capable of accidently biting you, 

but they are a good garden predator, crucial to healthy gardens.

The ones landing into inappropiate areas crawled 

onto paper and were transferred to the garden with ease.

Per AI Overview:

Wolf spiders in the genus Sosippus, known as funnel-web wolf spiders, 

masquerade as true funnel-web spiders by building funnel-shaped webs. 

These spiders, found in the southern United States,

 have a hunting style similar to other wolf spiders (family Lycosidae) 

but create sheet webs with a funnel-shaped retreat, 

which can be easily mistaken for the webs of spiders

 in the family Agelenidae. The key difference is the eye arrangement.

This one is living between the window and the window screen,

where it is protected from preditors.

Euthychynchus floridanus, 

the Florida Predatory Stink Bug nymph

The nymph of a carnivorous shield bug,

it is considered beneficial because 

its diet includes many species of pest insects.

I only went out for a walk,

and finally concluded to stay out till sundown,

for going out,

I found,

was really going in.

~ John Muir

   

"From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties 

and things that go bump in the night, 

Good Lord, deliver us!"

This Post is Linked To:

Saturday's Critters

Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day