A Little Bit of Magic

 

The Journey

Their home was a place of no expectations, unparticular in an ordinary way, and although she was soft in a way that made one want to protect her, it was not to her liking.
 
She mused about the simplicity of its existence, how it was void of anything that was remotely her.  She couldn’t stand it.  One might say she hated it, but her feelings were more complex than that.  It reaches back to a childhood where one lived in a home with unpainted walls, and incomplete flooring.

What followed was a journey into the trials and tribulations of a dream she embraced and one he found challenging to accept.  She removed wallpaper from the kitchen and dining room walls; wallpaper that didn’t want to be removed, so in the process she was then cumbered with the task of repairing the drywall, spackling and sanding, then two coats of thick latex paint.
 
It nearly killed her, or so she thought, when it took a month to recover from a sinus infection caused by not wearing the respirator she had no clue about.  She had, after all, followed what she remembered as a child watching her dad building onto their home, and it was so totally inadequate.

Sometime around six months later it was complete, including stenciling outlining the walls and ceiling.  It was a silent celebration for her amid her tiredness of a husband’s endless complaints of the inconvenience put upon him.

The refinishing of the rest of the interior of her home was squeezed into the quiet times of her days.  Since it was a period of time when she was unemployed, she agreed to do all the housework and yard work, although when he told her she earned no points for doing his laundry, she left the task as his.  Later when she found employment he left the housework and yard work as still hers.

 She added flowery drapes to the sliding glass doors of the dining room and it made her heaven complete.  Each time she walks into her pale moss green kitchen with its blue accents, she is transported back into the countryside she loves.
 
While It was always in her nature to stick with the job until finished, she did struggle with the vastness of it.  She never wanted to be thought of as anything but perfect in these endeavors; to leave a mark of professionalism, and she always did.

Sometime in all this living of hers, she managed to repair the walls of the foyer and hallway and paint them.  The fireplace was stenciled, as were the walls of the two bedrooms and writing room after they were repainted; soothing pale aqua for the bedrooms, and a very light Victorian pink for her writing room.

The creation and management of her wildlife garden while still tasked with all yard work and housework and meal preparation, while working an eight-hour job with two hours of drive time attached, and pet care… well, on one ordinary day of no significance she quietly reached her breaking point and let go of the dream.
 
The living room was left untouched, as was his bathroom.  The main bathroom, the one she called her own, still stands today as a memorial to that fateful day when she lost the will to forge on by herself.
    
Blistering paint on both sides of the door, one wall of removed wallpaper waiting to be spackled and sanded, a second wall waiting to be stripped of wallpaper, and a third wall painted a lovely color of “milk and sugar” she applied prior to her loss of faith and hope.
 
The time came when a bathtub was too difficult for her, and it was replaced by a Cadillac of a shower too deluxe for its shabby surroundings.  It reminds, like a bad joke, that her life is anything but perfect.

She's stuck in time, a prisoner in the void of not knowing what to do.  She reached for the stars, and over decades of hanging on for dear life, her star's blaze dimed and faded into oblivion.  The emptiness hangs around her like sinking into quick sand.
  
She's an old soul living in a modern world; a relic of time long passed.  She will, at some point in her remaining years, embrace the ground she stands upon, and leave the stars for the younger.  It's in her nature to find the extraordinary in any ordinary day, and her curiosity will always lead the way.
  
Her legacy is simple. She is the magic of life.  Wildflower meadows, deep conversations, raindrops on leaves, old books and soft music, autumn among hardwood trees, warm hugs and sweet kisses, sunrises in the desert, quiet mornings with tea, light beams through clouds, lightning bugs at sunset, full moon high up, ice rings around Saturn, swirl of a galaxy - they all live in her soul and her soul in them.

We stood in a garden...

Where kempt and unkempt kissed one another,

Where Red Ragged-Robins laughed at Rhododendrons...

    ~D.C.L.D., "In the Garden", Castalian Splashes

Long haired white caterpillar - Hyphantria cunea, I think.

Wild Bergamot (Monarda fistulosa) with Carpenter Bee

Allium vineale, commonly known as wild garlic

Some type of bowl shaped mushroom, maybe 4" wide.  

It grew up through the mulch and still has mulch on top.

Flatormenis proxima,

 known generally as the northern flatid planthopper 

or mealy flatid planthopper

Wild Bergamot, Monarda fistulosa, also called bee balm 

with Bumblebee and Carpenter Bees.

Yellow Garden Orbweaver, Arblope aurantia

I think the top spider is the male.

A moth has been caught in the web, 

and the female spider is wrapping it in the same silk

she produces to spin the web. 

Above her is another insect that had been caught earlier,

wrapped in silk, and is being stored until she eats.

Brown-eyed Susan (Rudbeckia triloba)

Sweet Pepperbush (Clethra alnifolia)

Licorice fragrance

I think the bug is Plagiognathus arbustorum, a plant feeder, 

and a predator of small insects

Echinacea purpurea, Eastern Purple Coneflower

with a Leafcutter Bee, Megachile Latreille

carrying pollen on its abdomen.

Wild petunia, Ruellia humilis

 By the afternoon or early evening, 

the fused petals and attached stamens 

detach from the base of the flower.

 As the corolla tube slips off, it slides down 

the persistent style before dropping to the ground 

or getting caught in the calyx lobes.

I'm not sure, maybe a Lilium speciosum or a similar hybrid.

The Asilidae are a family in the order Diptera, the true flies,

also called Robber or Assassin Flies.

Phlox paniculata 'Jeana'

Hibiscus moscheutos, Swamp Rose Mallow

Ptilothrix bombiformis

Hibiscus Bee or Rose-mallow Bee

or

Bumblebee

They both look almost alike.

Wild petunia, Ruellia humilis

Hosta (Blue leaf type)

The two plants are now four 

and much larger with all the rain.

Yellow-collared scape moth (Cisseps fulvicollis)

Lucilia illustris is a metallic, shiny blow fly 

that visits flowers like bee balm (Monarda) to feed on nectar. 

While primarily known as scavengers, 

the adults require sugars for energy and females need protein 

(often from pollen) to mature their eggs.

This late morning has been full of robin chatter among the heat that is on the verge of becoming stifling hot.  Lounging on the deck has become a peaceful way to pause from the drudgery of life and enjoy the small moments that all too frequently become overlooked.

It is a space of occasional small flies and black mosquitos, so I do not want for company.  Afternoon thunderstorms never disappoint by skipping a day, and that has created a luxuriance of wildness bordering on chaotic in the garden.

I’m looking at Issue 17 of bella GRACE FIELD GUIDE to Everyday Magic.  Upon the receipt of this issue, I was let down by so many prompts wanting pen to paper answers.  It’s not a magazine I normally would purchase, yet here I am with my very own copy.  It is quite thick on sturdy paper and I have torn out parts of pages, ear marked lots of pages, and abused it quite liberally, although I rarely write in it.  So, even if not as intended, I do get much use out of it.

The permission slip for ordinary magic suggests side effects may be softer days, and an increased appreciation for ordinary moments.  So I will be a Keeper of Small Wonders.  My path is set but being a person whose mind runs wild with over thinking and self-doubt, I promise nothing.

Slowing down my mind is like trying to stop an avalanche in mid descent.  As I become a bit more mindful, I have noticed that I’m a pistachio binge eater.  I trust you didn’t laugh at the frivolousness of thinking about a little nut.

It’s a big deal if one finds themselves eating what is considered eighteen servings, all in one afternoon.  I shell and pop those little nuggets of goodness into my mouth, one on top of the other, until I am chewing six of them in all stages of doneness before swallowing.

Pistachios are now reserved for quality time breaks: eyes resting, soft music in the background, Austin snuggled onto my lap, and one pistachio out of the bag, shelled, and into my mouth.  It’s a savored moment enjoying the texture and taste while I am in my quiet place dancing through wildflower meadows towards the sound of a babbling brook.  I could stay here forever.

You might have guessed, that by now, I am no longer outside, as it seems to have become Satan’s furnace in all its glory.  I’ve included this AI Overview, as even though I have used the term since youth, it seems I did not actually understand what was happening.

Rolling thunder refers to a continuous, deep, and rumbling sound rather than a single explosive crack. It happens when lightning strikes over a long distance, and atmospheric echoes or "temperature inversions" trap the sound waves and bounce them back and forth between the ground and the sky.

Sounds exciting doesn’t it.  These fascinating storms must be respected, for they are a powerful force of nature.  In my Reno, Nevada days, I would stand at the double window in my bedroom and watch the thunderstorms come over the mountain tops and down into town.  The lightening show was more  spectacular than any fireworks could be.

I’ll end this lighthearted writing, sending good vibes and warm thoughts your way while I sit in my cozy arm chair that loves me so much and enjoy the rolling rumbles of thunder as yet another storm approaches.  Stay cozy and give yourself permission to savor the small wonders all around you in life.

My bit of magic ~

Charlotte and Austin

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A Gentle Breath of Heaven

There was a time when we were young... 

The sunset turned from vibrant, to mellow, to just plain nothing, before she had time to lose herself in its peachy glow.  The end of her day gone, and while she felt her soul disappearing with it, a brief tiny spark of light flashed on and off silently, and as if the world had turned against her, she missed it. 

She stared at nothing.  It lasted forever, but in real time it was no more than perhaps a minute.  “There’s another one!” he said excitedly, but when she hurried to look, there was only the faint appearance of dusk as far as she could see from the front porch.

As it was each year, the garden soon began to pulsate with twinkling stars of love-struck lightning bugs emerging from the dampness of yesterday’s rain.  She could see them everywhere now.

One advance over the porch rail and hovered eyeing her so inquisitively that she used her outstretched palm as a landing pad, which it accepted for too brief of a moment before arising and moving on to him, and then off into the garden once more. 

“Isn’t it magic”, she said, “how something so ordinary and hidden by day, will ascend when the light is fading as if summoned by God’s angels to sooth the weary soul.”  He said nothing.  Dusk became deeper, and as it did the twinkling became less until nothing at all.

She knew they were still there, but they might as well have not been.  She would discover later that one was carried into the house clinging to her shirt and would cause quite a commotion for a few minutes until she caught sight of it and delivered it back outside. 

He kissed her cheek and disappeared into their house, as darkness washed out the dusk.  Traffic in front of the house was thin, with the occasional clank, clank as a car ran over the loose manhole cover.  She could see where the full moon was beyond the tall juniper tree.  The light hung there, suspended behind the veil of clouds that blanketed the sky.

She wondered if any cockroaches were quietly summing her up for anything edible just as a loud buzzing of tiny beetle wings zipped in from the garden and hit her smack in the center of her forehead.  It was as if twenty hands were brushing all over her body to wipe all existence of anything bug from her exterior, before she settled down in the darkness. 

It was difficult vanquishing all thoughts of bugs flying through the air.  but she kept working on it.  The cicadas had been quieted by dusk, and now a katydid presented its tiny song as the tree crickets created their orchestra of sounds to fill out the background.

She let her day escape with a sigh, then another louder and much longer one while she cleared her head of everything that tormented her.  She would eventually have to reenter their house into that life that was so mismatched to whom she used to be before she met him.  For now, she didn't think, and that action alone created an euphoria she never experienced at any other time.

The storm crept in so silently, she was not aware until a gust of wind brushed against her face with that sweet intoxicating smell of moist earth.  A rush of windy currents tossed silver strands of her hair about, and as she heard a rumbling in the air, she knew it was her signal to head for the safety of indoors and leave her serenity behind.

The last twenty years she had craved his company in the quiet of her days, but it was not in his nature to understand her longings, and as they drifted further, year after year, she had lost the recognition of herself as part of a couple.  Of course, he felt differently, but let’s be honest… don’t they all?

Bedtime came and went as she poked along in her hours, until practicality coaxed her to climb between her two sheets, as he had done hours before between his two sheets.  She knew eventually, maybe, her cat would find its place beside her, and all would be well in this little world she had created for herself.  It had to be enough, and it always was.

Hibiscus moscheutos

Crimson-eyed Rose-mallow

Bottlebrush Grass, Elymus hystrix 

A cool season grass, 

meaning it grows actively during the spring and fall 

when soil temperatures are cool.

Echinacea purpurea, Eastern Purple Coneflower

Purple Coneflower is usually listed as drought tolerant,

and in my garden it will loose the lower leaves 

and go to seed faster during a drought.  

During a prolong drought 

it could die without supplemental watering.

In super hot summers it might do better 

with morning sun and afternoon dappled shade.

Toxicodendron radicans, Poison Ivy

Acanthocephala terminalis is a species

of leaf-footed bug in the family Coreidae.

Female Bumblebee gathering pollen and drinking nectar.

Baptisia tinctoria, Yellow Wild Indigo

Indian Pink (Spigelia marilandica)

'Green Eyes Wink' Daylily

Beginning to turn blue...

Hypericum prolificum, Shrubby St. John's-wort

Carpenter Ant on Rose-Mallow plant

Dappled Shade

Charlotte and Austin

Psychedelic

Pale-bordered Field Cockroach (Pseudomops septentrionalis), 

also commonly known as a firefly roach.

Bolete mushrooms, which are characterized 

by having pores instead of gills under their caps.

Ruellia humilis, Fringeleaf Wild Petunia

Rainy Day

Cephalanthus occidentalis, Common Buttonbush

Polistes carolina, Red Paper Wasp

trying to find an opening in the web.

The fall webworm (Hyphantria cunea) is a moth

 in the family Erebidae known principally for its larval stage, 

which creates the characteristic webbed nests.

Joe Pye Weed leaves unfurling as it grows taller.

A wedge of sunlight on a cloudy day.

~Daydreaming on a thinly clouded day~

It’s easy to become lost in thought on this thinly clouded day.  Memories come and go as the heat builds between the welcoming breezes, while an anxiously chirping house wren brings me back to my senses. 

Note to myself: Vic will help me water the bog garden when he comes home tonight, as nighttime soaking will bring the drooping Joe Pye Weed back to life.  It was a bog garden built around half the pond, and to water it, the pond overflowed into the area when it rained or was replenished during the dryer season.

The pond no longer exists, as I became too whatever to be able to do all the heavy work that was required to keep it from becoming overwhelmed by the pond plants, and now it acts more as a rain garden.  All the bog plants are still there, so we keep them well taken care of, as they attract so many insects during blooming time in the middle of summer.

My tree frog is chirping from somewhere nearby.  I’m not even going to look for it.  It is a day too warm for exploration, as I keep moving my deck chair halfway around the umbrella to keep the sun off of me.  It will eventually be a loosing battle, and tonight it will be realigned with the house eves to keep the triangle of sunlight away.

At the beginning of the week I pruned all the shrubs away from the walkway along the fence line of the back yard; a task that took hours, as Vic never remembers how to prune things.  He was my helper cleaning up behind me, although it makes me feel like he is rushing me along.  I fight the urge to chase him away.

The Northern Cardinal is loudly chirping from the corner of the back garden where the Persimmon Tree, Hornbeam tree, and the neighbors tall Sweet Gum tree that grew as a weed seedling and now towers over the corner of his garden into ours.  It is a lovely spot as the trees are bushing out to cover the area with shade.

Today was to be a day when I got up with the sun to experience the garden when it is still cool enough to enjoy, and when bird song is its strongest.  Instead I woke up at the pill taking time alarm blaring in my ear, and while the cats were eating, let my mind poke along forever, and now with a late start, I think I will call it a day, and move to cooler territory inside my home. 

So I end this at 11:30 am with the temperature an uncomfortable 84 degrees F.  The breezes are not constant, and all that loudly interfering sound of rubber gripping asphalt is driving my noggin back to white noise mode where daydreaming lets me sit in peace.

I am Charlotte, hear me roar like a Jaguar!!

The Ballad of Tabby McFierceson

His body rippled with muscle under that mangy patch of fur, and the combination of that plus one permanently bent ear flap, a snaggle toothed mouth, and the bony nub of what was once a tail gave him the look of a crazed psycho.

Her human would chase him from the garden with the water hose when he sleuthed through the underbrush for baby robins, but what is not seen never bothers, so his Modis de operando for survival was to learn to rule incognito. 

He passed right under her window with that gimpy leg of his from too many territorial disputes, and as he did, he turned his gaze upward and looked straight into her eyes.  She had a vision of him making that gigantic leap, crashing through the glass and kicking the living daylights out of her with his hind feet.

She cringed but stood her ground.  He brushed her off like the fragile leaf she was and moved on down the corridor behind the fragrant asters along the hot south side of the house.

He ruled this little kingdom of Nirvana and used it as his respite from the sufferings of an otherwise harsh life he never asked for, but was destined to live with whatever time he had left.

Does this ever end?

It's my dream, so let me finish.

Sounds like a steamy romance novel.

Oh, ple-e-e-e-ease...it's a nightmare!!!

My mistake - take all the time you need.  You can follow me while I load up my walker shelf with books needing relocation, and drag it down the hallway to my writing room.

I prefer 100% of your attention, mommy dearest.

Huh...I prefer other things, too - yet here I am.

Do you love me?

~sigh~  Let me sit in my comfy chair and give you 100% of my attention.

I'm behind glass, so I handled that confrontation by eye contact well, don't you think?

Whatever...  

If I had the freedom of the garden, surely he would chew me up and spit out the remains for ant food.  It gives me a certain excitement about fear.

Do you think being low down on the food chain chart creates an exciting edge between pushing the limits of how well you evade annihilation and how daring you are to get that rush of living yet another day?

What nonsense!  There's more to the dream, mommy dreadful :(

Well, then... do proceed.

My nightmare escalates to where I'm having to run against all odds to escape from all kinds of outdoor creatures in the middle of winter with the elements fighting against me.

He he he…  What happen to coyotes, mountain lions, and hawks?  Basically the food you would eat in the wild is going to annihilate you in your dream.  That's interesting.

Oh, I see, I should dream bigger to include those who would eat ME?  

You miss the point, fuzzy head.  If you dream bigger you'll have herds of mice and chipmunks coming at you, instead of coyotes and hawks.  Your dream is caused by unfinished business of how you think of life.  Maybe you could be happy that in your dreams you actually escape these creatures.  Try doing some deep breathing at sleep time, and give yourself some positive reinforcement.     

I think if I was actually paying for this advice, I would be suing you for malpractice.

So, do pray tell - what ideas do you have, smarty pants?

Since you are a nature lover like me, why not open the sliding glass door and let me be free.  

Freedom is an illusion, not for the faint of heart.

A what for what?

It's a no go!

How well I know.  Every time I make a beeline for the open space, your legs double in number with a shoe jammed in my face.  I'm so bored with the whole process.  Let's negotiate.

Oka-a-ay.  What's your second choice, 

A house full of free range Chickadees, the more the better.

Figures.  So, what's your third choice, little stinker.

Third choice?  I have no third choice.

Then it's settled.  Good talk.  Carry on.

Somehow I feel like I just got short changed.

Do you want dinner now?

It's two hours early!

My treat!

Oh, goody.  Love you, mommy dearest.

Love you too, sweet Charlotte.  

~Sometimes Life Just Needs A Restart~

Charlotte's Bed

At night she loans it to me.

Every now and then,
when the world sits just right,
a gentle breath of heaven
fills my soul with delight...

~Hazelmarie "Mattie" Elliott, A Breath of Heaven

As always, with love ~

 Yvonne

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Saturday's Critters