Sweet childish days, that were as long as twenty days are now. ~ William Wordsworth

It won't be long, little boys.

The back yard will become your paradise.

The Mason Bees will become your friends.

The porch's wind chimes will become

the music you play by.

The holly and snowball and laurel will shade you

from the sun.

And you'll be free

to be.

Childhood is the most beautiful of all Life's seasons. ~ Author Unknown

We have two new residents, actually, in our home. Not one goldfish but two. Our neighbor Azizollah who was born in Iran has been celebrating his New Year and goldfish in his culture signify Life. He and his wife had bought a couple and now that the New Year is over they offered to give them to the grandboys, as they do a lot of traveling and figured the fish needed a home where someone would care for them.

Care for them?! Oh, yeah.

It's a wonder these two little fishies have survived since they showed up on the scene yesterday afternoon, they have been shown so much love and attention. If one grandboy's face hasn't been peering down into the bowl with his nose practically touching the water, the other one has. I had the bowl on the table yesterday and Dylan and Cooper spent the rest of their day here getting 'acquainted'. They named them Spot and HoHo and showed their new buddies their favorite toys. Dylan sang "The Alphabet Song" to them. He'd go over periodically and ask, "Hey, HoHo Spot...how you doing?" When we went for a late afternoon walk over to the fire station Dylan hollered to Papa who was downstairs in his den, "Papa! Will you keep an eye on HoHo Spot and make sure they're doing ok?" Of course Papa said yes. And the interest hasn't waned at all today. Today they got to feed them.

Oh...and which one is Spot and which one is HoHo? The one with spots is HoHo. The pure gold one is Spot.

It makes sense to a 4-year-old.

Spring

Spring blossoms float.
They waft lazily on the breeze,
shimmery in the sun fog

on our cool-morning walk.

You see them.

You say,

"Snowflakes, Grandma!"

and you lift up your arms

with your face turned up to the sky,

twirling in circles.

The flakes kiss your eyes.

Your delighted laughter

bubbles out.

And I stop

and I smile

and hold this moment

close

in my heart.

The fire is the main comfort of the camp... -- Henry David Thoreau

(I got this amazing photo here)

My Dear Hubby is an amazingly intuitive man. He has a keen sense of knowing when I'm reaching the end of my rope and am in need of some 'me' time. Or at least some 'down' time. Where no one can reach me. No one can interrupt me. I'm left alone to enjoy a day in peace and quiet. Sometimes those days are ones where I'm left at home alone...but those are so rare I hardly even know what that feels like any more. So when he suggested we take a drive up into the Mt. Hood National Forest and go for a campfire/picnic yesterday, I was all for it.

We left at 6 am and traveled up the Columbia River Gorge highway, heading east to The Dalles. We watched the sun come up as we drove along. Hardly another vehicle on the highway. Once we got east of Hood River the Columbia was as smooth as glass...the play of Nature's lights did tricks on the mind and the eyes. You couldn't tell where the shoreline began and everything shimmered in subtle shades of mauve and lavender. I saw a couple of pelicans, sea birds I've never spotted before so far upriver - about 160 miles from the ocean - floating peacefully in a sheltered cove. As we reached The Dalles and headed south into north central Oregon, the rolling hills of fruit orchards, the contrast of green grass and bleached-out stubble from winter grass and grain crops, the dips and swoops of the highway as it meandered thru the landscape, began to ease the stress in my shoulders. I could feel myself begin to relax. I knew I'd been stressed and tired...but until that moment I hadn't realized how much.

We turned off on to a gravel road. One of probably thousands I've traveled on thru the woods and desert with Dear Hubby the past 36 years. We saw deer run across the road. We saw a Canada goose perched on a rock outcropping...probably protecting a nest. Hawks glided lazily above. We eventually found the spot we'd had a similar campfire/picnic at several years ago and set up our day camp. We got a big, warm campfire started. I sat down to read and keep the fire burning, and Dear Hubby took off with his longbow for a 'walkabout'.

It was a little cool at first but as the sun began to creep steadily higher and shone down on me thru the pine and fir branches, I took off my coat and soaked in the warm rays. I got lost in my book, listened to a woodpecker high in a tree overhead tap-tapping for his breakfast. And before I knew it, Dear Hubby was back. We started a big pot of coffee on the Coleman stove. We roasted hotdogs on the fire. We had a lovely feast.

Another walkabout. A book finished, another started. Time to pack up and go home. Another beautiful drive down the Columbia, back to Portland and reality.

As we sat in the living room last nite Dear Hubby told me, "I've taken a lot of trips and done a lot of things with different friends thru the years but I've never enjoyed any of them as much as I enjoy spending a day like today with you."

The first day of Spring.

Love still blooms.

Button? Button? Who has the button?

When I was a little girl my mom had a quart jar shaped like a little bear with a hat on its head. It's where she stored her buttons. On rainy days...boring days...I'd sometimes take down the jar and play with them. Not that there was much I could do with them imagination-wise, but I liked sorting thru them and making piles of similar colored ones. Most were ordinary but some, like the little lemon-shaped ones of yellow or brass ones, were a bit more unique. I don't know what happened to that jar. I wonder if it's still at my father's home where my stepmother lives, stashed away in 'his' room of belongings he'd brought along from our family's former life when he married her. I think the odds of ever claiming any of that old stuff is history now.

Another childhood memory of buttons was playing "Button? Button? Who has the Button?" during inside recesses on especially rainy days. That, and "Heads Up Seven Up", I believe the other game was called. I'm dredging the names up almost 45 years after they happened, so bear with me. I grew up in a small town along the southern border of the Olympic Rain Forest in Washington State so we had a lot of indoor recess days.

Which brings me to the obsession I seem to be observing on a lot of blogs now with blog buttons? Does everyone have a blog button? What is the need of a blog button? I'm a complaining old fuddy-duddy, I know, but I find a long list of them in a sidebar very distracting. But, like all other blog 'fads' that come and go, it seems to be the 'in' thing right now. Not for me. I'm not a follower. My blog will remain button-free. Sometimes I think it will remain 'entry' free...I seem to be going thru a bit of a no-time-to-sit-down-and-think phase in life right now. But I plug away when I find a chance. Too many things on my plate right now to focus here. But that's ok. Or so I tell myself.