Pick a color! Any color, so long as it's a shade of Blue.

Not to long ago I had the opportunity to go blueberry picking with my sister and her kids. The kids are great. They have a never ceasing stream of conversation that is most of the time quite hard to keep up with. I have to listen to two kids at once, and make acceptable conversation with both of them. It is a joy! Big Goof is a computer geek, and proud of it. If given the opportunity he will regale you with the latest game he has played (in great detail), talk until he is interrupted about the game(s) he's designing, and still slip in a few jokes about how silly I look in my sunhat. The smaller Goof is quieter. She'll talk your ear off when given the chance, but she tends to wait her turn, slipping her comments into the conversation with the subtly of a good poker player. Her love is horses. Giving her half a chance to get on her favorite topic and you'll hear about the latest riding lesson, the horse she wants to buy when she has the money, and the last time her friends were over. With an eye for detail, she finds what she looks for. Then there was the Little Bug. She wandered everywhere. Small Goof had to keep running after her and bringing her back. The tall berry bushes made great shade, and hide-outs, both of which Little Bug took advantage of. We picked berries for what seemed like forever. Really it was only about 3 1/2 hours. But in the hot sun...those hours dragged by. At the end of our time there, we totaled up the picked poundage. 50 pounds!! That's a lot of purpley-blueberries! They are especially good in a bowl with a dash of sugar and whipped cream on top. MmmmHmmm!

Why We Do What We Do

There are so many different ways that we can spend our time. There are simple pleasures. For me personally they include (in no particular order); sunrises and sunsets, clean laundry, clean floors, back rubs, swimming, jumping, walking, reading, and many many more. For me, simple pleasures are things that are done pretty much everyday, but are things that bring joy. I love to watch the colors of the sky change as the sun rises, waking the world for a beautiful new day. As the sun sets on the old day my mind nearly always turns towards the farm where I grew up: never ending wheat fields, tractors, and sweat. The labor was needed for our livelihood. We did everything from gardening, cleaning, changing irrigation pipes, driving tractors, and hanging out the laundry to dry on the clothes line. The clothes always smelled so sweet when they were dry and ready to fold. Like a summer breeze forever captured in your t-shirt. The freshness, the youth, and the smell of grass all wrapped up to enjoy. I guess that is why I like clean laundry. I loathe folding it, but the smell of it is something I love. Fresh. Clean. Wholesome. Working with my hands is something I have always done and always loved. On trips, at home, and at school there were many volunteers to receive back rubs. I didn't mind, in fact it's something I really enjoy. I love the feeling that I get when I am able to help someone have a better day. Even if it's just a little thing. I'm a helper. Mr O likes to help too, as does Peaches. They try in their own ways to help me out around the house, and are mostly successful. They keep the floors mostly clean, take care of their laundry, and are great entertainment for us and our neighbors. The little things that they enjoy and share with me have become so important to me. I love smelling the picked dandilions, daisies, and weeds. The sticky little hand in mine as we walk somewhere just makes my day. And the little voices that sing silly songs that they make up at the top of their voices is so sweet to hear (most of the time). The little things are really the things that matter most. Without them, the world would be bleak and rather dark. With them, and the sun shines no matter what the weather.

Out to Set a Record

Our area is out to set the all time high in recorded temperature readings this week. As in: it's freaking HOT!! Thankfully we were gifted a pool, and so the kids have been riding out the worst of it in the water. Mr O has a pretend hurt foot, and Peaches is ferrying him to the dr. They played like this for nearly an hour.

Rough Road Ahead

Yes, we drivers have all seen that sign posted on the sides of roads in sigh in resignation. Those words usually mean gravel, dirt, and the off chance that you may get a chip in your windshield from the car in front of you throwing up a rock. But that sign takes on a whole new meaning with one simple adjustment: dirt bikes. We went out for a day of dirt, rides, more dirt, some burgers, more dirt, a couple more rides, and a final cloud of dirt as we were driving away. Having the chance to spend time with some great friends who happen to own several dirt bikes and a quad was great. Driving up to the "Pit" we headed up a very narrow road with lots of sharp turns. Eventually the pavement gave way to gravel. Not your ordinary gravel, no. This gravel was the all natural stuff, not the crushed that we get for our driveways. To navigate without slicing open the transmission casing took every shred of concentration that the driver had. Then there were two creeks to go through as well. Some guy with a interesting sense of humor decided it would be a bright idea to barricade one side of the creek and make it into a pond the stretched over about 10 feet of the roadway. That was fun. Peaches and Mr O saw the water and screeched "faster! Faster!!" So we went in, bouncing and spraying water in all directions. Then we were finally at the destination for the day. A campsite; dusty, well loved, and with only porta potty's for relief. But there were also the bikes. Three of them. One for each boy. This was Handsome's first time on a dirt bike, so M showed him the basics and they were off! Spitting gravel and dust at anyone in their wake. Grinning ear to ear, and opening up the throttle, they were gone in a cloud of dust. The kids soon discovered the dump truck, tractor, and toy bike and began heaping the dirt into piles. They were filthy in less time than you can say the word. Brrrrrrummmmming, BBBBBBBBBBBBBBing, and honking they made a maze of dirt through the camp. I sat with D and talked of nothing and everything, just enjoying the company of a wonderful friend. Finally the boys came back, but there was no rest. Mr O and Peaches wanted to ride too! So Handsome took a crash course of how to work the quad and they peeled away for a joy ride. After they returned (each kid getting a turn) we went down to the creek and put our feet into the icy cold water and the boys left for another ride on the bikes. The kids loved it and were splashing and running through. D took the quad and splashed through, dousing the nearest kid, and grinning from ear to ear. She then took each kid in turn for a ride across the water, splashing and giggling. Soon we heard the boys coming back down the hill and they splashed through, each putting up a nice rooster tail of spray. Then it was break for lunch, and do it all again! Oh for fun in the sun (and dirt)!

The Measuring Cup

What if we were able to measure love? What would we use to hold it? How would we measure it? Is there a weight or liquid amount? Who could we trust to do the measuring? There is an old old song that I sang back in grade school that always comes to mind with questions like these. "The Magic Penny." "Love is like a magic penny, hold it tight and you won't have any. Lend it, spend it, and you'll have so many; they'll roll all over the floor. For, Love is something if you give it away, give it away, give it away. Love is something if you give it away; you'll end up having more!" It is so true. There is no way to measure love. It is something to appriciate, riciprocate, and cherish. It is not something to be counted on, but to be returned if recieved. Love. What does that word mean to you?

Coming down to the Wire

In this day and age, time is a precious commodity. The saying goes that time is money, and most people are driven by the need of more and more. I meet people everyday who seem to be driven by this force and schedule themselves so tight that they are down to mere minutes between appointments; literally coming down to the wire before they are late. When did we begin to get so rushed? When did it become so important to make a few extra dollars that we are unable to visit with those we care for? The children and I had a wonderful experiance last week on our visit to my old home town. Within that visit we went out to the farm where my grandparents reside. To look at their home is nothing spectacular. It isn't a mansion; there is no greenhouse; and if you come with your work clothes on, expect to be put to work. The yard is huge. On a riding lawnmower, mowing that yard probably takes the better part of two hours. There are beautiful flowers, wild and planted, that need watered almost every day. There's the crik that runs through the back yard that gets cleaned out at least once a year (that is a full days work for 2-3 people). For the first time in a long time, the kids could run and run and run and not run out of space. They found all of the secret little hidey-holes and pathways, special rocks, and even the net for frog-catching. Their fascination with the crik and the plants that grew in it was fun to watch. And then there is Grandpa's bird feeders. I've lost track of how many he has. When we went we counted 3 hummingbird feeders, 3 seed feeders, some little glass bowls for some special birds to drink from, and there are suet feeders for in the winter. Grandpa loves his birds. We sat and talked of nothing and everything and watched the birds come and go. Their yard seems to be the hot spot for nearly all types of feathered friends, and Grandpa knows them all by name. Conversation never seemed to lag, though there were long silences when we were listening and watching. The time that we spent there is precious to me. We were able to pause and appriciate the beauty of simple pleasures for a short time. Listening to the birds trill and call to each other, the water running through the yard, and the occational neighbor dog barking, brought back all the memories fresh and vivid. Spending time with them always seems to recharge me. I come back with a greater appriciation of those who are around me, for spending the time, and for loving others without expecting any return. Food for the soul. The time spent is worth every second.

And Now There Are Four...

While on our trip we connected with some old friends of mine. One who is expecting her first baby (a girl) and is so beautiful!, and another who had children a little earlier (like me). We went to the park with Libbie and her Birds. Big Bird immediatly letting Mr O and Peaches know how things were done; they took her advice with a grain of salt. And Little Bird who befriended Mr O and Peaches, never showing the slightest hesitation. It was as if our children had known each other for years rather than minutes. Within five minutes they were all off and running. Exploring the world around them. Seeing the Birds so readily accept Mr O and Peaches was beautiful. As the children played and ate and did all the things that children do at a park, Libbie and I talked. And talked. And talked. We never ran out of subjects and were still gabbing on the way to the cars 4 hours later when the kids had finally had enough sunshine. Thinking back, the last time we really talked in person was in third grade. Let that sink in. We (thankfully) have reconnected online, and chat quite often. I feel as if I've been best friends with her for years! Libbie is one of those wonderful people with whom time does not seem to bother. Sure there are things that have happened (like us both having two kids in tow now), but you can strike up a conversation with her and feel like you have known her for years. She's that kind of gal. It was wonderful! There was none of the uncomfortable lapses in conversation, should I hug you or not, or should I talk to her kid or let her handle it moments. It was real; she was real. And time seemed to freeze as we enjoyed each other's company there on that mostly shaded picnic table. Libbie is one of those people that I would love to have next door. When the kids came around for food or hugs, I was still there, but she is a mother first, and didn't hesitate to be that in front of me. It was refreshing to see her interact with her Birds and with mine. She has a way of living in the moment, not letting it slip away. Because with children, each moment is so precious.