Shifting shadows

I feel like this post is another cop-out but in reality I've been wanting to show you these pictures for a few weeks.

And I really didn't do a blessed thing last weekend except watch Temple Grandin (good ... but who knew a movie about autism was at least half about cattle?) and I Am Legend (I hated the ending), and go to church and ... that's it.

Not exactly riveting blogging material.

And while I fully realize I'm Having A Thought Here isn't exactly War and Peace, I do have my standards.

But anyway, three or so weeks ago when I cruised the First Presbyterian grounds and cemetery in Columbia for the second time this summer -- on a scorching day, I might add -- I took lots of pictures that contained shadows.

I do so love shadows.

The way leaves leave a shadow on the things that they shade, and the sun's movement cuts sharp lines across buildings here and throws a lace pattern there.

It's enchanting and I wanted to share it with you so without further ado, I give you my shadows.

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Shadows on tombstones are so poignant.

Some cast their own shadow.

As do the fences that surround them.

And sometimes the stones themselves speak of shadows.

Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of Bether. ~Song of Solomon 2:17~

Shadows dapple the adventurous roots of a crape myrtle.

Deep shadows on old brick are particularly dramatic.

And eventually I left the cemetery and walked down Main Street, where the shadows persisted.

Take time to marvel at a shadow today!

That's why they pay you the big bucks

I can't get enough of this commercial.

The capitalism! The conservatism! The candy!

Gonna buy some Haribo Gold-Bears for my grand-girls.

What say you this fine Monday?

SkyWatch Friday: i thank You God for most this amazing

i thank You God for most this amazingday:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the day
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any -- lifted from the no
of all nothing -- human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

~ e. e. cummings ~

Two days with the tarheel babies, sho nuf

Been up North Carolina way with the grand young'uns.

Melanie, the oldest, was getting ready to start full-time (special needs) kindergarten on Wednesday.

So of course we had to go shopping for a few wardrobe necessities; a girl can't start school without something her Mamaw bought for her at Wal-Mart.

(My daughter had gotten her several new outfits and, truth, be told, Melly's closet is already groaning. We were just filling in a few blanks.)

When the clothes and accessories and supplies were arrayed on the bed for "showing off," you could hardly see the comforter underneath.

Monday night, Melly was rifling through all her new school clothes trying to figure out what to wear on the first day.

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She had a few too many dazzling choices.

Meanwhile, Allissa was up to all her old tricks as per usual. School, schmool. Being adorable is a full-time proposition too. Just ask anyone who's tried it.

On Tuesday Melly and her parrots had an appointment to see her classroom and meet her new teacher. Secrets were revealed.

When she got home, Melly headed straight for her dollbaby, who clearly needed comforting.

After supper on Tuesday, TG put in ninety minutes with the two yardbirds working educational puzzles, reviewing flashcards, and doing quite a bit of what he calls "teaching and training" ... sort of a Papaw version of Simon Sez.

It really took me back to when our kids were little. Thank heaven that's over. Where did we get the energy?

Wednesday morning at six thirty, this is how Allissa was turned out ... and she was staying home. These two are bonkers for getting dressed every morning. It's, like, an event.

Melly joined us on the porch (we were watching Javier check his many messages), all decked out for school. At my behest she modeled her shoe news. Lipstick red! I'm all about that.

Then the little student waited patiently on the stairs until Mommy said it was time to go. Want to know the truth? She was guarding her bin of school supplies lest any of us touch it/them.

We're growin' right on up, Mamaw. Blink and you'll miss it.

~HAPPY SCHOOL DAZE!~

Aiken to please

Over the weekend TG and I visited the mysteriously breathtaking Hopelands Gardens in Aiken, South Carolina.

I don't know as much as I should about the history of this place, except that it was once owned by the Iselin family.

All I know is, there's no fuss. You drive up to a free parking lot and get out of your car, and within a few feet it's as though you've stepped over a soft green portal into another world.

Nobody is selling anything; there are no gift shops and no concession stands. No tricked-out gimmicks to get your money.

Every time I have visited, there have only been a handful of other people besides me.

The concept is simple: fourteen acres given over to incredible nature, preternatural quiet, and otherworldly serenity.

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Speaking of nature, it was blistering hot as we traveled the fifty miles to Aiken.

The first thing you notice when you get to Hopelands is hundreds of live oaks and the relentless reaching of their long twisty branches.

 In fact, the walls cannot contain them.

There are also huge Deodar Cedars. Look at TG as he inspects the trunk of this one! Aren't those bare arms cute?

There's a dollhouse where the Iselin children played, once upon a simpler time.

Here's another shot of the wavy brick wall. I do so love it.

And I think you already know how I feel about wrought iron gates. These did not disappoint; there were actually at least half a dozen identical pairs. Maybe more. Most were invitingly open.

All the pathways are brick. Can you imagine the time it took to build them? And isn't this scene enchanting? Put cotton in your ears and you'll know how quiet it was.

(I crave a picture of myself wearing vintage Chanel couture, sipping from a cup of Dunkin' Donuts coffee, meandering on this path. I know; right? That's how my mind works. There's still time for you to get away.)

There is a beautiful plaque honoring Hope Goddard Iselin, who bequeathed Hopelands to Aiken. Don't you just love the word chatelaine? I do.

So then we took a stroll down Aiken's Main Street and here are a few of the sights we saw. Years ago there were, like, forty-leven of these horses, all decorated differently, punctuating Aiken. They're life sized. At least I think they are. Aiken is a very horsey community.

Not for nothing but I remember a time in the late 20th century when this same type of artistic statement was made in Chicago, only the animal was animals were pigs. There were painted pigs everywhere you looked on the streets of the windy city, is what I'm trying to say.

By the way there was one of those still hanging around Hopelands too. Name of Stonerside, for obvious reasons.

I heart this balcony in the branches. It's one of two adorning the top floor of a store called 3 Monkeys.

The wrought iron was charmingly ubiquitous and always seemed to be having a dialog with leaves.

How 'bout this clock? I would like one of those in my yard. Truly. Except it would say City of Jenny the Chatelaine.

This mural was interesting. Here the wrought iron formed a pediment that spanned the space between two buildings.

I took hundreds more pictures but I won't make you look at them now.

~HAPPY TUESDAY!~