Flame throwers

I took the clear acrylic bird feeder down from my kitchen window.

The squirrels were cute for awhile, snacking up there at eye level, but I got tired of looking at the sunflower seeds that fell between the feeder and the window, which looked sloppy.

News flash: squirrels aren't neat eaters. Besides, it was never my intention to feed the squirrels.

So now the bird feeder sits, gleaming, on the kitchen desk, waiting to be installed on another window.

I haven't decided yet which window it will be. Since we know that no birds are likely to come and dine, I'm hoping to find a window that the squirrels can't get to.

Maybe a good place would be one of the large windows that make up the sun room itself. Can squirrels climb glass? I guess we'll find out.

Meanwhile, cardinals, chickadees, and Carolina wrens have begun coming to the deck, to peck at the small seeds that remained when the squirrels were done hogging all of the peanut halves and sunflower seeds.

These aren't great pictures but bear in mind, I was sitting in my chair on the far side of the sun room, shooting these with a long lens through a glass door.

Rizzo may have been bumping my elbow too. So there's that.

There are cardinals in my yard every day; they seem to like it around here.

So I threw what little was left of my stash of birdseed, down on the deck for them to enjoy.

And the deck is decorated pretty much nonstop with birds having a good time. I love that.

The cardinals look like little fire engines out there. Oh but wait ... here comes a squirrel.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Wednesday

A walk on the wild side

Last Friday, TG took Dagny to Riverbanks Zoo.

Someone had given him two free passes. I was more interested in a quiet afternoon at home than I was in seeing the animals, so I lent TG my Nikon and bade them go and have a good time.

(Although my beloved took all but one of these photos, and a total stranger took the one he didn't take, they were taken with my camera. Plus I cropped and edited them all. Hence my customary logo appears on these excellent shots.)

And they did. Dagny, a child with the energy of half a dozen children of equal or lesser size, bounded from one exhibit to the next so quickly that, within an hour, she declared the adventure concluded and said she wanted to go home.

But TG said no, we're staying here. It was a beautiful, sunny -- albeit chilly -- day, and there was still lots to see.

He slowed it down a bit by making Dag pose for various pictures with sculptures and the animals themselves.

He bought her a meal of chicken nuggets, which went over (and down) pretty well.

A nice passer-by took a picture of Dagny and Papaw together, with a bronze elephant as a prop. A thoughtful gorilla provided additional comic relief.

When it was time to take a ride on the Spots and Stripes Railroad, Dagny chose the peacock car. Because why not.

In the category of gaudy exotic birds, Dagny marveled at the flamingos, who turn pink because they eat brine shrimp.

The giraffes were of particular interest.

One gorgeous example of the tallest living terrestrial animals seemed to have something to say. Like, you talkin' to me?

Dagny especially enjoyed watching the bright parrots and communing with some large, friendly goats.

My favorite picture may be the one where Dagny is standing on top of a rock flanked by matching signs that stipulate, politely:

PLEASE NO CLIMBING

Mmmmmkay. I'm pretty sure she had to climb in order to get up there.

Way to go wild at the zoo, Dag.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Monday

Something's come up

Yesterday I noticed that out back, by the pool, we were being stalked.

By an early-blooming narcissus paperwhite.

I didn't plant that. As you know, I avoid such activity. I can't grow anything except, apparently, squirrels.

Paperwhites bloom in profusion during the winter, but usually that's in pots. Indoors.

This brave gaggle of white blossoms showed up outside, where, until yesterday, we'd had an unseasonably warm spell.

As in, we were fixing to haul out the pool toys and check to see if the local snow cone stand had reopened.

The flower was a trifle confused perhaps, but that's understandable. I like its enthusiasm.

After all, lots of times, half the battle is simply showing up.

You do you, little paperwhite.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Friday :: Happy Weekend

No greater joy

Last night, in our church's Sunday evening service, Andrew and Brittany sang a duet for special music.

I've heard them sing together before, but only once: at Cherica's wedding, last May.

They blend beautifully. Andrew's voice is a smooth baritone and Brittany's is a creamy but clear alto.

They've both had a great deal of experience in church music. Andrew has been singing both as a soloist and in groups since he was a teenager; Brittany has sung with her mother and sister for practically her whole life.

As TG remarked when the song was over, Britt didn't let Andrew drown her out. Not that he would have, but his voice is strong.

His bride more than held her own. The song was melodic and meaningful, and its delivery was heartfelt. It was not a performance.

So naturally, as they sang, my eyes began to sting with tears.

I'm a lifelong cryer. Rare does the day occur when I don't cry at least once. I don't resist anymore; there are worse things than crying.

Like, for example, not crying.

But you know how it is. Your young'uns are on display, putting themselves out there, taking risks, contributing, giving their all, offering their best, bringing value to a situation not for their own glory, but for God's.

Your throat swells first, then come the prickes behind your eyeballs, then the veil of moisture, then the grubbing blindly in your purse for the handkerchief to dab discreetly in a bid to save your mascara.

At least, that's me.

When the song was almost concluded, Brittany was unable to sing the last few words. At first I thought she'd gotten a tickle in her throat, but as Andrew sang the last note alone, she put her hand on his chest and smiled and looked up at him.

It was a half-second -- maybe less -- but it touched my already swelling heart. It was a gesture of dependence and of love. As the amens rang out, they walked down from the platform and sat in their regular place, one pew ahead of us.

TG looked at me and his eyes were glazed with emotion. He was trying to hide it but no go. I sniffed.

I looked to my right, at Audrey. Her eyes were welling. She looked at me.

Whoa, Nelly.

(I have noticed throughout my life that if one of my children witnesses a tear either forming in or falling from my eye, they immediately begin bawling. I don't know what makes them do that. But if they're already emotional, then see that I'm out of pocket? Katie bar the door.)

It was that point in the service when our pastor bids us stand and sing the first verse of Amazing Grace, before milling around for a minute or so, greeting one another and being friendly.

Hand-shaking time, we call it. Also there's a fair amount of hugging.

So as our pianist played the Baptist National Anthem, everyone spilled into the aisles.

We Webers? We instantly and instinctively moved toward one another -- TG, me, Andrew, Brittany, Audrey, Dagny (Chad and Erica were sitting in another section, with his parents, or they would've been in the middle of it too) -- and commenced hugging and rejoicing and shedding a few excess happy tears.

We were like a clot of overgrown babies, laughing and blubbering all at the same time. Even Andrew misted. Brittany's eyes were still damp and she was shaky. 

People friends who sit near us noticed our dilemma and were smiling too. One of the World's Sweetest People -- her name is Becky -- came to us and joined our loving bubble.

I know, I know, I know! Becky said, her pretty face glowing. Because she does. And we were all kind of embarrassed but not really.

And as everyone returned to their places to prepare for the preaching, Becky and I agreed that we have no greater joy than to hear that our children walk in truth.

Many years ago a wise person told me that we shouldn't say we are proud of our children.

Yes; I know what we mean when we say it. But God hates pride -- it goes before destruction -- and I have enough of it naturally occurring in my sinful obstinate soul, that I refuse to actively engage in anything that remotely smacks of pride.

And I'm certainly not going to announce to all and sundry that I have anything to be proud of.

What you should say, the wise person told me, is that you are grateful.

And I am. So grateful for my children -- each one of them -- for the ways they've grown, for how hard they work, for all that God has both done for them and enabled them to do, and for each time and any way in which He sees fit to use them.

They are all imperfect people, the offspring of flawed individuals. They've had a lot to overcome, as have we all. But I see them seeking and taking a direction opposite of the one the world encourages all people -- especially the young -- to take, and I am full of gratitude for that.

And in case you were wondering, here are the words that Brittany and Andrew sang.

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When I'm low in spirit, I cry Lord, lift me up

I want to go higher with Thee

But the Lord knows I can't live on a mountain

So He picked out a valley for me.

He leads me beside still waters

Somewhere in the valley below

He draws me aside to be tested and tried

But in the valley he restoreth my soul.

It's dark as a dungeon and the sun seldom shines

And I question, Lord, why must this be

But He tells me there's strength in my sorrow

And there's victory in trials for me.

He leads me beside still waters

Somewhere in the valley below

He draws me aside to be tested and tried

But in the valley He restoreth my soul.

= Dottie Rambo=

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Happy Monday

No small thing

click to embiggen ... if you dare

By now you will have picked up on the fact that several squirrels are availing themselves of the food I put out for the birds.

Now, I know there are those among you who may think it imprudent to encourage squirrels to maraud about the property, filching seed from a feeder meant for another species of critter entirely, munching away at length and at will.

But we've lived in peace among the squirrel population for many years -- with a mature white oak towering over our house, and tall pines ringing the back yard, that's going to be a given -- and they don't bother me.

I realize they're rodents but I think they're cute.

So we're not going to worry unduly about squirrels in the bird feeder. We have more important fish to fry.

After all, they're small and they need to eat too. It's not a big deal.

Speaking of animal activities, Rizzo and I have been taking walks, something that has never been part of our routine. In the two years (on Monday) that Riz has been my dog, for much of that time I couldn't walk long distances.

A long distance in this case being, for example, from my door to my mailbox.

But now I can, and I've discovered once again that it's no small thing to be able to put your dog's harness and leash on him, and stroll down the street in fine weather.

We are enjoying it big time.

Speaking of pet dogs, Rambo stayed with us for Christmas week, as Andrew and Brittany were out of town to be with her family.

He was a delight as usual. You know (because I've told you) that he's the most docile, agreeable dog in all the world. He'd sit there with lights around his neck until next Christmas if I asked him to.

But toward the end of his time with us, it was obvious (to me at least) that Ramby was pining for Andrew and Brittany and especially for Maverick. You could see it in his big brown eyes.

He has grown accustomed to having Mav as a buddy and I do believe he was ready to resume the playful camaraderie they enjoy on a daily basis.

It's no small thing to have a friend you can count on.

Speaking of friends, it's nice to see my daughters enjoying the company and companionship of their new sister-in-law, who's a doll. An itsy bitsy one.

And if we're on the subject of little dolls, Brittany decorated her new house so adorably for Christmas.

If there was a theme, it was of the cabin-in-the-woods variety. Her nine-foot flocked Christmas tree as well as her table decorations included ornaments that reflected her love of snow in general -- snowmen in particular -- and of rustic scenes, and of nature.

There was a diminutive reindeer here ...

... a tiny twinkling truck there ...

... and a wee sweater-hatted gnome to remind them of the wonderful trip they took to Sweden and Norway in the fall.

On December twenty-first, the smallest (as in shortest) day of the year, we all gathered at Andrew and Brittany's to celebrate both our Melly's birthday, and part of Christmas (the part that included those who would not be here with us on the day).

In the category of grandchildren, Melanie, although now fourteen years old, weighs less and wears smaller clothes than her sister, Allissa, who is three-plus years younger.

We tell her it's all right to be little bitty. Butterflies are tiny too but they're no small wonder, which is why they're continually marvelled at by all who see them.

Our only grandson (we call him Little Andrew) gave an impish grin during the festivities, when Allissa opened a gift that came equipped with a lock and remarked it was a good thing, because it would keep her little bother brother out of it.

Brothers can be big inconveniences until you need one to rescue you.

Our littlest grandbaby, Dagny, lives here in Columbia, so we get to see her all the time.

On the Sunday before Christmas, she came home with TG and me for the afternoon, between church services.

I told her she'd have to open a present, because she needed to change out of her church clothes. She loved this little play dress I found for her in an online boutique called Coco + Carmen.

Her Unicorn Academy jacket stays here because I keep my house cool, and I don't want her to be chilly in case she's wearing short sleeves.

Before we left to go back to church, after she'd gotten re-dressed in her Christmas-Sunday finery, Dagny posed by the Christmas tree.

She held out the tulle layer of her skirt because wearing a pretty party dress is a big thing to a little girl.

And so is cake.

Last Sunday, on New Year's Eve eve, Dag came home with us again. This time, she planned for it and brought her suitcase with a change of clothes.

On the way home, we stopped at a new store near our house: Nothing Bundt Cakes.

We had received a card in the mail for a complimentary "bundtlet" and Dagny is holding it to show you how luscious it looks with its abundance of cream cheese icing.

The ladies at the bakery gave her the pink balloon too, which was a big hit.

Later she lay down for an afternoon nap in my bed (not having brought along the dalmatian-themed sleeping bag Brittany and Andrew gave her for Christmas) and did not go to sleep.

Instead, we could hear her little voice on and off for two hours, singing and talking to herself on the cusp of a new year, the year in which she will turn five years old.

It was sweet.

Speaking of sweet, Brittany brought back for me from Florida a darling tiny bulbous jar of orange coconut marmalade (words have not been invented that could accurately convey my adoration of orange marmalade) -- which, though a small gesture, was no less a beautiful one, and made me so happy.

TG and I both enjoyed the luscious treat on English muffins -- the kind with little nooks and crannies to hold the butter (and the marmalade) the very next morning, as part of our New Year's Eve celebration.

So we embark together on a new year, which seems young and small now, but which grows larger and older every day. Join me in making the most of every single minute.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Thursday