Humming a tune

And the humming-bird that hung

Like a jewel up among

The tilted honey-suckle horns,

They mesmerized, and swung

In the palpitating air,

Drowsed with odors strange and rare

And with whispered laughter, slipped away,

And left him hanging there.

= James Whitcomb Riley =

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Happy Wednesday

It's the little things

Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.

= A.A. Milne =

On Saturday we had a long visit with dear friends who wanted to spend some time with Baby Dagny.

As per usual, amid frequent profuse expressions of admiration for both her physical beauty and her relentless charm, Dagny was cosseted and cuddled and cradled and caressed and cared for with the utmost breathless fascination.

Oh -- and Winnie the Pooh was quoted (by me). Inspiring the purchase today of the entire Pooh canon for Dagny's first birthday, a year less six weeks hence.

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To the uneducated an A is just three sticks.

= A.A. Milne =

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On Sunday Dagny wore the white eyelet dress I picked out for her three weeks before she was born. The one she wore home from the hospital.

It is all but too small for Dagny.

I told Audrey it will soon be time to put the white eyelet dress away, for preserving, for crying a few silly sentimental tears over when our Dagny is a big girl.

Later Audrey iMessaged all of us with a few pictures of Dagny snoozing peacefully in her carrier.

I have stared at these for so long, I thought it was time someone else had a chance.

So here you go.

Gaze with amazement upon those curvaceous bee-stung lips, those cherubic cheeks, and tell me you don't want to kiss them.

I thought the headband -- a gift from another dear friend -- added just the right amount of personal style to Dagny's summer-go-to-meeting getup.

It take-a panache.

Yesterday evening I was leaning over a wide-awake Dagny as she (again) sat in her carrier, having come into the house and been placed on the table.

As I cooed to her, my beloved looked straight into my eyes, grinned, and cooed back.

Yeah. I'm done for. Scatter my ashes just anywhere.

And that is all for now.

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Some people care too much. I think it's called love.

= A.A. Milne =

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Happy Monday ~ Happy New Week

SkyWatch Friday : The show must go on

Have you read or heard any news lately?

Yeah. Don't bother. It's mostly bad.

What was once considered decent -- treasured, even -- is now routinely demonized.

What was once deemed degrading is now ritually celebrated.

God help us.

I find that the more the earth dismays, the more the clouds -- God's faithful creation -- fascinate.

My eyes are pulled upward daily. I am looking for particularly expressive clouds.

Wispy noncommittal cotton-pulls serve their purpose I suppose and they are appreciated for their contribution, but I crave cloudy drama.

If it's not going to be the blazing azure and towering piles of blinding white peculiar to hot summer, I'd just as soon it be gray hordes dropping frog-strangling rain outside my window.

Extremes. 

One of my daily frustrations (and I don't have that many, really) is seeing clouds and either not having my camera handy or not being in a place where I can take their picture and do them justice.

The long blue solemn hours serenely flowing,

Whence earth, we feel, gets steady help and good --

Thy fitful sunshine minutes coming, going,

As if earth turned from work in gamesome mood --

All shall be mine!

So I simply wing it. I don't reckon I had to spell that out for you.

As often as not, I'm standing in my own yard, squinting, making a point to avoid rooflines and satellite dishes.

I allow tree branches in. Also I like power lines in a cloud portrait.

Sometimes I take pictures of clouds while riding down the road.

Mostly as a passenger. With my phone. Cloud selfies.

No rehearsal. No encore. The Almighty as impresario of these performances is matchless creative genius wedded to immutable protocol.

Invariably I marvel at the way the clouds drift, rarely hurried, coming together, splitting again, making shapes, framing ideas, creating mind-blowing dazzle in their dance with the sun and one another.

Constantly moving so that you must be quick if you are to capture a seconds-long collaboration that will never be repeated.

They're just like life: they catch at the breath. Pay attention. Our existence is like a vapor, even more brief than a cloud picture, no matter how vivid, how seemingly permanent.

Look up and enjoy.

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The year's at the spring,

And day's at the morn;

Morning's at seven; 

The hill-side's dew-pearled;

The lark's on the wing;

The snail's on the thorn;

God's in His heaven --

All's right with the world!

= Robert Browning =

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Happy Friday ~ Happy Weekend

Meet The Dagginator

I have been receiving pressure from several of Dagny's fans to provide updated photos of her.

See, this is the thing.

Dagny is thirty-nine days old. I have been with (or near) her every day of her life except one.

(A week ago Thursday, I went thirty-six hours without seeing her.)

If when I see her I do not have my proper camera along, at least I have my phone.

However.

It is rare for me to be in Dagny's company when she is not either:

1. Eating; or

2. Asleep.

She's still among the tinies. Thus, true "awake time" is at a premium and usually happens when I am not around.

Even so, eating appears to be far and away Dagny's favorite pastime.

She has gained two whole pounds since she was born.

And I will share with you a little secret: Dagny may need a twelve-step program.

"My name is Dagny and I am a milkaholic."

"Hello Dagny."

One day at a time.

Because upon the conclusion of each (very frequent) meal, Dagny is immediately and obviously inebriated.

Milk drunk. Three burp cloths to the wind.

Invariably she wakes up hung over and desperately requiring hair of the dog.

Thus, as I said, so far, just about any time I am around, Dagny Clare is either:

1. Eating;

2. Sleeping; or

3. Howling for a refill.

TG, her devoted Papaw, has dubbed our granddaughter The Dagginator.

So it was that yesterday, having been out and about, Audrey dropped by in the afternoon.

Dagny was tired of being in her carseat and, in her fashion, was being charmingly vocal regarding her desire for a milky repast.

That accomplished, her mother was hungry so I fixed her a tasty omelet. Mothers look out for daughters around here.

While Audrey ate and enjoyed a moment to breathe, I cradled my darling Dagny.

She was zonked the whole time.

Eventually she stirred and stretched and purred and pawed the air and let out a few yelps.

And in due course, demanded indicated politely that she had a one-item agenda: Feed me. Now.

Audrey obliged her and afterwards, I took Dagny outside to sit on the swing.

She was soon -- you guessed it -- sound asleep again.

After cuddling her for a bit, I handed Dagny to her mother, who took my place on the swing.

I fetched my camera.

We'd taken a few dozen shots of an unconscious Dagny before I had the bright idea to give her a bath.

I love giving Dagny her bath. I keep all the supplies for baby ablutions at my house, just in case.

So we did that, and then our dearest baby was awake.

We dressed her in angel wings and took her back outside into the sunshine.

Shortly we brought her back indoors, and installed her into a onesie. And put the angel wings back on.

But by then, The Dagginator had just about had it.

She was mad inconsolable. Ready to eat again.

Wouldn't you like to pinch those chubby cheeks?

(We all kiss her until she is practically reeling from the onslaught of smacking lips and smoochy noises.)

At any rate, Dagny, after shedding her angel wings, having been soothed and nourished by her mother, calmed down for the ride home.

So for the nonce, the above seven photos will have to suffice.

But tomorrow is another day.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Wednesday

Sign Me Up : Complimentary

So there IS such a thing as a free ride.

Maybe even a free lunch.

It occurs to me I may have been shopping on the wrong side of town.

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Happy Monday ~ Happy New Week