From Skilled Hands » Here

Spring is in the Air: A My Town Monday Post

fromskilledhands — Mon, 09 Mar 2009 02:02:44 +0000

As I sit here, I hear the cardinals and chickadees outside. The goldfinches at the feeders are sporting faint yellow feathers. The snowdrops are up. Rain is pouring on the metal roof, its familiar sounds comforting me.

The stream is racing, water cascading over rocks and winter debris. But mostly, I smell dogs. Dirty. Wet. Dogs.

Mud. Season. Is. Here. Squishy boot sucking mud. Everywhere. It is part of the promise of spring in the Valley. And for this, I am thankful.

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Slog on over to rockin’ MTM Guru Travis Erwin’s blog, and you’ll not only read about his neck of the woods, but you’ll find links to the sites of my fellow MTM Marauders.

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April 16

fromskilledhands — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 01:01:16 +0000

So we’ve paid the taxes, and relished the first days of Spring. The grass IS greener—on both sides of the hill. Pansies raise their smiling faces at the sun, and daffodils sway in the breeze. Asparagus and strawberries, and the sky that is that infinite shade of azure affirm Spring is here.

If today is your day, as it is mine, click here or here

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My Town Monday: Life Happens

fromskilledhands — Sun, 13 Apr 2008 20:35:49 +0000

I had the best of intentions this week—really, I did. I was going to share all kinds of things about my town: why the Village of Peninsula is called Peninsula; and what happened to the Ohio and Erie Canal in 1913; and about how the beautiful Cuyahoga Valley National Park came to be. I was going to write about Ronda, and about some of the other artists who share my town.

But: LIFE HAPPENED, including emergency dental visits and a root canal for #2 daughter.
Stay tuned…..

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The Spirit of Thanks

fromskilledhands — Wed, 21 Nov 2007 00:33:37 +0000

This is Thanksgiving week, a time, for me, at least, of reflection. Our lives are comprised of a series of “moments,” that, in the blink of an eye, can change our experience in ways we could never have imagined.

Last night, I visited my dear friend and neighbor at Hospice. She was unable to speak, but she clearly heard my voice and was aware of my presence. I talked to her about some of what we’ve shared: wrestling with our gardens and our dogs and our own demons; coffee on the front steps; the losses of our mothers and fathers within months of each other; her cancer diagnosis and treatment. A series of moments, extraordinary in their ordinariness. Two lives that came together on this quiet lane-and-a-half country road.

In a quietly eloquent post, Judy Merrill Larsen looks at these times. She writes,

“Our lives are full of such moments, but many times we don’t even know it. We don’t know what we’ve narrowly escaped, what’s just missed us. And so, for what we know and don’t know, I am thankful. For the times the salt didn’t pour down and for the strength to continue when it did, I give thanks.”

I also give thanks. I am grateful for the incredible beauty of this amazing planet, for the warmth of family and friends, and for the wisdom of the experiences of those whose lives have touched mine.

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