Well tonight, at least, he clearly had places to go . . . chicks to see [?]. So I stopped my car and let him cross. Then I got out, Lauryn Hill still grooving out my car stereo, and snapped this shot of him. I mean, who wouldn't pass up the chance to document the real-life happening of such an age-old, burning question? :-)
Friday, April 30, 2010
why did the chicken cross the road?
Well tonight, at least, he clearly had places to go . . . chicks to see [?]. So I stopped my car and let him cross. Then I got out, Lauryn Hill still grooving out my car stereo, and snapped this shot of him. I mean, who wouldn't pass up the chance to document the real-life happening of such an age-old, burning question? :-)
Thursday, April 29, 2010
no hare there
It was a delightfully different day today than it was yesterday--snow turned to sunshine. So taking advantage of the evening light while dining with a friend, we walked out to her backyard where I had been admiring the shed. I chuckled at the name of it, upon which she mentioned that it was falling down . . . I was slightly embarrassed to admit that I actually thought it was intended to be slanted like that :-) Either way, the effect is all quite picturesque, even though it no longer houses its original, intended inhabitants. And I did like her choice of a paint job for the barn--what rabbit wouldn't be proud to be raised in a pink and purple abode?
Monday, April 26, 2010
it isn't easy being green . . . ?
Having been on a significantly long road trip for the past 3 days, I have had a slight bit more time than usual to "smell the flowers" along the way. To be more precise, however, I have been "watching the trees." For some reason, I have never before taken such notice of the Springtime Colours. Fall, for sure: that season is a given for me, so far as being awed by nature's colours. But this year, I see so many varieties of green that I have ended up pointing constantly to name a new hue that appears. No doubt Mel has had enough of it and is ready to be out of a car with me :-) Finally today I requested a stop to take a few photos of them, so here is the resulting pick--not particularly exciting so far as photo ops go, but hopefully it illustrates a little bit of what I've been seeing . . .
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
time for poetry
I am one of those [of whom a larger population exists, I suspect, than one might imagine] who tends towards an obsession with words. I seem to be unable to hold back the compulsive composition of word plays, poems, rhymes, and songs. This does come in handy as a teacher for little ones, as I have a knack for randomly composing mnemonic devices to help them remember such things as the French Alphabet, the Days of the Week, and the like.
It is not, unfortunately, as skill that does very well at earning a living . . . but I digress.
The point of my, er, point [;-)] is that I like words. And that I like poems. And so I like Poetry Wednesday.
For today's such event, I decided to post a poem that is probably familiar to many of those in my blogging circle. Multiple reasons prompted this decision. One of those is that I recently was asked [by one who was used to seeing the name in my email signature] who Gerard Manley Hopkins was. This gave me the occasion to go back and read through several of his poems, and to re-read about his life.
Around the same time, I learned of the newest release by Natalie Merchant which is, I think, quite brilliant . . . a passion of my own, as well. Her album--Leave Your Sleep--is a children's collection of songs based upon sophisticated and traditional poems, rhymes, and lullabies.
Also around this same time, I accidentally wrote my first "serious" song [as opposed to educational little ditties and limericks]. Consequently, with the urging of a friend and collaborating musician, I have begun the exhilarating project of my own potential [budding] musical project . . .
All that to say, I would like to share with you one of the poems that my dear blogging buddy introduced me too years ago, also introducing me to the poet. This poem is also the inspiration for one of my favorite songs on Merchant's CD [though I confess that I do not have, and so have not listened to in its entirety, the album.
But enough ramblings from me. Here's the poem. Enjoy!
To a Young Child
by Gerard Manley Hopkins
Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
It is not, unfortunately, as skill that does very well at earning a living . . . but I digress.
The point of my, er, point [;-)] is that I like words. And that I like poems. And so I like Poetry Wednesday.
For today's such event, I decided to post a poem that is probably familiar to many of those in my blogging circle. Multiple reasons prompted this decision. One of those is that I recently was asked [by one who was used to seeing the name in my email signature] who Gerard Manley Hopkins was. This gave me the occasion to go back and read through several of his poems, and to re-read about his life.
Around the same time, I learned of the newest release by Natalie Merchant which is, I think, quite brilliant . . . a passion of my own, as well. Her album--Leave Your Sleep--is a children's collection of songs based upon sophisticated and traditional poems, rhymes, and lullabies.
Also around this same time, I accidentally wrote my first "serious" song [as opposed to educational little ditties and limericks]. Consequently, with the urging of a friend and collaborating musician, I have begun the exhilarating project of my own potential [budding] musical project . . .
All that to say, I would like to share with you one of the poems that my dear blogging buddy introduced me too years ago, also introducing me to the poet. This poem is also the inspiration for one of my favorite songs on Merchant's CD [though I confess that I do not have, and so have not listened to in its entirety, the album.
But enough ramblings from me. Here's the poem. Enjoy!
To a Young Child
by Gerard Manley Hopkins
Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
mystery plants?
When I caught a glimpse of these little curiosities the other day, I knew I would be returning with my camera. After doing so, today, I mentioned my intriguing photo subject to my friend, showing her the picture. I should have expected as much, considering how knowledgeable she is about all things local--but I still found myself duly impressed when she spouted off the name and spoke of what folks do with them . . .
And so I ask you all: anyone out there in blog-land know
1. What the common name is? and
2. What can be done with them?
The first correct responder just might win a prize :-)
Saturday, April 17, 2010
the professional angle
It wasn't until right before I left today's Spring Fair that I realized I had a young sidekick. As I was crooning to the corn snake draped upon my arm, this little fellow, in a noticeably adult-like tone, asked me if I was a photographer. Looking down, I recognized him as the same youngster who had looked on at another child's artwork when I was snapping photos of him and his father, engrossed in the task of painting a fabric grocery bag. At the time I assumed he was just another child enjoying the artwork activities. But when he appeared by my side minutes later . . . and again shortly thereafter, I figured I must have captured his interest.
Realizing this, I quickly clarified my initial response that yes, I was somewhat of a photographer: Mind you, I added, this is not really professional work, to be holding my Nikon in one hand as I snap a shot of the snake holding the other: but sometimes, you just do what the moment requires :-)
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
chiming in
There has been a "Poetry Wednesday" circle amongst some of my blogger buddies that I have been following for several months now. But I have not joined in, preferring to just enjoy others' posts. I decided to chime in this week, however. Largely, this is due to my own contemplative and creatively-inclined state of mind as of late. When I am in such a mood, I tend to remember past artistic loves, as well as embarking upon new ones. At the moment, I have been musing on the first poetry I really resonated with: I didn't even know why . . . still don't, for that matter! But for whatever reason, I fell in love with A.A. Milne's "Buttercup Days" back in high school--before I even really liked poetry all that much, so far as I can remember. I read it as school required, but wouldn't have dreamed of recreationally writing it, as I do now. Enough said . . . here it is :-)
Buttercup Days
Where is Anne?
Head above the buttercups,
Walking by the stream,
Down among the buttercups.
Where is Anne?
Walking with her man,
Lost in a dream,
Lost among the buttercups.
What has she got in that little brown head?
Wonderful thoughts which can never be said.
What has she got in that firm little fist of hers?
Somebody’s thumb, and it feels like Christopher’s
Where is Anne?
Close to her man.
Brown head, gold head,
In and out the buttercups.
-A.A. Milne. “Now We Are Six”
Buttercup Days
Where is Anne?
Head above the buttercups,
Walking by the stream,
Down among the buttercups.
Where is Anne?
Walking with her man,
Lost in a dream,
Lost among the buttercups.
What has she got in that little brown head?
Wonderful thoughts which can never be said.
What has she got in that firm little fist of hers?
Somebody’s thumb, and it feels like Christopher’s
Where is Anne?
Close to her man.
Brown head, gold head,
In and out the buttercups.
-A.A. Milne. “Now We Are Six”
Monday, April 12, 2010
tulips, take 2
After my last post, one faithful blog follower kindly made a request . . . asking for a follow-up photo of those tulips once they were fully bloomed. Well, here at Full of Grace, we aim to please :-) With the near-blinding intensity of the hues, I was tempted to, of all things, mute the colour. But I thought better of that and, instead, decided to give you the pure, "unadulterated" photo. So here they are: Mom's tulips, fully a-bloom. Do you doubt my word as to her "greenest thumb?"
Saturday, April 10, 2010
the greenest thumb
As I prepared to leave her house this evening, my mother looked up from her Sunday School lesson planning, peered over her reading glasses, and reminded me, "You really should look at those tulips as you head out." I have learned the lesson, many times over, to do what mom says, even when she says it in the most off-handedly distracted sort of way. So I sidestepped into the garden and poked around until I found this little gem . . . and then I ran back into the house to thank mom for being so motherishly all-knowing. And thankfully, I had my camera to capture its rosy twilight glow.
Thursday, April 08, 2010
by any other name
Ever since they bloomed, about a week ago, I have been intrigued by these oddly-hued blossoms in my mother's garden. They are not the sort of flower I would normally swoon over but I just kept returning to look for new shades [white, lavender, even pale green among the current ones]. So tonight I finally thought to ask her what kind they were. Her response made me smile to myself, amused at my own mental workings, as I suddenly realized the true reason for my interest: it is their name. Lenten Rose. It is a striking sort of name, befitting a strikingly homely sort of bloom . . . and I think I have fallen for its unassuming loveliness :-)
Sunday, April 04, 2010
Christos anesti . . .

. . . Alithos anesti.
Those of you not as familiar [as some of my blogging buddies] with Greek Orthodox tradition may not recognize the significance of a bowl of red-dyed eggs. This is a part of the traditional tsougrisma ceremony, in which I got to participate this year. Between the festive traditions, the reading of Benjamin's Box, and lingering over post-children's-bedtime coffee & conversations, it was a truly blessed Resurrection Sunday . . . for you all I hope, as well!
Monday, March 29, 2010
children of the world
In honor of the "Nonfiction Monday" community, I have decided to do a bit of a flashback for today's blog post . . . these are the notes I took when still a graduate student, for a school presentation I gave that featured multicultural picture books. My sole caveat in posting this is that it is admittedly embarrassing for me to display my "schoolwork," as it were. But I thought it would be helpful for those interested in raising culturally aware little ones, so here it is :-)
The Stories:
[My Intro] "What I would like to do now is to read a few books with you. These are all books that were written in different countries, and in different languages. And you know what’s so neat about it is that kids like you—kids with the same types of people they love, pets that make them laugh, things that make them afraid, and dreams that make them happy—are reading books, just like you are, way over on the other side of the world. They may not look just like you, talk just like you, live in houses just like yours, or learn in schools just like yours, but deep down, in the places that matter, they are kids just like you."
1. Vaugelade, Anais. Translated by Marie-Christine Rouffiac and Tom Streissguth. The War.
I adored the way this book tackled a potentially inflammatory topic: War vs. Peace, in an amazingly light-hearted and thus un-inflammatory manner. It is simple, uplifting, and wholesome in its message. Could lead to interesting class discussions, for sure!
2. Une nuit, un chat, written & illustrated by Yvan Pommaux [France]
Plopped contentedly on the floor of the library, I chuckled as I read this book, and I concurred with the selectors’ that it was indeed an excellent representative book for this particular collection.
One of the most immediately evident reasons, for me, was that the text is simple, and easy to follow—even for my level of French ☺ As a result, it is excellent for the targeted audience of upper primary school children. Also concerning the language, its rhyming lines and alliteration make it playful, and simply fun to read.
Its theme fits as representative for any international collection, in that it is about family—one of the most universal of themes, and certainly one with which any child can identify.
3. El guardian del Olvido, by Joan M. Gisbert/ illustrated by Alfonso Ruano [Spain]
Reading this book, I placed it at a slightly older level than the previous one—but still definitely within an elementary age group.
This one is longer, with basic prose [rather than rhymes], but still simple dialogue and verbiage—again, understandable for my level of Spanish!
And here again, we have an easily graspable universal theme, of friendship, contained within an uplifting story.
4. Un jour mon Prince Viendra, by Andrea Neve/ illustrated by Kitty Crowther [Belgium]
This story provides a new—again universal and easily understandable—theme, this time of love. And, yet again, I was able to easily understand the word choice and language of the text ☺ This one was at a similar level as Une nuit, un chat, with its spare text of rhythmic and lyrical prose—but not actual rhyming in this one.
One final note of interest, concerning its theme, is that there was a surprisingly sly note to the humor—surprising from my cultural perspective, at least—concerning the theme. My assessment is that this is indicative of Europe’s tendency to be less inclined to talk down to children in their picture books—from what I’ve seen—compared to the U.S.
5. La Petite Marchande d’Allumettes, by H.C. Andersen/ translation by P.G. La Chesnais/ illustrated by Georges LeMoine
When I first read this book I cried. I was immensely moved by this retelling of Andersen’s tale, and I was amazed at my own reaction. Interestingly enough, the language of the story is not what touched me the most. The tale is indeed a highly moving, and immensely sad one; unfortunately, though, I fear I have grown hardened to it by merely being overly familiar with it.
For that reason, I love that La Chesnais and LeMoine have redone the story in a way that brings new poignancy to a potentially stale story. They have brought it to life by the ingenious parallel, via solely the artwork, of the original tale with the modern real-life equivalent of a little Bosnian girl stuck in wartime harsh reality. The truth, of course, is that life really can be every bit as heartbreaking as Andersen’s original story . . . and I am grateful for any way of communicating, in an emotive manner, such truth to sheltered young people today
The Stories:
[My Intro] "What I would like to do now is to read a few books with you. These are all books that were written in different countries, and in different languages. And you know what’s so neat about it is that kids like you—kids with the same types of people they love, pets that make them laugh, things that make them afraid, and dreams that make them happy—are reading books, just like you are, way over on the other side of the world. They may not look just like you, talk just like you, live in houses just like yours, or learn in schools just like yours, but deep down, in the places that matter, they are kids just like you."
1. Vaugelade, Anais. Translated by Marie-Christine Rouffiac and Tom Streissguth. The War.
I adored the way this book tackled a potentially inflammatory topic: War vs. Peace, in an amazingly light-hearted and thus un-inflammatory manner. It is simple, uplifting, and wholesome in its message. Could lead to interesting class discussions, for sure!
2. Une nuit, un chat, written & illustrated by Yvan Pommaux [France]
Plopped contentedly on the floor of the library, I chuckled as I read this book, and I concurred with the selectors’ that it was indeed an excellent representative book for this particular collection.
One of the most immediately evident reasons, for me, was that the text is simple, and easy to follow—even for my level of French ☺ As a result, it is excellent for the targeted audience of upper primary school children. Also concerning the language, its rhyming lines and alliteration make it playful, and simply fun to read.
Its theme fits as representative for any international collection, in that it is about family—one of the most universal of themes, and certainly one with which any child can identify.
3. El guardian del Olvido, by Joan M. Gisbert/ illustrated by Alfonso Ruano [Spain]
Reading this book, I placed it at a slightly older level than the previous one—but still definitely within an elementary age group.
This one is longer, with basic prose [rather than rhymes], but still simple dialogue and verbiage—again, understandable for my level of Spanish!
And here again, we have an easily graspable universal theme, of friendship, contained within an uplifting story.
4. Un jour mon Prince Viendra, by Andrea Neve/ illustrated by Kitty Crowther [Belgium]
This story provides a new—again universal and easily understandable—theme, this time of love. And, yet again, I was able to easily understand the word choice and language of the text ☺ This one was at a similar level as Une nuit, un chat, with its spare text of rhythmic and lyrical prose—but not actual rhyming in this one.
One final note of interest, concerning its theme, is that there was a surprisingly sly note to the humor—surprising from my cultural perspective, at least—concerning the theme. My assessment is that this is indicative of Europe’s tendency to be less inclined to talk down to children in their picture books—from what I’ve seen—compared to the U.S.
5. La Petite Marchande d’Allumettes, by H.C. Andersen/ translation by P.G. La Chesnais/ illustrated by Georges LeMoine
When I first read this book I cried. I was immensely moved by this retelling of Andersen’s tale, and I was amazed at my own reaction. Interestingly enough, the language of the story is not what touched me the most. The tale is indeed a highly moving, and immensely sad one; unfortunately, though, I fear I have grown hardened to it by merely being overly familiar with it.
For that reason, I love that La Chesnais and LeMoine have redone the story in a way that brings new poignancy to a potentially stale story. They have brought it to life by the ingenious parallel, via solely the artwork, of the original tale with the modern real-life equivalent of a little Bosnian girl stuck in wartime harsh reality. The truth, of course, is that life really can be every bit as heartbreaking as Andersen’s original story . . . and I am grateful for any way of communicating, in an emotive manner, such truth to sheltered young people today
Saturday, March 27, 2010
up to the highest height
I had no idea how much I had missed those girls. That is the way it goes with children oftentimes--for me at least; it is not the sort of perpetual ache you feel when apart from a significant other. Not a craving sort of longing . . . but one that catches you off-guard with giddy delight. So this afternoon I had the singular delight of being surprised by my own emotion: as I drove towards the house the two were out playing in the park. They saw my car and then, when they recognized me, they began jumping up and down, racing towards the vehicle. I had forgotten their endearing habit of doing this and, also, forgot that I was now driving a modern sort of car that boasts such extravagances as power windows. So I did what I am accustomed to doing, which is to wave them towards the driveway, indicating that I would talk to them once at the top of the hill. Driving the short remainder of the way up the hill, I beamed at them, laughing to myself. And then, when I stopped the car, I ran towards them and was treated to giant, little-girl-version, bear hugs.
And then we flew a kite. They excitedly told me about their new "turtle" kite so, it being a glorious day, we got it out and ran around the field . . . until encountering the rain-soaked portion. Running with children + Looking up at a kite + Wet field = A muddy [but happy] trio :-)
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
steamed?
It may not be evident from this photo, but it was actually raining all day today--and yesterday, for that matter. So I had to smile at the irony of this shot as I captured it this afternoon [remembering my "starched?" photo from a month ago. Come snow, come rain . . . here in rural New England, nothing can cramp our free-spirited laundering style :-)
Saturday, March 20, 2010
equine awakening
It was, quite simply, a perfectly Spring-awakening sort of day. So this afternoon, giddy with the possibility of it all [so much so that I excused myself from an indoor gathering], I wandered with my camera. And when I came upon these handsome fellows, I flirted shamelessly . . . they didn't seem to mind too terribly much :-)
Thursday, March 18, 2010
in semi-bloom
Remember that single green hint of a changing season? Well, amazingly enough [considering the length of winter hereabouts], it seems to have sprouted some colour. I must admit, mind you, that I did not notice it immediately; in fact, it took me a while to find the flowers even after Mom had alerted me to their existence. But once I had, I was smitten. Spring . . . could it be true?
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
bubble, bubble . . .
Sunday, March 14, 2010
about that spring bloom . . .
Friday, March 12, 2010
just a dream
I've always been a believer in the mysterious nature of dreams . . . or at least I was when I was younger. Somehow, the older I get, the more "practical" my sense of reality has grown, leading to more of a focus on the logistics of daily life and future plans and, sadly, less of an awareness of mystery.
So I am grateful for occasional reminders of this reality that is, I think, just as important in many ways as "real life." Why else could a dream--a single night's brain waves--lead to an entire day in which I fought the temptation to daydream myself back into that dream? Ever since I woke up this morning I have been longing to recreate that dream for myself, trying to remember it as vividly as possible. Trying to recapture that other-worldy, wonderfully heartrending ache in the deepest part of my sensibilities.
Silly? Perhaps. But not without meaning. I cannot help but believe that such reminders in the heart are the way we really reconnect with what is most, in the depths of each human soul . . .
So I am grateful for occasional reminders of this reality that is, I think, just as important in many ways as "real life." Why else could a dream--a single night's brain waves--lead to an entire day in which I fought the temptation to daydream myself back into that dream? Ever since I woke up this morning I have been longing to recreate that dream for myself, trying to remember it as vividly as possible. Trying to recapture that other-worldy, wonderfully heartrending ache in the deepest part of my sensibilities.
Silly? Perhaps. But not without meaning. I cannot help but believe that such reminders in the heart are the way we really reconnect with what is most, in the depths of each human soul . . .
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
an icy ascent
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