“The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.”

—  Robert Frost

 

Like an alarm bell, the sprouting sedums announce the passage of time.

Could it be more than a year since the first post on Take Comfort?

I had three reasons to start this blog: To share stories with my kids; to challenge myself to learn, grown, and connect with friends and family; and to share thoughts and observations with readers who would question and wonder along with me.

I was afraid.

I knew writing about what I see, think, and feel would require being vulnerable, and being vulnerable is not in my comfort zone. But unlike the consolation of a warm blanket, I sought comfort as in the word origin “confrontare” — to strengthen.

That first post, Take Comfort: My Blog Introduction, welcomed you to walk along with me in hopes to strengthen ourselves and what small piece of the world we can impact.

This post reflects on past stories — with links for you to read or re-read — and also shares updates to previous posts, while saying thank you and asking for your help.

I walk.

The Lost Madrone Ranch in Comfort, Texas is where I walk in nature, the prompt to listen to the poetry of the earth.

When I walk, I let nature’s message challenge my thinking, speak to my soul, and foster courage for what I face each day.

And, when I walk, it is just plain fun.

In the story, Arrive at The Lost Madrone Ranch, I introduced you to the town of Comfort and my walking place at the ranch, and I had my first lesson in the power of a blog to connect.

Friends and family responded by sharing their “arrival” stories at places where they go to sense wonder and freedom — if only for a short time away from daily demands. These stories deepened my awareness of how we are all “walking” in our own ways, and that somehow as we share our walks we find comfort and strength from knowing each other’s journey. One message ended with “we are different but the same.” Thank you for sharing your stories back.

While that first ranch story introduced our pet Longhorns,

the story that followed, How an 1800 lb Animal Can Comfort your Life, shared more about their personalities.

Walking line by line through a poem written by Alexandra when she was in grade school, I saw how a child’s eye toward her pet longhorns summed up a famous quote by Maya Angelou. “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” 

A child’s ability to write poetry that makes us feel begins with them feeling. A child opens their senses and observes, they engage with their setting, and they not only see but imagine.

Several posts (Saturday Sedum Watch at the Lost Madrone Ranch: March 4, 2017; Her Name is Windy, Sing Her a Song; Cry, Heart, But Never Break: Part 2; and As a Child) highlight the simple, unobstructed messages found in children’s literature and the clarity a child’s raw perspective can bring to an observation.

The emotion of how Alexandra’s pet longhorns made her feel — she loves them “a lot” — opened a window for her to express how she sees.

Writing these posts have pushed me to see differently, see carefully, see more clearly, see more.

Many posts play the game “look closer,” introduced in the story Saturday Sedum Watch at the Lost Madrone Ranch: March 11, 2017, where a series of photographs zoom in on a wonder not seen at first glance of the scene.

Here is one of my favorites.

And then there was the unsuccessful “look closer” in the story Noooo! Mom Did Not Say That!. The story was about the broken filter in my mom’s foggy mind. After describing a fogbow (check the story to see pictures of this weather phenomenon), I used a photograph to transition to a new paragraph describing my Maui Jim sunglasses. But, I didn’t directly ask readers to look closer.

The paragraph began with the sentence, “Sunglasses come to mind.”

A picture of a bee followed.

Several friends commented about this transition. “Cute picture of a bee, but why?”

Look closer!

Looks like he’s wearing Maui Jims!

Take Comfort has exercised my focus for what might be right in front of me if I take time to look — while out in nature and in my daily life.

And, making more memories from moments in my day has made my life more memorable.

Anyone else “looking closer?”

Back to Longhorns…

It seems longhorn pictures are a readers favorite.

I announced I would spotlight the longhorns individually in future stories. Can a year have gone by without a longhorn personality profile?

Meet Ferdinand in my next posting!

Don’t hit the snooze button, I’m going to talk sedums!

Honestly, I had no idea when I put up a post announcing, “the sedums are starting” and made a promise to send weekly posts to follow their growth, that the progress would span 12 posts. By the end, I had friends sharing sedum sightings from as far away as Michigan, I had photos sent asking me to ID sedum varieties (for which I have no expertise), and my kids were calling me the “crazy sedum lady!”

Thank you to all who said they enjoyed the walk and thank you to others who hung in there for future stories on new topics.

Here is a list of links to sedum stories in order of the sedum progression — if by chance someone wants to revisit the journey or if a new reader wants to see sedums from sprout to bloom.

Saturday Sedum Watch at the Lost Madrone Ranch: March 4, 2017
Saturday Sedum Watch at the Lost Madrone Ranch: March 11, 2017
Saturday Sedum Watch at the Lost Madrone Ranch: March 18, 2017
Saturday Sedum Watch at the Lost Madrone Ranch: March 25, 2017
Saturday Sedum Watch at the Lost Madrone Ranch: April 1, 2017
Saturday Sedum Watch at the Lost Madrone Ranch: April 8, 2017
Saturday Sedum Watch at the Lost Madrone Ranch: April 15, 2017
Saturday Sedum Watch at the Lost Madrone Ranch: April 29, 2017
Saturday Sedum Watch: That Was Unexpected
Saturday Sedum Watch: Celebrating Black and Gold
Saturday Sedum Watch: The Final Week
Feeding Chickens

While each post gave an update on how much the sedums grew each week, each post also included a story about what else was found at the ranch —

budding trees of spring,

wildflower blooms,

and fields of yellow with visiting friends.

The rapidly changing little world of sedums was but one instrument in an orchestra, and the symphony played throughout spring was as the Creator intended — harmonious.

As an update, the sedums are weeks ahead of last year’s progression, a reminder that the cycle of life moves on at a pace uncertain until the moments happen. I’ll post pictures when they are blooming again.

In the final sedum post, Feeding Chickens, I shared the story of my father taking pictures of a lace cactus at the ranch.

The lace cacti are blooming right now! Below are pictures taken last week.

Everyone loves a lace cactus!

It is easy to appreciate why my father, big in stature but not comfortable with the prickly plants and crawly creatures at the ranch, would lie down on the ground to look closer!

As I shared in the story, Dad’s cactus is now a skeleton but still present on the hill. See the sedums?

The sedums I tossed in the wind along Dad’s cactus hilltop — as if feeding chickens — transplanted successfully and are growing across the ridge. I’ll update with a picture when the hillside is blooming yellow.

And chickens?

Yes, those cute little chicks pictured in the story Feeding Chickens …

have grown up.

Yes, one turned out to be a rooster —

pretty…

but mean.

No, we no longer have him. That is a story for a future post.

 

Time
Like a petal in the wind
Flows softly by
As old lives are taken
New ones begin
A continual chain
Which lasts throughout eternity
Every life but a minute in time
But each of equal importance

—  Cindy Cheney

 

My Dad’s life was an old life taken too soon — a minute in time, a wondrous minute.

When I started Take Comfort, I expected I would post his words frequently. I have boxes of poetic prose and courageous sermons, written and spoken during trying times of civil rights, war, and other political and social justice moments. I think he was a giant, but he would have preached the last line of the above poem — “But each of equal importance.”  I shared a poem he wrote for Alexandra at her baby dedication in the post, Her Name is Windy, Sing Her a Song.  Your Easter Basket, posted this month, was the first opportunity I took to share some of his words from a sermon. I look forward to sharing more.

When I type stories, I feel his presence, flowing through my fingers.

The post, Cry, Heart, But Never Break: Part 1, is one of my favorites. It follows the end of life of an agave plant that dominated the garden bed at the front of our ranch house. Unbeknownst to me before writing the story, the species was “salmiana,” known commonly as the “Green Giant.”

On the face, the story is about the journey of the giant agave —

from stature,

to sprout,

to bud,

to bloom,

to giving,

to decline,

to death.

The splendor was magnificent, the death painful.

Many lines in the story were equally speaking of my giant and the journey with my Dad through pancreatic cancer.

How such pain can strike us? And how in the midst of the pain there is beauty in moments of vulnerability and peace in knowing a legacy continues.

Like my father, the giant agave left a legacy far and wide. Thousands of seeds blew and scattered from their pods.

And then, sprouts popped up everywhere!

If anyone wants a baby giant to grow in your garden, let me know and I will send you one.

Now, in the giant’s place, a young pup from the giant is starting its journey. It does not yet command the same presence in the garden, but it welcomes me each time I arrive, and I will watch it grown in the giant’s place.

Nearby, guess what?

Two more of our agave’s are blooming.

More splendor, more pain — for after they bloom, they too will die.

And, a smaller agave of a different variety — given to me a few years ago by a dear friend — is also budding.

I can’t wait to learn the color of the flowers. I’ll share a picture in a future post.

Cry, Heart, But Never Break was a post in two parts. The second post focused on another march to the end that I am stomping through with my mom.

Dementia is heartbreaking.

Many readers are sadly walking a similar walk with a loved one. I hope my stories give comfort as I believe one can find joy along the path.

My philosophy on caregiving is learned from a giant and sustained through a promise I made to him that I would care for my mom.

From Cry, Heart, But Never Break, Part 2:

The life of the giant marked so many pieces of me that the view of the space where it previously stood, and everywhere else I look, can never be seen without the presents from its presence. At the end of the journey, I recognized the lesson of the heart’s intertwined path of joy and grief that bolstered my heart to not break. This gift from the giant is the lesson I must carry with me as I continue to walk along the road. How do I walk each day acknowledging the path is paved with both laughter and tears so I can open the gifts as they are given and walk strong and unwavering throughout the journey, not just stand unbroken at the end when looking back? If I  learned the lesson — “living” through sadness and joy — then the answer comes down to how I choose to walk. Yes, my heart aches, but can I let the ache in my heart comfort me — for in knowing my heart can ache attests that my heart can also sing, and celebrate, and love, and delight? The challenge is to respond with strength and without complaint when both claims on the heart — the cry and the sweet song — happen at the same time, like a butterfly swiftly flitting from flower to flower, working tirelessly to nourish, while every dainty wingbeat casts a vision of the creator’s conviction that grace should be the view when going about the task. The task to tend is loving — holding hands for comfort, “I love yous” without hesitation, and in the face of nothing familiar, unconditionally accepting the way of the day. With the giant gone, and my mother in decline, the surrounding space will never be the same, but pairing the aches with enjoying the joys is the challenge to endure the human experience, unbroken and with grace. Not to wither, and not alone, …..

References to my mom are sprinkled in many stories, but posts predominately about my mom include: Walking with Mom as She Forgets How to Walk; Mom, It is Well With Your Soul; Cry, Heart, But Never Break: Part 2; and Noooo! Mom Did Not Say That!

Dementia caregiving is a hard path, but new understandings can uncover blessings under the pavement. If you think my insights can help someone facing this disease, please share these stories or give them my contact information. I will gladly visit with anyone who wants to talk.

And the Mom update…

Last week, my mom turned 87! Yes, we celebrated, and it was a happy day!

Coffee,

the color orange,

and clouds;

See saws,

snow,

and sand where unexpected,

are subjects in stories that shared my interests and travels.

As for coffee…

The story, Savor: Things, Ideas, and People, shared my coffee craze, and today I have new favorite coffee stops in San Antonio. If you haven’t tried Theory Coffee,

a coffee shop in a trailer at 410 and Nacogdoches,

with a bright orange espresso machine,

you’ve missed the best tasting coffee in town.

And, I have to shout out that the Botanical Garden (where I spend many volunteer hours) has a new Rosella at the Garden coffee shop with an excellent morning barista.

As for orange…

yes, it is still my favorite pop of color found in nature.

This past January, we had pops of orange in nature of a different sort at the ranch.

Jim and I hosted a group of young hunters as part of the Texas Parks and Wildlife Department’s Texas Youth Hunting Program. The program provides “opportunities for youth to participate in hunting activities safely, legally, and ethically, while learning about the valuable role landowners and hunters play in wildlife conservation.”

It was a weekend of orange packed memories — making new friends, watching kids learn new skills, and witnessing fathers serving as strong role models to their boys.

I will never forget as the last car was driving away, one of the older boys jumped out of the car and ran back to ask, “can I take one of those baby giant agave’s for my mom?” I was touched that he took a piece of the Lost Madrone Ranch with him while leaving with me confidence that his father and time spent in the natural world was nurturing a fine young man.

As for clouds…

Changing cloud shows at the ranch are a constant. I will never tire of being amazed by them and will continue to share pictures with you. Clouds on a Summer Sunday shared showy clouds in the blue sky at the ranch, but the drama of clouds in the evening as the sun is setting is equally spectacular.

As for see saws…

I will save the see saw update for a future post, but here’s a hint… the “dangerous” playground equipment in the Comfort City Park — described in my godson’s birthday post, Go Play! — is missing.

And, as for unexpected wonders…

Snow at the ranch (That was Unexpected!), sand dunes in Colorado (Remarkably Unexpected), and the majesty of Yosemite (Where Do You Wonder?) highlight how nature can surprise in unpredictable and astonishing ways in places both familiar and far away. Thank you to readers who shared stories with me about places where you find marvels of nature.

A wonderful love is revealed in the gift of the creation. As coined in Clouds on a Summer Sunday, the outfits worn in nature are no doubt couture of the Creator.

Design found in nature — shapes, patterns, colors, and textures — exceeds couture standards.

And, unlike haute couture in fashion, it is accessible to all. The posts, Inspired by Nature, Designed with Love, and Savor: Things, Ideas, and People, share my love for and thoughts on design.

Since posting about making a bedside table for Jim using wood from the ranch (Inspired by Nature, Designed with Love), Pete, the master woodworker who builds my projects, has made two beds and a console table and is working on a new dining table. I am sure it is almost finished, right Pete? These beautiful pieces are each deserving of a post, so I will work on an update story soon.

However, I’ll share here a story of Pete’s surprise on one of my stops at his shop. While checking in on the status of a project, Pete picked up a work of art and said, “here, this is for you.”

He had created a beautiful butcher block cutting board as a gift. It was not my birthday or any other occasion; Pete had made it out of kindness.

For the inlay pattern, Pete used scraps of Black Walnut

and Texas Madrone wood from the Lost Madrone Ranch that he saved from previous projects.

I appreciate and am in awe of his craftsmanship, and I will always remember his thoughtfulness. Thank you Pete, you are a kind friend.

Over the past year, my friends and family have loyally read thousands of words on Take Comfort. Thank you.

And, I have found new friends through Take Comfort who have enriched my life.

All stood with us when announcing celebrations and trials.

One of the happiest celebrations during the year was Alexandra’s graduation from the University of Colorado in Boulder (photos shared in Saturday Sedum Watch: Celebrating Black and Gold).

Today, Alexandra is thriving at her job as the Legislative Aide to Representative Alec Garnett, the Assistant Majority Leader in the Colorado State Legislature. She enjoys living in Denver, working in the Capitol, and starting out her career in a meaningful job with important responsibilities.

Yes, Jim and I are proud parents.

We are also beyond proud of Jimmy for how he endured the hardest trial of all our lives. It was one year ago this week when Jimmy suffered severe burns from a fire at the ranch. His pain was excruciating. Our pain watching our child in pain was excruciating. Jimmy’s healing is a blessing. He is happy and doing well as a sophomore in the Baylor School of Business.

And, home again this Easter break, Jimmy and friends had a reunion. The photo below is from his Instagram post with the following message:  A year ago this fire got the best of me. Last night I evened the score. #sunscreenismybestfriend.

I remember being uncertain of posting about Jimmy’s accident (No Sedum Saturday: When Trials in Life Hurt, Healing Thanks, and Saturday Sedum Watch at The Lost Madrone Ranch: April 29), but in facing my fear of sharing how scared and hurting we were, hundreds of supportive responses flooded our way. I will be forever grateful for the prayers and support that helped us bear the trial. Thank you.

Jimmy, you were heroic during your healing, and you have great friends who have been with you throughout. Of course, we will always be there for you.

Jim is my other hero. Always with me at the ranch,

working

and playing.

Always with me on our journey.

I will share thoughts on one last post, Finding Gold in the Grass. The story was about losing my iPhone on one of my walks and retracing my steps to find it. A reader emailed me to say it was her favorite story. This surprised me. I didn’t think the story was one of the best and the pictures were not anything special.

I re-read the post.

The story invites readers into the pictures to walk along with me — “follow the road in the picture as far as it leads,” “follow the rock ribbon to the rusted fence,” “head down the hill,” “see that pile of dead cedar next to the cut in the cedar trees as the hill drops off,” “look on the ridge all the way across the gorge,” etc.

I think the appeal was that we were walking together.

We are all walking. We are all vulnerable. We can all be strengthened along our walking path — both when wonders appear and when events in life follow a course we did not plan to take.

Observing the refrains of nature is a good teacher, a way to find comfort on the journey.

We never have to walk alone.

Thank you for reading Take Comfort.

Please continue to read.

Tell me what type of stories are your favorites.

Will you continue to share your stories back?

And, if you like Take Comfort, will you share this blog with a friend? Perhaps this recap can serve as an introduction to others.

I would appreciate your help in sharing the word about Take Comfort.

Mostly, thank you for walking with me.

I am no longer afraid.

 

“The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.”

—  Robert Frost

So what do we make of our afternoons?

— Karen