Leah

I was given 2 special blessings when I married Jim. Of course, there was him. But in addition, there was Leah, his daughter, who was 3 at the time we married. For better or worse, Leah has had two homes since 1996 where she spent

equal amounts of time. Since I have been her stepmom since she was a very little child, I have had both the joys and responsibilities of helping raise a second daughter. Especially in the last couple of years, we have formed a strong bond of love and friendship that I treasure.

Leah is as nice a person as any parent could want. I believe that she is the opposite of whatever "the perfect storm" would be. In that case, two different weather systems converge to create horrific wind and waves. In Leah's case, the combination of a sensitive, sweet- natured person and excellent parenting had produced an exceptionally wonderful human being. I claim little credit in the parenting part- some, but less significant than her mom and Jim. Having lived with Jim while he raised his daughter, I have never ceased to be in awe of what a wonderful father he is. He played Barbies with her when she was 3, has helped her assembly climbing ropes on the big oak out back, and has been a part of her life in every way. From the time she was little, he always said that he would treat her with respect and not talk down to her just because she was young, and he has done that. I have no doubt that Jim will always be her hero, as he deserves to be.

The older Leah gets, the more she amazes me. She is a talented artist and draws faces and costumes that are incredible. She has designed and sewn her own clothes. From the time she was small, she has had a unique fashion sense; she pairs clothes and accessories that would never have occurred to me and looks great in them. The hat she is wearing is typical of her tastes- she saw this at a store and gravitated to it immediately. It is a classic flapper hat with beadwork and embroidery. It is a stylish, unique accessory for a stylish, unique and very dear young woman.

A birthday gift

I decided that I wanted to do something special to celebrate my birthday, something I would remember. It turned out that this was a walk along the Olentangy River bike trail where I rode to work on those hot summer days this past year. It is a different place in the winter, especially because there was almost no one on the 4 miles of the path I walked. It was a beautiful day.
The sky was clear blue and the sun shone bright white on the snowy path and on many places in the river where it had frozen. There are 2 bridges over the river along the trail where the water runs over mini dams and stays, as a result, unfrozen. There, milling about in the water and on little spits of islands, were my goose friends- dozens of them. It is incredible to me that these- and other water fowl- can swim about so complacently when the temperature is so cold. But there they were, just minding their own goosy business, passing the time. It was a gift to see them and I stopped to photograph this handsome fellow before I put my gloves back on and trudged further down the trail, smiling at the memory.

Sing!

Happy birthday to me,
Happy birthday to me,
Happy birthday to Birdie,
Happy birthday to me!!

Yep, today is my 49th birthday and I am all about celebrating. I have been given the marvelous gift of walking this green earth for thousands of days. I can walk, talk, sing (just not very well) and dance, hug my loved ones, do my job, enjoy my children growing up.
It's true, what I have heard, that as a person lives through their 40's, they reach the point where they know who they are, know what's important, and aren't willing to put up with as much crap as they once did- at least that is true for me. I like this age. It's also true that I don't feel older than I did at 25 or 35. I still like to run and skip, play in the snow and roller blade. I hope that I can continue to do all that stuff for many years. And as the years pass, I hope that I grow in wisdom, humility and compassion as I journey through this life, growing my soul.
Here's to life! (Photo courtesy of The Nature Conservancy) Thanks for the BD card Lovie!

Birdie Carol Schneider

Change it to what? Tiffany? It's been an advantage. It's unforgettable. I'm the only one. - Swoosie Kurtz

Calamity Jane (Martha Burk)

Groucho is not my real name. I'm breaking it in for a friend. - Groucho Marx

Bill Clinton (William Jefferson Blythe)

Names are not always what they seem. The common Welsh name Bzjxxllwcp is pronounced Jackson. - Mark Twain

Mr. Ed (Bamboo Harvester)

A self-made man may prefer a self-made name. - Judge Learned Hand (on permitting Samuel Goldfish to change his name to Samuel Goldwyn)

Irving Berlin (Israel Isidore Baline)

He took my music. But he gave me my name. - Muddy Waters on Mick Jagger

John Denver (Henry John Deutschendorf)

Becoming

Have the courage to be different
-Jonathon Livingston Seagull

These words were printed on a pair of socks that I never wore, but hung on the wall in front of my desk as a teen. I loved Jonathon and embraced his message. He flew alone, practicing dives while the other gulls laughed at him. In the end, he remained true to himself.

Remembering this (what ever DID happen to those socks??) I suppose it should be no surprise that I value individuality. I applaud people who aren't afraid to be who they are.

One of my favorite lines in a movie was in the version of Robin Hood with Morgan Freeman. A small child who has never seen a person with dark skin asks him "Are you painted?" He laughs and then replies, "Am I painted? Most assuredly! Allah loves great variety."

I paint myself one stroke at a time and I hope- I know- that my God/Allah/ Creator likes my colors, for from Where else did I get the paint?

Trees

As I bladed along the trail on Christmas Day, the sun's bright light made this white tree glow. Even in its winter dormancy this tree looked quite alive, surrounded by its brown and less spectacular tree brethren.
At home, we have three trees of note: our giant old oak; our Buckeye tree and Albert the blue spruce. Yes, we have names for our trees, and why not? We decided to get Albert to replace a tree that had been in the front yard when we bought the house 5 years ago. It was a nice enough tree, but it dropped red berries all over the front sidewalk and, more to the point, Jim's car. It also had grown so big that it hid the front of the house. So we replaced it with ALbert, who was only about 3 feet tall when planted. This year he has reached the stature that required me to get a ladder to put Christmas lights on the top. (Albert is pictured in a December blog all decked out.)
Jim's sister bought the buckeye tree- named Brutus, of course- for us when we moved in. Brutus is in the back yard and we are waiting for his first buckeye nut.
The grandfather of them all is our oak, the hoary old man with a trunk too big in circumference to wrap my arms around and branches that reach up to heaven, I think. He must be over 100 years old, and I wonder what changes he has seen since he was young. I have come to learn that oaks have cycles and in some years their acorn production is more than others. This year was THE year, because (and I am not kidding) there had to have been tens of thousands of acorns in our back yard. Everywhere you walked, you crunched acorns. The dogs didn't want to go out because it hurt their feet. After trying to rake them, which I realized very quickly was futile, I found the best way to pick them up: a shop vac. I can now say that, yes, I have vaccumed my back yard, not once, but three times. I'm sure the neighbors had fun with that, and I bet there were some squirrels who had been there prior to my clean up and who returned, thinking they would find acorn heaven, but instead, looked around and said, "What the hell??"
I wrote about trees today because my friends, Kurt and Leah (Kurt is the writer of Seeing Small, a blog with fabulous pictures and heart-felt words.) had to cut down a cedar in their yard that had been damaged in a recent wind storm, and they were understandibly sad to have to do that. I love the trees on their property, especially a huge cedar in the side yard. I have very fond memories of just "being" out under that tree. Special times!

Patience

"You know", said the woman at the Union County, Ohio animal shelter, "even though you want a kitten there are some nice older cats who also need homes. Some of them have been here for quite a while."
We had gone to the shelter expressly to find a kitten for me. I had had a cat previously and knew how great they are. Jim, a professed cat hater, was definitely not there in his own interests. They introduced us to Patience, who had been sadly but appropriately named. She had been in the shelter most of her life- over a year waiting for her forever home. And so Patience and little kitten Nell left the shelter with us. Poor Patience had no idea that things were going to get better; she just knew that she was leaving a place she had become familiar with. As soon as she was brought into the house, she made for the upstairs to hide under a futon, and there she stayed, except to eat and use her litter pan. A little at a time she ventured out, first sitting at the top of the stairs (where no dogs are allowed) and gradually coming down a bit at a time. And whose lap did she choose as her own? Jim's!! Patience, the wildly colored calico that couldn't find a home, had been waiting for us so she could show Jim how wonderful a cat friend is. She completely won him over and has remained "his" cat. She paved the way for the 4 others who now live with us and who all have Jim (and me) totally under their control. Patience (or PK for Patience kitty) is a queen. She has never had any use for any of the other animals in the house, although she does grudgingly accept Nell at times- perhaps due to their early shelter experience. Mostly she is happiest lying about upstairs, which is still her favorite place to be until Jim comes home.

Sam's First Christmas

Sam Adams celebrated his first Christmas and I think he really had a good time. He liked wrestling under the tree with any of the cats who would play with him. His fun times are total entertainment for us. At 7 months, he still is very much a kitten at heart and still has his baby face. To him, everything is a toy, whether it is a dead brown leaf that came in with the collies, or a little rabbit poop he has managed to coax out of the bunny pen. I was watching him play one day by hiding the bunny poop under an area rug, then pouncing and reaching under to retrieve it. Nell, his older "sister" loves to play in tissue paper, so I always have sheets of tissue upstairs on the floor. Nell's idea of tissue fun it to hide in it until I "find" her. Sam, on the other hand, is Mr. Destructo and pretty much rips it to shreds. (As Jim says, "Boys will be boys.") Another Sam specialty is climbing on top of the bunny pen and lying on his abdomen with all 4 legs hanging down through the wire. From this perch he can amuse himself watching the rabbits and trying to swat (aka play with) them if they climb on top of the cardboard "condo" in their cage.
Occasionally at night he will wander up beside me on the bed, and stretch out with his front legs under my nose on the pillow and his small face next to mine. I can feel his little kitten breaths on my cheek and I listen to him purr until gradually he falls asleep. I think this is the best time of all.