Wishful thinking on a hot day

As temperatures climb to 106 ...

My Rocky and I have come to the window to watch, to observe the morning of this next to the last day of the year.

The rain has stopped for a bit and the wind is doing what wind does, rustling the all-brown-now leaves on our linden tree and ruffling the water in my two bird baths. My bluish purple Christmas lights reflect in the window making it appear as if they are strung among the branches of the tree. Squirrels are about.

Fascinated, I sit here watching them so adeptly pluck single kernels of corn from the half eaten corn cob. He nudges the ear over with his nose, takes one kernel and runs around the corner to the flower bed beneath my window where it's soft and muddy. He buries it so carefully, patting it down with his little hands that look almost human. I imagine someone sitting at a potter's wheel as his little hands pat down the mud saving his snack for a less bountiful time.

This small frame out my window is mesmerizing. One tiny finch clings to the finch sock, plucking out one seed at a time, happy that he has been granted this time alone to feast without having to share.

I look down at the muddy ground beneath my window and wonder how many kernels are buried there, how many he will find later. Some buried in the rose garden, some between the exposed roots of the plum tree. The Linden has such perfect symmetry as it stands watching over this little corner of God's world. Blue lights magically aglow in branches, waiting for a year that is less than 48 hours away. Soon the remainder of the leaves will let go and, like clockwork, new buds will begin to grow and just at the precise moment, they will unfurl in a warm spring wind. I hold onto this peaceful tiny corner of my world and thank God for all he provides and thank him for giving me such a love of nature, of tiny creatures and the love to share the stories that spin themselves in my head & heart.

The world is far from perfect and we have bad news on the doorstep most days. All of that seems far away now. Things are going too fast and moments such as this can calm the heart. I imagine the squirrel's tiny hands, the potter's wheel spinning and the beautiful pot drying in the kiln.

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Carrie Pepper

Relaunch

By Carrie Pepper • February 15, 2024

Separate Lives

Time to Fly

By Carrie Pepper • February 4, 2024

Today, while out on a walk in a very high wind, I spotted a little bird way up in the tip top of a bare oak tree; she was holding on every so tightly as the wind tossed and shook the branches. Hold on, little one, I thought. And just then, this quote came to mind. “A bird sitting on a tree is never afraid of the branch breaking, because her trust is not in the branch, but in her own wings.” ― Charlie Wardle As I watched her, I imagined my own wings and wondered just how hard the wind is going to need to blow in my life for me to loosen them, pinned tightly to my sides, unfurl them—then TRUST as the currents lift me off my (branch) and I soar effortless and without fear.

Street Signs Can Be Memory Joggers

By Carrie Pepper • November 30, 2023

Out on my morning walk, street signs acted as memory joggers. Perhaps they were nudges so that I could remember, and be grateful for, these two women who were there for me as a kid. BRADFORD was the first sign. Grammy Bradford. I never called her anything else and I have no idea what her first name was, but I do remember she was there to tend to me when I was little while my mother went off to work at her government job "in procurement," which she hated. I know nothing, really, of what she did there, but I do remember the room. It seemed there were hundreds of desks in this huge room, no partitions. Dark grey desks and heavy black telephones. I visited her there a few times and she'd give me tablets and pens to keep me busy. I was ALWAYS thrilled to have a tablet and a pen! What she did there is a mystery to me, but when she and my father would argue, which was often, she'd always say, "I want my own money," and so off she went to work every morning at the Defense General Supply Center. He told her she didn't need to work, that he could support her, but, again, she wanted her own money. Back to Mrs. Bradford, Grammy. She was a bit on the heavy side (which I thought made for the best, most cuddly hugs) with long grey hair that she wore up with tons of bobby pins. She always wore a floral bib apron with large pockets and she'd fill them with pears when we'd go to that special corner of our back yard. Oh the smell! Those yellow pears and the carpet of yellow leaves. Memories of Grammy Bradford brought back memories of Thelma Massenburg. She looked exactly like Aunt Jemima (OH FOR HEAVEN'S SAKES, we can't say Aunt Jemima anymore!) Recently a friend told me he'd made pancakes and I asked what kind of syrup he used. When he said, "Pearl Milling," I thought it sounded kinda cool, but when I looked it up I found out it was the new name for Aunt Jemima syrup. SERIOUSLY? Anyway, she was wonderful. She cleaned our house, scrubbed the floors and walls and worked harder than anyone I'd ever seen. I loved her. She always wore a bandana tied around her head. She lived in a tiny reddish tar papered house with ten children. Who knows where they all slept! She was diabetic and I was a little stinker and liked to tease her with Hershey Bars. I'd wave one in front of her nose and she'd smile and say," "You bad, chile." The last time I saw her she was in the hospital and her eyes were very, very yellow. Liver disease. The scarf that was always wrapped around her head was gone and I am sure that I could hear her say, "You bad, chile," although she probably didn't. Thank you my sweet Thelma. My Aunt Jemima.