A Blessed Event

 

Two robins were perched on my backyard lawn deep in tweeting conversation. Clearly, from their colors, I could determine they were male and female.Their songs and behavior did not come across as a mating meeting. I judged it to be more about real estate. “Hey honey, where do you think we should build that nest? Will that bush do? Should we build in that tree?” It appeared, to my joy and appreciation that they settled on the pyracantha bush outside my large kitchen window. Good choice! The thorns would keep squirrels and cats away from their nest. The branches are sturdy enough to anchor it.They’ve picked a spot that’s safe cool and comfortable. Shortly, they  got busy gathering twigs, grass, leaves and mud. Wisely, they  pulled straw from a neighboring hanging planter. They both do the gathering, but only the female does the nest construction. She needed a few days to complete the architecture which includes weaving and sculpting. We females know how to get things done. This nest is not a bed for the parents; they sleep elsewhere.It is an incubator for the eggs. The perfect nest must serve as a baby cradle to keep the eggs and babies warm, dry and safe.

 

I really think these robins chose this pyracantha bush because they knew what joy and pleasure it would give my family to be able to watch the entire drama. Every morning, we would start the day with a visit to the blessed event; one egg a day for four days and the incubation period starts.

The mom spent most of the day sitting on the eggs, taking occasional time off to grab a bite of insects, worms and caterpillars. During this period, she actually moves the eggs around. In about 2 weeks, the eggs started to hatch, one a day. The chick, using its beak, poked a hole in the shell, struggling sometimes the whole day to free itself from the shell. 

 

What a joy to watch both parents appearing with food for those four hungry little open beaks. Such traffic, parents flying in; parents flying out. Mom still sat on the chicks to keep them warm and dry. The parents have full time jobsThey protect the nest, find food and feed the hungry open mouths. In two weeks the chicks were the size of their parents.When they were about 2 weeks old, they are fledgelings and ready to leave home. Sadly, my family did not witness their departure. In the morning, they were in their cozy crowded nest, and when we looked, later that day, they were gone, without saying goodbye to us.In subsequent seasons, we  have never had the joy of watching nature play this familiar role since sadly,  the gardener pruned the pyracantha bush.

 

 

Ethyl Haber

Grateful

 

Every morning as soon as I wake up, I say, “Thank you God for this day.” I sometimes think, “I don’t know what I’m gonna do with it, buts thanks.

I’m grateful for my son. He’s all grown up now and as long as he’s in my life, there’s a tremendous amount of gratitude for his existence.

There’s extreme gratitude for my house. Having a roof over my head, water, heat and sunlight coming through the windows means a lot to me.

My family, friends, teachers, and acquaintances; I have gratitude for all of them because they all add a touch of happiness to my life.

I’m grateful for my health. I’ve heard people say when you have your health, you have everything.

Having enough money makes me feel grateful. Being able to pay my bills, buy groceries and have a tv to watch gives me a basic feeling of comfort.

I would be remiss if I didn’t say I was grateful for my bathroom. After all, it’s the first room I use when I get up in the morning. Thoughts like using an outhouse in the freezing cold of winter or digging a hole deep in the woods ran through my mind which gave me tons of bathroom gratitude.

Gratitude is so important because it makes you think more positively about the things you have in your life.

Ellen G.

Winter Withered Away

 

I woke up to steam hissing in the radiator

Old Man Winter was still trying to be a Dictator Narrator: “Your time has passed old man, make room for spring and stop being so steadfast!”

Old Man Winter: “I am alive and vibrant my Blizzard days may be over, but I am still not ready for a hostile takeover!”

Narrator: “End your annoying meteorological blight!”

Old man winter:” I can still deliver flurries to blur your sight!”

Narrator:” Spring is in the wings, and her beauty grows daily while you increasingly turn gray and scaly!”

Winter knew that he was done and would not win the day, so he stood there and reluctantly withered away.

Jim- March 26’

Writing Assignment: "Grateful"

 

What I am grateful for: 

 

My health, my mind, my freedom, my kids, and grandson.  

My cat, my home. 

Reading, writing, art, and music.  

Safety, lessons learned from joy and hardship.  

Wisdom and waking up to the gift of another day

Georgia

Writing Assignment: Regarding Favorite Authors

 

Steven Pressfield 

Steven Pressfield is a remarkable author that has inspired me for many years. He writes as if he is speaking to me about my inner struggles in consistently producing creative work. His book “The War of Art” describes an artist's inner resistance, doubt, fear and procrastination that stand in the way of making art. Any art. His writing is direct, wise, and encouraging and reminds me and all artists to have courage, discipline, and persistence. He writes clearly and in an ordinary, understanable, language. Steven Pressfield has not only inspired me but countless other artists to believe in their work and to never give up.  

Georgia

Long and Short

 

I read many long and not so long novels, usually just once. However, there are certain children’s books that I have read and love to read over and over again. My four all-time favorites are Pierre, a Cautionary Tale by Maurice Sendak, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie by Laura Numeroff, Oh Were They Ever Happy by Peter Spier and The True Story of the 3 Little Pigs by Jon Scieszka.

In the story of Pierre, all the little boy will say is, “I don’t care” to everything and everyone. When a lion says he will eat Pierre up in one gulp and Pierre answers that he doesn’t care, the lion eats him whole.

In the end, Pierre figures out he’s better off saying he cares which produces a happy ending. This story influenced my family so much that if anybody said, “I don’t care,” the rest of the family would rename that person Pierre.

If You Give a Mouse a Cookie is a humorous and entertaining book about a mouse who requests a cookie and then makes more requests, one after the other as soon as the first one is granted. Boy, I would love that to happen to me one day in the life of….

Oh Were They Ever Happy is a book about parents that go out and leave their three children and their dog at home. The children want to help around the house while their parents are gone so they find a bunch of paint cans and brushes and decide to paint both the inside and outside of the house, including the dog. Needless to say, when the parents get home, they show their reaction to being helped. When the kids were done painting, everything looked bright and colorful. I wish I could have done this to my house and the dog when I was a child.

This fractured fairy tale, The True Story of the Three Little Pigs, is hysterical after reading the original The Three Little Pigs. Wolf claims he was framed and he had a bad head cold that made him sneeze so hard, it blew the first two houses down. The book presents Wolf as a very misunderstood character. In the end, Wolf is in jail claiming he’s innocent and all he wanted from Granny was a cup of sugar.

Many of us can recall that at some time in our lives, we have known a “Wolf”, whether it be a family member a neighbor, or a co-worker.

I do enjoy the novels I read just once but I really love to read children’s books over and over again.

Ellen G

A Restorative Sanctuary

 

My father introduced me to the works of Arthur Conan Doyle when I was about eight years old. He suggested The Red Headed League and I was enthralled. Since then I have sat in the corner of that famous flat in front of the two broad windows at 221B Baker St. waiting for the next desperate character to appear on the carpet and sit by the fireside between Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson to relate their bizarre tale of woe with the hope that the world's premier consulting detective can solve their mystery and bring them peace and a satisfying resolution. I am there in spirit and invisible to the residents of that abode, hanging on every word to see what will happen next.

Or I might instead file into the cozy home of Bilbo Baggins lost in a long line of dwarves bearded and hooded in his home, tunneled with great skill into the side of a hill, in the Shire, as the great dwarf Thorin Oakenshield and his band of kin disturb the comfortable retiring lifestyle of one Bilbo Baggins, at this unexpected party and interview him to determine if he has the mettle to steal treasure and pair wits with a Dragon as intelligent as it is merciless.

A wild ride with Toad bouncing up and down on the back seat of his new hot- rod can be joyful as well as thrilling, unseen by the amphibian road-hog, risking life and limb for a thrill. Or witness an exchange between Friday and Robinson Caruso as they try to communicate with each other for the first time.

The magic of the written word masterfully wielded by a writer that we can identify with can take us away from our mundane tribulations or current circumstances whisking us away to a fantasy world or into the past or future or even to an alien planet in our own time to escape a problem , or dream about our circumstances from a refreshing new and novel perspective restored between the pages of a good book.

Jim - March 2026