Little Red Barn

I like barns. There is something about those old structures that catch my eye. The red paint slowly peels away exposing bare wood or the advertisements written on the sides, front or roofs of the barn takes me back to my childhood.  Do you remember driving down the highway and looking at the scenery?  I have memories of  watching for signs that said "See Rock City" as we traveled south to Tennessee during our summer vacations.  Then there were the advertisements for "Loco Joe's" which were overrated gift shops with a cafe and most importantly restrooms.  Those were the simple times when we talked at dinner and the whole family sat around the table. We laughed and most importantly we were together.  It was before we let electronics take over our lives.

The other day we were waiting for a table at a restaurant and a family walked past us.  Each child had a tablet in their hands. Hmmm, I wonder how much they had to say at dinner. 

Remembering Moments

Do you ever sit and try to remember special days?  It's hard isn't it? Because in actuality we remember moments, whether they are good or bad, somehow they are ingrained in our memory files. When I took this picture on Lake Michigan my thoughts focused on my father.  In my minds eye I can see him now.  His slender frame hunkered down in a boat, with black hair cut short and combed to the side with hazel eyes, which sometimes looked green in the right light, and a cigarette permanently fixed between this thin lips.

Only one time did he let me go fishing with him by myself.  I played hooky from teaching Sunday School so that I could be with him. We went to Cedarville Dam that day, one of his favorite fishing holes. The day began early for me and the sun was high in the azure sky at 6 a.m that Sunday morning. Birds sang their morning song while we made our way through the cornfield to get to our destination. I held his hand as he helped me cross the creek. His long slender fingers were wrapped firmly around my hand so that I wouldn't fall. I felt safe with him. We walked across the grassy slope and placed our fishing gear on the wall. Before long we were reeling in the fish.  But I wasn't there to fish really. I just wanted to be with Dad for a while, alone.  When I told him that I skipped Sunday School to come fishing he was astonished and said, "The children need you more than for you to be out here fishing with me."  My heart sank. He meant well. It was the souls of those children that he was thinking about.  If only he knew how much I wanted to be with him and to experience a special time. If only he knew...that was the last time I went fishing.  My father passed away a short time later. I still shed a few tears when I think about this but I know that he meant me no harm.  I love you Dad.

Marrakech: A storytellers tale

If you have every read " A Thousand and One Nights" you will appreciate this little video about the art of storytelling. There used to be storytellers in every city. It is said that story telling is the mother of theater.

The streets of Morocco are engulfed with men. A country steeped in tradition, what will happen if a female tries to step in where no woman has done before to become a storyteller? The first challenge is Marrakech in the square of Jemaa El Fna.  

The Gate and Three Questions

Before you speak, let your words pass through three gates. 

At the first gate, ask yourself: Is it true?

At the second gate, ask yourself: Is it necessary?

At the third gate, ask yourself: Is it kind?

 Quote by Rumi

The scarecrow silently points south

It is snowing here. We are in the midst of a winter storm. Yesterday the stores were packed with shoppers buying milk, bread, and cat food. Yes cat food.  

This morning we woke up to a blanket of snow and I thought that this would be the perfect opportunity to get out and see the snow in its unadulterated form. I was donned with heavy coat, boots, scarf, and gloves. Nothing but beauty could penetrate my cumbersome exterior. 

I went to the public garden and witnessed a sun flower burdened with snow, it bends over in submission, much like we do when the weather is pounding on us with all its fury. 

A  snow covered fence and a lamp post add beauty to barren branches that were once filled with green leaves and surrounded by flowers.  

It is during these times that makes me think of a place far away...where the birds fly every year. The scarecrow silently points south.