Thursday, September 25, 2014

Not A Care In The World

Every year when fall starts comin in with that cool nip in the air and the skies are crystal, clear and blue as far as the eye can see, it takes me back to some good memories of those long ago falls, when we didn’t have a care in the world.
Having to hit the ole school bus after tromping through the thickets all summer wasn’t somethin we looked forward to but after we got back into the groove of things we found it wasn’t so bad after all, till we got the yellow bus fever. We found out the hard way after cryin wolf a few times, it doesn’t work.
Mama used to say she wished school went the whole year round. But that was because we worried the daylights out of her.
I asked her one time what worrying the daylights out of her meant and she told me it meant driving her crazy as a bess bug and since we were always into one thing after the other, it was no wonders she had so many gray hairs in her head. I never did ask her what a bess bug was.

They had some funny, ole sayin’s back then but we grew up listening to em so much we took em at what they meant, not what they said.

Every year when the remnants of the garden were gone and mama had canned everything she could including the leftovers from which she made the chow chow, ( man was that stuff good with a big pot of pinto beans )  the whole family pitched in and took up all the taters and carried em to the tater hole. Daddy and the boys would get busy clearing off the patches before cold weather set in. They’d be nice and clean come spring when garden plantin time came in.

They’d pile all the corn stalks, bean vines, etc. in a big pile in the middle of the patch. Sometimes they’d have to make two or three piles. Us younguns could hardly wait till daddy decided to burn em. That’d usually come on a nice calm night or late evening when the wind was still. He always said it was better to wait till after a good rain and the ground was kinda damp. He worried about catching the woods on fire a lot. He’d only burn one brush pile at a time and let the others go till later on.
If we were lucky we’d manage to save a little money and have some marshmallows to roast. We sure did look forward to playin in that fire and roastin marshmallows.
Mama would scold us by sayin, “every one of ya is gonna wet the bed tonight, playin in that fire.” I don’t remember any of us ever wetting the bed but it sure got me to thinking sometimes. Just another ole sayin to get us out of the fire .
We loved to poke at it with sticks and throw a little kindling on it as we called it. The longer that fire burned and the higher the flames, the more we liked it.
It’d smolder all night even after daddy got it burnt down enough to risk leavin it till morning.
Before we had to leave to catch the school bus come morning we’d run back out to the smoldering fire, grab a stick and poke some more till mama’d put us out of it and tell us to get out the road before we missed the bus. She said, “uns are gonna ruin your clothes and they’ll smell like smoke all day long.” We were used to that since we had wood heat in the winter we smelled of smoke anyways, didn’t bother us none.

All the brush piles would be burnt by frost and we had to figger out other ways to have fun. We never did have to look far. We made up our own fun as we went along.

We always had to walk out to the main road a purty good ways to catch the school bus. We’d dare one another to stick their tongue to the mailbox on a frosty morning. It’d freeze our tongue to it and it was hard to get lose without pullin the skin off. One morning my youngest brother stuck his to it just about the time the bus came and he tried to get it lose and finally had to jerk it off. When we all got on the bus I looked at him and he was close to tears but wouldn’t let on. I knew he was hurtin somethin fierce.
After that happened and mama and daddy found out about it they put a stop to it in a big way, or so they thought.

When the weather came in even more colder and daddy was home and not off workin he’d walk out with us to the road and build us a fire so we could get warm. He’d tote a little kindling out and just enough wood to get it going good so we could warm our hands and when the bus run he’d be the one to put it out before he went back to the house.
My oldest brother kept on till he talked him into letting him build it and it’d save daddy walkin out with us. Daddy didn’t take much to that idea at first but he finally gave in. I’m sure he came along behind us and checked on it after we caught the bus.

My brother was always good at building fires in the wood heater and cook stove and he could build a nice little fire, if I say so myself. The only problem was, when the bus came one or two of the other boys like to kick it and send that fire sailin.
After a couple times of doing this, it all came to a kietis and we had to do without a fire. It’s a thousand wonders it hadn’t caught the woods on fire or worse.

When the first snow flakes started fallin we jumped fer joy. We loved the big snows that came in knee deep. We’d get outta school quite a while. One time I remember schools shuttin down fer two weeks. It was all we could do to plow through it to get to the barn to feed the cow or to milk, but that didn’t stop us.
All we had to put on our hands was an ole pair of worn out socks. We were in one door and out the other. We’d throw snowballs at one another, make snowmen and slide down the hill on anything we could find. Sometimes it’d be an ole piece of cardboard or if we were lucky an ole car hood. It’s a wonders we didn’t all get killed with all the chances we took.
We’d run inside long enough to warm up and eat a bite and back out we’d go. We’d eat enough snow cream to get the sore throat but as fer playin outside in the cold it never hurt us none. We were use to playin outside come spring, summer, fall or winter.

 Some of the stuff we got into and done may not seem like much fun to some but we were just a bunch of younguns having the best of times and enjoying the simple pleasures in life and puttin more and more gray hairs on our mama’s head.

There was always plenty to do and we never had a care in the world.

                                 © Susie Swanson, 2014

                               In Memory of my sweet Daddy and Mama

Sunday, September 21, 2014

Do You Remember Me

Autumn whispers, do you remember me
with all my splendor and glory
Skies so clear vivid and blue
mornings crisp with sparkling dew

When summer fields are tan and lean
it is autumn that appears upon the scene
In its fancy suit and season attire
spreading farther and more higher

Splashing hills with red and gold
a lovely picture so bright and bold
Tall maple trees along the lane
wear rainbow halos in autumn's domain

The mighty oaks stand proud and tall
when autumn's foliage turns to fall
Even the ivy climbing each tree
turns a crimson red generously

The golden rod in the meadows bright
a canvas of yellow, a glorious sight
Orange pumpkins lay in the field
a splash of orange seals the deal

A sunset's flame of crimson red
wonders never cease, its beauty spread
Leaves us breathless wanting more
as summer goes softly, shutting the door

Every head bows in praise and prayer
amidst autumn's glory everywhere
No other journey is so grand
as when autumn takes us by the hand.

© Susie Swanson, 2014

 Update... I saw the surgeon last week and he said the Thyroid has to come out but he's raised my Thyroid Meds a lil higher to see if it will slow the Thyroid down some and relieve some of my symptons . He said it was burning itself out. I've not been this sick in many years but I know there's some in worse shapes. I'm sorry I haven't been around to visit ya'll but I will get around to it soon. Many thanks for the prayers and sweet words of encouragement. God Bless. ~ Susie

Friday, September 12, 2014

The Quilt Holes.

Just a little Update to all of my Dear Friends on my health issues. First let me say I'm very sorry I haven't been around to visit ya'll lately. My health problems have got much, much worse and I will be seeing a Surgeon Monday on possibly having my Thyroid gland removed. The surgery is not in stone just yet but as far me, the decision has been made. This has been a long, hard journey and the mountains just keep getting more harder to climb. I've had Thyroid Disease (Hypothyroidism) for 22 years and it's now become Hashimoto's Disease. It's when something goes wrong with our immunine system and it attacks the Thyroid causing extreme inflammation and.all kinds of problems. It's amazing at how much that little gland controls our body and how much damage it can do when something happens to it. My days are basically spent laying around either burning up with heat, freezing to death, aches from my head to my toes, etc., etc. The list goes on and on but hopefully the surgeon will take pity sake on me and be willing to go ahead and remove it rather than wait till my body destroys it or worse turns to cancer and I Do Not want to even think about that.
But I want ya'll to know how much I appreciate each one of you and your friendship but most of all your prayers. I'll be back around to visit ya'll as soon as I'm able. I miss you and I'm praying for each one of you as well. God Bless, ~ Susie

As I faced my Maker at the last judgement,I knelt before the Lord along with all the other souls.
Before each of us laid our lives like the squares of a quilt in many piles: an angel sat before each of us sewing our quilt squares together into a tapestry that is our life.
But as my angel took each piece of cloth off the pile, I noticed how ragged and empty each of my squares was. They were filled with giant holes. Each square was labeled with a part of my life that had been difficult, the challenges and temptations I was faced with in everyday life. I saw hardships that I endured, which were the largest holes of all.
I glanced around me. Nobody else had such squares. Other than a tiny hole here and there, the other tapestries were filled with rich color and the bright hues of worldly fortune. I gazed upon my own life and was disheartened.
My angel was sewing the ragged pieces of cloth together, threadbare and empty, like binding air.
Finally the time came when each life was to be displayed, held up to the light, the scrutiny of truth. The others rose each in turn, holding up their tapestries. So filled their lives had been. My angel looked upon me and nodded for me to rise.
My gaze dropped to the ground in shame.I hadn't had all the earthly fortunes. I had love in my life and laughter, but there had also been trials of illness and wealth, and false accusations that took from me my world as I knew it. I had to start over many times.I often struggled with the temptation to quit, only to somehow muster the strength to pick up and begin again. I spent many nights on my knees in prayer, asking for help and guidance in my life. I had often been held up to ridicule, which I endured painfully, each time offering it up to the Father in hopes that I would melt within my skin beneath the judgemental gaze of those who unfairly judged me.
And now I had to face the truth. My life was what it was, and I had to accept it for what it was.
I rose and slowly lifted the combined squares of my life to the light.
An awe-filled gasp filled the air. I gazed around at the others who stared at me with wide eyes.
Then I looked upon the tapestry before me. Light flooded the many holes, creating an image, the face of Christ. Then our Lord stood before me, with warmth and love in his eyes. He said " Every time you gave over your life to Me, it became My life, My hardships, My struggles. Each point of light in your life is when you stepped aside and let me shine through, until there was more of me than there was of you".

May all our quilts be threadbare and worn, allowing Christ to shine through!

Author Unknown..

Thursday, September 4, 2014

The Glory Of Morning

                                                     They appear in the morning
                                                      In the early mist of dawn
                                                      In all their splendid glory
                                                      Sitting on their throne

                                                      Growing beside the blue bells
                                                      The asters are misty with dew
                                                      Even the black eyed Susan's
                                                      Bow down to them too

                                                      The daisies are so excited
                                                      Snow white with glee
                                                      Such beauty so dominate
                                                      Streaming so elegantly

                                                      Each little passion flower
                                                      Blows kisses in the wind
                                                      Along side the cone flower
                                                      A welcoming transcend

                                                      Even the blue eyed grass
                                                      Grows more proud and tall
                                                      Trying to over shadow
                                                      Each forget me not call

                                                      Those lovely fringed orchids
                                                      Sway their fancy dress
                                                      An orchestra of cattails
                                                      A glorious concert at best

                                                      The cosmos are so happy
                                                      In their own hemisphere
                                                      Among a haven of paradise
                                                      So loudly, they cheer

                                                      Each morning is perfection
                                                      In the bright sunlight
                                                      Even the evening primrose
                                                      Wakes up thinking of night

                                                      Those pretty, little wine cups
                                                      Raise their cup so high
                                                      A toast to such creation
                                                      In the midst of beauty nigh

                                                      Even the reigning queen
                                                      Of Solomon in all his glory
                                                      The lilies of the field
                                                      Stand and bow accordingly

                                                      Climbing, climbing more high
                                                      On a glorious summer stroll
                                                      Those beautiful morning glories
                                                      What a sight to behold

                                                       © Susie Swanson, 2014