My shoes go out without me. They do it all the time, and do the things I never do. They jog. They hike. They climb. When I wake up I find them strewn throughout the house— one flip flop on the counter. High heels beneath my blouse that’s flung across the table where I don’t remember putting it. I bet they’ve been out dancing—two-stepping and high-footing it.
When my cowboy boots go riding, I’d like to go along. I’m pretty sure, however, they think things would go wrong. Perhaps the horse would throw me or I’d wind up getting lost. I’m sorry that I bought them, considering the cost! Other people are the boss of all their clothes and shoes, but when my shoes and I face off, I am the one to lose.
I could take to going barefoot. This would work while at the beach. Then when all my shoes are out far beyond my reach, into the surf I’ll wade and then wander out again, trapping sand between my toes everywhere I’ve been.
So when my shoes get home at night, they’ll be completely clueless that I’ve left them out as well by venturing out shoeless!
I’m held captive by your wrinkles, dear, enraptured by your ripples. I love your freckles and your moles and all of nature’s stipples. They are sacred landmarks. When I find one that is new, I must give thanks to nature for adding more of you.
Sometimes with the darkness around us rich and deep, my mind goes on a walkabout as you lie asleep. The roadmap of your body is the terrain that I pace— the ravines and the gullies and your face’s fragile lace.
Some bemoan the changes that nature brings about, and they bring a different beauty. It’s true, without a doubt. But as I trace each special feature of your body and your face, I’m reassured that nature’s carving instills a deeper grace.
I especially enjoyed this essay on the Middle Aged Soup blog. I, too, never kill a spider in the house and I think she does a fine job of explaining why. (Funnel web spiders and Black Widows and Brown Recluse are exceptions to my rule.)
When I was nine, the boys in the neighborhood dared me to pull the legs from a daddy long leg. Being the only girl in the group I just had to, and then I had no choice but to kill him. I cried for a week, for years after I caught all the spiders I could inside to “free” them outside. I feel like I have been called as the the Lorax for spiders, always cautioning people that they want spiders in their life.
Last year a plague of fruit flies came to my house. We set out wine glasses stretched tight with saran wrap and poked an indented hole in the center, Google heralded this as the DIY solution. They worked for the most part but the plague ran deep. About three days in I was washing dishes when to my surprise a jumping spider…
I was curious about all the new colors of poinsettias I’ve been seeing this year so I did a bit of research and found this explanation by Walter Reeves. You can find a link to his website below. Here is what I read:
The process of making a colored poinsettia is interesting. Growers start with a plant with light colored (white or pink) bracts. You’re probably aware that the colored parts of a poinsettia are not true leaves – they are modified leaves, called bracts, that serve to attract insects to the tiny yellow flowers at the tip of each branch.
Special dyes are sprayed onto the bracts a few days before the poinsettias are shipped to the retailer. Glitter may be applied as well. A spotted effect is achieved by sprinkling alcohol onto the dyed bracts.
Dyes are available in many colors, so plants can be dyed to match indoor decor or even your college football team colors!
Poinsettia bracts will naturally fall from the plant as it ages this spring. If you keep your plant alive it will produce bracts with the “natural” light color the plant had originally.
On another site, I found this information about what are natural colors for poinsettias: The colored bracts . . . are most often flaming red but can be orange, pale green, cream, pink, white, or marbled