Creator of Simplicity

I've written this quotation in a previous blog because it made an impression on me, and the words ring in my head when I find myself in a quandary looking for solutions in all the wrong places. The quotation is this, "Keep it as simple as you can but not any simpler." It's Einstein's quote, a man of whom we  might see as a purveyor of complicated formulas and intricate data. Hmm...

It makes such good sense. So how do I get back to simple in the midst of confusion. Call upon the creator of simplicity, the great "I Am." Now that's simple.

 God said to Moses, "I AM WHO I AM." Exodus 3: 14 

Peace. Love, Linda

Whimsical Led Us to the Clouds

 It was our usual Saturday early morning walk, and the talk ran to random as it often did. Someone said the word "whimsical", and Martha asked with a studious tone, "Whimsical, what does that mean?" Mary Beth followed with a quick answer that I can't remember right now because I haven't finished my first cup of coffee, yet, but it was so good. We moved on, literally, it was our morning walk.


Later the same day, Mary Beth, Martha, Sally and I sat around the pool, relaxing awhile before going to Crabby Bill's for a rare dinner together, not so rare for them but rare for me to be with them on a Saturday evening. We voted on which calendar Martha should use for Better Blooming Orchids with hopes of breaking a stand off back at the lab, serious stuff, but not to be  taken too seriously. Somewhere in that conversation, the word "whimsy" came up. "Whimsy," Martha asked, "What exactly does that mean?" We laughed and tossed the word in the air a few times along with the phrase, "tide you over" or "tie you over?" It's still up for debate.

We sat at Crabby Bills and ate crab dip and chips and fish that jumped from the ocean into the frying pan or onto the grill and landed on our plates in various shapes and sizes. Then we walked outside and down "the point" at the lakefront. Halfway down the walkway, we were arrested by an evening sky and setting sun and an ever changing bank of clouds with a brilliant orange-gold outline. "It's an old woman with a big nose." "It's a wiener." "It's a bunny. Look, the Road Runner is chasing it."
"It's a volcano." Flying gracefully above the  transformations was a beautiful angel that  outlasted all other characters until the end of the golden light. Then POOF! She was gone. Angels are like that.

Mike Dooley makes T-shirts that say, "Thoughts become things." Sounds whimsical to some, but I believe it. I'm sorry I didn't have my camera last night. I may not have had to write any of this. They say a pictures says a thousand words. This is not last night's sunset,but I'll leave you with this, and you can look at it for awhile. Who knows what you might see, if you let your thoughts run to whimsy.

God called the dome sky. Genesis 1:8

Peace. Love, Linda

I Know Why She Hummed

I can close my eyes and see Mama sitting quietly in the church pew with her hands resting on her lap and her fingertips touching each other gently. She'd  lift one then the other and play a soundless melody with her hands. Mama hummed. Now that I think about it, she may have been humming then, just silently. I thought about her this morning as I sat outside drinking my coffee listening for the morning birds and wondering when the mocking birds will start singing again because I know it's soon. I was trying to still my thoughts and commune quietly with God, but even the nature I adore was not soothing my busy mind, so I started humming. I let the hum go where it wanted, and my shoulders relaxed. Peace. He said, "Be still," and I was.

I know, now, why Mama hummed.

Be still, and know that I am God. Psalm 46:10

Peace. Love, Linda

Hello, September

So  it's not about the temperature change or the fact that the grass has slowed down because that hasn't happened, yet. It's still summer, and the screened pool is tolerable, so what is it that's changed? The same squirrels are meeting every morning by the big tree in the back yard to shove their mouths full of sun flower seeds and chase each other recklessly around and up the oak tree.

The gray mourning dove (or is it morning dove?) still coos soulfully as the sun begins to break above the horizon and picks through the mulch and sticks under the oak tree for seeds the squirrels miss in their feeding frenzy. That hasn't changed, so it's not that.

It's not about the bike rides. They're perfect in the early morning or late evening, but the summer air still melts us when we pause for the light to turn green or the person to the right of us to move into the intersection carefully, so that's not it.

Oh, I know what it is. 

It's the light. Hello, September.

Peace. Love, Linda