Progress of all sorts……


What’s this you say? Are those two feet adorned by wellies of sorts? Whose feet are those Julie? Are they your feet? Where is that cast thing of yours? Shhhhhhhhhh—don’t tell but I’ve flown the proverbial coup. During my last visit to the orthopedic, I asked him if I had to wear the blasted thing when we went down to Savannah. He told me I was pushing the envelope a bit but he thought that perhaps I could give it a go…just make certain I brought the aircast along for the ride–of which I did.

I walked and I walked and it hurt and it hurt, but not the serious kind of hurt—just the “I’m not use to all this walking sans a cast kind of hurt.” And yes it is still swollen a bit, more so later in the day—kind of like a ping pong ball for an ankle bone—but I’ve got to start somewhere….he also told me that he was cutting me loose and to call if I needed them. Needed them? Heck No!! I’m out of here and out of that blasted aircast!!!!… at last, free at last….just keep me level, no running, twisting, jumping, nothing sudden….slow and steady, slowly but surly….and no d@&n ditches!!!!

And lookie at the garden……




and lookie lookie, someone is starting to “turn” colors…It can’t be too long now……

Happy days of June…….

A rose among thorns


“O my Luve’s like a red, red rose That’s newly sprung in June; O my luve’s like the melodie That’s sweetly play’d in tune. As fair art thou, my bonie lass, So deep in luve am I; And I will luve thee still, my Dear, Till a’the seas gang dry. Till a’the seas gang dry, my Dear, And the rocks melt wi’ the sun: O I will love thee still, my Dear, While the sands o’ life shall run.”
– Robert Burns

Granted this is not a red rose, and I’m not in Scotland (unless I took the low road and you took the high road 🙂 ) but it is June and I thought it fitting that my single little wild primrose should find itself fortunate to be honored by the likes of Robbie Burns.

I actually spied this little beauty on a jaunt last Sunday out in the middle of nowhere….my husband is an avid outdoorsman and recreational hunter….I know, I know, I hear you– but you must understand that he is a rare bird—responsible and always a good steward of the land—he hunts what we can eat and only if it is of certain standards. I can’t help it—I’m the city girl who moved to the rural part of our state and married a country outdoorsman.

All of that being said we were actually down on some property in middle Georgia last weekend, surveying some land. This is a big hunting area in our state and he was there to explore this particular piece of property. On the side of an old dirt road I noticed a beautiful wild primrose bush growing, covering the side of the road like a giant canopy, climbing up trees and snaking along the edge of this particular dirt road. I always wonder how something so sweet and demure as a primrose wends up in such a barren place, void of any human habitation as this is big timber land—land owned by some of the country’s largest timber companies—but primroses seem to do best in these sorts of locals….

There was a section covered in blooms, most of them spent and fading quickly. As we ventured past the majority of the bush, there, in the middle of leaves and brush, was this lone small pink bloom. Blooming for no one in particular–not cultivated or cared for–no one to prune or fertilize and yet– there it was in all of it’s splendor.

Of course I had the stop and take the picture–something about it said “here I am, you may come share in this special moment of mine…” This little rose reminded me of my mom—before my mom had died, she had planted a small primrose bush on the edge of their carport. When she became sick, there was no one who thought to tend to the little bush. I remember how distraught my dad was after mom’s death when he noticed that her little rose bush looked as if it too would not be with us much longer—but low-n-behold, after Dad watered it a bit, the bush actually began to thrive.

27 years later that little bush is still growing and each season blooming in full regalia. That bush is a tangible link for my dad to my mom. He always points it out to me when I come home to visit…”look at Mom’s little rose bush, remember how it almost died…..” as his words trail off from the story, we both admire the little bush in silence.

I suppose we are all like the little primrose bush—we tend to pop up in all sorts of places–some of us struggle more so than others, but with just a little bit of attention, we tend to thrive. I need to be more mindful of this when I see people who may appear to be not like me, especially those who are elderly.

I am blessed in my life with friends and family–I have a support network very close to me—not all of us are as fortunate. I think often of those who are sick or those in nursing homes, the “shut ins” of our communities—those who are often put aside as their “worth” appears to be no longer viable as our’s is a society that values worth—worth of finance, worth of ability and worth of effort—when all of that worth seems to have waned, then our society seems to wish to toss those now “worth-less” ones aside.

Be it at church, the grocery store, a department store… when I see an elderly person, always alone, struggling a bit, I am reminded of the primrose bush. Alone and untended, these folks tend to fade, but the minute I speak, ask a question, offer assistance, smile in their direction, they perk up and quickly “blossom”—

Let us all remember those we see who are older and alone—as long as anyone on this planet has breath, they are “worthy” of human care and attention. God never discards any of us. He never decides we are past our “worth” and therefore expendable. To Him, we are all precious, up to our dying breath—it would behoove us to be more mindful of the same.

Always remember that among the thorns, the brush, bramble and barren land, often lies the beautiful flower, blooming for no one in particular—but maybe you will be the lucky one to find it. Even the single lone bloom is precious.