Salem House Before and Afters- easy on the budget basement spruce-up!

 So, this is a blog that reaches into the recent past. Two years ago we purchased a small house near campus for our Eldest and her housemates. I christened the house "Salem House" both because of it's address, and because I hoped to make it a place of peace. "Salem", being from the word,"Shalom" or "Salaam", meaning "Peace".
I chose the house because of location, but it also fulfilled another desire- two bathrooms! It is a neighborhood of nearly identical houses, having been built in the Sears House boom of the last century. The houses are quaint and built with a single main floor bath. Salem had two. Someone had added a bathroom, a full bathroom, and it was pretty decent. (Unlike another house I looked at in the neighborhood that advertised two bathrooms, but one was a toilet and shower on a platform, just open in the basement. Ick.)
The drawback of this second bathroom is it is located in the back of the basement, down the stairs, through a little room, through the laundry room, past the utility area of the furnace and water heater and then the bathroom. It was dreary, dark, ugly and thoroughly uninviting.

Before

 The basement featured gray paint, (unlike the upstairs which was all the "fleach" color see previous Salem blogs) the gray of battleships and bargain bins. The floor was alternately the red of dried blood, and indoor/outdoor carpet of the same tone. The walls had paneling popular in the 1970s, and the ceiling was partly dry-walled and partly open. Some of the dry-walled areas were open where holes had been cut.

After

 My solution needed to be economical and cheery. So.... paint! LOTS of white.
I opened up the back of the stairs to allow light to come through, painstakingly scraped off the black gum of the rug backing, and then painted many coats. I gave the bright white stairs a colorful grape-colored painted "runner."

Before

I covered the dark red floor with a super-saturated purple/blue. I wanted a color that would cover the red, but also make a sharp contrast and statement in the small space.
The ceiling was a "stumper." It was unpainted dry wall, with several holes cut or punched through. It was dirty..but it was a ceiling. I wanted to use it, without having to replace the dry wall, so I came up with a solution by patching the dry wall where it was ruined with thin plyboard, then "coffering" the ceiling to keep my patches from standing out. Of course, the ceiling is low, so my coffering needed to be both inexpensive and shallow. 

After

 I painted the ceiling a soft celadon green and painted the "pine" paneling white, gave the top and bottom of the walls some trim and added some bits and pieces of furniture and art. The cool framed gold figures are actual rubbings from Italy farmed from my Mom's friend's garage sale.

After

Before

 When you leave the game room, you enter the laundry area.

 This was a plain cement floor, open ceiling to the joists with 60 years of homeowner decisions displayed in wire and pipe, dingy cement block walls an old broken dishwasher and 1300 lbs of hardened bags of cement. Several windows are broken, covered with plastic or duct tape.

 The floor has drain pipes running across it from the sink, laundry and furnace. But, it had a decent, if mucked up with paint, sink, and the cabinet was in okay shape too. Just out of date and ugly.

 When you walk past the sink cabinet, you can see the bathroom destination down the hall there, with the furnace, coal chimney and water heater to the left. Plus, a toilet drain pipe for good measure.

 The bathroom, once you arrive, isn't too bad. Yes, the floor is ugly, the walls are bland, and there is a plastic wreath decoration with a Hawaiian theme, but there is a decent sink and medicine cabinet and a huge shower.

 Your trip back from the loo is not a pleasant one either. Not a great start to the day, in my opinion.
So, solutions?
Paint. Again, lots of paint! Masking the flaws and enhancing the attributes, replacing the windows and getting creative.

 A new washer and dryer in white make it a laundry room! I carried the blue/purple floor throughout the basement and the colorful tied rugs.

 The sink cabinet got a coat of Bedford Gray, and the handles got coated with a bright nickel spray paint (why buy new?) Sink got a good scrubbing with steel wool to remove all the grime and paint. The wall needed a dose of happy and got it with a leftover of fabric from the bargain table at the fabric store. The long oak mantle was a $5 steal from a garage sale, as was the cheeky chamber pot used for laundry detergent. An antique mirror, not fine antique but definitely old, bounces around a bit of light and catches the eye. The ceiling is an eyesore, and a problem. But, it improved with a covering of woven wire with white lights poked into it. The lights make it more cheerful, and you don't see so much what above them. They are a "yellow brick road" to the bathroom.

 I chose to ignore the drain pipes as not worth the trouble to raise up the floor to cover them, making the ceiling even lower! But the furnace and water heater needed to disappear.  Four old wood doors from the Restore cost $50, and make for a mobile wall. The narrow space between the chimney fireplace and the toilet pipe showed the water heater in between, but some doors removed from the kitchen cabinets I was getting rid of, stacked nicely to fill that space.  The toilet drain was ugly, dirty and too far out to incorporate into my "wall". So, I covered it with hemp rope, which cleaned it up and made it less utilitarian.

 The bathroom was pretty easy. Paint. Paint floors, Paint walls, Paint ceiling, paint sink cabinet and medicine cabinet. Make it pretty, clean, simple and inviting.

 Return walk from bathroom to start your day should be a pleasant one!
And, not only does this basement feature a laundry sink, it also has a laundry folding table. Envy.
Once the concrete and dishwasher were removed, I painted the old work bench Bedford Gray, skirted it with burlap for storage underneath and tada! A place to fold laundry, or wrap presents....sure do wish I had this space at my house!

 That is the Salem House basement- minus the last remaining room in the house that has yet to be tackled. It's a doozy. Pink carpet, "pine" paneling, a fluorescent light fixture that the dry wall was cut to go around? Miles of television cable and a large pipe sticking out into the room - a pipe that goes no where, just sticks out- at about waist height. An adventure in creativity waiting to happen.

Samantha, from Rescue to Rescued.

I know it has been months since my last blog! I have so much to share. But first off, I thought I'd let everyone know that Samantha is doing very well. The photo above is from June! She looks even better now, and I just haven't even had the time to take a picture. Except for the day she found burrs on a grazing expedition and came home for supper with a forelock that was a ball of burrs. I took a picture of that. Then, I spent 30 minutes patiently combing out burr bits.
She is a happy, happy girl. She calls to me when I walk outside, and follows us around, comes when she is called, and generally seems to be enjoying her new lease on life.
Her health has continued to improve. She had quite a day with the chiropractor last month, and needs another visit soon, as she had a lot of damage in ligaments and muscle from her starvation time, and is still working towards being a well muscled and comfortable horse.
She has gained enough weight that I have tapered her fat supplement and converted her to grass hay, but her coat is glossy and her eyes are bright.
She and I are mostly working on "ground work" still, (meaning I am not riding her, but working with her on the ground) building stamina, trust and having fun. It is time to start riding her, but other than saddling her up a few times and walking around the wind mill, I have not done so. I am spending my time, instead, creating a relationship with Nellie, my new mount. I guess that is a subject for another blog!
So, breaking the seal on getting back to the Cowfeathers Blog....a half glass of wine and a blog? I could do that.
Thank you, all for your support and concern for Samantha. She is a sweetheart.
I realize that her rescue has made difficulties in our community. It might be convenient for us to pretend Sammie was ill, less awkward exchanges between neighbors. But I am proud to hear no pretense that maybe Sam was sick, and that it wasn't the fault of her caregivers that she fell to a deplorable condition. This did not happen quickly, nor by chance.
While I was given the task of trying to save Sammie's life, there are people left with the task of what to do now, how to proceed? I truly appreciate that this is a difficult task. When you attend the same church, work in the same workplace, go to the same school, and know.... how Sam was treated.
My prayers for you to have wisdom, and thank you for your kindnesses. 

No Warning Required- Sam update 1 month

One month has gone by since I picked up Sammie from her abusive owners, and I have watched her get stronger, become more alert and even show a bit of sassy attitude! She has been softly rubbed and groomed until all the dead hair has come away, leaving her a bit like a golden hide, but now is creating healthier skin underneath. I have monitored her blood work, her anemia, her electrolytes, her poop, her pee, weighing her food to carefully feed her back slowly from her starvation, and she is becoming the old Samantha I used to know.
So, no warnings this time. No sick stomachs caused by looking at her picture. Feel free to look what one month of proper care can do to even the saddest looking creature. She still has a long way to go, a few hundred more pounds of weight and muscle to gain, but I believe it will all come with time.

 Samantha, 1 month into recovery! 

 Rump is starting to fill out a bit, less like a dairy cow, more like a horse!

 She is trotting here, giving Youngest some sass, as she would like, very much, to graze on the grass. We did let her have about 10 bites after her glamour shots, but green grass is not really part of her diet, yet.

So, with that in your mind, if you feel up to it now, feel free to look back at the last blog about Samantha from 3 weeks ago, and see how far she has come.

A Blog About A Horse, But Really About Abuse and Hope? Sammie Gets a Chance?

I know I haven't opened this blog, this piece of my life in a long time. I have become a woman of Lists. Grand, long, detailed ones. This, in hope that my days will have some organization, and I will Get Things Done. And yet, my diswasher goes on month number three? of dysfunction while I try to convince electrician number three to please, please come replace a wire... my family is coming, we have a graduation party to pull together, who has time to hand wash? And I mention this "living like my tail is on fire everyday" because it is part of the reason why this blog is about me, but not "about me."

This blog is about a Damsel in Distress, a Hero, a group of Evil Villains, and a reluctant lady with lots of lists. A classic tale that I can only hope will have a fairy tale ending.
This blog is about Sam. Samantha, Sammie.
And now a warning. If you are particularly sensitive to photos of abused animals, this blog may not be for you. It will make you cry, and maybe haunt your memory. I am sensitive to this too, and knowing I am not the only one, I have made sure to show you the positive work that is being done, so perhaps you can still read on. Also, I will not put those photos in the middle of the blog, they will all be at the end, separated.  But, I know this blog has value. For my 4-H kids, for my Pony Club kids, for my horse friends, for my animal loving friends. Because, some people are not fit to care for an animal, whether it be ignorance, sloth, finance or pure evil. And, sometimes you are the one who has to pick up the pieces.

Some of you will remember Sam. Here is some photos of her when she was living with me.

Youngest, getting a riding lesson when his legs were so short the stirrups were irrelevant. ADORABLE. That is his Aunt Steph giving him the lesson, by the way.

Sammie at a horse event, falling a bit asleep on the trailer.

Sammie and I completing a dressage test at a schooling show.

These pictures are just average day, moments in time when you have/love a horse. And I need to lead off with these photos, because this is no longer what Sammie looks like.

Sammie has never actually been mine. I rode her and cared for her for years, all while she belonged to my young friend, K. Sam had been purchased for K. and they were not a match, yet. Sammie was a bit too wild, strong willed, and energetic for K. But, Sam and I got on well. I rode her through some tumultuous moments in the first few months, but eventually we settled into a nice time, with wonderful, long, fast trail rides, excellent control and enjoyment on the Hunt, and some decent basic dressage. She had a hard time picking up her shoulder into a canter, so I taught her to jump, and she loved it. But, she was a bit small for me, and I wanted to have my own horse again, so, she bounced around for a while. She evented in Dayton, she fox hunted in Huber Heights, and eventually she came back to my friend, K. A well seasoned and sweet mare. But, K. didn't have time to ride her. She was finishing college, starting her working life, and when a local teen girl and her family wanted to have Sammie, K. agreed.
It seemed to be a match this time. Instagram posts of the two having grand times in their new life together. Standing on Sammie's saddle, like a trick rider; barrel racing; small child having a pony ride.
But at some point things changed. This is where the Evil Villains enter stage left. And let it be a lesson that you don't know people, really know them, unless- you do. I have heard people say "It can't be insert name of girl who starved Sammie here , she is a really nice girl." Well, she isn't. She may be an FFA Officer, she may be a "horse person", she may be friendly, or pretty, or whatever. Here is what I know. She and her family willfully starved this horse.
Is it ignorance? Sloth? Mental illness? Evil? I will never know, or understand. But it is certainly neglect, and abuse. I estimate sometime in November they stopped feeding Sam. And, probably before that stopped caring for her with grooming and attention. She was kept in a stall, inside a barn, not visible to passerby, a Damsel in Distress, kept in a small room, and starved, nearly to death.
Enter the Hero.
This is a young girl, whose farm is near where Sammie was kept. She is both one of my 4-H kids, and one of my Pony Club kids, so I know she knows a lot about horses. But, she is young, she is a bit dramatic, and who has time for saving Damsels? So, when our Hero told me she had seen Sam, and she was in bad shape, I thought "Crud. Am I going to have to Do Something?" But, what? I'm not the kind of person, veterinarian, who goes around telling people, who don't ask, what to do with their animals. There are boundaries. There are other adults around, why me? Maybe she's just winter fuzzy and a bit un-muscular. Still our Hero had taken a photo. We were driving back from a competition, so I had eyes on the road, but she showed the photo to another Hero, who told me "YOU need to Do Something. As in 'go get her.'"Sigh. How do you just walk into someone's barn and take their horse. That isn't legal.
So, I decided to send out some investigation feelers on how it could be done. K. contacted them and said she heard Sam wasn't doing very well, did they need help? Did they need to give her back? This served only to tip them off that folks were sniffing around. And, in an apparent moment of realization that they had deeply abused the horse, started feeding her grain and high fat supplements. (Which, is a very dangerous thing to do to a starved horse!) They (lied) said that a vet had come to look at her ("His name was Lou." They don't remember his last name). And that "some horses have a hard time keeping their weight over the winter."
But, about a week later, our Hero - vigilant and stubborn, standing up to a girl who had been her friend, and pushing reluctant adults (me),  texts me. It is Mother's Day. I have all my children at home. We have had a lovely day working in the garden (that list is very long). They had made me a cake. It was time to start preparing our dinner together. But, our Hero pointed out that for the first time since last year, the horse was out of the barn. They had turned our Damsel out on a green pasture. Horse friends will cringe. We know that you cannot just turn a horse, even a healthy one, out on green spring pastures without slow acclimation. If done, you have a high risk of colic, and founder.
 Bad Stuff.
So, though reluctant, I put on my Adulting Britches, and had K. let them know we were on our way to get her. They were surprisingly amenable to the idea, with little push back. I hooked up the trailer and off we went, K. and I, not knowing exactly what we would find, but committed. The farm is not far from us, maybe two miles, and when I drove in, my brain struggled a moment. I saw Sam, or what I assumed was Sam by the general color, tied to a grain trailer. Her head was too big. I saw two people washing her, I saw the hose, and the pink sprayer, but I couldn't breathe. My lungs didn't want to work, just shallow fish gasping, tears springing...
So, as my brain tends to do, I stopped thinking about what I was seeing and started thinking about what needed to be done in each second. Turn trailer around to face road. Send K. to collect horse, yell at people "Stop bathing her, she is just getting cold" as she trembled in the cold hose water. As if dirt was the problem. Not looking at Sam. Not looking at the people. Just sign the paper, you no longer have any claim, so I can load her. She docilely walked next to me, into the trailer, head low, knees nearly rubbing. Clip her head to the tie. Close the divider, close the trailer. Don't speak. Don't cry. Don't throw up.  Drive slowly so she doesn't fall.
Unload her, get her a blanket, she's freezing.
Figure out how to save her.
Let me point out here that veterinarians don't necessarily deal with starved horses in our daily rounds. People who have a veterinarian, and do regular veterinary care don't starve their animals. It is the Animal Control, Animal Cruelty Officers and rescues who are the ones in whose lap these cases land. I knew I couldn't start just feeding her. But what exactly is the protocol to not kill her with kindness?
Starved horses suffer from "Refeeding Syndrome" if given too many calories to quickly, and this can be deadly. Fortunately, even though it is Mother's Day, I am blessed with lots of friends who are ready to help and with short notice, I had some great advice coming in from people who heard about Sam and were ready with a plan on how to proceed. Soon, I also had an experienced veterinarian from the OSU Vet School also chiming in. The best materials were gathered by friends near and far, and the daily texts checking in on Sam by a group of supportive friends.
She has started on the long road to recovery.
Mother's Day night I spent hours with a glove, moving one part of the blanket at a time and softly rubbing her body.  Anything else would be painful, and the rubbing gave her circulation, and care. She could barely eat, weakness, and likely  colic from the green grass had her picking at a bit of hay, then standing quietly for about 20 minutes before trying to eat a bit again. Zac, our borrowed Haflinger (and saintly pony) was very encouraging, calling to her, and hanging over the fence for moral support. Each time he would call to her, she would try, again, to eat a bit. Her coat came off in my hands, leaving large bald patches behind. But, she looked a bit brighter, and lifted her head a bit more, and her ears fell forward with pleasure.
It has been one week. She looks much better, she feels good, calling to me when I enter the barn, relishing her grooming time, even getting sassy enough to try and push open her stall door. Her bloodwork looks like that of a starved horse in recovery, and I am hoping for those measures to continue to improve as she does.
Will she ever be "back to normal?" I don't know. Since her body used all her fat and most of her muscle to help her survive, there may be permanent effects to her heart (muscle) and intestine (also muscle). She may have problems with digestion forever, and mentally, who knows? Certainly, I think she will feel "food insecure" if not for the rest of her life, at least for a long while. 

My mom asked me if I think horses can feel "hope."
It is a good question. I know they anticipate. They ask for you to come ride them, or feed them, or groom them by nickering or plain old yelling. Is that hope? When they see the trailer getting hooked up they get excited about going somewhere. Is that hope? And when Sammie stumbled off the trailer, back at Cowfeathers after all that time, she did change in that minute. She looked like she had hope. In any case, she has K. She has me. She has Cowfeathers, and she has a chance.

Now, for Photos. Final warning. 

Space, in case you didn't want to see them.













This is the first evening, after getting her off the trailer, and into a stall with paddock. After spending some time crying. We removed her blanket so we could take some photos. But she remains blanketed to this very moment, waiting for her body to be able to stay warm, or for Mother Nature to give an assist.

 This is the highest she could hold her head. But, she looks interested, and perhaps, hopeful?

One week later. Seven days of careful feeding and careful grooming. Of time spent holding up her head, because she wanted me to. Of counting her poops and pees, of telling her, everyday, she's going to be okay. 
Again, we removed her blanket for the photos, but it was too cold and windy to take them outside. Note in the last photo, K. is wearing Carhartt bib coveralls and her winter coat. It was /is too cold!
It will take months before she looks truly "good", but I know just one week later she looks better. Loved.

 "C'est le temps que tu as perdu pour ta rose qui fait ta rose si importante."
"It is the time you spend on your rose that makes your rose so important."
Antoine de Saint-Exupery from Le Petit Prince.

 I will put on my list :

• Continue to photograph the progress of Samantha
• Share on Cowfeathers Farm blog

Blessings,
C

Awards Season, DAR and Gram.

"Awards Season" has begun. The Golden Globes, Academy Awards, BAFTA, etc.
But it isn't just Awards for Television, Movies, Music, Plays, Musicals and Entertainment.
It is Award Season for High School Seniors.

Middlest with the other top finishers from the 4 area high schools.

And, Middlest received an award yesterday. No Red Carpet at this one, but parental paparazzi. And, this award would've made my Gram very pleased. The local chapter of the DAR picked her essay from the top finishers of the 4 area high schools to send on for a national scholarship contest sponsored by the DAR. The essay prompt was something about which amendment of the constitution you value most and why. He essay earned her the title of "DAR Good Citizen 2016".

The pin collection sported by the elegant leader of the local DAR Chapter was fascinating! And, Middlest was awarded a pin to start her own collection. Her pin bears the DAR emblem and "2016 DAR Good Citizen" on it's face.

Now, the DAR isn't an organization that everyone is familiar with in 2016. It is the Daughters of the American Revolution. The members are direct descendants of those who fought for our independence from the British- American History 101. And, I know of the DAR because Gram talked about our heritage, the DAR, and being a part of American History through George Philip Keister, who fought in the Revolution. Now, there are also "Gram stories" that might have been just that - "The Indian Boy" I think was a warp of truth, but the genetic bit rings true.

So, by a route reaching deep into the DNA of my Middlest beauty, she is a Daughter of the American Revolution. Now, the contest has nothing to do with that. In fact, I'm sure the judges do not know that she is part of their ranks. But, Gram was very proud of our history, and her spirit was probably there yesterday. She likely told God she's just gonna "scrub her teeth, wash her face" and then she's ready to watch the ceremony. If things like that do happen, I hope she was there. I watched an episode of Long Island Medium, so, I'm proceeding as if.

This is the original DAR certificate, awarded to "Aunt Velma" in 1926. She was the one who pursued the technicalities of being recognized as a Daughter of the American Revolution. Velma did a lot of our family tree, and I have much of her materials and writings on the subject. Her certificate hangs on the wall in our study, alongside a copy of the original deed of family land from the late 1700s. History makes me happy and sad all at once. That land is no longer in our family- that is another story that involves the dreaded Aunt Mildred!

Anyhow. The thread that makes Middlest tied to a soldier in the American Revolution.

She is the daughter of me. 

I am the daughter of GT Hamilton; 1941- (still my Daddy, and a really cool fellow!)

He is the son of Gram, Helen Ruth Fink Hamilton;  1911-2011

She was the daughter of Mary Edith Keister Fink: 1883-1961( Aunt Velma was of this generation)

Mary was the daughter of Simon Detar Keister; 1852-1949

Simon was one of the 11 children of David Keister; 1824-1890(three older brothers fought in Civil War)

David was a son of Daniel Keister; 1784-1862

And...

Daniel was the son of George Philip Keister, born February 9, 1749 died November 15, 1834.

George came from Durstel, Alsace, France (so, German, but in French territory) on the ship "The Neptune" in 1752 at the age of 3. The family eventually ended up in the "wilderness" of Pennsylvania before the Revolutionary War. He served in Captain Thomas Stokely's Ranging Company from Westmoreland County as a man in his 30's. 

So, there you have it. Middlest shares her name with her American Revolution ancestor.

 This is George Philip Keister's grave in Westmoreland County, PA. It sits atop the hill, near the sweet little church. 

And dotted down the hill are monuments of members of our family. In the foreground are stones marking the graves of George and Edith Fink, Gram's parents, and Elizabeth and Carl Fink, Gram's siblings. Gram and her husband are buried elsewhere. But isn't there charm in the walkway at the right-a walkway through time and family? 

I am, and I know Gram is, proud of Middlest for a lot of reasons, but I do enjoy the loops that come in life and reminders of our ties into the past. The DAR award gives Middlest a little money for schoolbooks next year, and if she does well at the state and national level, a bit more for her studies. Gram firmly believed in a college education, she being a Grove City College graduate, and surely is cheering her Great Grandchildren for their educational pursuits! Miss you Gram. 

Middlest and her guidance counselor, Mrs. Younkin.

Congratulations to me on the birth of my Son!

My Father-In-Law is Dutch born, and he shares with us a nice tradition. On the birthday of one of "ours", he sends us all a "Congratulations! On the birth of your _______(son, daughter, niece, nephew, brother, sister, mother, father, grandfather or grandmother) " It is followed by the words of the Dutch birthday song "Lang zal die leve in de gloria- hiep, hiep, hiep, hoera! " Which, I believe, we all sing at each birthday celebration of this family.

This tradition is a reminder of the tangle that makes a family. We are not insular, and each one of us is part of that whole. The birth of a family member should be celebrated, not just for what it means for that person, another year older, wiser, but also what it makes the rest of us. I have become an Aunt eleven times! I have become a daughter- making my parents a mother and a father for the third time- but also a daughter by marriage, making my In Laws- In Laws- again! When I was born, my sisters became sisters of another. The birth of my Huz, 50+ years ago made my future as his wife possible. And the birth of my children has turned me into a mother, then Eldest into a sister of one, then two, Middlest into both a big sister and a little sister and Youngest into a little brother. Their births made 5 people into Aunts and 5 into Uncles- again. And, 4 Grandparents were born at the birth of Eldest, nearly 21 years ago. Since Eldest was born, she has become "cousin" 11 times. Each of us is built, grown and blessed by these moments in history that adds to our identity.

 

Today we each celebrate the birth of a son, brother, nephew, cousin and grandson. My Youngest was born 15 years ago. The first, and only, Grandson of my parents, and adding to the list of boys for my In Laws. He was the first of my children to be born in such a way that made me understand why some women make it through the experience of birth and call it "a beautiful experience". Up until then, my experience could be summed up by saying "Well, I didn't die." How I got around to number three is a testament to my optimism.

I hesitate to write a blog about my children, as in "who they are." There seems to be a line, uncross-able in their privacy if I write anything too personal. This is why I never use their names in my blog, or social media. I don't mind blogging about what they are doing, and certainly this informs who they are as people. For they do wonderful things!

 So, let me just say, I am very proud about my young man. He is a really amazing person, who has changed us all, and challenged us to be better, more positive, energetic people, Grands, Aunts, Uncles, Parents, Sisters, Cousins- we are all tangled into his group, and should Congratulate ourselves for his blessing.


Lang Zal Die Leve in de Gloria! In de Gloria! In de Gloria! HIEP! HIEP! HIEP! HOERA!!!

Six Senses and a photo.

Six Senses; sound, sight, feel, taste, scent, thought.


Quiet. Water drips from the wet roof snow, and clock ticking. Son has gone sledding.
Neutrals. World of white, browns and greys, blackish greens, fog,snow, trees.
Cold. Get busy so I can feel my feet, heart; beat,beat,beat, whomp!
Lingering. Tea made British white and Valentine's hazelnut chocolate.
Drafting. Son's experimental mashed potatoes and Daughter's baby chickens' pen.
Mothering is in an action, a state, a joy, a maelstrom of 7657 days and counting...