For this blog category, “Countdown to Christmas: Images of Peace,” each day between December 1 and 25, I share some of our photography that invites rest, peace, tranquility and love.
Old Fellow Squeaky Peace by a Lazy Muddy Georgia River
Chattahoochee Bend, Georgia State Park.
“And his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.” Isaiah 9:7
For this blog category, “Countdown to Christmas: Images of Peace,” each day between December 1 and 25, I share some of our photography that invites rest, peace, tranquility and love.
Silence
My weekly list of a few “joy inciters” in my life. A Friday Gratitude Journal, of sorts.
1. My Thanksgiving cranberry sauce!
2. Having hands and fingers (even with my arthritis) which enable me to chop onions for Thanksgiving dressing, shake hands with strangers, pick up granddaughter Isabelle and hold hands with HR.
3. The novel I am currently reading in my study chair about a Black American woman caught between her privilege and her identity.
4. This little tree near us who is losing his beautiful leaves. But see how he is standing proud in spite of his de-clothing
5. Peanut butter.
May you have a weekend for which to give thanks.
“Billie”
Walking through the Fell’s Point neighborhood of Baltimore (HR’s hometown) back in 2019, Robert and I came upon a very cool mural project highlighting local legend Billie Holiday.
I felt honored to stand so close to her.
I’m having a bit of trouble being happy today, after the Colorado Springs gay club massacre.
But today we were walking through Hobby Lobby, looking for Thanksgiving placemats for our family gathering, and I came across this.
And it made me smile. I needed to smile.
And HR seems to think the sentiment rings true.
P.S. But aren’t gay clubs supposed to be safe havens? Robert and I have visited them in New York City, Washington DC, Atlanta, Baltimore (HR’s hometown), New Orleans, etc. etc. etc.
But lately, whenever we go into a gay establishment, I look for the exits, just in case.
And even more sadly, when I go to our gay friendly church here in Savannah, I remind myself where the exits are, just in case.
It really shouldn’t be this way.
About this time of year, every year, I fall into the “depths of despair,” borrowing a phrase from my very good friend, Anne of Green Gables.
Why so low, you ask? Simple.
THERE ARE NO LOCAL, SUMMERY, VINE- RIPENED TOMATOES!!!
The tomatoes you find at the grocery store this time of year are, to use part of Donald Trump’s newsy allegation, “fake” tomatoes!
They taste like … well, fake tomatoes.
Side Note: Please do not tell anyone that I agreed, even if just half agreed, with anything Donald Trump has ever said.
So what I like to do in mid-November is remember, somehow both sadly and joyfully, July tomatoes.
Here are a few memories of the Real Deals.
My Tomato Pies!
Tomato beauty.
I miss you, July Tomatoes.
For some reason, I have always appreciated “the view from behind.” As a child, on the first day of each school year, I was a nervous wreck waiting for the teacher to announce our seating arrangement. Front of the class? 😢 Too much exposure! Far too much responsibility to “be.” A nice, comfy seat toward the back? 😁 Perfect. I get to observe, to “see.” To breathe calmly.
In this blog category, “The View from Behind,” I invite you to join me, somewhere in the back.
With grandtwin Matthew a decade ago …
Matthew today with his sisters …
A few random pics from Halloweens past …
Happy Halloween 2022!
NealEnJoy 