Dancing with Daffodils

When my kids were small, we moved from a three-bedroom suburban home to a one-hundred-year-old cabin. To say that the move was an adjustment for the children is a mild understatement. The kids learned to pull strings to turn on lights instead of flipping a wall switch. They were introduced to roosters, mice and mutts, plus swarms of bees, ladybugs and termites. With no central air or heat, we experienced true seasons for the first time - both inside and outdoors. One of those experiences came by way of sunflowers and daffodils.

We moved the first week of October. During that week, the kids spent most of their time playing in a next-door hayfield. One afternoon, they came running back to the cabin with a handful of sunflowers. We learned that hunters had sowed the seeds to attract doves. As I walked with them to the seed plot, I was amazed at the number of sunflowers that covered the hillside! I had fresh sunflower bouquets everyday for that entire season! Those sunflowers were just the first of many floral surprises we experienced during the next year...especially the following spring.

The lady who had lived in the cabin for her entire life was a master gardener of perennials. So, after a cold (COLD) winter, the spring thaw was welcomed by every member of my family. What we did not expect with that thaw was a floral display of epic proportions. I remember Matt slamming the screen door, barrelling through the dogtrot and breathlessly handing me a bouquet of daffodils. (When he was little, he loved to pick me flowers!) I scolded him about picking all of our flowers, and he assured me that they were just coming up out of the ground everywhere! That summer, we were treated to Shasta daisies, Vibrant Orange day lilies and Dinner Plate dahlias as big as your hand! We were living in this hundred-year-old cabin that was situated in right in the middle of a secret garden!

I have always been a fan of daffodils. How does something so bright and yellow just awake after a long winter's sleep? My grandmother loved old perennials as much as Mrs. Beulah. She welcomed hyacinths, Easter lilies, irises, paper whites and jonquils as if she were anticipating a long-awaited visit from her favorite relatives. Daffodils were (and are) mood changers!

The English Romantic poet William Wordsworth understood the restorative and stimulating value of daffodils. In his poem, I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud, he writes about the dancing daffodils.

"For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils."

He also said, "If one daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few."

American Imagist poet Amy Lowell called the early daffodil, "the yellow trumpeter of laggard spring."

In her poem, To an Early Daffodil, she writes that the purpose of the daffodil is "to fill the lonely with a joy untold." With such an esteemed mission, is it any wonder that the daffodil arrives with such rare ambition and beauty?

Dianne ; )

The Day of the Five Dog Giveaway

I want to begin this post with a warning and a promise. If you are reading this post expecting a happy ending, you will get one - that's the promise. Eventually - that's the warning. So, you may want to scroll down to the last three paragraphs and read them first.

TODAY'S BIG STORY: The Day of the Five Dog Giveaway. August 30, 2009 will probably go down in the archives of our family history as one of the saddest days of my life. The main event of the day was the result of a series of circumstances that had led to the ultimatum. My husband was re-hired by a former company, and after a two-year lapse of working various jobs, the offer was met with excitement from everyone. The only requirement was a temporary transfer to another state. So, I made the decision to move to my oldest daughter's beach condo for a year or until our kids graduated from college. Then, as a family, we would decide on a more permanent relocation. Trust me when I say that is a long story made short!

I was especially looking forward to the idea of living on the beach - with one exception: Aimee's condo did not allow pets, and our family had five dogs. So, once again, I made the decision that no one else in the family would make - to give our five dogs away. Our oldest dog was a loyal Welsh corgi named Zoe; next was Grady, a finicky Peekapoo; followed by Zoe's sweet puppy, Shy Girl; then Jack, a feisty border terrier; and finally, Daisy, a possessive Maltipoo.

Because I was the only person home most of the time, I had formed a dependent attachment to our dogs. Because of the adjustments of the past two years, my dogs had kept me sane. I loved them with a clinging and absorbed devotion. At first I planned to give them to friends or relatives, but then I could not bear the thought of knowing who had them. I contacted one of the state's most reputable animal organizations and made arrangements for them to be adopted.

Sunday, August 30, 2009. The inevitable day arrived. At first, the process was methodical and disconnected, as if they were prisoners being transferred to lock-up. My son emptied the SUV of its contents. I cleaned out dog taxis, retrieved registration papers and wrote detailed descriptions of each dog's likes and dislikes. Despite my efforts to be deliberate, tears began to drop like rain. I wasn't sobbing (yet), my eyes were just dripping like a leaky faucet needing repair.

The rest of the day was like a scene from a sad movie. I put Daisy in one taxi and Jack in the other. Matt lifted Shy Girl and Zoe into the back of the Pathfinder, and I held Grady in my lap. The tear drop faucet was no longer an annoying drip; the pipes had completely burst. I was crying so uncontrollably that I could hardly breathe. My son was like a stone pillar of support - showing no emotion, just a tower of strength.

We arrived during the Sunday afternoon viewing of the animals, and the dogs were almost adopted out of our hands - a slight consolation. The employees were so professional, and the transfer proceeded smoothly and quickly. Within fifteen minutes, the process was over. (Remember I warned you...eventually.) The painfully quiet drive home was interrupted by my deep sniffles and heavy gasps for breaths. I have no words for the heartache that had become part of my being that day - a heartache that would resurface throughout the next year. I would be forever marked by the day of the five dog giveaway.

Fast forward to the happy ending (the promise). Last week, we had such inclement weather - a combination of rain, sleet and snow. As I was stuck inside, I continued the organization process which I began in January. I opened "My Music" folder to listen to some favorite songs and "My Pictures" folder to watch a photography slide show. Feeling a little melancholy, I clicked the photography folder named "My Babies". There they were with all their memories - precious photos of my five dogs. I sat on the couch and started crying, when I heard something.

We have a large picture window that looks out onto the patio and faces the couch. I looked up and standing on the brick ledge of that window was No-Tail (the squirrel from my last post)! I promise, this is the absolute truth! He scampered across the ledge, stopped again and looked straight at me. OMG! I didn't have my camera! It looked as though he wanted to visit, so I slowly got up and walked to the window. He did not move. Now, the only thing separating us was the window pane.

That's when the most amazing thing happened - absolutely unbelievable, but true! He raised his tiny paw and tapped the window, as if he were touching my face. Double, triple OMG! This was so incredible! I had to get my camera, or no one would believe this was happening. The moment I stepped away from the window, he jumped off the ledge and scampered away to the hedges. That encounter was absolutely one of the most wonder struck moments I have ever experienced. No-Tail had tried to touch my cheek! Wow!

No-Tail had climbed up the back wall (about four feet) and had positioned himself on the narrow brick ledge to pay me a special visit. I don't know how long he had been there, but I do know that he was bringing me an awesome message of hope. Sad things happen. Bad things happen. Sometimes they are our fault, and sometimes they aren't. Sometimes, things happen that are beyond our control, and sometimes we make decisions that leave us with a distinctive hand print of heartache. And yet, No-Tail was living proof that life goes on - in a different way. He lifted his little paw, tapped the window pane and calmly assured me, "It's gonna be okay." Then, in a quick dash, he disappeared.

I called my kids (like it was Christmas morning) and excitedly shared with them what had happened. One of them had to finish a paper within an hour, so she wanted the quick version. The awe and wonder got lost in translation. But for me, it was a once-in-a-lifetime moment. This little squirrel that I had just written about reached out to me. We were connected; I knew it. We had both been marred by the events of one day, and we had survived. No-Tail touched my cheek (and my heart) through that window pane and reminded me to smile.

And he forever changed my attitude about the day of the five dog giveaway.

Dianne ; )

The Tale of No-Tail

One of my favorite things to do during the winter months is feed birds, squirrels and any other little critters who might be foraging for food. Bird feeding is such an easy, inexpensive thing to do, and I am so thankful for the couple who first encouraged my young family to make it part of our daily routine.

This past week, with all the record cold temperatures and inclement weather patterns in the South, the patio has become a welcomed "seed kitchen" for hungry visitors. Recently, I have become interested in one of the regular customers - a squirrel I call No-Tail.

I first noticed him around the shed, and several days passed before he started eating on the patio. He seemed to be a strange little fellow in the beginning. He never ate when the other squirrels were eating, and he didn't seem to play or socialize at all. (That is, if squirrels actually socialize!)

All the bushy-tailed squirrels seemed to forage and play together, but I never saw No-Tail with them. I knew No-Tail had a special tale, so I began to investigate Today's Big Story. According to Discovery Kids, "When we see squirrels, we often notice their big, bushy tails first. And that's no surprise--this body part can be nearly as big as the critter it's attached to. But the tail is certainly not just there for decoration. Like a tightrope walker holding onto a long pole for balance, the squirrel uses its tail to keep itself steady as it leaps across treetops or does a high-wire act on telephone lines. A squirrel's tale is also told through its tail." Exact words...interesting.

The article continued, "That's because this animal acrobat uses this appendage to communicate with other squirrels. You'll often see its unique body language at work in the woods or right in your backyard. When a squirrel is alarmed, it flicks its tail; when it's feeling aggressive, it fluffs it up. During its breeding season, a squirrel will wave and shiver its tail while approaching the opposite sex."

And finally...
"A squirrel will also use its big, fuzzy tail to keep itself warm and toasty--it'll wrap its tail around itself like a built-in security blanket during wintertime. A squirrel will also use it to cool off during the summer. In hot weather, the tail becomes a sunshade for the squirrel and helps protects it from the sun's burning rays."

Wow...poor No-Tail. What was the tale of his missing tail? Had he been born without a tail? Had a predator snapped it into? Had his tail been hit by a bullet slightly off aim? Had his tail been electrocuted by a power line? His tail was a tale of survival - that much I knew. However he lost his tail, he had survived.

Now, No-Tail was more pitiful than I could have ever imagined. He did not have balancing abilities like the other squirrels had. He had no cool shade in the summer or warm blanket in the winter. And, worst of all, he had no way to communicate with girl squirrels! Today's Big Story was becoming a sad tale, for sure.

Despite all his shortcomings (no pun intended), I really love No-Tail. He is different. All the other squirrels look just alike. I can't tell one tail from another. No-Tail stands out. I always know when he is eating, because he is so recognizable. He almost seems like my special little pet.

I also feel a certain harmony with him. He has definitely had a harsh situation to deal with at some point in his life. His missing tail will always be there to remind him of a time that almost cost him his life. I checked my facts, and once a squirrel loses its tail, it never grows back. For No-Tail, whatever happened cannot be undone.

According to Squirrel.org, (yes, there really is one!), "the squirrel's common name can be traced back to the ancient Greeks, where Aristotle used the word "skiouros," skia meaning shade, while "oura" means tail. Thus the meaning "he who sits in the shadow of his tail" was recorded." I think we all tend to sit in the shadow of what makes us like everyone else. It's how we find our balance. It's how we communicate. It's how we seek comfort. And yet, I believe that when we lose our balance is when we learn to adapt. When we lose what makes us comfortable is when we find what truly defines us, and maybe there is a little more to communication than just flick and fluff.

So what's my happy ending to this tale - a just-right girl squirrel out there somewhere who recognizes a one-of-a-kind tail when she sees one!

I sure do!

Dianne ; )