Category Archives: cobwebs

an early morning walk

I am here to post something much more delightful and positive than my borderline rant. I have asked myself if I feel better after saying what I felt and I am not sure I can answer that. This uncertainty tells me, perhaps not. I think I stepped out of character for that post and not being “you” is never a pleasant thing. So, I’m back…pardon the detour.

I am off this week of Thanksgiving and the weather here is perfect. I was outside early this morning picking satsumas and newly ripened oranges off of my trees – trying to beat the squirrels and the birds. I stood there within the grove the citrus trees made and broke the fast of the night – it was so wonderful, pure, whole food from my backyard. I have to say, there is not many pleasures beyond growing your own food. I suppose it is somewhere in our DNA – a survival tool that we are hard wired for. I heard yesterday that one component of well-being and good health is to have something to look forward to. Well, growing your food gives that to you along with whole food that is free from chemicals and filled with nutrients. Just a small patch of land can do big things for your health. Just saying…


While in the woods, I was dazzled once again by the cobwebs that extended over the paths – masterpieces in the early fall mornings with dew outlining their shapes and emphasizing their details – little Rembrandts of the night reminding me of chalk artist in today’s cities – working so hard to create, only to be dissolved by an inevitable looming force of nature.
The day rolls out like a tapestry rug – each hour offering something different than the one before, like the chapters of our lives, unfolding and delivering little pieces of art that delight us and then disappear into the morning light of the next day where, if we look with open eyes, we will see yet another masterpiece beginning .
Anyway…I hope this post is back to normal and I hope you can find something to look forward to whether it is a child coming home for the holidays or a trip you may take or a ripe orange in your backyard – and when you do, I hope you are thankful for the masterpiece that was delivered to your door and know that soon, there will be another.
b u
p s



Moving on

Sitting here, taking a small break from the garden, looking at the cobweb under one of the chairs in my keeping room. I see this, not as you might think, but as a testament to not having little ones anymore. It seems just a short time ago, I routinely moved this 9 foot harvest table across the room, stacked the chairs on it and scrubbed the floor underneath and while the chairs were upside down, I wiped away the dust and whatever else might have been hanging there. I did this because some tiny person would most assuredly be crawling through this wooden maze of legs in search of a missing Cheerio or renegade grape. Who would have thought those days would have ever ended?

 I, of course, still sweep this floor but I must confess, it is without much concern, nothing is dropped and nothing is squished and nothing rolls under here anymore. It has become the perfect place for a little cobweb to manifest. I suppose that is how life is, we use a space, we interact with certain people, we spend that time “there” and then we move on. And when we do, there is something or someone, waiting to take that spot.
We move on, we let go. Again, I reference my mother – she would comfort me in those “big” moments, the moments when my children started school, figured out the tooth fairy fable, and left home – she shared with me how she always looked ahead to the next chapter of our lives with excitement and anticipation. I draw from that optimism as I sit in the mottled rays of the setting sun that are shining through the keeping room window and  “artistically” capturing the natural miracle that is a cobweb .

b u

p s