Simply Refreshing

In full disclosure, this week's simple pleasure actually happened last week.  I just reserved the right to yak about it until we got home from vacation. It's my blog, after all, and I make the rules.

You see, as restful as a vacation is supposed to be, ours rarely fits that description. They may be pleasurable, but there is nothing at all simple about them.  We stay busy packing and driving and site seeing and walking...

                       and walking....

                                and walking...

This year was much the same,

but  in the middle of it all,

 there was one moment that stuck out above all as reaching the level of  

simple pleasure. 

Was it strolling in the surf?

 Nope 

I just put that picture to throw you off track. I'm sneaky like that.

Car games with a captive audience? Singing with the Munchkins? 

Eating my way through Epcot?

No.

No.

and close, but...no.

Instead, my vacation simple pleasure occurred in the middle of the Magic Kingdom, in the middle of the summer, smack dab in the middle of the day.

You see, at a time when any logical family would be ducking for cover inside the nearest ice cream store, this bunch of Huckleberries decided to hop aboard a raft in the blazing sun and sail over to Tom Sawyer's Island.

It seemed like a good idea at the time. Somehow, with all those trees, it looked cooler from the other side of the water. Well, looks can be deceiving, folks. There wasn't a breath of air on the island, and after about thirty minutes of following the seven-year-old boy I married

 through the caves 

and across the bridges 

and  into the rifle roosts, 

this hot mama was just about to hurl herself into the River Disney. 

And that's when I saw it.

Simple. Pleasure.

It was cold, too, so cold that I got back in line like a first grader to guzzle some more.

It's funny. We've done our best to glamour up the whole water drinking process. We have our bottled water and sparking water and fancy drinking containers, but in the end, nothing quite compares to ice cold water springing out of a regular old fountain.

I don't know about you, but slurping it up kind of makes me feel like a kid again.

Who knows...maybe we really did find the Fountain of Youth on vacation after all.

*****

Sharing with Dayle at  A Collection of This and That

Join us for more Simple Pleasures. 

Magic Monday

We're finally home!

Our final leg in the Fabulous Fifty Fountain of Youth Vacation took us a bit inland.  There was really only one logical destination.

We decided to bite the bullet and endure enjoy Disney in July for three reasons. First, because it's the happiest place on earth where everybody is a kid.  Second, because even though we love historical vacations, we're not complete nerds....

 And third? Because we're  cheapskates and hoarders who had managed to save four unused sets of Disney World tickets since the year 2000.

Sad, isn't it?

And so we ventured inland to spend a few days at Disney World.  We figured we could cover a lot of ground in a less time since we wouldn't be chasing princesses all over the park this time.

Yeah, right...

Want to guess which daughter loves which princess?
(And don't you dare say that Mary Poppins doesn't count. In our house, she does.)

Of course, In my opinion there is really only one Disney Princess...

Who is yours? 

I've decided not to overwhelm this post with Disney details. After all, most of you have Disney memories of your own. I'll just give one personal pick and pan.

My pick for personal favorite was the movie ride at Disney Hollywood Studios.

 (Which I still call MGM) 

I was completely delighted from start to finish, even though the only passenger in our boat who got the concept of "sing along " was the delighted blonde on the third row.

In her head, she sounded just like the Mayor of Munchkin City.

My pan was Prince Caspian from the same park. We thought we had hit the jackpot with a less than ten minute wait, but then, we figured out why.  You just basically stand in a dark room and watch a trailer of the movie. Can't I watch the whole thing from the comfort of my own sofa? Why, yes, I can.  And no. I didn't take a picture.

All in all, though, we had a wonderful time,
and I'm very pleased to report that our quest was a complete success. 

After several full days at the Happiest Place on Earth,
we definitely no longer feel 50.

We feel 80.  

It's good to be home.

Older Than Dirt

Three cheers for Miss Daisy who figured out the first stop on our great family adventure. Yes indeed, that beach is off the east coast of Florida near the beautiful little city of St. Augustine. 

There was method to the madness, too.  You might recall that both the husband and I are celebrating the Big 5-0 this year. (Actually, he’s already there. I’m planning to be fashionably late…) 

So, we set our sails in search of the Fountain of Youth.  Just call us Mr. and Mrs. Ponce de Leon.

 In full disclosure, we didn’t actually see the mythical fountain.  Oh, we considered it; it just didn’t make the cut. I decided to spend the $40.00 admission price on some really good face cream and vitamins instead.

We were more interested in visiting the old city.  

When I say old, I really mean it.

St. Augustine is the oldest European settlement in the US. It was founded as a Spanish mission in 1565

There’s so much to see!  Every family has its own peculiar taste, and ours leans to the historical, especially in the form of living history.

  That’s why we headed into the old Spanish Quarter.

It was here that we encountered this fellow. He was busy with the militia, preparing the defense against the most dreaded of invaders...

…those Protestants from Georgia.

uh- oh…
mums the word

He was among the best historical interpreters I’ve ever seen, entertaining us on the origin of phrases like and going off half cocked and flash in the pan.  

I love stuff like that. I’m a word person ya know. 

We ventured from spot to spot and house to house, and I’m proud to report that I can still embarrass my daughters by wearing a dopey delighted smile and asking twenty questions.

Go, Mom...

One house was Spanish. 

Another was the oldest English home in the area.

Here, interpreters played the roles of a married couple who bantered back and forth throughout the house. I laughed all the way through the tour.

Which means that either I'm very easily amused 

or they were very amusing 

I think it’s both.

I highly recommend it.  

There was so much more, but let's face it. As far as vacation pictures go, a little goes a long way. I may be blonde, but I'm not dumb. You're just going to have to visit St. Augustine for yourselves.

OK, just one more. Anyone want to guess what this is? 

On to the next leg of our Florida adventure. So long, St. Augustine. Time to venture forth in the quest for the fountain of youth.  Now, where in the world could that be?

Sharing this with Decor To Adore for
Wayfaring Wednesday

Which, by the way, is a great idea for a party. 

Where in the World is...

If you've noticed that my happy little flower cart hasn't visited your corner of blogland this week, please don't take it personally. I haven't been able to visit anyone.  You see, the flower cart has been temporarily sidelined.  For this week's adventure, we needed a heartier set of wheels. 

Because we're off on a family vacation.

Not a whole lot of prep time went into our adventure this year, and that's very uncharacteristic.  To me, half the fun of vacation is in the planning.  I just love to have it all mapped out in advance and organized on what the family smarty pants calls the clipboard of fun.  

That's because we rarely stay in one place for our vacations. We're not the exotic destination type of family. We're more the wandering vagabond type. You know the ones...

But this year, with the gas prices and the down economy, I hadn't given it much thought. We might have gone an entire summer with no vacation at all were it not for the fact that that I married Peter Pan. 


It's true. 

So when the boy who will never grow up came home a week or so ago and announced that he was taking this week off and wanted to go on a family adventure,  I knew that for the first time ever, we would be flying by the seat of our pants. Fun for the rest of the family, maybe, but these blogging britches don't hoist as easily as they used to.    

There was nothing else for the Vacation Queen to do but relinquish her crown in the name of family democracy. We took a vote, and I lost. Off we went. 

Out of Georgia.

Away from the scorching 100 degree weather

 and blistering sunshine. 

to this place...

I had nominated Alaska...

Alas,  Florida it is. 

But where? 

That's for me to know and you to find out. 

I'll just tell you that the scenery looks like this.

...which might give a hint as to which coast it is, based on the color it isn't.

Just look at them gloating. They think they're so smart.

Enjoy it while you can, smirkers, because the Vacation Queen packed her crown.

And the Queen says
 it isn't a family vacation
unless somebody  is dressed in costume

 and using words like "Huzzah!"

Stay tuned...

Tracing Your Roots

That was then...

This is now...

Who knew you could be more beautiful and fruitful in a drought?

He did. 

For he will be like a tree planted by the water, that extends its roots by a stream and will not fear when the heat comes; But its leaves will be green, and it will not be anxious in a year of drought nor cease to yield fruit.

Jeremiah 17:8

****

Comments are off for Sunday

Simply Meandering

Most weeks, my simple pleasure is something that sneaks up on me unawares. Even though I'm on the lookout for it, I don't actually plan it. The surprise is part of the pleasure.  Some weeks, though, are different. Sometimes, you're in such need of simple pleasure that you go in search of one.

This was one such week.

It's hot and miserable around here, and I felt the strong need to color my world with flowers.

Too bad I can't grow them.

It's true.  The same girl who loves poetry but can't compose a poem and loves singing but can't carry a tune... also loves flowers... but has a brown thumb.

Sad, isn't it?

Not to worry, though. I just headed to the local botanical gardens. I grabbed the shiny red Kodak, too.  I thought you might want to come along.

I think you can tell a lot about a woman by the kind of flowers that she likes. Some gals like long stemmed roses. Others love the exotic orchids. Some prefer flowering trees; others have a favorite pick from the garden.

Me? I like a random, quirky, clump.

That's the way I like my gardens, too. No carefully manicured rose gardens for me. I like a meandering mishmash, emphasis on the meandering part. You see, it's not just the flowers that I love. It's the effect they have on my imagination.

That's exactly what I get at our local botanical gardens, 

especially in the summer.

Oh, it starts formal enough, with its brick walks and orderly blossoms...

But eventually, the paths become narrow.  

They turn into a little pergola covered walkway.

It's enchanting.  

Can you see it back there? 

It weaves its way through those flowers until it opens up

with a canopy of  Confederate jasmine.

I have no idea what those spidery white blossoms are.  I rarely stop to read the tags. I'm too busy writing the setting to the great American novel in my head.

The brick path picks up again and leads to this tumbled down fountain.  It's surrounded by wonderful old outbuildings and a vegetable garden,  but I'll save them for another day.

I'd rather explore.

That's where the brick paths end,
 and the adventure trails begin.
That's my favorite part. 

Eventually, you make your way  

back to the main cottage.  

It sits behind the fence

And beyond the winding path 

beside the secret garden bench 

surrounded by happy flowers

Simply wonderful...

And that's about it for this summer. 

Come fall, I'll be out there again, ready to make up a whole new story in my head to go along with the fall foliage. But for now, meandering through Mishmash Gardens is this week's simple pleasure.

What about you? What's your flower pleasure?

*****

Sharing with Dayle at A Collection of This and That

Join us for more simple pleasures

It takes a heap o' livin'...

You might recall my love of poetry. I mentioned it recently as a simple pleasure. You might also recall my love of singing. I've mentioned that tidbit a time or two as well.

And you might also recall a couple of lamentations. Though I love to read poetry,  I wasn't given the gift of writing it. And though I love to sing, Well...I'm a little lacking there as well.  When it comes to singing, I'm the gal making the joyful noise.  The joyful part is for God, the noise for everyone else.

God didn't leave me completely wanting, though. You might not be surprised to learn that He gave me a flair for the dramatic. That's why in the church choir, I'm often the narrator.

And that's how I found myself in a difficult spot last week.

About a decade ago, our church was having a talent show, and a dear old lady approached me with a favor.  There was an old poem, she said, that had been her mother's favorite. She hadn't heard it recited in years, and citing that aforementioned flair for the dramatic, she asked me to recite it in the talent show.

I ashamed to say that I chickened out.

You see, the poem is written in a strong, country dialect, and I don't speak fluent Ellie May. (Really, I don't...) I felt kind of foolish doing it. Therefore, because of my own vanity, I didn't do a sweet old friend a simple favor.

I wish that I had.

Last week, I got a call from the hospital. Our old friend had been battling cancer for most of the decade that passed since that time, and the cancer had finally won. They were bringing her home to die.

And then her daughter said, 

 "Debbie, Mama wants to know if you remember her poem..."   

I did.

And once again, my old friend asked a favor. 

So last Thursday morning, I stood before her family, and her friends, and a casket covered with yellow flowers, and though I sort of citified it up a a bit, this is what I said:

It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home,

A heap o' sun an' shadder, an' ye sometimes have t' roam

Afore ye really 'preciate the things ye left behind,

An' hunger fer 'em somehow, with 'em always on yer mind.

It don't make any difference how rich ye get t' be,

How much yer chairs an' tables cost, how great yer luxury;

It ain't home t' ye, though it be the palace of a king,

Until somehow yer soul is sort o' wrapped round the thing.

Home ain't a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute;

Afore it's home there's got t' be a heap o' livin' in it;

Within the walls there's got t' be some babies born, and then

Right there ye've got t' bring 'em up t' women good, an' men;

And gradually as time goes on, ye find ye wouldn't part

With anything they ever used—they've grown into yer heart:

The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they wore

Ye hoard; an' if ye could ye'd keep the thumb-marks on the door.

Ye've got t' weep t' make it home, ye've got t' sit an' sigh

An' watch beside a loved one's bed, an' know that Death is nigh;

An' in the stillness o' the night t' see Death's angel come,

An' close the eyes o' her that smiled, an' leave her sweet voice dumb.

Fer these are scenes that grip the heart, an'when yer tears are dried,

Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an' sanctified;

An' tuggin' at ye always are the pleasant memories

O' her that was an' is no more—ye can't escape from these.

Ye've got t' sing an' dance fer years, ye've got t' romp an' play,

An' learn t' love the things ye have by usin' 'em each day;

Even roses 'round the porch must blossom year by year

Afore they 'come a part o' ye, suggestin' someone dear

Who used t' love 'em long ago, an' trained 'em just t' run

The way they do, so they would get the early mornin' sun;

Ye've got t' love each brick an' stone from cellar up t' dome:

O', it takes a heap a' livin' in a house t' make it home.

The poem is Home by  Edgar Guest.

The door is home, by the Duchess.

Stepping back into the Sunshine

I've been absent. Did anyone notice?
I would love to claim that I have been on a wonderful adventure and am back with evidence from the shiny red Kodak.

Unfortunately, I can't.  It's simply not true, and truth is important to me.
I mean really, really,  important to me.

You see, everyone has a peculiar peeve. Mine just happens to be lying.

To put it eloquently, I just don't suffer liars well.

To put it in Debbie Speak, lying makes my head explode.

OK... there's no literal matter splatter. I'm just using a little creative decoration to make a point. I'm OK with creative decoration. I like a good  tale as much as the next person. That's not the kind of lying that I'm talking about.

I'm talking about the kind of lying that perverts justice, slanders others, or creates confusion. If there's one thing that I've noticed about liars, it's that they are masters of confusion.  They throw so many lies in your direction that you can't see the forest for the trees. Can anyone relate?

And that's exactly the way they like it.

It's all about clouding the truth. 

The ten dollar word for it is obfuscation.

They learned the technique from the Father of All Lies and the Author of Confusion. You know the guy, the one they call the Prince of Darkness...

And that's what has kept me away from blogland.  I've been wandering around in the darkness and couldn't find my way back.  Yes, folks, it's true. Your friendly neighborhood blogger has been swept away in that mass of swirling confusion called Hurricane Anthony.

I've started a dozen posts about it, but really... I would rather write about whatever is true, and noble, and right, and pure...

That's what I would rather do. Unfortunately, it's hard to read a happy post let alone write one, when your head keeps spontaneously combusting.

And so, I'm just going to let her rip  and be done with it, 

I hope I'll have a few friends left...

We've all heard the words reasonable doubt tossed about in the courtroom and by the talking heads. We've heard it used by lawyers and jurors wrapping themselves in the Constitution, much the same way that Casey Anthony wrapped her body in that American flag for the 4th of July party in 2008.

 (While her daughter was wrapped in a laundry bag in the swamp...)

As if those words are actually in the Constitution.

Which they aren't.

Somewhere along the line, that little truth has been clouded. 

Sort of like the phrase separation of church and state, the concept of reasonable doubt is actually just part of judicial opinion. It happens to be very old and accepted opinion, but that still doesn't make it  Constitutional.

And since it's open to opinion,  I'll  leave you to yours, and the jury to theirs, and I'll keep mine. All just opinions. 

But there is one thing that I know to be true in this case.

 It was full of lies.  

Now, only two people were proven by evidence to be liars. One is Casey Anthony. She lied about ....well... everything.  The other is her mother, whose proven perjury was designed to insert doubt about critical, concrete evidence that her daughter had premeditated the act.

Personally, I  believe there were other liars as well. I can't prove it though. In fairness, I can't reasonably make the accusation just because the Lie Detector in my head keeps going beep beep beep.  

I've fretted and stewed over this case. As I said, lying is my pet peeve.  Finally, I did the only thing I was supposed to do to begin with. I asked God to teach me something from it. 

Here's what it is:

Those who watched this trial got an excellent demonstration of exactly how Satan works. He works through lies and confusion. The minute you think you have a grip on a situation, he changes the story or tosses in a whole new angle.  Whether the new angle is reasonable or not is unimportant. As long as it's tossed in there, it will cloud the truth and confuse you.

And then, he goes in for the kill.

He stands up and convinces us that if we can't see THE truth, we must by default believe HIS truth. Never mind that it was his own minions who deliberately obfuscated the matter to begin with. Never mind that his truth doesn't follow simple rules of logic.

If we can not see clearly in his fog of confusion, we must believe his version.  Oh, how many times I've fallen for it!

And that's what I learned from my peek into the dark side.

That, and the fact that somewhere in Florida is a family who really needs Jesus.
Just like me.

*****

And that's IT for me. I'm finished with this case obsession 

and stepping back into the sunshine.

I'll be visiting blogs and catching up this weekend.