Well of course you should always question and wonder, but not about my beautiful life.

When I write that I have a beautiful life, it's the truth. It's my truth. Lots of people would be unhappy. They wouldn't enjoy all the beauty I see and smell and hear and touch and taste. We each have a unique lens. We each uniquely define.



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I'm currently reading this book. It begins in 1255 England.


Lifted from Google: An anchoress is a woman who chooses to withdraw from the world to live a solitary life of prayer and mortification. Julian of Norwich was an anchoress whose writings tell of her life and spiritual journey. The word anchoress comes from the Greek “anachoreo” meaning to withdraw.

The anchoress in this book is a young girl named Sarah. At age seventeen she chooses to become an anchoress, a holy woman shut away in a cell that measures only seven by nine paces. She has chosen to renounce her life and dedicate herself to prayer.

This book is so well written - the subject fascinates me.



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I just completed watching a 10 segment series of The White Queen. Again, it's England, but in the 1400s. It's riveting.

Lifted from Google: War ravages England in 1464 during a blood feud between the House of York and the House of Lancaster over who is the country's true king. Young Edward IV, heir to the House of York, is crowned king with help from master manipulator Lord Warwick, known as "The Kingmaker," who has a plan to control the throne. But that plan comes crashing down when Edward falls in love with Lancastrian commoner Elizabeth Woodville. A violent struggle for the crown ensues between Woodville, adversary Margaret Beaufort and Anne Neville, a pawn in her father's power game.


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Friends stopping by!

I'm dismayed that this photo is fuzzy. It's Linda with her grandchildren and son. I could drink in their exuberance and possibly have a miracle healing. Seriously! I adore this family. Some hugs and then they're off!






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Amanda, Morton Memorial's Pastor, visited the other day and brought a gift from The Holy Land. She recently traveled there solo - hearing her speak of this journey filled me with wonderment. (We'd tentatively planned on traveling together but my health interfered.)

Below is a photograph of a photograph she brought back for me. It's titled Jerusalem, The Old City, 1936.







It fills me with awe, a familiarity. I feel the cobblestone beneath my feet. I tread with care though faith steadies my stride. I look forward through the narrow alleyways. Any pebbles that linger in my heart are vanishing... to dust my path with flecks of mica and grit. One can't always sparkle. One needs grit, too.

This is what art does for me. When my imagination travels into the canvas, I often learn a little bit more about myself. It's nice.



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I collect.


This marvelous painting by Hil Eldridge arrived yesterday. It will find a special place on one of my walls.








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I paint, too. As I slide paint on the canvas, the serenity of my porch and woods paint my life with a peaceful centering. The heat of summer stirs the scent of pine needles that surround my property. It's divine.








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Joan just came by. God bless her. She told me what to expect for my Sunday dinner this week.



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I see and smell and hear and touch and taste.


As always, thanks for stopping by. Love.