Snip, Snip

And just like that Mommy cut herself some bangs....out of nowhere...just because it suddenly occurred to me and I was standing in front of my mirror and there were scissors. Fun!

Sick of the plain and long look and missed a little something framing my face.Went for some long, swoopy feathered bangs on an angle. Haven't ever really parted to the side before. It feels youthful (Ru said I "look like a babysitter") and also a little more posh and classy which balances out the youthfulness.

I will evolve. So there.

A Floral Execution

Too much Alice In Wonderland? A did just read it to the boys. This afternoon it was "Off with their heads!" for a whole flock of my sweetest and most unsuspecting daffodils.

That entire left-hand side of the front walk got scalped.

The guilty party. At least he was sorry when caught.

And the consolation prize is fists full of sweet daffodils on the table.

Poetry Friday: A Pruning Poem

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Happy Poetry Friday to you! A pruning poem for you all today. It is pruning season, or at least the tale end thereof. (We must celebrate something in the bleak end of winter after all)  Time for all overgrown trees to get haircuts and all shrubs to get trim jobs that will have them prancing around in high-style once the warm weather has them leafing and blossoming all over the place.

I have been working, little by little on pruning our very large and very neglected apple tree and hoping on one hand that spring comes soon to rescue me but on the other hand that it holds off long enough to let me finish all the snipping and clipping this old tree needs. If a tree is clipped once the sap has really begun to flow hard it can "bleed out" and pour sap from all its wounds and end up dying in the warming, early spring. As I work, racing spring I have been thinking out a poem about the whole thing. This morning I took a little stab at putting down the bits that have been rattling around in my mind as I traded clippers for saw and then saw again for clippers in the chill wind.

Pruning The Apple Tree
I am pruning the dear, ancient apple tree
That leans, reclining over the back hedge
Behind our new home: a tall, old colonial.
It might turn out to bear nothing at all but
Small, hard crab apples like bitter marbles
(For some reason the neighbor can't remember)
Then, I know, my husband will see no point
And archly suggest a chainsaw at the trunk.
I finger all the thickly twisted branchings
And tilt my head as I envision each of the
Diagnostic choices: this branch or that gone.
My glittering saw makes fragrant, smooth
Work of the chosen amputation and the wound
Yawns open, fresh and yellow in the cold.
I am glad the ice-wind is blowing stiffly,
From the north, the better to anesthetize
The patient who sits numbly through my surgery.   
I see signs of other years here on the boughs:
Roughly hacked, black stubs of once-limbs,
Places where the tree has grown a living mace
And one limb that has gone thickly into
The very flesh of its widely forked neighbor
I drop branch bits on the snow and wonder as I
Climb a broad trunk, my palms splayed open,
Against the icy bark if the tree will
Shake its head pinkly, rouse as fragrant cloud
And bear me saving fruit for pies or if it
Sleeps deeply, sunk into a peaceful reverie
Tiny, unborn marble-fruit held tight in every bud,
Knowing this is the last cold, drowsy winter
It will arch sagely over my back hedge.

Image via Wikipedia

I really do hope it turns out to be a grand, old standard apple of some kind, don't you? Even if it is a crab, I have half a mind to try to convince A to save it just so I can make glittering apple jelly every year. I do hate to lose a wise old tree like this. I wonder who planted it and when. Guessing the age of trees is a very tricky game although even I can tell ours is quite old. I'd have taken a picture for you but it's doing a cold drizzle outside and there's no real love for a camera in that kind of weather.

You can find more Poetry Friday entries at our host Sara's blog, Read Write Believe.

Oh Christmas Tree!

The smell of gingerbread wafting up from the oven downstairs is buoying me on into sharing our little Christmas tree story. There is little more in life to make you feel completely festive than warm gingerbread. I really didn't like it as a kid, but I sure do love it now.

Anyhow, on to the tree tale:

First we went a-looking. We like to go to a family owned stand of evergreens where we are handed a band saw and sent off with our custom fashioned tree cart to search among the spruces until we find just the perfect tree. We have been here three years running for our tree. It hits just the perfect notes for me, family owned, modest in size and selection and cut-your-own in the grass rootsiest manner possible.

The family members at least three generations of owners are all out chatting together, tying up bows and wreaths cozily in a little lean-to that houses a super charming miniature wood stove for warming the hands of the babies and the propped up boots of the grandpas. The stove crackles and some member or other leaps up to hand out a saw or net bag the tree of choice.

They all wear black and red plaid flannel and every year I wonder if it is their family tartan and don't have the bravery to ask any of them out loud. I have to admit that its a very cheery uniform, apple red and black checks were peeking out from Carharts, layered under jackets and even snugly buttoned around the baby in attendence.

So, we picked the perfect tree. (Sorry, I got all carried away about the flannel there.) We have a blue spruce this year instead of the white spruce we've had for the past two years. And Ru pulled the tree cart up to the lean-to again, a feat I was mightily impressed by in a three year old, but still found quite astounding for a little four year old tyke.

We tied the tree on top of the car,  (Such a cold job this year with a biting wind whipping us and flipping the twine all over the place) and then we sailed off home.

We waited one night because there were way too many things on our To Do List still when we pulled in the driveway with the tree...and then we opened the Rubbermaid tubs where I store all the holiday paraphernalia. The boys were big enough to be quite aware and helpful in the decoration process. Ru helped A twirl lights around the tree, we added our garland of tinsel (just one, gold) and then looped on the Mardi Gras beads that we use for extra  kid-friendly glitz.

Meanwhile, Dee discovered the strands of extra lights and disappeared to the hall outlet to experiment with plugging in and unplugging. He was completely fascinated with the whole business. Hang, the rest of the decorations...this electricity stuff was waaaaay cooler. I don't believe we really saw him again all night.

Then, we pulled the ornaments out and I separated them into Daddy ornaments (the breakables) and kid ornaments (the plastic, wooden and paper variety) and we hung the tree with all manner of lovely orbs and gizmos.

At this point A had to whisk the boys upstairs for bed and he volunteered to even take Nib so that I found myself alone in the living room with the soft glow of Christmas lights, a few precious ornaments from my grandparents collection and a small bagful of icicles. I love icicles. The plastic silvery strands that you hang from the tips of the outermost branches. I always wished we could have them as a child and am no end of thrilled every Christmas at the sparkling creature my tree becomes when all those glittering bits all over it. I think sparkle is key to holiday decor.

It was lovely to have a few private moments to hang the special ornaments and the sprinkle glitter everywhere. When A came back down with a lip-smacking Nib on his arm in a half an hour I was all aglow with my moment of Silent Night and felt like the halls had been decked in the very best way.

Merry Christmas all!