Whatsoever things are lovely...

Welcome friends...thanks for coming by. We're seeking beauty in all of creation... in our faith and our families; our art and our music; our crafts and kitchens, and even in our own backyard. We'll share a poem or a recipe, a picture or a memory; maybe a dream of how we wish our life could be. And though we acknowledge that the world can be harsh, we're keeping it pleasant in our little corner; endeavoring to keep the words from the Book of all Books: ...Whatsoever things are lovely; think on these things.

I so enjoy hearing from you...so leave me a comment; it'll make my day!

Photo: Bee and thistle: Taken high in the Cascade Mountains where there is a bee buzzing on every thistle. by Debora Rorvig

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Please forgive me for the constant tinkering with pictures and layout of my blog. This blogging thing is like an itch you can't scratch! I'm still not satisfied, but it's getting better. My latest photo is of me and my nephew (yes, nephew!) Duane, circa 1957. Note the old wooden sidewalks in the background. We lived in a 'company house'; provided by the Bloedel Donovan lumber mill where dad worked. This must be where I learned how to love old, simple things!

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I Am From

I Am From...

by Debora Rorvig

I am from a lumber mill worker’s company house
with peeling paint and a sidewalk made of two by fours.
From faded flannel shirts that smell of pine and cedar boughs.

I am from Mason Jars of homed-canned pears,
from Dairygold milk with cream on top
in bottles on the porch.

I am from a garden plot with rows and rows of golden corn
that always wanted hoeing,
and from atop the highest branches of the Gravenstein apple tree in the Attolini’s orchard-
with apple juice dripping from my chin.

I am from saurkraut and wooden shoes-
the Millers and the Youngedykes,
and from the lively Scottish clan
who wear the McKinnon tartan.

From farmers and woodsmen
plain folk all,
who’s hands were calloused hard
but who’s hearts were tender-soft.

I am from ‘what will the neighbors think’
and ‘if you can’t say something nice,
don’t say anything at all.’

From saints and sinners who didn’t see eye to eye
but loved each other anyway,
and in their own way.

I am from the Western shores of Washington
strewn with agates, kelp and driftwood,
from Steelhead salmon, salty smoked
and chowder made from clams we dug
at Semiahmoo spit.

I am from my mother Ruby,
who taught me how to sew
on the old Singer treadle machine;
and told me all about my heritage.

And from my daddy, Raymond Claude
who took me nightcrawler hunting in the moonlight
and showed me how to bait my hook
and fish along the Nooksack River’s edge.

I am from an ancient, tattered Holy Bible kept safely on the upper shelf
with pictures of Jesus Christ
and a letter edged in black- carefully tucked inside.
There are births and deaths recorded there,
and a poem by great- great grandfather Alexander Laughlin Mckinnon
who I never met--and yet I know him
better than some I’ve met.

Precious is that Book to me.

And that is where I am from.

My Life List

*Seek first the Kingdom
*Never stop dreaming
*Make a difference in my students' lives
*Create alternate streams of income to fund my goals
*Dress with flair
*Master virbrato on my violin
*Try cross country skiing in Eastern Washington
*Lose those extra pounds and be healthy
*Be more active in my church
*Stop fearing things, people and confrontation; say what I think
*Stop Hurrying
*Inspire my grandchildren
*Own a Cottage on the Beach
*Live the Word
*Memorize the Book of Hebrews
*Find the perfect hairdo
*Be myself
*Look up old friends and make new ones
*Remodel the kitchen and bathroom
*Make my garden lovely
*Sleep under the stars in the desert and hear coyotes howl
*Write and publish a book(s)
*Travel toRio de Janiero, Cape Breton, South of France, Italy,Scotland, Wales, UK, Ireland, Norway, Turks & Caicos, New York City and the Eastern Seaboard; The Deep South, Africa

Thursday, November 13, 2008

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