All posts by Wildtrumpetvine

Ash Valentine’s Day

This year, Ash Wednesday and Valentine’s Day both fall on February 14.  The two are unlikely bedfellows, so to speak.   

Ash Wednesday is a day for Christians to face our mortality head-on and clear-eyed, to gaze into the bleakness of what would have been, had it not been for God’s saving grace.  It marks the start of Lent, the forty-day period leading up to Easter, during which prayer, repentance and self-denial are encouraged.  Lent’s Biblical basis is Christ’s retreat to the wilderness to commune with the Father in preparation for his ministry. 

Valentine’s Day, on the other hand, needs no explanation.  For most of us, it involves the giving and getting of various treats.  It’s a day for indulgence, not denial. 

To Lenten sticklers for self-abnegation, the concurrence of Ash Wednesday and Valentine’s Day will likely pose a conundrum.  To deny or not to deny?  Chocolate or no chocolate?  Dessert or no dessert?  Wine or no wine with that special Valentine dinner?  Perhaps a compromise:  to begin the denial process on February 15? 

I’ve written several times about Ash Wednesday.  See: Looking into the Ashes (March 1, 2017), and Saved from the Ashes (February 10, 2016).  I’ve tried Lenten self-denial in the past, but I forgot the larger purpose.  I neglected the season’s truly spiritual pursuits–prayer, Bible reading, penitential introspection.  A couple of times, when I renounced all things sweet, my Lenten journey became little more than a period of dieting.  I wince when I recall certain instances of self-righteous forbearance that must have made me a most disagreeable companion.  See Mindful Eating, and a Mindful Lent (March 24, 2012). 

The purpose of Lent is to try to become more like Christ.  Instead, in our singular focus on denial, we become more like the Pharisees, those elite Jewish leaders who prided themselves on following every iota of the Mosaic Law.  They were probably among those Jesus denounced for ostentatious fasting:  “And when you fast, don’t make it obvious, as the hypocrites do, for they try to look miserable and disheveled so people will admire them for their fasting.  I tell you the truth, that is the only reward they will ever get.” (Matthew 6: 16, New Living Translation)  Jesus called out the Pharisees for their empty, showy arrogance and for the stumbling blocks they set up for others:  “You shut the door of the Kingdom of Heaven in people’s faces.  You won’t go in yourselves, and you don’t let others enter either” (Matthew 23: 13).  Overly zealous regarding trivial details, they missed the big picture:  “You are careful to tithe even the tiniest income from your herb gardens, but you ignore the more important aspects of the law–justice, mercy and faith.  You should tithe, yes, but do not neglect the more important things. Blind guides!  You strain your water so you won’t accidentally swallow a gnat, but you swallow a camel!” (Matthew 23: 23-24).   

On this Ash Wednesday, I look into the dark ashes and contemplate Jesus’s supreme sacrifice.  I give thanks that his unimaginable love lifts me from the depths of destruction and despair. 

On this Valentine’s Day, If I know my husband, he’ll come home with a big box of Russell Stover’s candy.  

During Lent, I will try to take Jesus as my role model.  I will keep my Bible close at hand.  And I will eat some chocolates.  I may also swallow a few gnats.  But I hope to avoid the camels.  

Happy Ash Valentine’s Day!

Hold onto Your Hope (Happy New Year 2018)


On this first day of the new year, as I look back to 2017, I must say “Whew!”  Last year was packed to excess with major life changes for our family.  It felt like a Netflix series with too many unlikely, simultaneous subplots.  I’m hoping that in 2018 I’ll have time to appreciate the scenery and enjoy some quirky character development.     

The stressful process of selling and packing up my mother’s Atlanta home, buying the Virginia house, the complicated logistics of the relocation–that’s all behind us.  Now Mama is next door, mere steps away.  While the two weeks following her surgery were perhaps even more miserable than her surgeons had expected, she can now move without excruciating pain, sometimes without the aid of her walker.  She made the trek on Christmas day from her place to ours and back, as I had hoped. 

The anxiety surrounding my daughter’s college decision is fading into the mists of memory.  After a period of adjustment, she’s very happy at the University of Virginia.  We all appreciate the fact that she’s a pleasant two-hour drive away from home.  An additional plus is that when she’s here, she has a greater appreciation for her parents (and grandmother).  Those mundane, homely comforts–my cooking, her own room, Kiko sleeping sweetly–all 0nce taken for granted, are now recognized as the luxuries they are.  And time zips by.  The breaks–fall, winter, and soon, spring–are upon us before we know it.   

When I was searching for an appropriate New Year’s photo, this one of my daughter as Glinda the Good Witch in her last high school musical, The Wizard of Oz, came to mind.  Glinda looks into the distance towards a vision of the glowing Emerald City, which, with a little help from her white magic, has just been revealed.  She’s about to send Dorothy and friends off on the final leg of their journey to Oz.  So in a way, she’s looking into the future.  Toward a new year. 

Glinda sings this song as she points toward the bright horizon:   

You’re out of the woods, you’re out of the dark,

You’re out of the night.

Step into the sun, step into the light.

Keep straight ahead

For the most glorious place on the face of the earth or the sky.

Hold onto your breath, hold onto your heart,

Hold onto your hope. 

We all get lost from time to time in the metaphorical woods.  But may you start out this new year on a good path, heading toward a good place, in good company.  When you wander off track, may you find your way quickly back into the light.  And may hope and love go with you. 

Another Christmas Eve Among the Friendly Beasts

As has become our custom, our family spends the latter part of Christmas Eve afternoon at our church’s live nativity.  The day was chilly and gray, the ground muddy, as usual.  The friendly beasts were in attendance–the stocky little burro, the hump-backed ox with the coat of gray velvet, the fluffy, disheveled sheep, a variety of curious goats.  

Kiko was obstinately determined to sniff out every furry friend.


The sweet-tempered camel was there, of course.  A gracious celebrity, as well as a commanding and unexpected presence in the DC suburbs, he posed patiently for photos. 

He even gave out a few kisses.

Humans took turns in the roles of the Holy Family, angels, shepherds and kings.  Baby Jesus, to the disappointment of several young families, was played by a doll.  Sometimes Mary and Joseph were fourteen, sometimes forty.  Occasionally the costumes fit well, other times, not so much.  Hems tended toward the mud-stained.   Gender was fluid.  One of our shepherds, in his attempts to drum up even more attention from passers-by, appeared to be hitchhiking. 

It wasn’t a flawless performance piece, by far.  But it didn’t need to be.  Who else but ordinary, imperfect people does God use to do his extraordinary work?

The rushing Northern Virginia traffic was forced to slow down, if briefly, as it passed our live nativity.  Many people even put their Christmas Eve plans on hold, parked their cars and explored the scene first hand.  Most left with a camel selfie.  Some, we hope, caught a glimmer of a greater truth.   

He is born, the holy Child, play the oboe and bagpipes merrily! He is born, the holy Child, sing we all of the Savior mild.

Through long ages of the past, prophets have foretold His coming, through long ages of the past, now the time has come at last!

O how lovely, O how pure, is this perfect child of heaven, O how lovely, O how pure, gracious gift to human-kind!

Jesus, Lord of all the world, coming as  child among us, Jesus, Lord of all the world, grant to us thy heavenly peace.

Il est né, le divin Enfant, jouez haut-bois rèsonnez musettes! Il est né, le divin Enfant, chantons tous son avènement!

  –18th Century French carol

For previous Christmas Eve live nativity posts, see here, here, and here. 

Favorite Christmas Posts

Since I began Wild Trumpet Vine, I’ve written about forty Christmas-themed posts. Back in December of 2011, there was so much to cover, but now I run the risk of repeating myself.  And during this holiday season, time for writing will be limited.  My mother’s spinal surgery has been scheduled for early December.  Her doctors have emphasized that the recovery will likely be difficult and painful.  I’m grateful that Mama is here with us in Virginia as we face this challenge together.  I’m also very thankful I have no career or young children to neglect as I care for her. 

My mother and I certainly won’t be creating any handmade decorations this year, as we did during my childhood.  See Working Like Elves (December 8, 2011).  But I hope that as she heals, she’ll occasionally feel up to laughing about our shared adventures and misadventures of Christmases past.  Maybe we’ll revisit the question of the hideous tree we chose our first year in Atlanta (Oh, Eww, Christmas Tree, December 18, 2013). 

Around mid-month, our daughter will be home after finishing her first semester at the University of Virginia.  She’ll want my mother’s new home to be cheery for the season, so I expect we’ll unpack some of the old decorations we moved this summer from Mama’s Atlanta attic.  Maybe she’ll persuade her grandmother to reminisce about long-ago Christmases in central Kentucky.  See Unsilvered WWII-Era Ornaments on a Kentucky Cedar, and Uncle Edwin’s Silver Stocking, (December 23, 2015). 

I haven’t begun to think about Christmas gifts; I don’t know if I’ll even get around to shopping.  It’s reassuring to know that if I don’t, my family won’t hold it against me.  H and D will make sure there are presents for everyone under the tree.  Creative gifting and innovative packaging are among their talents.  See several posts on Exercises in Extreme GiftwrappingBy the time Christmas morning dawns, maybe Mama will be able to walk across the grass from her house to ours without the pain that assaults her now with each step.  That’s the only gift on my wish list this December.

From years past, a few more of my favorite Christmas posts:

We’re All Family Here (December 25, 2012)

Lighting up the Night for Christmas (December 7, 2012)

The Holiday Newsletter Quandary (December 16, 2011)

Little Old Christmas Treasures (December 23, 2011)

Cape Cod Shell Angels (December 20, 2011)

Just in Case . . . (December 4, 2016)

Thanksgiving 2017

This Thanksgiving we begin what I hope will be a new tradition:  dinner at my mother’s new house here in Virginia.  Our family’s long Atlanta chapter came to an end this summer.  Our daughter is on break from her first semester of college.  We’re all Virginia residents.  Holidays should find us together, easily, no travel required.  

May you have the luxury of giving thanks for many blessings this day, surrounded by friends and family, in an atmosphere of peace and joy.

Happy Thanksgiving! 

Front Yard Squash Gardens ’17

This past summer, we were treated to not just one, but two spontaneous squash gardens in our front yard.  The expected pumpkin patch popped up in the maple stump compost pile, as it has for the past two years.  (See posts from November 2016 and July 2015.)  Another, even larger, sprang up in the mulch bed nearby.  The hard-working, fast-moving vines claimed many square feet of ground, producing big fuzzy green leaves and bright yellow blossoms. 


Pale yellow pumpkins, elongated ovals, grew from some of the flowers.  Others produced dark green fruit of similar shape.  And still other buds grew into beautifully ornamental gourds of yellow and green, some warty, others with smoother skin.  In the photo above, a knobby-skinned gourd is partially visible just to the left of the pumpkin.  I found no discernible differences in the foliage, although two types of vines must have been present.   

Many small proto-pumpkins appeared, but most were claimed by squirrels or deer.  Our fall harvest consists of the three tall guys in front. 

The gourds were evidently much less popular with the critters.  A few succumbed to nibbles, but seven small long-necked gourds survived until fall.  

The spontaneous pumpkin patch is the lazy pseudo-gardener’s dream, as  it requires neither planning nor planting by human hands.  Simply compost pumpkins past their prime, and let nature take its course.  This year’s harvest could fill a sizeable Thanksgiving cornucopia to overflowing.  I wonder what our little patch of earth will bring forth next year?

All is safely gathered in, ‘ere the winter storms begin. 

Halloween 2017

Halloween is not Kiko’s favorite night.  While it’s nowhere near as bad as July 4th, since there are no fireworks, he does not find it pleasurable.  He senses that his pack is getting ready for something out of the ordinary, but he’s unsure as to what.  When the parade of doorbell-ringers begins, he doesn’t get it.   Who are these figures that stand at the door, but rarely come in?  He has no chance to greet and to smell them.  That is no fun at all.  In the photo above, he peers anxiously out the storm door, clearly wondering what the night will bring. 

Slim and his dogs, on the other hand, are in their element.  It’s their Big Night.  Bring it on!, they say, we’re ready for the unexpected!    

May your Halloween bring all treats and no tricks, unless you’re into that sort of thing!

And They’re Back! (Annual Visit of the Skeleton Crew)

Time to rejoice and be glad, for our old pal Slim has returned for his annual October visit.  His devoted dog posse is with him, of course:  Champ, Fluffy, Elfrida and tiny twins Ruth and Rocky, all in the highest of Halloween spirits.  The group has kept to their diets for months, and now it’s time to chow down on treats.  When Slim and friends show up, every day is a candy corn and Butterfingers kind of day. 

These beautiful late October days have been perfect for basking in the sun during breaks from Halloween prep. 

Slim shares a particularly hilarious anecdote from his days as a Princeton grad student. 

Slim and the gang love tradition.  Ever the gracious, generous hosts at our church Trunk or Treat event, they’re eager to catch up with old friends like this perky Pink Lady and currently furry Sheltie pup. 

Kiko joins the pack for their pre-Halloween joyride.     

Could Kiko be more ready for a ride?  Enough with the banter, Slim, his upright posture and forward focus declare, let’s get a move on!

And so Slim peeled out, but with expert control and discretion, and he was off to buy more goodies for the main event.  (The gang has perhaps indulged in too much snacking.)  

Halloween is here!  Be ready! 


For previous Skeleton Crew posts, see here, here, and here. 


Back in June, when I last wrote a post for Wild Trumpet Vine, I anticipated a summer full of major changes.  Those expectations were fulfilled.     

A bare-bones summary of key events in the life of my family since then:

Our daughter graduated from high school.  We shopped for college gear.  We enjoyed our annual Cape Cod vacation.  The sale of my childhood home in Atlanta was completed.  We moved our daughter into her first-year residence hall at the University of Virginia.  (She had made her college decision, at long last, at the end of April.)  I flew to Atlanta to deal with the final culling and packing of forty-nine years worth of accumulation, and to prepare the house for the new owners.   A dear friend drove my mother to Virginia to spare her from witnessing those last frenetic stages of the move.  At the end of that week, I walked through bare, empty rooms, turned the keys over to a new family, and flew back to Virginia. 

Three days later, the huge Atlas moving van arrived at my mother’s new house, conveniently located next door to ours.  Unpacking has been a slow process, hampered and overshadowed by the cloud of my mother’s ongoing back pain and the rounds of doctor visits it requires.  She’d been in worsening pain in the weeks leading up to her departure from Atlanta.  Now we know the cause, but treatment is challenging.  Mama, who has been for most of her life a whirling dervish of industrious creativity, is now largely confined to sofa-sitting.   

If this account sounds dry and devoid of emotion, it’s because I’ve had little time for reflection.  I’ve been packing my thoughts away, much as I packed up the Atlanta house.   Like the boxes still stored in my mother’s basement and garage, I’ll get to them one day before long and sort them out.  Until then, I’ll ease back into Wild Trumpet Vine.  I’m not yet up to the task of writing about the big things, so I’ll focus on little ones.  I foresee quietly scintillating commentaries on the colors of the season, the many charms of my silent, sleeping dog, that sort of thing.  Whether they’re read by others or not, I will write for my own mental health.  I hope a few of you will stick with me as WTV awakens from dormancy.