Glimmer, whether used as a noun or a verb, is such a descriptive word in the English language! Dictionaries define it as a faint or unsteady shining light—a twinkle, shimmer, or flicker.

A glimmer of light as dawn breaks.
The lamp shines a glimmer of hope. 

Nowadays, the word glimmer has acquired an even deeper meaning and often is used in plural. Glimmers will spark feelings of joy, calm and safety. They can be internal or external cues that ignite positive emotions. Light in the darkness. Hope in the future. Warm fuzzies.

Glimmers are everywhere if we will take time to seek and feel their magic. Beauty is all around us, even when we feel lost, afraid, alone, hopeless, or sad. To me, glimmers represent tiny flickers of God’s grace, whispers of His love and assurance that uplift our spirits and provide peace in what has become a noisy, chaotic world.

I wrote this poem today, inspired by some of my favorite glimmers. Hope you enjoy!

Glimmers from God

Blue skies and sunshine,

Green trees and quiet time,

Rolling hills and nature walks,

Special friends and long talks. 

These beautiful things are truly free!

Glimmers from God for you and me.

Ocean spray and wave swells,

Mountain trails and wooded dells, 

Babbling brooks and bird songs, 

Restore peace when the soul longs. 

These beautiful things are truly free!

Glimmers from God for you and me.

Fields of flowers and busy bees,

Butterflies flit in the gentle breeze,

Raindrop rivulets on window panes, 

Snowflake drifts in country lanes. 

These beautiful things are truly free, 

Glimmers from God for you and me. 

Kind words, the touch of a hand, 

A happy smile, footprints in sand,

Fiery sunsets, and a moonlit night,

Family love that shines so bright. 

These beautiful things are truly free, 

Glimmers from God for you and me. 

When life hits, and it’s hard to cope,

Glimmers renew our sense of hope. 

Sing grateful praise to God above.

Joy is born when we rest in His love. 

— a poem by Anthea

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. —Matthew 11:28-30

Meanwhile, back at the ranch …. she sat stoically on the winding stone wall along the ridge, watching us arrive and unpack supplies from the truck. There was a quiet calm about her statue-like pose which I interpreted as her acceptance of our presence, almost as if she knew our return was inevitable. She remained vigilant, her gaze unflinching as she contemplated our every move.  This grey fox displayed an unmistakable posture!

A silent sentinel, I thought.

It’s not unusual to see a fox at the ranch. We don’t know exactly how many adult foxes claim our property as their territory but we know for sure there are three! During this visit we witnessed all three together which is a first for us.

Sightings are a pretty common occurrence, almost daily, especially when we leave scraps out for them. They’ll gobble the food, ever watchful though, but when we approach they’ll turn tail and scamper off, keeping a safe distance.

The demeanor of this particular fox was different. She seemed more confident, allowing us to approach her with scraps of sausage without running away.  She seemed reluctant to leave at times, though I also sensed a certain air of defiance from her. She was determined to stand her ground.

A couple of days ago, around dinner time, we observed that same sentinel-like pose. This times she had situated herself a few feet from our deck, scrutinizing our movements in and around the house. Why didn’t we guess her true motives? Why didn’t we realize our fox was protecting something infinitely more precious than her territory. By now you have probably caught on!

Yes, once you know the backstory her behavior makes perfect sense. She is indeed a sentinel. A protector. This Mama Fox is guarding her babies. Her den (or one of them) is nestled under our deck. Late afternoon, on a couple of occasions, she and her adorable kits have emerged from their den to play in the sun beside the deck, while we looked on in delight.

Beautiful, untamed nature in the raw. What a joy to behold.

People have forgotten this truth,” the fox said, “But you mustn’t forget it. You become responsible forever for what you’ve tamed. —Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. From “The Little Prince”.

It’s been almost 9 years since my beautiful mother went to heaven. I think of her often with such joy and gratitude. In my day to day living, even little things can stimulate remembrances of her that make me smile, or remind me of her wisdom, her indomitable spirit, upbeat attitude, her courage, her deep love for my dad and I—and for life itself.

There are days when I miss her more than words can express. It is only my heart that knows the depth of longing at those times.

On some occasions, my inner child, the little girl Anthea, simply yearns for her Mummy. Truthfully it’s been one of those weeks, the longing for her magnified by the approach of Mother’s Day. A hug, a touch, a reassuring word. A few minutes to sit on a quiet bench and chat about life in all its glory. Imagine that. A mother and great grandmother in her own right, still needing her mom. A successful, independent businesswoman, and to some, a tower of strength, pining for Mother!

No matter our age and stature, will we always miss our moms? At times, do we desperately need them? I certainly hope so. A loving mother with a powerful impact on her child can never be forgotten. She is imprinted in the soul of her offspring. In our hearts we hear her whisper words of wisdom, comfort and hope.

My mother loved flowers, those she cultivated in her own garden, but also wildflowers of all varieties. There was always a vase of fresh cut flowers in our home.

As a child I delighted in gathering primroses, bluebells and other wildflowers from the nearby fields and woodlands. A posy especially for Mum, presented with love. And, oh the unbridled joy that simple gift bestowed. Rejoice in the meaningful little things. 

Today, after several weeks of busyness, and this past week’s slew of unexpected challenges, I picked up my brushes and completed the watercolor paintings of primroses and bluebells that you see above. Flowers for my beloved mother. I love you Mum. xo

Happy Mother’s Day 2024 to mothers everywhere. 

And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Matthew 6:28

We can hardly believe it! Here we are in the Isle Skye on our trek up to the Old Man of Storr, pictured behind us!

We were asked what we had planned for our Diamond Anniversary, so thought you might enjoy hearing the back story.

In October 1963, Chuck placed a diamond engagement ring on my finger in Scotland.

 

On this, our sixtieth anniversary, the gift is a different kind of diamond. It’s a gift to each other. The Isle of Skye is our sparkling diamond.

The wonder of it all. Yes, powerful dreams can come true. Thank you Lord for granting the desire of our hearts.

Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart. 
Psalm 37: 4

 

 

I’m calling this creation Journey into sunlight. From the word prompts for Week 2 of the #100daysofwonder2024 I chose the word “journey” as my creative inspiration.

After all, life in all its glory is a journey, isn’t it? It’s full of twists and turns, and roller coaster moments—bursting with ever changing shades of grey, rainbow colors, and varying speeds, always keeping us on our toes. Living in expectation of what’s next.

For several days this past week I was imprisoned by my least favorite chore—shrouded in a foggy, grey cloud of obligatory tax preparation. Yes, it was one of those “must-get-it-done-now” things so I wouldn’t have to face it later. So I buckled down!

On completion of the task I felt as though I’d broken through the confining gloom of a densely wooded thicket and stepped into the welcome embrace of a bright sunny meadow.

This painting depicts how I felt in that moment. It’s the scene I envisioned in my mind as I stepped from the murky shadows of the dark wood and into the sunlit field. Oh joy! Sunshiny yellows.

I slipped through a gap in the nearby fence to follow the grassy avenue, beckoning me to journey on—towards the light.

I hope your weekend is blessed with sunshiny moments of wonder ✨💛

 

I promised myself one miniature watercolor per week. Lol. Little did I know what this week would bring. Without boring divulging the boring details, I scrounged some time this afternoon to produce this little guy while the workmen hammered tiles on our roof. It’s intended to be a sparrow. You decide. It’s for sure a bird of sorts! 

From the seven words to prompt inspiration, I chose “sparrow”. It resounded with me after my unexpected crazy week. In scripture, Luke reassures us that not a single sparrow is forgotten, and God even knows the number of hairs on our head. That is so very comforting to me this week. How was your week? Here’s wishing you a wonderful weekend. 

Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. —Luke 12:6

How does one find the words to portray sixty years of marriage? It’s virtually impossible! Wasn’t it only yesterday that we stood at the altar, so young, so vulnerable, so passionately in love, and so grateful to be in that defining moment, with our whole life before us. There, in that beautiful, 12th century English church, before God and fewer than 50 guests, we gazed into each other’s eyes and solemnly pledged our vows, declaring our undying love for one another. For eternity. 

It was a glorious day. The weather? Not so much. It was a cold, damp February day, but that mattered not to us. We were to be married. Our hearts were on fire.

It was a small wedding with only family and close friends. The church seated fifty people, but oh the history of St. Nicolas Church, at Forest Hill. Everything about our wedding was minimal, but our love was there in abundance. My dress? White velvet, sewn by yours truly on a hand propelled Singer sewing machine, decorated with a few covered buttons down the back bodice, and a strip of fluffy swan’s down to soften the scooped neckline. My head dress and veil? Borrowed from a loving aunt.

One groomsman stood by Chuck, his best man, and I was attended by one bridesmaid—my best friend since we were 14 years old. She was adorned in a sleeveless yellow gown that I had worn as a bridesmaid for an Aunt’s wedding two years before. She and my sweet little cousin, the flower girl, wearing a white velvet dress I’d made from my leftover material, shivered uncontrollably in the frosty air of early February. The organ music was beautiful and light filtered through the stained glass windows adding a glow of warm tones to the flagstones in the cool sanctuary. We sang a hymn or two, we pledged our vows, the vicar said a prayer for our marriage, and we place rings on our fingers.

Chuck gently pushed back my veil. The first kiss for his bride. We were married! Then off to a small reception at Studley Priory Hotel before leaving for The Shakespeare Hotel in Stratford upon Avon for our first night. As luck would have it, the proprietor saw confetti falling from my hat, and he comped us the honeymoon suite. What a gift!

And thus married life began for Mr. & Mrs. Charles Tripp.

Yes, nothing short of epic can describe the enormity of sixty stunning years of married life. The ups and downs and all arounds that inevitably are intertwined in a lasting marriage. The challenges and perks of a military life, the responsibilities and thrills of raising three precious children, the time invested and satisfaction reaped from building a successful home business. The sheer joy of loving our grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Generational love is the circle of life. So many stories we could share. And oh, my goodness, the meaningful moments, the millions of magical memories. Let’s not forget our hope for the future and the daily gratitude we express for being healthy. Best of all? We still have each other. Oh, how greatly God has blessed our union.

And, at the heart of our marriage, a faithful God. Our unconditional love has grown ever deeper with each passing year, through all the peaks and valleys of life. Thank you Lord for bringing us together and watching over us for sixty years, and for those yet to to come. 

 

The gifts may be forgotten from year to year – but cherished memories live on forever.

Christmas is my most favorite time of year! There’s no denying that I LOVE it. I’ve always been enchanted by this special time. It started when I was a child and I’ve never lost the joy and sense of family that comes with the holiday season. For me, it’s the whole package, not only the ones under the tree.

It’s the celebration of the birth of Christ, the personification of LOVE. It’s Santa Claus, snowmen, cold weather, and darker nights. It’s the twinkling bright lights of Christmas, the traditional foods, and arrival of family. Anticipating Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and Boxing Day, is part of the whole experience. The build-up is such fun! Who’s coming this year to celebrate Christmas with us? Where will we place the tree? What memories will we make and what will surprise and delight us the most?

I’m all in for surprises—giving them to our loved ones brings me great joy. Seeing the surprise reveal itself through the recipient’s eyes brings the gift to life for me. It’s like seeing it for the first time. So many memories are created each Christmas that will live on long after the tinsel has gone and the lights are out.

It’s one more reason I am excited—not sad—to dismantle all the decorations and reestablish “normalcy” in our home. The ornaments are gone, but the memories we create live on. By the way, we did that today. We lovingly packed away all our special Christmas ornaments and treasures. They’re all snuggled in their containers until next year. It feels so good to have the house back to the usual décor since it puts our minds in gear to prepare for the New Year and the hopes and dreams we plan to turn into reality in 2024! Goals to set, plans to put into action! But I digressed and got ahead of myself—let me go back.

Of course the “look and feel” of Christmas is different today from when I was a child but the long-standing traditions perpetuate in the same way. Even the stockings look different. As a child in England in the 1940-50’s, my stocking was a real stocking—the kind that was actually worn by my mother back then (not pantyhose) STOCKINGS that were suspended by a garter belt! We would leave a mincemeat tart and warm milk for Santa, and he would leave the filled stocking at the end of my bed so it was there when I awoke on Christmas morning. It was a delight each year, always an apple in the toe and an orange in the heel, and Cadbury’s chocolate in between. The rest of the toys and goodies bulged and rustled as the stretchy stocking conformed to the shape of the toy—and it held a LOT! Dolls were my big passion back then and there was always a doll!

Breakfast was next and then we opened the rest of the presents from under the tree  while the Christmas carols were playing on the radio or gramophone—beautiful traditional carols, sung usually by a boy’s choir, often broadcast live from one of the British cathedrals.

That brings us back to the tree. It was always a real one, and fresh! It didn’t go up until around the 22nd or 23rd of December—some year’s maybe even on Christmas Eve, and all the family participated in decorating. There were icicles and glass balls and real candles secured tightly into clips that grasped the tree branches. A fairy adorned the top of our tree. Lastly the silver tinsel hung like real icicles, hung strand by strand, the more the better. At some point the candles were lit! Imagine that! The tree had to be fresh and green to decrease the chances of fire. It was indeed a sight to behold and a very special time. Those bygone times have vanished forever, but the memories live on, the experiences retold, and thus the sentiments relived.

If we had snow for Christmas it was perfect! Let the sledding commence! And ne’er a year went by when we didn’t go caroling door to door in the neighborhood. Times were different back then, simpler and more defined, with less confusion. If political correctness existed back then, I was oblivious to it! Yes, we had school plays that retold the birth of baby Jesus and all the kids sung carols. Dare I say it? There was a prayer spoken by the school principal, wishing peace on earth and goodwill to all! And why not? Isn’t that what everyone wants? Peace on earth and goodwill to all?

So Christmas 2023 has come and gone. The family came and went. The tree is down. All that remains is the occasional glint from tiny flecks of glitter, sprinkled about the house, reminders of the sparking tree and centerpieces. Oh yes, and a few remnants of home-cooked goodies—especially the yummy fruitcake!

Of course, we hold close the warm memories we created this past year! It will all return to delight us again in 2024. Meantime, what fun lies ahead between Christmas 2023 and 2024? Many happy surprises—that’s what we hope for, for you and for us! Make 2024 your happiest, healthiest and most successful year ever!

I wrote this little poem in 2010, after packing away all the Christmas decorations. Enjoy!

The stockings are folded with such loving care
The tree is boxed up, and the mantle looks bare.
The snowmen and Santas are snuggled together,
They’re safe and protected from outside weather.

The brilliant-lit star and nativity scene
Having brightened our lives, are off to dream
Until Christmas season is here next year,
And the colorful ornaments return to cheer.

From out of their boxes they’ll spring fresh and new
The old family favorites are most loved, it’s so true.
But not one decoration can produce such joy
As celebrating the birth of that baby boy.

Tinsel tarnishes and Christmas lights grow dim
But the everlasting light that shines from HIM
Gladdens our hearts with real Christmas cheer!
We can’t snuff it out. It shines brightly all year.
—Anthea

 Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” —John 8:12

The last two days in the Lake District our hiking boots toughed out a rugged workout over hill and dale. We followed two separate walking trails wending our way over jagged, steep, and often slick, rocky stretches for a total of 10 miles—4 miles the first day and 6 the next. We were thankful for sturdy, waterproof hiking boots that kept our feet dry and comfortable, while providing critical ankle support.

Admittedly, both trails were challenging for us and I’m happy to say we completed what we set out to do. The scenic beauty, the solitude, and the refreshing mountain air was worth each and every single step upward.

Could we have accomplished more? Yes! But we weighed our desire against the risks and chose to be satisfied with what we achieved. We could have climbed higher but  the trail grew increasingly more dangerous so prudence prevailed and we decided it was not the time to throw caution to the wind—one misstep on a ragged, slippery rock could have meant an unpleasant end to the magnificence of our adventures.

The first day we hiked high above Windermere for a breathtaking view of the Lake.

We stopped a short distance from the highest viewpoint of the Post Knott walk due to the dangerous conditions of the steep trail but even the elevation where we decided to stay offered a fantastic panoramic view.

Our last day in Cumbria was nothing short of magical and invigorating. We rode to the village of Grasmere on the top deck of an open-air, double-decker bus. Arriving at the village, we paused for coffee before embarking on a 6 mile hike over hill and dale to Easedale Tarn, high up the mountain beyond Easedale waterfall.

On the way we traversed lush green pastures where we roamed through flocks of grazing sheep who would stop chewing momentarily to stare at us, curious but seemingly unconcerned by our intrusion.

We crossed narrow bridges over babbling brooks. We climbed over wooden stiles, we opened metal farm gates and secured them behind us. We were mesmerized by the multitude of slate dry walls sprawling like patchwork over miles of green meadows. We followed the winding way alongside the sparkling Easdale Beck which flowed from the waterfall high above us, tumbling over small rapids here and there, loudly singing its melodious song all the way! We trudged over steep gravel trails and plodded along rocky paths. We paused often, breathing in the pure fresh air, all the while marveling at the indescribable beauty of our surroundings.

Truly beyond the din, we were immersed in nature, surrounded by God’s artistry. It’s exactly what we needed and desired—a device detox and a break from routine. We are so grateful for the multitude of meaningful moments. 

We didn’t quite reach the tarn itself—the narrow, rock-studded trail forward was wet and slimy with moss so we thought it best not to risk climbing farther. We left the final steep part of the hike to those fancying themselves a bit more goat-like!

We rested beside the waterfall for half an hour fascinated by a sheep—at first glance we thought it was a goat—perched on a high ledge. The cool air was invigorating. We inhaled the breathtaking panoramic views hoping to forever permeate our souls with the moment before slowly winding our way back down the rock-strewn fell and into the village pub for a welcome, and well-earned pint. Guinness for me, Peroni for Chuck.

Grasmere is renowned as the home of Romantic Poet, William Wordsworth. He described it as “The most loveliest spot that man hath found.” Positioned near Grasmere Lake, the village is encircled by a panorama of fells and mountains providing atmospheric inspiration to writers, poets and artists. For sure it inspired us. Thank you Lord for the gift of this wonderful and unforgettable experience.

Then came the bus ride back to the Old England Hotel in Windermere where we would spend our last night, before traveling by train to visit dear friends in Mixtow, Cornwall, where a new adventure beckoned.

Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher — William Wordsworth