Words for Wednesday: forcynthia

blogIMG_7647You read that title correctly. No, I did not make a typographical error there. I didn’t misspell the word forsythia, I truly meant to post forcynthia.

What in the world? you may ask.  As she nears that ripe age of 65 is she starting to lose her faculties? Or is it simply that the appearance of sunshine and spring-like weather addled her brain? Is she giddy with spring-time bliss?

To answer those questions: No, I don’t think I’m losing my almost-65-year-old mind. No, my brain isn’t addled…at least not yet. And maybe, yes, I could be giddy with spring-time bliss.

But the most accurate answer is there is a story behind the title of today’s post and I am going to share it with you.

In our yard there is one forsythia bush. It has been planted in the same spot for several years now – almost 10 this summer – and this is the year it has bloomed its best. The bush exists for one specific reason; it was a gift to me because of a childhood story I once shared with a friend.

I’ve always loved seeing forsythia bushes blooming their golden yellow, delicate, skinny petaled flowers clustered on tall spires in spring. Forsythia are so cheerful to view, even if some folks consider them invasive as they can grow quite large and can take over an area of landscaping.

But to me, they are special and I’m going to tell you why.

Unless you know me personally, you do not know that my given name is actually Cynthia. It’s right there, written on my birth certificate although the only person to call me by that name was my mother – when she was angry with me.

I’m more known for the nickname associated with Cynthia – Cindy.  But my birth name is Cynthia, a name derived from Greek, another name for Artemis, the mythological goddess of the moon. But even from my earliest memory, I knew my ‘real’ name was Cynthia and that I certainly was not a goddess.

As a youngster, every time I heard my parents discussing those bushes that appeared in spring with their bright sunshine-color blooms as forsythia, I honestly thought they were saying “for Cynthia.” So at some point in my childhood, I claimed those plants as my own. And when they bloomed, they were for me – for Cynthia.

I related this silly, little story once to a friend and it made her chuckle. But she remembered my tale. Not quite 10 years ago, my father passed away. The loss was difficult for me as he was the last remaining parent either my husband or I had. Losing Dad came right on the cusp of empty nest hood too, so my emotions were kind of a mess.

Imagine the joy it brought me when the friend gave me a gift to express her condolences at my father’s passing. The gift was a small forsythia bush which she spent a good deal of time searching for.

blogIMG_7640A gift to bless my heart. This Cynthia. This Cynthia who loves forsythia. This Cynthia who still thinks of this particular spring bloom as exclusively mine – my forcynthia.

And my forcynthia still blesses me each time I look at it, but especially in spring time. And that joy of remembering my parents, remembering that little girl who loved her parents so dearly and also her forcynthia stays with me.

Sometimes joy comes in yellow.

“Forsythia is pure joy. There is not an ounce, not a glimmer of sadness or even knowledge in forsythia. Pure, undiluted, untouched joy.” ~ Anne Morrow Lindbergh

©2019 mamasemptynest.wordpress.com

Words for Wednesday: dancing with daffodils

blogIMG_7336Some spring-like weather boosts my spirit and makes my heart and mind do a little happy dance.

It appears Spring has finally descended on my neck of the woods, the one where Ol’ Man Winter hung on by his icy claws until the bitter end.

Sunshine. Warmer temperatures. Blue skies. And with them, green grass begins to emerge adding a touch of color to the far-too-long-barren landscape around my home.  

Then….pop, pop, pop. The daffodils and heavenly-scented hyacinths awaken from their slumber providing spots of yellow, purple, and pink. 

It’s Spring! And I feel like dancing with the daffodils as they sway in the breeze. As I dance, I spy it – the first dandelion of the season. Its sunny yellow face doesn’t disappoint me even though some consider dandy a weed. No, instead it adds to the pleasure I feel now as I bid adieu to winter and welcome spring.

Those perky daffodils remind me of the well-known poem, I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud,  written by William Wordsworth (English poet, 1770-1850):

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o’er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed—and gazed—but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

“Flowers always make people better, happier, and more helpful; they are sunshine, food and medicine for the soul.” ~ Luther Burbank

©2019 mamasemptynest.wordpress.com

When a stranger planted spring in my heart

blogDSCN7493It was one of those days when Spring just burst forth in all five of my senses.

Sight:  The sky turned brilliantly blue, dotted with fluffy pillows of clouds.  Trees, which once stood stark and bare, blossomed profusely.  Outside surroundings revealed overwhelming evidence of color’s rebirth in hues of green, pink, yellow, purple, and red.

Hearing: When you stepped outside, a symphony of song birds’ musical masterpieces greeted your ears.  Folks ventured outdoors chatting happily with neighbors, lawn mowers buzzed, and the sound of children’s laughter while playing reverberated through the air.

Touch:  You could feel the sun’s enveloping warmth kiss your upturned face while a gentle breeze caressed you and tickled your skin.

Smell:  As you inhaled, you caught the fragrant aroma of freshly mowed grass and the distinct flowery scents of blooming daffodils, tulips, and hyacinths.

Taste: The air seemed so clean and so clear after a long winter’s season spent mostly indoors, that when you opened your mouth to gulp in the fresh air, you could literally taste spring.

It was a spring day like so many others before and so many more to come.  But driving through my hometown after work the other day, my sense of spring transported me back into time…to a similar spring day over 40 years ago.

My hometown sits nestled among hills alongside a rolling river, which meanders its way to our nearest city where it joins another river and forms yet another.  For as long as I can remember, a riverfront park, complete with friendly park benches to perch on, lovely trees to offer shade, and a sidewalk upon which to stroll has existed in my little town.

A number of years ago, the park received a major renovation.  Quaint gazebos and small pavilions were added and an amphitheater was erected with seats looking out to the flowing water.  Concerts and other events are held here and it truly is a lovely park.

One of the main streets of our town, aptly named Water Street, runs parallel to the park and serves as a divider between it and store fronts and houses.  Driving along that street on my way out of town, I headed to the old-fashioned bridge which spans the river.  I welcomed the sun’s balmy light as it radiated through the windshield warming my face while cool air rushed in from my open car window.

Trees in the park, boasting their blooms, waved their white and pink robes of color in the light breeze.  And that’s when I caught a whiff of that irresistible and comforting aroma – freshly cut grass. I glanced at the park and spied municipal workers seated on lawn tractors accomplishing that first cutting of the season.

Immediately, the memory of another spring day literally jumped into my thoughts and provided yet another lofty lift in my spirit.

I was just a teenage girl attending junior high school.  Laden down with the drama of such days, fretting over friends and prospective boyfriends (or at least one boy I wished was my boyfriend), a stack of textbooks weighing down my arms (we didn’t have backpacks), and the weariness of a school day finally over, I trudged outside the school building and down the steps at day’s end.  I’m certain my head was down, my shoulders drooped, and my heart sank in some kind of misery.

I heard a familiar voice call my name loudly and looked up.  My two older, married sisters waited in my brother-in-law’s pickup truck parked at the curb behind the line of school buses.  They were downtown on errands and finding themselves nearby as school dismissed, they decided to offer me a ride home.

Ordinarily, getting home without riding the school bus would have made me happy.   But that day, something troubled me.  No doubt, it must have been trifling because for the life of me, I don’t recall what rendered me unhappy or upset.

I’m not sure if I did poorly on a test, I was angry at someone, or I just had a really bad day at school, or it was just the moodiness of puberty, but I felt down in the dumps.  Obviously, some kind of teenage angst had me in its grasp.

My oldest sister slid over from the passenger seat, making room for me to climb in, so I occupied the seat by the open truck window.  The day was beautiful. Warm. Sunny. Flowers gaily nodded their heads each time the wind blew a little breath.   But I didn’t seem to notice, too preoccupied with my gloomy disposition.

We drove down Water Street beside the riverfront park.   Trees lined the park in a profusion of budding blooms and the scent of mowed grass wafted through the air.  But I didn’t really notice.

The traffic signal at the bridge turned red and we paused in a long line of cars waiting for our turn to cross the bridge and leave town behind.  Sitting in that truck on a glorious spring day, I must have appeared glum, forlorn, and melancholy.  Suddenly, a young man stood beside my open window, saying to me, “Here, this is for you!”

Startled, I incredulously looked at this guy holding a twig loaded with flowering tree buds out to me.  He wasn’t someone I knew.  He wasn’t from my school.  He was older than me, but not one of the high school guys either.  He must have been a college student attending the state university’s branch campus in my hometown probably just relishing fresh air and a splendid spring day while strolling through the park.

And he presented a sprig of spring to me, a complete stranger – a scrawny 14-year-old girl who wasn’t happy with her life at that moment.  He must have recognized that winter still lurked in my heart and mind when he offered that blooming branch to me.  I reached out and accepted his gift, managed to mumble a surprised thank you as the light changed, and we drove onward.

I stared at the pink blossoms in my hand, wondered what just happened, and smiled happily all the way home.  My sisters had plenty of questions.  Does that guy like you?  Who was that?  Do you know him?  Why do you think he gave that to you? Are you sure you’ve never seen him before?

I did not have any answers.  But I have never forgotten that day.  The way the sunshine warmed my face.  The way cool air blew my hair into my eyes.  The way the park looked so inviting with flowering trees and sun glistening on the water.  The scent of grass and delicate blooms.  The kind and thoughtful gift granted to me brightening that particular moment in time.   The feel of that small tree branch in my hand.  And the joy that flooded my soul due to the random act of one kindhearted stranger.

I kept that little branch in my room until the blossoms dried up and fell off the twig.  I never saw the college student again and eventually I forgot what he even looked like.  But I have never forgotten the feeling he gave me that day.  And I don’t believe I ever will.

I moved back to my homeland almost 14 years ago, and every spring since then, I remember this caring gesture from long ago when I drive through my little town, along the river, by the park with those blossoming trees.

Yes, today in my book called Opportunity, I pleasantly recall that balmy day so many years ago when a thoughtful young college boy caused a smile to spread across my face and my heart to sing when he bestowed a special gift upon me – the gift of paying attention to spring, a gift of hope and joy and rejuvenation.

“The beautiful spring came; and when Nature resumes her loveliness, the human soul is apt to revive also.” ~Harriet Ann Jacobs

Copyright ©2012 mamasemptynest.wordpress.com

Ahhhh…breathe it in

blogIMG_0639Take a deep breath.  Inhale and savor the sweet aroma of the first grass cutting of the season.

For me, nothing smells more like spring and summer than the scent of blooming flowers and a freshly cut lawn.

For one day last week, we experienced lovely weather here at Mama’s Empty Nest – temperatures in the mid-to-high 70’s and abundant sunshine.  It served to revive both my spirit and the landscape outside our country home.

Flowers awakened from their long winter naps and burst forth in color.  Yellow happy daffodils, white daffodils with bright sunshiny centers, pretty in pink and purple hyacinths, ruby red tulips and deep purple grape hyacinths greeted me with their coats of color and their endearing scents.  Just a couple days of warmth and sunshine coaxed our rhododendron bushes around our front porch to spontaneously burst into an array of color as well.

Our yard is a good two and one half acres of green.   Interspersed here and there a few trees stand, but they are still fairly small, so the lawn is a wide expanse of grass. (Okay, I’ll be honest – there are lots of weeds in there too, but hey, they’re green!)  With the outrageous amounts of rain we’ve endured this spring, our lawn had grown quite high, so it was time for the first mowing of the season.

Middle daughter and I set forth for an afternoon on the wedding plan quest.  When we left the house, hubby was maneuvering the trusty John Deere lawn tractor back and forth as he mowed the acreage.

Upon our arrival back home, it was dusk.  The sun was setting and providing its usual spectacular view from our surroundings.  We stepped out of daughter’s car and that’s when it engulfed us.

The aroma.   Oh, so lovely.  There’s something about the scent of freshly mowed grass that just makes you audibly sigh and know that all is right with the world.  I believe it is just another of God’s gifts to us.

That aroma heightens the senses, brightens the mood and brings yester-year memories of spring days and summer evenings to mind.   Both daughter and I actually voiced “ahh” simultaneously as the scent entered our noses.

And then we heard the sounds that also accompany spring and summer here in the country.  The peepers.

Spring peepers, a chorus of tiny little frogs who live in the marsh behind our property,  serenade us with their peeping songs.

These little guys usher spring into our area and we hear them throughout the summer as well.  They remind me of  tiny trumpeters heralding the season’s change.

We just stood there in the driveway for a couple of minutes absorbing the scent and sound, so refreshing after a frustrating day in search of wedding gowns.

We looked at each other and smiled.  And I remarked to my daughter, one of the dearest loves of my life, “You can’t experience this in the city.”

As I recall the bliss of that moment in my book of Opportunity, I’m so grateful for my home in the country on this fourth page of Chapter Five.

©2011 mamasemptynest.wordpress.com

Welcome as flowers in May


blog022It’s May Day, but I didn’t find a basket of flowers on my doorstep.  Instead I found a very wet porch!

As a young girl, I always fancied dancing and singing around a May Pole on May 1st but never actually did that.  I do remember filling a paper basket, which I made at school, with flowers from my mother’s garden and placing it on my neighbor’s porch one year.  It was one of those sweet, simple spring traditions of yesteryear that I wonder if children even learn about today.

Spring time always makes me hope for the best.  And that reminds me of this quote I once read by Susan J. Bissonette:  “An optimist is the human personification of spring.”

Come May, the optimist in me always expects days filled with cheerful sunshine and warmth, but reality often delivers the exact opposite especially this early in the month.   And today is no exception since it is yet another chilly, rainy day with more of the same forecast according to the Weather Channel.

I’m employed by a non-profit organization and every year in early May we hold a walk-a-thon type fundraiser in our hometown riverfront park.  Today we held it in the rain just like we did last year and again we were forced to switch to Plan B.

blog031Plan A is to begin the walk in our park’s amphitheater, which this year is still covered with flooding river water.  Plan B is to hold registration at a local church, then walk in the rain.  We always appreciate the loyal few who help us, rain or shine.

Spring has proven fickle again this year yielding lovely, balmy weather one day followed up with a chilly, dreary one.

Yesterday I took advantage of sunshine and nicer temperatures to stroll around our country home yard and notice signs that indeed spring is here, even if the weather isn’t exactly cooperating.

Let me share a few of the tell-tale signs I observed.   Suddenly, our lawn has sprouted bursts of yellow everywhere.

Dandelions!  These hearty plants are weeds and most people try to eradicate them from their expanse of green, but out here in the country, that’s a battle we can’t win.

Dandelion seeds lift up into the air and twirl and sway through the breeze and land in our yard continually.

But there’s something about these happy-faced spots of perky color that makes me smile.  They remind me of my childhood when each spring I would pick dandelion nosegays to bring inside and present to my mother.  Mom would place them in a glass of water as if they were the most prized flowers in her garden, and she had plenty of those.

Next on my walk, I spied little glimpses of purple and as I leaned over closer to the ground, I saw one of my favorite tiny flowers – violets.  Another reminder of childhood.  My mother taught me a different name for these delicate little flowers; she called them johnny jump-ups.

blog032I can only assume it’s because quite suddenly they seem to jump up out of the ground.  They don’t last long, so you have to really search for them.  In my yard, there are only a few areas where they appear.

“When April steps aside for May,

Like diamonds all the rain-drops glisten;

Fresh violets open every day:

To some new bird each hour we listen.” ~ Lucy Larcom

Soon one of the bushes in our back yard will produce one of my favorite scents – lilac.  I absolutely go giddy with glee when blooms on the lilac bush open up and I can cut huge bouquets of those delicate lavender delights to brighten up my kitchen table.  Their fragrance is so sweet, I can hardly wait to smell them.

Mark Twain once said, “It’s spring fever…. You don’t quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!”

Yes, I definitely have spring fever on this first page in Chapter 5 of my Opportunity book, but unlike Twain, I know what I want – sunshine and warmer temperatures!  Plus I’m overly anxious for those beautiful May flowers that April showers promise.

And that thought reminds me – because my blog was recently Freshly Pressed by WordPress, I’ve gained some new subscribers.

I am excited to have you join me here at Mama’s Empty Nest!  My prayer is you will find something here to reflect upon, or something to inspire you, or maybe just cause you to smile.

So welcome to you, new readers!   “You are as welcome as the flowers in May.” ~ Charles Macklin

©2011 mamasemptynest.wordpress.com