Monthly Archives: May 2015

Living…in Color (Part 1 – The Wonder Years)


A blogger friend of mine posted recently her thoughts on the virtues of the color green. (You can read her lovely words here:  I must admit, I have grown warm to all things green in recent years.  The lush, verdant deep tones as well as the translucent sun-washed pastels.  But green has not always been my favorite color.  Throughout the various seasons of my life I have gravitated toward different favorites. It has me wondering if the colors of my life reflect my journey.

I may be over thinking this, but I do believe each color can have a specific affect on us.  Like music, color has the potential to touch our subconscious deeply.  So, to test my theory, I decided to do a little research on the psychology and meaning of color,  and to my surprise there is a whole spectrum of science, spirituality and meaning associated with color.  Clearly others have done the over thinking for me!

The first colors to capture my attention as a toddler were bright yellows, often dotted against dark backgrounds – flowers, fireflies and honeybees to name a few. The yellows gave me warm happy feelings. And there was something about artificial light as well, its golden hue disbursing the darkness drew me in like a moth to a flame. The science of color tells me that yellow is the color of the mind and intellect, original thought, inquisitiveness, enthusiasm for life. No wonder I loved it so!

Warm hues of brown, earthy and comforting, also had a deep affect on me during my formative years.  Many of the browns in my life had much to do with my mother, her eyes and hair, and the color of her full length lush, faux fur coat. I remember nuzzling against that coat while drifting off to sleep on road trips during thunder storms or on icy winter nights. Brown was also the color of my first impressions of home.  Bricks, brown window and door frames, brown floors, the brown-framed screen door that led to the back porch…my portal to the world. The color Brown, it turns out, is a friendly color, honest, genuine and sincere.  It is warm and sensitive, providing security, protection and a sense of belonging.

Once I became more mobile during my pre-school years and began exploring the world around me, my other senses started to affect my affinity for certain colors.  Flowers in particular guided my preferences to pinks and lilac/lavender hues. I would spend hours exploring my grandmother’s garden.  My love of and connection to nature rooted deeply during this season of my life. And despite my solitary appearance, I was not particularly alone. I also recall that during this time I actively engaged a crew of spirit guides who accompanied me on my adventures and saw me off to sleep beside my bed each evening.

Pink tones signify unconditional love and nurturing, naivety and sweetness, while also challenging one to be more self reliant. I find it quite serendipitous that lilac/ lavender hues were also part of my color bouquet during this season of my life. Peace, tranquility and a free-spirited qualities dancing on scented lilac breezes, and are hallmarks of purple hues.  It was indeed the most magical season of my life, sparkling with imagination and creativity.

There is much more of my color-filled world to explore.  Stay tuned for Part 2 – Shades of Blue!

For a look into the colors of your own life, here is a helpful website I found: . Happy coloring! 🙂

The Holey Tree

I have no words…too many words. But I digress. The sun just blasted a hole through that tree, don’t you see?

“We’re all a bit mad here…” ~ thanks for explaining Lewis Carroll!

And the theme this week is Truth…still churning.  This is becoming a rolling blog post. TBC.

Photos by kat 2015

This Pentecost


(Artist Unknown)

In the beginning She hovered
over the face of the deep.
Giver of Life, Helper, Witness,
Truth, her fruit is love, joy,
peace, patience, kindness,
goodness, faithfulness,
gentleness, self-control.
Where she is, there is Liberty.
This Pentecost…may
She Who Is….Shekhinah Glory…Fair
Rose of Sharon come dwell
in us, to set our hearts afire!

Kat on Pentecost Sunday 2015

When life gives you lemon crumbles…

I had the best of intentions. Determined was I not to waste the fantastic first day of my long holiday weekend, despite battling a nasty upper respiratory and snotty head cold. Cooking always makes me feel better. That was the logic I was operating under at least.

And so, mindful of the ingredients I had on hand, I began my adventure by perusing Google for scratch-made lemon bundt cake recipes. A quick shower to clear my head and with the oven preheating, I gathered everything from the frig and cupboards feeling pleased with myself for being so productive despite the challenge of feeling icky. And all this before so much as even a cup of coffee! That might have been my first mistake!

I did feel slightly better as I sifted and blended the ingredients one by one. My favorite part of the process was zesting and juicing a fresh lemon; the two special secret ingredients that elevated this recipe from bland, boring box to scratch. Into the oven with the timer set I felt particularly accomplished to have completed the task.

But I was far from the finish. And while there is no sin in celebrating small steps along one’s way to a final goal it is wise always to keep one eye on the prize. “It’s not over until the fat lady sings” or in my case until the cake is flawlessly flipped from the pan and delicately glazed to perfection!

Somewhere between the oven and the money shot the cake missed the platter and I found myself with a pile of steaming lemon crumbs!

I had a few choices at this point. I could have tossed the whole mess in the trash and counted my losses or…

I chose the “or”. But not before stepping away from the debacle for a bit to capture my thoughts. It is a good practice, whenever facing adverse circumstances, to take a moment away from the thick of it. It is there on the sidelines, away from the pressure of the moment that I often find the most brilliant ideas just waiting to surprise and delight me.

What to do with perfectly good cake…even if it is a bit crumbly?!!!

Why of course why didn’t I think of it?! Wait! I did think of it! Save the delicious crumbs and make lovely layered fruit, cake and custard trifles! Brilliant! My guests will never know that I hadn’t planned this special dessert in the first place! And it’s okay if I don’t let anyone think any differently!  (Remembering this for future disaster saves…just let the results speak for themselves…)

And a few more lessons learned in all of this perhaps? That some of the best surprises in life are found by accident. And that we should not give up too soon in the process or we might just miss it!

(Photo of the final masterpiece coming soon! I have custard to make and trifles to assemble! 😊)


Pendula’s Fruit


I remember her like it was yesterday. She was the most beautiful tree on our street keeping watch in the roundabout a few blocks from my house. She had a proper name, Prunus Subhirtella “Pendula”, but most people knew her as a Weeping Cherry Tree. Considered an ornamental variety of cherry tree, she would never bear fruit but existed merely to be beautiful. In retrospect, I wish I had photographed her Spring blooms during one of my daily trips along the roundabout by the park. Her full loveliness resides now only in my memory. It wasn’t until after the storm that she truly caught my attention. It was only after the storm that I felt compelled to capture her raw beauty on film.

I don’t know why the trees speak to me, but they do. Perhaps they talk incessantly to everyone and only some of us pay attention. Whatever the truth may be, I heard her loud and clear one day. So moved was I by her sorrowful lament that I parked my car and went over to comfort her.  As if I could. I think she knew I was there.  At least I hope she did.

The storm, a terrible derecho had stripped her of her leaves, ripping her truck to its core, severing several outstretched branches leaving them to dry and die on the ground. She was clinging to life, I could feel it, but she had stories yet to tell to anyone who might listen.

She was a mangled sorry sight; one who had been prized for her beauty and grace. The birds continued to perch on her barren limbs in the warm sun, warbling their happy songs; no less sweet than former days when shaded by her green and pink canopy. I was relieved when the city groundskeepers let her season through the rest of the summer, the fall, the winter and into one last spring.


We were all hoping for a miracle; a comeback, full-bloomed and ravishing. When spring did arrive a scant dozen or so buds burst forth from a lone sky-scraping limb. My heart sank as I sat with her one last time. She had given her all to survive, but most of her had been too damaged to revive.  Renovations to the park brought cranes and plows and excavators. In one afternoon she was gone, but I will be forever touched and changed for having known her.

Not far from where she stood…a nursing home. I wasn’t there when the storms of life molded the residents there. They too have their proper names, like Smith or Jones, but most people know them as mom or sister or uncle or grandpa. And there are memories…oh, so many memories.

I imagine that they talk incessantly to whoever will listen. Time and life have rubbed some of the blush from their faces, but don’t let their failing eyesight, thinning hair, stiffening limbs and toothless smiles deter you. Their cool frail hands are lovely to hold; to warm on sunny afternoons. We who wish for miracles listen intently to their every word and bubble with joy when that old familiar youthful spark rises to the surface for one more dance, a twinkle in the eye or a bit of swagger.

Communal communities are where we send them to spend their final days, but one afternoon, like Pendula, in a blink they too will be gone. But not forgotten.  If we are lucky we will be forever touched and changed for having known them.


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