Possessing and Passing on Godly Characteristics

I loved this print by Mary Englebreit
It reminds me to keep plodding on
with my goals.



"If we fix a goal and work towards it, then we are never just passing time."


--Anna Neagle,  Actress

The path I desire for my life is one of integrity and honesty. I want to love myself; look in the mirror every morning and acknowledge the unique person I am. I am working on acknowledging  the kindness and good in me.   I strive to conduct myself with dignity and honor. I am taking charge of my life; nurturing it, giving myself little rewards when I overcome; hoping that the balance within will reveal itself through the smile on my face, and the gleam in my eyes.

With all of this in mind, I hope to pass these same qualities on to my son, and to my Sunday School students at our church.

s

A Weekend of Biking is Just what the Doctor Ordered!



We LOVE riding together in the Country
on the weekends!



   "We do not remember days; we remember moments."

~Cesare Pavese,

The Burning Brand

  A bike ride is such a wonderful activity!  In our family, it is intended to be a fun-filled, carefree adventure, while it also emphasizes riding safely and following the rules of the road.

    We follow three major rules: ride your bike and have fun, treat the community with respect and assume personal responsibility. We are all three there, and everyone is together, that’s the best part.  Memories are made of this!



"To Autumn," by John Keats

Black Eyed Susans
from my front yard gardens

We love to read poetry at night before falling off to sleep.  As a family, our favorite poet is Robert Frost, but Mike also really enjoys the works of the English poet John Keats.  This poem- "To Autumn," describes the season we love so dearly,  a time of bounteous fecundity, a time of 'mellow fruitfulness'.

To Autumn

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,-
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.