a father's smile

Proud he is! And I am so proud of both my husband and our fourth child. Thank You, Heavenly Father, for giving each one of our children a sweetheart who is also a best friend. Your works are wonderful, and we know that well!

Make a Smilebox scrap pages

who are those strange folks?!

Hubby had taken a change of clothes to the wedding rehearsal, but time was running out. The tuxedo shop was going to close any minute. So he rushed inside to pick up his tux for the wedding the next day. "Oh, dear," I exclaimed to my grandson. "He didn't change!" Then I added, "I'll go in, too, then. Will you take our photo?" Grandson and I exited the car. Inside the shop, the employees were cordial and seemed to be completely devoid of curiosity. I asked Hubby if he told the folks why they were handing an elegant tux to a man in pajamas. He said no. So I announced, "We just came from the wedding rehearsal for our daughter. She loves wearing hoodies and pajamas, so some of us secretly decided to dress like that for the rehearsal." The employees broke into grins. I think they were relieved to know they weren't dealing with folks who were smoking something illegal or, worse, afflicted with something catching. As you see, Grandson duly captured the moment for posterity. (Thanks, Lolo!) No, of course I didn't wear those fuzzy slippers to the wedding! I wore black Converse, just as did the bride.

the gown has been bagged!

Woohoo! Hurrah! Yippee-ki-yay!  Our fourth child now has her bridal gown! I'm sharing the photo of her and Papacito instead of the one of her with me; after all he's the one who paid for the gown. Much excitement around these parts. Wedding in four weeks, and, D.V., ALL of our family will be together, east and west coast contingents!  WOOHOO!!  HURRAH!!  YIPPEE-KI-YAY!!!

meet a saint and a scholar

My close friends know how proud I am of my father, Dr. Victor Wellington Peters. I am pleased to announce his brand new website. I hope you drop by for a visit. I think you'll be glad you did! And if you wish to leave a comment on his blog, that would be splendid. By the way, at this writing Dad is 106 years rich. And we are so very rich to know him!

For this remarkable website, click here.

dogs and their crazy people

Today I found myself strolling around Dogster.com. A member of my family clued me in to that charming site some months ago. He invited me--I mean, his dog invited my dogs to join him as part of the Dogster pack. We did. I mean, my dogs did.

In my stroll today, I added more to my profile--uh, I mean the profiles of my dogs, Angus (pictured) and Gucci, both beautiful rescue collies. Then I decided to check out other members of the Dogster pack. I asked to be Pup Pals with a few. Then I strolled some more. How delighted I was to come across Cesar Millan's Daddy! I took courage in hand and asked--I mean, Angus and Gucci asked to be pals with Daddy. Haven't heard from him yet. He's probably busy dog-whispering around Southern Califronia with his best pal.

       Are you lost yet? Do you know who Daddy is? Do you know who Cesar Millan is? (If you know one, you know the other.) Do you have any idea what being a Dog Whisperer is about? (Hint: it's one of the spiritual gifts.) Do you think I'm a bit crazy to be talking to other dogs on behalf of my dogs? Would you like me to explain why I did it? I'll be happy to!

       Wait. . .Come to think of it, this dog stuff is one of those things that, if you have to 'splain it, the person to whom you're trying to 'splain it wouldn't understand it anyway. So, no 'splaining, plain and simple.

       Don't worry. If I come across you and your furred friend on one of my Dogster.com strolls, I won't tell anyone here on Blogger.com. But be warned: I never know what Angus or Gucci might say. . .

seeking profundity

Like one of the bloggers I admire, sometimes I think it's sad that my blog entries seem rather...well, simple. I check in to my little blog home, my hands poised over the computer keys, my eyes staring at the lovely green leaves in my masthead/banner/heading (will have to relearn the official term). This time, I think to myself, this time I will be profound. My fingers pause, then tap, tap, tap. After a few minutes I stop and read my words. Oh, dear. No great thoughts, no soaring poems, no thrilling sagas. All I've written about are birds, cats, or neighbors, or maybe husbands and grandchildren, or fathers and mothers, maybe a tiny word about God.
       I think awhile. What can I say that would have lasting meaning? Help!
       I think some more. Hmmm...animals, neighbors, marriage, grandchildren, fathers, mothers. Profound stuff.
       And God. Well, any words I can say there are bound to be tiny in comparison to the One who created and fills the universe and stretches far, far beyond it.
       I think I will relax for now and quit trying to be profound. I will sit quietly and let the profundity of God and His amazing gifts fill me with their wonder.

another amazing gift

How precious is a new life! Thank You, Heavenly Father, for blessing our clan with a brand-new creation on January 15. Welcome, Phoebe! As your maternal great-grandmother always said, "We love you more than tongue can tell!" And God loves you even more. He has wonderful plans for you.

in an aviary

We once had...hmm, how many, Armon?...perhaps as many as forty parakeets at once, divided between two outdoor aviaries. Oh, what splendid aviaries you built for the birds and me, Armon! Yes, folks, the aviaries were for me as much as for the wee feathered creatures. I used to take a folding chair into the aviary built like a gazebo, and there I'd sit, as quiet as a garden statue. I loved watching the 'keets, each glowing like a jewel. I saw which ones were outgoing, which were quieter, who was friends with whom. So fascinated with the happy task was I, I'd forget the Bible on my lap. Then I'd chide myself and read a while. (No, no poop ever fell on the hallowed pages.) For a few years we raised parakeets and sold the fledglings to Magnolia Bird Farm in Anaheim. How proud we were when an expert there told us we were doing a good job. 

       Now, years older, Armon and I are happy to have a smaller flock. Here you see the last, five dignified seniors. The other day I asked my husband, "How do you picture the aviary a few years from now? Do you think it would be good not to have to bother with birds?" Armon thought a moment. "You know, I think I'd like to raise them again," he said. Hmmm. I'll have to think about that. Buying young birds again. Putting up nesting boxes. Separating fighting brides. Cleaning the poop and seed husks every week. Checking daily to see how the chicks are doing. Crying a little each time one dies. Seeing the jewel colors flutter about the aviary. Giving a home to pairs who will never have to have their wings clipped. Hearing our cottage garden fill with sparkling song. Hmmm. Yes, that could happen.