whata whata difference.....

in retrospect a few days can make.  Now, granted, it didn't seem like a few days when scraping my windshield or wrapping that scarf once again or wiping watery eyes from frigid air.  Retrospect, in my experience is a lot better on this side than the other.  In fact, the old adage, the grass is greener on the other side, does not apply here.  Regardless, Spring is glorious in Pandora!!!!!  This morning's coffee found Mossy swinging from a sign nestled amidst the azaleas.  "Whats a Peeler?" she squeaked as she hung monkey style by one arm.  "It's my mom's maiden name, my grandparent's names, JT and Sylva."  Glancing again, for her reaction the space was empty.  "Mossy?"  I muttered as I settled down to sip and see the antics of Pandora.  We've an entire bevy of new birds this year of which Don & I keep wondering what they are without seeking any clarification of the question.  It's actually becoming another one of those routines we excel at.  "Look,"  I'll say, "there is one of those birds."  "Yes," he replies  "I wonder what it is."   Upon reflection, I must admit, WE are the same birds of a feather.   Tis comfort in routine.  What were the routines of my grandparents?  As I child, did I ever notice?  Tis comfort in the sameness (don't think this is a word) of the one you love.   Pondering such deep thoughts, I failed to see until the Blue Jay landed in front of me who was riding on his back.  Mossy jumped quickly down, blew him a kiss and began to clog.  Okay, you think I'm kidding, right?  Nope.  CLOG!  She was even wearing tiny golden wooden clogs.  She was also sporting a red velvet vest upon which was pinned a small Johnny-Jump-up bloom.  I sat quickly up and began to clap as her cavorting (sorry, clogging) circled the pond.   "I declare,"  I shouted, catching her infectious mood.  "I'll join you, too!."   Twas then that "routine" flew off with that Blue Jay.    Now, all I'm going to say here, is you missed quite the sight, this bright and beautiful morn, when a small tiny gnome and a grandmother of 8 clogged merrily amidst the blooms! 

"Run, Mossy, run.................."

I thought of Bubba Gump as I yelled these words to Mossy! 

We've a squirrel that has recently come-a-visiting to our Pandora (backyard).  He must be a teen for he runs everywhere he goes with an attitude.  His first endeavor was to unbaffle the squirrel baffle, thereby emptying the bird feeder with great haste.  From this perch, he jumps to the tray of colorful wool tidbits and sunflower seeds.  They all scatter in the collision like confetti at a party.  Not to be thwarted by this mischievous somewhat naughty one that I've named Eddie Haskell ( for those who remember Leave It To Beaver).  Don enters the picture, first with a bb gun.  Now here I would admit to being upset if he could EVER hit anything.  Then I see Don in a full wrestle with the baffle.  Ahhhhh, the activities of a January day.......  BUT, low and behold the baffle begins to baffle.  Eddie runs up the pole and bumps his head on the baffle.  He does it again.  He jumps down and runs the perimeter of the pond.  He runs it again.  He runs up another pole of a feeder which has a no-squirrel lever for feeding.  Now more wiser and older squirrels jump to the top of this feeder:  spread eagle, hang down the front, open the lever and proceed to eat hanging somewhat upside down.  Eddie is not so wise in his endeavor. 

Suddenly coming into view skidding to a halt under this feeder is Mossy.  She is holding up a pecan and appears to be taunting our teenager.  Boom, the race is on.  Eddie lands close, but not close enough as Mossy's laughter of bells rings loud and clear in the cold crisp air.  Having received a couple inches of snow simply adds to the fun as Mossy led Eddie on a merry, sliding chase.   Mossy's innate ability to stay just out of reach proves to be Eddie's undoing.  Obviously tiring he fails to remain as observant as he perhaps should.  So, when Mossy hops to the stone bridge and then to the side, Eddie follows only to go straight into the stream.  His momentum takes him the few feet down til he finished his dip with a rather large not-so-pretty cannonballish splash.  At this point, Mossy and I are rolling!!!!  He bobs to the surface and then quickly out, face to face with the still-in-place snowman of Christmas' decor.  Now call me nuts (hoho like who wouldn't?) I believe that snowman winked and chuckled joining in on the escapades of Eddie.  Warmed we all were (well, except for maybe Eddie) by the laughter and fun of the antics of one snowy, winter afternoon.

Shiver me timbers....

IT'S COLD!  This was my comment to Mossy as we walked this afternoon.  "Weenie" was her reply.  Mossy told of a cold at Yellowstone that froze her eyelids to her cheeks while she slept.  "Why, oh why would you stay so long in such a climate?"  I asked.    She told me it was to attend the fairies festival.  Mossy described a gathering of fairies that only a wild untamed expanse such as Yellowstone could hold.  Fairies from Ireland, Canada, why even Hawaii!  I spit out my coffee on that one.  Picture it:  small fairy, grass skirt, lei, and a buffalo snorting close by.  "Why at one point,"  she pointed out.  "You could not even find a vacant spot at Moose Falls to sit down."  I know better than to ask, but my mouth opens anyway.  "A spot to sit?"  "Yes, the canoes start up Crawfish Creek and we see who survives the Falls."  "See,"  I think,  "I should have kept my mouth shut."  Now I'm picturing tiny canoes with a Mossy relative sitting pointed hat and all holding on for dear life, airborne.  "Survive?"  I sort of squeaked out.  Mossy was delighted with my reaction and begins to pantomime a rather dramatic crash and then subsequent drowning.  One look at my face and she let out a hoot.  "Don't you know that I'm a pulling your leg?  Wee gnomes (as you like to call us) swim like fish.  In fact, one of our favorite past times is to swim upstream with salmon.  You know, a bit of exercise and to keep them company.  Them bears are kinda fun to mess with along the way.  They think they're going to catch dinner swiping under the current and instead up we pops and spits water up their noses! Of course, ya better be ready to REALLY swim after that move."  Mossy is now tight-rope walking the edge of the kitchen cabinets and from the corner of my eye Be'Be' flits in and out of the tree.  "Mossy, will Be'Be' ever leave the Christmas Tree?"  "Not til you take it down" she quipped quickly back.  Now as a rule I can't think of any month of the year that needs twinkle lights like January.  Yes, this means that I don't take down the Christmas tree until......ahhhhh.....Valentines?  Or is it March winds that start the process?  Hmmmm, I think as I pour another cup of coffee......I surely would adore to see that tiny fairy for more than 3 seconds at a time.  But take the tree down early ......................................NEVER!

a fairy in my tree.......

Betcha don't have one of those!!!!!  Actually, can't believe I do.  No sooner had I walked in the front door, wings whirled and a swoosh could be heard.  Be'Be' flew straight from my head to the tree, promptly disappearing within it's branches.  It was only a tiny bit bigger than a firefly and once again I wondered.  "Did I really see that?"  Unequivocally, the answer is YES!  Seriously, who makes this stuff up?  "MosSY", I stamped my foot for effect.  Hmmmm, there was none produced.  

I sat down to watch and wonder.  Wonder.  Tis the season for such.  How many times have I sat with all but the Christmas tree lights on and watched it in awe?  December finds me often beginning a night's sleep in just such a fashion.  I squint, my eyes blurring together the ornaments and lights.  I strain, my eyes searching to see each tiny detail of the years of collections.  I have crooked little beaded candy canes, photos of children's faces tucked into a myriad of handmade frames, even a little first grade rendition of the manger scene drawn on fabric, framed in a hoop.  Handmade creations from my children and grandchildren.  No matter it's current condition, they are on the tree.  Christmas and memories.  They can fill you with warmth.  They can fill you with an almost unbearable yearning.  There are voices and laughter that can no longer be heard but in the corridors of your mind.  They float in your memories sometimes almost seeming to tease as you reach for more......  Just as I started down this bittersweet path, she flew out from behind a Big Bird ornament and back in behind the sequined felt pink elephant.  It was then that I noticed her wings are like baby ferns-fiddle heads as some are called.  However, no fiddle head had I beheld (until now) produced an almost phosphorous glow of sprinkles.   Be'Be' coo-chirps. You want to say it's an infant's coo, but then it seems so similar to a Black Cap Chickadee's chirp.  It's delightful regardless.  An ornament on a branch slightly sways.  There she is again!  She seems to hang suspended as she appears to be studying the ornaments.  Turning to wink my direction she rose ever higher and once again entered the tree somewhat close to Snoopy & his doghouse.  The clock tick tocks.  I began to nod as sleep calls my name.  Stretching out on the sofa, I wonder......of a tiny chirping fairy........of where Miss Mossy has been.........of the delights of this special season..........of wonder itself.........  Oh, may one never lose the pure essence of wonder!

whaT, whAT, wHAT, a, MOOSE????

gLORY BE!!!! This can only mean one thing.....MOSSY'S BACK!  This was my thought as I rounded the corner of the house.  I needed to check to make sure the Christmas yard blowup of snowmen had fully inflated.   There, nose to nose with the snowmen, stood a moose, YES A MOOSE! He was completely mesmerized by the Snowman globe.....had to be.....or was he missing the snow? 

Oh, whatever...... "MOSSY WHERE ARE YOU?"  And with the abandon of a child, she lept off the porch and squarely onto my shoulders.  Picture one leg on each side of my neck as she managed to create a rats nest of my hair which stood perfectly straight up when she finished.   How does one start yelling at a creature one has missed oh so very much?  Well, I figured it out and I did.  "MOSSY, WHERE IN TARNATION HAVE YOU BEEN?  WHAT DID YOU JUST DO TO MY HAIR?  YOU SCARED ME TO DEATH WITH YOUR DISAPPEARING ACT AND........ MOSSY, WHAT IS MOVING IN MY HAIR?????????? "Be'Be', is sleeping so stop yelling at me!  she demanded.  "There is a living thing in my hair?"  I was scared to touch it while simultaneously wanting to shave the whole mess off.  "Oh, here, let me show you".  And with that Mossy's tiny plump hand reached in and rummaged around.  "Good griefus, MOssy!"  I muttered, while trying to not run for a pair of scissors.  "Shhhhhh, your waking her up"  Mossy hissed in my ear, but I couldn't have spoken, if I wanted to.  Before my nose, held in Mossy's chubby little hand was a creature of pure enchantment.  She stretched and she yawned and I was spellbound for sure.   Looking much like a Gerber baby except for the wings, she winked at me.  She was oh so very tiny from her perfect little fingers to her tiny perfect toes.   Her wings began to whirl much like a hummingbirds and seemingly began scattering a fine sprinkle of glow-in-the-dark-dust around her in a halo.  Rising from MOssy's hand she settled back onto the top of my head and briefly I thought I heard the tiniest of sighs. Sarcastically, I asked if Mossy planned on staying around for abit.  Can you please, explain why we so often lash out when all we would rather do is hug someone (or gnome) until they begged for mercy?  Poof.  Aaahhh, I'd done it again, but I knew she would be hanging around regardless of "poofing".  Because, as you see, even now I could hear slight snores coming from the Be'Be' in my hair!!!!!!

Mossy ????

Silence.  I have NOT found it to be very golden.   November 2nd was the last time I saw Mossy as she rode away with a herd of buffalo.  Thinking she would "appear" as she so often has, I didn't think much of the silence until it stretched on and on and on...........   Obviously, the return from Yellowstone was without one small gnome.  Was this it?  Mossy appeared one day around three years ago.  Would she disappear as unexpectantly as she had appeared?  These questions as well as a thousand others kept me company in the silence of the shop, in the silence of the house, in the silence of the gently falling leaves.....

I found myself going back to the beginning.......  Wee Thomas jumping from one pumpkin after another, as if they were tiny trampolines.   I was digging through a vast supply of dried safflower, pods, hydrangeas, etc......   Alone, or so I thought.  Admittedly, my eyes were somewhat glazed over from several hours of creating lovelies when I heard the tinkle of a bell.  Drawn to the sound I watched with fascination as a small boy sprang from first a Fairytale pumpkin to a Cinderella, to a Wee-Be-Little, and then to a Baby Boo.  Don't you just love the names of all the varieties of pumpkins?   No sooner would I open my mouth to speak, he would disappear, only to reappear elsewhere.  The first afternoon of this "gnome-spotting" continued in this manner.  If I drew nearer to the Lil Pumpkemons, no appearances.  If I returned to my creating, bells and sightings.  Truly, I regretted the end of this day!!!!  I left whispering of my return.  Surely, I would see him again!!  Memory fails on the exact amount of time, but I do know that Thomas entertained me for sometime before he ever spoke.  Customers would be browsing and suddenly he would appear hanging from their purse or sitting on their shoulder.  His favorite (or so it appeared) would be to ride on the pumpkin arrangements straight to the checkout counter.  How this was done without detection, I have no clue but the pure entertainment value was priceless!  Many a moment, I would duck behind a counter stifling my giggles.  Seriously, customers are not quite sure how to take unexplicable sudden outburst of laughter.    

"You left it on."  These were his first whispered words to me.  He pointed to the glue gun as he spoke them and POOF. 

Oh POOF on me!!!!! Memory lane has just created a rather "well done"  pumpkin loaf!   I shake off the memories as reality needs a few burned edges pinched away.  "Mossy?" I question outloud.   Mossy, would most definitely have a comment or two for my latest culinary feat.   Silence.

I miss my friend.

where the buffalo roam........

in Yellowstone park, to a complete stop we came.  A huGe herd of HuGe buffalo stood casually on the road.  This was after all, their territory, their park, so move over vehicles!  This is not an everyday occurrence, however for this East Texan.  So, grabbing a camera and rolling down my window, I snapped this pic of one looking straight at me.   "Crooked Horn."  Mossy informed me, was his name.  Mossy came into view riding one of the smaller of the herd.

 Please explain, if you can why any of this would surprise me.  I found myself asking the obvious, "Mossy,  what are you doing?"  She flipped a red curl back and rolled her eyes heavenward.  "Wouldn't you ride a buffalo, if you could?" she retorted.    Well, she had me there.  Seriously, wouldn't you? 

Who, indeed, wouldn't want with the abandon of our Native American ancestors to run with a herd of buffalo?  To know the wildness of an untamed land and to see a vista of which few had viewed?  Yellowstone gives one a glimpse of that possibility.   It fires the imagination in it's rugged beauty.   One can easily picture:  crouched with bow-pulled taut,  a moccasin's-clad fellow at the edge of the treeline.  Before him an elk and his cow.  With nostrils flaring the elk starts as he catches the scent of danger.  The arrow flies, but in a rare occurrence misses its mark.  The two run free as does their hunter.  Free, freedom from so much of what fills our ever-waking moments.  

Slowly, the buffalo move around our car, seeming to pretty much ignore it and it's occupants.  And for a while I moved on with them.  In my mind, Crooked Horn and I rode alongside Mossy and her friend.  We headed down the rolling hill listening to the occasional snort and rumble from the herd.  A crystal clear stream beckoned ahead as it dipped and bubbled over rock.   As Old Faithful could be seen in the distance I wondered if they sought it's warmth in proximity for a night's rest.   With a toss of his head the largest bull  broke into a trot as we grew closer to the stream.  Funny, he didn't drink but stood proudly with his head held high as most of the herd did.   Why, was that a stagecoach splashing through a shallow area of the stream? 

The buffalo is a symbol of a vanished past, a link to a frontier heritage.  However, no romantic notion of such should ever cloud one's view of an animal that still remains wild.  Buffalo at Yellowstone number close to 4000 in the park and can weigh over 2000 tons.  They still can and do inflict injury on any observer who fails to maintain their distance.  So despite my daydream, as Crooked Horn steps toward the car, I lean back and quickly put up my window.  The herd passes on.  But despite, a quick warning from me Mossy continues her journey with them.  Maybe Mossy can tell me where they will rest for the night...............  Now was that a parasol I saw in the window of that stagecoach?