Wednesday, June 6, 2012

It's Just That Way



Here we have it
It's just that way
Whispers and pieces
Of  thoughts we pray
And maybe its true
That somehow, someday
We'll learn to let go
Because its best that way

Here we have it
I hear a door close
And footsteps begin fading...
Only God knows
The rhyme and the reason
Of good-byes and hellos
But here we have it
That's the way life goes

...and here we have it
The laughter and tears
Of loving and losing
Of days turned to years
Life is a ballroom
We pass through but once
Hold me closer
My darling, let's dance

Because here we have it
The bitter and sweet
Parting is simply
The road till we meet
So here we have it
The fall and the rise
Of pleasure and passion
Of hellos and good-byes

...yes, here we have it
A little thing called life
A culmination
Of sorrow and strife
A tender ballad
Of its highs and its lows
And where it will take us
Only God knows

...so we take love's chances
A faith-leap of dust
Over and over
We love and we trust
Here we have it
Love's dance in the rain
And darling, I know
We'd do it again


J~

Song of Thanksgiving




For mornings, heavy with un-scattered rain
For life’s constant bevy of glorious mundane
For man’s strength renewed as night-shadows wane
Lord, we thank You

For spring fields seeded with harvest’s fresh hope
For wild-flower rivers and emerald-green slope
For the steadfast Known as through unknowns we grope
Lord, we thank You

For blossomed distraction beyond my kitchen sink
For peony-splashes of petal-pure pink
For dishes to wash while I pray and I think
Lord, I thank-you

For smiles that gleam through love’s tender-sweet tears
For children that dream undeterred by aged fears
For memories to soften life’s chastening years
Lord, we thank You

For Master-piece moments in life’s darkest hours
For Master-piece miracles spilling in flowers
For Master-piece vaults of sunshine and showers
Lord, we thank You

Lord, we thank You for unfailing grace
The hope of heaven beyond life’s troubled race
For You, that You prepared such a Place
Oh, Lord we thank You

© Janet Martin

This morning Victoria suddenly turned as she was getting on the bus, with a big grin,  two-thumbs up and a merry wave…then they were gone. Just like that, my sink full of dishes and empty fridge and begging housework became beautiful through misted tears.
All I could think of to say is this…thank-you Lord.

 “Listen to this, Job;
    stop and consider God’s wonders.Job 37:14




Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Dear Flower...




You didn’t say a thing
As I gazed at you
Petal of virgin
Pink, gold, purple, blue

Delicate miracle
Sweetening the breeze
Of red, periwinkle
Intricacies

I am dumb-founded
As I study each gem
Unfolded from emerald
Leaves on a stem

Dazzling in beauty
And none that is greater
Each designed perfectly
By its Creator

You didn’t say a thing
As I studied your face
But I heard the whispering
Of God’s wonder and grace

© Janet Martin


 There is no 'fairest of them all' in God's flower-garden.
He created each of us just as He intended!

Precursor



Thought is a foot-loose wanderer
She follows no map or chart
Leaving no footprint behind her
A master of mind-numbing art

Thought is a subtle deceiver
No man is immune to her vice
She must be diligently guarded
This charge of inestimable price

Thought, though believed well-hidden
Cannot escape one simple fact
She is the lone precursor
To every word or act

© Janet Martin


Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things. Phil 4:8

As a man thinks in his heart, so is he. [Proverbs 23:7]

Monday, June 4, 2012

Realization




In certain moments we are suddenly gripped
With Realization, as we pause to think
Of how subtly, smoothly hours have slipped
In another year over Time’s fluent brink

And as we reflect on the invisible haste
With which fleeting life-times swiftly disappear
Surely we are challenged to savor and taste
Each morsel of living that forges a year

The ache in our throat and the sob in our chest
Sweetens the sorrow of loving and of loss
As Realization, in most earnest quest
Arouses awareness of dust’s feeble dross

For what is this life?... but a semblance of hours
In which all must be either servant or slave
Of this thing that softly, ceaselessly devours
The scope of our breath twixt the cradle and grave

Thus, in certain moments we are sacredly gripped
By the whisper of He who designs each life’s span
As subtly, smoothly another year has slipped
Far from the reaches and the will of man

© Janet Martin

Last eve we attended the wake of a neighbor in his 93rd year…
He leaves his wife, also in her 93rd year, to mourn with beloved family…

Birthday’s and Death…two keen reminders of the beautiful and sacred gift we hold in each day, for life, no matter how long, is a twinkle in the eye of eternity. Cherish it, hold it lightly and cling to the Giver.

Twilight Dirge




In silken shrouds of misted-gray
Dust-fragrant folds caress
The transient corpse of this wee day
As it is laid to rest

Across blue hill and dusk-cloaked pond
A soulful dirge begins
Drifting from crypts of earth beyond
This vale of mortal sins

And souls, yet cloaked in human flesh
Pause, ere they lie to sleep
As notes of loss and hope enmesh
The song that tunes the deep

The stillness of night’s hollow seas
With farewell tones is fraught
The rise and fall of memories
Resounding in our thought

Into the void of Past it slips
Buried, but not with sod
This Day is gone, from fingertips
Of man, returned to God

© Janet Martin



Saturday, June 2, 2012

The Crux of Choice




In life, the road we choose to take
Will make us who we are
The crux of choice, an awesome blank
‘Til we look back from far

The obstacles along the way
And how we choose to bear them
Will leave a lasting legacy
To future generations

In life, the road we choose to take
Affects not one lone traveler
The footprints that our choices make
Some other soul will follow

The crux of choice; how can we know
Which way will be the best?
We cannot; but trust God as we go
And let Him do the rest

© Janet Martin

A 'Happiness Guarantee'



We are not born with wisdom
But if we would be wise
As King Solomon advised

If we want to be happy
Then we ought to heed his word
For he who seeketh wisdom
Obtains favor from the Lord

© Janet Martin

Insatiable Appetite




Words feed the poem in me
For a little while
I am satisfied
But then,
As one starving
I attack them
With renewed hunger
For a poem
Is never
Completely
Filled

© Janet Martin

Friday, June 1, 2012

Invisible Alignment




When dim-lit eve turns up the dark
And rain, like tiny elfin-feet
Trips lightly on the onyx pane
That by noon’s light, frames bustling streets
…when this small day undaunted slips
Into a vault I cannot see
And Time exhales from ageless lips
Another little day for me
I pause, both grateful and afraid
For while Time gives it also steals
One hand conceals a two-edged blade
While with the other hand it heals
And I, with one hand holding fast
Allow the other to let go
As dim-lit eve turns up the dark
I hold love close, yet miss it so…

J~

On Writing...




Writing is  
Bittersweet frustration
A journey
Without a destination

To write is like climbing
A long, slow grade
But its summit is obscured in a mist
Curiosity
Keeps us pressing on
To a view that may not even exist

It is child’s freckles
And dimpled grin
A punch in the gut
Or under the chin

It’s a stroll
On periwinkle eve of June
Its hand to the pen
In a world out of tune

It is the hideout
Of phantom Muse
The lord to which
Thought pays its dues


© Janet





To Everything There is a Time...



Summer is a season of many loves for me...posts may be fewer.

To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven. Eccles. 3:1

What is June?




What is June?
June is a ribbon of coral and gold
Brushing the skyline while it is still night
June is maiden so youthful and bold
Flouncing her ringlets in girlish delight
She shakes out her skirts and rampantly spills
Wild-flower gardens over hollow and hill

What is June?
June is a door standing slightly ajar
To glimmer of turquoise and sea-polished shores
She is the threshold we seek from afar
As winter and spring trip across earthen floors
The cry of the gull and the trill of the lark
The song of the robin while it is still dark

What is June?
She is hands outstretched, sweetly running over
With peony, lupine, with daisy and rose
She is a soul-mate, a beautiful lover
Stirring our passion and holding us close
In vast, emerald tides her melody sweeps
Out to the eyes of azure-blue deeps

What is June?
She is a year’s darling; the middle child
The gleaming gem twixt spring and fall
Composer, as her Muse runs wild
Of summer’s haunting madrigal
Whilst from her radiant fingertips
A little glimpse of Heaven slips

© Janet Martin





Thursday, May 31, 2012

Thursday Thoughts~


There is a war
Intense, hid from sight
It is the battle
Twixt wrong and right
Fear the day
Should its conflict cease
As numbed discernment
Brings an illusion of peace



There is a tug-of-war
In love’s two-toned beauty
The urge of desire
And dictation of duty


A long line of laundry
Is a testament
To a long line of love


No man can serve two masters
The servant makes his choice
No words are needed because action
Carries a definite voice



Dream, but only a little
It polishes the mundane
The line is fine twixt little and much
And to dream too much is vain

Dream, but only a little
Don’t let it mess with your head
Lest you stand and stare into the thin air
While someone else butters your bread


Hurry, hurry; don’t be late
Hell
And heaven
Do not wait


Spare change
Changes lives


On some days we…
…Live, laugh, love and play
On others we
…Weep, wish, work, pray


This must be my Muse’s queue
A list with many jobs to do


Never yet has darkness set in
Permanently

He who hath no shadows
Hath no light



Janet~

Why I Write...



I never can explain it quite
This need, it seems I have, to write…
But paper is a patient ear
No words are writ, it will not hear
It never assumes what is not
But simply listens to my thought
Here life's pleasures and sorrows spill
In whispers from a poet’s quill

I write to preserve moments past
Knowing ink’s measure will outlast
This transient, ephemeral shell
I write, for there is much to tell
But time is short and listeners rare
And spoken word is soon dead air
Thus I must write; a diary
Of thought engraved in poetry

I write because I love to read
To feel the passion mortal’s bleed
To thrill beneath their ageless thought
The mark of quill on parchment wrought
Of Tennyson, Longfellow, Frost
And countless throngs of voices lost
Had they not taken time to bare
With ink, the thoughts they longed to share

Tis no small thing to hold a pen
And spill heart-linings out to men
Of hope, of longing; these we summon
For mankind has this much in common
And with the written word we trace
The heartbeat of the human race
Manifested on a stage
In filament of ink and page

 
Tis no small thing; reaching to God
Seeking Him within my thought
Tis no small thing to contemplate
What to write; what to erase
…to paint in whispered ethereal art
Upon canvases of the heart
An earnest, resolute vocation
Generation to generation

…and so I write, not to become
A famous author, world-renowned
I write to touch the low-flung cloud
Or lonely souls lost in life’s crowd
I write; for it seems I cannot
Quell the vast ocean in my thought
And I am glad, so glad indeed
That others write, so I can read

© Janet Martin

My Homework for Writer's Unite is done!
Assignment: 200-300 words on Why I Write

Word Count;300 (phew!)

What are you doing? hubby asked a few nights ago when he called
I'm reading Treasure Valley, I replied. It was written in 1908 by Canadian author, Marian Keith.
Thank-you Marian,(although you were gone before I was born) for writing and sharing your beautiful, timeless perspective.

The Mind of a Poem




They tell me how I should write them
The rules to rhythm and rhyme
But they fall from my quill
By their own free will
Regardless of meter and time

They tell me how I should form them
Can I shape a river’s fray?
For a poet’s need
Is to sit down and bleed
Let the drops fall where they may

They tell me how I should mold them
But rules never could sway a poem
In the still of the night
As I sit here and write
Words have a mind of their own

© Janet Martin


In Those Moments



In those moments
When I’m tempted
To reach far into the past
And retrieve
A fancied fortune
From its archives, iron-cast
In those moments,
Though I’m tempted
I embrace the melody
Of the sweet
And fleeting present
Flowing into memory
...and though I’m tempted
In those moments
I release its aching grasp
Lest I miss
The precious present
Because I was looking back


Janet~

Today, as I was waiting in a check-out line we o-o-o-h-ed and a-a-a-h-ed over a new-born baby, and for a brief moment I was drenched in longing as I watched the ecstatic first-time mother….next week it will be twenty years since I was a first-time Mother; a mere flash, really. That is why I determine to live in the now!

Horizons





Gently it ripples, softly it is slipping
Green tide adorning earth’s fallow and slope
Out to the lips of cerulean grinning
A perimeter man cannot follow or grope

Where is the skyline that seals our visage?
Earth rushes out to brush azure-blue shores
Man rushes forward but we cannot touch it
Elusive allurement to ethereal doors

Wilderness, frontier, mountain or ocean
Grazes the furrow twixt seeing and faith
Gently it ripples; our thought and emotion
Tracing the edge of its blue, mystic wraith

Gossamer ribbon of infinite measure
We cannot race through its translucent seal
Nor stroll the breadth of its line at our leisure
And yet we know, the horizon is real

...it is, isn't it?

© Janet Martin

Horizons...the proof of faith.

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Happy Birthday, Dave


Tonight when you look up to the sky, bro
And think of the years that have flown
Will there be a tear in your eye, bro
As you ponder the course of the sun?

…and tonight when you hear twilight’s sonnet
Quiver in the deepening west
Will you pause to remember life’s losses
Or how you have been richly blessed?

Tonight when you gaze at the stars, bro
Will you feel infinitely small?

And wonder that He who paints skies, bro

Tonight when you contemplate time, bro
Where will your musing dwell?
For you’ve known some up-hill climbs, bro
Disappointment; you know it well…

…but life is a canvas of mystery, bro
And God is a faithful Friend
As this year slips into history, bro
Do you wonder what waits ‘round the bend?

And tonight when you look at the sky, bro
Recalling the years that have passed
Will the only thing you really know
Be this? Life goes by way too fast

© Janet Martin

Happy 47th Birthday, Dave…from one sky-lover to another…Enjoy!

Here is a teeny glimpse of my sky-shot collection:)

This is the time-frame where I always think of mom and wonder how she did it! My brother Stuart turned 45 on May 28th, Dave turns 47 today, I turn 46 next week and the following week my sister (the oldest child in our family) turns 48...!!! and as you can see in the previous post, Mom is still going strong!...after raising 10 children...after the first four she had 3  girls and then 3 boys!!! I remember we begged her (as if she ordered us from a catalog or something, to PL-E-E-E-ASE have a set of twins to complete our family...didn't happen:)

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

When things return to 'Normal'...

Mom giving Salome one of her favorite drinks...Ginger-ale. She cannot talk but her body language and gulping say it all!

‘Normal’ does not hover in tomorrow
Nor does it reside in the past
It is not a sweet, coveted hour
Waiting in regions dim and vast

‘Normal’ is not a state or condition
It carries no guarantee
It does not linger on pining or wishing
When this day is history

But ‘normal’ is the bloom we are holding
The moment that meets our gaze
For even now this ‘normal’ is folding
Into planted yesterdays

Who knows the nature of tomorrow’s ‘normal’?
Will its filament be leaden or gold?
And will we wish as we reminisce
For the ‘normal’ that now we hold?

© Janet Martin

How often do we find ourselves thinking 'when things return to normal'?  The other day I used this line when I was talking to my mother...When they brought dear Aunt Salome (in above photo) to their home- the Dr. said it was  'so she could spend her last days with loved ones in a non-hospital environment'. That happened almost four years ago. Salome is thriving beneath tender, loving care in spite of  Down's Syndrome, advanced Alzheimer's and complete physical inability; the DR. says her heart is strong. Salome turns 57 in a few weeks. I mentioned to Mom that 'someday when things return to 'normal', and she asked me to read the quote on her fridge. Its a reminder that 'the 'normals in life are now, for we cannot know what tomorrow's normals may be'. I have been thinking a lot about that...

Salome and her care-giver's are the inspiration in this article...Angels Among Us


You Love Us...



Jason  Gray: Remind Me Who I Am


You who breathed the universe
On vast infinity
Celestial bodies You disperse
In awesome majesty
You who designs fragile bloom
And rides upon the gale
You who conquered mortal doom
And rent the temple’s veil
You love us…

You who sees the sparrow fall
Who walks upon the sea
You, most Holy all in all
Died for humanity
Who paints the glory on the sky
The dawn, the dusk, the dark
Who heeds man’s faintest, humble cry
And gives wee faith its spark
You love us…

You love us, sure, steadfast promise
We cannot comprehend
The fullness of its height and depth
A love that has no end
No time or thing can separate us
From His faithful hand
Through darkest hours He carries us
Though we don’t understand
For He loves us
Forever and ever
Amen

© Janet Martin


neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation,
will be able to separate us
from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.Romans 8:39





Monday, May 28, 2012

Spring's Goddess


 

 

Sunday Wordle #58: blur, cocoon, tongue, brittle, burnished, flinty, scrape, rough, barnacles, austere, drenched, chalk

The flinty glare of winter recedes to a blur
The rough, brittle limb and austere, burnished fields
Are drenched in the ravishing textures of Her
As in countless shades Her abundance she yields

The cocoon-bud breaks open in Her verdant embrace
Barnacles bloom beneath Her florid brush
She is a tongue of emerald grace
Scraping winter’s chalk-lines from hills fair and lush

Earth is a ball-room of aureate bliss
Softly we touch the robe of this queen
For beauty and blossom unfurls in her kiss
She is spring’s goddess and her name is Green

© Janet Martin


Scarlet-echoed Breath



Image Source: freedom.portwallpaper.com


Oh, have we savored it today?
Inhaled its glorious air
Or have we paused a bit to pray
And thank God for His care?
Perhaps we’ve thought of those who fell
To look against the sky
With fading breath; the cannon’s knell
Their victory lullaby

Have we, as through our lungs it pours
In scarlet-echoed breath
Have we remembered blood-bathed shores
Of horror, pain and death
And are we filled with gratitude
To stand among the free
Inhaling this most priceless gift
The air of liberty

...and have we bowed in earnest prayer
to plead with God above
that we do not hold lightly here
this freedom that we have

© Janet Martin

Saturday, May 26, 2012

Love's Sacred Knot




The tie that binds
Oh, sacred thread
Woven by Holy God
As vows unite
Two hearts to one
And ties love’s hallowed knot

The tie that binds
No hand or pen
Its tenure can annul
Oh, precious cord
Secured by He
Who gives the knot its pull

The tie that binds
Love’s cherished bond
Of truth and faithfulness
A shackle
Not of cumbrous weight
But trust and tenderness

The tie that binds
Its filament
No human hand can sever
The tie that binds
Husband and wife
As God joins them together




Non-optional Juxtaposition




We are teachers;
We are students
Someone is watching
when we least expect
Action is speech
It tests our fluent
creation derived
of alphabet


Action is merely
a thought’s reflection
Thought is formed
by what we absorb
We teach while we learn
A juxtaposition
of far-reaching impact
we cannot ignore

We are teachers;
and we are students
No one escapes
this practical truth
We are never too old
to cease our learning
yet we become teachers
in tender youth

…for there is always
somebody following
observing the choices
we thoughtlessly make
Action speaks volumes
Love and compassion
are beautiful legacies
we cannot fake

Action is merely
a thought’s reflection
The wise man endeavors
to keep this in mind
for when we don’t expect it
somebody is watching
and thought is the medium
in which character is defined

We entertain
either angels or demons
in thought’s mystic cell
where only God can see
But sooner or later
as thought becomes action
Truth is revealed
In clarity


© Janet Martin


Mary's comment bears repeating!

...So true, Janet. We probably teach many in our lives when we don't even realize we are teaching! And many who are our teachers don't realize their role for us either. And then, of course, there is the Great Teacher who teaches the greatest lessons of all.



Settlements~


 Image Source; Clark Little

We settled back against the night
Drinking in the luxury
Poured from the flask of half-moon light
The wine of blue tranquility

We did not speak but understood
Instinctively the others thought
Oh, I would hold you if I could
But I am here and you are not

J~

Life's Sweetest Luxury



I have known life's sweetest luxury
Child's hand in mine
Asking for nothing more

I have known life's greatest entrustment
Child's hand in mine
Asking for nothing more

Janet

Of Gray or Golden


We cannot beg the little day
To add another hour
We cannot plead the bloom to stay
When it has ceased to flower

We cannot urge back to the stem
The petal that has fallen
Or taste youth's fair springtime again
To dodge the grip of autumn

We cannot un-speak uttered things
When it has once been spoken
Nor undo yester’s offerings
Of moments bent and broken

We cannot return to the past
To touch the gray or golden
But we can give our utter-best
To moments we are holding

© Janet Martin

Friday, May 25, 2012

Timeless Madrigal



No instrument, minstrel or crooner
Can imitate, or compete
The low, melancholy languor
Of this melody, tender-sweet
Into deep-hushed charcoal hollow
Over moon-gilded plateau
It rises and falls at my window
Now restless, now moody, now slow

No violin quickens the pulses
Like its haunting madrigal
A ballad of longing and losses
Wanders earth’s somnolent hall
It curves quickened notes in an ocean
Clutching love’s bitter-sweet thought
A solo of dissonant emotion
Soothing, yet searing the heart


There is no other song equal
In lyric, in measure or rhyme
No composition to rival
This hymn since dawning of time
Over the graceful willow
And earth's silver-blue diadem
Over the tear on my pillow
Croons the wind-song of one a.m.

J~



The Best Medicine...



Laughter…the best medicine

Hubby just called…
Here it is going to feel like 34 degrees Celsius today,
Jim is in Sask. He woke up with snow on the hood!


Apparently, according to the farmer he loaded at…

The way to happiness is…
You want just enough money to get by and lots of laughter.

He told Jim he knows of a farmer last year who collected flood and drought insurance…

This farmer is 5’3” and said he is still waiting for his growth spurt.
Their daughter is not growing very fast so the Dr. ordered them to see a specialist to discuss hormone therapy. When they arrived at the Specialist he took one look at the parents and said, ‘he doesn’t know what DR, they are seeing or what he is telling them but you can’t make rats out of mice!’

Janet

Over Yonder



Over yonder the little stream
Where once I used to play
Or sit upon its banks to dream
Like years, has seeped away
The frolic of the water-fall
Is but a sluggish drool
Where cattails drink its umber gall
And reeds the remnant pool

Over yonder the willow tree
That leaned, like daring child
Across the stream, is history
It’s grave, overgrown and wild
And over yonder the little girl
That wandered on its shore
Watches her own wee daughter twirl
Across the dreamer’s floor

Over yonder the little stream
Where swallows dive and dip
Revives the echo of a dream
In moments as they slip
Silent; the ebb of subtle tide
Flowing toward a sea
Where Time relinquishes its stride
In vast eternity

© Janet Martin 

...a few weeks ago I took the little guys to the creek where I loved to wander and play as a child. It was bitter-sweet, this vaguely familiar yet strangely foreign place. I recall my grandfather commenting as we took him to a place he used to work at that 'it just isn't like it used to be'...a four-lane highway ran through the 'place he was looking for'. I remember feeling sorry for him and wondering what that would feel like ...slowly I am beginning to understand.

When we were kids the cattle still roamed through streams eating all the over-growth on the banks etc... that is now illegal because they are concerned about the quality of our drinking water...e coli, and other bacteria.. Many creeks are now over grown with brush.

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Wealthy...




Is any wealth richer or grander than this?
The soft breath of dawn on night’s dark abyss
The wind as it chases through steeples of grass
Or dances on ball-rooms of sea-tempered glass
Wild-apple jewels on scraggy-cut limb
The timbre of reverence in twilight’s soft hymn
As far on the skyline each tree is a tower
Etched in precision like a delicate flower

The bird in the bower, the pale, new-moon wraith
The innocent wonder of a child’s perfect faith
The bumblebee hovering o’er delicate bloom
Drunken with nectar from spring’s heady plume
The patchwork of shadows, warm memories to hold
The sway of the willow-tree feathered in gold
The bronze-burnished blush in the waning of day
The impromptu hush as the wind drops away

Then let miser’s covet the fruit of the purse
Money and the love of it is but a curse
Genuine riches leap from vaults at hand
Sapphire-blue heavens over silver-white sand
Ruby-red rose and emerald green hill
The echo of love when the hour is still
For true wealth is found in a moment’s essence
Its treasure is free to both pauper and prince

© Janet Martin

What's for Dinner?


They don’t really care
What clothes you wear
…if your girth is thicker or thinner
As they come through the door
At a quarter to four
They just want to know…
…what’s for dinner?

They don’t judge your skill
As a seasoned cook will
To them you’re a proven winner
As they sniff for a clue
Is it barbeque?
Asking, hey mom,
…what’s for dinner?

God-given delight
A healthy child’s appetite
I can think of nothing finer
As I contemplate dishes
To satisfy wishes
When they ask me, oh mom
…what’s for dinner?

© Janet Martin

(tonight it's chicken breasts, baked potatoes, green bean casserole, and apple crisp) yes, the apples are still from those I cut up and froze in November's 'Ode to the Apple

Yes moms, we know...they're ALWAYS hungry..! but imagine if they weren't...
so happy cooking, happy gardening, etc.