Nancy Merrill is hosting a photo challenge. The theme this week – Beauty
The full moon of November 14 is not only the closest full moon of 2016 but also the closest full moon to date in the 21st century. The full moon won’t come this close to Earth again until November 25, 2034. (NASA)
From October through December 2016 I lived across the street from the Atlantic Ocean. It was off season and uncrowded. We were renting a condo with a small balcony…and a stunning view. Sunrises. Sunsets.
And one day…a Supermoon.
The moon’s visibility began the day before…November 13, 2016, when I took this photo. At the time, I didn’t realize how rare the event really was.
It was the closest full supermoon since January 26, 1948.
If I had been living in our former home – well inland – I probably would have missed it. At the beach, however, cars pulled in to the parking lot across the street. Spectators lined up along the edge to watch. Throughout the afternoon and into the evening.
Drawing my attention as well.
Easter Sunday was for dressing up…when I was young: “fancy” pastel colored dress, white socks and black patent leather shoes.
And a hat. An Easter Bonnet type of hat. The kind your mother wrapped in tissue and stored carefully in a cardboard “hat box.” Whisked away from your sticky little hands and tucked on a shelf, safe until the next holiday. They were often made of straw… decorated with artificial flowers. Secured on your head with a ribbon or scratchy elastic band.
I was never a dress-up kind of girl. My hat was much simpler than my sister’s…and was usually perched askew on my head. I actually kind of liked it. Simple. Primary colors.
Along with the hat came a “Spring Coat.” Also only worn for Easter and going to church. Maybe Mother’s Day. Not real comfortable for playing outside; which was my preference. But easier to wear than the dreaded itchy wool “Winter Coat.”
One Easter – when I was 5 and my sister was 3 – we needed to pose for a photo on the new backyard swing. Complete with our traditional Easter outfits. I’m in the red coat. She’s in the yellow one.
Apparently it took a few minutes to get seated…
This Easter tradition continued for a few years with my daughter, who at 5, was also in the spirit…with a hat passed down from one of her aunts.
This morning at church, I noticed children in their Easter finery…including one white straw hat.
In our house, while raising our children, coloring hard boiled eggs was an Easter tradition.
As it was when I was growing up…
At the kitchen table.
The smell of vinegar in the air.
Easter as a child: the anticipation…first the eggs. Then the wait for Easter morning and the hunt for hidden baskets. Chocolate bunnies! Jelly beans! Marshmallow Peeps!
The same wire holders. Newspapers spread out to catch the inevitable drips.
Tiny color pellets – one for each custard cup (in my childhood) – teacup (for my kids). Dissolving into what seemed like magical colors. Dip the egg in quick or let it soak. Or maybe dip in halfway. Turn it over and try a different color for the other half. This took practice.
Mastering the balancing act…without dropping the egg on the floor…an Easter rite of passage…
My daughter and son…each at 3 years old…experts!
Last year around this time, I wrote a post about Easter.
I described my favorite book from childhood…featuring Easter eggs and the Easter bunny…who overslept.
The sweetest story…
And the illustrations…sigh.
Well worth mentioning again.
If you want to check it out…Almost Easter 2018
When my daughter was 10 months old, we brought her with us to the Christmas Eve service at the local First Congregational Church. In the town we had moved to a few years earlier. She sat on our laps, quietly eating Cheerios, entranced by the other people…the organ music…the choirs…the candlelight. A few months later she was baptized in this same church. We became members and six years later her brother was baptized there as well.
We attended worship services as a family throughout their childhoods. Making friends at Sunday School. Children’s choir. High School Youth Group. Mission trips. Holiday fairs. Christmas pageants. Church dinners. They grew up knowing a church family as well as their own. Who watched them change from toddlers who raced around during coffee hour…to poised young adults speaking from the lectern.
When a new baby is born into a church member’s family, a celebratory rose is placed on the chancel rail in the sanctuary.
Three years ago a rose was displayed…to celebrate the birth of our grandson…
One bright sunny Sunday morning…near the spot…
where his mother was baptized over 30 years before.
This post inspired by V.J.’s Weekly Challenge #44: Numerology
Did you notice the unit number?
Yes, I did.
…I’m going to let it go.
…and that was that. My husband could exhale.
The 3 digit unit number for our potential new condo added up to 13. A possible deal breaker. Theoretically. Based on past history. I won’t even book plane seats in row 13.
I hold fast to the significance of there being almost exactly 3 months between the birth dates of my husband, my 2 children and myself. And that my birth date involves multiples of the same number. The symmetry of their birth date numbers (all containing an 8) offers a strange comfort…which I have never questioned.
I was the first child of 5, born into a family of 7. Odd numbers. Still pondering that.
When bad things happen, I’m not surprised when the 3rd follows the first 2.
Even – rather than odd – numbers just make more sense. After all, you have 10 fingers. 10 toes. 2 hands. And so on. At least that’s the plan, if you’re born lucky.
Using V.J.’s link, I looked up my life path number. Which turned out to be 7. The personality traits, according to the Numerology theory…are surprisingly (or not so surprisingly…) spot on for the most part. Especially the part about “always looking for the answers….”
When we bought our first home in 1980 and realized the house number matched what had been our first apartment number, I knew it was meant to be. And it was.
However…36 years later…in 2016…I could not make the rest of our lives contingent on such things as…numbers. And, one might say, superstition.
Fortunately the square footage numbers added up to 17.