Thoughtful Spot

The Beach Almanac for Friday, June 29th

"These are strange and breathless days, the dog days . . .” 
~Natalie Babbitt, Tuck Everlasting

Birthdays and celebrations pepper our summer calendar, and today the Gentleman celebrates his. How glad we are that he is here, and we linger in one another's company; family complete once again. Little Lady  Blonde One baked a German Chocolate Cake for him. If i could, you know i would. . .send you a slice.

Sunrise: Sam wakes us like a rooster-Westie, and one of us takes him to the empty, pink beach so that he can chase ghost crabs off his leash. The turtle patrol lady on her ATV waves and smiles as Sam struggles in my arms desperate to nip at and race anything on wheels. The lady with the gentle Lab comes by once again, offers Sam a treat and waves as she goes on her way. Today's special treat for Sam, however, is the arrival of the Master of the House for a week's vacation. Sam gallops toward the dune when we see him come, leaving little Westie puffs of sand in his wake. 5:48 a.m.

Sunset: Husband brought  us new crossword puzzle books and i find me still in sand chair absorbed in five-letter word for "pixiesh." i look up as twilight deepens and i am alone except for the after dinner walkers emptying the cottages and returning freshly showered and in shorts. Tucking puzzle book under my arm, i head back up to the cottage. . .8:23 p.m.

Moon: Waxing Gibbous; 81%; rise 4:09 p.m.; set 1:53 a.m. The moon has moved in its orbit so that it’s now relatively far from the sun in our sky, and appears high in the east at sunset. It’s more than half-lighted, but less than full, and any moon that appears more than half lighted but less than full is called a gibbous moon. The word gibbous comes from a root word that means hump-backed. You can see the hump-backed shape of the waxing gibbous moon. Moon is nearing Crown of the Scorpion, whom i hope to meet tonight on the Deck with Star Chart.

Temp: 95^o was the high today, and it was a brutal 95 without Ocean Breeze. Perspiration creeps along the hairline even while lingering under an umbrella only yards from the ocean.  We move under the cottage where a through-breeze sweetens the hour. Further inland, family sweltered under temperature in the three digits; after dark at Round Rock the mercury registers 100^o. Stay still and cool, my dear ones. Our hearts are with those facing wild fires out west; we pray for the safety of those we see on the afternoon news.

Wind: SSE 2 mph; two miles per hour is a sigh here. The gusts upward to 25 miles per hour from two days ago have abated because tropical depression Deborah has dragged her windy skirts far to sea and the storm in the Gulf is no longer on the radar.

Clouds: Hazy sky with few clouds.

High Tide: 3:22 a.m.; 4:09 p.m.

Low Tide: 9:35 a.m; 10:42 p.m.

Waves: distance between high tide and low tide is growing greater; water stretches thin over first sandbar which appears as a narrow, brownish line in water. Swimmers head for the more shallow waters on the bar nearing the line of dolphins that cartwheel by.

Water Temp: 78^o on a cool day feels warm. Today, however, 78^o  feels cool on sand burned soles and hot skin.

Happy Birthday, to my Husband, Dearest Heart. . .
and Little Lady Blonde One, once again, we thank you for Cake.

Oh, yes, it was that good. . .oh, my.

Thursday's Book Faire and Literary Pursuits: SOS

"There must be unflinching faithfulness to the Word of God, but when you come to personal dealings with others, remember who you are— you are not some special being created in heaven, but a sinner saved by grace."
                    ~Mr. Chambers, this morning

“Brethren, I do not count myself to have apprehended; but one thing I do. . . I press toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 3:13-14).

Spending much time in God's Word; all other books on hold for now.

Summer at the Movies: Snow White and the Huntsman

It's turning out to be a great summer at the movies.

Daughters and i exchanged the hot sand and crowded beaches Sunday afternoon for a cool theater and Snow White and the Huntsman.
We were treated with a Tolkien type tale. The movie opened in the winter garden of beautiful, young queen who pricks her finger on a red rose blooming in the snowy landscape, and with only the voice of the Huntsman narrating, the familiar fairy tale background unfolds wordlessly, vividly, and beautifully.

These narrated opening bits are where the story telling was best; perhaps this is because the director's previous work has been high-budget advertisements, where visual is key and time to convey a message is minimal. The illness of the young queen and the compassion of her daughter are portrayed by a simple interplay of physician's hand on forehead, king's worried look, and little Snow's arrival with wounded bird, wrapped in lush costumes and tapestried chamber. Narration leads the onlooker into a battle field, where the king and his knights defeat a phantom army, shattering them into black, glass shards, and finding a barefoot, dirty girl cowering in a covered cart in the middle of the carnage. She lifts a beautiful, smudged face and big blue eyes to the king fresh from battle, and yep, you have it. He is smitten and we believe it without a word.

And so the widowed king is seduced into marriage to the Evil Queen, Snow's step mother.

Charlize Theron as the Evil Queen and Kristen Stewart as Snow White strike memorable, sometimes visually stunning poses, but at times you can actually see them setting up their poses, like models before a shoot. Take for example when the Queen throws herself on top of the King bent upon his annihilation, and there suddenly an awkward (again bare) foot sticking toward the camera.

Stewart is wonderful to watch.

Each pose tells a story, reveals character. . .through hair, costume, red lips, beautiful eyes. . .but she seems to fall just short of the true greatness when the flicker in a facial muscle or a widening of the eyes telegraphs an emotion, an epiphany, a dissembling. Too often, she is stuck in the same open mouth expression, innocent and compassionate but static.

Theron is able to make the miniscule facial changes, and when she looks over her shoulder at little Snow during her own wedding processional, she slides effortlessly from winsome beauty to jealous harlot.

Chris Hemsworth gets my vote for the best actor of all the leads; his eyes tell a thousand stories, even when the writing is clumsy.

Unfortunately, his Huntsman is introduced via the Tavern  Brawl that ends up in Water Trough in the Streets, a tired cliche for the discouraged and embittered hero about to receive a cause to champion. But watery though his entrance may be, the Huntsman is a dynamic character, and Hemsworth's face and voice convey what his lackluster lines sometimes fail to do. My all time favorite scene in this movie is when he is talking to the dead Snow.

Cinematography was good here,too. Snow's little bare feet from the posterior shot at the foot of her bier were poignant. (Couldn't help but notice there were a lot of bare feet in this movie.)

Evil Queen's brother was disturbing. . .more than the loud theatrics of the queen. . .disturbing to the point that i must caution sensitive viewers. Just eww.

Dwarves were charming in a mean, gritty way. The blind dwarf provided moral center as the visionary or prophet, removing the Renaissance mask for physician when he is introduced (Doc?), and providing context when he points out to the others who Snow really is.

Have you not noticed, he asks, that all of their physical ailments have abated since she came?

Dark Forest was well drawn: creepy and  beautiful.  Perhaps the scenes ran a little long here; Snow seems to stumble over the same tree roots several times in her long run. A Tolkien-esque aerial view of the Forest would have helped to ground the scenes within.

Enchanted Forest was fresh and engaging. . .moss covered turtles. . .one-eyed mushrooms burping in a bog. . .flowers erupting into butterflies. . .stepping stones just under the surface in the river.

Costumes were important and sumptuous.

Snow's bodice and Queen's head pieces were reminiscent of the Disney version,and that was fun. Disney Queen's dragon-black gown gave way to a Bob Mackie/Alexander McQueen stunner of glittering feathers overlaid for a slick, close fitted, bird of prey look. However, Snow's leather jerkins under her skirts looked like a pair of skinny jeans and Mirror Man emerged like The Mummy dipped in bronze. Distracting.  The villagers were draped in medieval dress, a grittier more authentic version than the sweet Disney animation, and i liked the historical accuracy. Life was hard and brief in those days.

The village of women with scarred faces was brilliant. There is a moral here. . .a theme faithfully executed from beginning to end that is powerful and relevant. Daughters and i are reading Beth Moore's So Long Insecurity together, and the timing could not be more perfect. Queen is more than an aging and vain beauty. She was reared in a culture where beauty was her ticket to salvation as well as her prison, and loss of that beauty meant man's ultimate treachery and betrayal. The Queen is the epitome of the insecurity that plagues the modern woman when youth and beauty are worshipped and a woman's cultural significance has vanished to a window of a few short years. Snow is given very few lines, and this becomes endearing when contrasted with the Queen's verbosity. The center of Snow's world is not Snow; she listens and this is a portrait of humility we need. What ultimately makes Snow unique is not Kristen Stewart's good looks but her portrayal of a gentle and quiet spirit that wins us, and the Huntsman, over. The movie is called Snow White and the Huntsman, but for this mama of two young women, Snow is the real hero.

Dear reader, it is easy to be a critic, and i offer these thoughts with the most complementary motive: this movie was thought-provoking and i recommend it to adults and older teens. To the talented actors, writers, and directors i give my sincerest appreciation; thank you for the entertainment. For my more sensitive viewers i refer you to Plugged In which will address issues of  Violence, Sexual Content, and Profanity in such a way that you can make an informed decision about viewing.

Click here to find a link to a video of movie scenes set to the film's soundtrack major score Breath of Life by Florence and the Machine.

Click here for Summer at the Movies: Brave

Click here for a review of Hunger Games

Seashells, Stars, and Triple Lemon Chiffon Birthday Cake

if only i could upload a slice of Triple Lemon Chiffon Cake for you today, 

i know you would celebrate Jessie's 21st birthday with us. . .

just so you know. . .Jessie's sister baked the cake (it took all of Saturday afternoon. . .oh, the anticipation!)

my skills, small though they may be, went toward a really seashell-happy banner 

Happy Birthday, sweet Jessie. . .
We love you soooo much
(and lemon cake was such a good idea.
We thank you.) 

Counting the grace gifts today.

#0702 - the resolute courage and unbearable kindness in Ananias' words, "Brother, Paul. . ."

#0703 - God's unbearable kindness to me, when i lose my temper, just when i thought i had that under control. Will there ever come a day?. . .

#0704 - seeing my daughters prepare and serve the evening meals with quiet joy and skill

#0705 - reading Henry IV in our sand chairs as the sun settles and drapes us in red and gold

#0706 - Vegas, Swan, Draco, Ursula Minor, Hercules striving on the heroic fields of the heavens, and my breath is taken away there in the dark, small, and head tilted back to watch

#0707 - ancient stars, named one by one by the Ancient of Days. . .and He who created universes in the vastness of space can tell you the number of insignificant (and sometimes gray) hairs on this stubborn and miniscule head

#0708 - wary and untrusting ghost crab clutching the straw i offer so that i can carry him to safer shores. . .and i have been the crab clutching the straw while a Hand of mercy transported me to safer places

#0709 - trumping insecurity and making the decision to let territoriality go, and the sweet peace and freedom that follows

#0710 - birthday banner weighted with seashells strung on twine and tied with a narrow satin ribbon. . .my daughter turning 21, and mary-like i treasure up so much to ponder in my heart

#0711 - a summer when the movies at the theater are actually worth the price of a ticket. . .action adventure that re-tells the old stories of sacrifice, honor and purity, evil overcome after great struggle. . .and i see with fresh eyes the war waged for man's Salvation

#0712 - and this from Matthew Henry on Isaiah 38: "Our being ready for death will make it come never the sooner, but much the easier: and those that are fit to die are most fit to live."

Counting with the Community at. . .

 

The Beach Almanac for Friday, June 22nd

~the Sailor's Wife

The cottage rocks gently under  hazy blue skies at 7 a.m. and the acrid scent of a fire burning in the Croatan Forest 170 miles away can be detected on south westerly breeze.

temperature: at noon day, hot sand stings bare feet (mercury rising from 80^o at 8 a.m.)
sunrise: our bodies are on beach time now and sunrise is friend (5:46 a.m.)
sunset: finds us lingering on the beach after dinner, gathering shells swept in on the incoming tide(8:24 p.m.)
moon: waxing crescent (lovely ring to that); perhaps tonight on the deck we will see the faintest halo where Moon should be.
The full moon of each month has a name, and in June she is Strawberry Moon because the Algonquins knew that she signaled the time to harvest ripening fruit.

Winter's pale and almost tasteless fruit harvested when green and shipped thousands of miles has given way to the bursting juicy ripeness of berries plucked only days before at a farm down the road. Strawberries. Blueberries. Blackberries. Delicacies for every meal and snack this week.

low tide: reveals a crunchy bed of broken shells that sings and jingles as the tide moves (3:04 p.m.)
high tide: carves a narrow, low promontory for our beach chairs; surf comes in on either side (9:03 a.m.; 9:10 p.m.)
water: refreshing at 75^o; moderate chop (marine term there) and waves waist high perfect for timid swimmers, mushburgers for surfers.
wind: S SW, 5 to 6 mph. i feel me compassion for family sweltering under inland heat without the blessed ocean breeze.
Stars:
The dome of the night sky caps the world unhindered  in every direction, porch lights are off by 10 p.m. so that sea turtle mamas won't be confused, and the inky Atlantic stretches thousands of miles into blackness reflecting only the sky itself.  Each evening the deck becomes the fore castle of a sailing vessel and the stars come out. . .

(click here for Sky Chart an app for your cell phone).

Fair winds and a following sea
i pray for you, dear friend

Thoughtful's Thursday Book Faire with a little Bingo on the side

Welcome to Thoughtful’s  Thursday Book Faire and Literary Pursuits.

I am working my way through Nags Headers, taking notes, studying, researching, and traveling up and down the beach road looking for the old land marks. It is a delightful book about these beloved shores, and it makes me slow down and think about why am I here; what does the Spirit have to say to me here?

“He marked out their appointed times in history and the boundaries of their lands.”

~Acts 17: 26

Last night at 11:03 p.m. this perfectly tilting planet aimed its imaginary axis directly at the sun and sunlight spilled on the northern hemisphere longer than any other day of the year. Eager to drink in every moment of that extra daylight, i was waiting yesterday morning at sea’s hem scooping up shells when the sun lifted his sleepy red eye over the blue bed clothes of horizon. I abided in his warmth most of the day. . .prayer, listening, reading God's Word.

That was not my original plan. I had a busy, productive day in mind. All that changed when the steering wheel shaft of the little blue van sprung a leak at both ends. We did not see the leak, but when we started her up and began to move, she shuddered and groaned and barked a bit.  She blinked big sad eyes at me as the Seto (as in "sea tow") truck pulled her ingloriously from the drive for all the neighbors to see.  I did not cry.  I spoke to the gentleman mechanic who was tending her late yesterday afternoon.
His name is Bingo.
I smile. Metaphors bloom within my head.

I place the plastic markers where I hear Him call, and at the end of the day, I whisper softly, “Jesus. You were here.”

 I (sort of) understand. The girls and I have time for long conversations. We listen for the theology behind the ordinary ways of speaking.  When the van springs a leak in her hidden parts, how do we respond? What does fear and complaining say about what we believe about God?  What will we call out? Fear? Worry? Doubt? Frustration?
Or will we proclaim: Jesus.
Will we count the grace gifts;
place the markers?

a week day morning when traffic is light (not on a Saturday when the roads become jammed parking lots) . the car is empty (not filled to overflowing with suitcases, coolers, and everything but the kitchen sink) . insurance companies that send tow trucks (no unexpected and heavy fees there) .  a mechanic back home who  takes my call even though he is out of town (not left to negotiate prices on our own) .

We call each grace out.
We place the markers like little Ebenezers.
We acknowledge the saving Name; His banner of love over all of this.
Jesus.

And i find myself circled round to Thursday’s Book Faire. In our pursuit of Him, we are thinking about reading these books together; my copies are well-worn. i wish to share them with my daughters. I wish to share them with you:

And of course, above and beyond all the plumb line for every book ever written . . .secular or Christian. . . the Bible.

One last whimsical thought: when the van is fixed, i think i may purchase a little board game for us to play together.
What do you think that shall be?


I am praying that your days will be marked by an awareness of all the ways He has provided for you.

The Best Sea Shell Shop. . .

. . .is not a chain store. . .
. . . it is local. . .
and is owned by the same family. . .
(for over 50 years )
  It sits on the causeway with the ocean and the sound only a few yards away on either side.
There will be rusty boats. . .and of course, rusty anchors. . . in the yard
a thousand pieces of drift wood in the back

and is filled to its low rafters with sea shells,

bits of shipwreck treasure

and lots of lovely coral.

The best sea shell shop is riddled with hidden surprises, like the little sea turtle my sister found. . .

and when i wasn't looking, she bought it, because only yesterday the mama turtle had left a clutch of eggs near our cottage and she did not laugh at me for being so excited. . .she was excited, too

and she left it on my table for me to find after she had gone. Little gift from the sea shell shop, a reminder of the vulnerability of others we have been sent to serve. . .

How many are your works, Lord!
    In wisdom you made them all;
    the earth is full of your creatures.
 There is the sea, vast and spacious,
    teeming with creatures beyond number—
    living things both large and small.

All creatures look to You.

 ~Psalm 104: 24 - 25, 27

Keeping a Quiet Heart

The Lord delights in those who fear Him,
    who put their hope in His unfailing love.
~Psalm 147: 10 - 11

God's Sweet Command

He sends out his command to the earth; his word runs swiftly.
~Psalm 147:15

In the wee hours this morning, a sea turtle crawled out of the ocean, up the dune into a low-slung swale, dug a cylindrical hole about twenty-eight inches deep in the dark, deposited one hundred and one eggs, covered the hole with its long flippers, and labored back to the sea.
Statistically most of the hatchlings will not make it back to the sea before being scooped up by a seagull. Only one in a thousand live to adult hood.

She lays her eggs on the ground, and lets them warm in the sand, unmindful that a foot may crush them, that some wild animal may trample them.
~Job 39:14

The N.E.S.T. volunteer Barbara began her patrol on an ATV along the north beaches as the sun rose. Up and down the sand hills, skirting the rising tide, she scanned the pale gold grains for distinctive marks. A small bubble of excitement rose from the pit of her stomach when she sighted the tractor-type treads forming a wedged-shaped vee from surf to dunes and back to surf, like an arrow pointing the way. She called the hotline. This was not going to be another false crawl.
~Jessie stands beside the "crawl"and original nest site

Sunlight spilled into the cottage bedroom and across my prayer journal. Suddenly, it seemed very clear that whatever else i decided to do that morning, the first priority was to set up chair, blanket, and umbrella on the beach to save the family a spot.
~a rare Kemps Ridley, nest 5

And that is how i came upon Barbara and the seven other volunteers carefully transferring one hundred and one ping-pong sized eggs to a hole above the tide line.

i am still overcome.

i walked a mile last year to see the caution-taped bit of sand where a nest was supposed to be (click here). i followed the progresses of the seven nests found last summer on the volunteer Facebook page.

and here i was, a warm June morning stumbling upon my very first open nest only two doors down from our cottage.

i wish i had the eloquence to tell you what i am feeling. i wish i had my Elisabeth Elliot book Keep a Quiet Heart here, because she could tell you for me. What i do have is Scripture, and that is beyond the best way to express what i know to be true.

"I have commanded the ravens to feed you . . ." ~1 Kings 17:4.

The Bible is eloquent on God's sweet commands to nature. . .

the morning (Job 38:12) the skies (Psalm 78:23) the sun (Job 9:7) a great fish (Jonah 1:17) a plant (Jonah 4:6) a worm (Jonah 4:7) the stormy wind, which lifted up the waves of the sea(Psalm 107:25) (Luke 8:25) crystals of ice (Psalm 147:17) the clouds (Isaiah 5:6) the lightning (Job 36:32)

and He called that big, beautiful prehistoric turtle mama to choose this spot along thousands of miles of shoreline. . .only two cottages down from my door.

i can barely rise from knees in humble thanks. . .

for this gift of grace, a turtle nest, yes.

But more, that he would call me to see.

Counting the grace gifts. . .

#0694 - sea turtles

#0695 - my sisters in the cottage by the sea

#0696 - the first sand castle of the season

#0697 - little boy tucking in close to me on the sofa while he plays his hand held game

#0698 - little face waiting for me to get up from a nap, "Can you play?" he asks. And that, my friends, is why i am taking naps

#0699 - kites, racing games, walks to the pond

#0700 - painting tiny wooden trucks, pipe cleaner mustaches and butterflies

#0701 - the marina through little boy's eyes

Counting with the Community at. . .

 

Friday's Beach Almanac

~a rare cottage garden in our sea side neighborhood.

    The gardens and woods of Round Rock are inland safe from salty air that burns tender plants and winds that flatten them, and we have traded hydrangea and gladiolas for bayberry and sea oats.

 
~Cedar shingles on the Discovery, a friend's home, reminiscent of Nags Heads Unpainted Aristocracy.

    Welcome to Thoughtful's Friday Beach Almanac, an end of the week climate and meteoroligal record - just for the fun of it. Part of the charming elusiveness of life on a sandbar is the close link between life and nature. Shoes are traded in for bare feet, make up and foundation are discarded for sun kisses and SPF, and hair mousse and flat irons give it up for wind and sea spray volumnizer.

~the Bucket List down the street is for sale. . .if only. . . *sigh*

    The weather changes from hour to hour or a mile down the road. We have spent a sunny day on the beach while watching the rain line deluge our southern neighbors in Kitty Hawk. Something about living this close to nature is healing. Allergies disappear, the Atlantic winds blow mosquitos back to the Sound, and climbing the dunes and the steep cottage steps multiple times a day makes the elliptical obsolete. And the air. . .oh, the air. . .you don't realize how clear or fresh it is until a winter inland is behind you. Finally, something elemental in the rhythm of the tides resets your inner clock, deepens your breathing, and slows your heart. i do not take any moment spent on the island lightly. i feel my Father's heartbeat and am more keenly alive to His wild and beautiful ways as i observe the life of beach fox, the island dear, the wild ponies, the sea gulls, dolphins and fish, and ghost crabs.

"Safe?. . .'course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, i tell you" ~C. S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.

THE ALMANAC for FRIDAY, JUNE 15TH

The cottage sailed under a cap of blue skies all day.
temperature: a toasty 75^o in the sun, but shiver me timbers in the shade
sunrise: way too early, but so very worth it (5:45 a.m.)
sunset: splendidly spilling over the Sound to back light the evening meal (8:21 p.m.)
moon: waning crescent, can only be seen from early morning to late afternoon; no moonlight on the deck tonight. . .but plenty of stars. Draco and the Little Bear over the ocean in the south.
low tide: Elevensies (11:01 a.m.)
high tide: Late Tea (5:40 p.m.)

~high tide suprises the photographer  (me)

water temperature: pleasant on the feet and ankles (73^o)

wind: NE, 17 mph with gusts up to 25 mph. The wind has demanded our attention for the past twenty-fourhours, toppling the lighter deck chairs and whipping light items from our hands. When her blustery performance left us unfazed, she rallied her performance and was rewarded with a No Swimming flags approval.

~red flags dotted the beach by mid-morning.

    We enjoyed the blustery drama snug from the deck, but Visitors who see vacation time sliding like beach sand through the glass, braved the winds and set up umbrellas and towels - for a bit. Their children dug a little sand bunker in which to play.

~the children's abandoned sand bunker

By lunch time, they had given up and the dunes were empty.

What not to do on days like this: raise the flag (it would be tatters), hook up the hammock, put up an umbrella, cast a fishing line, or take your hair seriously.

What you can do: Sam asks me to go on a walk, and i oblige. Once over the dunes, we are only a few steps away from the foaming behemoth that licks hungrily at the sea grass. . .

~light shimmers on the sea grass that bends and twists in the wind

. . .the tide is coming in and the sea spray that has coated the cottage windows now spits softly at my skin.

    The wind skims foam from the creamy surf that rolls like tumbleweed clouds in our path. Finding no sand crabs to harass, Sam barks at the blowing foam and i observe dozens of little rainbows trembling on glassy surfaces.

~a hovercraft of sea foam makes a shadow on the sand as it passes

    With manly diligence, Sam chases pelicans from our air space  then rolls in a victory dance of self congratualation.

~Sam leaves  his own trail, not unlike a turtle

    There you have it. . .what you can do on a day like this: walk, chase pelicans, roll in the sand, bark at sea foam. All lovely activities if you are a Westie.

    Oh, and look at the stars. . .which is where we are headed right now.