In one of my first memories, I was crying.  Strong hands lifted me up. I was on grandpa’s knee.  I must have been not much more than a year old by the great height of his knee and his chest and head over me.  The quality of light and the woodsmoke smell was that of the living room of my grandparents’ house, the one built just after the civil war. Grandpa’s voice was almost scolding. “Don’t you hurt my granddaughter!!” I stopped crying in confusion. I was his granddaughter!  I wasn’t a stranger who hurt me!! I tried to explain, but Grandpa only laughed. He just would not understand me!

My mother’s parents, Bob and Florence Nichols, were in some ways almost like second parents to me. I was their first grandchild. While we lived at McLane Bob was often working in Erie as an electrician.  He told me later that he used to pick me up for the weekend on his way home from work. “You were such a little thing. Talked so early. You used to stand up behind my shoulder as I drove and talk the whole way.”  Obviously, pre-seatbelt time!  

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So, this year I'm going to work on memoir stories. I'll put them here so those who have asked me can find them.

For me, memory consists of something like video clips with all sensations and emotions included. Without context, these clips don’t make much sense. The early memories have almost no context of their own. It’s only by putting them into the bigger picture gleaned from others, that they begin to make some sense. Later memories, seem to be filed as part of larger story. All of it is perceived through the filter of my own limited understanding. So here goes . . . 

One thing that is firmly there is all my childhood memory “clips” is a deep awareness of being loved. So blessed to be a loved child! I was the first child of Roger and Joyce Coon. Of course I don’t remember my birth, but I do remember being shown the sweet sketch my dad made of newborn me.

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If we look, we see that the psalmist who wrote Psalm 118 was clearly living in difficult times, yet he chose to say, "This is the day the Lord has made, I will rejoice and be glad in it." The word "day" in scripture can mean a season of time. 2025 is the season coming up that the Lord has given. For many of us, it won't be all easy, happy, happy, times.  I've been praying thie verse in the photo below for all of us. It's my Phil's hand in a joyful moment :-).  I've found, if I look, there are almost always the equivalent of chickadees in the middle of cold hard days. Wishing you a joyful, peaceful, and hopeful 2025. 

Light in the dark has a kind of double meaning to me living in Alberta.  There’s the physical darkness. Today, sunrise was at 8:32, and sunset at 4:28.  For the next month, there’s less than 8 hours of daylight. It’s cold, dark and slippery out!   On top of that, with Phil’s illness, times can seem dark. So many friends are also living in difficult circumstances!

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A moose cow and baby ran by our house last week. There are baby ducks and geese in the pond near our house. :-) I’m learning to use Merlin, the free bird app from Cornell. It’s fun to identify the birds by sound! I’ve had time to garden since I’m here with Phil. It’s been such fun to plant and plan. The asparagus I planted earlier gave us some lovely meals. So fun to see how things grow. Photography is a great way to really look at patterns and beauty in nature. I’ve been enjoying posting new art photos on our website.Earlier I sent a picture of geese in the ice as a symbol of hope. This was taken last week very near the same place. A happier picture :-)

Check out Ecclesiastes: Enjoy all the days for your fleeting life:

Phil is struggling more and having a harder time with normal things  like unlocking the house or finding food in the fridge. 

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It’s almost April, Easter weekend, and yet snow and ice are still cold on the ground. It seems not very hopeful some days. We’ve had more snow in March than in much of the winter. And we’ve had storms and challenges that had nothing to do with weather.

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My father is the one who taught me to draw and to really look at light and patterns. He died last week. I'd like to share his obituary with you.

Here's his obituary:

Roger Coon, 94, entered Jesus' presence on March 15, 2024, from his home at the Africa Inland Mission Retirement Center in Minneola, Florida. Born July 20, 1929, Roger was the first in his family to go on to higher education, studying theology at Wheaton College. He and his first wife, Joyce, married in 1951. They served for three years at a rural church in McLane, Pennsylvania, where his two daughters Karen and Tami were born.

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I wrote this yesterday on US Thanksgiving Day. Our Canadian day was in October. Either way, thanksgiving comes in the fall. It's a rich harvest time, but is on the cusp of winter. Here in Alberta, all of nature is downsizing and heading into challenging times. The pasture where I walk our dog gets simpler with the loss of summer birds and leaves. The texture of grass, rocks and flowers is lost under the abstract of windblown snow. For songbirds the time of songs, babies and bugs is over, no more home territory, just a long hard trip to a new place.

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It’s been a stressful week. I’ve got a cold and the deadline for a trip to Kenya is coming. The original text of the hymn, “For the Beauty of the Earth,” written in 1864, includes these verses that have been so healing.

For the beauty of the earth, For the beauty of the skies, For the Love which from our birth over and around us lies: Christ, our God, to Thee we raise this our Sacrifice of Praise. For the joy of ear and eye, For the heart and brain's delight, For the mystic harmony Linking sense to sound and sight: Christ, our God, to Thee we raise This our Sacrifice of Praise.

It’s easy to be focused on immediate complexities. We live in such a convoluted world, always things to try to figure out. I’ve been reminded that if I look up there is always beauty. Even in small everyday things.  Beauty is all around us, an expression of the love that is always over and around us.  Yet I often get used to it, and even irritated.  Irritated at the dog interrupting and needing to go out. Irritated at snow and cold.  I’ve been trying, with patchy success to look. 

Stepping out of our own concerns to see the love and beauty around us is, as the hymn writer said, a kind of sacrifice. Looking away from our own concerns toward our creator gives such joy!This traditional Navaho blessing resonates with me. "With beauty below may you walk. With beauty above may you walk. With beauty all around may you walk. In old age wandering on a trail of beauty, lively, may you walk."

 These photos were taken this week. Enjoy!  Wishing you joy in the beauty around you.

We had icy fog last week. Phil has taught meteorology. He explained that cold air can’t hold as much water as warmer air so when the temperature drops moisture comes out of the air as fog.  The ground takes a bit longer to cool than the air, so warmer air from close to the ground is always encountering cooler air and making fog.  The supercooled fog droplets freeze on everything they touch. Beautiful hoarfrost decorations appear on every blade of grass and twig.  Walking the dog on a windless foggy morning was like being in a hushed and isolated bubble.  I had to keep my focus nearby.  It’s interesting that quite often I saw glimpses of blue sky above. Walking the dog before bed, I saw the north star and parts of the big dipper though the fog.

I could see up, but not out.

That seems almost an allegory. We can only see the nearby things in our own lives. The future is uncertain, obscured, rather foggy.  However, we can see up, to the north star of God’s certain love.

Here's a link to an image on our artwebsite that I took on a foggy walk. It's the one in the thumbnail below. There are some other art photos of fog and hoarfrost photos that Phil and I have taken. https://fineartamerica.com/featured/winter-woods-03-philip-and-karen-rispin.html.  Wishing you certain hope on the northstar of God's love in your life.