Saturday, June 22, 2013

The Amazing & Magical Sunflower for Julie Continues at the Lazy Vegan

Another miracle week here at the Lazy Vegan...with Julie continuing her journey (still reciting poetry and welcoming visitors!) along with "her" sunflower growing ever taller and blooming right outside her bedroom door.  We counted over 14 buds on the stalk waiting to bloom, and the main flower opened up yesterday - just beautiful! Check out the three poems & one monologue that Julie impressed us with this week at the bottom of this post.  Julie has inspired me to go back to reading poetry!
 Brave young buck explores the landscaping at the Lazy Vegan!

 There's no doubt in our minds that this sunflower was meant for Julie...

 Karina and the sunflower!!
 We rearranged Julie's room and opened up both doors to the French door...and viola!  What a view!
 Everyone likes to pose with the magical sunflower.

Fresh flowers always at the foot of Julie's bed.

The trio!
Wasabi Grooming Buddy! (As suggested by Wasabi's aunt Jackie!)

Good Morning, Wasabi!

Belated Father's Day photos...how the foreman spent his day!

You can see that the sunflower photos are out of order...here it was MUCH shorter...which gives you an idea of how tall it has grown in one week!
The foreman shows off his new Father's Day polo shirt!
Isn't this how every dad spends Father's Day??

Donkeys seeking shade.
The weekly pose goes on!
Claire and the magical sunflower!

How I spend my evenings!  Love my rabbit and my puppies and my donkeys and all animals...
The foreman did a great job hanging up some wonderful old photos.
Posing in the garden with Karina!

More sunflower posing.

Claire and the foreman!

Claire and Karina!

The house toward the end of the day.
Walking the dogs at sunset, I was startled by my long shadow!
Fawn and Mama on Trail
Cute little fawn!

The progression of the sunflower starting to bloom.

Very cool photo of Julie with her family from 1923...that's Julie in her dad's arms at front right.

The foreman rearranged some outdoor furniture and created a nice new sitting spot.
We have reason to be obsessed with this sunflower.  Julie also loves it!

Super hero!!

A few days ago when I was outside photographing the sunflower, I had an amazing encounter with this hummingbird.  She kept hovering right in front of my face repeatedly.  I tried to get a photo when she was doing that, but unfortunately my camera would not focus.  Then she flew over to the agave and stared at me!  So unusual for a hummingbird to stay still for so long.  I took lots of photos - just putting one here.

How an old terrier passes time.

Enjoying the new sitting area.

Wasabi takes such good care of herself...watching her groom is such a delight!

Wanting to play!

Getting old...as soon as I am able, I will be directing my attention more to my aging Toby.
Got several of these crazy squirrel videos...here's one!

We will always remember this sunflower and associate it lovingly with Julie.

Snap and the sunflower!
And me, taken by Snap!
Another wonderful meal Snap made and brought over...super yummy rice wraps with veggies and tofu and delicious dipping sauce, and Israeli couscous with papaya and other great stuff...plus treats!

Judith with the sunflower!

Brief Appearance by a Possum

My sister's adorable JRT ...remember you can check out her blog by hitting the link on the right margin of this blog!!
 Karina and Julie chatting away.
 The SUPERmoon!

 The foreman taking photos of the supermoon!

Enjoying the supermoon and wonderful warm evening breeze in Julie's room.

Julie's Poems of the Week - followed by Shakespeare Monologue:

(this one inspired by the "super moon!")


Walter de la Mare
Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in silver feathered sleep
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws, and silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream. 

William Butler Yeats

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a-glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

The Garden of Proserpine

Here, where the world is quiet;
         Here, where all trouble seems
Dead winds' and spent waves' riot
         In doubtful dreams of dreams;
I watch the green field growing
For reaping folk and sowing,
For harvest-time and mowing,
         A sleepy world of streams.

I am tired of tears and laughter,
         And men that laugh and weep;
Of what may come hereafter
         For men that sow to reap:
I am weary of days and hours,
Blown buds of barren flowers,
Desires and dreams and powers
         And everything but sleep.

Here life has death for neighbour,
         And far from eye or ear
Wan waves and wet winds labour,
         Weak ships and spirits steer;
They drive adrift, and whither
They wot not who make thither;
But no such winds blow hither,
         And no such things grow here.

No growth of moor or coppice,
         No heather-flower or vine,
But bloomless buds of poppies,
         Green grapes of Proserpine,
Pale beds of blowing rushes
Where no leaf blooms or blushes
Save this whereout she crushes
         For dead men deadly wine.

Pale, without name or number,
         In fruitless fields of corn,
They bow themselves and slumber
         All night till light is born;
And like a soul belated,
In hell and heaven unmated,
By cloud and mist abated
         Comes out of darkness morn.

Though one were strong as seven,
         He too with death shall dwell,
Nor wake with wings in heaven,
         Nor weep for pains in hell;
Though one were fair as roses,
His beauty clouds and closes;
And well though love reposes,
         In the end it is not well.

Pale, beyond porch and portal,
         Crowned with calm leaves, she stands
Who gathers all things mortal
         With cold immortal hands;
Her languid lips are sweeter
Than love's who fears to greet her
To men that mix and meet her
         From many times and lands.

She waits for each and other,
         She waits for all men born;
Forgets the earth her mother,
            The life of fruits and corn;
And spring and seed and swallow
Take wing for her and follow
Where summer song rings hollow
         And flowers are put to scorn.

There go the loves that wither,
         The old loves with wearier wings;
And all dead years draw thither,
         And all disastrous things;
Dead dreams of days forsaken,
Blind buds that snows have shaken,
Wild leaves that winds have taken,
         Red strays of ruined springs.

We are not sure of sorrow,
         And joy was never sure;
To-day will die to-morrow;
         Time stoops to no man's lure;
And love, grown faint and fretful,
With lips but half regretful
Sighs, and with eyes forgetful
         Weeps that no loves endure.

From too much love of living,
         From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
         Whatever gods may be
That no life lives for ever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
         Winds somewhere safe to sea.

Then star nor sun shall waken,
         Nor any change of light:
Nor sound of waters shaken,
         Nor any sound or sight:
Nor wintry leaves nor vernal,
Nor days nor things diurnal;
Only the sleep eternal
         In an eternal night.

William Shakespeare 

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.