king of showmen

Winter is the king of showmen turning tree stumps into snowmen and houses into birthday cakes and spreading sugar over lakes.  Smooth and clean and frosty white. The world looks good enough to bite. That’s the season to be young, catching snowflakes on your tongue. Snow is snowy when it’s snowing, I’m sorry it’s slushy when it’s going.

Quote: Ogden Nash

Photo Courtesy of Krissy Bilger

Thou Art Coming

Thou Art Coming

Thou art coming, O my Savior,
Thou art coming, O my King,
In Thy beauty all resplendent,
In Thy glory all transcendent;
Well may we rejoice and sing;
Coming! In the opening east,
Herald brightness slowly swells:
Coming! O my glorious Priest,
Hear we not Thy golden bells?

Thou art coming, Thou art coming;
We shall meet Thee on Thy way;
We shall see Thee, we shall know Thee,
We shall bless Thee, we shall show Thee
All our hearts could never say:
What an anthem that will be,
Ringing out our love to Thee,
Pouring out our rapture sweet
At Thine own all-glorious feet.

Lyrics:Frances Ridley Havergal (1836-1879)
Music:William Henry Monk (1823-1889)
Photo: Marge McCoy

lamp post

“Suppose that a great commotion arises in the street about something, let us say a lamp-post, which many influential persons desire to pull down. A grey-clad monk, who is the spirit of the Middle Ages, is approached upon the matter, and begins to say, in the arid manner of the Schoolmen, “Let us first of all consider, my brethren, the value of Light. If Light be in itself good–” At this point he is somewhat excusably knocked down. All the people make a rush for the lamp-post, the lamp-post is down in ten minutes, and they go about congratulating each other on their unmediaeval practicality. But as things go on they do not work out so easily. Some people have pulled the lamp-post down because they wanted the electric light; some because they wanted old iron; some because they wanted darkness, because their deeds were evil. Some thought it not enough of a lamp-post, some too much; some acted because they wanted to smash municipal machinery; some because they wanted to smash something. And there is war in the night, no man knowing whom he strikes. So, gradually and inevitably, to-day, to-morrow, or the next day, there comes back the conviction that the monk was right after all, and that all depends on what is the philosophy of Light. Only what we might have discussed under the gas-lamp, we now must discuss in the dark.”

― G.K. Chesterton

Photo by Bob McCoy



1 cup ice cubes

1/2 cup coffee freshly brewed and cooled

1/3 cup of half and half

1 Tablespoon sugar

3 Tablespoons fudge sauce

1 Squirt Reddi Whip for fun!

I can’t take credit for this recipe. It caught my eye while I was looking through a magazine and I thought it looked like fun. I wasn’t wrong! There’s nothing like a sweet coffee treat to perk up a gray winter day.

Photo by Jean Pike


“Frost grows on the window glass, forming whorl patterns of lovely translucent geometry.

Breathe on the glass, and you give frost more ammunition.

Now it can build castles and cities and whole ice continents with your breath’s vapor.

In a few blinks you can almost see the winter fairies moving in . . .

But first, you hear the crackle of their wings.”
― Vera Nazarian

Photo by Jean Pike