Early Spring In Our Garden — observed from our windows and doors.

Early Spring In Our Garden — observed from our windows and doors.

Since this blog is called, “Writing For Joy,” it might be thought that , since I have written nothing here for about six months, there has been little joy in my life! However, I do have other blogs and my wordpress ‘Wrinkly Writers’ blog has gained more attention from my ‘pen’ lately. During this last six months I have reached the age of eighty and we have also celebrated our sixty years of marriage. PLUS we are now blessed with a great-grandchild. And on Boxing Day we actually had our immediate family altogether in one place — here! This is rare as my eldest son works on an oil rigg half his time.

The problem of getting family together for celebrations became clear when we celebrated our Diamond Wedding (Spring Day).  We have had four mini-celebrations. Four of our grandchildren had been unable to get to any of them. So I guess we will take them out for a meal one by one the next time they visit. Such is the scattering of family these days.

There has been sadness too with the death of a childhood friend. Sadness is an inevitable part of life the older you get and outlive ones you love or simply admire. But joy comes when the clouds break and the sunshine of the joy of living breaks through once more.

Now, after all the snow, rain and cold weather, spring has truly arrived. Flowers burst from their buds and open their petals to the warmth of the sun. The buzzing of bees work their magic of producing honey and fertilizing growing crops. Nature’s healing is taking place. More cause for celebration!

These are photographs taken of our garden. The shrubs are just beginning to blossom and it will go on throughout the year. I have no jewelry or gold (except my wedding ring and a locket my hubby gave me 60 years ago), Loved ones and my garden are more precious than gold and silver, and jewelry that has to be hidden from thieves.

Other things too still give me much pleasure. Holding in my hand the first book I had in print (When Phones Were Immobile and Lived in RED BOXES.) Then the novels. A word of appreciation, either spoken or written, of my literary efforts. And little things…