simple saturday

 

When my arms can't reach people who are close to my heart,

I always hug them with my prayers.

blackberry jam

 

Ingredients

• 4 cups blackberries

• 1 cup white sugar
 
• 2 tablespoons cornstarch
 
• ¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon
 
• ¼ teason ground allspice
 
• ½ teaspoon lemon juice

Directions

Mash blackberries in a saucepan with a potato masher. Stir in sugar until juices form; place about 1 tablespoon blackberry juice in a small bowl and stir in cornstarch. Pour cornstarch mixture into saucepan.

Bring berries to a boil, stirring often, until jam is thickened, about 15 minutes. Stir in cinnamon and allspice. Remove from heat and allow to cool. Transfer jam to a bowl, cover, and refrigerate until chilled. Stir in lemon juice.

Makes 2 cups

daily reflection

Have you had a kindness shown?
Pass it on;
'Twas not given for thee alone,
Pass it on;
Let it travel down the years,
Let it wipe another's tears,
'Til in Heaven the deed appears -
Pass it on.
~Henry Burton, Pass It On

Image from [here]

weekly virtue: kindness

Kindness is showing you care, doing some good to make life better for others. Be thoughtful about people's needs. Show love and compassion to someone who is sad and needs your help. When you are tempted to be cruel, to criticize or tease, decide to be kind instead.

solemn sunday

poetry wednesday: the snow-storm

The Snow-Storm

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,

Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,

Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air

Hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven,

And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end.

The steed and traveler stopped, the courier's feet

Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit

Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed

In a tumultuous privacy of storm.

Come see the north wind's masonry

Out of an unseen quarry evermore

Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer

Curves his white bastions with projected roof

Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.

Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work

So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he

For number or proportion. Mockingly,

On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;

A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn;

Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall,

Maugre the farmer's sighs; and, at the gate,

A tapering turret overtops the work.

And when his hours are numbered, and the world

Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,

Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art

To mimic in slow structure, stone by stone,

Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work,

The frolic architecture of the snow.

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

daily reflection

Nobody will know what's going on in your mind.  It's better to express rather than to expect.

daily reflection