I’m loving Wisconsin more and more, each autumn we live here. I took this photo at about this time in 2006 and could have done so again this past weekend, had I brought my camera along.

The fall colors are just one of the gifts we receive in Wisconsin, and though I must admit the dismal-looking November that always follows, the changing seasons force me to enjoy what we have, when we have it.

A good lesson in general.

My friend Genny is hosting a thoughtful project this month, based on a book she read entitled, One Month to Live. Although I certainly won’t know when my 30 day clock will begin, it’s an interesting prospect to consider how I’d use my time.

In high school I made a “life list” and I’ve considered writing a reprise to that — all the destinations I’ve yet to travel, and the goals I’ve yet to achieve. But this project is quite different. With only 30 days, I find myself thinking more about what I wouldn’t do, than what I would do.

I wouldn’t
…go anywhere, see things or fill my life with adventure, like I would on a bucket list that I might take decades to cross off. I wouldn’t achieve, reach goals or buy things.

I wouldn’t watch the news, or listen to anyone who shared the negative side of it.

I wouldn’t answer the phone or sort my email inbox.

I wouldn’t resent, regret, worry, or feel obligated, angry or hurt.

I would
…pick and choose the small things that have brought me joy.

I’d live at the cabin, like we do in the summer.

I’d fill the freezer with filet mignon and shrimp, make fancy dinners with my daughter and bake chocolate chip cookies from scratch with my son.

I’d rise early and go to bed late, watch the sun illuminate the lake as I drank coffee with my husband, and watch it blaze red at dusk as we sipped Merlot.

I’d go for walks.

I’d toast marshmallows with my kids and ride bikes to Dairy Queen.

I’d blog every day, leaving my own “Last Lecture.”

I’d take pictures.

If friends and family visited, we’d talk and laugh, and share good news.

I wouldn’t talk about dying in 30 days.

And I’d thank God if he let my last 30 days be healthy ones.

What would you do with your time, if you knew you only had 30 days to live?

Have you enjoyed a Honeycrisp apple today?

My nine-year old boy, is a very nine-year-old, very boy.

He doesn’t especially like baths, is typically opposed to brushing his hair, and although he’ll do whatever I ask of him - it usually takes him three trips down the hall to remember what the task was.  For any objective that doesn’t relate specifically to his radar-interests like 4-wheeling or rockhounding, he’s far from organized.

But recently, I’ve witnessed a new side to my very nine-year-old boy.  In June, at the end of the school year, his orthodontist informed us that he would need an expander in his upper jaw, to correct his bite.  Darla had an expander at his age as well, so he was aware of what it meant — a metal and plastic device would be cemented to his upper molars for the better part of a year.

Darla mentored him well when it came time to fit the expander:  “The play-dough stuff doesn’t taste good, but it won’t take long.  And when Mom cranks the expander every night, it feels weird, but doesn’t really hurt.”

He took it all like a trooper - the “play-dough” mouth form used to mold the expander, the gluing it in, the “cranks” that expand the jaw.  But what has impressed me more than any of this, is the way he’s approached the next level of his treatment.  Unlike Darla, he needs to wear a face mask every night and band his upper jaw to the face mask to pull it forward, leveraging the mask against his forehead and chin.  He was told very clearly that the only way to complete the 11-month treatment in time, is to wear the mask every night for at least 10 hours per night.  He can take breaks for sleep-overs, but that’s about it.

So far, he’s completed nearly three months of the eleven months he’ll need to wear the mask.  He has never complained during any of the treatment.  Never refused to wear the face mask.  Never whined about what must be a major annoyance.  And he’s almost never even needed me to remind him to put it on at bedtime.  He’s only asked to skip a night here and there because he has a canker sore or a skin irritation where the rubber bands hit his lip.

And so this year-long treatment which I assumed would be so stressful - has not been.  And my son - who typically needs so much attention to get his ducks in the same county - has decided his dental health is a priority.

With children, wonders never cease.

Other torch-passers
Candid Karina - When I was Ten
Citizenship Foundation - 14 Year-Old Wins London Peace Award

What does passing the torch mean to you? Is it teaching? Passing traditions? Doing the right thing? Or good news about youth?

Join us each week for Pass the Torch Tuesday.

Former PTT posts.

Our loons have been a relaxing distraction this summer. The two families that we see most often on our lake seem like friends to those who live here — cohabitants of a beautiful waterfront retreat.

The tiny fluffballs that ride on their parents backs in June, are fully capable of diving and even flying by September, but it’s interesting to note that the adults were still feeding their “teenagers” when I shot this photo in August. The parents dive deeply and then return with a morsel, the young loons paddling quickly to reach the adult and take the minnow into their own beak.

And after swallowing the fish, the young loon (on the left) engaged in a sweet habit of circling the adult (on the right.) That’s how I captured this pose - it almost looks like the two are hugging.

As their feathers turn from the stark black and white of spring, to the warm brown hues we see now, I know that autumn is nearly here. I’ll definitely miss our loons when they fly south for the winter…

Wisconsin Loon Series
Early June
Late June
August

For More Wordless Wednesday, please go here or here.

This post is a part of Fussy’s Thursday Happiness Project Thursday.