Author: Joy Hurt

There are hundreds of decisions to be made when planning a traditional wedding. Ceremony. Vows. Flowers. Music. Food. Cake. And most important of all, THE DRESS.

Oy.

Vey.

One of the most stressful things for me on any day is the hunt for THE right dress for THE day, quickly approaching. There is a a weird comfort that we are not yet in our wedding month. But, that isn’t reality. The reality is, I need something stunning to wear as I walk down the aisle towards my awaiting groom. Men have it so easy. A suit and tie. Good to go. I must find this form fitting stunner in 28 days or less. The heat is on.

It’s not like I haven’t been trying. Amazon is a great place to buy all kinds of things. Anything you can think of can be delivered to your door. Heck, I even bought my snow blower and lawn mower using the site. The two potting tables sitting in the new greenhouse came from Amazon. Heck, the greenhouse was ordered online. They have anything and everything but the perfect dress.

There has been the need to involve the bank fraud department when I didn’t receive my refund for a July return. There have been dresses that were designed for an XL child. All tawdry and overpriced. Yet, the need for a dress overrides the obvious fact that it’s very hard to find clothing that’s perfect when shopping online. Almost a miracle if you find something.

I did receive the perfect dress, in the perfect size and shade of blue. It was lovely in every way. From Amazon, I held my breath to see how it would fit. Indeed, it fit perfectly. Just one little problem. It had been treated with something around the neck, and was now purple in those areas. A perfectly wonderful defective dress.

Returned.

I’ve visited a tony Bridal salon. It didn’t go well either. Ball gowns, mermaid designs, fit and flare, and just plain “out-there” designs. That was my experience as I looked at traditional gowns. There is nothing traditional about me. I’m a gardening, 67 year old grandmother of 12 that does best in a tee-shirt, shorts, and flat shoes. I don’t wear jewelry or pearls. I’m not a 21 year old bride walking down the aisle while flashing a veiled blush at her new groom.

White is out. Cream is right there with it. No greys or muted colors. And for goodness sakes, it goes without saying “NOOOOOO VEIL”. This sexagenarian does need some color in her dress.

Although the exact color will remain a secret, I was in search of MM’s favorite. I wish I could say that I found a dress in that color. It’s hard to find. So, I went with a color that enhances my natural beauty.

Yesterday, I met with my future Step-Daughter-in-Law-and-Love. Taking off work, she met with me for support as the hunt continued. We looked at all kinds of formal attire. From pant suits (I’m not Bea Arthur from the Golden Girls, although we were both retired teachers), to skirts, to dresses in every color of the rainbow.

I asked for two things. Sleeves and length. The need for long sleeves should be explanatory to anyone with arm wings. I cannot expose the wings to be documented in the eternity of wedding photos. Not. Going. To. Happen. With Size 11’s in flats, the longer the dress the better. Yes. Length. No pants. Sleeves.

And the circus began.

I finally found one dress that would do. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t horrible. It just didn’t feel exactly right. But, with nothing else that was close, it was the front runner.

Until………

I decided to do one more walk-about the store to make sure there was nothing I might have missed.

There, hiding between many other dresses, I found it.

Color — Check

Arms — Check

Length — Check

Fit and Finish — Check

Everyone agreed. It was THE ONE.

A heart-felt thanks to the sweetest of friends for taking time from her busy day to come and help. Not only did we find success with the dress but we also decided on the cake, which she’ll be designing and creating for her dad and me. She’s an amazing woman!

With one big worry off my mind, I was about to leave the store when I remembered that I do need a pair of flats. In 10 minutes, I found, tried on, and purchased the cutest shoes. If you wear a weird size like 11 Narrow, you know, this NEVER, EVER happens on any day in any universe. But it did. Yesterday. In the biggest little city to the west of me.

Whatever you do today, go through your wardrobe and see what you are missing. Do a little shopping. Find something new that makes you feel as special as an October bride. It doesn’t need to be sparkly or expensive. Just crisp and new. Everyone needs a new look once in awhile on their journey towards home.

More tomorrow.

This is a very view of the classroom in which I learned about respect for self, others, and country. Although this photo was taken a few years before my time, the elementary school I attended impressed upon my classmates and I the importance of self discipline. We learned to attend to the lessons at hand and then, learned about the wonders of the world. My teachers could grab the attention of the most squirrelly child, and they did. One way or the other.

Moving forward to 9/11/2023, it’s much more difficult to reproduce this picture. From my recent classroom experience, there’d be breakfast wrappers and juice boxes on the tables. There’d be plenty of nonsense blaring from the loudspeaker in the room. I would’ve just finished passing out breakfasts, taken attendance, wiped spills, opened juice boxes, all while teaching the emotional-social lesson for the day. No time for skippidity-dippity kiddos rushing in for their morning hug and report on the birth of six kitten during the night. Just the rigors of mandated programs and procedures.

I’m sure it’s even more intense this year than last. God bless the teachers and students as they search to find meaningful experiences in the classrooms of today. In my very small town, a handful of teachers made sure that happened on September 11, 2023.

How and why is it that the history of September 11 is not the first thing kids learn about every year????? Just how???? Without a teacher that knows the importance, it’s become just another day. The fifth day of the 2023-24 school year.

Our town will NEVER forget 9/11. Each year, there is an amazing program at the firehouse with the biggest American flag hanging from a boom truck. All the firemen attend in their dress uniforms. The firehouse is scrubbed and shiny, as you would expect a firehouse to be.

My fabulous fiancé who will remain MM for now, and I took our spot in the front row a few minutes before the program began. In the crowd, there were plenty of people I’ve met over the four summers I’ve been a desert gal. Town folk that I now consider friends.

Ninja neighbor started things off by singing the National Anthem. Along with being prettier than Carrie Underwood (and I am not kidding on that one), she jumped right up and belted out the most beautiful song. A cappello. Never drifted off key. I got the feeling that if she wanted too, she could have even been more powerful with her gorgeous voice. A local super-star!!! Who knew?

There were poems and thoughts about the day. My soon-to-be-Brother-in Law-and-Love, The Mayor, gave a rousing speech. And then, we were all hit by a powerhouse of a man.

Major General Ondra L. Berry — Maj. Gen. Ondra L. Berry is the adjutant general of the state of Nevada, the highest ranking officer in the Nevada Guard. He works as the chief advisor to Nevada Gov. Joe Lombardo on all matters affecting the 4,400 soldiers, airmen and civilians in the Nevada Guard.

There were all kinds of people in the audience, but there was a special group of dignitaries that sat outside on the asphalt. Criss-cross-applesauce, butts on the ground. Sixty youngsters. I’m guessing 5th or 6th grade. In a school district of almost 9,000 kids, 60 were treated to the speech of a lifetime. Rising to the occasion, they sat at attention when the Major General began to speak.

He talked to all of us about love of country and what it means to be a first responder. Bravery. Honor. Courage. Faith. Self-respect. Love of Country. Pride. Dreams. REMEMBERING. Being Battle Born. Battle Trained. Battle Ready. Being Proud Nevadans.

Those children, along with the rest of us, drank in his every word. I have no doubt that if one of those kids misbehaved, he would have stepped in to chat. They knew that. It didn’t matter because he commanded the attention of the entire room in the best way possible. He praised the courage and wisdom of the teachers that had made THIS lesson, one of life’s important ones.

As he spoke, he physically turned his body and attention to the children. The speech about the adult topics of patriotism and service to others was delivered to these children. He made eye contact with them as he delivered the message. Never, ever, ever forget.

By the way, he needed no microphone. This man controlled the room, not with volume, but with content.

His speech should have been mandatory viewing for every sing student in our huge school district. The entire event should have been zoomed into every classroom across our high desert plains. But, it wasn’t. Just 60 very lucky kids and their teachers, sitting criss-cross-applesauce for an hour.

Amazing Grace was performed by kilt-wearing pipers.

A 21 gun salute boomed as spent shells hit the ground.

The 5-5-5 bells tolled for the fallen firefighters.

Long before telephones and radios, fire departments used the telegraph to communicate. When the handle was pulled on the once-familiar red fire alarm boxes found on nearly every street corner of America, a special code was transmitted to every fire station. When a firefighter died in the line of duty, the fire alarm office would tap out a special signal. That signal was five measured dashes, then a pause, then five measured dashes, another pause…then five more dashes. This became universally known as the Tolling of the Bell and was broadcast over all telegraph fire alarm circuits. This signal was a sign of honor and respect for all firefighters who had made the ultimate sacrifice and has become a time-honored tradition.

I’m so proud to live in a patriotic town. I’m glad personally know the Sheriff that keeps us safe from harm. How lucky to have a brother that is steering the direction of our town. Blessed am I to have a Fire Chief that is a man among men. I chose well a town that values the ideals of our country as I do.

What a meaningful day of remembrance!

Whatever you do today, think in terms of kindness. Give others the benefit of the doubt and focus on the good that is all around us. Negative thoughts only eat away at a happy heart. Turn your own thoughts towards something happy. It’s good for the soul.

More tomorrow.

Twenty-two years ago, there were things I hadn’t experienced yet. At 45, I hadn’t yet celebrated the first birthday of my 1 month old grandchild. I hadn’t harvested the 12th crop of raisins from our Thompson Seedless vineyard. I hadn’t finished my 5th year of teaching 3rd Grade in Room 20. I hadn’t experienced an all-out attack on the country I love so much. I was just a young teacher driving across the countryside to work another day.

I’d just become an empty nester with two sons serving in the United States Air Force. One would just be leaving the gates of an East Coast base for reassignment to a west coast base. The other son was translating information from bad guys while eavesdropping high above the clouds over England. My sons were grown men on their own. My full attention focused on 20 high-energy 8-year-old’s who loved their teacher, Mrs. Hurt.

Although I was a seasoned traveler, I’d never traveled to New York. It never appealed to someone like me. A concrete jungle is too confining. This country girl needed wide open spaces, often feeling claustrophobic by the miles and miles of perfectly groomed vineyards. New York might as well have been the wilds of Tanzania or Zimbabwe. To this very day, I’ve never visited and have no desire to change that.

The morning of 9/11/2001, I was “Any American Teacher”. Papers in – Papers out. Corrected assignments in the roller cart in the trunk of my car. Black line master’s for the new assignments ready to copy. Just one last thing to do. Kiss VST goodbye for the day and head out to get my XL Diet Coke at the 76 station. Same routine every day. Rain or shine. Bloom or harvest. Just another normal day.

I loved my morning soda stop. The owner of the store happened to be of Middle-Eastern descent. Never gave it much thought. Thought about it a lot in the days to follow.

“Hey, Meez Hurt! Ready to teach today?” He’d always have a nice greeting for me. I’d just grab the soda, run.

On this morning, he was watching his TV screen.

“What’s up? Hot news?”

I saw the initial smoke from the sky-scrapers. Didn’t look too exciting. Something in New York. But, wasn’t there ALWAYS something in New York? The news said a small plane had hit the World Trade Center. Ahh, how sad for the families involved. I wished him well and went on my way.

Along the way, the radio filled me in on how the world had just changed in an instant. Arriving at school, I wasn’t the same Mrs. Hurt that’d just left the safety of the ranch. In an instant, I was the mom of two Airmen. I was the daughter of parents that had just flown across the Atlantic while returning from a golden anniversary trip to Europe. I was the grandmother of a little baby that would live his entire life in a world changed in horrific ways.

20 kids would enter Room 20 at 7:45 am. 20 kids would need answers and 7.5 hours of love and care from one traumatized teacher that just needed a minute to scream, “WHY????”

9/11/2001.

The teachers all wore dark glasses to hide our shock and tears that day. We took turns cramming around the secretary’s desk to watch the coverage, while making sure the kids outside had yard duty teachers to watch over them. We tried to carry on as we would on any regular school day. That’s what you do when you’re in charge of littles. No matter what, count heads and keep going.

Children figure things out. One child knew. Then another. Then another. Finally, with little eyes focused on one very scared teacher, we sat on the carpet in a big circle and talked about what had just happened. They asked questions. I told them I really didn’t know, because teachers certainly don’t know everything on a day like that. They cried a little bit. So did I. And then, we brainstormed.

One child had a brilliant idea. Could they write letters and draw pictures for the nurses and doctors in New York? What about the firemen? And policeman? Could they watercolor?

“Mrs. Hurt, we don’t know how to write a letter! Can you help us? “

“How do you spell doctor?”

“Where is New York City?”

“Are the bad people coming here?”

So many lessons were covered that day. The geography of the United States of America. Art. Kindness. Love. Support. Penmanship. Spelling. Grammar. As a family 3rd Graders, we were a class on a mission. Together, we clawed our way through the first day of a new way of life. The blue-sky, happy-go-luckiness of before was gone forever more.

Years, later, in 2014, I went to my last 9/11 remembrance at PELCO in Clovis, California. PELCO was one of the companies supplying surveillance cameras in the World Trade Center. Throughout the horrific order, the employees had maintained a special relationship with their friends in New York and held a yearly service that was something to experience. A block of land in the California parking lot had been deeded to New York. A piece of beam from the World Trade Center rests in a small museum there. Family born of blood.

After the ceremony, I was getting ready to leave when someone tapped me on the shoulder. As I turned, two young adults stood before me. I couldn’t place them at first.

“Mrs. Hurt. It’s you!”

“Hi there! I am so sorry. It’s been a morning and a few years have passed. You’re going to need to help me out.”

As quick as anything, the young woman shared a memory and code that only a member of Room 20 would know. And then, she smiled. It’s always in the smile. Just like that, my heart remembered her. My little student from long ago. My Allegra.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hurt. You were there for us. You kept us safe that day.” 13 years later, it was she that comforted her teacher. We both cried as we held each other tight. Just like that, we tumbled back in time to the horrible day we tried to make things better with crayons, paint, and a lesson in letter writing.

So much lost and so much found on September 11.

Whatever you do today, REMEMBER. Sit for a moment. THINK. Find one thing you could make better today and ACT. Each 9/11, I give one gift to a place it will do the most good. Say Hello to someone that looks down. Help a neighbor that needs it. Call a lonely friend. Do something really good, on a day that, long ago, was really bad. Please, just REMEMBER. Never, ever, ever forget. But then, how could anyone forget what we lost that day?

A quick note. If you have not heard of Gander, Newfoundland and the miracle that occurred there on 9/11 learn about it. TODAY. There is a wonderful play online. Come From Away. Read the back story about the 30+ jumbo jets that had to land in on an airstrip, emptying all their passengers into a town of 6,000+. Learn about it and the love shared by strangers. It will change you in a good way.

More tomorrow.

Another step closer to OUR day. There are so many things on my “To Do” list, I had to make one dedicated to bridal activities. Having much more energy in my younger years, I need to find the proper pace. One task at a time. One day at a time. Yesterday we knocked two important chores out of the park inviting exhaustion.

In a few short weeks, we’ll meet with family and friends in a tiny little out-of-the way chapel to exchange vows. But for now, we’re an engaged couple needing to make a major decision on rings. Not just any rings. Custom rings with bling. Rings that can handle a beautiful night out as well as a shovel and mulch. Rings that will be notice to everyone we meet that I am his wife and he is my husband.

MM knows more people and services than I thought possible. In our village or the surrounding towns, he knows where to go and who to see. When the subject of rings came up, he immediately knew of THE guy. Friends since high school, this sweet man remembered the high school track record that MM still holds to this day. While this man competed in Track and Field events different than those MM did, he knew the legend that walked into his store yesterday afternoon.

His beautiful wife of 32 years set out to work. Picking our brains while sitting together like four old friends, they presented us with the perfect design that will be handcrafted just for us from four rings that hold memories of two precious lifetimes. Our old wedding rings.

Without our late spouses, we wouldn’t be the people we are today. VST and Sunflower have teamed up to help us along the way. I love hearing stories about her. I probably tell too many stories about VST. It seemed like the perfect way to bring them into our lives in a special way. Four rings never removed for a combined total of 50 years. Now, that’s some seasoned gold and diamonds that will forever sparkle and shine!

Stunning creation. That’s all I can say. Our rings will be absolute masterpieces. And, custom. No other rings in world will be like ours. With not a day to spare, we’ll meet them for a final fitting and approval in two weeks. The rings will be complete by our wedding day.

• Rings — Check.

Like some kind of royalty, I get deliveries of wedding dresses on a daily basis. Thank Goodness for Amazon!!! I think you could have a small pony delivered from Amazon if you needed one. This service has saved countless trips to the store. Everything ordered has arrived within 1-2 days. Not quite right? Drop it off at the UPS Store for an immediate refund. With time short, this shopping option has been heaven sent.

It’s time to set up a Hen Party here at Winterpast to get final opinions from my home-town Ride-Or-Dies. Mimosa’s and the fashion show to help me pick the most important dress I will own. I’ll need to put out more chairs for the viewing gallery.

I will say that at my age, white isn’t a good color for many reasons. I plan to be wearing a color that suits me. The dress will be an evening gown with sparkles. Right now, that’s all I’m divulging.

• Dress– 1/2 checked.

MM is busy selecting his “Jerry Garcia” tie. The poor groom gets little to be excited about. It is the bride’s show. I can’t wait to see what he picks to go with his black suit and fedora. They’ll be one sharp dressed man waiting for me at the alter.

• Groom’s Attire – Check

Today is a day to celebrate with Virginia City girlfriends over lunch. I can tell you that the outpouring of love and support for MM and I has been more than I could have ever imagined. In this my 10th fall as a Nevadan, my roots are healthy, strong, and desert bound.

*Bridal Hoopla – Check

When VST and I first found loveliness in the home now named Winterpast, we’d found home. There wasn’t a question for either of us. Cancer already had him in a death grip, but no one had told us that yet. The place would be perfect.

On the way home that first day, VST asked me a very strange question.

“Will you be happy there, Darlin’?”

At the time, I was not happy with that question, telling him so. Wouldn’t WE be happy there? Just WHEN hadn’t I been happy with our life together? And so on.

As things turned out, I moved out of VC into Winterpast on the 17th day as a new widow.

VST, as you enjoy heaven’s life, you already know the answer to your question about my happiness.

Yes, VST. I am happy here.

Winterpast is everything it has needed to be and more. This dusty little town is my dusty little town. The high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada hold my heart. Thanks for helping me find the perfect place to heal and grow into this phase in my life. Thanks for being my Northern Star. You’ve guided me well. Rest In Peace.

Whatever you do today, choose a project and start a daily march toward it. Develop something in the garden. Repaint something. Re-arrange your living space into something new. In my case, I just happen to be planning a wedding. I hope you’re enjoying the ride!

More on Monday.

Some days, I just shake my head and smile at the obvious. Blessing abound in this beautiful world. I don’t believe life is made of random accidents. Day by day, we’re presented with certain circumstances, dealing with them as we see fit. Some seem like delightfully happy accidents that open a new world. In my life, divine intervention occurs on a daily basis. This desert gal is no accidental tourist.

Consider my story.

One broken widow grieved in Virginia City. One sorrowful widower in grieving in a small town to the east. Both grieving deeply for the long time loves they lost, while working steps to heal their hearts. Two Grieving Gardeners.

Now on her own, she moved to his town alone. He began redecorating his home and life. She found complaint with one very stubborn little grieving dog. He lost his canine companion of 16 years and started over with a crazy puppy who liked to hop. She nearly lost her mind caring for the place that would help her winter pass. He fished. She wrote. The both gardened while God watched over them as days turned into years.

With long days filled with with loneliness, they both longed for the 4th chapter of their lives. They had raised themselves, and kids. They had made a living and a life. It was time to live again. Happiness was a choice they both made every day, even in the stranglehold of loneliness. Separately, they took a chance and ventured onto the world of online dating. And there, with only six miles between the two, they met.

Her first texted question was about the actual size of the fish he was holding in one of his internet pictures. His first texted answer was an actual answer about the size and species of fish and location caught. Text. Text. Text. Dinner. And just like that, a friendship bloomed.

Those short sentences make it seem so simple and the last year has been just that. Fresh, clear, simple, and obvious. No drama. No secrets. No devious motives. A friendship between two “60-Something’s” that became much, much more. Two dogs that jump and twirl at the mention of the other’s name. All beginning with a simple question about a fish.

Over the last year, my life’s mural has gained color and form. The gardens of Winterpast have benefited from the care of two gardeners instead of just one lonely lady watering her plants with tears. Our potato crops are bountiful. The tomato worms don’t stand a chance. We’ve erected a complete greenhouse. I’m learning to enjoy a little golf or football, and eagerly await the next season of “Wicked Tuna”. I’m remembering how to cook good food while serving it to a man that really enjoys a tasty meal.

When selecting my life’s puzzle pieces, I want no harm to come to others. Many times, I spend more time thinking about the resulting fall out then what’s really best for me. As the survivor of a farming family, in the past everything came before self. The animals. The crop. The creditors. At the very end of the list was “Self”. When I found myself alone, I had to learn that I am the only person that matters right now. That’s still an adjustment.

When piecing together a good and happy life, one needs to use brain power and discernment. Our brains were turned on at birth. Throughout life, we’ve made billions of decisions. So many people forget to use lists of logical pros and cons to make the right choice. If your brain is in a fog, like mine these days, borrow one. We are surrounded by so many every day. At least one will be functioning properly, we would hope. Ask friends. Ask professionals. Ask. But, then, look at all the possibilities and complete your very own puzzle.

Staring at the blank page before you, open up the window and let the sun illuminate the words you could not find.

Reach for something in the distance so close you can almost taste it.

Release your inhibitions.

Feel the rain on your skin because no one else can feel it for you.
Only you can let it in.

No one else.

No one else can speak the words on your lips.

Drench yourself in words unspoken.

Live your life with arms wide open.

Today is where your book begins. _{Natasha Bedingfield — Unwritten}

Every decision has a proper season. If you’re finding road blocks at every turn while choosing a path, maybe that decision isn’t for you. I have always wanted to volunteer in a remote location for six months. Just drop out of life and go. It might have been a groovy idea when people still used the word groovy, but today, that ship has sailed. I learned that all too well when I accepted the teaching position last year. For everything there is a time and season. A graceful woman knows all about proper timing. A faith-filled woman stops to listen for guidance from a higher place.

Throughout life, I choose to believe that something WONDERFUL is about to happen. Miracles are everywhere. Think back to the widow and widower. Miracles traveled through the nothingness of the internet and the blue light of a computer screen, to connect two great people. Two mending hearts found strength while holding hands and watching The Chosen. Two Christians found a new church family in a dusty little wide spot in the road off the interstate on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. If the last year isn’t one heck of hundreds of amazing little miracles, then I just don’t know.

Whatever you do today, try looking at random things as beautiful miracles. Start really looking at the changes in your yard from dawn until dusk. Arise before dawn and listen to the world as it wakes. Choose the puzzle pieces of your life wisely. It’s all up to you. Make the picture of your life your own. No one else can paint it for you.

More tomorrow.

Roses or Calla’s? Invitations? Menu? Guests?

Oy.

Vey.

This wedding stuff is for the young. Each day there are hundreds — maybe even thousands — of decisions that are waiting to be made. With only 1 month and 8 days until the big day, the heat is on. And these decisions aren’t all that straightforward when one is a 67.75 year old bride. Things have changed a bit since January, 1988.

All the while, MM is right there in the trenches with me, enjoying every moment of fun. I didn’t know God made men that are wired to be helpful with wedding decisions. He is busy choosing songs for the DJ and collecting addresses and phone numbers for his relatives. He has an opinion on every aspect of our upcoming day. If there ever was a groom that is 100% dialed in to the process, it’s MM. Thankfully, it seems we have the same vision. Our focus is all about our commitment and not so much the hoopla or physical party.

Yesterday, the volume, complexity or potential impact of the decisions waiting left me so physically and mentally drained that last night I simply transported myself into a movie until I fell asleep. I’m looking into the abyss of decision fatigue. Thank goodness I recognize it from my travails as a widow. The stressor now identified, I’m going to prevent it from derailing all hopes of sheer bridal bliss. I’m not jumping off the cliff into the world of the……BRIDEZILLA!!!!!!! Not happening.

According to registered psychotherapist Natacha Duke, MA, RP, decision fatigue is a phenomenon (as opposed to a diagnosable medical condition) where the more decisions a person makes over the course of a day, the more physically, mentally and emotionally depleted they become. A person experiencing decision fatigue struggles with executive functioning. This can have a wide range of consequences, including impaired judgment.

Just so you know, this isn’t something this clever writer made up. It really exists.

Yesterday was car maintenance day. In the normal world, this would involve sitting in an uncomfortable mechanics lair. But, when you purchase luxury, it comes with some benefits. Like an Uber driver at your fingertips to drop you at the mall or appointment. A barista to prepare your favorite coffee and fresh donut. Comfy chairs and a spectacular view of the mountains. The list is long at the luxury service department.

It turns out my beautiful car has a few glitches that couldn’t be fixed in one day. So, what does this fantastic dealership do? Send me on my way in another beautiful new luxury car with less miles than mine!

Oy.

Vey.

Cars these days are full of many different tricks and tips. My car is like driving a giant iPad. This car was full of different technology. Only 4,235 miles of shiny new. Probably worth twice what I paid for mine. These things cause decision fatigue. Do I chance the freeway or take empty side streets on the way home? Is this the navigation system or just the back up camera? 37 miles is a long way to encounter possible dings and dents. Luckily, she’s in the garage, safe and sound.

Yesterday also held a stressful trip into the world of finance. So many decisions to be made before October 14th. Thank goodness I have a trustworthy advisor that hasn’t steered me in the wrong direction yet.

All these are not life or death decisions, but they add up. We make hundreds of decisions every day that impact others. Getting married is one of life’s biggest stressors. Having perfectionist tendencies while being faced with the uncertainty of life is a recipe for stress. And, we all know, stress is a killer. Thank goodness this wedding is a short-lived experience. In Mid-October, the seas will calm as our new life together begins.

In 2020, decision fatigue attacked me as a new widow. I fought procrastination or decision avoidance. Some days, I refused to adult and stayed in jammies all day. And then there was the Widow’s Fog. Well, I assure you, Bride Fog isn’t much different. Hiring a bridal planner might not be such a bad idea.

I do remember my Auntie reminding me that nothing lasts forever. Father Time and Mother Nature made sure of that. And there is plenty of time to enjoy normal life as an old lady.

What might continue for awhile is the mani/pedi schedule I’m beginning next week. Now I find out that MM rather likes manicured fingers and toes. Okay, I can roll with that! There’ll be at least one massage for this bride during the next six weeks. I plan to schedule some protective measures involving self-care, while taking time to enjoy this very magical time in life. It is truly a lot of happy fun!

Guys need down time, too. MM will be enjoying the beginning of the NFL season. I would hope he’ll take some time from invitation addressing to enjoy a round of golf with his bros. We’ll throw in a little laziness from time to time while delegating tasks to others. There are plenty of people we can trust to handle some of the minor details.

Whatever you are planning to do today, try not to become overwhelmed. Schedule some down time every day in which you take time to breathe. Unplug and focus on the silence. Find your happy spot and take time to be grateful. The world will keep spinning even if you stop twirling about for a bit.

Twirling into my own state of butter, I’ll be back tomorrow with updates.

What a journey it’s been! Loneliness that no one else can even begin to understand. Learning to live again as a young widow takes guts and determination. It means taking chances and making tough decisions. While putting one foot in front on the other, I’m at the end of my 4th summer as a widow and sailing along pretty well on my own now.

In April, 2020, I was in blackout mode, having lost VST, my husband of 32 years, to a sudden cancer of nine weeks. For 24 hours a day/7 days a week for 63 days, I watched him wither away. As a horrified wife, I stood by, helpless, as the once brilliant man lost every bodily function until his breathing ceased. Demons circled our home like buzzards as I chased them away with prayer. Alone, I gave hospice care to the person I loved the most in this crazy world. My VST.

My story isn’t especially unique. My tears are just as salty as the next. I’m just a writing woman that lost someone she loved. Along the way, I’ve found words to put my grief into writing. Pain sucked write through my Germanic fingers, released to the universe. For me, it’s been a healthy outlet.

Widowhood is the darkest experience. In the beginning, I was lost without direction and being lost is a horrible place to be. It’s even worse when you have only one friend in a town of 23,000. Pretty black when it becomes necessary for her to move away. Terrifying to fly solo. Me, alone. No close family. No friends. Quarantined in Covid’s grip. Just Oliver and me, sheltered by the lovely gardens of Winterpast.

I made it through my 1st’s, 2nd’s and then 3rd’s while learning so much about God’s grace. I’ve learned about relationships. I’ve witnessed personal miracles through the months after my baptism on December 12, 2021. I gained some street smarts along the way, learning that everyone isn’t always who they claim to be. A hard lesson for someone that values honesty, optimism, transparency, and positivity. Most importantly, I’ve finally become the woman I’m meant to be and I like her. A lot.

On this crisp September day, almost four years from the beginning post on this blog, I have a new story to share. It’s the sweetest. Some will say a peek to far into personal issues. But, that’s what the truth of life is all about.

On August 28, 2022, I met a rare man. In this blog, I refer to him as the Mysterious Marine. As the days have unfolded, he has shared his own tearful experiences as a widower, having cared for his beloved wife for seven years during her battle with COPD. During the last year, I’ve spent at least a portion of every single day talking, walking, cooking, eating, or watching a variety of sports with this guy. He is my very best friend. In my eyes, he’s a “Top Two Percenter” of men.

This man is a master gardener. He can fix anything that needs fixing, even a broken heart. He’s decorated his home to reflect his own tastes. After sending his high school sweetheart off to heaven, he collected himself and started on his own journey of self discovery. From 2020, we healed as we sat just six miles apart in this a dusty, wide spot on the road off the interstate on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. Two grieving gardeners taking like one step at a time.

Monday, August 28th, we celebrated 1-year as a dating couple, a milestone for any new twosome. Reading through the last months of my personal journal, I smile at posts about life as a happy woman. Still a widow, but also a gardener with grief healing. What a lovely year it’s been. Through each holiday, this man has made life special. Little celebrations. New family. Special traditions. Woven through all those things, love.

Finding just the right card is tough, but when you’re a writer, there’s an internal need to add a letter. And so, in preparation for a special dinner date, I wrote. At the bottom of my letter to MM, I transcribed the verses from Song of Solomon 2: 10-12. Our winter’s have passed. Our garden is blossoming with love and happiness. The birds are singing. The turtles are singing (I found this version of the verse is found in one of my bibles. Missing the word “dove”, I rather like the vision of singing turtles.)

On the evening of August 28th, we exchanged our cards. He read the letter I wrote to him, while commenting that I always write so much. Well, I’m a writer. Go figure.

His card was beautiful. His written thoughts were heartfelt and penned in perfect handwriting. But, it was the front of the card that took my breath away.

Song of Solomon 2: 16. (The first sentence only.)

The end of my chapter was there, printed on the card he chose for me.

Without endless hours of Bible study or long, drawn out discussions about Winterpast and her name, without any earthly guidance, we both ended up in the same chapter in the Bible. Some things in life are so obvious they slap you right in the face. In life, there are no coincidences. Miracles are real and abundant.

And so…………..

He asked the one question that still needed asking.

Through tears, I gave my answer.

I said “Yes”.

Autumn is my very favorite time of year and this autumn will be even more beautiful. In front of friends and family, in our own little church, in a dusty little town on a wide spot on the interstate on the high plains of Northwestern Nevada, we will exchange vows and start off on a new path together.

Now you know.

After hundreds of blogs, thousands of words, and many, many private tears, the blog will tell of new adventures about two gardeners who grieve once in awhile about two people they loved and lost. Two 60-somethings that found a new chance at love and grabbed it. Stick around. The adventure is just beginning.

Whatever you do today, know that although you grieve, you will heal. Through your healing, your new life will be something wonderful in ways you might not expect. It is always darkest before any dawn, but the brilliance of the sunrise promises a new day. When you think of me, think of happiness and light. God has amazing things planned. I can’t wait to see what adventures are waiting just around the bend!

As we move on towards Autumn, I’m taking a well-deserved vacation to parts unknown. I’ll be back on September 5th. Until then, enjoy the archives and don’t forget to journal, and enjoy life!

Autumn!!!! Fall!!! Harvest Time!!!!

During the last week, things have been changing around here. The nights are a little longer and the mornings are crisp and fresh. The shadows are getting longer while fall sneaks up on us. How delightful! Autumn is my favorite time of year her on the high plains of the deserts of Northwestern Nevada.

Spending time with Louise yesterday was informative, as always. As she chattered away about her classroom, I realized I’m very thankful for retirement. Each August, millions of teachers around the world beautify their classrooms for the first day of school. They spend millions of their very own hard-earned money to make an educational nest for their new students.

New teachers enter the building. Old teachers are missed for a moment. Then, alliances are formed and the new year begins again. It’s all consuming. Talk to a fired-up elementary teacher and you’ll find yourself conversing with a whirlwind of ideas and energy. I loved every minute of it, but these days, retirement is a much better fit for me. Being just a few months older than me, Louise feels her time is near, as well. And so it goes.

Most of the children in the towns around Winterpast are already “cheeks in the seats”. Kids have their own school rituals handed down from mom and dad. Those who come from parents who loved school, love school. Those whose parents struggled have a different perspective on the situation. There are friends missed over the summer and then, those with issues.

And so it begins again.

It’s always fun to shop with Louise, as she is petite and adorable, always finding the cutest outfits that fit like a glove. When shopping with others, I’ve found it’s much more fun to watch them find the perfect purchase than to visit the dressing room while looking for something for myself. I’d much rather pull 1,000 weeds than spend a day shopping. Truly.

After an afternoon at the mall, I found a plant. That was the extent of it. An adorable little plant.

Along with school plans, we discussed this weekend’s annual Cantaloupe Festival. Although they won’t repeat the Greased Pig competition of 4th of July, there’ll still be something for everyone. Angel of the Aluminum Cloud shared that her daughter showed guinea pigs in 4-H years ago. Now, that is the cutest mental image possible.

Spirit wear is on the racks at Walmart. We are the Vaquero’s. Not sure of the history of the name, but MM and all his brothers wore the orange and black for the Vaquero’s way back in the 1900’s. MM’s track records still stand to this day. Nobody faster than that boy. So, I picked out my 2023 spirit wear hoodie. Knowing the group I run with now, we’ll be attending high school functions with The Mayor, coaches, school board member, teacher, and past athletic director of the high school. I must be wearing the correct spirit wear.

That’s another weird thing my Mysterious Marine and I have in common. Even though our high schools were in located different states, black and orange were the colors for both schools. My high school mascot was the Grizzly and remains so to this day. Even though it’s true there are only so many possible color combinations, it is odd that we both graduated in orange and black.

Today, I need to inspect the gardens of Winterpast for hurricane damage. As we had no strong winds or torrential rains in our area, I don’t expect to find any. I plan to sit and watch the horses for a bit, as they are all down from the mountains after the storm. Hundreds and hundreds in big groups. Sand Ornaments so numerous that one was hit by a car and killed yesterday. Wild horses and people in cars. A tough combination.

Whatever you do today, if possible, drive by your old school. Take a walk through the school section at your local Walmart to see what the kids of today are putting in their back packs. Call a high school friend and chat for awhile. Sing your old alma mater. Love it or hate it, school is a huge part of our lives.

More tomorrow.

Today is a day for “goin’ to town”. Now, if you live “in town” you don’t need to go there. You’re already there. For those of us that live life in a wide spot off an interstate, town is a necessary destination at times.

Yesterday, as we were “goin’ to town”, we searched for an illusive Farmer’s Market. Never have I ever. Very strange procedures, indeed. One visits the “Farmer’s Market” ahead of time to fill out an order. Then, one must return to the same spot on Tuesday to retrieve the goods the farmer has selected and boxed for you. In my world, that dog don’t hunt. Sorry. I can pick out my own veggies at the local Raley’s.

Yesterday also included dining at a beautiful restaurant, dark and swanky. Nothing of the sort in the little town I call home. No restaurants with cloth napkins and employees wearing fresh black uniform serve to the residents of my town. But then, that’s why people like us “Go to Town” to experience the finer side of life.

Today, I’m making two trips to town. Again, it’s that time of the month. Oliver is off packing for puppy camp at this writing. In case you are new to Grievinggardener.com , Oliver is a 5 year old. Like all 5 year old’s, he is rambunctious and head strong. Oliver is a cream, piebald, standard-sized wirehaired dachshund with a liver nose and green eyes.

As his Mom-Oh, let me assure you there are times he needs to be with his own kind, to swim, play, and bring down the house. His friends at camp really can’t start the party until he arrives which will be at 8:00 am on the dot this very morning.

Then, after a 90 mile round trip trek across the desert, I’ll be picking up Louise (to my Thelma) and we’ll be off for a day of shopping thirty miles to the west. When you live in a small town, it’s easy to ignore fashion norms. One doesn’t need a nice outfit when helping to assemble a greenhouse, mow the lawn, or spray the weeds. Nope. Just a comfortable pair of shorts and an old t-shirt.

Well, next week, I’ll be taking off a couple days to visit a fancier place. When vacationing, it’s nice to have something new to wear for dinners out on the town. Today, I’m hoping Louise can steer me towards the latest and greatest in fashion. She’s wired like that. Thank goodness, because I think I missed those lessons as a young girl.

As for other news, there are plenty of Burner’s who are bugging out of their own towns and coming to a desert new mine. Burning Man is the cultural event of the summer. Certainly not a place I would ever feel comfortable, it’s interesting to observe those that make a yearly pilgrimage to the desert, come rain or shine. They are some strange dudes. Peaceful. Off in their own world. I hope their experience is everything they want and need.

30 miles to the east, there’ll be a different kind of celebration. The yearly Cantaloupe Festival. Now, that’s something straight out of my past. Every year, a little valley town named Firebaugh held the Cantaloupe Festival. People came from miles around to enjoy a harvest celebration in a tiny town of 200 people. This weekend, there’ll be 4-H exhibits, country music, food vendors, and an evening dance. Just a small celebration in the kind of town I love the most. A small one.

Whatever you do, pick a neighboring spot and “go to town” yourself. Take a drive and visit a new place. Have some lunch and shop for a new look as you visit with a bestie. Visit a farmer’s market or a harvest festival. It’ll brighten your day and you just might find that “goin” to town” is a fun thing to do.

More tomorrow.