The heat. Oh, the drama surrounding the heat. How will we ever bear it? Yesterday, TV’s weather-children were wringing their little hands as they told of the hottest day ever recorded on the planet. Now, how they figure out the planet temperature is a puzzlement to me. Only interested in the temperature of my little desert town, yesterday it managed to top out at 93.

Last year, the high was 93. It’s summer and the mercury rises. Of course, I’m a product of the Central Valley of California where the temperatures can be above 100 from May until November. At that time, the tule fog rolls in bringing misery all its own.

93 in the desert is nothing to complain about, especially when waking up to a beautiful 71. It’s important not to forget to hydrate and use sunscreen. Then, there’s nothing to do but wait until Friday, 22nd September 2023 at 11:51pm when we get to enjoy another autumn. At this writing, that’s only 77 days, 18 hours, and 37 minutes away.

With the afternoons a little warm to enjoy the gardens of Winterpast, I decided the closet had grown into a project. How does this happen? Repeatedly. It’s time to purge. A few short months later, it’s in a bigger disarray. Mine is a walk-in-closet for one. This would have been a problem had the two people that bought Winterpast actually lived to move in together. Sadly, it was just me and this closet has major issues.

Sorting through my shoes, I had to laugh. Black Suede heels of varying heights for those unexpected dinner dates. (Black Suede and desert dust are not the best combo.) Sketcher “Da-Lites” for gardening. Sketcher’s “Go-Walks” for little hikes. Leather sandals. Sensible flats. Winter snow boots. Summer flip-flops. I really don’t like buying shoes, but when the size you need is 10.5 Narrow, you buy when you find something that fits, usually black or brown to go with everything.

Well, I was putting shoes back in their boxes when I came across a brand new box. Nestled inside lay brown suede hiking boots. A forgotten purchase, still sporting tags. Smiling, I remembered the reason they wait.

Santiago de Compostela. The cathedral sitting at the end of a very long walk.

According to Wikipedia, “The Camino de Santiago (Latin: Peregrinatio Compostellana, “Pilgrimage of Compostela”; Galician: O Camiño de Santiago),^[1] known in English as the Way of St James, is a network of pilgrims’ ways or pilgrimages leading to the shrine of the apostle Saint James the Great in the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia in northwestern Spain, where tradition holds that the remains of the apostle are buried.”

To have bragging rights to this trail, one must walk at least 70 miles of it. People take this walk for all sorts of personal reasons. They carry those reasons in their hearts as they walk through the Spanish countryside. Pilgrims have been taking this walk for more than a thousand years.

Two dear friends hiked it over 10 days, during which they found food and lodging along the way. Planning with a tour company, they didn’t carry anything but a small pack for water and snacks. Their luggage was waiting for them each day at the next stop.

This is quite high on my personal bucket list. Something I want to prove to myself. Something I want to DO in memory of VST. Of all the places we traveled over 32 years, we never made it to Europe. I’ll easily carry his memory in my heart as I put one boot in front of the other until I stand in front of this magnificent cathedral in Spain at the end of the journey.

If I’ve got you thinking, you can research this very pilgrimage on line. There are plenty of great documentaries about the journey. Travel companies that can help you plan to the last detail. According to my friends, the first day was the worst. 13 miles on Day One. After that? A piece of cake. They took 10 days. It could take as long as 20.

Of course, a seasoned old bird shouldn’t undergo this alone. MM is interested in joining me while carrying his own angel passenger. Although both VST and MM’s passenger are on the other side of heaven, they’ll come along. It’s for them, we’re planning to walk. Well, their memory and to honor the last days of my 6th decade in the summer of 2025. Now you understand the hiking boot situation going on in my closet.

The very first thing to remember is that you need to wear comfortable shoes. You may need a couple pair to make the complete journey. Pretty sure one pair of Merrill hiking boots will do 70 miles. The first mile of preparation began yesterday, as I strolled around my neighborhood sporting very stiff hiking boots. Quite different from the squishy Sketchers I’m used to.

I don’t know what I’ll learn about myself along the Camino. Not sure what kind of amazing miracles will be experienced. What kind of new foods we’ll eat along the way. How the stars shining in the Spanish night sky will watch over us as we sleep in cot filled hostiles full of other pilgrims. I just know I need to get in shape, because each day is one closer to our journey.

Hiking boots are a good thing to own. Even better when they get broken in. There are so many places to hike in our own back yard, here in Northwestern Nevada. Finding these boots hidden in my own closet made me remember that 67.5 years is not elderly. It’s just getting tuned up for adventure.

Whatever you do, remember this quote. As a retired teacher, it’s one I’ve never forgotten and remembered quite often. As for me, I’m off for my second day of training. I have a 70 mile trail to walk. Need to be ready.

“You have brains in your head.

You have feet in your shoes.

You can steer yourself any direction you choose.

You’re on your own.

And you know what you know.

And YOU are the one who’ll decide where to go…”

― Dr. Seuss, Oh, the Places You’ll Go!

Have a wonderful weekend. I’ll be back on Monday.

Oh, I have days I lose the fight
Try my best but just don’t get it right
Where I talk a talk that I don’t walk
And miss the moments right before my eyes

Somebody with a hurt that I could have helped
Somebody with a hand that I could have held
When I just can’t see past myself
Lord, help me be

A little more like mercy, A little more like grace
A little more like kindness, goodness, love, and faith
A little more like patience, a little more like peace
A little more like Jesus, a little less like me

Yeah, there’s no denying I have changed
‘Cause I’ve been saved from who I used to be
But even at my best, I must confess
I still need help to see the way You see

Somebody alone and lonely just needing a loyal friend
Somebody with a tear I could have dried
When I just can’t see others in need
Lord, help me be

A little more like mercy, a little more like grace
A little more like kindness, goodness, love, and faith
A little more like patience, a little more like peace
A little more like Jesus, a little less like me

Oh, I wanna feed the beggar on the street
Learn to be Your hands and feet
Freely give what I receive
Lord, help me be
I wanna put You first above all else
Love my neighbor as myself
In the moments no one sees
Lord, help me be

A little more like mercy, a little more like grace
A little more like kindness, goodness, love, and faith
A little more like patience, a little more like peace
A little more like Jesus, oh, a little less like me
A little more of living everything I preach
A little more like Jesus, a little less like me
Oh, a little less like me

_{Written by Zach Williams – with a few changes by me}

Such beautiful words we sang in church last Sunday. Usually listening to Acoustic Chill Radio on Alexa, I hadn’t heard this song before. In my state of unusually happy days, the words grounded me. There is so much suffering in this world. Horrible, awful situations that are seasoned with evil and baked in struggles. As much as Winterpast provides one, I can’t live in a bubble and not use the gifts God has blessed me with for good.

A year ago, I started donating to three organizations. I’ll leave them nameless, because there are hundreds from which to choose. Their monthly amounts were so small, I haven’t missed them at all. But, my money with the money of thousands of others is building houses for war widows or helping parents with their sick kids. It’s helping Veteran’s get their lives back together.

Growing into the woman I was meant to be, I’ve been thinking about the next thing I have in abundance. Time. When retired, we have lots to share. Volunteers make the world a better place. I’m just figuring out where I might do the most good. Because that’s what it’s all about. Choosing the good and helping to create it.

Along with —

Mercy.

Grace.

Kindness.

Goodness.

Love.

Faith.

Patience.

Peace.

Trying to live everything I preach.

Whatever you do today, think of those words and what part they play in your life. As widow’s and widower’s, we need every one of them. They are gifts we need to give ourselves first, as we grieve the loss of our loved ones. With healing, you may find your heart has a little extra to spread around.

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.” _{Galatians 5: 22-23 KJV}

More tomorrow.

Well, as promised, I’m reporting back over what was a most splendidly outrageous Independence Day Celebration along a dusty little wide spot in the road on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. Make no mistake about it. Nevadan’s aren’t interested in some ridiculous drone show or replacing the 4th for any other day in any other month. Nope. Not happening here. We desert folk like us some old fashioned Independence Day fun!

Yesterday started early, with a pancake breakfast at the Masonic Hall here in town. In the 100+ year old lodge, the men made biscuits, gravy, pancakes, eggs, bacon, and sausage. Grandparents got breakfasts for their littles while parents kept watch on jittery kids who just wanted to know when the parade would start. This was a place for locals to enjoy each other’s company.

Just outside, main street was clogged along the parade route with thousands. People began arriving the night before and camped along the route. MM overnighted his truck at the perfect spot so we wouldn’t be disappointed in the morning. From Alt 87 to the Round-A-Bout ( about two miles?) there wasn’t a parking spot to be found. Pop-Up tents shaded the more prepared of the visitors. The out-of-towner’s parked a mile away and walked in. The town was expecting 10,000 attendees yesterday. It seemed there were that many, or more.

In a last minute decision, Miss B, MM’s octogenarian mom, and her friend decided to join us. With MM’s brother and sister-in-law bringing their chairs, we made quite a lovely family as we waited for the Mayor to pass us by. In case you’re a new reader, the town’s Mayor just happens to be MM’s brother.

Now, it’s not every day while watching a parade that you can make it STOP to get a great picture with The Mayor. We did just that. Three brothers enjoying a great 4th!

The floats were old fashioned and lovely. The girls of the State Champion Softball League were all smiles as they threw candy to the children lining Main Street. There were church floats and car clubs. The only thing missing was a few men on horseback and the high school marching band. While watching all 60 entries march through a blocked-off Main street, everyone behaved. It was hot. Desert hot. Yet, there were no complaints. From the month old baby being passed from relative to relative, to our beloved Miss B, there were smiles all around. Patriotic in the most lovely way.

After the parade, it was off to Out of Town Park, not to be confused with In Town Park. Those are their true names, not something I made up, which is another thing I adore about my town. Under the shade of gigantic cottonwood trees, MM and I found a cool spot to sit and people watch. Again, it was very, very hot, but there were no grumps in the bunch. Just a happy day for happy people.

There was plenty to eat and drink, and of course, the Republican and Democrat booths. One was heavily visited, while the other sat empty in the corner of the venue. A DJ played a great mix of music, while a breeze helped cool things off to the low 90’s in the shade.

At 5PM, the most entertaining part of the day began. The Greased-Pig Contest, run by MM’s Nephew, a son of the Mayor. Between five brothers, their children, and grandchildren, the family has won more than 20 pigs over the year. MM, himself, took home the bacon on several occasions.

This year, the stars were some Hungarian Mangalitsa pigs. Big ones.

Have you ever?

The competition was fierce. First, it was the Fire Department against the Sheriff’s Office. Four men on each team faced a Hungarian Mangalitsa on the softball diamond. With the men one hand to the fence, the hesitant domesticated omnivorous even-toed ungulate was released on the field by four coverall-ed pig handlers.

“On Your Mark. Get Set. Go!”

And it was on! In the end, the Sheriff officer were quicker. They won and will keep the pig for themselves.

After that, it was boys against boys, girls against girls. No confusion there. Divided by age, 8 separate challenges were run. The adults needed to tackle and hold 90 lb. pigs. The younger kids chased piglets. No people or animals were harmed in the activity. The winner decided whether to take the pig home or trade it back for $75. Not a bad payday for under two minutes of effort.

Now, in case you were wondering, PETA didn’t show up and protest. If they would’ve tried, it wouldn’t have gone well for them. There were no injuries, not even a skinned knee. The pigs happily returned to their trailer to enjoy an afternoon snack, as peaceful as you please. I know, I found shade by the trailer and watched them a bit. Such fun on an All-American 4th of July.

Well, the day ended with the longest display of fireworks in Nevada. At least that’s what I’ve been told.

Sitting in the desert, surrounded by sage brush and tumbleweeds, with Venus shining over head, MM and I watched the desert sky change from an orange sunset to a deep blue-black night. Sitting with him, while listening the soft sounds of families waiting with us for the show to begin, my heart was full of so many feelings.

I’m so blessed with our friendship, almost one year old. I’m so lucky to have found a wonderful family with which to spend time. My heart is truly happy for the first time in a very, very long time. A moment of peace in life that I cherish as time ticks away. Life is truly beautiful as I enjoy “right now”.

I’m so very grateful to live in one of the most beautiful places in the world. My land, now. After nine years, I’m as Nevadan as they come. A desert gal. I don’t long for the vineyard tendrils of my long ago life, or the misty air of a Pacific beach. A beautiful desert evening in the most wonderful country in the world will do me just fine.

Whatever you do today, think about the richness of our American way of life. Not the new stories people are trying to make into historical reality, but the real history of our country and what it took to build it. Pioneers had no privilege when they settled the west. Until you have seen the west, you cannot begin to imagine the hardships they endured. It’s summer. Maybe it’s time for a road trip. The West will change you, I promise.

More tomorrow.

Today, the local news is buzz about the upcoming holiday! Finally, a day to celebrate our country without the threat of deadly viral outbreaks. Hard to believe that it was only three years ago that fireworks were canceled due to Covid. Now, how it could have been harmful to be out in the fresh air on a pleasant evening to watch fireworks is still a puzzlement to me. Happily, those sad days are behind us, for now anyway.

Of course, there are a million reasons the powers that be want to outlaw real fireworks altogether. Fire Danger. Explosive danger. Danger. Danger. Danger. So sick of girly-boys running the show when it comes to 4th of July. Get with it and blow up some beautiful fireworks. Big ones.

Our little town is humming with excitement about the upcoming activities. A town just to the East of us is starting off the holiday weekend with a Bronc and Bull Bash Saturday night at the local rodeo area. Nothing more American than cowboys trying their hand at keeping their seat on a wild animal for 8 seconds. One of my favorite things to do.

Having been raised as a farm girl, I can tell you one thing for sure. The bulls and broncs enjoy this as much as the cowboys and cowgirls do. Until you stand next to an animal of that weight and size while observing them for a bit, it’s hard to understand. These animals are tough. Their skin is thicker than the leather our purses and shoes are made from. They are ornery. Along with that, they’re the prize livestock owned by a very proud farmer. They get the best feed and veterinary care.

From the bull or bronc’s point of view, the 8 seconds is a mere irritation and interruption of time at the food trough. When watching some of the more famous bulls, I’ve come to the conclusion they look forward a change in their routine. After a ride, you don’t find them huddled in the corner in a mass of nerves. They always have the look that says, “You want a piece of this? Who’s next?”

After that fun evening, the countdown will begin towards the 4th!

The day will begin with an early morning pancake breakfast at 7, followed by the parade at 10.

Our church and the Mothers of Preschool-ers (MOPS) group are preparing a float for the parade.

Now, our local parade isn’t a little one. It stretches through the entire town, while thousands of county residents line the streets on either side. Our county boundaries surround over 2,000 sq. miles of high desert plains and mountains of which 2300 sq. miles are covered with water. A large percentage of the locals will show up on Tuesday to enjoy the day! MM is planning to secure us a spot with his truck. With a big umbrella in place, we plan to have front row seats as we watch all the entries stroll by. I’m sure there’ll be a long line of red, white, and blue following the lead of the town’s Sheriff’s car, and ending with another Sheriff’s car bringing up the rear.

Clowns from the Shriner’s, local business, churches groups, and service organizations will all make their way along the route. Horses will plop along and the poop scoopers will follow behind. Of course, no real parade would be complete without hundreds of pounds of candy to be thrown out to the kids. It’ll all happen on the 4th.

In the afternoon, there’ll be horseshoe throwing contest, a chili-cookoff, lots of food, vendors with the freshest treats, and a greased pig contest. MM’s family won this event for years and years, so he tells me. Many a year, he went home with the pig, himself. Although he won’t be entered, I would guess a few of his great nieces and nephews will participate. We’ll be there to cheer them on.

At dusk, the fireworks will light up the night sky. The county claims this very show is the largest and longest in all of Nevada. I wouldn’t doubt it. We plan to be there from the beginning of the celebration until the very end.

After the sparkling finale, there’ll be dancing until midnight. If there isn’t something that sounds enticing, I didn’t explain things correctly. This is going to be a wonderful celebration.

Somewhere in the middle, there’ll be time to visit with family and friends. Of course, we’ll eat way too much. Even with hats, dark glasses and sunscreen, the desert will surely be hot, the way the 4th of July is supposed to be.

Whatever you are doing this 4th of July, remember the reason for the holiday. Our country, with all it’s positives and negatives is still the best place in the world to live. I lived in Russia during the Cold War. I’ve seen extreme pollution in Europe and Mexico. I’ve crisscrossed 50,000 miles of this great land of States United. I would never choose another place on this great planet to live. We are blessed to call this wonderful land home. If you don’t believe me, travel abroad and do stay there awhile. When you come running back home, we’ll talk.

With so many things to ready, I’ll be pretty busy for the next few days. There’ll be brand new stories to share on Wednesday, July 5th. Have a beautiful holiday.

Spring temperatures are still hanging around even though it is almost the end of June. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. In the desert, it’s not often you can work in the yard all day without breaking a sweat. This has been an unusual year. Just this morning, my outside temperature was 59 degrees. Delightful.

Summer is the time to focus on sprinklers and a proper watering schedule. With MM’s help, we’ve got this handled. I’m happy to report that both Oliver and Wookie have outgrown their taste for drip emitters. With an abundant apricot crop hanging on the trees, they’re waiting for the first one to drop.

This time of year comes with a warning to pet owners. Apricot pits are considered toxic to dogs. After reading about this I found they would need to eat 10 of them to get in trouble. I would assume they would need to be chewed up, as well. Cyanide poisoning can occur. If you have apricot, cherry, or peach trees and pets, please watch their behavior.

According to the internet–

If your dog ingests cyanide, symptoms can begin as early as 15 minutes afterwards or may not begin for a few hours. Symptoms can include:

• Watery eyes
• Vomiting
• Drooling
• Right red mucus membranes
• Convulsions which can lead to death
• Aggression
• Bloody stools
• Spasms of different limbs
• Weakness
• Urinary incontinence
• Seizures
• Abnormal breathing
• Diarrhea

If these symptoms occur, get to the vet, immeidiately.

Now, that being said, animals are pretty smart. Oliver doesn’t eat the pits. Maybe this is because his throat is too small. He spits them out in nice little piles. He loves apricots and there are always a few on the ground. Of course, Oliver eats plastic solar lights and rocks, too. He’s not a normal dog. But then, we’ve established that.

With July 1st arriving on a Saturday, it’s the perfect time for some real gardening. Trim up limbs that are in the way. Remember any young trees and make sure they’re getting enough water.

The picture above shows the healthy base of a tree. The major roots should be apparent and spread away from the tree. If your tree is surrounded by plastic or garden cloth, trim it away from the base of the tree and mulch as pictured above.

If your plastic or garden cloth looks like this (as mine did), your tree isn’t very happy about it. It might try to commit suicide with girdling roots. Let your roots breathe. This also creates the perfect environment for destructive beetles and fungus.

As your roses are blooming, be sure to trim away the dead blossoms. If you don’t deadhead your rose, it will put energy into producing hips – these are rose seed pods. Deadheading means that the rose is instead encouraged to put energy into growing more flowers, keeping your rose in bloom and looking fantastic. Dead blooms can also be unsightly to look at, ruining the effect of the whole plant in flower.

Try to keep ahead of all the weeds. I’m enjoying the benefits of an early spring application of Preen, a pre-emergent. Use this only where you won’t be planting seeds. Sprinkle in the granules and then water. It doesn’t work for every variety, but it certainly does work for many. If you missed your opportunity, clean up the area and then apply.

As you enjoying your garden, no matter how large or small, look for those plants that aren’t thriving. It might be that a rose isn’t getting enough full sun, or that the Hosta’s are getting too much. Maybe your plant is getting overwatered or isn’t receiving enough. Check the underside of the leaf for insects or fungus. Slowly, you’ll get to know your yard.

If you aren’t sure what kind of plant you have, download the free app called “Picture This” on your smart phone. By simply taking a picture on the app, your plant will be identified, along with growing information. After watching MM use this app, we have yet to find an incorrect identification. Pretty amazing. Extremely helpful when gardening or purchasing new plants.

Some plants are not meant to grow in the environment they were sold. Our Lowe’s sells hydrangea and hibiscus bushes. Really?????????

Summer is the time for harvesting. With a bumper crop of fruit, MM and I are considering our options. We plan to can, freeze, and dehydrate a good portion of our crop. Family and friends can come pick some. Then, we might try selling our excess produce at the local farmer’s market. Next year, that may be a new source of income. The greenhouse will be fully functional by then.

Remember, it’s a great time to plan for next year. With the cost of everything going up, it’s nice to budget for major yard expenses. After three years as the head gardener here at Winterpast, I’m just now replacing missing plants. It’s been an expensive and time consuming endeavor to clean up, repair, remove dead trees, and trim the healthy ones. By planning a garden budget, it will continue to look better and better.

All these things involve lots of research. If you get stumped on a certain problem, don’t forget your local garden center. When driving around, look for plants that are thriving in your own climate. This year, you can’t drive a block without seeing another beautiful rose bush in full bloom. With the beautiful weather and daily rainstorms, it’s been their year, for sure.

Whatever you do today, enjoy nature’s beauty. Open the curtains and look up at the sky once in awhile. Enjoying a crisp summer morning is one of life’s little pleasures. Get out there. Your yard is waiting on you.

More tomorrow.

The sun is ready to rise this morning on my little piece of heaven here in the desert. Although the picture above isn’t my reality, it’s how I feel in the summer here in the Great Big Empty. My water bill is so high you would think I’m supporting a spread like that. On Google Earth, my house supports one of the few green spaces left. Xeriscaping is popular here. Such is life on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada.

Xeriscaping (Zera’-scaping) is the process of landscaping, or gardening, that reduces or eliminates the need for irrigation. It is promoted in regions that do not have accessible, plentiful, or reliable supplies of fresh water and has gained acceptance in other regions as access to irrigation water has become limited, though it is not limited to such climates.

In my opinion, Xeriscaping is loved by non-gardening types. Here in my town, it’s taken to a new level. Entire lots are xeriscaped. With rocks. Zero plants. It does nothing for me. I need soft green lawn and my banyan apricot tree for shade.

After living on a farm for most of my life, in 2007, VST and I moved to a mountaintop in the foothills of California just below Yosemite. The gate to the National park was a 30 minute ride through majestic pine trees. Of course, Yosemite Valley was another hour’s drive. After the greenest of springtime’s complete with California poppies, there were summers full of waterfalls and autumns full of golden grasses and bronze oak leaves. There were four seasons, but they blended into one another in a non-stop symphony.

Gardening there wasn’t necessary, as the foothills provide the plants. A natural setting for oak trees, with pines just a little higher up the road. The deer would eat everything green, so there was no point in even trying a garden. It wouldn’t survive the wildlife.

Around here, most people have no troubles with destructive wildlife. Living on the fringe of civilization, as I do, we host the mustangs. For now, my gardening party is in the back yard. Until there is some sort of barrier to prevent the horses from munching in the flower beds, it’ll stay that way. Unplanned xeriscaping for now.

Here in the desert, when one season turns into the next, it’s definitely a new song. There are four distinct seasons, each with its beauty and difficulties. We’re just now coming off of the most mild spring in many, many years, and the gardens of Winterpast are singing right now. It’ll be interesting to see what tune they sing on Saturday when temps will reach 100.

This was the spring all my trees and plants needed. There are things blooming in the yard that I never knew I had. Yellow day lilies are going crazy! Thanks goes to my MM for working his magic on everything green and blooming. With heavy doses of Miracle Grow and Super Thrive, along with temperatures that haven’t yet reached 85, Winterpast is a true desert oasis, watered twice a day.

Gardening provides the opportunity to work through grief. Planting a garden is believing in tomorrow. From the tiniest seeds, miracles sprout. It is magical to watch.

This year, even yards that don’t receive the loving care they need are beautiful. It’s been the Spring of the Roses. They’re everywhere in every color. If people have rose bushes, they’re blooming like they never have before. Roses are the one sure plant that thrives in this desert environment. Give them enough water and watch out. They’ll take over.

MM has his own thing going at the bachelor pad just to the East. Harvesting strawberries every evening for ice cream sundaes, he is the one with the real green thumb. In his garden, the zucchini are ready to pick. Russet potatoes were harvested over the weekend. (Fresh produce is something just this side of heaven). His tomato vines are covered with cherry tomatoes. He’s got a great crop of garlic and onions. Three varieties of grapes cover his fence. All these are watched over by trumpet vines. I haven’t even begun to mention his flowering plants.

Between the two of us, our water bills are as much as a mortgage. We try to justify the amount we spend to keep our two patches of green alive. Here’s the deal. We don’t gamble, except when deciding whether it’s too early to plant our crops in the spring. We don’t drink, except for ice cold water while weeding on a warm day. We don’t travel much, unless you count the many trips to the garden center for supplies. No need for therapy, as gardening under the bright blue Nevada sky provides all we need. Water and plants are our vice. On that, we are in lock step.

Not all is sunshine and lollipops. This week, the aphids are after the new roses. It’s time for a dose of some insecticidal soap. The apricots are as big as I’ve ever seen in my life. When the crop hits, it’ll be time for canning, dehydrating, and sharing. Oliver will have plenty to keep him busy. The pits of apricots are dangerous for dogs. He somehow figured that out. He spits them out in tidy little groups of six or seven. Funny how he already knew.

After the apricots, my plums will ripen. MM’s nectarines and peaches will be ripe for the picking. We’re considering getting a table at the Farmer’s Market to sell our excess. We’ll have plenty.

The pieces for the new greenhouse are awaiting assembly in the RV barn. There’s a foundation to pour first. Things have been busy around here. How was there ever time for an outside job? The gardens are a full time job all on their own.

Whatever you decide to do today, go outside and water something. Choose your favorite plant and really take time to nurture it to see what happens. Gardening is such a healing hobby. If you’ve never tried it, start small. Lowe’s offers a money back guarantee on plants that die, even if it wasn’t their fault. You’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain. Give it a try.

Owning a home is one of life’s sweet privileges. Over years of patience and loving care, the mortgage becomes smaller. Our home comforts us in time of loss and grief in a place filled with memories of happy times with loved ones. But, make no mistake, ticking time bombs await us like hidden land mines. Our appliances and plumbing. And so begins the tale of two dishwashers.

The dishwasher of Winterpast is an amazing machine. Installed new in 2020, it has settings of all kinds. It even has a setting for washing baby bottles of which I have no need. Gleaming stainless steel, both inside and out, it worked fine until two months ago when it stopped. Just like that. It hummed but refused to do anything else.

As a widow, the worst feeling occurs when something big breaks. Roofing, electrical, and plumbing are things I know nothing about. Along with the lack of knowledge, I’m limited in my strength and the ability to be on ladders. Each day that nothing goes wrong with the roof, plumbing, or electricity, I’m grateful. As a widow or widower, we are often left alone to figure these things out. As a widow, we are at the mercy of repairmen who know we might not know.

Widows and widowers everywhere. Before you call any repairman, google some information. YouTube is full of helpful videos for small fixes. At the very least, learn some terminology so that when the repairman tells you your flubbermagee has exploded into the thingamajigger breaking the twixbiscuit, you will know if HE knows what he’s talking about. And so my story continues.

Over the last ten months, I’ve been blessed with my Mysterious Marine’s knowledge about most household problems. Up until he died, VST was “the guy”. When you’re lucky enough to know “the guy”, you don’t need to CALL “the guy”. Calling “the guy” is costly and, on some occasions, creates more trouble than you had in the first place.

I’m pretty happy with my home warranty at this point in life. An insurance policy, it covers every appliance in the house, and a few outside. After an annual fee, if something breaks, there’s a $125 service fee. Period. If your appliance is no longer repairable, you get a new one. Over the years, home warranties have replaced my garage door opener and fixed many air conditioning compressors. Pretty good thing to have at this vulnerable stage of life.

In May, my dishwasher stopped working so I called the warranty company. Within a few days, a repairman was in the kitchen letting me know that the mother-board in my three year old GE dishwasher was fried. Toast. Not repairable. He’d need to order parts and return at a later date.

I forgot how nice it is to prepare a meal, wash the dishes, and have a clean kitchen afterwards. Totally clean and ready for the next meal. No dishes waiting to be washed in the stainless box. In the beginning of this ordeal, I didn’t mind washing the dishes at all. It reminded me of simpler times. But, that was in early May. It’s now late June. The bloom is off that rose. There’s nothing romantic or simple about washing dishes after cooking a meal.

Throughout May and June, I made weekly calls to the warranty company, each time being reminded about problems with the supply chain. I was surprised they didn’t blame Covid. Two parts were in, one was coming. Soon, they promised. And so, the ritual of dishwashing continued.

Finally, the day arrived. Yesterday, the nicest repairman arrived with three parts to make my dishwasher whole again. But, there’d been leaks. Now, the floor has warped because of those leaks. Two problems for the price of one. BUT, the dishwasher is working. A win!!!!!

I was so excited, I invited my MM over to enjoy Taco’s. I’d cook, and then put all the dishes in the dishwasher for the first time in almost two months!!! We’d celebrate!!! And we did just that. A lovely evening it was!

My MM awakes each morning at 5 PM to enjoy peace and quiet in his bachelor pad. A simple routine shared by humans everywhere. Enjoying that first cup of steaming coffee we all love to enjoy in the safety of our own home. A time to slowly wake to the day. A favorite time of day, UNLESS…………….

“Joy. You won’t believe this. Something leaked last night. Water is everywhere. I think it was the dishwasher.”

When one thing’s fixed, the next breaks. Such is the life of the homeowner. Double that if you’re dating someone that also owns a home. Groundhog Day of the dishwashers.

Whatever you do today, if nothing is broken in your house, dance a bit!!! If anything in your house is leaking water, prioritize and get it fixed. Leaking water is one of the most damaging things we can have in our homes. Small leaks lead to BIG problems.

As for me, I’m off to help my MM sop up his kitchen. Being “the guy”, he’ll have this fixed in no time.

More tomorrow.

Whatever you do today, try something totally different. Think about all the tomorrows you have left and plan a little adventure all your own. You just never know what you might find, right around the bend.

More tomorrow.

Today, my MM and I are Celebrating the Life of a native Nevada son, gone too soon.

Whatever you do this weekend, make sure it involves good food, upbeat music, and some sunshine. Enjoy the first weekend of summer and live a little.

I’ll be back on Monday.

First things first, this is NOT an accurate picture of me. I have no piercings and don’t wear earrings.

I do, however, love polka dots in the summer time. With the Summer Solstice 2023 passing yesterday, I need to find my collection. Summer will arrive someday. When it does, we’ll go from our costal-like spring to desert bake. All in one day, most likely. For now, we’re still in the mid-70’s this week.

I need to get some things off my chest about Oliver. Sneaky little brat. After reading yesterday’s blog, I must agree. Every story has two sides. Let me tell you a little about mine.

Oliver came to me through God. There is no other explanation. VST and I looked and looked for months for the right dog. A few days before Christmas 2018, I found this little picture of Oliver on the internet. What a porky little DORK!! All his brothers and sisters had been snatched up, leaving him to hang out alone.

How much trouble could one little dog be? Really. He was 12 lbs. when we met him on Christmas Day in the parkin lot of a huge casino. With snow everywhere, I couldn’t even watch him walk. From the breeder’s arms to mine, into the truck, and home. On our long drive up the mountain sat one very scared being, trembling at the thought of the unknown.

I settled down by the time we arrived home.

Oliver grew up on the side of Mt. Davidson in Virginia City, Nevada. He looks a lot like the character, Falcor on the movie, Never Ending Story.

After 4.5 years together, I know some things about him and he knows some things about me. I have learned to accept his shortcomings, which are more than just his 4″ legs. On most days, we get along pretty good. But, no mistake. Oliver is a difficult dog. Sneaky. Stubborn. Persistent. Cunning. Adorable. Loveable.

It’s the adorable and loveable parts that keep him here at Winterpast. There are days when I wonder why I torture myself with this untrainable hound. Many days……… Through his puppyhood, it was MOST days.

Early on, I came up with the 3/4 plan. 3/4 of the time, I’m on call as HIS pet. I’ll do whatever he needs to remain happy. I’ll attempt to train him, while becoming more trained myself. I’ll be patient and loving. I’ll do my best to be a good dog mom. One week a month, Oliver must go have some fun at puppy camp for his mental health and mine.

Extreme? There IS something extreme about this. Life with Oliver 3/4 of the month.

Oliver comes when he wants. He might sit, but it’s hard to tell because he is so close to the ground. He pees outside, but only because he likes too, usually on the patio. He barks whenever he feels the need. He loves stealing things only to hide under the dining room table, where he’s quite safe. He has learned to beg effectively and incessantly for anything he wants. He attempts to counter surf, but so far, can only jump about four feet in the air from a standing position. Oliver is ON much more than he is OFF. It can be exhausting.

Sunday, as he told you, he disappeared. So many things run through one’s mind when their dog runs away.

WHY???

Was the dog food not tasty?

Not enough treats?

More ear scratches needed?

Or, is there just no brain matter in that little skull. Just the will to follow a scent.

With Oliver, the last thought is probably close to the truth.

In those 90 minutes, I did think about life without Oliver.

Peaceful.

Non-stressful.

Freedom to go without planning for him.

No hidden poop to step in.

No responsibility for another life.

As the minutes ticked away, my inner voice was becoming louder with one dreadful thought.

NO MORE OLIVER.

Oliver is draped with my phone number. He has his Rabies tags with his vet’s number. His collar is stitched with his name and phone number in bright yellow letters. Another tag hangs around his neck giving all necessary information. If someone found him on a day he went exploring, they’d call. They might be sucked into his cuteness for a moment, but, make no mistake, within 24 hours, they’d pay ME the reward to take him back.

By minute 89, while creating a “Missing Dog” post, my heart was breaking at the reality of his absence. Oliver is really a good match for me. He might not be as stupid as he is creative, giving me something to worry about. He certainly has stepped up to the plate when it comes to being a Grieving Gardener’s partner. He lost VST, too.

When Oliver was found in the garage by his new best friend, MM, there was a celebration. He zoomed around with Wookie and immediately begged for a Greenie. He went outside to water the flowers and came in for a bite of dinner. Finally, he came, and for a very long time, snuggled next to me on the couch. Two old friends that need each other. Two best friends that have a complicated relationship.

Since being locked in the garage, Oliver has turned over a new leaf. Just a few weeks from his 5th birthday, he is taking life a little slower these days. Not as many immature antics. He still goes crazy when Wookie is around, but only to show off a little. Then, it’s back to the new Oliver. The one that really likes his naps.

As for me, each day I’m more appreciative of this little roommate of mine. I need to help him out a bit. After all, life without thumbs is a beast. I’m his ride to visit Wookie because he’s way to short to drive himself. I know how he likes his breakfast and dinner.

That sums up my side of the story. All’s well that ends well. As Joni would say, “You don’t know what you’ve lost ’til it’s gone.”

Whatever you do, do something extra for your pet. Five minutes extra with the ball. A few extra pats for being good. A extra snuggle now and then. If they could only talk, eh?

More tomorrow.