Author: Joy Hurt

What a beautiful morning to be alive! Here on the high desert, the word is covered in white. VST always laughed when I would ask him to stop and listen to the snow fall. We were new to Virginia City where the snow falls in feet, not inches. He would always be quick to correct me, never understanding my point. Sometimes silence is the loudest sound of all. It was okay. Sometimes people are tone-deaf to the sound of snowfall.

In my humble opinion, the sound of falling snow is the most lovely sound of all. Regular noises are cushioned and become a little more muted. It seems life slows down and it’s easy to focus on the smallest of details in those falling flakes. Exquisite art work from heaven, snowflakes are. Next time, listen carefully. Falling snow does have the sweetest sound.

So many beautiful things happened to finish out 2022, my year of miracles. In my life, I’ve not experienced such a beautiful year in a very long time. In 2022, I continued my awakening into a brand new woman. It was no coincidence that miracles overflowed during my first year after baptism. No coincidence, at all.

Christmas Eve started as a regular day. My Mysterious Marine and Wookie had been busy with errands and Christmas secrets. Each day the presents multiplied under the Jolly tree, beautiful in every way. But, it was the outside of his house where his talents shone. With 3,000 twinkling lights, his house was the most lovely on the block. Each string was hung with precision, making his presentation of lights one not to miss. I would imagine his house was visible from space. We just haven’t heard yet.

Plans were in place for a festive seafood extravaganza with family, followed by the annual Candlelight Ceremony at The Chapel. Everyone in MM’s entire family are amazing cooks, but this dinner was over the top. Lobster, Alaskan King Crab, Scallops, Jumbo Shrimp, and broiled French bread were on the menu. Each bite was mind-blowing, leaving us satisfied and ready to head to The Chapel at 6 pm.

Even in our mindfulness and haste, we entered the sanctuary as the music had already started. Although very few seats were available, two were open at the very front of the room, waiting for a couple like us.

The room was packed with regulars and visitors. Everyone had come to worship on the most holy of nights. It isn’t very often that Christmas falls on a Sunday. In fact, the next time that will happen is in 11 years. 2033. Hmmmmm. 2033. Two thousand years after the death of Jesus. Exactly 2000 years later. Coincidence?

Just like that, we were singing Christmas hymns of our past. I was transported back to a little German church in the middle of a sea of grapevines. A church built by relatives long ago gone to a better place. A bright blonde girl in a handmade dress with her severe straight bangs always cut way too short doing her best not to cause trouble in church. Fidgeting little feet in new black patent leathers were lost in the sea of sisters that made up her family. Farmers scrubbed, groomed were dressed in their once-a-year suits, singing nervously with the farmer families of the little church. Memories of Christmas in the 1900’s came flooding into my mind.

In the other front row seat, MM was having similar thoughts of days in our little desert town. The one in which he grew up into a man. Days when there were barely 2,000 residents who knew every last thing the oldest brother of five was doing before he did it. I can only imagine the cuteness overload of five brothers, 10 and under. I can only imagine the stress of taking those five boys to Christmas service. That oldest brother of five turned into the Marine, successful man, and now the gentleman holding my hand while tearing up to his own sweet memories of Christmas past.

This magical evening was one of the most beautiful of my life. 150 Christmas dinners were delivered by this magical group of people. A new crop of littles fidgeted as they waited for the service to end, so that Christmas could proceed. Everyone there to celebrate with Christmas love.

Towards the end of the service, the chapel was darkened while the pastor lit one candle from the alter. He came to the front row as he shared his flame with us. It was our job to light the candle of another. While I lit just a couple of other candles, MM was gone for a very long time. With 100 people at the service, it took a minute to share the light with everyone.

Finally, MM came back.

Leaning over, he quietly whispered, “I shared my light with so many.”

I smiled.

MM’s light is brilliant. He’s always ready to serve and protect, something a Marine never, ever forgets to do. It’s in their blood.

The beautiful memories of that night will remain in my heart. Almost like the sound of falling snow, it’s there for to hear. Some say there is no sound at all. But, once you hear it, your soul won’t forget.

Whatever you do today, go light someone’s candle. Do something unexpectedly kind. The smallest deeds count. Remember it’s the little things in the day that are truly magical. Keep celebrating! Our year is brand new and rich with possibilities.

More tomorrow.

Happy New Year! After fighting my way to the end of 2022 through a tough virus, I’m back to celebrate 2023 with y’all! Holiday celebrations were over the top here on the high desert. Enjoying faith, family, furry friends, and food, everything was at it should be. Plainly, my holidays were magical for the first time in a very, very long time.

My Mysterious Marine is the pet of a dog we’ll call Wookie. I wrote that correctly. He doesn’t not HAVE a pet, he IS the pet, as am I with Oliver. Wookie is quite a character, for sure, smiling purposely when she is happy. The internet states that 93% of dog owners THINK their dogs can smile. In reality, only 3% of the dog world can truly smile. Even less smile at the right time. Wookie smiles when her heart is singing. She smiles when her favorite girlfriend comes to the door. (That’s me.) If you laugh, she smiles more brightly. Oliver and I are smitten with Wookie. Now, she is about to increase the canine population by 6 or 7. Wookie is heavy with “Wooklings”. Oliver hasn’t quite caught on yet, but in just a few short days, he’ll understand completely. He’s going to be the honorary “Dad”.

Wookie has a complete staff of two loyal, thumb-laden minions that will cater to her every need. She’ll have her very own birthing suite and two doggie-doulas at the ready. Excitement is building. Stay tuned for future announcements.

With the holidays officially over, and Valentine’s Day just around the corner, boxes packed with the red and green of Christmas are ready to return to the barn. There’s a slight cause for delay.

Snow.

Last night, as I slept soundly while still recovering from the Death Flu of 2022, snow fell quietly on the desert floor. This morning, I awoke to 3″ of white covering everything in sight. I do love the distinct seasons here on the desert. Living in the Central Valley of California, there were two seasons. Hot and Fog. Of course, you could drive three to four hours in any direction and find a little variety, but in much of California, you don’t experience snow. Ever. Of course, the trade off is surfing and the Tournament of Roses Parade, so isn’t all that bad a deal.

Sadly, I’m not prepared for the latest storm. The snow shovels sit safe and dry in the garden shed. The garden shed is at the back of the yard, (approximately 5,249.5 feet away from my desk chair), needing snow shoveling to approach and enter. Hmmm. Winter preparedness. A good blog for another day. Wish I’d put plans into action a little earlier. With perseverance, the snow will be shoveled before it turns into ice. At least, that’s the plan.

I have learned a few things about snow since becoming a Nevadan in 2014.

Windshield wipers can freeze to your window under a blanket of snow.

Your Jeep doors can freeze shut.

You should remove snow off the roof of your Jeep before moving down the road. Shifting roof snow is a bit shocking when coming to a stop.

A garage is an exceptional luxury in any snowstorm.

Whatever you do today, think a little about storm preparedness. For whatever reasons, the news tells us our storms are a bit intense these days. Could it be, that maybe we’ve become a little softer than our grandparents of the 1900’s? Have a plan. Have a go bag ready with a medications, documents, and other essentials. Disasters occur when we least expect them. Be ready. At the very least, put the darn snow shovel in the attached garage.

Putting on snow boots now.

More tomorrow.

by Jack Kornfield:

The present moment is the doorway to true calm…

It is the only place you can love or awaken—the eternal present. You cannot know the future. But here and now you can create a life of dignity and compassion, a day at a time. You can plant beautiful seeds and learn to tend them with love and courage amidst the unfolding mystery. Somerset Maugham once explained, “There are three rules for writing the great English novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.” He wrote marvelous novels, the only way we can, a page at a time.

Being alive is finding ourselves in the midst of this great and mysterious paradox. There are ten thousand joys and sorrows in every life, and at one time or another we will be touched by all of them. We will all experience birth and death, success and loss, love and heartbreak, joy and despair. And in every moment of your life there are millions of humans just like you all over the world who are being confronted by situations just like yours, some that are joyful and some that are overwhelming where they are struggling to somehow learn how to survive them. What matters is the spirit you bring to each day. As George Washington Carver said, “How far you go in life depends on your being tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving, and tolerant of the weak and the strong … because some day in life you will have been all of these.”

Becoming aware and mindful is not some magical tool where you will only experience pleasant moments. Instead, loving awareness will illuminate and hold everything—the success and delight and the pain and suffering. Even being overwhelmed by challenging emotions is a natural part of the journey. If you judge yourself against some impossible ideal of how you think you “should” be feeling and acting as you struggle, you’ll only add to your suffering.

Instead, listen to your thoughts with mindful awareness. You will see the evanescent nature of feelings and thoughts, that they are fleeting, all impermanent. And then you can begin to realize that just because you have a feeling or thought doesn’t mean you have to believe it—much less act on it—and certainly not get caught up in a whole stream of them. You can release the mind of some of its more dangerous patterns. Observing the mind with mindfulness brings liberation.

After you learn to see what’s in your mind and learn to release or disidentify with the unhealthy patterns, you will discover a deeper level of liberation. My teacher Sri Nisargadatta explained it like this: “The mind creates the abyss and the heart crosses it.” When you rest in the present moment with mindfulness, you open to a loving presence which is timeless and beyond the understanding of thought. It’s by returning to the awareness beyond thoughts that you experience true healing. When your mind and heart open, you realize who you are, the timeless, limitless awareness behind all thought.

Jack Kornfield — January 22, 2020

Happy 2023!!

Thank you, Jack Kornfield for these beautiful words. You inspire me to practice mindfulness and treasure the beauty found in the simplest thing. The present moment.

As I heal from the stomach flu, I wanted to share something beautiful with my readers. I’ll return tomorrow to dish on the highlights of my holiday experiences.

Faith. Family. Food. Festivities.

Christmas and New Year’s 2022 in the desert were spectacular! I hope yours were , as well.

Going back to bed to sleep this off.

More tomorrow.

Hark! The herald angels sing,
“Glory to the newborn King;
Peace on earth, and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled!”
Joyful, all ye nations rise,
Join the triumph of the skies;
With th’angelic host proclaim,
“Christ is born in Bethlehem!”
Hark! the herald angels sing,
“Glory to the newborn King!”

Christ, by highest Heav’n adored;
Christ the everlasting Lord;
Late in time, behold Him come,
Offspring of a virgin’s womb.
Veiled in flesh the Godhead see;
Hail the incarnate Deity,
Pleased with us in flesh to dwell,
Jesus our Emmanuel.

Hail the heav’nly Prince of Peace!
Hail the Sun of Righteousness!
Light and life to all He brings,
Ris’n with healing in His wings.
Mild He lays His glory by,
Born that man no more may die;
Born to raise the sons of earth,
Born to give them second birth.

Hark! The herald angels sing,

“Glory to the newborn King!”

Come, Desire of nations, come,
Fix in us Thy humble home;
Rise, the woman’s conqu’ring Seed,
Bruise in us the serpent’s head.
Now display Thy saving pow’r,
Ruined nature now restore;
Now in mystic union join
Thine to ours, and ours to Thine.

Hark! The herald angels sing,

“Glory to the newborn King!”

Adam’s likeness, Lord, efface,
Stamp Thine image in its place:
Second Adam from above,
Reinstate us in Thy love.
Let us Thee, though lost, regain,
Thee, the Life, the inner man:
Oh, to all Thyself impart,
Formed in each believing heart.

Hark! The herald angels sing,

“Glory to the newborn King!”.

Merry Christmas ! I will return on January 2, 2023!

‘Twas two nights before Christmas, in Winterpast I was home,

Soaking in the hot tub, praying for world-wide Shalom.

One stocking was hung by the chimney with care,

Sewn by me when two boys on my lap were still there.

Oliver nestled asleep in his crate,

Dreamin’ of doggie treats and how they’d taste great.

Later dried, watching movies, my nest feelin’ just right

I’d just snoozed off for restful sleep in the night

When my cell phone did rumble and ding with a clatter

From my Bestie, CC, checking on me to chatter.

Through all of our words we shared events of the day,

The next day promising a call to check in and say “Hey”.

With the star brightly shining, true happiness shone through

Two foggy years in the wilderness, widow’s journey almost through.

With sleep not appearing while I tried to relax,

The cell phone complained, my quiet now cracked.

Just Sweet Daughter checking from so far away.

A surprise of the best kind, better than presents on a sleigh.

“Everything now brighter, we’ll remember the good.

Sleep well, time heals all as we knew it would.”

Hope, Faith, and Trust, I reflect on tonight.

Santa is great, but to these things hold on tight.

My journey through life holds beauty, it’s true

There’s Hope for tomorrow, Trust that Faith blooms anew.

When the phone complained again, just once more for good measure,

Mysterious Marine checked in. A man quiet treasured.

Company tomorrow? Dinner cooked up for Miss Lazy?

“Can you check tomorrow?”

Wait….. What???????

Am I crazy?????

After a night’s sleeping, I’m not feeling as frumpy,

No time for the blues or being down in the dumpy.

Today will be one to get Christmas just right

With Hope, Faith, and Love, my spirit takes flight.

Down with the sadness, self pity, and blues.

Up with carols, treats, and friendships true.

Thanks CC, Thanks Miss Firecracker, both of you know

When troubled about life, to you I go.

Thanks Daughter, TJ, and Cambria Goddess, too,

What would I do without my Christmas angels, You?????

Heart smiling, I’ll enjoy a great dinner tonight.

The Mysterious Marine will season everything just right.

So Dash Away, Dash Away, Dash Away all.

Off to the grocery store, down to the mall.

Finish the wrapping with ribbons and bows,

With love for each other, happiness grows.

I send you this, My Christmas wish true,

Merry Christmas, Dear Friends, with love to you.

Thank you for finding interest in my writing while helping me get through my third Christmas as a widow. Your steady love, friendship, and prayers are helping me grow every day. Life is the most beautiful journey of all.

Merry Christmas to you all.

Joy

There are those things that go thump in the night giving one cause for pause. Here at Winterpast, random things have fallen over. Like the tea pot on the cupboard above my counters. Toppled right over in the night. Auntie TJ’s beautiful painting fell right off the nail that was holding it up with a crash in the night. Random things that I’m choosing to ignore as random. For now.

I learned my lesson a year ago. That night, CC and I were chatting about the latest happenings here in the high desert when there was an alarming noise outside. A thud? No. A slide? No. Not a bang or a snap, either. A dull noise made by something very, very big. Alarmed, I stopped the conversation and listened for a bit, finally writing off the event to something I thought I heard. It couldn’t have been real. I must have been imagining things.

A few nights went by, with quiet being the signature sound coming from my neighborhood. It’s so quiet, either in the day or night, that I can hear my heart beat in the silence. Rarely do I hear a stray voice or the sound of a hedge trimmer or hammer. Just silence. I’m often awakened in the night by the far away sounds of a lonely train zipping through town or Jake Brakes on the interstate. Once in awhile, a stray Top Gun jet might fly over on its way to home base, or a life flight helicopter racing someone to the hospital in the next town over. No barking dogs or bickering neighbors. Just peace and quiet.

Stray noises of the unusual kind do stand out, and sure enough, on the next very dark night there was something very large right outside my bedroom window. Moving about, it was enough of sound that I grabbed the flashlight to find out, once and for all, what would be making this noise on my property, right next to my bedroom window.

After turning on my extremely bright porch lights while Oliver barked loudly, I proceeded outside, turning left to walk in front of my studio window. In the total darkness of night I saw nothing, which made me hold the Mag Flashlight as a weapon. Whatever was there would receive a bit of a headache if an attack occurred.

It was then that not just one but two mustangs came around the corner of my house. But of course!!! The Mustangs!!! The corner of my fence and house make the perfect manger/windbreak. Relieved it wasn’t someone wanting to do me harm, I backed away, encouraging them to move on down the road. The quiet clippity-clop of their hooves on the asphalt roadway fit the night as they disappeared into the darkness. They’d need to find another place to shelter for the night. No room at Winterpast.

How lucky I am to enjoy Winter in a place so safe that I venture into the night to investigate a noise. What a blessing to live with majestic animals like the mustangs that choose us as their neighbors. Although I’m pretty sure I heard them grumbling as they left, I hope there were no hard feelings. They’ll be back soon.

As for the toppling trinkets, things have settled. Here in the desert, we’re built on sand. Sometimes things shift a little. Thank goodness not as much as they just shifted in Humboldt County, California. Those folks need our prayers as they clean up from the recent earthquake. It’s a place unlike the California you see on the nightly news. A conservative haven in a state riddled with confusion. May they get back to normal soon.

Whatever you do today, do it with some cheerful thoughts of the Christmas to come and holidays past. Unless it’s something 1,000 lbs. or more, or a 6.2 earthquake, try not to get rattled by things that go thump in the night. Investigate by the light of the day. It’s safer.

Only 2 more days until the real fun begins. Go ahead. Start celebrating early. That’s what I plan to do.

More tomorrow.

Astronomically speaking, the first day of winter is today. Meteorologically speaking, the first day of winter is December 1st. In the desert, it seems winter starts a little earlier than that. It seems much colder this year. Perhaps that’s because my old bones are a year older. It’s certainly not because I’m any less padded. Oh well, my Grandfather used to say a woman needs extra padding to make it through a hard winter. If that’s the case, I’ll surely survive a few more even if the power goes out.

Today we observe the Winter Solstice. It’s the day with the shortest number of daylight hours and the longest night. To my Alaskan readers I can only say that I don’t know how you do it. It’s hard enough to get everything done in 9 daylight hours. You folks get it done in a little over 5 hours. To my readers in the Southern Hemisphere, chuckle on. I know you’re basking in summers warm temps. You’ll get your turn at winter in a few months.

The winter and summer solstice refer to the shortest and longest days of the year while the spring and autumn equinoxes fall on days with the same amount of day and night hours. For me, the winter solstice is when I say Goodbye to my favorite time of year, while marching towards the longer days of spring. For me, it’s the long winter nights that are a bit trying. Until last night.

For years, I’ve been developing the ideal bed. One-third of our lives are spent sleeping. Add a few more for retirement napping. It should be peaceful and cocoon-y, not tossed and turned like a green salad. Slowly, I’ve amassed the right number of down pillows, a down comforter, and a mattress that can flip into zero gravity with the press of a button. I was still missing the main component. Sheets.

I remember the days of my mother hanging her sheets on the clothes line to dry. Farmers were the original “Green” inhabitants of this world. The sheets would smell sunshine fresh when we crawled into bed. Laundry was another big detail that Mother handled masterfully with the help of her five minions. Even our pillow cases were freshly ironed every week. A proper German household she ran.

Over the past year, I’ve attempted to find sheets of olden days. In the 1900’s, sheets were sheets. The best quality sheets were percale cotton. They didn’t cost enough to break the bank. A boring part of life, you bought white cotton sheets that lasted decades. Use. Weekly wash and dry on the line. Use again. With each use, the sheets got softer and softer, but remained serviceable forever.

There was no such thing as fitted sheets at our house. WE all knew how to dress our beds in military style, tight with boxed corners. It had to meet with her approval. That’s just how it was done. For years. How I wish I had those sheets today.

Over the last year, I’ve come to one conclusion. No matter the amazing thread counts or promise of the finest cotton and finish, good sheets cost some dough. Sticker shock will get you if you’re not prepared.

Christmas time is a time for gifts. This year, I tried to gift myself a robot to vacuum my floors. It ate my Christmas tree skirt. Alexa already has control of the house, she doesn’t need any more gadgets to commander. At a bit of a loss, I’d almost given up on the idea, when I realized something I really needed. Sheets fit for Presidents. Royalty. And one widowed woman living in the wide spot of a dusty little road off the interstate on the high desert plains of Nevada. Me.

On the internet, you can find such luxuries. I did. I shopped a 40% off sale, settled on flannel, and pushed “Complete Purchase”.

When the box came, I couldn’t wait. I know. I know. It’s not Christmas yet. But it IS Christmas week. Slowly, I opened the exquisite packing box. Inside, there they were. The most beautiful flannel sheets in “Coastal Grandma” Buffalo plaid. Tan, Light Grey, and Beige. The stitching is perfection. The fabric, a herringbone weave of flannel. The weight just right. It’s as if I went back in time to the days that everything high quality was made in America. Well, not quite. These were made in Portugal from Egyptian cotton, but you get the idea. These sheets are 1900’s yummy.

Last night was the test run. I am here to report that the quest for great sheets is over. I have a winter set that will last much longer than I will. Mission accomplished.

Through the next three months, the trees of Winterpast will continue their deep sleep. Although they shudder in the high desert winds, any other sign of life is gone. Outlined with frosty snowflakes at times, the back yard takes on a different beauty. On full moon nights, the outlines of the trees make their ghostly appearance through my bedroom blinds. Eerie shadows dancing outside the bedroom window cause me to turn away as I fall asleep.

Winter on the desert includes another magical event as random and illusive as the mustangs. Pogonip. One day last year, while out walking, I noticed the air was sparkling with floating glitter. The beauty of the moment caught me off guard and I had to stop. Truly, I thought I’d lost my ever-lovin’ mind. The faintest sparkles were hanging in the air like tiny diamonds, while swirling this way and that. I didn’t mention it to anyone for awhile for surely I’d imagined it. After asking a local, I found it was real. It’s called pogonip, or freezing fog. I normally hate fog, but the next time this occurs I plan to Pachanga through the pogonip. The desert is a magical place, perfect for a Pachanga Party.

Winter holds time to think and redirect. Time to envision new garden plans. Time for soup and yummy hot dishes. Time to sleep a little later in the morning and turn in a little earlier each evening. Time to cuddle with photo albums and smile at the happy memories made so long ago. Time for new memories with someone very special. Winter is the loveliest of seasons.

Whatever you do today, enjoy the Winter Solstice. Have some hot chocolate while wrapping presents and listening to Christmas music. There are only a few more days until candlelight and celebrations. Enjoy!

More tomorrow.

Dear Joy,

It’s me.

You.

Right here, alive and well, albeit 46 years in the future. There are a few things I wish you could know right now as you begin your 21st year of life. Listening I know you are, as you always loved a great story. If only I could, I’d be the voice in your head, helping you make better choices along the way. But if that were so, I couldn’t have come up with all this great advice. You’ll take life and devour it on your own terms, even if you break down a few times on the road to 67.

In 1976, few understand the spirit of an independent woman. Keep on rebelling and questioning every bit of dogma the establishment throws your way. With few worthy mentors in your life, blaze your own trail, leaving others to shake their heads. Forget about the judgmental nay-sayers. If they’re talking about you, you’re doing something worth talking about. Something to live by.

Outwardly, keep being the good girl and fly under the radar. For Now. Keep watching and thinking. When the time is right bolt right out the gate, running as fast, free, and far as you can. Wide open spaces are what you need. They’ll be plenty of messy mistakes in which you’ll need room to heal and grow. You’ve been given the best foundation and soon you’ll find the need to fly with your own two wings.

Through the years, some mistakes will haunt you for a lifetime. Just remember, life isn’t black and white. Those grey areas are riddled with trip wires. You’ll give in when you should have gotten out. You’ll escape when your physical life is threatened. Under your heart, you’ll raise two human beings into fine young men that you’ll love more than yourself, even gifting them the very color of your eyes. For far too long, the past will hold you back until life propels you into the most wonderful future you could imagine.

All the while, you’ll have the luxury of a family that adores their little one, until you no longer need adoring because you are no longer adorable or little. By then, life will be your own.

Remember the pictures you used to draw of that magical place you’d never seen? Way out in the land of the setting sun where the wind blows wild and free? Deep in the heart of the Golden west, where the desert meets the hills? Where the moonbeams play in the shadowed Glen? It’s surely the loveliest place I know but it will take you a few decades to get there.

Living the rest of your life there, you’ll curse the wild horses when they poop in your own front yard, and then worry about them when they don’t come around. In that beautiful desert, you’ll choose your new family of friends carefully. You’ll find the God you thought you’d lost had carried you from some pretty bad fires. Don’t worry. Even when you think you’ve lost it all in a sea of despair, love will find you. Your story is one of happiness, and that includes the ending.

Through the decades between us, a few lifelong cornerstone friends will know when you need them, and you’ll know the same of them. Through the years, final earthly Goodbye’s will break your heart, but only because you loved so deeply. Life’s worthy trade off.

At times, your head will steer you in directions that make sense, add up, and look right. Your heart will lead in other directions that feel cozy and right for a while. But your own true North can be found by listening to the voice that comes from a much deeper place, speaking in quiet knowing tones. Find comfort and your truth in that voice. Listen, even if it takes all your strength to follow.

That voice will lead you to a high school reunion far in the future, where you’ll reunite with a true and dear heart-friend. Together, your life will bloom into one few in this world get to experience. With true love comes heartbreaking grief for one. A widow’s burden will be yours to bear, but not before you are safely home in the desert you will love so deeply.

You’ve had many dreams before and many more will come in your lifetime. Some will be irreparably broken. That’s just the way of life. One thing is certain. You don’t envision hollow dreams.

Do, in your own original way and time, what is YOU. If people are shocked, maybe they need shocking. Your story will always be a unique one, with only you knowing the plot twists that’ll eventually see you through. Be the courageous and strong woman your mother and father raised you to be. Be your own best friend, because in life, you’ll never find one more true.

You are worthy of the stars and the moon. Believe it. Somewhere far in the future, you’ll find that cabin on the lake with the golden sun setting just so as you write your next blog while the soup simmers on the stove. Loneliness will come and go, but a settled heart will get you through. Don’t abandon your will to meet the expectations of others. Your decisions are worthy of self-respect. Second guessing is a waste of time when, in reality, you just need to choose your next best steps.

Joy of 1976, you are a beautiful, thoughtful, and resourceful young woman. Your future adventures will give me material for books full of amazing stories we’ll share with the world. Go live your best life, as you will. Trust me. It’ll be an amazing and adventurous one. From far in the future, I look back wishing you peace and love at this beautiful time of year.

Merry Christmas.

Happy Monday Morning! With Christmas only days away, fun and excitement are in full swing here at Winterpast. The frigid weather has made staying inside to craft, and snack an easy choice. Winter is the best time of year for inside activities when one is retired.

Friday morning, an unexpected knock at the door alerted me to the delivery of one dozen of the most beautiful long stemmed roses I’ve ever received in my life! Not only are they beautiful, they’ve filled Winterpast with their rich fragrance. My Mysterious Marine started off the celebration of my birth in grand fashion with the delivery of flowers from the new little shop on Main. Four red ones for the months we have known each other and 8 pink ones to celebrate the Joy of the season. Sentimental guy he surely is.

Not yet finished with his plans, he created a complete dinner from scratch just for me. Filet Mignon, lobster tails cooked to perfection, Potatoes Au Gratin, fresh asparagus and freshly baked rolls. The entire dinner was on point and served with an exquisite red wine carefully selected from the Valleys of Napa. His favorite wine, and now, mine too.

The day was finished off with a most special gift. A golden St. Christopher medal to wear near my heart. This was the nicest birthday celebration of my 67 years, all done at his insistence because Everyone should have a wonderful birthday Every year. I must say, after this weekend, I see the error of my ways in the past.

Now that the birthday is in the rearview mirror for another year, it’s on to the REAL reason for the season. This week, I plan to cook myself a wonderful German dinner in memory of my Grandmother who left us two days before Christmas in a year decades past.

Throughout my childhood, my Grammie started preparing for Christmas early on. With plenty of grandchildren, she began making signature slippers, one pair for each of us. She had our colors down and would insist Grandpa stop everything for a ride to get town when she needed more yarn. Of course, that would include lunch at The Harvest House Restaurant which was a part of Woolworth’s dime store. Funny how things have changed. Now, we have the $1.25 Dollar Tree Store without any restaurant.

By Christmas Day, each Grandchild had an envelope and a pair of slippers. How she ever got the sizes right for each child was a puzzlement to me. With sixteen years of girls in our family alone, she had to count her stitches properly. Those slippers were a precious part of our Christmas.

Before Thanksgiving, she’d start making egg noodles with my mother and Aunts. After the mixing and rolling out of the dough, there would be noodles drying on the arm and back of every chair in her house. All the noodles were draped lovingly on top of the whitest tea -towels in the county. She needed enough noodles to share with her four daughters, saving enough for her Christmas Eve Chicken Noodle Soup, which was a feast of the simplest kind.

As mentioned earlier, the German Sausage was purchased from the correct butcher. There were cookies, candies, and coffee cake to bake. The week before Christmas the house was cleaned to perfection, with Grandpa taking over the chore of vacuuming. By Christmas Eve, everything was ready and family would stop by for a visit, as people did when living miles apart in the country. This was after the Christmas Eve service at the local church.

Holidays were the time of year when farmers had darn-well better be scrubbed, shaved, and combed. Their suits would be dusted off for the once-a-year event. Tractors and discs sat idle. Other than the critical morning and evening feeding of the livestock, farmers rested in my little corner of the universe. Except, of course, for the poor dairy families. For them, Christmas fit between milking and mucking.

Grammie was the kind of grandmother you ready about in books. Chubby and sweet, she was always a smiling with a listening ear. How I wish I had spent more time listening to the stories of a young immigrant wife with four little girls to raise. Her husband wasn’t blessed with sons, either. It didn’t matter much. In those days, the girls would need to do the work just as sons would have. Yes. I wish I had sat with her to listen more than I did.

This week, I plan to try my hand a few dishes remembered. This is a recipe for Kuchen, (coffee cake) that you might like to try. I find it fascinating that on a random search this very day, this recipe came up. Schwabenland was my mother’s maiden name. This recipe came from Christina Schwabenland. I’ll need to think on that little coincidence as I’m cooking later today. Thanks, Grammie. I needed the right recipe. ( Remembered with love, Elizabeth Goeringer Schwabenland — 1901 – 1981)

This recipe came from the internet submitted by Christina Schwabenland — a distant unknown relative

KUCHEN

Ingredients

• 2 cakes yeast
• 1 T sugar
• 1 C milk
• 1 cube butter
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1 tsp salt
• 4 1/2 cups of flour

Preparation

1. Dissolve 2 cakes yeast and 1 Tbls sugar in 1 cup lukewarm water.
2. Scald 1 cup milk then add 1 cube butter, 1/2 cup sugar, 1 tsp salt
3. When milk has cooled to 90 degrees, add 2 cups flour to make a batter.
4. Add yeast mixture mixture and 3 beaten eggs.
5. Beat well.
6. Add remaining 4-1/2 cups flour or enough to make a soft dough and knead well.
7. Let rise to double in size (about 2 hours)
8. Knead down and let rise again
9. Divide into portions.
10. Put into greased pans.
11. Let rise 45 minutes.
12. Spread on topping made of ; 1 egg, beaten, 2 Tbls sugar, 1 Cup sour cream thickened with flour.
13. Place berries or any fruit on top of this spread.
14. Top with rivals (crumbs); 1 cube butter, melted, 3/4 to 1 cup sugar, 2 cups flour, mix well.
15. Bake at 375 F to 400 F for 30 minutes or until golden brown.
16. This recipe makes 3 – 9×12″ coffee cakes or 6 – 9″ round.
17. This dough can also be used for beirocks or kraut burgers

I’m off to the store to get the ingredients. Dieting will wait until next week. This week, I need to make and bake coffee cakes, cookies, and candies. This is the week to enjoy the memories of Christmas’s past.

Whatever you do today, reflect on some fond memories of your own sweet elders. If we could only go back and sit for a time with them, stories would live again. If you are lucky enough to have elders at your side, don’t waste a single minute. Take time to LISTEN. They have so much to share.

More tomorrow.