Author: Joy Hurt

Today, there is absolutely nothing of value in my head.

Have a wonderful Thursday.

More tomorrow.

What can I say. This little guy runs the show. He doesn’t ask much. Just the basics.

There is nothing that Sir Oliver, Gentleman of Ashworth Hall loves more than his daily meals. Two 1/2 cup servings of Iam’s Lamb and Rice mini chunks. He loves his food, enjoying the happiest times of day at 4:00 AM and PM. It became necessary for me to buy a puzzle bowl to slow him down. Until today Oliver was a hearty eater.

This morning, everything was normal. Oliver whined a little to wake me up. After starting the coffee, we both used the bathroom. Pee Pads are the greatest thing ever and Oliver has mastered them.

He raced off with normal excitement to wait at the pantry door for his breakfast. I scooped and shared his normal meal.

That’s when the most bizarre happened. He sat and looked at me. Then, he looked at the food container in the pantry. Looking at his dish with disgust, he refused to eat. Absolutely refused his food. I’m quite sure his eyes were saying, “Look Lady, here I draw the line. Something’s wrong with this food. ‘Aint happening.”

Weird things are happening with our human food supply. Watch your pet’s behavior around meal time. Be sure that what goes in comes out looking consistent from day to day. Make sure to provide plenty of fresh, cool water for your pets as summer approaches. Watch their behavior and listen to them when they are truly trying to tell you something.

The 1/2 bag of Iam’s food went into the garbage. Opening a new bag, he ate, although not with his normal excitement. It doesn’t help that his human idol, Ace, is visiting. When Ace is here, Oliver’s world is complete. Food is second place. Little else exists for Oliver when Ace is around.

Our furry friends are such an important part of life. Be sure to take good care of them. If something looks or smells off with their food, listen to them and start over.

More tomorrow.

School days are coming! I, my dear readers, am returning to school on July 8th. With back pack and cute jeans. Oh, yeah. Wait a minute. Things are different now. I’ll be spending more time in my studio in front of the computer screen. I must say, the excitement wore me out yesterday. Let me unpack the story for you.

Two weeks ago, I met a new friend. She works at a tiny little school by my favorite local lake. Yes, it IS the one in which they find an occasional body, but it’s so beautiful, I’ll overlook that little fact. As we talked, she told me about her job and how much fun she was having. With graduation just around the corner and memories haunting me, I asked her to tell me more. She mentioned that the number of Christian teachers there had increased to five and it was a great staff and even better students and families. A small country school focusing on reading, writing, and arithmetic in 2022. Go figure.

So, her words worked on me until curiosity got the better of me. I Googled the district office and found that there IS a one year 3rd grade opening at that very school. Fancy that. 3rd Grade is my happy place fbecause the people there are the nicest found anywhere in the world.

Doing more research, I realized why the position is a one year appointment. An abundance of 2nd graders. That happens once in awhile when a huge class creates a staffing problem. You need an additional teacher for that particular class as they go through the year.

On my end, there are a few obstacles in the way.

1. I am no spring chicken. At 66, 3rd graders have much more energy than I do on a good day.
2. Naps aren’t even for kindergartners anymore. I love a good afternoon nap.
3. I would be starting the year with no personal supplies. Teachers spend a huge amount going back to school every year. Starting from scratch is expensive.

Those three points should’ve given me pause, but there was one more challenge presented a bigger problem. My Nevada teaching license expired in 2018.

Reciprocity – the practice of exchanging things with others for mutual benefit, especially privileges granted by one country or organization to another. Nevada honors teaching credentials from California with a minor requirement.

I used up my one chance at reciprocity when VST and I moved to Virginia City to teach middle school. They simple required three classes to be completed in three years. Guess who missed the bell on that one?

Driving to the Nevada Department of Education yesterday, I thought back to the last time I went there in person. VST drove and I was a bundle of nerves. A new school. New students. I would be THE Science teacher for Virginia City Middle School for one year. Their teacher was running away to snorkel at some tropical venue for a year. Middle school science will do that to a person.

Yesterday, I drove myself. Once arriving, I received the best news. Two of the three classes were no longer required. I only needed one class to re-activate my teaching credential. ONE. Only One. With online schools, this would be done in a snap. Driving home with a pre-approved list of colleges in hand, I was giddy with delight.

Well, not so fast. As it turned out, the list I was given was old and outdated. Colleges had shut their doors. Some had changed names. Some were closed for the summer. Finally I found the one that would work for me. University of Phoenix. You know, the one that tailors every situation for every student? That one. Sure enough, quicker then I could type in my Visa number, I transformed myself into a college coed. I’m thinking of a bean bag chair and black light for my studio. My hair is long enough for braids now. Add a pair of Birkenstocks and it will be 1973 all over again. For sure, the hair might be gray, but the roots are still as blond as ever.

Here’s the deal.

I may never make it to the first day of school for the 8:00 bell on August 9. There may be no need for a complete teaching wardrobe or sensible new shoes. I may not need a shiny lunch box and thermos set. Or new hair clips and scrunches. I may never get to feel the First Day Jitters just one last time. Or wipe away tears as a beloved class skips out the door towards 4th grade.

But, this is the truth.

Without returning to college to complete one class, I’ll never have a choice about how I spend my August 9th, 2022. That much is true.

With that being said, I need to start my lists. So many things to prepare for the beginning of college on July 8th. I need to spend some time roaming around the Student Union and Resource Center at the virtual campus. I got a special invitation to do so from the Dean.

More tomorrow.

“Can a dead man remember the singing of a nightingale and the fragrance of a rose and the sigh of a brook?

Can a prisoner who is heavily loaded with shackles follow the breeze of the dawn?

Is not silence more painful than death?”

“He was the one who first sang to me the poetry of real life.” _{Khali Gibran — The Broken Wings}

So, Lord,

Take these broken wings

So I may learn to fly again

And learn to live so free

When I hear the voices sing

The book of love will open up

And let me in. _{John Lang}

There is a very strong woman that lives in my town and worships at my church. She works full time training doctors and nurses so that they may care for others. She provides a soft pillow to travelers through her air BNB. She feeds the poor in our town through the church food pantry (last month feeing 612 people). She has the brightest smile. The meaning of an angel in “human form” is a messenger, a kind and lovable person, or one who manifests goodness, purity and selflessness. This description fits her perfectly.

A few days earlier, the pastor had asked for prayers for her, as she was under the weather. Seeing her at church yesterday, I asked if she was feeling better. She replied that she had an injured shoulder that acted up from time to time.

“Boy do I understand. I have a broken wing, too.” I replied.

Stopping, she looked me squarely in the eye. “I’ve named my problem the same thing. A broken wing.” In that moment, we formed the bond of The Sisterhood of the Broken Wing. Wanting to write about this productive woman who manages to squeeze more into a day than I can squeeze into a month, I googled “Broken Wings”.

“An angel with one wing still in tact symbolizes freedom and that no matter what happens, there is still hope.” I had no idea this is really a thing. One-winged angels. Who knew?

Personally, I’m the one-winged angel that, thru widowhood, managed to maintain optimism, faith, and hope. At times, the wilderness of widowhood brought me to my knees. But like a beautiful butterfly, freedom is here. I’m learning to “fly” again. Through God’s grace and mercy, I’m continuing to fly higher and higher each day. I’m learning to love myself again. Still the same person I’ve always been, I’m becoming stronger and freer with each new day.

The sisters of the hood are now nursing our broken wings back to health. Together, we can do greater things now that we have two good wings between us. A town needs angels on earth. Find a need in your town and help fill it.

Have a wonderful Monday.

More tomorrow.

Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Nothing has happened.

Everything remains exactly as it was.
I am I, and you are you.
The old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.

Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident?

Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near,
just round the corner.

All is well.
Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

_{Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/death-is-nothing-at-all-by-henry-scott-holland}

Enjoy a wonderful Sunday. More tomorrow.

With gas prices skyrocketing and groceries costing as much as our mortgages used to be, we’re all looking for a deal. Just yesterday I read that stores are now discounting merchandise because they have no more shelf space. The world has gone totally mad. What happened to the supply chain problem??? The Walmart to the East has merchandise stacked in the aisles.

Yesterday, I decided to investigate this for myself. I found many great deals on clothing at Walmart. I hope our young families are clued in and doing Back-To-School shopping now, even though the last day of school hasn’t yet arrived for some kids. Lots of bargains to be found on the overflowing racks.

You may not know this, but, garden centers often discount struggling plants. Sometimes, perfectly healthy ones get thrown in with their ailing friends. At my Go-To Garden Center, the discount is usually 50%. Plants are so expensive these days, and everyone loves a bargain. Buying a discounted one can be a risk. You might be buying a plant that has no chance of survival, so be careful. Do your homework.

Think about your local temperatures for the next two months. Here in the desert, Johnny-Jump-Ups or pansies are not a flower I would ever buy, discounted or not. Their delicate blooms and the hot desert sun are not a match. But, a succulent that has been overwatered or in the shade a bit too long is a good selection for me. If you do live in the desert, try those that have thick waxy leaves.

Try to avoid those plants that show evidence that their blooming cycle is finished (dead or dying flowers). Those plants are often annuals that are at the end of life. Best you leave them on the shelf.

A great choice are grape vines or roses. Both bounce back after a little tender loving care. Here, it’s late in the season to transplant anything, as most plants need cooler spring temperatures to establish themselves. That goes for vegetable starts, as well. If you have a covered patio, you might want to place the vine or rose bush in a pot until fall when the temperatures are great for planting in the garden.

At my store, there’s a separate area for discounted houseplants. Thursday is the day the tired plants get marked down. I never pay full price for houseplants and have so many, my favorite coffee cup is marked “Plant Lady”. House plants clean the air and make me smile. A home can’t have too many.

A note about house plants. I often get compliments and comments about the health of my house plants. Yes. They are all thriving. There is a trick to this phenomenon. If they don’t thrive, they are replaced. No need looking at a Pathos that has one leaf. Say your Good Bye, shed a tear, and begin again. When replacing the plant, (because plants are good for you), consider the reason the last plant died. Perhaps you need to change its location or open your curtains more often. Miracle Grow plant food does produce miraculous results.

Don’t forget to shower your houseplants at least once each season. That’s right. Shower them with cold water to clean dusty leaves. You’ll be amazed at how much better they grow.

Enjoy the beautiful outdoors today! In just 17 days, we begin Summer 2022. Hard to believe we’ll be celebrating Christmas 2022 in 203 days. And so it goes.

More tomorrow.

I’ve had the garden tidied up,
As they would have me do.
These little pals who couldn’t stay
To see the season through.
The flowers were their dearest friends,
The garden was their own,
I’ve watched their work, but never knew
The things that they had grown.
Their catalogues keep coming, and
Their garden magazine;
I run across the queerest names,
And study what they mean,
I read them all, from end to end,
And when the spring is here,
I’ll have a garden just like theirs,
As though my friends were near.
Albert H. PEDRICK

We are all just the caretakers of today, not really owning anything. I came after a long line of TRUE gardeners that created the beauty of Winterpast. Each spring, new plants make an appearance, and I struggle to keep things looking like a real gardener lives here. For my new readers, let me explain.

I moved to Winterpast seventeen days after my husband, VST, died of cancer, a train wreck that took him away in only nine weeks. We knew each other for 50 years, harmonizing in high school choir. Lost in a widow’s fog so dense, I started reading a book by Jan Karon about a little town that doesn’t exist. Woven into the book were stories about Mitford and the people that live there. The story of a mansion named Winterpast unfolded.

Winterpast is place we want to be as a new widow. It’s a place where healing is starting to take root. A place of hope. A place where you can sleep soundly, waking up without the daily shock of an empty pillow next to yours. A place where you finally find your footing to carry on down the path out of the first brutal days of widowhood. I was lucky enough to find a home that is my Winterpast. I named her that.

Cared for by amazing gardeners before me, my yard is a true desert oasis. No matter the problem, Winterpast is my place of answers. In the cold, she keeps me warm. While I sleep, she keeps me safe. Cocoon-like, she’s let me spout new wings and rise to meet each day. Somedays, she is the only purpose I have. As a retiree, that’s the way it should be at this stage in life.

In memory of a sweet gardener that lived here before me, I end with verses from Song of Solomon 2:11-13 (NKJV). It is from these words that my Winterpast came to be.

For lo, the winter is past,
The rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth;
The time of singing has come,
And the voice of the turtledove
Is heard in our land.
The fig tree puts forth her green figs,
And the vines with the tender grapes
Give a good smell.
Rise up, my love, my fair one,
And come away!

Heaven will be lovelier now that this beautiful man has gone to his favorite girl. May they have endless gardens to enjoy. I promise, I’ll take care of the weeds and watering around here.

I love you, CY. My prayers are with you.

More tomorrow.

The first time I visited the gardens of Winterpast, I knew I wanted to be the one to tend to her. Each day, I do something in the yard. Winter is a great time to dream of spring plantings. Haven’t we all fallen for the sweetest blooms at the nursery, only to find the place we chose to plant it wasn’t right? So frustrating in the expensive times in which we live today. If you live in a spot where things grow on their own, feel lucky. The desert is unforgiving. Brutal. Crisp.

Summer is the time I gasp at the water bill. Looking at an aerial view through Google Maps, Winterpast is readily identified. It’s the only green yard in the subdivision. California green. Every square inch is planned, and tended. Well. Some people have fancy cars. Some travel. Some have walls of shoes. I have an oasis in the desert. With that being said, the water bill is still a little painful.

The things that love growing here are thick-skinned and thorny. Just once, I’d love to have a burst of color growing along the paths. Blooms of the most delicate types. Ferns, knee deep and lush. But, I need to be glad the roses are doing well this spring. That’s about the extent of my success with blooming plants. Low humidity, high heat, and poor soil don’t produce the best blooms.

A beautiful flower garden is a work of art. God must have been in an exceptionally cheery mood the day he thought them up. They must be his way of laughing. Last night, at a birthday party for a new girlfriend, I sat with a florist. Every day, she lives in the land of flowers as she creates beautiful floral arrangements for special occasions. Somehow the magic of flowers stays with her even when she isn’t at the shop. People need flowers. Flowers nourish our very souls.

The trees of Winterpast all have their own personalities. This year, my banyan-like apricot tree is struggling. She just can’t die. Not on my watch. Her long limbs are struggling to produce leaves, and at this point, I might need to call in an arborist. Ace mentioned that some limbs are too low to walk under. At 5’5″, they hang at just the right height for me. Perfect for picking a stray apricot on an early summer morning. Being the largest apricot tree I’ve ever seen, it’s obvious she’s struggling. It’s up to me to keep her alive.

Gardening requires planning, work, and upkeep. Plants need to be staked until they grow strong and tall, struggling through the forces of the desert heat and wind. Roses need to be fertilized and trimmed. Gravel needs to be replaced and bark replenished. The only sure thing is that the weeds continue to grow. Especially those with thorns like needles.

These days, Oliver is finding it nice to bask in the morning sun. He hasn’t eaten a plastic solar light in over a year now. The emitters hold no more fascination for him. He still protects the fence with his ferocious bark, even though it’s only the next door neighbor. To Oliver, it is some fantastical beast that could come eat us at any moment. Ollie finally likes his back yard as much as I do.

Gardening gives me time to attend to my own internal struggles. Thriving in the Nevada sunshine, I still need pruning, straightening, and correction on a daily basis. Weeding out negativity, I try to replant with optimism and forgiveness. Somedays, those wilt just like the Johnny Jump Up’s I planted last week. But, slowly, I’m making progress in improving myself one step at a time.

So, even if it’s only in a pot on the back porch, plant something. Gardens flourish with love and care, just like we do. Enjoy!!

More tomorrow.

Last night was a special one here at Winterpast. At 7:30 PM, my computer came to life with red, white, and blue gowns and a sea of smiling faces as my grandson graduated from high school. Life has a way of shocking us sometimes. The years go by, lulling Grandparents into a rhythm of normalcy. Game times and activities. Academic awards and summer fun. It does seem life an endless stream of childhood accomplishments, until your little grandson is 6′-to-the-sky with facial hair and a girlfriend.

I did miss the feel of graduation breezes on my face. My mom always talked about graduation weather. Raised in the country, typical graduations were outside on the football field. Spring evenings in the San Joaquin Valley of California were often unpredictably windy, wreaking havoc on long curls and mortarboards. Last night, the weather seemed perfect as I watched from the comfort of my home.

This high school graduation wasn’t what you’d expect in the worldly craziness we live in today. The young men, (for the most part), wore shirts and ties. Slacks and dress shoes. The young ladies looked like young ladies. No purple hair or studded faces. Heels and dresses. Fresh faces and lots of smiles. This class is going places.

There was no nonsense of childish interruptions. No offensive speech by the top Graduate. No throwing of hidden beach balls or messages written on the tops of mortal boards. Nope. This was a celebration of accomplishments. I must say, I was quite proud to be a part of the evening, even though six hours away.

The students in my grandson’s class have goals. The top students are off to top schools like UCLA, Pepperdine, or Brandeis University. They’ll go on to be doctors, lawyers, and scientists. There’s just something in the eyes of students like that. Serious. Appreciative of the gifts they’ve been given over the past 13 years of education. In this school district, they run a tight ship. Even after two years of distance learning through the lock down, these kids stayed the course. Perhaps there’s something to be said for staying home with mom and dad for two years of high school. It’s a thought, anyway.

The graduating class of 2022 was referred to as “2 Good 2 Be Forgotten”. From afar, I must admit, the staff must have been sorry to let them go. Classes have distinct personalities and traits branding them with a reputation. Some years, the staff celebrates for different reasons. Last night, parents should’ve been very proud as their children reached an important milestone in life.

My grandson will begin his college journey this summer. He’s been working full time his entire Senior year and plans to pursue his career in acting. He sings. He dances. He’s devastatingly charming, just like his Grandpa VST. Hard to believe that 50 years ago, his Grandpa was graduating from a country high school just a few miles west, looking forward to his own journey in life. We were friends then. I know. With a smile and a sigh, life goes on.

If you are a grandparent that can’t travel to a graduation, don’t forget to check out “You Tube”. It’s the next best thing to being there. You may find you have the best seat in the house, like I did. Remember to have your tissues at the ready.

Congratulations to The Class of 2022. Go forth and do great things.

More tomorrow.

Covid and the memory of being locked up like caged rats is no longer a reality here on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. On our small town Memorial Day, along with remembering the heroes that served our country while paying the highest price for our freedom, we celebrated. Just plain old fun with all the bells and whistles.

In the last week, I’ve received more phone calls and invites than I thought possible. I did get my new crowns last week. Perhaps that’s why I feel like The Queen of Everything these days. Establishing even one friend in a new town isn’t the easiest thing to do, especially in a town that is just a wide spot along a dusty part of the interstate. But, slowly, my friendships are growing.

Last Thursday, with Zephyr winds howling, Ace and I attended a Thank-You BBQ given by my beloved Realtor and her husband. In the middle of 25 mph winds, they pulled off the entire event with a great band and wonderful food. Of course, this was held in “In-Town Park” (as opposed to Out-Of-Town Park which is out of town). While there, a friend from church and his two children joined us as we tried to keep our hamburger buns from flying away. Going to an event and actually meeting up with friends is a new and exciting experience after two years of isolation. Ignoring the crazy winds, we all had a wonderful time enjoying the music and great food.

Saturday, Ace and I went to place flags at the Northern Nevada Veteran’s Memorial Cemetery. The event started at 8:30 am. We arrived at 8:35 to find almost all the flags were already handed out to eager helpers like ourselves. Finding one last crate of flags, we took a bundle of ten and a carnation for each grave. In a matter of minutes, our part was done. By 9:30, every grave was dressed with a flower and flag.

Dogs always catch my eye, but any time I see a service dog with a vest that says “Guide Dog Puppy in Training — San Rafael, California” I must approach the handler. As a young country girl, I raised Guide Dog puppies while in 4-H. So when I spied the adult puppy raiser holding the leash of an adorable black lab, I had to go to her. We were friends at “Hello”. During our conversation, she mentioned the names of several 4-H-ers that had raised puppies with me in the 1900’s. Such happy memories came flooding back. We knew many of the same people, even though we’d never lived in the same town.

While I visited with her, Ace visited with her husband. It turned out he was born in the California town in which Ace lives now. Both being Veteran’s, they exchanged information about their duty stations. This man had served in the Coast Guard on the Jersey Shore near Ace’s childhood home. Small world.

Saying our Goodbyes, it was time to go to the polls for early voting. Again, waiting in line, friends were everywhere. I’ve finally lived here long enough to know who I know and run into them once in awhile. I never realized how lonely I was until now that I’m not that alone anymore.

New friends have been calling to visit. This week, I’ve been invited to a 75th birthday celebration for a wonderful new friend. People are returning to their natural state of friendly around here. It’s all new to me after my move here in April 2020 when the fear of Covid had us all cowering behind closed doors.

I hope your Memorial Day weekend was just as you wanted it. As the year flies by, remember something special about each day. Our world can heal if we do normal things again. Carry on with a smile.

More tomorrow.