Author: Joy Hurt

The hills are alive with the spring rains. Even deserts do become a different shade for a few days in March and April. Little patches are grass are springing up under the protection of the dead tumbleweeds. From a distance, the hint of grey-green and the scent of nourishment will call the mustangs to higher grazing. There they will find food and water without human complication. And so the cycle begins again.

It’s been cold here. Desert cold. High winter humidity always makes it feel colder than it is. Another storm was predicted, but, only the high Sierra’s received snow. My little town just shivered with night time temperatures dropping to the 20’s.

March is a deceiving time for a gardener. The nursery is a sea of color with fresh deliveries of the prettiest Peonies or Johnny Jump Ups. How they keep plants alive at this early time is a mystery. Their garden center freezes at night just as my back yard does. To plant anything so fragile at this time of year isn’t wise. Pretty in the afternoon; frozen solid in the morning. Our growing season is shorter here in the high desert. Early March is still too soon for planting.

Waiting patiently for the day things will bloom around here, the Saturday mail held a wonderful surprise from my beloved God Mum. She never forgets a chance to make a day special, that’s for sure. In my mailbox lay a very fat letter addressed to me. I never get worthy mail around here. No cards to brighten my day. Not even unwanted news from a distant relative. Just bills and advertisements. I’m grateful I get anything, as I love opening my mailbox to received letters. To find a surprise letter was a welcomed treat.

In an adorable little card were four packages of seed. All my favorites. Forget-Me-Not’s, Shasta Daisy’s, Marigolds, and a Butterfly Garden Mix. All happy flowers for a happy gardener. That’s the thing about flowers. They are medicine for a winter weary soul. Just the pictures on the front of the packages make me smile while I think of all the fun I plan to have cocooned in the back yard of Winterpast.

For the last two years, I’ve been a Grieving Gardener. But, now, I consider myself a Gardener who Grieves on Occasion. Holding VST’s favorite shovel, I notice how worn out it is. How many hours, days, weeks, months, and years we worked side-by-side to create beauty. Although our physical projects were always stunning, the beauty of our relationship was the real masterpiece. Now, these memories make me smile. I want that beauty surrounding me again but this time, I need to create it on my own.

Wishing I lived where these flowers would bloom all year long, I accept that they might not ever mature here in the desert. There are terms you accept when living in a harsh climate. I always thought I needed mind numbing surroundings to thrive. Yet, I find the simple signs of spring here on the desert beautiful. Four defined seasons is something I never experienced in the continuous fair weather of the Central Valley of California. It was wither fog or 100 degree days. That was life in the Central Valley, something I’d find very boring at this stage of my life.

Now, it’s time to get busy with my garden check list. It’s time to make my plans and watch the projected weather forecast. Soon, I’ll call my garden expert, Mr. B, and get the water turned on. Oliver will, once again, be on toad patrol and interested in eating my emitters. Shovels need sharpening. Pots need to filling. The patio furniture will once again make the back yard my favorite place in the world.

Stay tuned tomorrow for suggestions for readying your garden plans. Spring is just 13 days away!!!!

Until then, Happy Monday!!!!

Yesterday was the perfect day to pull up VST’s big office chair and snuggle to the taxes. One day is as good as the next when retired. A blustery winter Friday seemed fitting, so I opened the Tomb of Taxes Past and got to work.

Visiting with girlfriends over lunch on Wednesday, I mentioned that I prepare my own taxes. They seemed a bit horrified. VST and I always completed our own. We faced an audit at the ranch one year in the 1900’s. The auditor was there for less than three hours and walked away shaking her head. She expected to find hidden money for the government. After examining a huge binder full of hundreds of supporting documents, all organized and at the ready, she found a mistake in our favor. We assured her we were happy to leave things as they were.

VST and I always shared the unpleasant task of preparing the tax forms. Four eyes were better than two. Two brains better than one. Through the years, I learned I’d rather be the Outlaw of Tax Town while VST followed every single tax rule to the max. Between the two of us, we’d settle nicely in the safety of the middle between jail and paying way to much.

2022, my second year widowed, the first TT entry was the saddest. This year I’m required to file S (Single). Just one word. No MFJ (Married Filing Jointly) as I did for 33 years. Just S. It’s the smallest things that make us stumble.

After that, Turbo Tax did the work. Asking questions and then providing appropriate worksheets, it was simple. I do have some tips to make things much better as you create your new banking world as a widow or widower.

After you nice feature is that it provides a printable Tax History of prior years that to keep with your final documents. Information can be uploaded from your banking institutions. It’s possible to E-File your taxes on this program, or you can send them snail mail. All in all, it works for me. I order my program in December on Amazon. They have lots of choices. Luckily, with no state taxes in Nevada, I only need the Federal version.

At the beginning of each year, decide on a dedicated place to collect the various tax papers that will arrive. Organization is key. You may need to print copies from online accounts. My bank emailed notice when they were ready. I made paper copies and those went with the rest. If you are just getting organized now, find papers related to income, such as W-2’s, and the various 1099’s. Then, find documents showing deductible expenses, such as property tax or medical bills.

Now is a great time to clean out your filing drawer, if you have one. Organizing my office drawer always starts with the best intentions, but by December, mine is just a crowded mess. Going through the drawer, I remove everything from the prior year, deciding what will be filed away with the taxes and what to discard. This is an important step before beginning anything. When organized, any task, even the most unpleasant, goes much better.

Turbo Tax offers two choices when beginning. You can go it on your own, or be guided through each step. Their guide is helpful. By answering easy questions, you are led through a maze to the end, as the amount of your tax liability shows at the top of the screen. Up and down it goes. Where it stops, only Turbo Tax knows.

Finally, it’s time for a final review and then, decisions about how you will receive your refund or pay up. In my case, let’s just say that it took a minute to find something for which to be grateful about the final amount shown.

Americans are blessed to live in such a wonderful country with beautiful states and towns. With a positive attitude, I will send my taxes into the world, focusing on the good the $$$ will do to make a better world. That’s the best way. Send them with blessings to Do No Harm. When I hear of a project I support, I”ll choose to believe with all my heart that a few cents of my money went to help with that. For those things I find abhorrent, I choose to believe my funds didn’t reach that far. It’s better to keep a cheerful attitude about something of which we’ve no control.

I’m not sending my taxes until April, but they are complete. I hope VST is up in heaven smiling at the job I did. I hope the IRS angels will approve. Turbo Tax says that I have almost no chance of triggering an audit with the information given. 2021 Taxes are put to bed. I hope 2022 Taxes are gentler to the pocketbook.

As a new widow, I wasn’t afraid to seek help the first year. I prepared my taxes as usual and then went to a CPA referred by a close friend. For $100, it was worth the peace of mind. There is always someone that can help when you are just not sure what to do.

Taxes and death. There is no escaping either one. With a new storm blowing in, I plan to spend the day doing something pleasant. Soup in the Crock Pot. Saturday Chores. The Singing Nun as my Movie of the Day. Whatever you do, enjoy.

More tomorrow…….

_{Excerpt from page 89}

“I was raised in a religious home, but I had to live in the wilderness to experience the meaning of faith. In the States, I accepted what my people believed, conformed to what was prescribed, and bothered my head no further. Here, the slate is wiped clean of all creeds and doctrines; faith is stripped down to the fundamentals; and it becomes clear that all religion is no more and no less than the human soul reaching out to the Creator; that the individual alone, of his own free will and accord, must do the reaching. For me contact with God comes through his creation; the forests and the hills, the winds and the tides, the birds of the air, the creeping things upon the earth and the fishes in the sea, the starry heavens, the loyalty of a friend, love and devotion, faith and work, honor and awe.

I worship my god humbly before his manifestations, which go far beyond the doctrines of any Church. From deep within me my worship surges forth. I am thankful and humble. A divine force — a spiritual guidance surrounds and envelopes me. This I know, not how or why; I only know that I do know, and it cannot be different.

As your needs are great, you will pray. this I ought to know from experience. I have said prayers since I could talk — mumblings and say-words — yet I have never prayed truly until there was nothing else possible for me to do. These last few weeks I have prayed more than in all my life before.

My prayers will be answered only if I pray with all my heart and humbly accept the answer to my prayers. To receive help I must do my part ungrudgingly, no matter how hard it will be.

I must work with all my might and intelligence and pray as I work. Then all will be well with me and my child. Yes, I do sometimes doubt and question — much less now than at first. After all, I am only a mortal being, and I have been sorely tried.”

Martha Martin (Helen Bolyan)

At this very moment in time, you have the opportunity to see Great Dane puppies enter this world through Service Dog Project at Explore.Org. I found this site about five years ago when I was teaching middle school. If you’ve never heard about this site and you love nature, I would highly suggest you visit. After reaching Explore.Org, choose the square that says “Dog Bless You”. Click on the picture showing the black and white Great Dane. Service Dog Project also has a Social Media Links, as well as a site on You Tube.

On Explore.org, you’ll find all kinds of fantastic views of nature around the world. From the waves at Waikiki Beach to up-close coverage of fruit bats, there is something for everyone. The fruit bats, Bison, and of course, Service Dog Project are my favorite. The cameras are run by volunteers. At the time of this writing, “Bianca” is heavy with puppies and busy delivering them. Her care taker did have her x-rayed finding here are at least eleven hidden in there.

Service Dog Project produces puppies for people having issues with mobility and balance. Great Danes are the perfect height to lend support to people with balance issues. The preferred recipients are veterans who may also benefit from the calming personalities of these great dogs.

Many children have received these dogs, as well. The most famous pair are Bella and George. Bella lives with some rare medical challenges. She was losing her mobility when her mom found out about Service Dog Project. Bella went to Crazy Acres as a volunteer. She would receive a dog, but there was one problem. The dogs choose their person, and visit after visit, none of the dogs chose Bella. Not one.

Things were not looking good, when one day, out of the blue, George chose Bella. Just like that, they were a match. Bella and George have gained rock star status as a team. They were selected and won the 2015 AKC Humane Fund Award for Canine Excellence and have been featured on many television shows. Although George towers next to her, through his gentle strength and calm help Bella continues to walk on. If you Google “Bella and George”, have some Kleenex ready. Theirs is a great love story.

Another great pair are Scott Aubin and Grey, his second dog. Scott is an inspirational speaker who lives with PTSD. His story is another way a dog has done fantastic work to help a human. You can watch him speak on You Tube or read about him at his website ScottAubin.com.

Getting back to the puppies. The cameras roll 24/7. You may see squirming little puppies that are seconds old. You may see drama. You may see some puppies that cross over to the Rainbow Bridge. You see it all. There are also current comments from regular views and newbies. Everyone is learning while watching. It is not uncommon for a litter to take 24 hours to enter the world, so you have time. Please remember, the cameras are in a personal house 24/7. You see real life in real time.

Mail call is at 3 PM, M-F, at which time the sound is turned on and Carlene White, the head of the operation, opens mail and answers questions online. She runs Crazy Acres in Ipswich, Massachusetts where the daily drama unfolds. All this filming is in Carlene’s house. Crazy Acre’s is her farm. There is a lot to unpack with this story. Even more amazing is the fact that Carlene is in her mid 80’s. Almost everyone seen working there volunteers their time.

Crazy Acres is run on Chicken Poop. Truly. Each month, she sells Chick Bricks. This is actually a number on a board which cost $10 each. One Sunday a month everyone heads outside, where chickens are placed on a large board with 2,000 numbers. The first number on which a chicken poops wins the bragging rights for the month. By doing this, she funds Service Dog Project for one month. She has done this for years and never had a month she didn’t meet expenses. Crazy Acre runs literally runs on Chicken Poop.

Dog food is delivered by the truckload. Everything is large scale. Carlene usually has 60 danes at a variety of ages and training levels. Right now, she has a litter of 8 puppies born on Christmas Day and the newbies. The adorableness of the entire site is just too much.

If you have ever raised puppies, you know how much work they are. These puppies are treated as well as human babies, having care and nursing around the clock. The fluffy blankets are always pristine. The food and water on-time and fresh. The training unique to the jobs these dogs will perform in their lifetimes.

So, if you are totally bored today, go see some new life come into this world. Don’t judge. Just watch. You are bound to learn some pretty amazing things.

More tomorrow.

If you visit here, you like to read. So do I, although it’s been awhile since I’ve found something other than The Bible to hold my attention. I finally have a wonderful suggestion you might enjoy. “O Rugged Land of Gold”, by Martha Martin is a true story written during an Alaskan winter in the early 1900’s. According to her Great-Granddaughter, this intriguing woman wrote under a pen name. Her real name was Helen Bolyan. All names in the book were changed, even the location of the mine.

In the early 1900’s, Martha was a wife and the mother of her boy, Lloyd. With Lloyd away at school, Martha and her beloved husband, Don, were prospecting partners on Cobol Island in deserted Alaska. Martin was the self sufficient woman I would love to be. She was MacGyver x Mike Holmes of the women’s world. This woman was a proven survivor.

As the story begins, an injured Martha decides to write her story as she heals. The main reason for writing is to stay connected in some way. Similar to this blogger, except all she had was her journal and a heavenly host of angels to read her works. After the first two page-turning chapters of this book, I couldn’t put it down. Her accounts of loneliness, despair, talks with God, and worries about her unborn child are riveting and heart wrenching.

Details about two cabins in the wilderness and the instincts and knowledge needed to survive were amazing. When her beloved husband left on a short errand just before I storm blew in, she had few worries. Her decision to retrace some steps to retrieve an item proved disastrous in more ways than one.

In a snow storm, I have my groceries delivered. I drive a car anywhere I need to go. At night, a thermostat keeps my heater at a constant temperature. A refrigerator/freezer keeps my food from spoiling. All the comforts of home unless your home is off the grid in Alaska.

For 32 years, VST was always there to help in times of trouble. He took the risks when hard errands or chores had to be accomplished. He navigated the taxes and our business affairs. Being smart, he had the last say on many of our most important decisions, always after sharing his reasoning. He was a comfort when I was ill, never letting things get too bad before shuffling me off to the doctor. He was my lifeboat. Until he wasn’t. Martha’s husband Don, business partner Sam, and son Llloyd were all there for her until they weren’t.

In some of her darkest moments after her husband went on his distant errand, Martha heard his voice giving her needed direction and support. She was sure of it. Except that he wasn’t there. When a bear woke her as she slept, it was his voice that calmed her and helped her play dead. One of his old gloves found in a pile of leaves gave her the message she needed. Even though she had no way of knowing for sure, her heart found comfort that her Don would return to her side.

This story has everything. Risks people take because of greed and money. The excitement of adventure. Creating something from nothing. Trust. Faith. Hopelessness. Renewed faith. Strength in the dark. Drama. Beauty. All told in very plain language in a scared and pregnant mother’s journal while sitting all alone during an Alaskan winter.

Could you imagine being seven months pregnant without any supplies? Not a chance of a stray diaper or baby bottle just showing up? No support from friends and family? Just the observations made through the eyes of a deer or crow?

In reading the book, Martha spells out well planned provisions. At the mountain cabin, they had nuts, raisins, and other dried fruits. They had plenty of flour, sugar, and tea. While gardening, they raised carrots and potatoes, although the sizes were small due to the short growing season. As survivalists go, Martha and Don did a pretty good job, except that both cabins weren’t stocked equally.. Unfortunately, she depended on both for different reasons.

Her troubles continued when she finally decided to escape on the boat for a 31 hour trip to civilization. She had hesitated to try this, as she was 7 months pregnant. She was also certain her Don was on his way. Her biggest problem was a lack of needed strength to start the engine. Although never mentioned, I assumed she needed to pull a starter rope to turn the flywheel. At any rate, with the engine finally started, disaster struck in the worst way. For days, back at the beach cabin, she heard the boat engine running, until it finally stopped.

So, if you are sitting around with nothing to read, find a copy of “O Rugged Land of Gold”. Think of Martha and Don, and the faith it took for them to dream their adventure and then go for it. Enjoy.

More tomorrow.

I’d never lived alone until April 9, 2020. Considering my life began in the second week of December, 1955, there were decades of togetherness. Growing up in a farming family of five daughters, there was always someone to help figure things out when questions came up. We were never at a loss for suggestions on “How to……” With a dad that could fix absolutely everything with a weld, including an Aunt’s underwire bra, and a mom that could make a gourmet dinner out of sparrow breasts, we had it covered.

At college, I had a roommate for a year.

I married at 21.

Divorced, I lived with my two sons.

In 1987, I met VST and we fell in love. End of story. I always had someone that could help fix any problem that arose. Living alone, things aren’t so convenient. Oliver certainly knows how to fix everything, however his lack of thumbs gets in the way. He certainly knows where everything is. He alerts to me to so many problems, including but not limited to, smoke of any kind, the doorbell, 4:30 AM and 4 PM (his breakfast and dinner times) and now, text messages. If I’m distracted, or even asleep, he makes sure to alert me to important things around here.

There’s one thing he can’t help with. It’s a human dilemma.

Passwords.

#%$@! #%$@! #%$@ !

Of course, a password is a great idea. Do you remember when one was enough? Now, it’s a password for a password. Passwords are required to get private codes texted to your phone. But, you might be on your phone and the internet at the same time. By time you find the code, the time limit has expired. Passwords are necessary in this dangerous world.

I’ve gotten much better at creating them over the past two years. One tip that VST shared with me is that if you start or end a password with five zeros, it’s harder for the hackers to hack. I use that for sensitive log-ins. It used to really upset me when someone would demand the creation of a PIN or Password immediately, while tapping their little pencil and including an occasional eye roll. Well, bless their little heart.

One of the first times K and T, my CBC’s, (children by choice), came to visit me after VST’s passing, K brought me the best gift of the century. A small black book entitled “$%# I Can’t Remember”. Of course, the real word is on my book, but I don’t want to offend. This little book is one I use on a daily basis, with a place to organize all my passwords and @#$%. My version was Copywrite by Christelle Ball in 2017.

As seen without entries on the photo of the day, this little book is my life saver. As it was explained to me, anyone who meant me harm would fall in two categories. Computer literate — a person never thinking a book of passwords might be laying around. Or, Computer illiterate — a person who wouldn’t know what to do with the passwords once he found the book.

In this little gem, I have everything anyone would need when the unthinkable happens. It is hidden in plain site, which does present other problem. I do need to FIND the book on occasion. I added many other categories inside the front cover, including Attorney’s name, Financial Professionals, Doctors, my internet code, Passwords for the computers, etc. The list goes on. We have so much to remember on a daily basis, it’s nice to have a place to store the information.

Some of you might point out that the computer is a great place to store this stuff. So true. However, in case of emergency, this little book will help the helpful with everything they need. When living alone, you need to have a Key to the Kingdom for the day you might be on the way to another sort of Kingdom. Get my drift?

As a widow, I’ve written so many times about something called Widow’s Fog. Now, there’s also Covid fog. Senior Citizen Fog. Having a Rotten Day Fog. As we might all experience foggy days from time to time, the importance of this book cannot be overstated. You can find this and others like it on Amazon.com. A great little gift, priced $5.00 and up. Of course, you do need to remember to write every Website Name, Username, and Password down the minute you create it. That’s the FIRST thing not to forget.

Today, a dental appointment awaits. I can hardly wait to find out which teeth will rob me of a trip to the beach or some other great place. The dentist WILL find SOMETHING amiss. That’s why we go, right? Have a wonderful day, whatever you do. Don’t forget to remember those passwords.

More tomorrow.

Happy Monday! With spring just around the corner, life feels lighter. The Mourning Doves have been busy gossiping on the wind. Although I’m not sure where they’ve been, it’s nice they’ve returned to Winterpast, my Air B&B. (Air Bird and Bath). Of what they mourn, I’m not sure. The name “Morning Dove” would fit them just as well, as they hop about on my metal chimney in the early dawn hours causing a ruckus while cooing to their friends.

In Spring 2020, when I’d barely lived here a minute, a temporary boarder came to stay. Having just moved in, I’d leaned my metal ladder against the barn. With every new snow, the ladder should have been put inside. With more pressing issues at hand, it stayed where it was while becoming just another part of the landscape.

When taking some empty boxes into the barn one day, I looked up and came eyeball to eyeball with a Mourning Dove. With eyes as wide as mine, we both froze and studied each other for a moment. On the top step of the ladder, nestled in a freshly built nest, it was obvious she had a clutch of eggs. Although certainly of interest, this was a situation not to be disturbed, so I went on about my day.

For weeks, she and I tolerated each other, while both mourning our losses. Mine – a husband. Hers – a loss of flight. She didn’t often leave the nest and I didn’t often go out to the barn. Keeping an eye on her from the kitchen window, days went by until her eggs had hatched. A most attentive mom, she taught her little ones everything they needed to know until her four little dove-lets flew away. Mourning doves know things AND they can fly. Pretty awesome little creatures.

After days of being unplugged, it’s time to cultivate some new interests. Thinking back on all the ways the internet has enriched my life, one of the most enjoyable was helping me learn to crochet. Coming from a family of five girls, I’d learned the basics of crochet as a child. A simple, mind-numbing little skill, I hadn’t crocheted for years. Finding many instructional videos on simple stitches, I bought some yarn and started. Before long, I was creating all kinds of projects, from a baby’s sweater to a full-sized afghan. Instructions and patterns were all free, without the distressed looks from someone you love telling you you’ll never get it. Until you do, stitch ten, rip out eight, rest a bit, and try again. You Tube is a patient teacher.

Needing to feed my intellect, yesterday, I discovered something grand. Harvard University on the Cheap. The actual website is pll.Harvard.edu. There you can find free classes through Harvard University. Go a step further and Google “Free College Courses”. There are many universities that offer online classes you can enjoy for free.

Signing up for my Harvard class was simple and fast. They asked for completion of a simple survey to help them better serve their students. A real Harvard student may call if they need to know something else.

Then, the course began.

Choosing a course entitled “Christianity – An Initial Overview, one of the first requirements was to introduce myself to the “group” and say “Hello” to three participants. Reading through the short bios, I discovered others interested in the history of the Christian faith. One of the participants is a Catholic priest from Brazil. A young woman from Minnesota is questioning her faith and wants to know more about customs of biblical days. A gentleman from San Francisco has always been interested in ancient culture. The introductions went on and on. Students from around the world are enrolled in this free course.

With text and videos, the course should take a few weeks to complete. It isn’t taught from a spiritual point of view, but from a scholarly one. Pastor C is giving me plenty of spiritual guidance right now, but the scholarly point of view is a puzzle piece that will help me better understand The Holy Bible.

Each day, I’m reading from the Old and New Testaments. By December, I’ll have finished the entire book. This is the most interesting reading I’ve done in a long time. I wish I had a better mental picture of the terrain and customs of the time. I just finished a story in Numbers about a donkey that got sick and tired of his master beating her while she was only trying to avoid an angel in their path. I’d better be sure to take good care of Oliver or he just might decide to give me a piece of his mind.

Surrounding ourselves with Winterpast, sweet friends, a new church family, and the high desert of Northwestern Nevada, Oliver and I are truly blessed. Lonely and broken in Spring 2020, the last two years have been a time of spiritual, mental, and physical growth and healing. Living a purposeful life takes time and patience. Out of the darkness come more and more days of pure light, one after the other. Life is beautiful.

Time for me to dust off my book bag and get off to Harvard for my morning class. I want to get a seat in the front row. Check out the college you’ve always wanted to attend. There’s so much to learn in this crazy world.

More tomorrow.

Waking this morning, many things are lost. On Tuesday, my friend, Summer Breeze, lost her husband before the sun had even risen. Her life has just taken a harsh detour on the path of widowhood. On Sunday, I ran into her at the local coffee shop.

“Bob’s sick. He’s in the hospital. I just saw him. He’s doing so much better. My daughter’s here.”

Without makeup or her beautiful church clothing, she showed all the signs of being consumed by a growing fog of disbelief. No matter how long one knows the time is near, there’s no preparation for the day it really arrives.

New widowhood stirs my memories of almost two years old. Cancer. Nothing to be done. No cure. No more time. The shock and awe of fatal illnesses. How lucky it was that VST and I had nine weeks to prepare. Sometimes, there isn’t any time at all. Such was the case with my friend’s husband. Here, and then, gone.

As a friend, there are so many things we can do to make things better. Listen. Hug. Bring food. Don’t bring food. Help with the dog. Do the dishes. Fold the laundry. Be the driver. So many things one needs at the worst moments in life. Summer Breeze is so lucky to have a loving church family to surround her with the help she needs right now. We are all there for her.

Another church angel is fighting an unimaginable war while praying for a miracle. We are all praying for her while she fights to keep her balance. Fearful and stressed out, she keeps her sense of humor while watching her health slip further and further away. Imprisoned physically and mentally, her spiritual health soars. She is a true child of God. There are so many things we can all be thankful for, even something as simple as memory. Somehow, through her darkest times, she finds ways to make others smile. Her new doctor is waiting to see her next week. We pray his knowledge and expertise will help bring her the miracle she so desperately needs. We need her happy and well. She is so loved.

My bestie CC is battling for her mom. A warrior she is. While her mom is trapped in the darkness of dementia, I’m seeing CC at her most fierce and best. She worries not about hurricanes, because SHE is the storm. The medical advocate. The daughter. The only person who can watch over her mother and make the right decisions. She is one tough cookie, battling through her own exhaustion on every level. Just when she thinks she can’t, she continues. All in the name of love. For over 40 years, we have been best friends. I’ve gained a new appreciation of her strength and loyalty.

Truckers are headed to battle for us. Losing their freedoms, they’ve had enough. We may lose out for a while, too. Yesterday, the old me would have loved to pack up the Jeep and join them for their first night in Williams, Arizona. Sadly, my rebel days have passed. The best I can do is pray the message remains peaceful while inspiring positive solutions. Hmmmm. Truckers. Mad Truckers. Truckers intent on putting a stranglehold on our capital. Hmmm. Probably not a peace inspiring situation unfolding before our eyes.

Finally, an attack. In 1977, I lived not far from Kiev when the entire region was the USSR. All the names are different now. Moldavia isn’t anymore, it’s Moldova. Kiev isn’t anymore, it’s Kyiv. The Ukraine was a beautiful place with rich soil capable of feeding her people along with natural resources like precious minerals and oil. Their people have made Ukraine a unique place in this world. Now, it’s the center of war. Man builds things. Man destroys them. Such a cycle. Such loss.

Today, with loss everywhere, I plan to unplug. Sometimes the world just spins too fast. Loss takes. Love, prayers, and peace replace.

I’ll be back next Monday. Until then, stay safe. Please prayer for Summer Breeze and CC. Please prayer for our truckers and their families. Send prayers for our leaders and our country. Pray for our soldiers and the men that guide them. The Ukraine. Our crazy world needs all the prayers we can send right now.

More next week.

A few Sundays ago, something troublesome happened during our worship service. A church is a place one shouldn’t show disrespect. You’d think any church ELDER would know as much. But then, the ME generation is truly cut from a mold all their own. That statement pertains to three young men observed a few Sunday’s ago at my little church off Main Street.

It was time for the worship service to begin and there were only a few seats left. With self-propelled fanfare and swagger, three young men in suits and ties bulldozed their way in and sat down on the far side of the chapel. Everyone noticed them immediately, observing their actions while wondering about their intentions. These days, one needs to be observant in church. There are people wishing harm towards Christians. Sad but true.

I’m pretty sure that, in our church, there are door watchers that are quite prepared for anything. In the high desert, there’s no lack of fire power. These days, churches can be targets sitting under crosses, big signs, and the American flag. One can’t be to careful when observing surroundings and strangers.

Our church has no dress code. Most of the woman folk dress up nicely, while the men usually wear a clean shirt and pants. No ties. Pastor C is one of the few desert men that does wear a tie while always looking sharp with his big puffy beard and sparkling eyes. Everyone knows everyone, down to where we sit. Left front, right rear, or in the middle. Although none are assigned, Sunday after Sunday we sit in the same seats. This probably happens in most churches. In our sanctuary, the back seats fill up first being closer to the door. Spots are always available in the far front corner.

Anyway, these three young men came in and sat down together, making sure to draw plenty of attention to themselves. Fancy-schmancy, young, and a bit cocky, they talked amongst themselves. Three attractive, tall young men in suits and ties were hard to miss. It was obvious the oldest was in charge, being an immature 20-something. None of them shared an introduction with the ELDERLY members they walked right by, so no one in the church knew who the visitors were or what their true intentions were.

According to Webster’s, the definition of an “elder” is …… “A leader or senior figure in a tribe or group”. These ELDERs behaved as boys in suits. In age, they weren’t elders in the church they waltzed into. Why, they were not far from an appropriate age for the Children’s Sunday School in the back.

After much head turning and whispering, our main greeter went over to welcome them. Then it was Pastor C’s turn. The men wore badges. Two were ELDERs from their church. ELDER. What a word when you are only 20 something. The other young soul was a trainee of some sort. The older of the two ELDERs was in charge. That was obvious, as he instructed the trainee to sit between he and the other ELDER. Trapped.

If they’d come respectfully into a house of worship without trying to draw attention, it would’ve been so much more “ELDER-ish”. But, that wasn’t the plan as they sat, arrogantly bathing in the glances they were getting. No, attention they wanted to commandeer. Luckily, they were towards the back of the sanctuary. As soon as Pastor C began with his booming Southern Baptist voice, all focused on the message of the day. Because not many of the members knew who these boys were, there was a bit of uneasiness. You could feel it. A distraction was taking attention away from the reason we show up every Sunday. Worship.

Well, the service progressed. Singing praise. Scripture readings. Offerings. All the things you expect in a Sunday service. When it was time for Pastor C to give his sermon, he began to share the story about Aaron and the golden calf. He was right in the middle of his message when the most disrespectful thing happened.

The three childish ELDERs, who obviously had no training in respectful behavior, stood up in unison, pausing just enough to grab eyes away from Pastor C. They then turned, walked along the back of the church, and right out the door in lock step. An audible gasp from the members of the church could be heard.

Things like this are common these days. No respect for a restaurant, plane, gas station, or even a church service. No respect for those that ARE elders or elderly. No respect for customs. No respect for waiting your turn in line. No respect for anything. There’s a general lack of respect for one’s self these days. Respectable church ELDERs would’ve known if the message wasn’t for them, they should’ve never come. After all, the message in a Southern Baptist Church is a wee bit different from their religion. A real ELDER would know that, too. A real ELDER wanting to shine good feelings on his religion wouldn’t have disrespected another in such an outrageous way. I thought all religions teach respect.

The subject of the three visitors comes up often, even though this occurred months ago. If they were hoping to shine a good light on their own faith, they failed miserably due to their lack of respect for others. Disrespect in a church? There isn’t much lower our society can drop when ELDERs from one church purposely drive to another to disrespect something as sacred as a worship service. Dishonorable.

Today, be just a little more respectful in some way. Maybe, if we all band together, respectful attitudes will come back into style. Our troubled society needs respect and love at the moment.

More tomorrow.

Winterpast is one of the most quiet places on the planet. I don’t appreciate it until I venture out into city life. After so many months of ordering online or just making due with my little town’s restaurants, a trip to the state capital is exciting. Don’t get me wrong. The capital of Nevada is the most boring and unexciting place there is, but, it is a city compared to my little town. It’s the oddest mixture of strip malls, gas stations, old casinos, and box stores. End of subject on Nevada’s capital.

Talking to an old neighbor yesterday, she shared thoughts of moving out of Virginia City and next to me. After two years here, I would tell someone considering my town to think long and hard about their choice. For me, it was the best choice of all. FOR NOW. In my 7th decade, I’ll need to reevaluate circumstances and needs. My friend and her husband find themselves in the middle of their 7th decade.

In my town, there are six casinos. No hospital. Four Mexican restaurants. A Subway. Three casino coffee shops. Two real restaurants. Suishi. Two Chinese restaurants. A 76 Service station deli. 27 churches. A bowling alley. City Hall. A Senior Center. One Walmart. A terrible Lowe’s. Two walk in medical clinics. Two grocery stores. Three truck stops. A dried up golf course. An old folk’s home. And me.

Even though you wouldn’t think entertainment abounds here, there are so many things to keep me busy in my little town, somedays I forget to stop and just listen to the beautiful silence. I once told someone that snowfall sounds so beautiful. Confused, they didn’t believe snowfall has a sound. Indeed, it depends on the snowflakes and how intently you are listening. Here in the desert, the flakes hit surfaces with the tiniest of sounds. City sounds are muffled after a beautiful snowfall like we’ve had the last two mornings. Snow can be such a beautiful part of life but especially if it melts by evening.

Oliver must have partied hard at his Puppy Camp Extravaganza, as he really hasn’t woken up since coming home yesterday. He loved the surprise snow in the back yard and had fun making tracks while showing off his best zoomies. Then, it was off to puppy dream land. Such a funny little guy, I’m glad he’s home.

With a full fridge, I plan to enjoy the confines of Winterpast until the weekend. Plenty of snowy day tasks await. One of the more troublesome involves calculating my annual taxes. Not that it takes a rocket scientist to do it. It just takes patience and doing. We should all be grateful that something so unpleasant only comes once a year. Even more grateful am I that Nevada has no State Income Tax. FOR NOW.

On the more interesting side of life, I’m committed to reading the Bible this year. Right now, in the middle of Leviticus, I’m fascinated at the understanding people had about infectious diseases and other ailments. It’s as if I was reading about the Covid quarantine when reading about instructions for people with ailments in the Old Testament. Even though nothing was known about bacteria or viruses, it was still known that separation during illness was necessary. Reading a specified number of chapters each day will bring me to the end of the book by December 31st. Some of the best reading I’ve done in a very long time.

Quiet peace on the range. No deer, antelope, or mustang are playing around here these days. At 25 degrees, I won’t frolic outside, either. While practicing lazy with Oliver, ideas for tomorrows blog will come. Until then, have a wonderful Tuesday.