Author: Joy Hurt

On this beautiful day, take time to be thankful for everyone dear and special in your life. Take time to forgive those that need forgiving, and try to ignore those that don’t. Remember those that are on the other side of the heavens, watching over us. Take time for smiles and hugs today, because, we only get one chance each year to make a wonderful Thanksgiving memory.

The apple pie is finished. The kitchen awaits. Potatoes to be peeled. Salad to be chopped. Turkey to be roasted. Fresh rolls to be baked. The list is endless and the minutes are ticking away.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. I’ll be back on Monday.

Joy

Joyfully, I sing unto the Lord as the leaves are slowly disappearing. Remembering my days on the ranch, leaf raking was a messy task. Heavy with autumn dew, the messy mulberry leaves weren’t alive like those of Winterpast. Brittle and light, they dance around as a blow them into neat little piles. Golden. Burgundy. Pumpkin. Amber. Burnt Sienna. They shiver with the slightest breeze. Today is another day for leaf burning.

Being blessed beyond my wildest dreams, these days I have a joyful heart. Pastor C suggested that be a focus of the week. It feels so good I’m choosing inner Joy and Peace as a focus for my life. Thinking of things I’m grateful for, the first thing that comes to mind is clear, fresh air. The smoke of the California fires is a distant memory as the hills around me look so close I could reach out and grab them. Brilliant blue sky again cover the high desert of Northwestern Nevada.

Little by little the neighborhood is coming alive. A new car in front of Mary’s house. Sam’s son and his children playing in the front yard. Ninja Neighbor planning for her company. Everyone waving just a little longer and smiling a little wider. It’s Thanksgiving, for goodness sakes.

As for Oliver and I, we’re Thankful for each other. Today, between attacks on the leaves, apples will be transformed into a non-Keto pie and cranberry’s will melt into sauce. Turning on some sappy Christmas movies that always make me cry, I plan to enjoy the beauty of Winterpast in the company of Thanksgiving love hidden deep in these walls. The essence of Howard and Wilde memories make my home such a comfort to me. I know Winterpast sighs in relief, knowing I feel the love of years past. Now, my happiness is woven into her timbers, as well.

Time to turn on the oven, and get busy. The days awastin’.

Have a beautiful Thanksgiving everyone. Thank you for your love and prayers. I feel them every day. Be Joyful! We are so very blessed.

Joy

_{Tim McGraw}

You know there’s a light that glows by the front door

Don’t forget the keys under the mat

When childhood stars shine

Always stay humble and kind

Go to church ’cause your momma says to

Visit Grandpa every chance that you can

It won’t be wasted time

Always stay humble and kind.

Hold the door, say “please”, say “thank you”

Don’t steal, don’t cheat, and don’t lie

I know you got mountains to climb but

Always stay humble and kind

When the dreams you’re dreamin’ come to you

When the work you put in is realized

Let yourself feel the pride but

Always stay humble and kind.

Don’t expect a free ride from no one

Don’t hold a grudge or a chip and here’s why

Bitterness keeps you from flyin’

Always stay humble and kind

Know the difference between sleepin’ with someone

And sleepin’ with someone you love

“I love you” ain’t no pickup line

Always stay humble and kind.

When those dreams you’re dreaming’ come to you

When the work you put in is realized

Let yourself feel the pride

But always stay humble and kind

When it’s hot, eat a root beer popscicle

Shut off the AC and roll the windows down

Let the summer sun shine

Always stay humble and kind

Don’t take for granted the love this life gives you back

When you get where you’re going don’t forget turn back around

And help the next one in line

Always stay humble and kind

*Have a wonderful day!

Every so often I need to remember that I’m lovable as I am. Not as I was when I was 32 or 47, but as this 65 year old woman. The good points shine golden. The bad points are like thorns on a rose stem, there to affirm humanness. A little of this, a little of that all blended together into a joyful blend of happiness and reflection, I sit writing to you today.

This past week of silence has let me focus on things that have been ignored too long. The dust bunnies under my studio definitely qualify, along with stacks of stuff needing to be tossed or tucked away. As I straighten up my physical world, my thoughts are correcting my course, as well. I can’t lose sight of my goals or I’ll simply circle around aimlessly like a lost sailor in a harbor.

So often, the Ghosts of Should’ve-Could’ve-Would’ve-s come around to pay a visit. Guilt washes over me like a flash flood, as I ruminate. So many things I wish I’d have handled differently as VST became ill and was dying. But, that ship has sailed. I know he knows I know. The story has been written, and now, I need to remember, find forgiveness, and move on.

VST and I created a beautiful life together. We both knew. Embracing our imperfectly wonderful bonds, we worked through difficult issues woven throughout our marriage. Through the worst of times, the thought of divorce was never on the table. Committed to forever, we stepped carefully through the landmines of life, having a pretty great dance while doing so.

Dancing with the wrong partner is painful and destructive. Knowing what a great dance partner looks and feels like, I refuse to settle for anything less. As my mother said, “There are worse things than being alone.” Truer words have never been spoken. I don’t no need help being poor. I’m not a trained nurse or mental therapist. I’m certainly no one’s maid, cook, or mother. Just a woman that wants to dance with the right partner.

Weak? Fallible? Emotional? Tired? I’m all those things these days. It seems that the hard work of grieving continues throughout life, dredging up many different feelings along the way. I wasn’t expecting woe and sadness to continue renting the back room of my brain. Independent women don’t live in anxious resentment, yearning, or inadequacy. Or do we? Thank goodness life distracts us while healing our troubled hearts.

Blogging has given me a sense of purpose. Daily, my readership grows while I wonder if I’ll ever stop writing. When will the numbers tell me, “Enough is enough. Put the pencil down.”? My perspective on life is of my own choosing. I’ve grown into a woman I respect and love while writing words that paint a mural of how I want to be remembered. Even if things don’t turn out as planned, I’ll keep choosing happiness, day after day.

There is not such thing as a perfect person. “Hate-ers gonna hate” as the song goes. I don’t have to be perfect to please everyone all the time, because that surely is an impossibility. Each night as I close my eyes, I need to remember I’m enough just as I am. Time heals all wounds, even ones that break our hearts.

“Nothing Left Unsaid” _{Written by Carol Orsborn},

We hope to take full advantage of every opportunity to support healing:

to understand everything that has eluded us,

to resolve all our life’s issues,

to mend our relationships and mature spiritually.

But, our aspirations, even as lofty as these,

exhaust us and keep us busy striving

at a time when we need to make space for quiet and

peace.

It will be healing enough when you can lay aside your

self assessments and demands,

and stop trying so hard to get this right.

Indulge, instead, in being an ordinary person who loves

God.

Happy Saturday. More on Monday.

Decorating for Christmas is something I love doing, but, I’ve reached my limit. This is the year my stash of Christmas decorations will be cut in half. There just isn’t enough room for all that I’ve collected over decades. Hard as it will be, I can no longer be the Christmas hoarder that I’ve become.

Living on the ranch, all the decorations were stored in my little basement. Dug by my Great Grandparents who building the house, the basement was a magically creepy little place. Very steep cement stairs led to a pull chain light bulb fixture on the ceiling. A 6.5′ ceiling made the 10 X10 ft. room feel very small. In the Central California summers, the room was a wonderful 65. On foggy winter days, a wonderful 65. Constant temperature. Consistently dark and creepy.

It was here my Christmas decorations lived 10.5 months out of 12. Year after year, the number of tubs increased, while the size of the little farm house remained at 1200 square feet. Upon our moved to the Mountain House, Christmas finally had its own closet. In DunMovin, Virginia, City, Christmas resided in an entire room. Now, Christmas has an empty RV barn. Enough is enough.

As I open each box, with excitement, it’s clear. I love Christmas and these boxes hold decades of memories. From the tiny little ornaments I bought for my first tree when I was only 20, to bigger pieces that VST bought for me throughout the year, these boxes hold all the stories of Christmas’ past. The Costco of long ago used to sell exquisite decorations of all kinds. Not cheap plastic or through away tinsel. These decorations were the kind handed down through generations. VST would see me gazing at my favorite and a few hours later, it would find a new place in our home. It was that way for years.

Discarding certain Christmas things are difficult because they’re no longer made. When did “unbreakable” Christmas ornaments become a thing? The beauty of a glass ornament was found in its fragility. Carefully wrapped and unwrapped each year, treasured ornaments held memories of days gone by. As a child, I needed to reach a certain age to handle my mom’s ornaments, lest one of Mom’s favorite might break. No. The glass ornaments will stay.

Maybe I should pass on the little porcelain town that VST bought me when we barely had enough pennies scraped together to finish paying for harvest? No. I think not. Although Winterpast has no great spot to display the town, maybe someday the rest home will. The little town will stay.

The music box with the moving skaters on top? No. The angels I painted when I was a young girl? No. Santa’s given to me as gifts from past students? Absolutely not. Lights that haven’t been hung for years due to my aversion to ladders? Well, some day they’ll be hung. Old Christmas bags? Needed. Fake Poinsettias? Lovely on the coffee table. The tiniest little creche and nativity scene? What?? I think not.

As the boxes are opened, items evaluated, and saved for another year, ten items are found that can go to Goodwill. Just ten. Out of hundreds. Some day the kids will have a field day with their major estate sale. For now, I have an empty RV barn that isn’t quite so empty anymore.

Take time for memories while decorating for Christmas. Don’t wait until the last minute. Christmas is a time of wonder and magic. A time to remember those that have gone before and all the wonderful Christmas’ shared. Christmas wishes do come true for those that believe. Happy decorating!!! More tomorrow.

CHOOSE HAPPINESS

In bold letters, these words hang above my kitchen curtains reminding me I do have a choice every single minute of every single day. I can choose to focus on nasty and vile people in the world, be they near or far, or simply focus on the happiness growing here within the walls of Winterpast. So much easier to drop the excess baggage and travel light.

T and K brighten my life with their brilliant spirits. Like beacons of hope and resilience, they reflect the best parts of VST, being his first born twins. They are intelligent, sensitive, and loyal people that I’m blessed to call my kids, even though they’d remind me, they’re no longer kids.

It seems T and I are experiencing similar external static in our daily lives. The devil never rests. Attending Bible Study last night at Baptist on Main, we spent time talking about the evils of gossip. Damaging and hurtful, gossip circles a small town like the wind with the source easily identified. One of my favorite sayings is this. “A truth told with bad intent beats all the lies you can invent.”

Gossip becomes a wonderful game of phone tag. Remember the childhood game in which one child whispers a secret to the next? And so it goes around the room until “Jane chews gum” turns into “Fred went to the moon yesterday and was back by dinner.” Such is beauty shop gossip in this dusty little wide spot in the road. There are many loyal friends eager to report on the words of those with loose lips.

People forget that they have two ears and one mouth for a reason. Fools run their mouth because they have nothing better to do. Not caring whether they even know the parties involved, gossiping raises them to a level of personal credibility missing in their lives. Talking at full speed, they have no accomplishments of their own of which to speak. Truly unworthy fools identifiable as such the minute they open their mouths.

One other time in my life, such unwarranted gossip darkened my door almost causing me to give up my teaching career. An unstable parent wanted her cheerleading daughter to be with her cheerleading friends in another teacher’s class. Beginning the year with an unhappy parent is never a good thing and I was supportive of the move. The principal wasn’t. The parent decided the only way to get her way was to tarnish my teaching reputation.

This parent made the first month of the school year a living hell, hoping that anything she threw at me would stick. Sitting with other parents at after school activities, she would engage anyone and everyone in conversations about her perceptions of the evils of my classroom. As gossip does, it quickly came back to roost on my shoulders. As the days went on, I became more disillusioned with the teaching profession.

Finally, I went to a sage and seasoned teacher for advice. It was steller.

In life, the only authentic thing we own is our reputation, formed by others after viewing our actions over time. Some will elevate us to Saint status, others will have the opposite view. The truth, at any moment, is somewhere in the middle. All we can do is CHOOSE HAPPINESS and be true to our inner self. That will always lead to the best outcome.

Praying for T and myself last night, I found comfort. The road is long and pot-holed for the gossip. At some point, people turn to more interesting and intelligent conversation, leaving them with no one else to tell. A juicy story is only new once. Love and light always win the day, producing rays of happiness and contentment. Actions over time will produce an accurate representation of the person inside. Both good and bad actions.

If a gossip comes to you today, stop them in mid sentence. Without an audience, gossiping dies. There are so many positive subjects about which to converse, such as the lunar eclipse that will be visible over the United States tonight. Ask them if Jesus is their Lord and Savior. That will give them pause. Positive and constructive conversations leave people happy.

Yesterday was a beautiful morning to polish furniture and focus on Oliver. It was a grand afternoon to have a hot dog and chocolate milkshake at the local Hamburger Stand. It was an evening to sing praises to the Lord at Bible Study. It was a night to smile at the full moon knowing I’m a beautiful, intelligent, kind, and complete Child of God.

Some days you’re the windshield, some days your the bug. Some days your the windshield covered in bugs. Just get out the Windex, clean-up, and move on. Have a wonderful day while remembering to CHOOSE HAPPINESS.

Nights are the blackest on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. With only random street lights for guidance, driving through the darkness takes courage and a current Garmin. In some areas, Nevada is so dark it has claimed Dark Sky Designation. Massacre Rim is one of 12 International Dark Sky Sanctuaries in the world. Light pollution robs everyone of the beauty of the night sky. While definitely on my bucket list to go star gazing on a moonless night, last night wasn’t the night.

Baptist on Main is hosting the 8th Annual Christmas extravaganza. Last night, lady angels were gathering for the first planning meeting under the watchful eye of our Lady of Perpetual Light and Cookies (LPLC). The founder of the event, she is a bundle of love, light, and energy, all packaged in her tiny 91 year old body. She is the embodiment of the vision I have for myself. Her light guides so many in the church, as she marches on with her apron and whisk.

Every Sunday, LPLC not only brings freshly baked goodies for our Bible Study, but cooks an entire Sunday dinner for her large and beautiful family. She sews her own clothes, which are more beautiful than any designer. She always looks like she’s stepped off a fashion runway. But more than that, she always has time for a smile and hug, making everyone feel like they are the most special people in the world.

Not wanting to miss this meeting for anything, I started preparing at 4:00 PM. Men be damned, this would be my first social event with all my favorite prayer sisters. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. The minutes ticked on until it was 6:45 pm and out the door I went, into the night.

I very rarely venture into the night on my own. Bad things can become deadly. A flat tire. An unexpected horse. People lurking in the shadows. As I left the lighting of our neighborhood, the darkness surrounded me.

Into the darkness (Stars and Moonlight)

Dark all around me (Nothing but darkness)

Out of the window (Into the darkness)

Darkness and me. (_{Come From Away})

Making a right at the high school, I entered the small subdivision at the American Flag. Taking the first left, I was now immersed in total darkness. Street signs were unreadable. Most of the house numbers were not luminated. With cars parked on either side of the road, I was in unfamiliar territory. Inching along, it was evident. I was lost.

In my normal world, I would have scoped this out during the day. Things haven’t been quite normal, experiencing a little darkness in my own selfish little world. I didn’t do that ahead of time. I’d also managed to lose Lady of Perpetual Light and Cookies’ phone number. The meeting would start in 5 minutes. The me who is never late would be worse. A No Show.

After driving around the very dark neighborhood, I abandoned my plan and drove back home defeated and forlorn. This was a meeting I’d looked forward to from the moment it was announced. I’d need to catch up with assignments at the next one.

Pulling into the comfort of Winterpast, my phone rang. Was I coming? Oh No! Come back! We will wait outside for you! We’ll find you! Catch you! We have fresh baked cookies and love! We need you! My heart is so lucky to have found this group of angels that surround me. Humbled and ever so slightly humiliated, I drove back and found my family.

Sitting around the dinner table, a group of finer women were no where to be found. A party for 100. Sit down dinner, not buffet, served by the church youth. Tri-tip. Roasted Potatoes. Carrots. Green salad. Freshly baked rolls. Individually decorated tables. Homemade cakes and pies, seasoned with plenty of love and care. All because we are a family of Southern Baptist women, and that’s what we do.

Just like that, I was out of the darkness and into the light. I’ll be ironing the aprons, designing and decorating a table, and other yet-to-be-assigned tasks. Christmas Dinner at Baptist on Main. Come One, Come All. Out of the darkness, into the light. Bring your appetite. We’ll be sure to leave the lights on and wait for you.

Somedays life is as simple as a choice of Ice Cream or Liver and Onions. At 65, I know exactly which one could sustain me through life until the end.

Hint.

It isn’t L & O.

As a child, I was expected to finish everything on my plate. Praise to the Almighty that I had three older sisters that did the heavy lifting before me. Liver and Onions wasn’t a favorite of my mother’s, therefore, she only made it a couple of times that I can remember. As we all gagged, our looks of betrayal stabbed her heart and she accepted our opinions on the meal.

Ice Cream, on the other hand, was an adventure into yumminess. Summer Sunday’s often found my dad deciding it was time to make some homemade ice cream. Jumping into the back of his pick up truck, we bounced along pot-holed roads to the Ice House. Driving at 65, a mass of browned legs, golden hair, and giggles didn’t need seatbelts. No one ever died from flying out of a pickup truck in our world. We all made it to adulthood.

The Ice House, a mystery box as big as a building, stood waiting. On the outside, there was a rusty coin slot with a place for a quarter. To the right of that, a small-doggie-door-like opening was covered by a rubberized flap. Push one quarter in, a chunk of ice came flying through the door. Fascinating. The ice house never let us down.

A block of ice takes some chipping. With sharp picks, we would sit under the shade of the massive mulberry tree and chip away until the 18″x18″x18″ block was reduced to shards of ice. For years, Dad’s recipe for ice cream was his and his alone. Fresh eggs, milk, Eagle Brand condensed milk, sugar, and vanilla went into the mix, along with a few other secret ingredients. Into the canister he would pour the mix and the fun would begin.

The great thing about having lots of kids is that you have lots of energetic helpers to turn the crank on the ice cream maker. In my childhood, we wore out two ice cream makers that I can remember. Excited kids would wait their turn to show off their strength as they cranked away to the magic number of 100. No one wanted to crank at the end when the ice cream was so thick it was ready to provide us all with brain freezes. Dad would always finish the job showing off tanned arms and farmer muscles. Such fun memories of happy summer days growing up on the farm.

VST and I shared an intense love of ice cream. My personal favorite is Vanilla while his was Peanut Butter Chocolate. When days and nights of work on the ranch became too much, he would often suggest it was time for ice cream, and off we’d go. Just the two of us on an ice cream date, smudged with a little grease and a lot of tired.

Life these days has been Liver and Onions for me. Knowing my goals, while choosing my own unique direction in life, I’ve no time to move the Liver and Onions around on my plate to pretend I’m enjoying it. When a woman experiences things she can not tolerate, there is no need to waste another moment tolerating. Those that love Liver and Onions can order up. I’m sure restaurants never have a shortage. Ice cream, on the other hand, was sold out Sunday at Black Bear Diner. Everyone loves ice cream. Liver and Onions???? You be the judge on that one.

My life decisions these days are based on solid values, goals, and an functioning inner compass. Life isn’t always fair or fun. You don’t always get what you want. We can all strive to move on with grace and dignity and life will be good again. As for me, leave me to my ice cream and memories. Life with VST was a bowl of ice cream with a cherry on top. For that, I’m eternally grateful.

Corona Virus. Covid-19. Wu Flu. China Syndrome. Whatever you choose to call it, it’s real. Whether you’re lucky, like me, to have avoided it all together, or battled Covid personally, all our lives have been forever changed by this pandemic of fear. My little high desert town in Northwestern Nevada had been a safe haven in the early months of the virus. Lots of sunshine and fresh air. A small population. Not many restaurants or venues where the virus could spread. Very few cases. Until now.

Church. If you go, you know. My church family are close and huggable. Each week, we become better friends, clinging to each other for support. Something evil and horrible hit our church 14 days ago leaving everyone shaken in disbelief. The pastor almost lost his wife.

Two weeks ago, my world was different, too. Situations can change drastically in two weeks. Crossroads appear and paths change. Such is life, and so it goes.

Bible study at Baptist on Main rocks. Held four times a week, it’s fascinating to learn about history, stories, and life lessons. To say our Pastor holds fluid knowledge of the Word doesn’t even begin to cover it. He is a walking and talking Bible study, painting scripture into the most marvelous verbal murals. Miss “Let-Us-Pray (Miss LUP)” teaches two of the classes. In her 70’s, she shares life lesson’s from a widowed woman’s point of view. All fulfilling and just what I need that this time in my life.

Two Sunday’s ago, the usual’s weren’t at Bible Study. When Pastor C came in, he was very, very ill. A greyish-red skin tone. Sick beyond sick. He and at least ten others had gotten Covid. The entire choir was wiped out. Miss LUP was down for the count. In fact, so many were sick, the church doors were locked. All services were canceled for the week.

For the last two weeks, our church has been praying for the pastor’s wife. Complications led to hospitalization. Do-Not-Resuscitate hospitalization leaving our Pastor for 12 hour vigils at his wife’s bedside. Deep in his own silence, he found himself praying in a way only a loving husband or wife can understand. Begging for a healing he also accepted that God might have other plans.

For days his nightmare continued until he finally prayed for God’s will to be done. His wife started to recover. Each day, she works at finding her way back to health, but healing is slow. Other recovering members have also returned to their activities. Some members are slow to return to normal, while none of us are quite the same as we were just two weeks ago.

Yesterday, we celebrated the return of our beloved Pastor. Tears fell as he personally chose hymns declaring heartful devotion, gratitude and praise for our God. His sermon held a heartfelt story of a hospital nightmare personal and raw. A recovery slow, painful, and yet so very beautiful. What a blessing and testament to faith, trust, and mercy of our God. Their love story brought back back memories of my life with VST. Through God’s grace, memories are such a comfort to this grieving gardener.

Some things have died in the past two weeks. But, hope, faith, trust, and love are alive and well. Time heals all wounds. Please prayer for our Pastor’s wife. She is a beautiful and courageous woman. Pray for our church. Our community. Our world. Prayer is a silent yet most powerful healer.