Author: Joy Hurt

There are a multitude of benefits to living alone. Not that this was my first choice, nor would it ever be. But, it is what it is and it ‘aint so bad. One of the nicest parts is that when I choose, I can live in silence. No blaring radio polluting my life with static. No television advertising new drugs that will surely kill you by next week. Just quiet silence in which to reflect on the last days of my 65 year.

VST always needed background noise. Heaven knows, his brain was a busy place. Trying to find the perfect balance between his visions and ability to create them, he needed news and westerns to complete the circuitry in his busy brain. In his last days, soft music provide lift to his angel wings, leaving only sweet memories behind.

One of the perks of being old is the memories that keep us company. Better than any movie or hit novel, memories come and go, reminding me of adventures, accomplishments, and loves along my way. Farm life. My first kiss at 13. Puppies. Lessons learned. Graduations. Births. Children. Teaching. Writing. Deaths. Whether I’m seeking high drama or intense romance, I only need to remember details of my life. It’s all there for my amusement.

Silence allows my other senses to alert me to tackle needed chores around the house. Smells from the refrigerator tell me it’s time for a deep cleaning. Seeing dust bunnies under the bar stools, vacuuming is on the list for this week. Feeling my bangs below my eyebrows reminds me of my 12:30 appointment today to restyle my hair. My inner thoughts finally have a chance to be heard.

A garden grows best while listening to the stories of the birds as the wind whistles its tunes through the leaves. No stomping and tromping of children. No barking and digging of little dogs that cause havoc. No BBQing-boasters telling tall tales. Just quiet peace. The gardens of Winterpast and I have a lot in common.

Autumn is the perfect time for quiet reflection on the past months. As the days go by, I keep waiting for the moment when the last word on widowhood will be written. It only becomes more complex and colorful. Some days the colors are intensely vibrant and rich with possibilities. Other days, the colors are as dark and ominous as those in the desert skies awaiting the coming storm. But always, through the lens of widowhood, my world has changed.

As I ponder these things, I need a few days of silence for reflection. I will return on Monday with tales from the high desert of Northwestern Nevada. Take some time for personal reflection. Enjoy the silence.

Life is a series of hard choices. As a perfectionist, I’m always looking for the right one, while second guessing myself along the way. Funny, there are probably at least 100 correct paths in any given situation. It seems lately, I’ve been choosing the dark and unlit paths, taking life two steps at a time to get through the darkness. That can set a girl up for a few stumbles.

A new path through Widow’s Wilderness always looks fresh and lovely when starting out. Just a welcoming break in the dense forest, looking inviting and safe. It seems the minute you get off a known path, the pebbles turn to rocks and, pretty soon, the low hanging branches scratch your face a bit. Before long, you realize it wasn’t a path at all, but a dead end. Life can be that way.

Needing to laugh at myself a little, I can relate to a video on You Tube. You may want to look this one up. Simply called “The Backing Up Song”, it’s taken from an interview with a woman that survived a robbery and shooting at a liquor store. The lyrics tell her story. After a great television interview, her words were auto-tuned into a clever song. Today, she sings to me. Be sure to look this one up for a chuckle. Thank goodness this sweet woman was okay.

The Backin’ Up Song _{Original by The Gregory Brothers and a Kansas City Woman.}

I’m backin’ up, backin’ up, backin’ up, backin’ up,

‘Cause my Daddy taught me good

I’m backin’ the hell outta there

And I’m like, “Oh My God”. Oh My God, My God”.

I’m backin’ up, backin’ up, backin’ up, backin’ up

‘Cause my daddy taught me good.

And I think maybe I should faint.

But I don’t. (NO.)

My daddy taught me goooood.

Sometimes it’s just necessary to drop to our little knees and back up out of what ever situation we find unhealthy, unpleasant, disrespectful, or beneath our status in life. That could be something as simple as the choice of a movie, or something far more complex. The key is to know when to drop to your little knees and back it on out.

One year ago, I was in the wilderness of my first year of widowhood. The terrain has certainly cleared with less days of dense fog. But, I’m far from out of the woods. I can see more clearly with each step away from April 8, 2020. Looking forward to a cozy holiday season, I’m lucky I can back it up right into Winterpast to reflect and continue to heal.

As widows, our most important duty is to give ourselves time, space, self love, and emotional support. Somedays, just rest in faith. Always, we need to find humor in our mistaken paths, and keep on moving forward. The world will keep spinning, even if it gets dark before dinner.

From the bottom of my heart, I thank MY daddy for teaching me good.

Enjoy today.

To all the Veteran’s out there, Happy Veteran’s Day Week!! I hope you are celebrated with kindness and love. You sacrificed your youth for our safety and well being. Last night, in a little town East of me, we celebrated a group of heroes in a most wonderful way.

American small town living is something very special. When there is a celebration, the town’s folk know just how to do it up right. Last night, Veteran’s and their guests were invited to attend a dinner in their honor at a local golf course. Every seat was taken. The Veteran’s received their plated dinners at no cost. There were gifts for each one. The room was awash with red, white, and blue.

Everyone was dressed in their “Sunday-Go-To-Meet-n'” clothes. Beer and wine were provided at no charge. After finding a table, I started to make small talk with the kindest woman sitting next to me. She looked familiar. Her father was a 92 year old Marine Veteran who served in the Korean War. As we talked, she was so soft spoken and sweet, I was drawn to her even more. After talking a bit more, we discovered why.

It turns out she was the School Nurse, Miss Camille, from the last school at which I taught. The world is a funny place. I was supposed to sit on the seat right next to her. On the coldest of nights, finding myself in desperate need of a hug from an old friend, I became one of my 5th graders discussing private issues with the sweet school nurse. She was a welcome bit of warmth on a very cold desert night.

While catching up, uniformed men were talking quietly to her father. It seemed he was the oldest Marine at the dinner. Would he help with a ceremony after dinner? He agreed.

Taken from the program…

MARINE CAKE CUTTING CEREMONY

“Traditionally, regardless of location, Marines pause to observe the Marine’s birthday by sharing a cake and, usually, a holiday meal. A sword is used to cut the cake as a reminder that they are a band of warriors committed to carrying the sword so our nation may live in peace.

The first piece of cake is presented to the Guest of Honor. The second piece is presented to the oldest Marine in the command, signifying the honor and respect accorded to experience and seniority.

Symbolically, the eldest Marine present passes a piece of cake to the youngest Marine present, just as for years, experienced Marines have nurtured and led young Marines that will fill our ranks and renew our corps.

Although not all were Marines, they were all veterans who served and fought in wars past. This ceremony is held as a reminder that we, as a community, will never forget the sacrifices given for us to have the freedoms we enjoy today.”

Before dinner, I happened to spy another delightful person from my past. Teacher Gal taught 6th Grade in the room next to me for a year. We helped each other along the way. She was my Secret Santa Pal. It was the year she found out she had cancer. She was there that night in honor of her husband’s service. It was wonderful to exchange hugs and plan lunch in the near future. Just like that, two more girlfriends anchored me to the desert I love so much.

After dinner it was time for the cake cutting ceremony. With help, my heroic table mate made it to the front of the room. With more help, the cake was cut with a beautiful sword. The youngest Marine at the event was 22 years old. There they stood, the 92 year older and the 23 year younger, enjoying a cake layered in red, white, and blue. Everyone cried.

The dinner was a time to honor those humble men and women that’ve served our great country. Amazing citizens with even more amazing stories, we’re blessed that they were brave enough to serve and protect.

This week, thank a Veteran. Remember, freedom isn’t free, but comes at a very high price.

Good Morning,

Twice a year, bewildered and befuddled, I try to remember how to change my clocks and get to where I’m going at the correct time. This year is no different.

I’ll be back tomorrow with the latest.

Joy

Winter is coming

An hour repeat.

Gain one hour of shut-eye

Propping up our feet.

Change the clock on the stove

Change the clock, microwaving

Change the clock on the mantle,

Changing clocks, you’ll be slaving.

On your own, you. Go quick or go slow

Directions without? That’s a yes or a no!

Now sun on the street, shines at 7AM

You check this clock and that

Trying not to forget ’em.

On your own, you. You go quick or go slow

Directions without? It’s a yes or a no.

With the speed of a youngster

To this room and that,

You flit here and there

Time not for chit-chat.

And you may not find any

In some certain rooms,

No clocks in the shower

Nor next to perfume.

Time goes slowly on this very dark morn,

What was 8 is now 7.

It makes you forlorn.

Hungry for lunch, you certainly feel

Because 11 was noon yesterday,

Making you squeal.

The day is off kilter,

It brings up a frown,

You feel sort of angry,

A little bit down.

But finally, each clock,

On this dreary slow day,

Is now showing time right,

Or that’s what they say.

You sit down and ponder

Smiling broad and sincere,

You did it, you did it,

Without any fear.

No directions were needed

To set your world straight.

Six used to be seven

And seven used to be eight.

Don’t race ahead,

You’re right on the money.

What?

It’s bedtime already?

Time change is quite funny.

To bed in the night.

Eyes look through lashes,

My brain says, “Oh Heaven’s.

Where are my glasses?”

A book I will read,

Time change is the worst.

Changing the clocks,

The whole thing is cursed.

For listening to my tale

I thank you, so much.

Writing ’till next spring

We’ll stay in touch.

Thank you, Dr. Seuss, for introducing me to words and helping me learn to read. J

When someone has a birthday, a celebration is in order. Unless, of course, your birthday is like mine. One week before Christmas. I find celebrating birthdays with those lucky enough to have them at different times of year is far more enjoyable. A friend just had one and we did it up right. Along with about 1,000 dairy farmers from all over the world.

We had decided it would be fun to stay in the Biggest Little City 45 miles west of us. Off we went to celebrate in fine style. Little did we know there was a dairy convention in town. 1,000 dairy farmers are a sight to behold. If you’ve never met one, they are some of the most wonderful men in the entire world. Salt of the Earth type of people. Cut out of the same mold.

Dairies are a vital part of our world. Milk, yogurt, sour cream, cheese, ice cream, meat, and other products all come as a result of the hard work of men and women that never stop. The cows come first. An unhappy cow gives no milk. Content cows live their lives in successful dairies. Being cows, they don’t really care about the things we do. Having food and each other, they chew their cud and live happy little lives as cows.

A dairy farmer doesn’t travel very much. Knowing several classmates that had dairies, they forfeited a lot growing up. They were needed to work with the cows. Cows are milked twice a day. They need to be fed, and after that, they need clean bedding. This cycle of care goes on and on and on. The owner of the dairy is the one that gets out of bed in the middle of the night to help a distressed cow give birth.

It was amusing to see them amassed in a jazzy casino. Dairy men are all business and no shenanigans. As they were arriving for the morning meetings, the common outfit was Wrangler Jeans, comfortable shoes, and plaid shirts. Clean cut and freshly shaved, there was no diversity in this group. Homogenized, just like their milk.

A classic dairy farmer is a quiet man. A friendly man. Someone that will help you in the dark of night if you need helping. He’s a principled man who is humane and humble. He is focused and organized. He values his time, because, there isn’t any left over at the end of the day. He is great with finances, stretching a dollar when the price of hay and fuel are on the rise. But mostly, he loves his cows. Because, as stated earlier, happy cows produce a lot of milk. Unhappy cows do not.

Dairy farmers are not known for their love of night life. They are early to bed and early to rise. They have a lot of ground to cover in a day and work long after the sun goes down. I didn’t expect them to be clogging up the lounges at the casino, and wasn’t surprised when there weren’t many around after 7.

Dairy women are not that common. Face it. There are some things that girls are not strong enough to do. Dealing with heavy equipment and animals weighing 1,500 pounds, is something most women are not equipped to do. Just a fact of life, ladies. So, with this group, there weren’t many woman-folk. Just a wave of men, all intent on learning about the latest trends in the dairy business.

Eavesdropping on conversations, it was obvious these guys are not in some little red barn with a few head of cattle. No. One farmer’s operation cared for 15,000 head. That’s huge. In dealing with so many cows, it’s necessary to utilize technology. The amount of food for individual cows is watched carefully. Milk production analyzed. Everything computerized for quick action should something go down. Working with a perishable product and live animals is a delicate dance. Computer chips and technology help things run more smoothly.

Everything from hoof care to Artificial Insemination was covered in these meetings. All shared with a very polite and dry audience. One man was carrying around an ice chest. Really didn’t want to know what might be in that ice chest. Could be a case of Coors or bull semen. Sometimes, you just really don’t need to know.

A most humorous moment occurred at the pool. With such a beautiful fall day to enjoy, WP and I went to lounge and swim. Okay. Okay. WP swam while I enjoyed watching people. The cattlemen were easily identified by their clothing and the red lanyards holding their badges. One particular rancher was sunning himself with his eyes closed. As he lay quietly, he slowly chewed gum. Just as his cows chew their cud, he chewed his gum while relaxing. It was so darn funny, I alerted WP, who had found the homogeneous nature of the cattlemen of interest.

They were on the move the next morning. During breakfast, they were making last minute connections at the coffee shop before returning to their dairies. They were a nice bunch of convention goers with which to share the hotel.

Oliver and I will be busy today with Christmas decorations. Box on top of box are waiting in the RV barn. This, the second year without VST, will hold different challenges. With time and faith, things improve every day. Have a good one. More tomorrow.

These days, it’s becoming more and more important for us to find strength through our faith. Faith enables us to show complete trust and confidence in something bigger than ourselves. Something not seen or completely understood. Change in our world is a certainty. Faith in something bigger helps us to hold on tight as the roller coaster of life gives us a ride to remember.

Losing VST in such an unforeseen manner was rather like losing someone in a car crash. Quick, certain, and final. Miss Firecracker and I have spent time comparing notes on the loss of our beloved spouses. We both agree, it was nothing for which we were prepared. Both our spouses were holding their own when cancer came knocking. Without rhyme or reason, they were the unlucky victims of such a horrible sentence. We were left over. Spent after surviving the wilderness of grief. Without faith, we wouldn’t have made it through. Period.

Faith isn’t a belief. It always amuses me when people believe in something. Children believe in Santa and the Easter Bunny. Others believe in certain doctrines, or the teachings of a certain political party. Beliefs can be easily shattered, or twisted when they’re tied up with egos and feelings.

To KNOW? Well, that’s to KNOW. I know I have lots of leaves to rake in my back yard. I know my trees will sprout anew in the spring after a nice winter’s rest. I know the cycle of life will continue. Birth, death, and everything in between. I KNOW God. He KNOWS me. By name. I won’t be a stranger when we finally meet face to face. I talk with him on a daily basis. I beg for forgiveness. I thank him for blessings overflowing. That is the basis of faith. KNOWING for certain that something unseen is real.

Right now, watching the changes molding our society into something new and different, I find comfort everything is going to be just as it should. As long as we are breathing, there is hope in a brighter tomorrow. With love, tenderness and kindness, hearts soften. Dreams help us chart a course of our own making. In the end, it may not be MY vision that is fulfilled, but, life will still be full of wonder and beauty.

When I’m in the garden, I breathe deeply as I rake up the yellow-gold leaves. In awe of their beauty, I feel so lucky to have trees that have given them to me. So blessed am I to have eyesight good enough to enjoy their brilliance for at least one more autumn. I’m ready for the adventure of winter, feeling fearless and happy. I hope that I’m well enough to rake again next year as the breezes play with the leaves, making me chase them just a little.

Get to know yourself. Be grateful for your own strength and tenacity Stay humble, showing kindness to those less fortunate. In kindness, you shine as your most beautiful self and others will admire your heart. As you walk on, each day be grateful for the progress you make. The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, said Laozi. He must have had very strong faith. These days, my journeys are much more comfortable with the help of my little Jeep.

Enjoy today. Turn to your faith when you get down. Helping you get through hard times. be grateful for your accomplishments and achievements, no matter how small you think they are. If you are moving forward, you aren’t stuck in the mud. We’re all so lucky to be alive. We can all believe, but we also KNOW.

Faith. Enjoy it. Embrace it. Lean into it. With it, life is limitless.

When VST became ill, we were in the middle of a huge life change. The Dunmovin’ House in Virginia City was in escrow. Our new home, an hour East, was in a nice neighborhood, part of a town at a wide spot in the road. An “F” on a hill above the new neighborhood marked our spot on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. Seventeen days before our move, VST died on an April morning in 2020. Packing became a chore for one lone woman lost in a widow’s fog of despair. Me.

Days turned into weeks turned into months into a year. With less frequency, I still run into things that aren’t mine. Sad reminders of the beautiful life we shared which stopped on April 8, 2020. These beloved belongings need to be returned to children that long for their dad as much as I do. T and K are the twins to which I send VST’s precious belongings.

One day while cleaning out a closet, I ran across a coat that belonged to VST. VST was a clothes horse if there ever was one. He easily filled two very large closets with everything from jeans and sweats to two (not one but two) tuxedos. He had dress shirts in every shade of blue. Ties, ties, and more ties. Shoes of every type. Socks in every color. VST loved clothing.

The particular coat I held was one of his favorites. His scent had faded, but, in my mind’s eye, I could see him wearing it. During the beginning months of Covid, I had to dispose of much of his clothing in the worst way. All thrift stores were closed. No one was collecting clothing for the poor. And besides, dress shirts that need ironing don’t appeal to a wide variety of people. Sadly, I did the only thing I could. They were discarded at the local landfill in a flood of tears as I prepared for the movers who charged by volume.

This coat had made the cut with memories so strong. But now, what? I couldn’t keep holding on to the past. No matter the variety of clothing items I still had, VST wasn’t coming back for a weekend visit. It was time that the coat would go to his twins, T and K. They could decide who in their families might need a nice coat.

Little did I know that my adorable grandson would be that person. JJM grew much taller than his Papa VST. A senior in high school, he’s a thespian, just like VST. He sings like VST did when we met in high school, so very long ago. He’s handsome, wearing his heart on his sleeve. He adored his Papa VST, and felt the loss deeply. The coat was a perfect way to receive a hug from heaven.

His mom, K, sent me a little video as he was leaving for school last week. It wasn’t lost on my, his Grandma Joy, that he said “I Love You” to HIS dad as he left the house. His last October day as a high school-er. On his way to one of the last autumn days as a Senior, he wore his Grandfather’s jacket. Being so proud, his smile said it all. He’s on the young side of manhood. I remember his grandfather well at that age, over 50 years ago. JJM is a knock off the old block.

Proudly, he wore is Papa’s coat as he left for school. It fit as if made for him. His smile and happiness left a wonderful glow over their courtyard. Frozen in time through the video, how wonderful to hear his heartfelt “I Love You”. His dad is such a lucky guy. He not only has two sons that adore him, but the love of our beautiful K. VST and I did our best to teach our kids about love. VST, it seems we did okay.

Hugs from heaven are within our reach to give out as widows and widowers. They are within our reach to take for ourselves. Next to the jacket given to K is another one. A snow shoveling jacket that kept VST warm on cold winter mornings when the snow was thick and the air crisp. I made the mistake putting it on and taking a deep breath that morning. It was as if VST was around me, hugging me one last time. It took my breath away, leaving me in a puddle of tears for a time. A hug of my own from heaven. Something I, too, need once in awhile.

When deciding about belongings of those that are gone, consider those family members that are longing for a hug from your lost angel. A coat is so much more than a coat. It is warmth. Happiness. Smiles. A heavenly hug from an angel gone too soon.

Have a great day! More tomorrow.

Some days, it seems that everyone is out to make a buck, regardless of how ruthless they are. With Christmas just around the corner, I’ll share my latest experience about shopping online. It involves a store that begins with a W and ends with a T. You can figure that out.

Being a girl that prefers the site that begins with an A and ends with an N, I haven’t ventured far from the tried and true. I mean, how can you beat it? You think of something. You enter it in the computer. It’s available, ordered, and on your doorstep in a couple days. Pretty wonderful shopping experience, without ever needing to put on real clothes. PJ’s are the new shopping duds. Gas in your tank isn’t required. Just a cup of coffee and a computer work fine.

Anyway, I’ve been wanting some new bedding. One store was out of anything worth buying. Another didn’t offer great prices. Never having shopping W_____t’s online store, I turned to them as a last resort. There, I found what I was looking for. A down comforter and sheets made of 650 thread count cloth. Fancy-shmancy. I ordered both items. A little later, I found a king-size fleece blanket and ordered that, as well. It was all over but the waiting.

A week later, the comforter arrived first. To say it was a disappointment doesn’t cover it. It felt like a piece of canvas. I think there was down in there somewhere, but not enough, by any means. The comforter was stiff as a board. Not something one thinks of when using the word down comforter. It could have been mistaken for a piece of cardboard.

The next item that arrived were the sheets. If these sheets were 650 thread count, they must have used spider web filament in the cloth. Scratchy and thin, the corners of the fitted sheet were held on by the cheapest of and elastic band that went around the entire mattress. This would last a couple washings and break. The sheets got a lower grade than the comforter.

Finally the blanket arrived. The most beautiful deep lavender color, it’d surely be a hit. But, arriving in a shrink wrap affair, it was covered in soot of some sort. The sheets and comforter didn’t come in boxes, but were shrink wrapped, as well. Very odd. Very dirty wrapping. Very cheap items. All three were duds. At least, I could return them to my friendly W_____t. right?????

Wrong-o.

Upon presenting the items to the associate, I was told all items presented for return must be in boxes.

But, wait. The items were delivered to me in shrink wrap. There were no boxes sent to me in the first place.

Didn’t matter. These didn’t come from the store, but the W—–t MARKETPLACE. Therefore, any refunds would need to wait until the MARKETPLACE received the returned goods. And besides, their label maker was down, so fergetaboutit. End of story in their minds. Next in line, please.

Standing there, I felt my Inner Karen come to life. This couldn’t be. With another Associate coming to the rescue of the first, the answer was “Sorry, Karen”. Returning home, I was on the hunt for boxes for these items. I’d try again at another store.

Driving to the W_____t 30 miles to the east, I hoped for better news. Dragging some boxes out of the trash, I made sure everything had a bar code. Off I went across the desert, trying to cool off along the way.

At the second W_____t, a sweet Associate did manage to accept the items for return. Her label maker had just been fixed. She warned me the MARKETPLACE takes awhile to process returns, so I might not see my refund for a week or so.

With Christmas shopping around the corner, be careful with online shopping. The W_____t MARKETPLACE must be a very, very dirty place, perhaps in the middle of a war zone. Don’t expect things to smell great. The fleece blanket smelled heavily of toxic chemicals, along with a covering of soot. The sheets were anything but 650 thread count. And, W_____t really doesn’t care if you are buying from a warehouse or the “MARKETPLACE”. They want your money, plan and simple. Buyer beware. Save your empty boxes. You just never know when you might need them.

Thank you for taking time to read me.  Blogging, my chosen method of emotional survival, turned into something I still can’t believe.  Every so often, I get a comment requesting a few pointers for beginning a site. Here are a few helpful hints to get started. 

 1.  Start with Bluehost.  They’ll walk you through everything you need to do to create a free site.  It is so easy, I could do it. You follow very simple directions and all of a sudden you have a professional looking site. Please, oh, please, don’t choose the succulent I used. I love it so much. Your actual blog will be part of a site called WordPress.

Remember.  Your site is only free the first year.  The second year it costs $300-500 to keep your domain name.  After a year of writing, you’ll need to decide if you want to continue.

2.  Whatever your topic, write you.  Don’t write what you think others would like to hear.  It’ll be fake and your readers will know.

3.  Watch the inner workings of your blog carefully.  I’ve been seriously hacked one time.  I ended up having to pay another $350 for protection and haven’t been hacked again. The internet provides lots of great information on keeping your site safe.

4.  In the beginning, write every single day, choosing a time of day that works for you.  Make it your job.  Check your punctuation and spelling.  People do care.  I get reminded of that every day, so I do my best to make sure things are correct before publishing.  There are always mistakes, but, do your best to limit them. Punctuation and grammar are important. No one wants to read a poorly constructed blog.

5.  Wait to advertise until you have a rhythm, style, and brand.  Start with family and friends.  They’ll let you know if they like your writing.  And, they will.  I’m almost ready to start advertising now.  I’m not on Facebook, but plan to be, soon.  Using Instagram and Twitter, I plan to grow my numbers.  I have a self-published book coming out in April 2022.

6.  Journal your progress.  Blogging is the easiest thing in the world if you love to write.  It took me 3-4 hours to set up my site on September 23, 2020.  Since then, it’s been the most rewarding experience I’ve ever had.  I’ve been read in over 70 countries.  By Christmas, I hope my total number of reads reaches 100,000. Not astounding for the internet, but just right for a beginning blogger after one year with no advertising. Word of mouth adds a few readers every day. So tell someone if you enjoy my site. It’s helping me grow.

I hope this gives you inspiration to start.  Send me your domain name when you do. I love to read fellow bloggers. If you have more questions, let me know.  If you have suggestions, email me at Hawaiianhurts@att.net.

I’m truly humbled you like my writing. Happy blogging to you.

Joy Hurt