Category: 2021

Oliver is Three Years Old! As he sleeps quietly at my feet this morning, I’m so thankful there’s been a sensible little dog hiding in there all this time. He just needed to grow into his paws. I needed to grow into mine, as well.

In the winter of 2019, I was pining for a dog. Not just any dog. THE DOG. The one that would be my last. A dog like those I’d seen when RVing that did all the cool things dogs do. Listen. Understand. Comfort. Sleep quietly at their owner’s feet. Greet guests politely. Just be a great dog in every way.

VST wasn’t a dog person, wanting no part of the requirements of responsible dog ownership. He wanted no extra responsibilities, added drama, or unexpected costs. He wanted none of that. He saw owning a dog as a negative drain on his life. Period.

In my world, nightly dreams brought an angel dog to tag along. Just a little guy, he’d show up and off we’d go. Each morning, I’d wake wishing that a dog would come into my life. VST didn’t waver. No dog.

Until one day.

Out of the blue, VST decided we should have one more dog. THE DOG. The cool one. He started an active search for our last dog, with ideas in mind of those that would be suitable or not. For a time, Oliver could have been a Yorkie. Why a burly man’s man would choose a dog the size of a postage stage is beyond me. Yorkies are perfect for Yorkie owners. I wanted something a little more substantial.

In truth, I’m a Mastiff gal. The bigger the better. Mastiffs watched our ranch for many years. Thoughtfully gentle, they were appropriately imposing when strangers stopped in. Pony sized, their deep bass barks shook the night at the slightest hint of intruders. VST would patiently lift two 40 pound bags of very expensive dog food into our Costco cart every two weeks. Our security team paid in kibble, we were never robbed.

These days, I’m older and weaker. No longer can I help the backside of a 200 pound dog into a truck bed, or hoist 40 pound bags of dogfood. Mastiffs have a very short life span and a puppy is so much work. VST and I agreed we’d like a dog that would be around for a decade+ after the potty-training ended. We fixed our sites on a small Dachshunds. It seemed the rest of California had done the same and all litters were promised or sold. No puppies were to be found.

Until the week of Christmas. Disappointed by multiple contacts to breeders who had “just sold the last one”, one more time, I Googled “dachshund puppy”. And there he was.

One picture says it all. Oliver was left over. He’d aged out. At 16 weeks, he’d been discounted 50%. A bargain puppy. The breeder would deliver him to our area on Christmas morning in the parking lot of a huge casino. At this point, VST was onboard. The Christmas gift to end all, he’d never need to buy me another present. Oliver was birthdays, Christmas, and the 4th of July all wrapped up in those little green eyes. Oliver was THE DOG.

Over the 2.5 years we’ve been together, there have been days we didn’t see eye to eye. Days he was sneaky and more days that he got caught. Lost hours of sleep, and correction after correction. As many senior citizens have exclaimed, “I’m not a puppy anymore.” Countless hours have gone into training ME to meet his standards. I’m finally the “Mom-oh” he loves. He’s always been the dog I waited a lifetime to meet.

Yesterday, he knew it was his special day. Extra couch cuddles and even popcorn for a treat. All the while, he waited quietly on his leash so I wouldn’t spill my coffee. He didn’t bark at visitors throughout the day. No nipping at garden emitters, or digging in the paths. Outside, he sunned himself and quietly watched the birds. He sat like a gentleman, waiting for his after dinner snack without a jump or wiggle.

At the end our our day, when asked if his was a good one, I’m sure I saw him smile right before his sleepy yawn.

“Yeah, Mom-oh. Time for bed.”

Sir Oliver, Gentleman of Ashworth Hall. One standard, wire-haired, cream, piebald dachshund from Song Catcher Dachshunds in Nevada City. One of a kind. Happy Birthday, Oliver. You know all my secrets. You’ll always be THE ONE.

Small town life. There’s absolutely nothing more refreshing or sweet than living in Small Town, USA. In my town, people wave to each other with a smile. More times than not, neighbors are found chatting in the aisles at WalMart. School bus drivers wave at locals. We all wave to our men in blue. Everyone knows everyone.

It was on the local “town square” of Facebook I’d heard about someone I wanted to meet. “Check out Linda.” “Linda will brighten your day.” “Go Linda.” It seemed the grocery store had employed a new celebrity! Linda!!!!! She was the checker full of golden smiles and kind words bagged up free with every order. The compliments were glowing. This Linda must be a pretty special gal.

I don’t know about you, but I hate to grocery shop as much as I hate to cook. Disliking it so much, I sometimes order groceries through curbside delivery. If you haven’t tried this miraculous little service, give it a whirl. You simply “walk” down the cyber aisles of your store, picking this and choosing that. You fill your virtual basket, pay online, and wait at the door for your delivery. In my tiny town, I can actually watch the delivery person leave the store and make their way to my house. Delightful.

In my experience, the delivered produced has been fresh, frozen foods frozen, and the bread and chips unharmed. Everything as fresh and perfect as if I’d picked it out myself. I’ve even received calls for permission to substitute an item for one that’s unavailable.

With my last delivery, there was an added bonus. Delivery Man John. Just like always, my phone alerted me to the eminent arrival and I opened the garage door. A nice, shiny car pulled up, and out popped John. I knew his name, because it flashed on my phone. “John will be delivering your groceries in one minute.”

Yes, indeed, John did arrive. Neat and clean, driving a car that didn’t make obnoxious noises, he quickly opened the trunk to retrieve the bags of groceries. Tanned and toned, while sharing our small town smile, Senior Citizen John left the groceries in the garage and was off. John got five stars from me. Absolutely another reason I love grocery home delivery. Just sayin.

But, a woman cannot be a hermit forever, and grocery shopping qualifies as an outing. Needing to find out more about Linda and running low on coffee creamer, I grabbed my list and was off.

You’d never know I live alone by looking at my grocery bills. A little of this and a lot of that can add up. Even though one only needs a Bay Leaf once a year, you still need to buy the entire bottle. This is true for every single item in the kitchen. Things expire. Not the Bay Leaves, of course, but other things. Like the entire jar of Bleu Cheese salad dressing bought for dinner with a special guest. Chicken soup, waiting for the day Covid or the common cold comes roaring through Winterpast. Random things age out. My grocery cart is always full of replacements and things to make meals that might sound good someday when I might feel like cooking.

The perimeter of the grocery store is the only place one really needs to shop. Everything healthy is found along the perimeter. But, it’s the inner aisles that hold all extras, so up and down I roll. At least the idiotic “One Way” signs are removed from the floors. Who shops in a traffic pattern? How did this prevent Covid? I’m surprised they didn’t insist on traffic circles, as well. Insanity at its finest and yet another reason grocery delivery is a good way to go.

With a full basket, one register glowed OPEN. In luck, I was the only customer and I started unloading items on the belt. Out of nowhere, and louder than expected, came a happy voice, “Hello there! Welcome!!!! Is your day going well? What are you planning to make with the zucchini?”

LINDA!!!!!!!!!!

Smiling, because I couldn’t help it, Linda and I conversed while she scanned and stuffed my groceries. Putting in my Rewards number displayed my name, and I became “Joy” instead of just “Honey” or “Ma’am”. In the time it took to bag up $87.50 worth of groceries, cheerfulness surrounded Aisle 1. The three customers waiting behind me were enjoying the conversation and adding to it. A little party at Check Out, all because someone was smart enough to hire Linda.

Linda isn’t the thinnest or youngest. She IS the happiest. She shares that happiness with every single person that goes through her line. People notice this and don’t mind waiting for her services. I certainly didn’t mind paying higher prices to be treated like a human being. Her smiles were well worth the added cost of doing business at a real grocery store versus Walmart.

When I asked her if she was THE Linda, she blushed. She knew about the hundreds of nice comments on Facebook. She was grateful for every one of them.

“My customers are just the best. Way too kind. I love you guys.”

Linda. Look for a Linda at your grocery store. If there isn’t one, you be the Linda. The world needs happy kindness right now. It’s out there. Go find it.

Such a nice day Sunday is. Quietly, I’ve started embracing Sunday as my official day of rest. With Bible Study and Church in the morning and Bible Study in the evening, I have a little time to think about the direction my life is heading. I’ve time to listen for the wind, forever looming on the high desert plains.

Winds are mysterious. Around here, the day can be so still not a Cottonwood leaf moves. And then, with a vengeance, they strike out of nowhere. Limbs sway this way and that causing the trees to dance, while the birds hang on for dear life. Then, just as quick, the winds are silent and stillness returns.

Isn’t life like that? Turbulent and scary at some points. Still and quiet at others. Through it all, the winds blow out polluted thoughts and make us cling to our own branches so we don’t get swept away.

Lately, the winds in my life have caused me to clutch tightly my core values. Being shaken down to my toes by the last 16 months, there were some days the winds were so strong, it was all I could do to keep from being blown away. These days, life is kinder. More fun. Happier. Peaceful.

One of the biggest contributors to this is my church family, as they become closer by the day. Attending four times a week, I’m gaining new friends that struggle with the winds of their lives, too. Sharing their stories, I realize how much I enjoy these valued friends that want nothing more than a seat at Bible Study. Friends that harmonize beautifully as choir members. Last night, one of the sweetest gals brought a bag of California peaches to share. Dripping, juicy, tree ripened peaches. It doesn’t get better than that.

Each time I attend another class, I’m strengthened by lessons shared. The strengths of this loving church community are evident. With smoke from the California wildfires choking my little town, Nevada’s big blue skies have been missing for weeks. You can taste the air. Opening the door to the chapel and entering is a great visual for my world without these friends and my world with. Inside, the air is clean without a hint of smoke and the temperature cool, making me forget about the ugly days of August. A perfect environment for seeking truths I need.

Through my journey, I’ve identified with the type of woman I’m striving to become. A Proverbs 31 Woman. Raised this way by farming parents, I thought all women were of this mind set. At times, personifying these traits is consuming and difficult. Young women might find fault with this thinking, for no where here is there a hard and fast rule for 50%/50%. For me, embracing these qualities is making my life richer.

A Proverbs 31 Woman is…….

1. A well-rounded, unique, and rare gem.
2. A wise and intelligent woman.
3. Faithful.
4. Kind.
5. Trustworthy, honorable, comforting, and encouraging.
6. An excellent Homemaker.
7. One who empowers herself spiritually, mentally, and physically.
8. Charitable.
9. A preparer and a provider.
10. Properly dressed for every occasion.
11. Dignified and appropriate.
12. A good judge of character.
13. Business minded.
14. Someone who attains and excels.
15. Strong, graceful, and secure in her position.
16. Above all else, God-fearing. (theodysseyonline.com)

When my life ends, it will have been well lived if those that knew me best remember at least some of these qualities when they speak of me. As the desert winds blow, these guide posts will lead me down a path towards a bright tomorrow.

VST lived by this idiom. Goals ran our lives, living life’s minutes to the fullest. Time is the one thing that, when wasted, can’t be replaced. Some days, watching the minutes pass can be a healthy thing to do. Other days, it’d be nice to stop the clock. Being mindful of the choice made is key.

When he first came home from his night classes at University to share this thought with me, I was confused.

“Archery? Really? Between work and irrigation? I don’t think I’m any good with the compound bow.”

Hugging me, he explained his interpretation of the meaning. Through the years, it became one of the phrases that kept us on track. Our arrow was always aimed and set on the bullseye, even when the target jumped this way or that.

Life was full of schedules and lists. It had to be. Five kids coming and going like the tides. A household. Two professional jobs. Farming 40 acres at night and on weekends. A Bachelor’s, Master’s, Doctorate, and Teaching Credential earned during our “free” time. The care and feeding of two elderly parents. There wasn’t time to drop the arrows and play a round of golf. We were dancing as fast as two people could. Thank goodness we accomplished much in our years together, with his dance ending long before it should’ve.

Now, in retirement, schedules and lists have a different purpose. They propel me forward, even if it is inches a day. In my daily Agenda, completed goals stand as a written record on which to reflect when I think I can’t possibly finish one thing. There are plenty of those days around here. My minimum is three accomplishments per day, with nothing too big or too small. I make the rules. But, three is the magic number for me.

I’ve found if I finish three, then I can probably get six done. When six are done, why not shoot for ten. Life at Winterpast rolls along, arrow by arrow. I’ve always interpreted the idiom in that way, until this morning. Looking up the phrase, I wanted to be sure I wrote it correctly in the title. I use the internet often to check correct word meanings and useage.

Stumbling across another interpretation of the advice, it was again obvious islanders have the healthiest outlook on life. Somewhere in the past, I lived on Molokai. I just know it.

“If you don’t aim at nothing you will not miss at something, so you don’t get frustrated by failure.” 10 Kimo’s Hawaiian Life Rules to Live By — Philipe Borges

Philipe goes on to explain that if you can relax and do things for the joy of them, eventually things will get done when you least expect it. I should try this on Sundays. However, for the Mainland girl in me, this approach wouldn’t quite place my arrow in the bullseye. Somewhere there exists a balanced approach. Perhaps a miss can be the bullseye you hadn’t envisioned yet. Hmmmm.

The one place my scheduling doesn’t apply is in my garden. Each day, I leave one hour to play outside. It might be 20 minutes here or 40 minutes there, but at the end of the day, Winterpast takes at least an hour a day to stay looking her best. With $10 a day for water, and constant grooming, my hidden desert oasis brings me joy. I never consider it too much work or a grind. Gardening is, in itself, the reward.

Writing is the place in which heavy scheduling is needed. September 24th and the release of “Widow”, my first book, hangs over my head. Each day, as deadlines approach, more of my attention is focused on writing, editing, proofing, and correcting. There are places in which you need a Bulls-Eye. The first book in a trilogy is definitely one of those.

Arrows are simple and clean. Just a lethal tip, a strong shaft, and delicate fins. With the strength of focus, a single pull and well executed release, you can plant your arrow where you choose, or just enjoy its flight. It’s up to you.

Enjoy something fun today. Life is short.

Treasures abound in the barn. The annual rummage sale for my Political Group is next weekend and donations are arriving. Not being into yard sales or thrift stores, it’s a new experience being on the receiving end of cast offs. Dropping off cast offs at the thrift store, relief is found in an empty trunk. This time, the cars are leaving boxes at my barn door for the sale to be held in less than two weeks.

The sale won’t be at my house, but at the neighbor’s. At least, that’s the way the plan started. The furniture and larger items can stay in the barn, with volunteers handling the actual sales. I’m providing help before and storage. The plan, anyway.

There is a certain curiosity that arises when receiving mysterious and unmarked boxes. What could be inside? Something irresistible? Just the knickknack that’d look great on a shelf? An old cashmere sweater? A designer purse? There is a certain pull, like that of a harvest moon, enticing hoarding tendencies. And just like that, cast offs become beloved treasures anew.

Being blessed with a new girlfriend, I haven’t been working alone. One donation filled a horse trailer and two pickups. An entire household of goods that had once belonged to my new friends’ mother-in-law. She’d lovingly packed the entire house when her friend and M-I-L passed away, and now remembered what was in each and every box as we unpacked and sorted. A raw deal for her.

You just never know what you can run across. Like a 1960’s fold-away hairdryer in the cutest case, as new as the day it was purchased. It looks like it came from Mabel’s Primp and Tease off Main Street. An oddity that brought back memories of a household of five blonde sisters getting ready for Easter Sunday. Curls and Curls and more Curls in the days long before hand held blow dryers and electric curling irons.

A few days before we started unpacking, the sweetest couple had come to drop off their donations. Before they left, the gentleman quietly told his father’s camera was with their donations. If I could, would I please put it on a table with valuable collectibles? It was something special but the time had come to let go.

Sure enough, the camera surfaced. In a well loved and worn leather case, the camera must be 75 years old. Just what family happiness had been captured by this gem? How easy to forget what excitement picture taking was back then. Posing. Smiling. Hoping for a great shot. Waiting for the pictures to be processed. Such a treasure and connection to the past. Yes. It’ll go with the valuable items. We’ll make sure we take very good care of it.

Every thing you could imagine making up a physical life sits in my barn. Beds. A mattress. Bedding. Towels. Linens. Pots and pans. Games. Videos. A television. Two recliners. Dressers. Clothing. Shoes. More shoes. Purses. Jewelry. Even purple tights. If only the items could tell their stories, what stories they could share.

I’ve found some cool purchases. A very old, silver box with wooden lining sat at the bottom of a box. Engraved on the top, it reads M.A.G.A. 1957. Just what did this acronym mean in 1957. Magical Association of Girl Astronauts? Mythical Agency of Gifted Artists? It hold a different meaning for me in 2021. Magnificent. Articulate. Gardener. Aglow. Two years old when the box was a new treasure, I was learning to stand on my own two feet. Sixty-four years later, I’m learning that all over again. A special treasure to someone who kept it all these years, it’s shiny again after a little silver polish. Inside the wood-lined box sit two pair of antique clip-on earrings, older than the box. A treasure meant for me now holds personal significance.

A little angel holding a bird now nestles between my patio plants. A cast iron plant stand sitting in the corner. A little red cross next to my kitchen angels. Little treasures I didn’t know were missing until I found them.

Do I need to bring home more clutter? Does anyone? But, my group IS holding a fund raiser. I better do my part.

With days to purge, I’ll find items to add to the sale. The group has never made more than $1500 after hours of work. I hope we break $2,000 this year. There’s some great stuff for sale. Things and Things and Things.

Living alone is something I hadn’t experienced until April 9, 2020. Never, in 64 years, had I lived by myself, personably responsible for every aspect of life. When VST died, there were those that asked me if I was afraid to stay alone. Maybe they had reason to ask. Peering through the widows fog that surrounded me, I faithfully answered, “No”.

Faith in personal safety exists most strongly when it hasn’t been breached. Personally never robbed or physically threatened, locked doors have always been respected. Forgotten belongings left out in plain sight have remained untouched. Strangers have turned into friends without harboring hidden agendas of torture or murder. I’ve been very lucky. In Virginia City, such lucked continued, while VST protected us with his watchful eye.

Lulled into a sense of security, we lived in the chaotic world of tourists. Coming to see the sights they’d drive up the mountain to get a taste of Grandma’s World Famous Fudge. Blasted by steam, they rode the Virginia and Truckee Railroad, Queen of the Short Line. Feeling the zephyr winds blow, they’d touch a piece of history in a way like never before. With all of those senses heightened at 6200 ft., there was little energy left for robbery or mayhem. Things left outside remained there for days, weeks, or even months, never disturbed.

Some neighbors, when we’d first arrived, didn’t even lock their doors. An owner of a 1875 Victorian would often find tourists coming up her steps, thinking her house was a museum, and she the caretaker. She finally realized the lock on the front door was there for a reason.

A tourist once asked what time the gates closed. It would have been great if there were gates to shut. When did the town close? Only on the worst of white-out blizzards that shook Dun Movin, rattling her 33 windows. While snowing sideways, winds would blow drifts off our driveway depositing them down the hill. Awakening every sense, we remained alert and prepared as storms rolled through.

In late summer of 2019, with Wyoming still in our hearts, we’d just returned home. Laundry by the washer and the rig still packed, we turned in early. Snuggling into the comfort of our own bed, we’d just nodded off to sleep when VST sat upright. A noise. He’d heard a noise. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. From the absolute quiet of a VC night, we both heard footsteps on the lower deck. Just one person, quietly moving to the outside stairs leading up the hill to the back of the house.

VST grabbed his sidearm. A Smith and Wesson 1911 that I found difficult to even lift. Heading to the kitchen, he went to investigate. The house was dark and still, while the glow of a flashlight was visible as light bounced off the fencing through the kitchen blinds. VST watched as the light traveled up the stairs next to the kitchen wall. The glow betrayed the advance of the intruder creeping towards the back of the house.

By this time, I was cowering behind VST, both quiet as mice, waiting for an exchange of gunfire that might occur when the unwanted someone burst through our back door. Through the blinds, we could see the light outside the living room window, and then, directly in front of our back door.

Not being able to quiet myself any longer, in my most bad-ass voice, I yelled, “Identify yourself. We know you are there. Who is it?”

VST yelled, as well, “We’re armed. We know you’re there. Who are you?”

“County Sheriff. Identify yourselves and open this door. Drop your weapon and put your hands up.”

Was it a bluff? Was it REALLY a sheriff? We hadn’t seen a patrol car.

Holstering his gun, VST approached first, keeping his foot as a wedge against the door. Relieved to see the uniform, we allowed the officer to enter.

Wyoming had occupied our hearts and minds for two weeks. The neighbors knew we were gone. When seeing lights in the house, they feared a break-in and called for backup. In Virginia City, the sheriff still comes, armed and ready to deal. We didn’t know whether to buy the neighbor breakfast, or go wake them from a dead sleep to rant a bit. Thanking the officer for coming out into the night to make sure Dun Movin was safe, we locked our door. Cuddling together on the autumn night, we were grateful for watchful neighbors and very brave deputies.

These days, my life alone is different. Officers are too busy to come for a well-being check. New neighbors have blinds that are drawn tight. Oliver, now three years old and a real dog, sleeps through the night, never even giving the hint of a growl. With all locks secure, I ask the angels to watch over us through the night. Protected by faith, peacefully I rest.

A medical alert device sits by my bed. A small bedside safe holds a lethal defense weapon. Sleeping soundly, I’m not alone. Ever. Loved ones gone before watch over me, comforting me as dreams come. Sentries of angels, joined by a couple English Mastiffs for good measure, keep Winterpast from harm.

A sense of peace is a fragile thing for which we should all be grateful.

***********A special Thank You to our First Responders. You are unsung heroes that run in when others run away. Your bravery and courage are so appreciated.

Sunday evenings at 6PM, the parking lot at the Baptist on Main fills again. After the morning Sunday School and Worship Service, people return for a more informal study visit with the Pastor. Each class holds an hour-long lesson, bringing the Bible to life. Real life applications and testimonies are shared, while everyone benefits as our little country church grows.

Attending every meeting, we’re all on a first name basis by now. Sharing crochet patterns, card games, and recipes, the members are enjoyable company. Working to live a better life, there is much common ground. It’s comforting to find that others have similar problems. The struggle is real.

One lovely aspect of our fellowship is prayer requests. There is no shortage of sadness in this world of ours. Names are added to the prayer list, as we ask that their situations improve. Just this week, a woman claimed a healing of her back. With pain-free relief, she came to church glowing for this pain had robbed her of many activities for a very long time. So many suffer with the illness of a spouse. Taking VST’s hand as we walked through our own nightmare, there was never a more terrifying or lonely feeling. It’s an honor to carry sorrow for friends needing comfort.

Last night, a young couple I hadn’t yet met with sat near me. Adorably in love, they blended their families in marriage the first week I visited the church. Similar in age to VST and I when we married in 1988, they’re everything new marrieds should be. Loving. Supportive. Eager to build their new life together. Good parents. Faithful spouses. Glowing.

Last night, they came overflowing with troubled sorrow. Her fur baby of 18 years had been injured earlier in the day. In pain severe, they transported her 30 minutes away to the nearest vet emergency room to find there’d be a six hour wait before the dog could be seen. With temperatures hovering at 100, she’d be more comfortable at home. All day, they watched over her, not knowing what else they could do but make her comfortable. Slowly the pain subsided and she rested. They’d visit their normal vet the next day, hoping for the best.

Small and sweet, our town lacks many services that residents of a larger city takes for granted. An ambulance ride to the nearest hospital East or West is 30 minutes. EMT’s and Urgent Care can take care of the initial assessment, but, patients with serious illnesses or injuries needing hospital care are in a precarious situation. The big city to the West does offer Life Flights, when minutes count the most. Pets are not that fortunate. Vets are open M-F, 9-5. Dental services are offered M-F, 9-5. We all hope for no weekend emergencies, because in our little town, there are none.

Bride-girl went on to share about her job with the county Sheriff’s office. Not a deputy, she explained that she had a more troubling job. She dealt with securing records and evidence. Grizzly and gruesome evidence. Pictures. Stained items. Murder weapons. Grief soaked relics of horror. It was her job to account for every one and carefully file them away for their date with justice. As she told of her work, the weight on her shoulders was evident. The toll it was taking, obvious. This sensitive and lovely woman was carrying quite a load. Sorrows of crimes that couldn’t be undone kept her awake at night. Seeing the unthinkable, she worries plenty about the safety of our community.

As I listened, I realized I could help a little with her burden. I’d help her carry her load. What better place than in a little country chapel to sit quietly and listen? She didn’t need a Miss Fix-It. Just a listening ear in which to off-load her overflowing fear and frustration.

Reality isn’t always pleasant. I found out there are over 100 sex offenders living in my “little town”. Our county finds home for 75 of them EACH MONTH. Not something I wanted to hear, but something I needed to hear. It’s easy to get lulled into a sense of security, when the truth is, one needs to be aware of surroundings. Bad guys don’t always look the part. Look at pictures of Ted Bundy.

In a matter of minutes, she’d shared a bucket of trouble. Through our talk, the two spoke as one unit. Enchanting to behold, I only wished I could revisit 1988 when I had VST by my side, the world spreading before us with possibilities.

Our visit was wonderful. Just like that, two more friends added to my growing list. Now, when entering the chapel, friendly friends greet each other. We exchange updates on personal news. Ask about community events or the details of the latest Covid victims. We visit. A lost art. No noses stuck in cell phones around there. In fact, cell phones don’t ring, but laughter does. Better than anything television has to offer, for sure.

Think about carrying sorrow for a friend. Their load is as heavy as yours. Listening leads to healing. Grab a little baggage from a weary traveler. You never know what stories they have to share.

If we ever cancel a month, can it please be August???? Sorry to all you August birthdays, but every year that goes by, it’s August that becomes more unpleasant. Summer holds such potential on the first days of late June. Happiness. A still frigid dip in the pool. The first cutting and the scent of fresh mowed lawn. Mature rose bushes, blooming in all their glory. Fruit trees flowering with promise of a bountiful crop.

The 4th of July sparkles. Fireworks. Barbeques and late sunsets. Softball games at Out of Town Park. Yes, summer is a fine time. As a teacher, I’d look at the first days of vacation and think, “My summer is ripe with possibilities.” All wonderful things I’ve celebrated this year in the high desert. The key word. DESERT. Well folks, the bloom is off this rose. Summer needs to wind up and head on out the door.

The hills have been brutalized by weeks of triple digit heat. Brittle and dry, they sit waiting for a fire. In the high desert, fires burn hot and fast. Whipped by ferocious winds, the flames spread like –well — wild fire. When we first came to Nevada, I’d never given much thought to the height of sage brush and the other bushes that thrive on public lands (the REAL and ONLY BLM — Bureau of Land Management). Sage can grow really tall (4′ – 5′) being quite the fuel for fire. Add in Cheatgrass. Rabbit Brush. Russian Sage. All help to fuel infernos of the high desert.

Unlike forest fires of California, most desert fires are allowed to burn until there is nothing left, unless, of course, buildings are in harms way. In a year’s time, its hard to tell that a fire ever occurred, as the cycle starts over again.

Yesterday, the smoke was so thick and suffocating before sunrise, I truly thought the fields around Winterpast were aflame. Some ash fell, while we choked from the California fires that are raging. To the North and East, the smoke catches the prevailing winds, headed straight for my little town. If wearing masks because of Covid isn’t bad enough, many people are wearing them to protect themselves from the smoke, as well. Staying inside is the preferred activity.

With weeks of dismal news, smoke, virus particles, and news of neighbors fallen sick, I must say my creative juices have been on hold. Every day counts down to September 24 and my chosen date for release of my first book. It’s with a heavy heart that I must admit, my progress is not what I’d hoped. Still aiming for September 24th, I write on, but in all reality, my publish date may need to be pushed back to the end of November. I want my first attempt at publishing to be the very best I can offer, including attention to punctuation and grammar. To those wishing for more political correctness, I apologize in advance. Probably not.

Every day, I work a little here and a little there, piecing together the story I have to tell. I hadn’t factored in the additional emotional toll it takes to tell the story once more in detail. Some days are easier to get through than others. No one quite prepared me for year two, mysterious and lonely in a way all its own. Healing such a very long time, no matter how strong one is. I’ll keep you posted of my progress, and appreciate you, my dear readers, so much.

Oliver is not enjoying August anymore than I am. Being an August puppy, he just passed his third birthday and is now an adult. He goes outside in a playful mood, but immediately returns to the door, looking confused. He knows smoke smells of something wrong but can’t quite understand danger is hundreds of miles away. His mood isn’t the best, either.

With a month left until the first day of Autumn, the countdown to falling leaves, apple pie, and pumpkins is on its way. Airing out my sweaters, I can hardly wait to enjoy crisp cool days of yard work and preparations for the first snow of the year. Fall is my favorite time of year, with plans in place to attend at least one high school football game. Just two more weeks of August, and we can pack up for another year.

Whatever you find yourself doing today, be grateful if you can breathe fresh air. Be grateful if you have a quiet back yard in which to dance with the flowers. Be grateful for friends, family, and our wonderful country. Remember, when days are too hazy, stay inside and be lazy! Until tomorrow, take care.

Salad for thirty chopped and tossed, I headed out in the early evening hours for the monthly meeting of my coterie. This group of like minded people have become my friends. There, just as in church, I’m slowly pairing names with faces, meeting more people every time I attend a function. It was for this group I offered the use of the RV barn for storage of the yard sale items, which will occur Friday and Saturday at Ninja Neighbor’s house. Pray for her, and when you do, just mention Ninja Neighbor. God knows and loves her.

The meeting was held at the high school library Tuesday night. With school starting the next day, the custodial staff was putting the finishing touches on building. Halls were blindingly shiny, almost begging me to slide down them sock footed. The bathrooms glistened. Windows were without smudges or streaks. Everything ready for the first day of school. This year, that has a different meaning. A return to normalcy.

I must say, my heart ached a bit. I miss teaching. More than teaching, I miss the kids. Children are wonderful people. Creative. Whimsical. Able to think outside the box. Resourceful. Loving. Extremely kind. Respectful. At least my classes were. For the first six weeks of school, I’d wonder why I’d picked the teaching profession. By the end of the year, I could have taken the entire class to Hawaii and had a wonderful adventure. A lot happens in a school year. With respect and patience, learning is an adventure of growth. My own truth, for sure.

There are teachers more clever than their years. Those that can charm a class to do whatever she asks of them. Learning minutes are too precious to waste on the silliness of misbehavior. All students need to row in the same direction, which takes creative thinking. This teacher’s got it. She keeps a corded phone in her classroom of 1st Graders. When someone is caught doing something good, she makes a call. She reports the good behavior to Superman, Batman, or Mickey Mouse, all for the children to hear. She doesn’t raise her voice or demand her littles comply. She leads them to great behavior and discipline. The world needs a few more of her kind. I’d love to be in her class.

Meeting at the high school library, with tables and chairs placed, a food table created, hungry members, and our officers enjoying salad and fajitas, the meeting began. Just the usual stuff. Pledge of Allegiance. Minutes of past and present meetings. Treasurer’s report. Officer’s reports.

There was a request from a member for a need of drivers for Veteran’s that can’t drive West to get medical treatment. A van and gas are provided. Even lunch. The only thing needed is the ability to drive and a few hours a month to volunteer. Such a big need, fixed by someone with time and a big heart. Lots of problems in our country are made better every day by kind and generous people doing the smallest favors for another. Just listen in your own town. People need your help.

Finally, Miss Elite US Woman of Achievement 2021 spoke on domestic violence. Standing with her beautiful sash and massive crown, she delivered her message. This gorgeous blonde spoke of her own experience with domestic violence, which led her to advocate for other women not as strong as she. She told of her own struggle with an abusive first husband, and the grief he still causes her today. Abuse takes many forms. Mental. Physical. Financial. Social. All torture to the woman who often suffers quietly, telling no one. As she talked, not an eye strayed from our stunning orator. She took her ongoing nightmare and wove it into something positive and beautiful using her own experiences of loneliness and terror. Rising up, she’s a lion fighting for the rights of other abused women.

With a vision for Northwestern Nevada, she is weaving a safety net of services for women who have no voice. The battered and abused. Each night, she studies law classes as she gets closer to earning her law degree. All while making a home for her family and working at her real job. A statement on how to step up and step out to help others. Everyone has 24 hours in a day. Use them wisely. An hour is a terrible thing to waste.

Listening to her speak, it was obvious her arrows are hitting the bullseye she’s set for herself. Even as a working mother with a full and rich life, she’s found time in her busy days to do for others. A service of love. A service BECAUSE.

Her inner beauty, by the end of her presentation, radiated throughout the room. A stunning exterior, but a phenomenal soul . Touching hearts, she sparked minds between the stacks of library books. We can all do SOMETHING. Maybe we can’t reach national beauty queen status, but, we can all do something to make the world a better place for someone else. Volunteer, if only for the smallest of jobs. You just never know when you’ll be the most beautiful person in the world to someone in need.

The neighborhood is abuzz with the excitement of today’s yard sale. Yesterday, Ninja Neighbor started bright and early. With the cavalry pulling in to help, her front yard turned from a normal drive way into Thrift Store Central. Working together, the most strenuous task of putting up the tents to the less demanding tasks of unboxing and pricing were completed. Slowly, the massive collection went from neat and tidy boxes, to an array of items spanning many, many tables. Yard sales are fascinating although still not my thing.

One of the more interesting treasures found was a small wood lined silver box. Hinged to hold small items, the tarnished top was engraved. M.A.G.A 1957. When I first saw the box, I took it inside and polished it to a gleaming finish. I googled the inscription, trying to get an idea of what the initials stood for. No luck. Even though the date meant nothing to me, MAGA did.

Along with the box, I found other goodies. A cute wind chime with a cardinal on top. A butterfly vase. A new bird house for my growing avian population. Garden gloves and a trowel. Some clip-on earrings. Little trinkets discarded from one home and looking for another.

The weather couldn’t have been more perfect. Gentle breezes never turned into more. The temperature for the last few days has been pleasant, giving us hope that fall is truly around the corner. Under the comfort of the tents, we all unpacked, sorted, priced, and placed the items on tables. Everything you could imagine waits for buyers. From a stationary bike peddle device to leg weights. Humidifiers. Christmas plates. An angel collection. Clothes galore. Shoes by the hundreds. Bedding. Towels. Furniture. A sleigh bed. Glass ware. Tomorrow, the shoppers will have a ball sorting through and grabbing items, all priced to sell.

While working yesterday, one man stood above the rest. Our President’s husband. Through all the work, he’s been there to help ladies with normal tasks men often do. He’s one of very few men that have helped with this event. Pleasant and respectful, it’s nice of him to be there as an extra set of hands and strength. Thinking of the MAGA box, I asked Madam President her birth year. It wasn’t 1957, but her husband’s birth year was. 1957. Without hesitation, I knew what I needed to do. The box didn’t really belong to me. It belonged to him as a Thank You for his help. And, that’s where it went. Happily.

Through the entire day, Ninja Neighbor was her most beautiful self. Never, ever rattled, she continued on with her work. Even though this huge amount of inventory took over her entire driveway, she remained cheerful, working well after dark to be ready for the today. She’s just that way. Energetic. Beautiful. Sassy. Funny. Delightful in every way. Surely I hit the neighborhood jackpot when moving in next to her. She is dearly loved by all that are lucky enough to know her.

The Service Organization will put money raised today to good use. Community scholarships for deserving High School Seniors. Dictionaries for 3rd graders. Constitution booklets for 5th graders. Items for the local Veteran’s home. Items for the local food bank. The unsell-ables will be donated to a local charity to help people in need, a benefit in so many ways to our little town. All monies have been raised with a cheerful heart and great attitude. It can’t help but be used for positive outcomes.

While we worked, the most amazing thing happened. For weeks, our skies have been grey with heavy smoke. The sun at rise and set glowed an eerie magenta as it peeked through the haze. Yesterday, without notice, the winds aloft did an amazing job of cleaning. Big blue skies returned. A stunning day, the surrounding mountains were again visible.

Neighbors peaked out of their windows to check out the hustle and bustle of activity. I now know more neighbors than I did yesterday. Wonderful people no longer strangers but friendly faces. A yard sale brings out the best in people.

I’ve been waiting for the right time to meet the widow down the street. Yesterday was the day. Comparing notes, my heart went out to her. Listening to details of her widow’s journey of six months, I was grateful for my experiences in Year 2. Remembering all the struggles of last summer, they stay put in my rearview mirror. The seemingly endless paperwork needed to shift a life for two into a life of one was overwhelming. Widow’s fog is great for one reason. Forgotten is a lot of pain, bewilderment, and frustration in dealing with the loss of a spouse. I hope we become friends now that she has more time. I’m sure we’ve much more in common than the Ins and Outs of widowhood.

The gentleman who faithfully walks his dog twice a day cruised by making note of our activities. A 4th grade boy rode his scooter up and down the block, offered to help in any way he could. More help arrived and by 5 pm, most of the merchandise was organized on display. Ninja Neighbor pulled it off without a sweat. A bundle of positive energy, our group is blessed to have her as a new member.

This morning, the throngs of shoppers will descend on our quiet little neighborhood. The neighbors have all enjoyed a presale viewing to get the best deals. Cashiers arrived early this morning and are making sales even as I write. Our goal is to break $2,000. Think good thoughts. Come by and say Hi! if you have time. You’ll find us in our the lovely little town at the wide spot in the road.