Category: 2021

Oliver is already sleeping soundly at my feet. Grateful his food bowl is magically filled every morning, he always enjoys breakfast, searching for every last morsel. After he’s sure there isn’t one last piece of kibble hiding somewhere, he’s happy. Chewing on his favorite bone, his eyelids get heavy and off to puppy dreamland he scampers, while cozied on the bed under my desk. Life is wonderfully easy for Oliver. Living in the present, most of his moments are worthy of a grateful mind. His tail is always wagging.

Reviewing my week, I think back to all the miracles that’ve occurred , and how grateful I am. Too often in our busy lives the littlest things can pass by unnoticed. An afternoon without smoke. A gentle breeze full of cool air. A 56 degree morning. A ripe tomato. Friends that greet you with open arms and a smile, genuinely happy to say Hello. A strong hug. A grocery shelf full of toilet paper or water. Every minute of every day, we can all find a single blessing. Someone to thank. A situation that could be worse, but isn’t. The list is endless.

I’m thankful that in my little town, people still exist that love God and Country. Ninja Neighbor, dead tired after her heroic efforts on Yard Sale Day #1, was cocooned in her home when I knocked on her door for some friendly advice yesterday. Her home is cozy and inviting. Curling up on opposing couches, I talked and she advised in a way only a true Ninja Neighbor and Friend could. Lovingly, her words settled my mind on troubling matters. A blessing in every way she is to me.

Ten hours earlier, we’d shared a breakfast of farm fresh eggs and sausage at her table, wondering what the day’s profits would be. Non-breakfast eaters did last minute adjustments to the array of goods which spanned NN’s entire front yard. An estate sale of bargains. In April 2020, I couldn’t foresee the group of new friends I’d meet in my little neighborhood. Through the years, VST was our Ambassador of Good Will. It was through him I was blessed to meet Miss Firecracker and her Bailey’s and Cream. Ultimately, VST was the one that made sure Winterpast would be a place for me to grieve, heal, and grow. Loving me so deeply, he prepared a future for me when his was cut short by cancer. Day by day, my roots grow deeper into Winterpast, this place I love so much.

Generosity flowed during the first day, with $1100 in sales. With a slow and steady pace of customers, items drifted off to enjoy their new lives, like an adult version of Toy Story. Today is expected to be even better. As I walked through the tables, things I donated caught my eye. Retrieving none of my cast-offs, I did find a few new treasures. Yard sales. Who knew???

A new restaurant adventure awaited me at lunch. Farm House Vittles off Interstate 80 was a nice change from Tee Pee Bar and Grill. On the opposite side of town, the refined and dignified décor doesn’t quite match their name. Although still part of a Casino, the restaurant has a street entrance. Staff was attentive and efficient, delivering me breakfast for lunch. I’ll add it to the long list of restaurants that’ve keep me well fed. Since January 2020, hundreds of cooks, waitresses, and staff have brought me meals when I’ve been too sad, tired, lonely, or depressed to cook for myself. Yet another group of unsung heroes.

A day wouldn’t be complete without a wonderful conversation with Miss Firecracker. Oh how I miss her sparkling eyes and tantalizing wit. Thank goodness for phone conversations. We share so many secrets, as great friends do. Supporting each other, we always find a listening soul and a helpful heart on the other end of the line. Widowhood has been a journey the caught us both off guard. Friendship has been the scaffolding that’s helped us stand strong. You know, Miss Firecracker. You just know.

Today is a day for writing, reflection, and packing. In a couple days, I’ve planned a solo retreat just for me. Everyone needs to get away, so I’ll travel to my favorite Northwestern Nevada resort. You’ll find me poolside, soaking up rays to deepen my fading tan, or asleep in one of the plush fluffy recliners in the spa listening to soul southing music under Bose sound canceling headphones. I plan to enjoy the seclusion of the spa from 9 AM to 9 PM. Massaged, moisturized, and fed, I plan to rest up, while working on the book and blog. Oliver will enjoy his time with friends at Puppy Camp. I haven’t told him yet, so help keep the secret.

Being grateful doesn’t take energy, strength, or creativity. It just takes focus on beautiful moments that happen every day. Not extravagant gifts or events. Just everyday things that, when strung together, make life more beautiful than an exquisite string of pearls. Have a blessed day today and Be Grateful.

A man without a woman is like a ship without a sail.

Is like a boat without a rudder, a fish without a tail.

A man without a woman is like a wreck upon the sand.

And if there’s one thing worse in this universe,

It’s a woman,

I said a woman,

Yes.

It’s a woman without a man. _{Alfred Williams, 1907}

VST was mine for 32 years. I have a spoon rest in my kitchen which reads “Lucky Girl”. Reminding me of how blessed I’ve been in life, even though somedays can be pretty darn lonely.

Turning back the clock to August of 1987, I was a stunning, bright, and beautiful young single mother tending to two little boys. Madder than a wet hen at life and my predicament, I went through each day quite certain that I’d never need anyone more than myself. For goodness sakes, I had a full set of Corel. Indestructible dishes you could drop, throw, kick, or knock around with no chipping or breakage. I had matching towels in various colors. I had my own lawn mower and garden tools. No. No. No. I needed nothing, especially not a mate. How foolish.

On the other side of town, VST was pretending he wasn’t damaged goods, as well. VST was a head turning bachelor from all outward appearances. In the morning, he jogged for miles. After work, he rode more miles on his bike. His new home gave him a sense of pride and hope for the future. HIS future would be without the complications of a relationship with a woman. Bachelorhood fit him perfectly. He kept his body in tip top shape. Eating right, enjoying his three children, and making new friends, he didn’t need anything more serious. No. No. No. He needed nothing, especially not a mate. How foolish.

September 5th, at a class reunion, we clashed like two opposing weather fronts. Having been high school friends over a decade before, things were complicated now. Five children complicated. Besides. No. No. No. We needed nothing, especially not a mate.

He proposed eleven days later.

I said yes.

Thinking back to our time together, our partnership wasn’t the trendy modern day romance with all chores weighted and split 50/50. We both had to wear many hats to make things work. There wasn’t a way to divide things 50/50. Besides, how boring it would’ve been to have a checklist life. Sometimes it was fun to change lanes and trade jobs. When he was unable, I’d pick up his duties. He’d do the same for me. We both gave 100%. Not looking at each other to analyze percentages performed, but, both looking ahead as we pulled the load together. And a load it was.

As a single guy, VST was never a ship without a sail, a boat without a rudder, or a fish without a tail. He managed to cruise along at a good clip, enjoying life. He’s set his compass heading and trimmed his sails to perfection.

I, as that single mom, was on my own course. I think we moved along parallel journeys quite well, considering the storms we’d endured. We didn’t run aground or get stuck in the shallows. We kept our lives running in shipshape condition.

Looking over the 32 years, the love that kept us afloat was something we couldn’t have imagined. Love that was patient. Kind. Without envy. Not boastful. Not proud. It didn’t dishonor others. It wasn’t self seeking or easily angered. It kept no record of wrongs and didn’t delight in evil. Rejoicing in the truth, it protected us. Always trusting, strengthened by hope and perseverance. Love was a wonderful place to be. A blessing I shared with VST for decades.

Now, it’s my turn at the helm. So glad I’m not that 30-Something girl anymore, insistent life would be better alone. This Senior Citizen isn’t ready to abandon ship due to rogue winds of loneliness and despair. Nope. I’m enjoying blue skies and happy trails. Life is good. Such a lucky girl was I to have shared the journey with my VST, and lucky still to possess the strength and vision to chart my own solitary course, for now.

My youth was not normal in any sense of the imagination. For you city-types, you’ve no idea what can happen on any given morning on a farm. You can lose a drive train on the tractor during harvest, blow a tire, birth a lamb, and irrigate all before 6 AM. Trying to be prepared for anything, life comes fast and furious from every angle. You put out fires as fast as they come your way.

One day, your vineyard looks healthy with a great crop. A rain storm comes activating dormant fungus, causing your crop to wither and die. Mites and spiders are in a war to the death. When mites are sucking the profits out of tender leaves, you spray. Then, spiders die of starvation. The mites explode in numbers and laughter, with the predators gone. The cycles are a dance the outside world cannot and will never understand. Farming is a universe all it’s own. You need to possess a skill set that the average city dweller just doesn’t.

Number 4 in a group of five daughters, each birth held a bit of disappointment. Every farmer dreams of having a team of boys to help with the work. My dad got girls and girls and girls and girls and girls for 16 years in a row. By time I came along, the entire community was rooting for the long awaited boy. Nope. A Christmas present of ruffles and bows.

My mom, Esther, was a seamstress, master chef, butcher, gardener, bookkeeper, law enforcement patrol, and part runner. She was an amazing woman that could’ve run an entire country if my dad had asked her to. She kept her girls in dresses and patent leather shoes. Easter bonnets and Christmas curls. The community named us “The Skoegard Girls”, because of the sheer numbers. Remembering our names was too much. At one point in life, we were each in a different school. From Kindergarten to College, we marched through life, respectable, Good-Girls. I don’t know how Mom kept her sanity. By the time I came along, I raised myself a good deal of the time.

Mornings were always busy. The olders drove across town to the big college we’d all attend someday. The youngers stood outside in rain, snow, fog, or sleet, waiting for the big old school bus.

Meals were on time, balanced and hearty. Everything was grown fresh. Meal preparation for seven was something about which my mother never complained. She never a repeated meal or served left overs, because there was nothing left on the table by the end of each meal. There was no waste. Not a hint of “I don’t like it”. Everyone was hungry and ready to enjoy the delicious food she prepared.

There are two meal time visitors that stand out as memorable. I’ll share them both with you, my beloved readers.

My dad, Elmer, was known around the county for being able to fix anything broken. If wiring or welding, or wire welding was needed, Dad was the go-to guy. His side business was called Implement Hospital, and he supported our girly shopping trips by fixing the neighbors plow or spray rig. Over the years, he was exposed to every single chemical known to mankind, including, but not limited to, Paraquat, DDT, Cyanide, Seven, and a host of others that make people freeze with horror. He didn’t shrivel and die of cancer, nor did any other the other hundreds of farmers I knew throughout the years. He died of Alzhemier’s at 93, longing for the opportunity to give one more city kid a tractor ride.

Lunch was at 12:00 noon. Sharp. Anyone needing something fixed knew Dad would be at the kitchen table enjoying a meal with his girls. If something needed fixing, people knew to come to the house to find him.

On this particular day, my mom’s sister pulled in driving her luxurious car. This particular aunt didn’t visit on a regular basis. As she got out of the car, she had a stressful expression on her face. A woman was on a mission.

“Hi there. I’m sorry to barge in on lunch, but I need you to fix something for me, Elmer. Something important.”

Now she had our attention. Farm wives didn’t have their own personal tools or shovels. They were cared for by their attentive and protective husband’s. Everything they needed was handled, while they did woman things in the house. My dad, being the exception, could cook, clean, or help with the laundry with the best of them. But, today, his expertise was needed for another problem.

Out of her bag, she pulled out something that brought us all to tears and a collective roar of belly laughs. For, in her hand was her favorite bra.

“Elmer, could you weld this? My wire broke.” To this day, this memory makes me laugh again. The thing is, my Dad replied, “I’ll try, Marie. You can just leave it on the counter.” He was always the guy to help in any situation. And the matter of fact look on Aunt Marie’s face saying she KNEW that Dad COULD weld it was priceless. He did, by the way, fix her bra.

The other visit involved a very colorful neighbor who came to find my Mom for help with a sticky situation. Bertha was one of the most wonderful women I’ve meant in my life. Hair died a Hazel/Red, she flamed. Kindness in a waist cinching girdle, she had an hour glass figure, the envy or talk of the neighborhood. Bertha’s makeup and hair were always perfect. She was in church, front and center, every Sunday with the brightest of smiles. Bertha was a memorable angel in my life.

Well, on this particular day, she had a scarf around her considerable smaller hair-do. In those days, hair was done big. The bigger, the better, and Bertha had the hair to go Big.

“Esther, I need you help,” was her soft plea as she entered the kitchen to find us practicing lunchtime manners.

Removing her scarf, she had perfectly formed curls on her head. It seemed that the new rage involved wrapping hair around curlers, after soaking hair in gelatin. That’s right. Jello. She had used too much. Her rock hard curls sat stone-like on her head. We all lost it. Laughing so hard I thought we might all choke. And with that, Bertha started to cry through her own laughter. She had done it now. Her hair would never recover.

Dirty looks from Mom AND Dad stopped the laughter. My little sis and I had to just look away. At any moment, we would start again, and it would be curtains for us. At the ranch, you were never disrespectful to adults. Ever. But, let me tell you, it was the funniest darn thing I’d experienced for a very long time.

Life on the farm. Rich. Wonderful. Eventful and Unplanned. I can’t speak to city life, because I’m a country girl, through and through. Lunch is ready. Don’t be late, or you’ll miss out.

Good Morning, dear readers. Grabbing a vacation during the last dog days of summer, I find myself sitting poolside as I blog. Technology and vacations blend nicely, allowing me take you along. Yesterday was a day to rest and recharge. Absolutely glorious.

Laughing on the phone with Miss Firecracker while poolside yesterday, I did ask her the all important question.

“What exactly am I resting and recovering from as a retiree?”

Not finding exactly the right answer, we both decided it is because it’s rest and recovery we need. Period. Widowhood is a brutal journey. Good enough answer for us.

The resort I’m staying at is like a trip to Tuscany. Attention is paid to every detail, with the hotel shining. Marble floors are spotless and gleaming. Soft, romantic music is playing when you enter your hotel room. So inviting. A huge soaking tub awaits those of us that love bubble baths. A television hangs on the bathroom wall in case you want to enjoy your favorite TV program while you soak. A walk in shower with two, not one, invigorating shower heads. Marble countertops. Marble floor. A Keurig machine for coffee. A frig to keep waters icy cold. Every little detail has been considered to make sure guests are comfy and cozy, even if the vacation is just a 2 day get-away from retirement.

An early check-in granted, I was sitting poolside by 12:30PM. Children did cannonballs into the deep end, while their parents soaked in the hot tub. The smoke here as been so thick you can taste it. A mask is actually needed in these conditions for more than Covid. Lake Tahoe, a most beautiful and pristine spot, is burning. Not wanting to know the heartbreaking news, I’m not sure if South Lake Tahoe has been evacuated. Please pray for our little mountain towns. Lake Tahoe is a dangerous place to be caught in a fire, with few escape routes available.

With sunshine darkening my fading tan, it was lovely to fall asleep for a little while on the lounge. Relaxation for one.

Avoiding sunburn, a real nap followed the poolside cat nap. A cool, dark room was the perfect setting.

At 5:00 PM, I ventured back to the pool, to find the wind whipping. Having chased many of the tourists away, I found a comfy pool out of the wind and got caught up with girlfriend chatter. Blessed. Just blessed. CC and I exchanged all the latest news, and there is plenty to be shared with you at a later date. With laughter and squeals of delight, we both agreed, life is wonderful. In 42 years, CC has been there for every delight and trauma. She’s been a best friend, roommate, confidante, partner in crime, and advisor. We’ve helped each other with our children since they were wee ones. Through it all, I’ve adored her.

Not wanting to dine in a restaurant in this coupled world, I hit the delicatessen and ordered a Prime Rib Dip with fries, and a scoop of Vanilla Gelato for desert. Enjoying dinner back in my room, I got caught up on the days news, and more beautiful music. Ending the night with a two hour conversation with a new friend and neighbor was perfect before it was time to dream of Vacation From Retirement — Day 2.

Not everyone can jet off to a resort these days. I’m truly lucky. Vacation is a state of mind. Find some wonderful Andrea Bocelli, pour a glass of red wine, dim the lights, and there you’ll be, vacationing in your very own mental resort. For me, today hold the SPA experience. I promise, I will divulge every single detail tomorrow. About the Spa Day, that is.

Arrivederci!

Yesterday was a day to relax and enjoy the spa at this most beautiful resort. There are spas, and then, there are REAL spas. This is in the later category. An indulgence that is so special, it must be savored, every minute a treat.

My day started with room service breakfast, a vacation favorite. No. It isn’t cost effective. In fact, the prices are nuts. But, to have a hot breakfast delivered to the door goes hand in hand with vacation.

There was a problem connecting to Bluehost for blogging in the morning. Technology wasn’t agreeing. However, with a simple phone call to a techno-nerd, things were up and running, giving me the ability to report on Day 1. Sitting by the window, overlooking the magnificent pool , I felt as if I’d traveled to another country. The resort lists prices by night on their website. On a busy weekend, the room might cost $700, luxurious beyond compare. By shopping for off days, it was a little over $100 a night. It pays to investigate these things.

After blogging and breakfast, it was time to walk to the spa. Elegant and swanky, two attendants waited at their marble perch for patrons to arrive. Proper reservations in order, another attendant guided me into the inner sanctum of serenity. Wearing black tunics and leggings, the attendants were sleek and attentive. They ushered me to the locker room, giving me an amazingly thick and luxurious spa robe. My adventure began.

Up one level by elevator, the door slid open revealing tranquil nirvana. No glaring lights. Delicate scents of lavender. Everything neat, tidy, and restful. I made my way to the Himalayan Salt Room and melted into one of the white leather chairs of which I have spoken previously. Whatever the Himalayan Salt does, sign me up. A wall of water created a delicate splashing sound, while the low lights invited peace. It was there I waited for my masseuse.

Being a redneck farm girl, all this pampering is new to me. I didn’t grown up with manicures and pedicures. Facials weren’t a weekly event. And a massage?????? That wasn’t part of country life. A gym experience involved walking the avenue to irrigate the vines. Picking up pruned stumps in the spring and tossing them in the trailer while walking at a snail’s pace up and down 109 vineyard. Painting, cleaning, trimming, pruning. Always in tip-top shape, plenty of physical work kept us that way. No, a spa is something fairly new to me.

When sceduling my appointment, an interesting question came up for consideration.

Male or Female Masseuse?

Yikes.

The me of old would have cowered and demanded a woman. But, the new me, brave and bold, cared not, casting fear to the wind. As Doris Day whispered in brain, Que Sera Sera. What ever will be, will be. Now, sitting in the Himalayan Salt Room, I questioned my decision while waiting for my treatment.

Reuel called my name (pronounced Rule). Collecting my bag and nerve, we were off down the darkened hall into our own treatment room. Professional and proper, we discussed my ideas for the proper massage. Explaining that my Senior Citizen self didn’t want a forceful experience, he totally understood. I was left to situate myself under soft blankets on a pre-warmed table, softly vibrating with the music.

As experiences go, there are little day spas in ever town. In strip malls or a converted house. Peaceful little places in which to experience a nice massage. This spa is above and beyond, offering the finest equipment to enhance the experience. The spa table was just one example.

For 50 minutes Reuel got rid of ever crimped muscle and doubt that I’m a true fan of the male masseuse. Sharing a tip, he took folded towels, and placed them under my shoulders as I lay face down. This relieved stress on my back, something I plan to do at home once in awhile. Slathered with creams, lotions, and potions, I drifted into the soft background music. 50 minutes evaporated quickly, and it was time to enjoy the rest of the spa.

Taking an elevator up one floor again, I entered the Caldarium (Latin root — room containing warm water for bathing). Filled with relaxed people, a private pool and hot tubs await completed the scene. Walking right past all that, I headed straight for the Relaxation Room. The last time I’d been to this room, Miss Firecracker and I were enjoying the day together. This time, I went in alone.

Tranquil and serene, this dark chair-lined room featured a video display of the Northwestern Nevada night sky on a screen high on the wall. The chairs flipped easily into Zero Gravity. To explain, you sit down, press a button, and your feet are then way above your head. This takes all pressure off your back, positioning you perfectly for the show. Again, soft Zen music accompanies the stars. There are salt candles and a wall of water creating peace. No yappy women came to ruin the experience. Just me and the heavens. I think I fell asleep for just a minute or two.

After time had passed, I was off to order lunch. Miss Firecracker had done the smart thing on our last visit, ordering the Crab, Avocado, and Pita Salad for lunch. Oh. My. Goodness. I will be recreating that recipe at home. The freshest crab. Ripe California Avocados. Cherry tomatoes. A creamy dressing. This was an amazing lunch taken on the peristyle, alone. Inside, the unmasked throngs were poolside in their robes. No one took the time to go outside for a bit of sun or social distancing. While a bit smoky, the 75 degree breeze was delightful for sunbathing. Thirty minutes of sun a day provides us with much needed Vitamin D. The patio was mine to enjoy alone.

Finally, dropping down two floors, I’d hoped to enjoy the private women’s facilities, complete with steam and dry saunas and a bubbling hot tub. Sadly, women yapped incessantly until I could take no more, causing me to return my room for a nap. Women. Just shut the front door, ladies. There is a time and place for continuous gabbing.

The rest of my day was complete with intermittent trips to the pool for some sunshine and more room service. Some people can’t even enjoy a meal alone. I took an entire Italian vacation all by myself and enjoyed every minute. Truly, it seems I’ve been on a Tuscan holiday. Ready to find out about Oliver’s run with the pack at Puppy Camp, we’ll trek along the Loneliest Highway back to Winterpast. Back to the mail and yard work. On towards tomorrow.

Arrivederci, faithful Readers. Have a wonderful day.

_{by Douglas Malloch (1877-1938)}

The tree that never had to fight

For sun and sky and air and light,

That stood out in the open plain

And always got its share of rain,

Never became a forest king,

But lived and died a common thing.

The man who never had to toil,

Who never had to win his share

Of sun and sky and light and air,

Never became a manly man,

But lived and died as he began.

Good Timber does not grow on ease

The stronger wind, the tougher trees,

The farther sky, the greater length,

By sun and cold, by rain and snows,

In tree or man good timber grows.

Where thickest stands the forest growth,

We find the patriarchs of both,

And they hold converse with the stars

Whose broken branches show the scars

Of many winds and much of strife,

This is the common law of life.

This morning, I happened upon this beautiful poem. The version I read was credited to an anonymous writer. Googling the title to be sure the writer of poem wasn’t known, Douglas Malloch was credited. I wonder what challenges Mr. Malloch faced causing him to create this beautiful piece? As a writer and poet, my best work comes from the darkest days.

Conversing with the stars, there are no better companions than those with battle wounds. For those in life that don’t stand for something fall for everything. Battle scars are always messy. Lethal adversaries steal away our most precious comrades. Cancer devastated my life in that way, as it has for so many. Covid now robs us of peace of mind, while politicians tear away our freedoms.

Remember today, anything worth having is worth protecting. Our way of life in America is the best in the world. If you don’t believe that, you’ve obviously not found it necessary to escape, penniless, into the dark of a Russian night in 1977, trying to escape back to the America you miss so much. You have not stood in hours waiting for two kilograms of horse sausage because you consumed any eaten protein in weeks. You haven’t seen two women bloodied and fighting over the two last rotten apples in a barrel. You haven’t seen the void eyes of uniformed children, brainwashed in the ways of their government. You haven’t lived communism, as I did.

Our oldest citizens know sacrifice, hunger, and love of country. They lived through the Great War. They were the original GREEN citizens, everything repurposing, reused, and recycled. They valued quality, because things needed to last for a very long time. They had mad survival skills, because, they needed to survive some terrible times.

We find ourselves in that situation now. There is one big difference. In order to be Good Timber, we need to find other like minded patriarchs with whom to converse with the stars. Our thick stand of family and friends help to protect from the winds and strife we face.

Just some thoughts as I go to clean a little country church this morning. Stay strong in whatever life is throwing your way. Keep moving forward. As a famous prince would advise us, you just need to Better Up. Have a great day.

The Friday of long ago signaled the beginning of the work weekend for me. There was no long awaited visit to the local brewery, or dinner with friends. Friday was the beginning of our farming weekend; the ranch a demanding mistress. While others were planning to sleep in and enjoy a leisurely cup of coffee by the pool, we were up at our usual 4:30 AM to get started with a long list of chores.

4:30 AM, present day. As I sit here writing, I wonder who in their right mind would accept my crazy schedule? Even Oliver barely tolerates it, except that food is involved. He’s already back to sleep in his cozy little work bed. Some days, it seems it’d be a good idea to publish at a later hour. However, I’ve found that the complications of a normal day provide roadblocks for creative writing time. So, my schedule remains. For now.

Schedules and appointments have been giving me a little trouble. It seems a few distractions have gotten in the way of my normally boring life. Finding a new and active normal while adding interesting activities isn’t as easy as it seems at 65. Covid and widowhood be damned, I’m creating my real and authentic life. In the midst of that, I’ve finally met someone that has the time, means, and curiosity to join me once in awhile.

Friendship is the basis for everything good in this world. Friends support each other when they’re down. A blue moon is a terrible thing to waste, and once upon a blue moon, a neighbor stopped by my porch on a summer’s evening. A neighbor I would have never met, except for a common friend who decided an introduction just couldn’t wait a second longer. Exchanging cards at a political meeting where like minded people gather to share positive visions of our country, we first met. Just a “Hi”, “Nice to meet you”, “Bye” type of meeting.

Life can be unpredictably crazy sometimes. Just when you think things can’t be stranger, there’s a new twist. A widow lady gardening her roses in the back yard. A widower making sure his pines have enough water on hot summer days. Two very private neighbors tending to their respective gardens while healing from the ravages of cancer and loss with just 733 steps between their front doors. Parallel grief. A zig, a zag, and an unexpected intersection at “Hello”.

Membership in the “Loss of a Spouse Club” is horrific and unwanted. It brands your heart in a way that inexplainable to someone that doesn’t have similar scars. Married friends want to understand in the worst way, while we hope it never happens to them. Somethings are too impossible to fully explain. It helps when someone already knows. He knows.

So add a new friend into the mix of hair appointments, pedicures, and a mini-girl-get-a-way, and appointments have been vexing me. Yesterday I got my hair cut. Today, Oliver goes to the mop-shop for his. Then, we’ll settle into a weekend of rest and reflection, no longer racing to cram three days of work into two.

I hope your weekend is delightful. Do something a little different to spice things up. Until then, Happy Friday.

There’s nothing better than an invigorating challenge of Tug of War. Teams form on either end of a large rope, pulling for their side. Sometimes this is done over a mud pit (if you happen to be a redneck like me). Other times its on grass, but always with a center line to cross. When one side pulls the other over said line, they win.

Many days, life is just like Tug of War. Two opposing sides intent on forcing their will onto the other, each insistent that the opposing side comes along. Teamwork is important, with combined strengths helping to secure a “win”. These days, it seems the world is one giant battle to death. Each side holds tightly to their opinionated end of the rope. Opposing sides play over a giant chasm of no return. And, pull they do with all their might.

In the game of Tug of War, A fun trick to play on the opposing team to to simply drop the rope as a team. Pulling with all their might, the other team falls in a heap, not expecting such a random move by the opposition. In life, we can drop the rope, too. Change the subject. Agree to disagree. Change the channel. Flip the script to something new and different. Truly, think about it before forcing opinions on a very serious medical decision with anyone. Unless you have their complete medical history, you don’t know the entire story. Just drop that rope and find something else to discuss. Dropping the rope can be a freeing experience.

The thing that comes to mind most right now is opinions on vaccinating against Covid. At times, I need to turn off the noise, having picked up my end of the rope for personal and valid health reasons. In a free America, one used to be able to do that. In this “New” America, choice is no longer worth fighting for. Everyone must step in line, no matter your own health complications. Just do it. Some of us can’t.

That being said, upon waking Saturday, my throat was sore. Even a sore throat no longer has the same meaning as it did two years ago. After much research and preparation, I flew into action, sheltering in place while taking a group of anti-viral vitamins and minerals. Minor sniffles and congestion followed. Mr. Widower of the Pines (WP) mysteriously came up with the same symptoms. Strange how viruses can travel 733 feet. Puzzling and mysterious.

Commiserating, whining, and sniffling, we weathered the storm, not sure if we’d be alive today to talk about our experience. Thoughts of any possibility other than death were wiped from our brains by the crazed media. Our symptoms were mirrored in each other as we waited, not knowing if this was The End.

Now, men always have the worst symptoms, as any woman over the age of infancy knows. True enough, these are scary times, and having a cold is no picnic for either sex. But, we all know, men have it worse. So, we waited and whined some more. With identical symptoms, we could at least enjoy meals together, while sniffling and sneezing.

The big difference between us was that HE went to get a Covid test. With results taking three days, (absolutely unacceptable, except that we live in the middle of nowhere), we had plenty of time to plan our last hours. Plenty of time to reassess and continue to embrace our medical decisions. Plenty of time to watch how the other responded to illness and physical discomfort. More time to talk about gardening plans and the differences between roses and pine trees. We bravely waited it out.

Owning a simple Oxygen meter (Amazon – 14.95), we made sure our Oxygen levels were above 90% at all times. Temperatures were routinely checked. Prepared with every cold remedy known to humankind, the medicine chest was stocked with a variety of medicines to fight different symptoms. We drank orange juice and enjoyed chicken soup. We kept warm and took lots of naps.

The results came in yesterday. Low and Behold!!!! Thank you, Jesus!!! A gift from the heavens. Not Covid. Not the plague. Not pneumonia or gout or shingles. The Common Cold shared between two old farts. I must say, we were both a bit disappointed, as we’d have loved to work on our natural immunity. But, Covid was not in our destiny. With a restocking of supplies for the next bug that comes along, we’ll be just fine.

So, with the Tug of War over vaccinations raging, WP and I dropped our side of the rope to dance in delight at our good fortune. No Covid. In doing so, the opposing team lost their footing and fell in a heap on this round. We probably won’t pick up the rope to play again, too busy preparing to take care of our own medical needs.

People need to turn off the news and take a breath. Medical decisions are private between a patient and doctor. There shouldn’t be a game of Tug of War about private medical decisions based on very real contraindications. Medical decisions are as individual and private as fingerprints. Life was so much more pleasant when that boundary was respected.

I’m thrilled to say I’m on the mend. With fall yard work just around the corner, I have gardening techniques to review. Winterizing procedures to follow. Soup to simmer and leaves to rake.

Be careful out there. Colds and the flu can be equally as miserable and dangerous as Covid. Stay safe. Once and awhile, just drop the rope to celebrate when it’s least expected. It’s fun to watch the outcome. It’s even more fun to dance with a new partner.

The mega yard sale of two weeks past was a wonderful success. Finding enjoyment while helping with preparations, many interesting developments transpired BECAUSE OF the event.

During prep week, I made many new friendships just waiting to grow. Several members of our group substitute for the local school district. I don’t know that I could ever return to the classroom, but, you never know. I certainly respect these ladies for doing just that. Many of my church friends came to enjoy the sale and find treasures of their own. A good time was enjoyed by all. By the end of the second day, the group earned almost $2,000.

One gentleman dropped off a fabulous camera that is now mine. $100 years old, I would love to see if I can get it to work. Just the intricacy of the little knobs and levers fascinates me. Opening and closing it, it reminds of of days gone by, when items of quality were a thing of beauty. This camera was a father’s loved possession. What moments of pride did it capture? Graduations? Weddings? First steps? I can feel the happiness vibrate from the case and am so glad it’s mine. It will remained loved.

There was something else wonderful that occurred. I didn’t know it until yesterday when a dear friend contacted me worried that I had moved the blog. Again, I apologize for any disruption in my posts. Last weekend, I had technical difficulties, as well as the onset of a cold, which is getting better each hour. Thank goodness August is over. Dreadful month, that one.

Before the yard sale even began, I discovered little treasures. I found a sweet little cross and two angels. There was the silver MAGA 1957 trinket box that went to the husband of our chapter President for his help. His birth year is 1957. He helped so much with the sale, it was the least I could do to share the little treasure I found. The 100 year old Kodak camera, beautiful and full of good energy.

And then, there was the bird house.

On the eve of the sale, I’d been at Nina Neighbor’s helping with last minute arrangements. I’d seen most of the items for sale, but, out of nowhere appeared an adorable little bird house. Small and quaint, it reminded me a little bit of my old farmhouse. But, it also screamed Winterpast. I was drawn to this little house and immediately put it with my other treasures. New and shiny, it was just too adorable to leave. Into my back yard it would go. A new bunch of nesters would find safety in the attic of this little yellow house with pale blue trim. I’d find a special location.

Fast forward to yesterday. When returning an email an sweet friend and fan who just happens to have intimate ties to Winterpast (her parents loved Winterpast before me), I discovered it was SHE who donated the house for the sale. The daughter of the previous owners of my home randomly gave her friend, Ninja Neighbor, this little house. Her intentions were that it would raise a little bit for the cause, nothing more. It was supposed to be in the back yard of Winterpast all along.

Tell me there isn’t a special message in all of this and I would tell you to think again. There are so many things in this world we don’t understand, this being one of them. Her happiness over the situation was delightful. Her mom delighted in caring for Winterpast, making it a home for everyone to enjoy. There was but one destination for her donation. With hundreds of buyers at the sale, there were a thousand different routes her little bird house could have flown. But it didn’t. It came to its rightful home.

Look for miracles all around you. Little affirmations surround us with love each day. Friendship is the most beautiful thing in the world. When all else fails, the love of a friend can get us through a tough day. Bored? Just put a birdhouse within sight of window. Entertainment on wings. Have a great Wednesday!!!!

PS–To my sweetest friend,

Thank you for the addition to Winterpast. It will forever be V and F’s little house in the Wilde’s! Your sweet mom is surely giggling. I hear her in the wind. J

I had it all planned out. A day in the bigger town just West of here. An outing of fun after suffering through my cold. A quick Doctor’s visit, shopping, lunch, and a bit of adventure. Exploration and discovery while having a fun day. Well, all of those plans were thrown out the window when my cold went even more south, ending any thoughts of fun. I’m house bound a little longer.

Just so you know, my cold is much worse. Much, much worse. Dreadful. Devastating. Debilitating. A sinus-choking event. I feel better sharing this with you. After I made light of many illnesses, mine blossomed. I shouldn’t have gloated.

All plans for a solo trip into the big city were scrapped. I’ll need to plan for another time. Summer’s nearly evaporated in a puff of thick “California-burnin'” smoke. People have been checking to see how the big fires in California are affecting me. Some days are not so bad while on others the smoke is thick.

My heart breaks for South Lake Tahoe. It is truly one of the most beautiful places in the entire world. We need to pray for our forests. Last year, my boat trip was one of my first adventures. A day I’ll remember forever. Glad I did it, because things there may never look the same again. I’m tired of hearing about climate change in regards to fires. It’s an easy way for those in charge to shirk their responsibility. Having lived in the area my entire life, it was something we all watched, waiting for disaster to happen. In the final analysis, it was years of extremely irresponsible forest management contributing to the fires. Dense and dry fuel. Forests were never managed properly. At the end of a summer of drought, this is the result. A loss that won’t be replaced in our lifetimes. God is surely weeping.

With Eastern forests still thriving, when we’re well again, we’ll find a way to escape smoke and explore. The Ruby Mountains. Elko. Ely. The Loneliest Road in America. The 55′ Ichthyosaur. Gem fields. Crystals for the finding. Antique bottles to found. So many adventures we’ll have trouble choosing. But for now, Kleenexes and orange juice for me.

There’s been thoughts of a day trip to Bodie, the town time forgot. Bodie is on the eastern side of the Sierra’s. A once bustling gold-mining town and California State Historic Park, it sits quietly near the Nevada border. Original buildings and a cemetery are in a state of arrested decay. After its glory days as a mining hub, the town was finally abandoned by the time of World War II. Many of the buildings were left furnished with couldn’t be carried out. In 1962, it became a National Historic site. Truly a fascinating place.

So many fun day trips for me to plan. I need to shake my cold and get moving. For now, Oliver understands. He’s been the best dog in the history of dogs. Yesterday, he slept hours, finishing off his day by turning in at 5 PM for the night. Not a peep from my little buddy until this morning at 4:30. As long as I respect his meal time, he rolls with the plan, whatever it is. I’m lucky to have such a great dog as my bestie.

Making it through this little bug, I’ve been enjoying a batch of Doris Day movies, including The Tunnel of Love and April in Paris. So fun to watch talented actors and actresses on real movie sets. No computer generation or animation, old movies are works of art, preserved for our enjoyment. Thank heavens for the days of political incorrectness and decorum. Some things were so simple back then. Two sexes with complimentary yet opposite attributes. Charming and normal.

So, with a box of Kleenex, I’m back to bed to rest. Please stay safe in this crazy world. The common cold can lead to bronchitis and pneumonia just as easily as Covid. It’s also just as contagious and dangerous for people with compromised health. Do us all a big favor and isolate for two weeks if you suffer from any kind of virus. We didn’t catch our colds gardening in the back yard or taking a walk. Someone was out running around while spreading viruses for us to catch. Not appreciated at all.

Remember, illness is bad whether you are a man or woman. When you experience it first hand, it’s never good. More tomorrow.