Category: 2021

I get goosebumps from the tiniest of perfect things. Cheryl’s leaves as they turn in this brilliant season. Star filled Northern Nevada nights, so clear you could reach out and touch them. Ninja Neighbor’s BBQ drifting over Winterpast on a early evening breeze. A phone call from a dear friends living far away. Prayers answered for safe and love-filled days as my life’s journey continues. The scent from a bar of the finest milk chocolate. I journal about the best parts of each day. A playful glance. A beautiful sunset. I add to it all the time. I’m rich with wonder. (Rearranged from I Am Her, M.H. Clark, Justine Edge– Amazon).

In our lives, there are a million tiny, perfect things around us. From ants to the mustangs that roam my streets, life is brilliantly beautiful. Each day, I’m to live in the moment and enjoy the riches of the right now. Focus my brain on the day at hand, because, tomorrow may never come. As VST would often remind me, “Can’t go nowhere on yesterday’s train”. Sorry. Even though he was a Dr. of Psychology, we loved speaking Red Neck to each other gleefully twisting the English language in private.

Woefully behind in every chore in my life, these days, I need to resort to asking for help. The gardener is spreading decomposed granite over the front yard on Saturday. Two weeks ago, he pruned and cleaned, making it look splendid. I’m so lucky to be finishing The Front Yard Project of 2021. A delightful thing, not so tiny, but for now, definitely perfect.

The back yard will be next. After a light pruning, along with one good clean up, I’ll be ready for the first snow. How I dreaded winter last year! My first alone, it seemed to drag on forever, with one heavy snow storm after another. This year, I look forward to soup in the crock pot and long days to work on my first book, “Widow”.

Just the other day, I found my favorite fleece pajama bottoms on sale at WalMart. If you haven’t tried them, you’re in for a treat if you like soft, plush, comfy bottoms for under $8 a pair. Warm and yummy. Perfect for lounging on the couch while watching old movies. Or WRITING. Or just staying cozy on a winter’s day. All a bargain for the price. A tiny little delight that Walmart even had them for sale with now-normal shortages and empty shelves.

On that same trip, I found an adorable dress. Who knew? $20 for a dress that would have been over $75 at a department store. Again, tiny, perfect little surprises in a day.

Oliver has been wondering about his new schedule. I’ve been in and out of the house more. Just when he thinks he knows his routine, I change it again. He’s such a funny guy, always in a happy mood. His tiny perfect thing is his dog biscuits. With two meals a day and his bones, he works cheap and keeps a good attitude. A toad free yard makes his life complete, while he’s on patrol, making sure those nasty birds behave themselves.

One of the most special tiny perfect things was watching “Come From Away”, a Broadway musical about 9/11 and Gander, Newfoundland. What a wonderful production! Two of the songs get me every single time I hear them. “Me and the Sky” is about Captain Beverly Bass and her flying career. “Stop the World” is about Nick and Diane Marson and their love affair, beginning in Gander. They’ve now been married 19 years. Adorable. You can read about their story on You Tube, along with the story of Gander, Come From Away, and Captain Beverly Bass. You can find the play on Apple TV, which is one of the stations on Roku, or offered by app. If you have a smart television, it may be offered there, as well. You can also find “Come From Away” as a book. Check Amazon.

Just tiny perfect things found in every single beautiful day we are lucky enough to be alive. The autumn is a lovely time of year. Be sure to freeze moments with pictures. We’ll never be smarter, prettier, or more alive than we are right now. Live life. It’s the best.

Threads of my little town weave their way through my heart every day. It’s been over a year since Aloha Maiden started taking care of my hair. Before then, it was hit or miss. Visiting this shop or that, my heart remained in Fresno with my hair stylist, Da Girl. For over thirty years, we shared gleeful squeals and heart wrenching gasps, as we dodged or embraced every twist and turn life threw our way. We raised our kids together. We became first time Grandma’s while always remembering we were beauties, first and foremost. I miss her so much.

When I moved, battered and nearly broken, my realtor gave me some Welcome Home presents. One was a haircut at the local salon. My little town is strange. Just when you are sure there’s nothing here except dust and sage brush, another gem pops up. People drive through to get from Point A to Point B, never stopping to investigate. Good thing. We like it the way it is. Plenty of hidden treasures for us.

Salon 360 tends to the beauty needs of all kinds of women, making them lovely. They cut or add hair. Change the color. Add eyelashes. Share the latest beauty tips. They massage and listen. The women of Salon 360 are angels with scissors and snips. I went to seek help for tired toes.

Not just were the toes tired, they’d found a life of their own. Just a wee bit wild. My cold had derailed my normal appointment for a pedicure, and as everyone knows, nails wait for nothing. Aloha Maiden had her job cut out for her. On Mondays the shop is normally closed so we had the place all to ourselves. The luxury of massaging chairs and swirling water was not lost on me. As the hour ticked by, both feet were restored to a presentable look. She is an artist.

Chatting away, I realized that over the last year, Aloha Maiden has become such a friend. She helped me through my first days in town. She always remembered to ask about my “Word of the Month”. For my new readers, I will explain.

Each month after VST passed was more unthinkable than the last. On the first month, I realized the only thing that would help me navigate from one day to the next was a focus word. Something that would remind me of a value shared between VST and me, representing who we were as a couple. Month One happened to be three words. Okay, Okay. This word thing was my idea, so I could change the rules a little. Three words. Food. Shelter. Clothing. In those first few days, if I didn’t remember those three words, I could have walked naked and hungry through the snow to get the mail. Yes. I had to get dressed, eat, and stay inside during the April snow storms of 2020. A representative word was chosen each month.

Food. Shelter. Clothing.

Friendship.

Love Everlasting.

Adventure.

Faith.

Happiness.

Truth.

Aloha.

Rejoice.

Respect.

Optimism.

Acceptance.

Each month, while the old me was falling apart as the new me was rebuilding, I’d use the word of the month as a life raft carry me through. Each word held thousands of memories VST and I made together. Each one was a little retreat in which I could rest for just a minute and catch my breath. Acceptance came in the 12th month, in which the words after that became mine, and mine alone. When I became overwhelmed, I would think of the word and start replaying representative memories.

Christmas 2020 was going to be a sad and lonely day, being another first. As the months rolled toward winter, for each word, I bought one present. Some being personalized, they remained sealed when they arrived. Wrapping them with love, I wrote messages of encouragement on the outside, along with a note to myself. When Christmas came, I had gifts to open, and notes from the journey along the way. I can’t tell you what a beautiful experience that was. A way to cradle myself on a private and beautiful Christmas morning with the most special memories and words. With me, it’s always the words that get me through. Aloha Maiden recognized that from the start, and became part of my 12 months of love and hope.

There we were, just two locals talking about high school homecoming and other red neck news. Nope. No longer an outsider. No longer the grieving widow. Just the pamperer and pamperee enjoying the latest news.

Pedicures are a new experience for me. Pampering is something foreign. Not a monthly line item for this farm girl. Well, not until now, anyway. Massages are wonderful. Pedicures between friends are a delight. Salon 360. Named well, because as soon as one treatment is done, I want to turn around and head right back for a different treatment. Have a great day! Find some happiness along the way!

Hard to believe that I am looking at my second holiday season at Winterpast. Last year, Miss Firecracker and I had the most beautiful Thanksgiving dinner for two. Roast turkey and all the fixings, we laughed and talked like there was no tomorrow. It was a really wonderful day, one that we both worried might not be so great. 2020 was brutal for us both, as it was for so many families. That was the year we both lost our husbands to cancer. In weeks, our lives were shattered.

Last year, the governor had limits on the number of people that could sit at the table. Who, in their right minds, would have believed that in the USA government would dictate our holidays? Certainly not me.

This year, sharing Thanksgiving preparations with WP, invitations for eight were created today and will be sent out in today’s mail. How fun to meet more new people in our little town!!! Family and singles will be joining us for turkey and toasts. New friends that are still strangers to me will enjoy the day at Winterpast. Miss Firecracker is making new friends in her life, too. It will be hard to top the time we spent on that autumn Thursday in 2020.

It amazes me that all our creative needs can be found on the internet. By just Googling “Thanksgiving Invitations”, many ideas appeared. It just so happened that the perfect idea was among them. Easy peazy.

I don’t know how much you depend on a calendar, but, I find them deflating. Just when you think you can catch a breath, there are fifty more things your could jot down each day. Just exhausting. I much prefer a day with eight hours empty and waiting. I usually have at least five chores waiting to be completed. If really energetic, I can add five more. Much less taxing than looking with dread at scheduled events.

WP is a scheduler. He computerizes his life’s log while I prefer to use pencil and eraser. He knows what life holds for the next four months. I prefer to stick to the next week. Less erasing that way.

That being said, I do have a spa date on Friday. Facials and a wonderful day away from yard, computer, Oliver, and the phone. Just a quiet day to reflect and rejuvenate. Made even more decadent by the fact that I will come home to a yard in progress. The gardener promised that the decomposed granite should be spread, finishing the front yard by Saturday night. I’m looking forward to the Himalayan Salt Room, and the Serenity Sleeping Room with the zero gravity chairs, low lighting, and Zen music. Deliciously cool and quiet, I can hardly wait to sneak a little nap.

Finished off with a spa luncheon, the day should be perfect. The last time I visited, they served the best salad. Avocado, Dungeness Crab claw, fresh corn, jicama, and lettuce, with pita chips on the side. Not just any Pita Chips. Ones that I’m pretty sure were 50% butter. Soft and warm, they were the perfect compliment for this salad, which I intend to order again.

This time, I’m getting a facial, another new experience for this red neck girl. Massages were booked up four to six weeks out. Luckily, I’ve been blessed with great skin. Surely not from lotions and potions. Just lucky in that way. Never had problems with unwanted moles or deep wrinkles, although my 65 years are evident. What if there ARE some fabulous products that can make things even better? I have been blessed with so many good things lately, I’ve no right to ask for another miracle. It will be nice to close my eyes and get moisturized.

Soon, the Halloween decorations need to come out. It turns out all the kids never come down my street because they hang out at WP’s. He actually turns on his porch light to attract them. I’ll move the action to his place and chip in for some candy. We ought to be able to have some fun watching the kiddos come and go.

With only ten weeks until the holidays really kick into high gear, it’s never to early to start thinking about your guest list. Goodness, I am becoming my mother, fretting about these things before the first day of fall is here. Blame it on the Halloween decorations at Walmart and the early purchase of candy for the kids. With shortages, you can never be too prepared. Have a great day. J

Wednesday nights I go to church for inspiration. I’m never disappointed. This week was no exception.

Funny how in any organization the same people do all the heavy lifting all the time. Worker bees just carry the load, because, most times, it isn’t too heavy for them. At Baptist on Main, it’s hard to tell who the workers are because they’re always smiling and relaxed. Their contributions are a gift to the rest of us. Surely God is pleased.

There’s the cleaning crew, of which I’m a member. Meeting on Thursday mornings, we sanitize and scrub. A secretarial duties. Bankers and bill payers. Lawn mowers. And one fill-in sign attendant. Me.

I’m helping one of our church celebrities. A fabulous hugger, she smiles broadly, welcoming every new visitor with her broad smile and a warm “Hello”. I certainly remember our first meeting. She notices when someone is down and does her best to provide comfort. Her life has had some bumps along the way. Like everyone, she knows sorrow. At the moment she knows pain, being one week past a complete hip replacement.

Aging, we may all need some new parts. Hard to say. Along with pretty decent skin, I also have good joints. Not much mileage on the knees or hips, they move properly and without pain. VST wasn’t lucky in that department. He suffered for years with crippling arthritis which attacked all his joints. He had a elbow he couldn’t straighten and a paralyzed hand. Knees supported by cumbersome braces. A neck that didn’t turn without pain. Through it all, he chose his medical course, never replacing anything. Strong willed, he did life his way.

This very huggable church lady asked a favor of me. Would I? Could I? Might I consider changing the inspirational sign on Main Street for her until she felt better? Of course, I would, could, and happily accepted my new job. With inspirational quotes already selected until year’s end and full a box of letters, this is an easy job that may change someone’s life. Driving on main, lost souls may read our message and come on in. Of course, I’d love to help.

Before Wednesday’s service, the choir and band practice for Sunday’s worship service. Free music, friendship, and the holy spirit BEFORE the pastor starts at 6 PM. Informal and family like, we’re studying Proverbs. If you read one Proverb a day, you’ll finish in a month. If you read 5 Psalms a day, you also finish in a month. I’m learning so much through our Bible studies. Somehow the pastor always chooses topics that speak directly to my spiritual needs, applying the words to 2021. Funny how that happens every time I worship there.

My new job is an important one. The sign and letters are very old and fragile and care needs to be given when handling them. Attention to spelling is a must. There was no apostrophe for God’s, so I needed to improvise and turn a comma upside down. When I was finished, the message read PUT YOUR HOPE IN GOD’S UNFAILING LOVE. A good message for us all to remember.

This week, the Pastor began the service asking for testimony from our small gathering. People were eager to share the blessings received. How uplifting! Messages of despair and relief. Everyone in the group was smiling, while the pastor agreed that we need to have a Testimonial service once a week. It was better than any medicine. Just listing to people talk about good things happening in their lives. Praise God for his blessings, big or small. Smiles and laughter transformed our group. Positive attitudes are what we all need right now, in this, the darkest of days.

In my life in the desert, I’m so thankful for every falling leaf and soft breeze. The moonlight last night was enchanting. Sneaky mustangs pose like lawn ornaments, munching on manicured grass. Neighbors are out more, enjoying the night’s reprieve from the last of summer’s heat. The Widower of the Pine’s driveway is a new hangout spot under the stars. Being a gentleman, he’d never let a lady walk back home alone in the dark, and so he takes my hand and leads me back to Winterpast. A God that loves me. Family. Friends. Oliver. A happy heart. A lovely neighborhood. What more could a red neck girl want?

That’s my testimonial for today. Find your grateful heart. Talk about it. Tell someone. There is nothing better than sharing something wonderful with a friend! More tomorrow.

Wednesday evening, leaving the church at 7:15, the day was gone. By the time I got home, it was dark. Autumn is my favorite time of year.

I’ve been searching for a way to help my community. It certainly isn’t through politics, which is a run away train headed for disaster. My service organization a great place for like minded people to gather and visit, but to think we could change anything at this point is foolish. But, Baptist on Main is another story. Churches are meant to do important things to help, no matter how small.

I love arriving early to Wednesday service. While the choir practiced their gorgeous selections of Sunday, I caught up on a little reading. I chose the Songs of Solomon, that being the place from which I chose the name Winterpast for my home. Such beautiful poetry, I wish I could come up with a visual of Solomon. Later that evening, Pastor C talked about Solomon’s life without knowing what I’d been reading earlier in the evening.

Deep in thought, I was interrupted by one of my favorite parishioners, Song Bird. She and her husband are dear people who bring light and smiles wherever they go. She sings in the choir, while her husband plays the drums in the band. When I met them, she’d been suffering with severe back pain for two years. One day this summer, she got up and it was healed. She took off her bulky brace and has had no more pain. Just like that. Such a blessing.

She had been wanting to get in touch with me about a request. There are many elders in the church that are shut-ins or just at home recuperating from surgeries or illness. Would I be interested in forming a committee to find services for church elders in need? Just like that, it clicked. That’s a worthy cause. My worthy cause. What more worthy cause could their be? Yes. I would love to help.

Another wonderful woman came to join our conversation who happens to work at the Senior Center. She is also one of my angel ladies, the three of us forming a Coalition of Love and Light. Hang on, our dear Seniors, the cavalry is forming. We’re on the way to help. If you aren’t lucky enough to live in a small town, I can assure you, you are missing out. Small town folks are aware of others. Broad smiled waving occurs when you pass one another on the street. People take walks and stop to chat. Neighbors know each other’s names. Garage doors that are up invite visitors. Garage doors that are down too long invite a knock at the door to make sure everything is okay. Privacy is respected but friendships are encouraged.

On Fourth of July, our town’s boutique packed up in the back of a box truck and moved to Out of Town Park. The community had gathered at the park that day to enjoy food, friends, and fun, while anticipating fireworks at sunset. With a set of steps, women could shop during the day. The shop owner sold almost everything she brought. The local booster’s club from a small town on America’s Loneliest Highway brought the best pulled pork sandwiches I have ever eaten. A variety of crock pots held homemade pork. A dad cranked out curly fries from a small peeler, deep frying them one potato at a time. The list goes on. Small town life at its best.

In the middle of the little church, as people arrived for the service, three women stood with heads together thinking of all the wonderful things we could do for our Senior Citizens. Sometimes, it only takes a phone call to make someone’s life better. Meals on Wheels, a number for Social Services, or just time to talk on the phone. I already know I want to start a writing group at our church. Everyone has amazing stories. I love to read as much as I like to write. Teaching people to write is the best fun of all. Yes, there are many helpful things to do in our little town.

Pastor C asked us to begin with testimonials of good things in our life. Song Bird had the most adorable story to share. Unwanted calls irritate her. Day in and day out, the phone rings, like it does for us all. “Is the head of the household in?” Who of us hasn’t been in the middle of something important when this happens. It was making her irritated, which in turn was not good for her back. In the shower, one morning, God spoke to her.

With divine inspiration, she’d listen to the callers, and then, THEY would listen to her. She had something to ask them and she planned to do just that.

“Carl, Do you know Jesus as your personal savior?” “Jennifer, have you accepted Christ?” “Bill, do you KNOW Jesus?” She had a plan. At least one time a day, she would witness for Christ. Done.

Never stop looking for ways to make your community better. It could take something as simple as offering neighbors some excess peaches, as one member did. Put some garden produce on the front drive with the word FREE. Sit outside in the evening and saying Hi to everyone that passes by.

Think about saying YES the next time the community needs help. New friends make an old like sparkle a bit. I’ve certainly found that to be true in this dusty little town on a wide spot in the road in the high desert of Northwestern Nevada.

I’ll be back on Monday. Thank you dear readers!!

Country people are grounded in time and truth. Of course, I over-generalize and am probably a wee bit prejudice. Being a red-neck girl, I gravitate towards boot cut Levi’s, cowboy boots, a western shirt, and a great Stetson. Saturday, I experienced the closest thing to time travel possible through an annual dinner.

It was a day to turn on the radio and begin scouring, on a mission to finish fall cleaning by Nevada Day, (the last Friday in October). Always very confusing, Nevada Day is sometimes the same day as Halloween, causing families to make the choice between attending big parades or taking the kiddos to Trick or Treat. Living in a small town, both dates are loved and celebrated.

Fall cleaning includes everything from changing out the AC filter to washing the base boards. Living in the desert, the wind blows. By the end of summer, it’s quite a job to get everything holiday ready. This is a great time of year to donate to my favorite thrift store, or just throw stuff out. Each room is tackled seperately.

Planning my cleaning schedule, I was interrupted by a phone call from a woman from my past. Almost old enough to be my mom, she raised her children on a vineyard very near our home place. Always light-hearted and fun, her kids knew how to play, while being lucky enough to have their very own pony. From now on, I will refer to her as Pony Mom.

Pony Mom birthed three children, but she also owned a small horse. Not just another animal, this was the fourth child. It knew when to be an older sibling and watch out for the kid brothers and sister. It knew when to be patient and put up with the kids, or when to call it a day and return to the barn. This pony was invited into their house on at least one occasion that I know of. Named Sugar, she had an willful identity all her own. I never knew her to hurt anyone intentionally, but have no doubt, she ruled her own little world.

Ponies are like the cutest of small children. Their behavior is often like that of an indulged child. Quite frankly, they can be brats and get away with a lot because of their cuteness. Once in awhile, Sugar visited our ranch. She’d tolerate all the extra rides and attention until deciding her visit was over. Trotting just faster than six stair stepped could run, she’d head down a row of vines, make a turn at the avenue, arriving to the safety of her barn. Great kid’s ponies are not trained but a gift from God. Sugar was just such a pony.

As kids do, we all grew and their family moved to another ranch miles and miles away. We’d run into them over the years, always marveling that all of us did okay in life. The country is a great place to raise free-range children. We learned to problem solve and create our own kind of entertainment. Bronzed kiddos, lean and inquisitive about the world, we snacked on bell peppers and cherry tomatoes from the garden. Summer time brought Elbow Peaches, named so because of the juice that would run to our elbows as we ate them right off the tree. Sitting under a vine, we’d plan our lives while reaching up to pick fresh grapes. If we were really quiet, we were be totally hidden from view while watching the world go by. The simple life of farm kids, magical by any standard.

Answering Saturday’s phone call, to my surprise, it was sweet Pony Mom. During the conversation, she made reference to some ancestral names shared between our two families. We’re probably distant cousins. We talked of people from the little country church that my Great-Grandparents helped build. The elders are slowly disappearing now. Women who cooked for funeral dinners for neighbors are all gone. The church community is different now, being more modern.

We talked about the American Historical Society of German’s from Russia. A small museum in Fresno, California houses historical records and heirlooms from valley residents who made their way from the Volga region of Russia to the Central Valley of California starting in the late 1800’s. Our ancestors did just that, traveling through Ellis Island. We marveled at the difficulty of the trip, amazed at how strong they were. Many people died as they walked across Poland to catch a boat to freedom. Those were MY people. I assure you, there was no white privilege when forced to leave their home or face exile or death.

Chatting with Pony Mom, there was no indication of our 20 year age difference. Our birthdays, both being in December, didn’t matter. It was the memories and history that made us laugh and remember such a sweet time in our lives.

After finishing the phone call, I had to hurry to get ready. I was about to attend an annual dinner for a gun club in a little town to the East. Not sure what to wear, I dressed as I would for church in a dress and party shoes.

The dinner was like every other annual business dinner for a club. The difference was that the door prizes were very expensive firearms. With raffle tickets costing $5 each, everyone was full of excitement as we waited until the last piece of homemade cobbler was consumed before winning tickets were pulled and announced. Winners would start the paperwork for ownership in the legal way at the local gun store. No firearms or people left early, all awaiting their chance with Lady Luck.

Members attending the meeting were my people. Looking around, it was if I was a teenager again, attending a function in my home town. This was one of the biggest events of the year. Local ranchers gathered to talk about such things as the drought and the price of beef. They talked about small town shops and gossip about those that bought thousands of dollars of raffle tickets. Five such people joined me to become dinner friends. California escapees all, we were all on the adventure of a lifetime living real life in the wild, wild west.

No, I didn’t win anything, but one of the ladies at our table won a pistol. Not bad for a $5 investment.

Driving back through the desert night, it was a perfect ending to a perfect day. The high desert of North Western Nevada is a place where time may not have stopped, but has surely slowed a little. A place where men can be men, and women love them just the way they are. A wonderful place that I call home.

Without faith, life wouldn’t be worth living. Some days, I envision VST up there in the heavens tossing a football with his buddies John Mora and Derick Wilson. With no pain of any kind, there they are having a Touch Down kind of day. I hope don’t peek down here to see the sorrow and suffering of the world. They lived enough of that when they were alive.

Through the years, I learned so much from him. Very seldom did he play the pity card. If there was a problem, it was identified, analyzed, and repaired. No problem was too big or small. As I’ve said before, one of his favorite lines was , “Can’t go nowhere on yesterday’s train”. Truer words were never spoken.

People would ask him how he accomplished everything in his daily life. Through our farming years, he raised five children to adulthood, made a home for his parents across the drive, while keeping the mastiffs in 20 pounds of dogfood a week. He made part runs and did 100% of the repairs on very old farm equipment. He completed three University degrees, the last being a Doctorate in Psychology. He did every bit of tractor work on the farm, with each trip on the tractor being 16 miles long, going at a snail’s pace. He made 30 trips to Hawaii over 17 years, and made time for boating trips to the California Delta. All this while working 7-6, running a multi-million dollar John Deere franchise in the Central San Joaquin Valley.

VST had three main careers in life. Farming, private business management, and social work. He flipped houses on the side. Between 2014-2015, we moved a bulging trailer of our belongings to Virginia City, one weekend load at a time. Fifty two weekends, fifty two loads, each one carefully packed by him. Leaving for the six hour trip on Friday night after working all day, we’d enjoy the time together. On Sunday, sad to leave, we’d head back home to return to our day jobs.

Over our 32 years together, friends and family would ask “How is there time for you to do all of this?” He would smile his dimpled smile and say, “Well, there are 24 hours in a day.” He squeezed life out to the last second. While doing this, he was calm and collected as he rested on his faith in God. Comforted by the ultimate knowledge that life wouldn’t throw anything at him that he couldn’t handle, he made touch down after touch down right up to the finish line.

Some days, finding faith is tough. Crafty is the devil. Some days, the madness of the world is astounding. I’ve found that turning the television to the off position is a start. Such things on display! Decency isn’t fashionable or current. What a shame.

K took a beautiful picture on the morning her dad passed to the other side. The sky was dark that day. Scary and ominous, she captured a moment we all felt. We were losing our rock. Our leader. Our hero. He couldn’t stay and somehow, we’d needed to find a way to let him go. God chooses, certainly not us. What wasn’t captured was the brilliant blue sky later in the day. These days my winter has passed and life has become the most brilliant of blues.

With faith, I moved to a town in which I knew two friends and my realtor. I bought a house that I didn’t know. I had two vehicles that I trusted would not break down, leaving me stranded. I drove miles through deserted desert having faith that I wouldn’t be abducted and murdered. I found a way to sleep soundly at night. I risked new friendships with total strangers, putting faith in a smile and kind eyes. But, most of all, I put faith in God’s love for me. God carried me through the flames of grief and I wasn’t burned. Through those days, he surely knows my tears. A true comfort in this crazy world, my faith increases every day.

To be a successful farmer, you need to have faith. Buying the farm in March 1990, we were excited and nervous about the venture. Although we grew up in a vast sea of vines, we had never owned one, let alone 16,500 of them. Being 100 years old, thank goodness their wisdom and perseverance helped us through. The vines knew what to do and they did it. The first week we owned the ranch, there was an early winter frost. The temps dropped to -11 degrees Fahrenheit. For California, that’s unheard of.

A long time girlfriend, a little jealous of our adventure, called me the morning after the frost.

“Do you think the frost last night killed your vines?” All the vineyards were still dormant, but no one really knew what damage the severe frost could have done. Worry about that very thing had robbed us of sleep the night before. We could have just purchased 40 acres of dead vines.

“No. No. No. God has this covered. The vines will be fine.”

Just like that, we felt better in our faith. On March 15th, bud-break occurred. Tiny little leaves came out everywhere. By April 15th, little bunches of grapes bloomed, and the race to harvest was on. Soon, the frost was just a distant memory, as our first Sunmaid raisin crop was on the ground, drying in the San Joaquin Valley heat. God had us covered all along.

Whatever the trouble, find your faith. Everything will be okay, even when the darkest of clouds block the blue sky behind. Remember to use your time wisely, for time is a terrible thing to waste. The days are short. Get hopping.

Gabby Petito died alone in a National Park. There should’ve been someone there to help her. In reality, 22 years of age is still a trusting kid. I didn’t have the pleasure of knowing her. I wasn’t there for her first steps or Kindergarten graduation. Pretty sure Gabby sailed through her milestones like all children do. She’d started a career as a “nutritionist”, but longed for an adventure. Living her dreams, she bought a van and converted it into a camper. Sharing her words with the world, she blogged across America.

In case the story has escaped you, Gabby was the victim of a homocide while visiting Wyoming. Murdered. We haven’t been told the entire story yet. Violent stories usually feature two angry people throwing wood on a flaming relationship. There are details that’ll never be revealed. It appears Gabby was in over her head, just like I was at her age. Those that COULD have helped didn’t know the entire story either. If so, things wouldn’t have ended this way.

Battered women have so much in common. We are quiet about the situation thinking we can handle it. We think each time will be the last, but in reality each time gets worse. We hope we can do better so the violence doesn’t come back more wicked and strong than the last time. Most battered women never get up the nerve to say “Enough is Enough”. It takes so much strength to tell. Even more strength to walk away. I know. In 1983 I did just that with a little boy under each arm.

Gabby was in a police car for a time. Four or five professionals talked to her, and then, Brian. Over an hour was recorded on police cameras. She was safe for a tiny bit, looking child-like in the back of the patrol car. Of course, Brian looked like a choir boy. In the end, Gabby was found to be the villain, Brian the victim. Brian got a hotel room from a victim advocacy group. Gabby was told to take 24 hours to think about things. She was safe, until she was dead days later. The policemen are victims, too. Their hands were tied by what they could and couldn’t do legally. It’s all displayed on You Tube for the world to watch. If only things had gone differently. Gabby might be safe in the loving arms of her dad.

Gabby had strength. Evidenced by her courage, her heart yearned for adventure and a writing career. It feels amazing to watch blog readership grow. In one year, I have IP addresses from over 70 countries. Just little, old me typing away at 4:30 in the morning. With no advertising, 65,000 computers have logged onto my site. Friends write to check up on me when I go off line for a day or two. I matter to a few other people in the world. People I’ll never know. Just a few months ago, 70 people a day were reading. These days the number is around 440. I know Gabby’s blog was much more successful than mine, and she must have been so proud. Even though Brian didn’t believe in her, she believed in herself. She thought she could so she did.

It’s dreadfully painful when your partner doesn’t believe in your abilities as a writer. Her boyfriend didn’t. I’ve experienced that. For many years, I shelved my stories in a mental vault. Steered by “Shouldn’t” and “How could you?”, I allowed my stories to wait. I’ll never wait again. It took me 65 years to discover who I am as a writing woman. Gabby knew this much earlier in life.

Camping for weeks on end isn’t all glamor. It’s hard work. Setting up camp. Breaking up camp. Long hours of driving. No one really knows how vast and diverse the US of A is until you drive across it. Planning the trip of a life time a few miles at a time, she was hoping to earn money working at her favorite National Parks. Odd jobs here and there could extend their trip. She would write about every last detail.

When I was her age, I was awaiting the birth of my first son. My destiny changed my life’s path. Gabby was charting her own course. Beautiful, happy, and just plain lovely, she had the world at her fingertips until it was robbed from her and her loved ones.

Being a mom, my heart goes out to her family. They must be gutted. In a fog worse than any I’ve ever experienced in my life. The light of their family is gone forever. Pointless. Needless. Violent. Forever. All in the high beams of Headline News.

I long to hit the road in a van like hers, knowing what it’s like to live on the road for weeks at a time. I long to sit by the side of the road and watch the bison, elk, and antelope. The big blue sky of Wyoming dwarfs that of Nevada, and stole my heart long ago. No comparison to any other place in the world, in my experience. She died in a place I plan to visit someday. She died doing what I can only dream of. She lived as my heart wishes it could. On the road. Gabby and I had a lot in common, and yet, we never even met.

My heart goes out to Brian’s family, as well. Mental illness and violence are horrible things that plague many families, including my own. Struggling white sons have a lot on their plates in this crazy world. Vilified by the imaginary sins of their white fathers. Hard work labeled by the lazy as “White Man Privilege”. Trying to pick out their own path, step by step, the methods their parents used to create a life are not the same today. Many young men have no clue what their life’s direction should be, and so they wander. The 20’s are an age of confusion. An age to try different scenarios. A time to play at adulting, when in reality, they’re just kids in bigger bodies. Under the microscope of adults that don’t quite understand today’s world, they smolder.

Pray for everyone involved in this, the saddest of stories. With time, justice will be served. It’s not ours to judge, as we’ll never know all the details leading up to this tragedy. Battered women suffer every single day in silence. No doubt you’d be shocked at those you know already. Really listen to your friends. Support them. Hear them even when the words they utter are different than what you observe. No woman or man deserves abuse at the hand of another.

Gabby Patito. Rest in Peace, Sweet Girl in the Rainbow Angel Wings. You’ll be missed. Every best seller you were destined to write will wait for us in heaven. Wyoming rainbows will remind me of you. God Speed, Gabby. We miss you.

_{Reinterpretation of Circle Game by Joni Mitchell}

Just last year this gal came out to wander

With some stories trapped inside my head,

Fearful, I loved my new home and strange town

While tearful for the falling of my man.

Then this gal wrote twelve months ’round the seasons

Describing lonely widowhood to all

Friendship, love, and writing of adventure

Promising to make all my dreams come true

And the year, has gone round and round

And this gal’s life has left her unbound

I’m blogging ’bout my Winterpast and time

I can’t go back, I can only look

Ahead towards what I know

And go round and round the months

As they turn so slow.

Fifty two weeks and four long seasons gone now

Since first I put my words upon the screen

My book takes time, surely it won’t be long now

As I drag my feet feet to slow the process down

And the year has gone round and round

And this gal’s life has left her unbound

I’m blogging ’bout my Winterpast and time

I can’t go back, I can only look

Ahead towards what I know

And go round and round the months

As they turn so slow

Through the year, this gal is now more settled

My dreams and writing rose to carry me through

There are new dreams, a sweet love, new and plenty

Before my last revolving year is through.

And the year has gone round and round

And this gal’s life has left her unbound

I’m blogging ’bout my Winterpast and time

I can’t go back, I can only look

Ahead towards what I know

And go round and round the months

As they turn so slow.

#####

To all my beloved readers,

On this the one year anniversary of my blog, THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart. This has been a most rewarding experience as I share my thoughts with you. Thank you for following my journey. I love you all. Joy

The last twelve months have taught me a lot about myself and my writing habits. I write best while drinking my first cup of coffee in the morning. This occurs long before regular interruptions of the day begin. I need quiet solitude, with only the irritation of a headstrong little dog to bother me while keeping my feet warm. Needing space for my thoughts to flow, I love this time of day.

I’ve tried writing at other times of day to identify my creative zone. Over the years, I’ve learned 3:00 AM is even better. That crazy hour being too much even for me, it’s become a habit to leave my journal on my nightstand for those inspirational moments that awaken me from a dead sleep. If you are contemplating a blogging future, try writing at different times of the day and use what works for you.

Last year was full of firsts for me, all rich with details about which to write. I’m hoping this year will be the same. Writing my first book, the opportunities to learn about self publishing has been overwhelming. Online, one can find many webinars about various subjects in the field of writing. From contests, to blog sites, everything needed to start is available at your computer screen.

I find myself swamped at times, and decided I needed to try something new to better organize my days. Well aware that there is more than ample time for everything I would like to do, I picked out categories that were necessary parts of any day. Sleep. Personal time. Writing time. Friends and family. Household and garden chores. Time for spiritual growth.

Drawing a pie chart with 12 slices, each one represented two hours. With a little thought, I created a picture of what my day could be. Juggling hours here and there, a balance came into view. Something for which I’ve been searching but have yet to find. A balanced day. Once the big picture was more visual my scheduling became easier.

In my second year, when sitting down to write, I envision inspiration and creativity. Writing with a purpose, I intend to write myself a salary this year. Calm and relaxed, I want to entertain and inspire my readers, giving them the best product I can produce. I’d love to work at least 20 hours a week. Right now, I write about 14 hours a week, so there’s room for improvement. I also want to have some down time over the weekend to rejuvenate. Following a loose schedule, my job as a writer should fit into a balanced life.

Through the next twelve months, I’ll consider myself successful if I publish at least 340 blog pieces, along with my first book, Widow. Research will help me monetize my writing to produce an income. A business plan will organize my financial goals. A weekly writing class guiding elders would make my life bloom even more brightly.

Year One helped me declare that I AM a published writer. Writing IS life, as a very wise 5th grader told me in an essay during my last year as a teacher. Writing is everything interesting, invigorating, and awesome in this world. Stories are everywhere, just waiting to be told. Beauty and tragedy beg detailed discriptions. Readers gotta read. Writers gotta write. Simple as that.