Category: 2021

CHOOSE HAPPINESS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

to understand everything that has eluded us,

to resolve all our life’s issues,

to mend our relationships and mature spiritually.

But, our aspirations, even as lofty as these,

exhaust us and keep us busy striving

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

peace.

It will be healing enough when you can lay aside your

self assessments and demands,

and stop trying so hard to get this right.

Indulge, instead, in being an ordinary person who loves

God.

Happy Saturday. More on Monday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_{Tim McGraw}

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

Don’t forget the keys under the mat

When childhood stars shine

Always stay humble and kind

Go to church ’cause your momma says to

Visit Grandpa every chance that you can

It won’t be wasted time

Always stay humble and kind.

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

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

I know you got mountains to climb but

Always stay humble and kind

When the dreams you’re dreamin’ come to you

When the work you put in is realized

Let yourself feel the pride but

Always stay humble and kind.

Don’t expect a free ride from no one

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

Bitterness keeps you from flyin’

Always stay humble and kind

Know the difference between sleepin’ with someone

And sleepin’ with someone you love

“I love you” ain’t no pickup line

Always stay humble and kind.

When those dreams you’re dreaming’ come to you

When the work you put in is realized

Let yourself feel the pride

But always stay humble and kind

When it’s hot, eat a root beer popscicle

Shut off the AC and roll the windows down

Let the summer sun shine

Always stay humble and kind

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

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

And help the next one in line

Always stay humble and kind

*Have a wonderful day!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joy

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

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

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

Joy

A new photograph now hangs in my studio, providing a peaceful portal into which I can escape when words fail me. My studio (aka – 2nd bedroom, but Auntie TJ insisted it is my studio) is a delightful little space in which all my favorite possession hide. Books of poetry I wrote when I was a girl in the mid 1900’s, old hobbies, remnants of my teaching career, and now, this new photograph.

An 18″ x 24″ piece of framed canvas, it’s any Urban Cowboy’s dream scenario. Fitting that the picture isn’t corral-ed by a frame. The picture bleeds off the edges into possibilities. Eight gentled horses rest in a huge white fenced area, all enjoying their retirement. Not a pile of poop anywhere, these guys have hit the horse-y gold mine, locked away behind exclusive fencing. Pampered in every way, these aren’t the expensive race horses one might expect. They’re rescues, each with their own history and set of aches and pains. Each with a thousand reasons never to trust a man again. And yet, each with the knowing ability to help kids in need of therapy. We could all learn a thing or too about forgiveness from this herd.

Some might have given up on these horses and they could have gone to the auction house. If you know anything about horses, there’s a place that some go at the end of the line. When training has failed or the string of owners has run out, there is one last trailer ride to the end. The auction horses just disappear into a nothingness that no one questions or talks about. “Sold” to the highest bidder and off they go without a question. Another trailer ride, probably their last.

The photograph, perfectly balanced in color and perspective, hints of a freedom these horses might or might not have preferred. An expansive backdrop of unfenced hills miles beyond is a quiet reminder of a place meant for horses. Real horses. Their mustang friends. Just beyond that looms a landmark mountain around these parts, scared with telltale ski runs at 8,200 ft. My long ago Mt. Everest, when I pretended it could be.

In this photograph, the artists are the clouds and sun, changing the hills into different earthy shades of beautiful. The ever present jet stream carried them towards Big Sky Wyoming and a place perfect for equine dreams, and mine, as well.

A barn sits off to the side, and I smile. No comparison to my big falling down barn of long ago. The one my ancestors built in the early 1900’s. The one in my Auntie TJ scrawled her name in wet concrete when she was only a girl. The barn in which VST and I shared many quick kisses, or perhaps a heated argument over this or that. The barn where VST was startled by the owl that lived most days in quiet darkness, keeping the mice population to a minimum. The one that held our raisin crop safe from rain. The one holding ghostly voices of Jack, Joann, and all the kids, when they were ours. The one that was Once Upon A Time mine.

No, to this farmer girl, this barn fits perfectly in the picture. Freshly painted. Sterilized. Welcoming. Urban Appropriate.

This picture was gifted to me on Thanksgiving, 2021. A casual friend remind me what real friendship should emulate. A friend that hides somewhere in that personalized photograph on my wall, a step too far for me to reach.

Funny how some photographs can just pull you right to the edge of the canvas. This one has that kind of power. The horses that now live in my studio don’t need much care. No poop scooping or foot pick-ing. Groomed for the day, they’re just enjoying the sunshine, calm and fed. Frozen in time, they’ve no longer a care in the world.

I hope you have a calm-and-fed-not-a-care-in-the-world kind of day. For Oliver and I, leaf patrol continues. More tomorrow.

I don’t know that I’ve ever loved a home like Winterpast. She and I have this quiet little affair which started the day I found her nestled among others on Realtor.Com. I found her and did research to be sure I could pay the bills should I suddenly be alone. Although VST wasn’t yet ill, the next home could be the place where our lives changed. How little did I know. Planning for the future, I factored in many things. Square feet to vacuum. Kitchen cabinets to fill. Closet space. A room for everything. Single level. Then, I shared the MLS listing with VST. He saw the RV barn and it was a done deal.

VST was a man that had to be doing and going. Dunmovin was our current day Winchester House. Something was always in a state of rejuvenation with VST around. Now, my two industrial strength table saws, saw horses, drills, bits, and KregTool sit in the garage with all their friends. Tools I don’t know how to use or even identify lay as testament to the man I loved. I don’t open the drawers very often for the site makes me cry every time.

VST never actually lived here at Winterpast. It would have resulted in divorce or another move, (a huge remodel at the very least), for we both have large territorial footprints. For all she is, Winterpast wouldn’t have been big enough for two. At least not VST and me. But, for one desert gal, she’s just right.

This morning, waking slowly, I was thinking about the word HOME and what it means to different people. For the last two decades, home has meant a private space in which to say what I want to say, while doing whatever I want to do. To VST, home was a place for improvements before the vicissitudes of life would demand change or adjustment. VST didn’t live long enough to practice lazy. A true shame, because, as Auntie TJ taught me well, practicing lazy is an art.

Every morning, I look at an embroidery piece my mother completed in 1940, the year she married my father.

Of all the roads

Both East and West

The one that leads

To home is best.

Framed in a handmade oak frame treated with amber shellac, I remember this hanging in the bedroom hallway of my childhood home. A reminder of what home should be for the 19 years I lived there; it’s the one thing from my childhood home that made sense. I wanted my home to be THAT place for family and friends.

When VST was alive, home was wherever together was. It mattered not. On the beaches of the Central California Coast. Hunkered down during a tornado warning in Oklahoma. Under the big sky of Montana. Listening to buffalo speak in Wyoming. A full moon night on Waikiki Beach. Sawing, staining, and hammering decks late into the night. Home meant together.

Now, I’m learning home isn’t defined by another. It’s a feeling in your gut. You know when you find it. You know even more when you’re there. That’s home for me. And now, Home Means Nevada.

As a teacher, I would wait for the first day of summer. People hold this over our heads with disgust.

“But, YOU, have summers off.”

Well. True. Summer days are days off without pay. People forget that teachers are paid for X number of days per year. In my case, it was 185. Place those teaching days however you like, but 185 was the number multiplied by a daily rate. Yearly salaries are divided by 1/12th to provide a paycheck each month, just so educators don’t starve during the summer. I assure you, one is paid for a fixed number of days. Period. Having those unpaid days strung together was, indeed, something I waited for. Ever teacher needs time to decompress with time to enjoy their own private life.

Driving home on Day 185, I would repeat the same phrase over and over.

“The summer is rich with possibilities.”

The biggest certainty was that I could stay home for weeks on end, never leaving my little mountaintop. Rambling around the property, I could enjoy a mix of nesting, hobbies, gardening, polishing, reading, writing, thinking, and resting. VST would leave in the morning, looking dapper in his starched shirt, slacks, and tie. Shoes polished. Keys in one hand and a diet coke in the other, with a kiss and hug he was out the door. Sweet solitude at home has always been the happiest of places for me.

Some people go stir crazy in one place too long. Covid quarantine must be sheer torture for them. They get bored. Well, bored is another word for a lazy mind. Before television, computers, video games and other forms of artificial intelligence, there was the real thing. I could spend a day reading a well written book in which the words transported me into other worlds. Who hasn’t been engulfed in a novel you simply cannot stop reading? Just remember a certain trilogy that came out a few years back. Seems it had the entire female population reading into the wee hours of the morning.

My Winterpast knows things. She’s a wise house, understanding why some days, the curtains are better drawn than left open. I felt it the first time I entered her walls. There’s a spirit of kindness and knowing left behind just for me. It was my job to turn her into my home, while setting down roots in the gardens out back. Both accomplished.

Miss Firecracker and I were talking the other day. I was whining a bit, (Okay Miss Firecracker, A Lot), and she was sharing her wisdom. (Miss Firecracker, I depend on your wisdom and insight. Don’t forget that.) I hadn’t been clear on a few things I shared, making it seem I was unhappy with my choice of a dusty little wide spot in the road.

“Well, maybe this wasn’t the town for you. Maybe you should move.”

What? Impossible! Not happening! As for me, I’ve found my home. It’s here. Winterpast.

Home. Roots. Stability. Domestic security. Inner Peace. Healing. Happiness.

Winterpast is all those things to me. For now, she definitely qualifies as HOME. Perhaps the most truthful and gracious home I’ve ever loved.

Today is a day of writing, nesting, and quiet reflection. The leaves can wait another day. Of all the roads both East and West the one that leads to home is BEST. Saving on gas, I’m already here. Have a wonderful day.

A dusty little wide spot in the road. Many people gasp when I announce my home town. “Say, Where????”

“NOOOO!!!!!!!”

“There’s nothing but sand, sage, and snakes.”

“NO CULTURE?!?!?!”

Well, those are all reasons I love it here, minus the snakes, of course. There are drawbacks. I never know when I’ll need to shovel horse poop off my sidewalk or re-rake the brand new DG in the front yard to remove hoof prints.

There’s one thing that I’ve found in no other place I’ve lived. A hint of Wyoming. The biggest bluest sky. As a young farm girl from California, I read about fluffy clouds in the shape of dogs or dinosaurs. I could never quite understand, although I liked the concept. Central California has very boring sky, I can tell you that. In my experiences of over six decades, there are two types of sky there. Foggy or smoggy. The color never changes from a light grayish blue. No dimension other than flat which mirrors the contour of the land. Clouds and real weather are very, very rare. The sky is boringly static.

Winterpast changed my experience with clouds. The lush green grass of Summer 2021 was the perfect place to lay and watch the clouds passing by. I’m quite sure I saw VST and his golf clubs giving me a High-5 as he headed East on the jet stream. On most days above Winterpast, the color of blue sky will electrify the saddest day making it come alive with possibility.

Nevada sky isn’t the Big Sky of Wyoming which tugs at my heartstrings in dreams. I’m not so sure its memory won’t yank me back to live there for a summer or two, someday. Here, the high desert sky of Northwestern Nevada has a playful spirit. I can wake to the night sky extravaganza of a million stars as I grab a morning soak in the hot tub. Then, slowly, the clouds come out to play throughout the day. Big puffy ones, boiling and transforming into all kinds of shapes. More towards this time of year, the clouds turn into sassy little shards of white, as brittle as my heart on some days. Ice. Floating ice. The texture aloof and business like. Crisp and inelastic while moving East, the sky and clouds behave as two uninterested and masked strangers at the produce aisle during Covid.

These days, clouds bounce along their windy way, signaling conditions aloft. A pilot once explained information the different cloud formations held. Once aware, I could read a story about from where the clouds had come and to where they were headed. Another dimension of which many people are oblivious.

Being up there with the clouds. Who could ever, in any situation, walk away from flying without feeling profound loss? Health worries would dictate that for some. But, once I met a person that never shed a tear. Just took off his wings and went on his way for no real reason. There is very little in my life that has compared to flying.

Once, VST had to attend a meeting in Santa Barbara. Teaching 2nd Grade at the time, I couldn’t leave my littles. What to do? The owners of the company had requested my presence at a big weekend party, and frankly, so did VST. What to do? What to do?

A private jet was ordered just for me.

I remember the morning I drove to the airport while ignoring the parking lot for normal passengers. Continuing to the back lot, another world opened up. The company jet was waiting for me and me alone. A little red carpet was positioned right by the short set of steps. A cute uniformed pilot helped me with my bags and we were off. No TSA. No lines. No waiting for rows to be called. Just like that, I was in the air in my own private bubble. With no distractions, I migrated south like the birds. Having the ability to fly through the blue over a carpet of clouds is something from which I could never ever have walked away.

In Virginia City, The Dunmovin’ House had the most wonderful view that went on for hundreds of miles. There were the secret mountains that were only revealed in the winter after a snow. So far away, they were invisible with the least amount of pollution or smoke from fires. After a snow, they appeared, pristine and proud. But, that view was only in one direction. To the west sat the imposing base of Mt. Davidson, into which Dunmovin’ was built. The views to the West, North, and South were rock. So, in reality, we experienced no Big Sky there.

Big Sky exists where you can stop the car, get out, and a vast expanse of sky can be seen from an area of open land in any direction. The key here is OPEN LAND. In Central California, there is very little open land. Trust me on that one. Even though my childhood was spent in a sea of vineyards, totally flat by design, it didn’t qualify because every inch was developed. And besides, there is the grayish faded blue color going on there.

I first fell in love with Big Skies in the fall of 2010. The unexpected death of a close family member caused need of a road-trip to North Dakota. VST and I had just purchased a brand new nifty little Jetta. After ten days of travel, we took it to the dealer for its 5,000 mile service. The skies on that trip had me. If VST would’ve agreed, we would’ve moved then. Of course, responsibilities pulled us back home. The yearning for Big Sky never left my heart.

This week, the weather is unseasonably warm, almost irritatingly so. Add the sunshine and it’s still shorts-weather for another ten days. All to the good. I need to make some trips West before the snow curbs my activities a bit. It’ll be the perfect time for garage cleaning and leaf patrol while I put things in order for the next adventure just around the bend. This desert gal never knows what’s next. One must be prepared for anything around here.

To those of you deep in snow, don’t worry. I’ll get mine. Just not in the next ten days. More tomorrow.