Category: 2021

On December 12, 2020, I gave testimony of my faith in a tiny little baptistery hidden behind four walls off Main Street on a wide spot on the road in the Northwestern Nevada desert. One of the most beautiful moments of life, I’ll remember it the rest of my days.

VST died during his 65 year. As if he knew he would never see 66, speed limit signs would always grab his attention. Don’t Pass 65. He’d comment on the signs often, almost as a warning that he wouldn’t make it, and he did not.

For the last six months, I’ve been attending Baptist on Main while falling in love with my church family. Such a caring group of people, I’ve witnessed prayer at work. There has been one inexplicable healing of a friend who has suffered from broken vertebrate for the last two years. Some would say time healed her. I believe it was God. Her pain was debilitating and constant. One day, she accepted a full and total healing from GOD. Whatever you choose to believe is fine by me. I believe in the power of God’s mercy and grace watching her broad smile as she comes to church, now pain free. A miracle in my eyes, she no longer wears her cumbersome brace. A testament to her faith and the miracle of prayer.

As I became a part of this circle of believers, their prayers for me were heartfelt. As the weeks passed, the fact that I was baptized as an infant in another little country church far away wasn’t quite enough for me. I made a conscious choice to become baptized as an adult.

Pastor C and I are friends. I look to him for answers as I travel through the confusing wilderness of widowhood. Prayers are a comfort while walking a widow’s journey through loss towards acceptance. Testimony about his wife’s recent illness and the miracle their family received is a beautiful story of strength, determination, and God’s grace. Although their struggle through illness is still very real and raw, her health is returning a little at a time, along with her smile. His strength and support to his church family during his own dark days is remarkable.

One day before Bible Study, on a bright, blue sky morning, I asked Pastor C if he would baptize me before my church family. We talked for a little bit and he agreed. He offered to baptize me on Christmas Eve by candlelight. Something about taking away the spotlight and meaning of the candlelight Christmas communion didn’t see right. Besides, I wanted to be baptized during my 65th year. December 24th would be eight days too late.

Baptism represents death, burial, and rebirth. Doing this during my 65 year was another part of healing. Each year, between July and December, I was two years younger than VST. It just bugged him. I would enjoy those days immensely, teasing him until December 16th rolled around. Now, I’m officially older than VST. He must be chuckling in heaven about that. I wanted my Baptism to be on my 65th year as a special shout out to heaven, and so, December 12th was the chosen date.

The week before, Pastor C teased me promising to hold me down a bit too long while making sure the temperature of the water was as cold as the grave. In my mind, I was thinking about what to wear in front of a room full of onlookers. Just what does one wear to a Southern Baptist Baptism when you are the center of attention? Someone had mentioned a bathing suit, but that seemed all too revealing.

It finally came to me. In the winter, I wear black long-sleeved turtlenecks under everything, adding additional warmth. I’d choose one of those and grey cotton shorts. Perfect for me.

The morning of the 12th, the chapel was pretty full. Visitors had chosen the day to see what Baptist on Main was about. Strangers and friendly faces watched as I went behind the door marked “Office” to change with help from Miss Willow. Alone, I slipped into the turtleneck and shorts, ready to climb some very steep steps up to the baptismal pool.

Entering the water, it was neither cold nor warm. Freshly drawn during Bible Study, the font sits in front of a stunning mural of a local lake. The bottom of the font isn’t visible from the chapel side, giving the impression that one is just sitting in water by the lake. When immersed, the person being baptized is visible to the church members through a window in the side of the baptistry as they go underwater. While I sat on a little seat built into the baptistery, Pastor C stood behind it, quite dry.

Although the entire event took less than a minute, it seemed like a lifetime to me. Pastor C prayed over me and then, quickly, I was under the water and raised back out. As I looked out into a sea of my new family, I was glad I was wet. Only Pastor C could tell my tears were mixed with the water in the baptistery. Just like that, I was baptized. Just like that, I became a new member of OUR church.

Quick as a cricket and down the steep stairs, I dried off in the office as Pastor C went on with his Sunday sermon. Wet headed, I rejoined the worship service so glad that I’d chosen this ceremony to publicly declare my acceptance of Jesus as my Lord and Savior. Somedays, Faith is all I have to help guide me through the wilderness of widowhood. Belonging to this little parish is another way I’m sinking roots into my desert home. It’s here I’ve belonged all along.

Back with the flock, the service ended. A friend asked if I’d join her for lunch at the local diner. Two others joined us and we had a delightful meal. Friends make life worth living. Returning home, chores were all still waiting, but so was a chance for a nap. Dying, being buried, and rising again is tough work, even if only symbolic.

That’s my story. Such a beautiful memory, mine alone. A day I’ll never forget.

Have a wonderful day today, whatever you choose to do. Fill it with happiness.

More tomorrow.

Sunday past, the last full moon of 2021 shone brightly. Known as the Cold Moon, this full moon hangs longer in the sky than others. Rising just days before the Winter Solstice and the shortest day of the year, the high desert Cold Moon shone brightly on the horizon as I waited in the parking lot on main for Sunday evening bible study.. My heart felt just like this Cold Moon, rather lonely up there in the heavens.

The winter and summer solstice refer to the shortest and longest days of the year while the spring and autumn equinoxes fall on days with the same amount of day and night hours. For me, the winter solstice is when I say Goodbye to my favorite time of year, while marching towards the longer days of spring. For me, it’s the long winter nights that are a big trying.

Through the next three months, the trees of Winterpast will continue to sleep deeply. Although they shudder in the high desert winds, any other sign of life is gone. Outlined with snowflakes at times, the back yard takes on a different beauty. On full moon nights, the outlines of the trees make a ghostly appearance through my bedroom blinds. Eerie shadows cause me to turn away as I fall asleep.

Yesterday, I experienced a magical event that made me think I’d lost my mind. Pogonip. Venturing out to visit a friend, when walking through her yard, the air was sparkling with floating glitter. So beautiful, I had to stop. Truly, I thought I had lost my ever-lovin’ mind. The faintest sparkles were hanging in the air like tiny diamonds, while swirling this way and that. I didn’t mention it until a little while after I arrived. No. It was real. It’s called pogonip, or freezing fog. I normally hate fog, but the next time this occurs, I’ll photograph it if I can. It was magical.

These long days of winter give me plenty of time to think and write. No excuses of broken sprinkler systems or grass that needs mowing to distract me . There is just Oliver, me, and the computer. Time for everything restful and quiet, with plenty of time to dig deeper into treasures hidden deep in my soul. Just like the trees outside, I need the darkness as much as the light.

That being said, there are those things that go thump in the night giving one cause for pause. The other night, I was chatting with CC about all the latest happenings here in the high desert when there was an alarming noise from outside. Not a thud. Not a slide. Not a bang or a snap. A dull noise made by something very, very big. Alarmed, I stopped the conversation and listened for a bit, finally writing off the event to something I thought I heard. It couldn’t have been real. I decided I was imagining things.

A few nights went by, with quiet being the signature sound coming from my neighborhood. It is so quiet, either in the day or night, that I can hear my heart beat in the silence. Rarely do I hear a stray voice or the sound of a hedge trimmer or hammer. Just silence. I’m often awakened in the night by the far away sounds of a lonely train zipping through town or Jake Brakes on the interstate. Once in awhile, a stray Top Gun jet might fly over on its way to home base, or a life flight helicopter racing someone to the hospital in the next town over. No barking dogs or bickering neighbors. Just peace and quiet.

Stray noises of the unusual kind do stand out, and sure enough, on that very dark night there was something very large right outside my bedroom window. Moving about, it was enough of sound that I grabbed the flashlight to find out, once and for all, what would be making this noise on my property, right next to my bedroom window.

After turning on my extremely bright porch lights while Oliver barked loudly, I proceeded outside, turning left to walk in front of my studio window. In the total darkness of night I saw nothing, which made me hold the Mag Flashlight as a weapon. Whatever was there would receive a bit of a headache if an attack occurred.

It was then that not just one but two mustangs came around the corner of my house. But of course!!! The Mustangs.!!! The corner of my fence and house make the perfect manger/windbreak. Relieved it wasn’t someone wanting to do me harm, I backed away, encouraging them to move on down the road. The quiet clippity-clop of their hooves on the blacktop fit the night as they disappeared into the darkness. They would need to find another place to shelter for the night. No room at Winterpast.

How lucky I am to enjoy Winter in a place so safe that I can go into the night to investigate a noise. What a blessing to live with majestic animals like the mustangs that choose us as their neighbors. Although I’m pretty sure I heard them grumbling as they left, I hope there were no hard feelings. They’ll be back soon.

Winter holds time to think and redirect. Time to envision new garden plans. Time for soup and yummy hot dishes. Time to sleep a little later in the morning and turn in a little earlier each evening. Time to cuddle with photo albums and smile at the happy memories made so long ago. Time to hope for new memories yet made and new friendships yet to be discovered. Winter is the loveliest of seasons.

Enjoy Winter’s first day. Have fun finishing your preparations for Christmas celebrations. Take the time to contact friends you haven’t talked to for awhile. Remember to stay warm and safe. More tomorrow.

In these crazy times, it’s so hard to find a balance of truth and quiet. At every turn, the news media is forcing their narrative down our throats. Everyone wants our attention. Advertisements sell their idea of the perfect traditions, families, and thoughts. Drink this and feel better. Wear this while looking fit and trim. Come to our store for the best deals. I’ve found an answer to the noise. I simply turn the television to “OFF”..

Once upon a time, I had a television in every single room. All flat screens, neat and tidy, with their little control boxes at the ready. Hooked up to the latest cable companies, VST and I were slaves to the latest shows and the oldest reruns. A TV was always playing somewhere, while we seldom chose silence as a better option.

Sad to think of all the conversations in this world not happening because people are glued to the boob-tube. If you are old enough to understand that phrase, you know. For the youngers in my beautiful group of readers, a “boob” is another word for a foolish person. Televisions used to be run using cathode ray tubes. Television cabinets were actually pieces of very large furniture that housed all these tubes. Television repair shops sold a variety of replacement tubes. When one of your tubes burned out, a repair man could fix it and you’d be watching TV again.

The first television I remember was a thing of beauty. It sat in the family room, and we all gathered around to watch the grainy test pattern when we first got it. Just a greyscale pattern on the screen. Programing was limited to certain hours. Every morning, while eating breakfast before school, the first thing that played was the National Anthem, while the American flag was shown. It was a lovely way to start the day. The second thing was the daily news, which was actually good and bad news. Some stations did the same thing at sign off, when television stations actually stopped broadcasting for the night. In our town, for years, there were three stations. Not 303. Just three.

Before television, undistracted hours were filled with cards, board games, reading, and local gossip. Children had to make up games for entertainment outside in nature. Go figure. It was delightful to be sucked up into the beautiful world of the farm, always finding something fascinating to capture our attention. Oh, for one more day to find a horned toad in the powdery dust behind Dad’s shop, or a covey of quail to scare into flight.

These days, I find silence beautiful. Focusing on my own thoughts more clearly, I can decide what options make sense in my life, following the path that’s right for me. On a phone call over the weekend, a friend phoned to ask if I had seen the latest on the new virus. Actually, I hadn’t. Funny, my day was just great without knowing a thing about this new variant, which I fear no more than all the others before it.

“It’s so DANGEROUS! It’s AWFUL. YOU need to BLAHBLAHBLAHBLAHBLAHBLAHBLAH.”

What? I need to what? Wear three masks? Hibernate? Take three, no four, no sixteen shots? I need to shelter in place? And quiver? Cease to live? Cover Winterpast in plastic wrap? I’m sorry. Not happening. All this conversation with someone that KNEW the vaccine isn’t something I’m medically able to take. Very insensitive.

Since April 8th, 2020, I have been choosing the best course for me. I’ve stayed at hotels and eaten out many times each week. I’ve even traveled. It’s called LIFE. I’d have lost out on my search to find happiness if I’d quivered in place. I’ve no plans to start quivering now.

For me, my plan of action is already in place. I’m fully mindful of the virus and ready to care for myself should I become ill. The same as in any other flu season, I’ve purchased all the supplies necessary to care for myself should I become ill. In this, the season of hysteria, there is one other decision I had to make. Should I become ill, I’ll ride out the storm accepting the consequences. I don’t expect anyone else to step in and save me. I’ll do my best and accept the outcome. Pretty simple. My personal and authentic plan, because, in my case, I have no other choice.

True friends enjoy dialogue and do their best to understand personal choices different from their own. Medical decisions used to be personal, between doctor and patient. Not something discussed and judged by casual acquaintances. Those were happier times, indeed.

Mindfulness is the basic human ability to be fully present, aware of where we are and what we’re doing, while not becoming overly reactive or overwhelmed by what’s going on around us. In my solitary little world, mindfulness is all I have.

The other day, I was sharing lunch with a new friend. After a delightful meal and conversation, we were leaving the restaurant when I put my glasses into my fanny pack.

“You DO know, fanny packs are terribly out of date, right?”

Well! Shiver me timbers. Consider me informed!!!!!

Funny, coming from a man who hadn’t shown much fashion forwardness up to this point. Even funnier considering the multitude of FP (Fanny Pack) choices available on Amazon. Someone, somewhere finds them useful. I guess I haven’t watched TV with the dictates for the latest and greatest purses for 2021. FP’s are a wonderful invention. Leaving both arms free, one can forget about the cumbersome aspects of a purse. Limiting the amount I can carry around by the small size, I find the FP one of the wonders of the world. I could really care less about the fashion relevance of my choice of purses.

Another great thing about the FP is that all possessions are attached to my body. As an easily distractible single woman, I won’t be leaving my purse on a counter somewhere when focusing on a cute associate. It could happen unless I’m fully prepared. Besides, it’s fun to be retro and out of step with the “NORM”.

So many preferences in my life are really not up for discussion. Certainly not up for the scrutiny of fashion police. I, for one, am starting the return of a fashion trend. Or not. Those of you that know me, know this is my truth.

By staying Mindful in a Mindless world, we can be our authentic selves with unique and individual opinions. I always find it refreshing to meet people that are following their own mindful preferences without giving too much thought to things dictated by present culture. An authentic mind is a precious and wonderful thing to behold.

Be brave today. Bold. Think of things that have gone by the wayside because of social dictates. Do something today because you love doing it. Not because it is expected, required, or prohibited. Choose to do YOU. That’s an important part of self love and we all need a dose of that every day.

Have a wonderful time counting down the days until Christmas. Enjoy something fun. Remember, it really doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Set your own trends. More tomorrow.

‘Twas two nights before Christmas, sparklin’ tree in my home,

As I sat in the hot tub, wishing for Shalom.

One stocking was hung by the chimney with care,

Sewn by me, when two small boys were still there.

Oliver nestled asleep in his crate,

Dreamin’ of doggie treats and how they’d taste great.

Later watching old movies, my nest feelin’ just right

I’d just snoozed off for restful sleep in the night

When my cell phone did rumble and ding with a clatter

From my Bestie, CC, checking on what was the matter.

I told her through words I was surely okay,

She promised to check in the very next day.

With the Christmas Star shining, what could make me so blue?

Two years you’ve been reading, widow’s grief’s struck anew

Again, with a movie my focus, trying to relax,

The cell phone complained, the quiet now cracked.

Just Sweet Daughter checking from so far away.

Always knowing how to read me, and just what to say.

“Things will be brighter, just remember the good.

Sleep well, time will heal your heart, it should.”

Hope, Faith, and Trust, I depend on tonight.

Santa is great, but these three do delight

My soul although weary, battered, and blue

Has Hope for tomorrow, and Faith comes anew.

When the phone complained again, just once more for good measure,

A new friend checked in. One more that I treasure.

Company tomorrow? Dinner brought to Miss Lazy?

“Can you check tomorrow?”

Wait…..

What???????

Am I crazy?????

After a night’s sleeping, I’m not near as grumpy,

Not feeling so blue and down in the dumpy.

Today will be one to get Christmas just right

With Hope, Faith, and Love, my spirit takes flight.

Down with the sadness, self pity, and blues.

Up with Carols, treats, and friendships true.

Thanks CC, Thanks Miss Firecracker, both of you know

When troubled about life, to you I go.

Thanks Daughter, TJ, and Cambria Goddess, too,

What would I do without my Christmas angels, You?????

Heart smiling, I’ll enjoy a great dinner tonight.

Christmas Eve and Day will be just right.

So Dash Away, Dash Away, Dash Away all.

Off to the grocery store, down to the mall.

Finish the wrapping with ribbons and bows,

With love for each other, happiness grows.

I send you this, My Christmas wish true,

Merry Christmas, Dear Friends, with love to you.

Thank you for finding interest in my writing while helping me get through my second Christmas as a widow. Your steady love, friendship, and prayers are helping me grow stronger every day.

Merry Christmas to you all. Joy

_{by Placide Cappeau in 1843, translated by John Sullivan Dwight in 1947}

Oh Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining

It is the night of our dear Savior’s Birth

Long lay the world in sin and error pining

“Til he appears and the soul felt its worth

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn

Fall on your knees; O hear the Angel voices!

O night Devine, O night when Christ was born

O night, O Holy Night, O Night Devine.

Led by the light of Faith serenely beaming

With glowing hears by His cradle we stand

So led by light of a star sweetly gleaming

Here come the Wise Men from Orient land

The King of Kinds lay thus in lowly manger

In all our trials born to be our friend

He knows our needs, to our weakness is no stranger

Behold your King; before Him lowly bend

Behold your King; before Him lowly bend

Truly He taught us to love one another:

His law is love and His Gospel is Peace

Chains shall he break, for the slave is our brother

And in His name, all oppression shall cease

Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we

Let all within us Praise His Holy Name

Christ is the Lord; O Praise His Name Forever!

His power and glory evermore proclaim

His power and glory evermore proclaim.

Merry Christmas everyone!! Have a wonderful day.

Joy

_{By Charles Wesley, 1739}

Hark! The herald angels sing,

“Glory to the newborn King;

Peace on earth, and mercy mild,

God and sinners reconciled!”

Joyful all ye nations rise,

Join the triumph of the skies;

With th’angelic host proclaim,

“Christ is born in Bethlehem!”

Hark! The herald angels sing.

“Glory to the newborn King!”

Christ , by highest Heav’n adored;

Christ the ever lasting Lord;

Late in time, behold Him come

Offspring of a virgin’s womb.

Veiled in flesh the Godhead see;

Hail th’incarnate Deity,

Pleased with us in flesh to dwell,

Jesus, our Emmanuel.

Hail the heav’nly Prince of Peace!

Hail the Son of Righteousness!

Light and life to all He brings,

Ris’n with healing in His wings.

Mild He lays His glory by,

Born that man no more may die;

Born to raise the sons of earth,

Born to give them second birth.

Come, Desire of nations, come,

Fix in us Thy humble home;

Rise, the woman’s conqu’ring Seed,

Bruise in us the serpent’s head.

Now display thy saving pow’r

Ruined nature now restore;

Now in mystic union join

Thine to ours, and ours to Thine.

Adam’s likeness, Lord, efface

Stamp Thine image in its place;

Second Adam from above,

Reinstate us in Thy love.

Let us Thee, though lost regain,

Thee, the Life, the inner man:

Oh, to all Thyself impart

Formed in each believing heart.

Merry Christmas, Joy

December 26th. My, Oh My. It seems all year we wait for December 25th while buying gifts and planning meals. Dreaming of a White Christmas. Hoping for perfect presents under the tree. But, there is so much more to take away from the holiday. In the hustle and bustle, memories can get lost along the way.

Today, I’m writing about three good things I treasure and take away from Christmas 2021. Just another day in my world of writing, and yet an important day to reflect on things that make me truly happy. Things important.

As a girl, I remember my grandparents preparing plain brown paper lunch bags for the children in our little country church for Christmas Eve. Every child would have a bag filled with love and goodies. Back in the 1900 and 70’s, life was rolling along at a very comfortable clip. Everyone had everything. Televisions were blaring in the background. Rocking and rolling shaped the way our young minds were forming. Men’s hair grew longer while girl’s skirts got shorter. It was a confusing time for my grandparents.

Each was brand new when their parents arrived in Ellis Island with nothing more than the love of family holding them together. Fleeing from persecution in the Volga area of Russia, they had faced hunger, disease, and death of friends during their journey. Upon arriving to the United States of America, they faced prejudice and hatred. And yet, on they traveled until finally settling on a little farm in the San Joaquin Valley of California. Rich soil and wonderful climate led them to their version of God’s country, where they quietly lived out their days.

They lived through the Great Depression and World War II. They lived through sex, love, and rock and roll. They rode out the ups and downs of farm life, and through it all, love of family remained the glue that held them together when their world was falling apart.

Back then, I remember looking at the bags they prepared with puzzlement and I must say, a little disappointment. In the bag, was one perfect naval orange from their trees. Scrubbed and polished to a real shine, I only wish I could taste one once more. Surely a taste that doesn’t exist in our world today for their trees were vintage varieties. But, back then, I could eat as many as I wanted yet found them a boring flavor. Along with the orange, there was one Granny Smith apple. Not 100% sure now, I assume those apples grew from their trees, and were also, delicious.

Next, a handful of nuts, home grown, of course. A peppermint candy cane was added for good measure. Later, one small bag of M & M’s of the plain variety was added, because that was all that was sold at the time. That completed the contents of the bag.

I must say, most of my friends at church didn’t understand how special those things were to someone of my grandparent’s age. They had been through winters with nothing close to an orange or apple to eat. Nuts were a real treat. And chocolate? Only something found at the holidays. With some grocery stores today having long aisles of candy that stretch the entire length of the store, it’s hard to believe there was a time when sugar was rationed and sweets were only for very special occasions.

All the children of the church were counted, and then a few bags were assembled for those EXTRA’s on Christmas Eve. This was a big project for two little people on Barstow Avenue who remembered times when even an empty brown paper bag wouldn’t have been found. They put something else in each bag in the form of prayers and love for the kids and families of the church. My grandparents always had extra prayers and love to go around, those being more of the glue that held our family together.

This, the day after Christmas, I’m thankful for so many things. I want to remember the top three for 2021. In a house in which only a little dog named Oliver and I live, it might seem to some that true blessings might be scarce. Not so.

1. I’m thankful for God and my faith. Losing track of my way on so many days since April 8th, 2020, it was God’s love that carried me through. Without it and faith that things would get better, it would have been easy to just lay down and quit. My life now would’ve been quite different if my Great Grandparents had done that on their impossible journey.
2. I’m thankful for my friends and family. On the earthly side of things, this year has held many visits with new friends as well as old. Family has come to the rescue on more than one occasion with visits and good advice. They surround me with love and prayers felt every day. These days, forgiveness and love surround my heart, making my journey easier, while leaving excess baggage of sadness and grief along the way. I’m hoping it’s all biodegradable and lost to the wind.
3. I’m thankful for continued health and well being. Without that, life wouldn’t be as good as it’s been during the last twelve months. What a blessing to open my eyes each day and feel great. Ok. Ok. At 65, great is different than at 21. But, great it is to have avoided the dreaded virus and many other ailments that plague so many at my age. For goodness sakes, I’m older than VST now. If only his health hadn’t failed him.

Being thankful for those three things, I march onward towards Christmas 2022. What miracles will occur in the next 12 months? Only time will tell. What new friends will enter my story? That remains to be seen. What pitfalls will I avoid? What treasures will I find along the way? Will it be a bumper year for my roses or just so so? What about the attack of the toads? I’m not sure of any of that.

For today, I want to remain mindful that I am the luckiest woman to have such a rich and wonderful life. With the best memories of Christmas’s in the past, it’s time to start boxing up Christmas 2021. In a few days, we’ll enter a new year!!! Oh, the possibilities are endless!!

More tomorrow.

“It all started the day he brought home a broken helicopter.”

Little did I expect this from the petite and elegant woman sitting next to me during Christmas dinner at The Farm House Restaurant and Cantina. Being in her 90’s, I don’t know what I expected her to say, but not that her reserved and distinguished husband brought home a broken helicopter. I would’ve guessed he was a music professor at a prestigious university. A mathematician. A scientist. Possibly a jeweler. As the dinner conversation continued, I became even more intrigued.

Mr. and Mrs. Nonagenarian have been married just shy of 70 years. VST didn’t live to be 70. There are days that I wonder if I will. Seventy years is more than double the time VST and I shared together. Twenty years more than the time we knew each other. Just what secrets do these two share to explain their long lasting relationship? Living into their 90’s with rich and fulfilling lives, it’s obvious they still like each other.

Mrs. N, who is a great example of who I want to be if I DO make it to 90 is an amazing Christian, woman, wife, mother, grandmother, great grandmother, friend, and so many more things I have yet to discover. She single handedly planned a sit down dinner for 100 at the Church a few weeks back. She baked over 15 deserts, all more beautiful than bakery shop quality and each yummy in a different way. Not simple recipes, these required steps, steps, and more steps.

Along with Slow Baked Beef Tri-Tip in Special Sauce, Baked Ham, Green Salad, Southern Fried Corn, Roasted Red potatoes, Maple Glazed carrots, Homemade Rolls and ooey gooey homemade Mac and Cheese, the following items were on the desert table. Peanut Butter Cake. Mandarin Orange Cake. German Chocolate Cake. Cheese Cake w/Strawberry Sauce. Pecan Pie w/Whipped Cream. Coconut Cream Pie. Chocolate Cream Pie. Lemon Meringue Pie. Apple Pie. Raspberry Mousse. Brownies. Peanut Butter Cupcakes with Caramel Cream Filling Sealed with fudge, frosted with chocolate cream frosting and drizzled with a crackly chocolate. Mrs. N made all these desserts and each one was fresh. How she pulled this off is a puzzlement to everyone that enjoyed them.

Mrs. N is a seamstress, bar none. Every Sunday, she wears another creation all out of the finest fabrics and best designs. I don’t think she’s worn the same dress twice. All custom fit to her figure, she never has a hair out of place. Perfect makeup and accessories. It boggles the mind. When the N’s renewed their vows on their 65th anniversary, she sewed her own wedding dress. There is nothing this woman can’t do.

Lucky enough to sit next to her at The Farm House Restaurant and Cantina, I was all set to find out more about Mr. N. So quiet and gentlemanly, I have just recently met him. He, too, has an amazing twinkle in his eye, being two years past 90. Between the two of them, they raised a bushel of kids that all turned out pretty darn good. They all come home for Sunday dinner each week after the worship service. She cooks for everyone.

Mr. N is a Veteran of the World War II kind. Shy and quiet, he keeps those stories close to his heart. Real heroes don’t brag about what they did, because the heroic things they did were needed at the moment they were. Someone brave needed to step up and so they did. Real heroes are people good to know.

Getting back to our conversation, one day, according to Mrs. N, Mr. N brought home a broken helicopter. She wasn’t amused in the least, but even less so when, in the following days, he bought a box of helicopter parts for $500. This was a lot of money in those days, but to work he went. Before long, he had the bird running.

All repaired, the thing begged him to fly it, so he did. He learned very well on his own, but then needed to go the usual route and get his FAA approved pilot’s license, which he aced. His love for flying opened doors to a great career, and for many years, he taught countless others to fly, while fixing helicopters. In doing so, he even managed to meet John Wayne and Dean Martin, having more than a little to do with the movie, The Wrecking Crew.

As she told a few stories of his life, it was apparent to me that people of The Greatest Generation, were just that. GREAT. I hardly think they are many 20-Somethings that would find an old broken helicopter and then set out to identify the broken parts and replace them. Heck, many 20 years old’s have yet to learn to drive a car, let alone a helicopter.

The elders I grew up with fixed everything themselves. When things broke, people knew how to fix them in a flash because people didn’t replace broken things but repaired them instead. I just read about a man that got angry at the battery replacement cost of $22,000 for his Tesla, so he blew it up in a quarry. So wasteful. The Greatest Generation was never wasteful but original in their abilities to repurpose and recycle.

Christmas Dinner 2021 was an amazing meal with my six new friends. Feeling blessed that I’d been invited to tag along, it’s the second holiday meal spent with delightful new friends. All having witnessed my baptism, they are the truest kind of friends to have. Kindness is what Christmas is all about.

Today, I’m practicing snow driving, while taking Oliver to puppy camp for his New Year’s Holiday. Being the party animal that he is, he’s hoping his special friend, Lucy, will be waiting for him. I hope his special friend, Rover Roy is home for the holidays.

Over the mountains and through the desert of Northern Nevada, I’ll drive very slow, with no sudden maneuvers just like VST taught me. Snow driving…….. Who knew????

More tomorrow.

Have you ever been smitten? Just bowled over and left weak in the knees? At a loss for words when such a person is in front of you as you’ve never met or experienced? I find myself wrapped in this realm of loveliness for I have discovered the diverse world of…….

Clint Eastwood.

Had you going there for a minute, didn’t I???

It all started with VST and his movie collection. He watched DVD’s while I read books. Night after night, he’d be in his office munching on popcorn and watching the latest movie just purchased. His collection consisted of guy movies, therefore, there were many that I’ve never seen. An entire John Wayne collection, on top of war movies galore. From the Civil war through Desert Storm, the collection was lacking in Rom Com’s or Chick Flicks.

One day, he decided to make his collection more accessible and off to Walmart he went. Buying several DVD briefcases, each ready to hold 208 movies, he discarded all the bulky jackets. Carefully placing the movies in alphabetical order, he organized our collection before his passing. Four of these briefcases hold the collection as I balance out the heavy influence of testosterone, now absent here at Winterpast. It’s my intention to have watched all of them before I die. That might’ve been possible had I not started collecting movies of my own.

It started with a need to laugh and say a few “Ahhhh’s” as girl-types like to do. So, I started with Romantic Comedies and Chick Flicks. My first selections centered around Rock Hudson and Doris Day. Just sweet movies about nothing more than a silly problem and a cute fix. Finding them so relaxing and fun, I continued to collect more. There was also my worry that, at some point, either DVD’s would not longer be available or that certain titles would be deemed politically incorrect. My collection continues to grow.

I added my Alfred Hitchcock favorites like The Birds, Psycho, and Rear Window. I found delight in Stephen King and all his best works; Christine and Cujo being favorites. Pretty soon, I had to run to Walmart to buy another briefcase to hold new additions to my collection, growing by the week.

I found I loved World War II classics like The Bridge on the River Kwai, The Longest Day, and The Caine Mutiny. My list grew. As DVD’s arrive, I have plenty to watch on days I decide to practice laziness. With the lack of travel in my near future, I only need to turn on Elvis’s Blue Hawaii and I’m there, back in the islands.

Clint Eastwood has always been a favorite. When I started searching movies titles, I ran across the “Dirty Harry” series. Almost like time travel, I was transported back to a San Francisco of the 80’s remembered so well. Such wonderful visuals of the once beautifully romantic city, not the one now in ruins. It was to San Francisco that VST took me on our first trip out of town, when he hadn’t yet proposed. I remember dressing up for a dinner out at Hoolihan’s. On the way back to our hotel, we found ourselves in the wrong section of town. Taking off my high heels, we ran for our lives until we found safer ground, laughing all the way. Little did we know of the fantastical life we were running towards.

Old movies are a great way to remember back to simpler times. Times when people actually went outside to do things without being fearful of the boogie men, a real fear today. There were smiling faces to recognize. Friends who waved. People out for a jog on a bright and beautiful day. Children who went out to play as long as they promised to be home for dinner at 6PM. New lovers kissing in the park. Old people like to remember the good old days which held wonderful freedoms lost along the way.

Two Mules for Sister Sara. Play Misty for Me. A Fist Full of Dollars. So many titles that bring back the foggiest of memories and leave me wanting to see them once more. One of my favorites will forever be Bridges of Madison County. Such a variety of movies our American treasure, Clint, created, each one telling a story unique and wonderful.

So, male types, back it on up. This chick-a-dee is quite happy to be alone with Clint on New Year’s Eve. He and I will have quite a ride as we travel through decades of movie magic, time traveling across the wild west to the streets of San Francisco. Makes my day, for sure.

More tomorrow.

These last few days have been full of canyon winds and snow. Looking out my studio window, again, everything is blanketed in white. Yesterday found me wandering the aisles of the grocery story searching for new and innovative foods to prepare for one. Foods that used to be an easy and inexpensive “Go-To” are now outrageously priced. Tri-Tip — $12 per pound. Chicken Thighs — $12 for 6. Lucky for me I only need to cook one portion at a time as I become proficient at reducing recipe size while still creating tasty meals.

Frozen left overs are not a favorite of mine. Eating something freshly prepared is delicious. Having left overs the next day is pretty good. There lies the extent of my interest in seeing the remains of the same dish some days later covered in freezer ice.

I think my distain for left overs comes from my childhood. With seven active people in our household, one being my farmer dad, there were NO leftovers in the frig. Ever. Especially if the meal was really good the first time. Everything we ate was freshly picked, cleaned, prepped, chopped, cooked, and set on the table. Three times a day, there were delicious homemade meals. Served at 7 AM, 12 PM, and 6 PM, you were to be scrubbed and ready to eat. No complaints or pouting allowed, only a smile and proper manners. Eat or go away hungry, it mattered not to the cook. Guess what. Everything always tasted wonderful, and grateful kids cleaned the kitchen afterwards. Cleanup was part of the meal.

Desert was only for special occasions, not a nightly event. Portions were appropriate for each person according to age and activity level. Dad was always served first. Then, everyone passed dishes to the right. Orderly and quite civilized, our meals were polite events of the lady-like kind. After all, six of the seven people were female. My poor dad.

Shopping in preparation for the oncoming storm is tricky. I hate being left without an ingredient I might need, and yet, there is only one of me. Looking at my pantry, it’s a bit gluttonous to have all the items there and waiting for the day they’ll be used. But not having one ingredient on a snowy day wouldn’t be good either.

Last week, the 12 Bean Soup and the homemade spaghetti sauce were divine. This week, I’m going to try Mrs. N’s recipe for Roast Tri Tip. It’s a recipe that requires hours of baking in foil, perfect for a snowy day. Also perfect will be the sandwich I can make tomorrow. I plan to make Cozy Hand-Held Chicken Pot Pie with Puff Pastry crust. Oh my, Google that recipe. So darn delicious and easy. In my kitchen, I make three servings with one sheet of puff pastry, that being the only adjustment I’ve made.

With January 31st nearly here, I don’t remember much about New Year’s Celebrations growing up. There weren’t fabulous parties to attend. No candlelight church services. Usually cloaked in a sea of San Joaquin Valley Fog, the day was just like any other. Maybe pruning of fruit trees, or yard work. There were always vineyard wires to fix after pruning, or thick wood (pruning’s from the vines) to pick up and burn near the barn. Growing up, my New Year’s was always cold and wet.

Last night, I fell asleep to the lullaby of howling canyon winds. They bother some people. For me, they inspire dreams of sailing or romantic trade winds. Here, in the high desert of Northwestern Nevada, you can hear their approach, arrival, and departure. Winterpast doesn’t shudder or complain with each passing wind as they arrive like ocean waves, one set after the other.

This morning, with winds gone, the temperatures are in the 20’s with humidty low. All the main interstates between Nevada and California have been closed for days. I can only imagine the nightmare on Donner Pass as holiday visitors race to cross before the next storm. At present, Ski Patrols are searching for a lost skier, surely gone by now. Records of his last run showed him leaving the lift days ago. May he rest in peace. Such is life in the wilderness I call home.

I wonder what interest city life could possibly hold. Certainly none for me. Different people require different amounts of personal space. For me, big skies and open spaces comfort my soul. It’d be impossible to enjoy winds from the 20th floor of a high-rise condo or experience the beauty of a wild mustang walking through the morning snow right out side your door.

So it is here in the high desert Home Means Nevada to me. Off to try my new recipe. More tomorrow.