Category: 2021

This morning, the alarm didn’t go off, and neither did I. I fell asleep to raging winds last night, awaking to a beautiful morning of glistening snow. Just a dusting, mind you. Swollen buds and sprouting irises don’t do so well in this cold weather. My apricot tree, covered in blooms and bees will be complaining over this. I hope I get a few apricots with a second bloom, as the days warm.

The weather report is very encouraging from Saturday on. Days in the mid 60’s and nights above freezing. Hopefully, spring is upon us. Outside my window, two of the fattest little sparrows are eating the buds on the tree branch. They have rosy chests and plump little bodies. Everyone around here is ready for winter to end.

This morning, I’m going to do my best to stay present in the moment. There are so many things needing attention, being mindful is difficult. I just realized it’s time to shop for Auto and Home Insurance. What did people do before the internet? We were all at the mercy of insurance agents. I so remember when the agent would come out to the ranch to visit my mom and dad. Coffee was brewing in the Presto 12-cup Stainless Steel percolator with fresh home-baked goodies on the table. He was a valued member of the team, providing insurance against unforeseeable hazards and dangers.

Now, one simply shops online to compare the best rates for a specific situation. In 1973, the insurance agent looked around for watch dogs. It was desirable to have a couple to keep thieves at bay. Now, there is a complete list of un-insurable dogs. Thankfully, Cream-based, Piebald, Green-Eyed, Standard, Wire-Haired Dachshunds are not listed. Especially cute ones like Oliver, crazy as he is.

Perusing list after list of insurance choices to come up with a magical price, I realized I’ve been paying way to much for years. Yet again, another way that I will save money. I am enjoying this part of my life reset. Probably a good idea to dust off your copy of insurance policies to make sure your rates are competitive.

Yesterday, I chose a new Home Warranty Policy. New widows, listen up. If you own your home, this is a must. Home Warranty Policies are the best thing ever. You buy a yearly policy for around $500, depending on your situation and location. Then, when something breaks in your house, which things always do, you simply report the item to your company and they arrange a repairman. My fee with them is $75. That’s it. They repair or replace the item in question. You are all set. Matters not, whether a small light socket or your entire Air-Conditioning Unit. Repaired or replaced. For your one time fee. They arrange the technician in a timely matter, and handle the problem. Finito!

We have all had situations in which something breaks resulting in a huge repair or replacement bill. Who wants that? Check online. There are many companies providing this service, and it matters not how long you have owned your home, whether it is mortgaged, or even if you own it free and clear. Check it out.

The salesman from which I purchased my policy yesterday was knowledgeable about his product. He did try to upsell me on a longer, cheaper, better, and more wonderful option. I stuck with the one year plan. So, now, I hope I don’t need their services for the next year. With new appliances, just out of warranty, you never know. Summer is coming up and my AC unit could break. Something could short out my electrical system. Anything could go awry. So, this is my little hedge against disaster.

VST used to handle all these little details so quietly, I never really gave them any thought. He would have Bonanza playing in the background. While Hoss and Little Joe were solving the latest problem, VST was crunching numbers and finding us the best insurance for our situation. He never complained, but always enjoyed his duties in our partnership. He was good at those sorts of things. Now, I’m finding out, I am, too.

At the moment, the sun is shining in a hopeful kind of way. The winds are slowly moving some stray-gray clouds off to the East, revealing the bluest sky. The dusting of snow is melting slowly, perhaps being the last of the year. The trees everywhere are swollen with new life, but not yet leafing. Tuesday brings the garbage truck around, automated and efficient, moving slowly from house to house. Neighbors are bundled and enjoying morning walks, reminding me I need to get moving.

Moments in the present are so beautiful. There is so much to take in when just stopping to look through an open window. I could get lost for hours doing just that. Today, I need to accomplish some vital tasks. There will be more moments of mindfulness after I complete a few things around here! Enjoy your day!

A year ago, those words came screaming into our ears, although the Gastroenterologist asked them very quietly. Not once, but twice. We sat stunned. VST in a confused state. Me, on heightened alert, wishing I’d heard anything else come out of the doctor’s mouth. CANCER. What did it mean to two people, married for 32 years? What did it mean to best friends? Lovers? Children? Grandchildren? You know, CANCER means something different to ever single person it ravages.

VST sat on the examining table, still and quiet, as one would expect of a Doctor of Psychology. Studying each word. The order of the words. The intonation. Any body language that gave hints. The pause before his question and our answer seemed like our forever. The cat was out of the bag, so to speak. VST’s disease was CANCER.

Nine weeks isn’t a long time for an illness to begin, progress, and finish in death. VST wasn’t in terrible pain, although he had pain. Withering away, his muscle atrophy was startling. The growth of his abdomen caused trouble with breathing and sleep. But, he continued to insist he felt too good to be really sick. The doctors had been baffled, as every blood test given came back within perfect range. VST was like that. Healthy in every other respect. A handicapped athlete until the end, walking 4 miles a day, even when he was ill.

I finally had to ask for clarification from the GI Doc, as this question was just too broad. It was then he told us the hard truth. Once the location of the cancer was found, we would be referred to an oncologist. Our time with the GI Doc was done. Again, he asked, “What does CANCER look like to you?”

VST and I had discussed our end of life wishes so many times. The end is the end. Period. If there were no real options, the option we chose individually was to do nothing. We just happened to agree on that point. That was what cancer looked like to both of us on that very bleak and horrible day.

We discussed our options and the fact that Cancer markers were at extreme levels in the blood work. Normal. 20. VST’s — 4500. But, the cancer remained illusive and couldn’t be located. All the usual places were clear. With this mystery raging, VST would need to undergo more scanning and probing until the location could be discovered. He should not be mistaken. We should not be mislead. Cancer was raging, with the location hidden somewhere in VST’s body.

I’ll never know how much VST understood or accepted on that day. His mind wondered frequently, spending much time sleeping. I was losing the best parts of my husband, best friend, lover, partner, co-parent and co-grandparent, investor, and co-conspirator. I was losing 1/2 of myself in a brutal way. Through it all, VST remained quiet, compliant, and reserved. He relied on his faith in God, increasingly found in prayer. He’d started his journey away from me weeks before the doctor posed the question.

What does Cancer look like to me? Broken Hearts. Terror. Anger. Sorrow. Loss. Pain. Suffering. Morpheine. Long nights. Caregiving. Hospice. Sore muscles. Sleepless nights. Bargaining for another chance. Lost dreams. Strangers helping. Expense. Meaningless doctor’s visits. Time wasted on worthless treatments. Solitude. Isolation. In the end. Cancer means Goodbye. That’s what cancer means to me.

Quietly, we rode back up Geigher Grade to our little town of Virginia City after the appointment. Twisting back and forth on the harrowing road, the topography was similar to the situation in which we found ourselves. On one side, there were sheer mountains, with car-sized boulders ready to fall onto the roadway at any moment. On the other side, sheer drop-offs, in which a wrong turn could send a car sailing into the air for hundreds of feet. Doom on either side, the little white Jeep scurried back to the safety of our home, while VST slept soundly, his head propped upon the door.

As I drove, I wondered just what cancer meant to VST’s doctor. In a few short visits, the doctor had come to like us very much. I’m sure the conversation we just had was jarring to him, as well. Every doctor takes an oath, “Do No Harm.” He didn’t cause this harm, but had to deliver the worst news to us. He needed our prayers, too, as his heart was breaking for us.

VST never answered the question. Maybe he couldn’t in the state he found himself. He never cried or shouted to the heavens. He never questioned “Why Me?” He simply took the hand he was dealt and played it out. VST was one of the strongest men I have ever known in my life. His faith was un-shake-able. His love, the purest. His care for his family, the most sincere. VST lived life in the arms of God until he left this world. An example I will do my best to follow. I’m so blessed to have been his Darlin’ for all those years.

Over the last year, Cancer has meant different things to me. Memorial. Old Friends. New Friends. Memories. Sweet dreams. Night terrors. Lonely days. Lonely nights. Meals alone. Mail for one. Monthly balloon releases. Letting go. Acceptance. One year Heaven-ersary. And, so much more. It means different things on different days. But, always, it means a loss of the way things were, even if things go well. Just like the scourge of Covid, things never return to the delicate state they were before. It takes strength, true grit, and a deep faith to continue on.

Take a moment to think about what CANCER means to you. This post surprised me. Such a complicated topic, with endless answers. I hope no one ever asks you the question, the way we were asked. No one should need to experience that. Sadly, it happens every day.

For over two decades, one very large and well-known company covered Home and Automobile insurance needs for VST and me. In the first years, it was rather like a new love affair. Low rates. Nice little emails. Attention to details on their part. Policies, like clockwork, would arrive in our mailbox. Although we never met with an agent, as people did in mid-century USA, we did often speak by phone. All was wonderful. Until it wasn’t.

Upon VST’s death, the insurance company was on my list of services of which to alert. As a widow, it’s unsettling to receive mail addressed to a late spouse. Nothing can ruin a day faster than mail for someone you wish would come around the corner to snatch it from your hand. When such mail arrives, I quietly write “Deceased” on the envelope and put it back in the mail to be returned to sender. This has extinguished most contacts. But, this insurance company decided to play ball a little differently.

I was informed that my insurance would “SKY-ROCKET” due to VST’s death. Their terms, not mine. In order to keep my lower rate, they would simple let VST “drive on” as the main policy holder until May 2021, nearly an entire year later. I informed them that, while VST loved to drive, he was no longer able to, being dead and all. Their response was the same. He would remain the primary driver on the policy to keep the lower rate, which would explode in price the following year.

This made no sense to me. Two cars with only one person to drive. It seemed to me the chances for a mishap were cut in half. I couldn’t drive both cars at once like a chariot racer. What were they thinking???? It occurred to me that, in case of an accident, I would simply jump in the passenger seat and say, “He did it.”

I continued to get bills addressed to VST, and even tried a second time to get them to understand. I have two cars, but, one driver. Me. A non-ticketed, no accident, wonderfully safe driver with zero claims in the past five years. No losses. No problems. The answer was the same. My insurance bill would balloon to astronomical levels in May of 2021 without VST at the helm. Both the auto and home owner policies would increase in price. This was insanity on their part. A very good customer with a perfect payment record now had incentive to jump ship.

With April almost upon us, I started to review insurance policies, such as the Home Warranty, which I spoke of a few days earlier. With May 2021 just around the corner, I decided to shop around and see if I could do any better. I didn’t have much hope, but, it was worth a try.

My insurance was tied to an association of which I have little in common, except my status as a senior citizen. American Association of Retired Persons (AARP). The magazines would arrive, cringe worthy and not representative of my thoughts, values, or mental age. They would immediately go in the trash. The only benefit was the wonderful discount on my auto and home insurance due to my membership. For years, the trade-off was okay. Now, there was no more trade off, and my affiliation was irritating on every level.

It was then, I remembered a conservative group called Association of Mature Citizens (AMAC). They offered all the same benefits as AARP, but would represent my views more closely. With a phone call, I found they also have an affiliated auto and home insurance company, also nationally recognized and reputable. I was in business.

I’ll warn you, shopping insurance takes the better part of a morning. So many questions about every aspect of your car and home. But, the results were astounding. By shopping, (and I did have a very good rate before), I saved $600 for the year between the two policies. Just like that, I found better coverage, even including hail and wind coverage for my house and RV barn. In the desert, that is coverage very important to include.

Before giving my old company the heave-ho, I tried one more time to talk to someone about fixing the problem of having an angel-owned policy. I was informed that my existing policy would increase in price by AT LEAST $150 a year, quite possibly more. It was impossible to remove VST from the policy until May 2021. Further more, new rates weren’t available until April 15th. It was then I knew very well where I could get 2021 rates. FROM A NEW COMPANY, Thank you very much.

So, as the song goes, “You Gotta Shop Around.” Just because you’ve had the same insurance for years, doesn’t mean it is the best or the cheapest. A reset in life can lead to better service. The old adage, “Vote With Your Dollar”, rings true in this situation. Take charge of needed services. Shop like you would for the best deal on a new pair of shoes. With savings like these, you can buy a few new pairs.

As a child, one of the best times of year was Spring. Baby lambs were everywhere. Kittens magically appeared out of darkness of the decrepit old shed next to the animal pens. Birds fed their tiny little hatch-lings. The vines sprouted and bloomed, and life, in general, was fine. Spring fever hit with a vengeance, leaving us ready to park our school books and go climb some trees.

Television was in its infancy during my childhood. The first television we owned was revered by all. I remember the first time we turned it on and watched the Test Pattern. All huddled around the little screen, a black and white pattern magically appeared. Turn off the TV and it would disappear. Turn it on, it was back. Magical. Enough in its simplicity, because there was nothing else like it.

In those days, there were hours in which there was nothing to watch BUT the test pattern. People actually slept during those hours. When there was nothing to watch, children really did go play outside. ALONE and FERAL. News was in the evening, between 6 and 6:30. Finished. People actually ate dinner together at one table. Those magical days were something we would all do well to remember.

One of the best parts of spring had to do with The Wizard of Oz. With no VHS Cassettes, DVD’s, or Digital rental sites, movies were seen in the theater. Once a year, and once only, The Wizard of Oz was shown on a random Sunday night. We were allowed to stay up for the entire movie, if we could stay awake. The first years, movie was watched in black and white, as there were only black and white television sets. The first time I realized Oz was in technicolor when Dorothy arrived there was a magical moment.

Each year, that night was filled with the scent of freshly popped popcorn topped with real butter. Dad would stand in front of the stove with his pan and lid, working magic. Always adding too many kernels to the pan, two little girls would squeal with delight as the lid would raise and fresh popcorn spill out. Wide eyed, we’d watch every single scene of the movie, learning every line as the years went by.

Thinking about the similarities between the yellow brick road and the widow-y journey I’ve been on for the last few years, I smile. In the first month, I remember feeling as if I was spinning round and round, while getting no where. But, as the spiraled trail spread out, I started to see new territory and while traveling somewhere new. My yellow brick road traveled through lands and scenery foreign to me. On certain days, I found the ability and desire to skip a little, being forever mindful winged monkeys could jump out and snatch me at any moment.

My journey has been lined with yellow bricks of sunshine. Bordered by poppy fields that lured me to sleep once in awhile. Funny new friends along the way, all utilizing special powers, while searching for things lost or lacking in our lives. The thing that kept us going was, well, GOING. We didn’t stop or travel backwards. We just kept going, no matter the forests of wicked trees, or unknown terrain. We sang a little, too.

Two weeks are left on this journey of the FIRST year. Last year, VST and I crammed a lot into the last two weeks of his life. We accepted that he was so very, very ill. He slept more than he was awake. When he was awake, he wasn’t really himself, or at least, not the VST I’d loved for so long. His brick road spiraled backwards, while his child-like side returned. His legs didn’t work as an athlete’s anymore. Wobbly, he would carefully gauge each step and smile broadly when he made it across the room without falling. Through his journey away from me, he held onto his strength, dignity, perseverance, and faith in God. He moved in tighter and tighter circles back from where he came, while I moved on, further and further away towards my rainbow’s end.

Rainbows and endings. What a sight it must be at the end of the rainbow. Brilliant colors all blending and planted into the ground like tree trunks, sprouting eye popping jewel-tones while reaching for the heavens. Searching for the rainbow’s end, I haven’t looked for gold or physical riches. I’ve found peace, contentment, rich memories, acceptance, and happiness. Just like any rainbow, the location changes as you get closer, but these things I’ve found along the journey. We’re here but for a short time. A shroud has no pockets. But, a soul is pure light and energy made up of what we’ve experienced here on earth. Those things are the treasures found through my time with VST.

April 8th will complete my first year of widowhood. Looking back, the woman that struggled through cancer and death has turned into ME. Although I’ll be a WIDOW forever, that title doesn’t quite fit anymore. Maybe it never did. I’m a WOMAN, plain and simple. Complicated. Difficult. Loving. Simple. A Gardener who Grieves, but a gardener, first. I hope that your journey through widowhood brings clarity and peace along the way for time takes us all on memorable journeys.

There are some mornings in which my brain pauses, as I struggle to focus on a topic. I find myself in that situation this morning. Retiring to my bedroom at the normal time, last night, I made a poor movie selection. I’ve been soaking in the happy antics of Rock Hudson and Doris Day, when I decided on a change of genre.

Turning to the gloom and doom of World War II, first I watched The Caine Mutiny. A very interesting look into the psychology of powerful men. There were four movies in the set, each focused the days of World War II. I found The Caine Mutiny to be fascinating on several levels, including the role women played in the movie and at the time of war. With nothing more disturbing than the quest for a few lost strawberries and an outrageous storm, I decided to begin another movie before falling to sleep.

The next choice was The Bridge on the River Kwai. In my old age, the movie was at times, hard to watch, leaving me in a less than a sleepy state. In today’s world, there would have been far more violence and gore splashed upon the screen. Movies of the past are artful in suggestions of things so terrible, your mind is left to reach its own hellish conclusions without visual aide. It was of those scenes from which my brain borrowed characters.

Dream sequences can be a bit comical sometimes. I was sitting on the beach enjoying the sunshine, as I’d planned to do for so many months. All of a sudden, prisoners of war came streaming right past Dom’s Clam Chowder and Bait Shop to a whistled tune. They continued until they were in place and someone gave the command. Like that, the pier fell into the water, the flying pieces turning into dolphins, which swam away. Cheerfully, everyone on the beach clapped loudly while the prisoners each took a surfboard and paddled off, whistling John Lennon’s Imagine.

As it turns out, my planned adventures to the little beach house were blown up just like the Bridge on the River Kwai. As April 8th got closer, it became obvious that the stress of the heaven-er-sary is weighing heavier on my shoulders than I first thought it would. That, coupled with the fact that the beach town is 459.3 miles away, made me reconsider my decision to venture so far. I rewrote my plans for the day, accepting that sometimes one needs to take a step back and regroup. I will be spending April 8th in the comforting walls of Winterpast.

T and K will join me on April 8th for a last monthly release of 12 brightly colored balloons. Each month has brought a different path for the balloons, along with different emotions and feelings. To think I’m at the end of the first year of widowhood still amazes me, returning me to a last bit of widow’s fog. How can it be that a year passed so quickly? How could one year take a lifetime to pass?

After getting a glass of water and returning to my comfy bed, dreams came again.

This time, a brand new television, grand in scale was sitting in my living room. Colonel Saito and Lt. Colonel Nicholson were sitting with me on the couch debating how high the new television should be hung, while T and K looked on. I had no input at all, muted, while watching the prisoners outside prune my trees to short nubs while removing all fruit wood. Oliver sat in a tiny prisoner of war outfit, looking forlorn as the tired men slaved away. Branches were being stacked for the new bridge, with every bit of wood being needed.

Again, my eyes flew open, happy to find myself in the safety of Winterpast, with no sign of prisoners or the enemy anywhere in sight. The dream did give me the great idea that I DO need a new television. With that new thought, it took me a little while to return to sleep, considering my options on just how high the television would need to be hung, without the help of Saito and Nicholson, by the way.

Today is a great day for one gardener to get her game on while bringing gardening tools out of the shed. Under the shining sun, today is first day of outdoor activities for me. I have garden beds to design and bulbs to plant.

Tonight, I’ll return to Doris and Rock. Send Me No Flowers. No enemy warfare need to assault my dreams and blow up a peaceful night of sleep. Have a wonderful Saturday.

Peonies are my favorite flower. Most unusual blooms grown from bulbs, until last year, I had no idea they were my favorite. I wish I’d documented the date the first shoots sprouted. I didn’t. But I do recall my wonder at the long shoots supporting tennis ball sized heads. I wondered what on earth these plants were. When they bloomed, I was hooked. Pale Pink Peonies. Each day, I rush to my favorite plant, awaiting signs of awakening. So far, nothing.

In other news, there is the matter of the small little beast that lives with me. Oliver. Some days, I want to cry as Oliver struggles to reach mature dog status. We are well into our second year of life together, and there are no signs that this 25 pound PUPPY is maturing in mind or behavior. None. Emotionally amped-up and needy, this guy runs at full speed all day long, every day, every hour, every minute, every second. Like a puppy on crack. A 25 pound puppy on crack.

One would want to believe that any dog would find Winterpast a haven for the four-legged kind. With shade, far corners, impenetrable fence line, shade, and water, any reasonable dog would prefer being there to the confines of the house. Not Ollie. When he is inside, he wants out. When he is outside, he wants in. Oliver wants what he doesn’t have at the moment, like a small, spoiled child, with me being the spoiler supreme. I’ve created a doggie monster.

Sir Oliver of Ashworth Hall is a Standard, 25 pound Dachshund of the most unusual variety. If you Google Cream, Piebald, Chocolate, Wire-Haired Dachshund, you will find his kind looking back at you. Oliver happens to have green eyes that are alarmingly human. He is smarter than me on most days, just unable to type, having no thumbs and all. He forgets nothing, and has a nose that can find the most carefully hidden treats. He forgives me for all my faults, except when it comes to food. Oliver is a food driven dog with a weight problem who lives on 1/3 cup of kibble twice a day. His world revolves around his feedings, twice a day. Very active and healthy, my chunky monkey zooms at warp speed even with getting such a small amount of fuel.

Winterpast offers so many things that Oliver has decided are treats of the best kind. The most frustrating are the small solar lights that lined all the paths in my yard. The yard is truly park like, with paths that go here and there. It would’ve been so pretty to line them with lights. One day, I decided to make that a reality, buying 50 such lights and installing them one by one. Oliver watched. He pretended he was asleep, with one eye open, of course. Each light took time, as I peeled off the labels, measured for placement, made sure they worked, hammered a small stake into the ground and attached the lights. Around the yard I went along the paths. The yard did look great the first night, when the lights came on. Lovely.

Oliver suddenly wanted to disappear outside during the day. It was a delightful respite from his inside antics, so off he went, sailing into the back yard. Slowly, I figured out why he was eager to go outside. He began digging up the lights, chewing up every small stake I had so lovingly installed. If the light got in the way, he chewed that up, too. At first, I didn’t notice. Now, the measured spacing is no more. A light here, an empty hole there. And Oliver deciding for himself when the next one will be removed.

He also loves the drip system. It must taste wonderful. Perhaps I should try an emitter salad, or Spaghetti with a touch of irrigation tubing. This dog is highly destructive in the cutest little package. He knows quite well this will not find favor with me. He can’t help himself. With 1/2 acre of yard, he has so many tastey treats to discover. I have a spring and summer of mangled irrigation tubing and emitters to repair or replace.

Yesterday, I was busy in the house, and looked out to see him tearing up yet something else. Something new and shiny, like a piece of foil. I couldn’t place it, but went out and picked up the pieces. I know now. He’s decided it’s time for the pipes to be unwrapped and the irrigation system to be turned back on. What a little helper!

Oliver has cleaned up every bit of mummified fruit from last year. Roaming the yard, he finds an old apple and whisks it to the lawn, where he devours it. Any toads should shudder, with his constant patrol. Yes, Oliver is a very busy, busy boy.

Some would say he is bored. To them, I would say you have never lived in my house or with Oliver. He is on 24/7. Visitors come and are shocked at his energy and behavior, because this dog is a crazy Labrador in a very tiny body. He is a solid package of TNT, ready to rock and roll, always with the cutest doggie smile. His days are busy and filled with lots of doggie activities. He just prefers the ones he creates more than the ones I provide.

I know very soon, I’ll have a real dog. Not a crazed puppy. At some point, I’ll look across the grounds of Winterpast and he’ll be snoring under the old apricot tree. His gnarled chewing bones will lay untouched next to emitting drippers watering my pink petaled peonies with the perfect amount of water. For now, he’s right to remind me. It’s time to start watering the back yard.

More peonies are going in the ground today. He will be blindfolded while I plant these. He need not see what treasures Mom-Oh is hiding. Off the the gardens for me. Have a beautiful Sunday!!!

With Easter less than a week away, springtime is here. At R-Time Hardware, the babies have arrived. Chicks, ducklings, and even infant turkeys all chirp away on clean sawdust. Nothing brings a smile quicker than brand new baby chicks. Their fluffy little cuteness takes me straight back to childhood.

Being a red-neck country girl, the most exciting day on the farm was the one on which any baby animal arrived. Some arrived the usual way, found on a cold morning, steaming next to their mom. Baby bunnies wiggled, hidden under a cloud of their mother’s soft fur, prepared by her before their birth. Others came by special delivery. Such was the case when the chicks would arrive.

Each year, Dad would order 100 brand new chicks specifically to provide our yearly meat supply. I have no apologies, for I was raised on an organic farm before Organic was the word of the day. There were no pets, except the dogs, who worked for their meals. Everything that we ate as we grew up was fresh and from our bountiful garden or livestock pens. All the meat consumed was raised by my father, in between his other duties as a farmer. This included our meat chickens.

Chicks are delivered in groups of 100, sexed and boxed. Now, who sexes them is a mystery to me. You can’t tell a rooster from a hen in the beginning. Well, obviously someone can, but that wasn’t a skill I learned as a growing farm girl. Whoever did this was good, because from all my memories, there was never a rooster in the bunch.

Roosters can cause havoc in an otherwise peaceful and tranquil farm setting. In the coop, they can upset the hen house, for sure. They are noisey, and later in life, they can become dangerous. We never had such critters on the farm.

There are two versions of chickens one can choose. Those raised for meat and egg-layers. Dad never raised eggs, which was funny, because we certainly consumed enough of them as a family of seven. I guess Mom drew a line in the sand, refusing to add daily egg collection to her long list of chores.

After receiving the chicks, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and give each one a drink of water and a bit of food. He would observe their behavior while assessing their health. They would be transferred 25 at a time to the brooder, outside in the room sized chicken coop. Our brooder was 4 foot in span, and circular in shape. Under this, the chicks would be warmed by the light from a simple bulb. They could run in and out, but slept quietly at night under the warmth.

Baby chicks are very delicate. The change in water can make them sick. They get too cold. They can get too hot. They can forget to eat, or eat too much. Chickens, as a rule, are not the brightest animals in creation, so they need constant supervision to make it to two day old chicks. They are also a sought after taste treat for thieves, such as opossums, raccoons, hawks, or coyotes needing human protection.

Dad watched over these little guys as any nervous parent. Twice a night, he would go out to the coop to make sure everyone was nestled in and no one was sick or injured. With plenty of food, these babies grew to full grown chickens in six weeks. All at once. No stragglers. All babies were full size chickens in 42 days.

Over a week, and with the help of anyone who would, along with those of us that were forced, these chickens were transformed into packages of meat for the next year. This was no small task, and no quick job. The resulting meat was fresh and wholesome. Any of you that have had the opportunity to enjoy fresh chicken know what I mean. It ruins you for grocery store chicken from that point on.

Strolling by the babies at R-Time Hardware, I stopped and thought about it. There were the coops, for sale. The little noises were so enticing. Bags of chicken feed were at the ready. I could raise a new little crop of my own egg-laying cluck-ers. But, reality hit. Chicken poop. Stray feathers. Hawks. Oliver. I had to let the dream die.

For those of you that have your own chickens, enjoy them. They are delightful little animals, and fresh eggs and meat are a delicious addition to any dinner table. We should all remember, the only truly organic food comes from our own back yards! Bon Appetit!

My, oh my. One year of memories weigh heavy in my heart. I hope the lessons learned in the next week are minor compared to those from the prior 11 months, 3 weeks. Never in my wildest dreams could I have predicted the horrible turn of events that came knocking last year. No one could. A schooling of a very cruel sort began in the winter of 2020, that of which I’d wish on no one.

A brittle twig will not bend. I learned there’s not a correct way to grieve. One needs to be flexible, just like my old apricot tree. When the winds come and blow away the leaves, there she is, shivering but strong. Although fierce winds blow, her branches remain strong as they move with the gusts. There were so many days full of plans that needed to slow to a snails pace, because I could go no faster. I would make the most fantastic scheudules, only to find that, when the day arrived, it was more than I could accomplish. Take for instance, the Beach House.

Months and months ago, I decided that I would spend VST’s Heaven-er-sary at our Central California Beach. The one at the RV park where we spent so many weeks between 2017 -2019. The cute little house and all her windows point to the Pacific Ocean. That little house would be mine for a week. From April 5-11, I’d enjoy the waves, while dolphins lept and sea birds dove.

When VST and I would visit this little town, we would head out on the pier to our secret resting spot. Benches line the pier, but there is one on which we would always sit awhile. Norm’s memorial bench. Norm, who would be well over 100 by now, was a great guy who was a friend to everyone he met. He had served on the school board with my dad, and his wife was my God Mother’s teacher in elementary school. Seeing who could get to the bench first, VST and I would sit and talk. It was there the ocean went crazy one day with a flurry of dolphins, whales, gulls and other sea birds. Every animal in the sea that day was in front of the pier, with the ocean churning in a frothy soup of activity. It was a breath taking show just for the two of us.

That bench represented a familiar face from the Central Valley. A farmer VST knew well. Someone who’s name was spoken often in my house as a child. A man so good that an elementary school was named after him. We always found it to be a beautiful place to think about things. Sometimes VST and Oliver would go and rest alone. I could see them from the rig, suspended over the breaking waves as they watched the surfers just below them.

As the weeks went by, I realized that to drive almost 500 miles in one day would be a lot for me to handle. Last week, I realized that to complete that trip was more than optimistic during a very emotional week. Sadly, I canceled. The drive was a factor, for sure. But going to the town that held so much delight for us on our visits on the one year anniversary of his death would prove to be too much stress for me at this time.

Learning to be flexible has been the biggest lesson. Through packing, moving, unpacking, and making a new life, I found that an inventory of core beliefs and values was necessary. Ways that things had been done in the past might need to be changed up. Just as I cleaned my closet, I had to purge my heart and start anew. Thank goodness the move occurred. So many friends worried about the choice of moving 17 days after VST’s death. There was no choice in the matter. The DunMovin House was sold. Winterpast was purchased. In the middle, there I was, between here and there. Between Widow and Woman. Suspended in a bridge of fog.

Accepting What Is. That was another big lesson. In the past year, I traveled through landscapes of different kinds.

The Bargaining Basement of Dispair, Shock and Denial. “If Only………. ”

The Forest of Pain and Guilt…….. “I miss him so much. If only I had…..”

The Ocean of Anger and Bargaining………”Why Me???? This isn’t fair……. ”

The Reconstructive Meadow of Working Through—-“This IS something I can do now…….”

The Spring Time Orchard of Acceptance and Hope. “What a beautiful life this is!”

Because, life IS beautiful and I’m so very blessed to have had a beautiful one so far.

Choosing Happiness. This has been the most fun lesson of all. Through this entire experience, on so many days, I would tell the mirror, “I can Choose sorrow and anger. Or. I can choose Happiness.”

There really is no good choice other than happiness. In the beginning, I’ll admit, there were days I needed to fake it until I could make it. But, in the end, who wouldn’t choose happiness for themselves and those around them. It’s all in how you pick something up and look at it. There is something positive to be gained from every situation, even the bleakest ones. And mine was pretty bleak.

I’m certain there will be more days when the bed seems like the best place to be. When just getting a cup of coffee will be a chore, or when I need the tissues close to dry my tears. But, there will also be days of celebration. I’m on my way to Year Two and the next year will be bright and promising. Full of new discoveries and adventures. Of that I am quite sure.

This morning, the sun isn’t up yet. Today should be calm. A few days ago we had a blustery day on the high desert, with wind and dust warnings prevailing. Sand storms are no joke, with damage to windshields and paint jobs occurring in a flash. The nearby lake experienced 2-3 foot waves. The wind howled and Winterpast stood firm. Just another spring day in the desert.

Pollen alerts are rampant here. I thought people went to the high desert to avoid allergies. I guess not. The prominent culprits here are Mulberry. Ash, and Elm, with the levels being high right now. With the addition of the high winds, sneezing is on the rise. In this area, it really could just be seasonal allergies. The problem is, one doesn’t know, and so I remain in isolation.

More birds are moving into the gardens of Winterpast. There are little sparrows conversing with each other on the branches, while finches flit past, hurrying to new nests in the little bird houses. The robins have been out every morning pecking through the grass, while two doves walked about on the patio, having made note that I have no cats living with me. Last year, a brave little dove made a nest on the top of the ladder I had yet to put away in the barn. She made it through the entire ordeal, raising two new little doves in the process. The ladder sits there again, as I hope another dove might repeat the miracle.

The mustangs have been out and about, but new foals haven’t dropped yet. There’s nothing cuter than a wild mustang foal. Nothing more hardy, either. They are up and traveling with the herd in a matter of hours after birth. These herds travel miles and miles each day, never stopping for very long. You can pass a herd running an errand, and they will be long gone when you return. Happily, they are moving into the higher country now, leaving the streets and my neighborhood poop free for awhile. Wild horses do have their drawbacks.

Just a year ago, yesterday, VST and I traveled to town with K and T for his liver biopsy. There was no thought of baby birds, or springtime. VST slept on the way. The day’s procedure was the only way we’d know for sure what type of cancer he had. Without this information, we couldn’t be assigned an oncologist. With the beginning stages of Covid underway, only one person could go with VST into the hospital. It would be me that would keep him company until his procedure.

The strength and love T and K brought every visit was tonic for VST. For me, too. He would put on his best smiles for them, letting them know each time that he felt way too good to be really sick. He continued to tell us that until he no longer could speak.

Through all of this, VST had the strongest faith of anyone I’ve ever known. His belief in the miracles of spring and the powers of God gave him his strength. Watching him walk through cancer with such an uncertain and scary outcome was humbling and encouraging to me.

While T and K waited outside, VST endured yet another procedure. It was this test that would let us know what type of cancer he had in his very ill liver. In the end, the results of this procedure released VST from the need to complete any other tests. His cancer was in the end stage.

As I think of last year and the sadness that we all went through, I know now that VST was headed towards his new beginning. He never stopped celebrating life, even at his sickest. He never questioned his heavenly salvation or the hell that was his cancer. He simply lived every moment appreciating beauty in the smallest things. From that experience, I realize he knew a new beginning was just around the corner. Bright and sunny, on the wings of angels he would ride into the glory of the heavens.

Winter is past. Spring is here. April. This most beautiful month stole something precious from me, but gives back so much in return. At my lowest spot, bankrupt in many respects, I started on an amazing journey. Almost one year later, I am here, stronger and more resilient. With a deep faith in new beginnings, a second year starts. Life goes on that way.

Enjoy your beautiful spring day. Look for the smallest miracles. They surround us all. Look at the new life and rejoice! It’s spring!

Today is just a super day!!! I have so much good news I hardly know where to start!

I’m moving to Nepal!!!! YES!!!!! During some research about adopting a child from Nepal, I met a gentleman named Fravash. He owns a business in Kathmandu, and will come to visit me In-80 days!!!! I can’t tell you how happy we are, just hanging out doing nothing. He watches over his mother, who really doesn’t need much watching. She is spunky and happy, and they two of them make a great team.

Oliver just loves the thought and Fravash and I have decided that we need to start on our new journey together, so we are tying the knot on our planned mountain journey two weeks from now. Fravash and I are both fully vaccinated, and even more than that, we’ve already had Covid and are now totally immune. Yes. For Life. So, the Nepali trip will be amazing. Staying at his bungalow at the base of Mt. Everest , we plan to hike every day and eat way too much Momo, cooked by his staff of ten. Did I mention? He is Nepali royalty, so he inherited his estate and pays zero in taxes or dues. Even the help is free. 24/7, he has help with all his needs.

The staff has the exclusive on Kathmandu Katharoo Wine for the entire region. It’s all the rage. I wish I could try it, but, alcohol just doesn’t agree with me. His profits from the wine are outrageous. He just bought me a mink back pack! Can you imagine????

I’m in the midst of planting 35 trees in the gardens of Winterpast, in a variety of mountainous species. My new friend assured me that they will all grow in the high desert and they are arriving by boat next week. A staff of gardeners are accompanying the shipment to my high desert get away, and will plant them with the best Napali blessings they know how to give.

After the adoption is complete, we have lots of plans, one being to transform Winterpast into an interpretive center for those of Nepali descent. His mother and he are planning to move here after we return from our last planned ascent to base camp on April 24th. We are preparing a place for his pet monkeys, all 24 of them. He assures me they are not always as busy as they were when I first met them. I am surely hoping not.

I’ve also decided to go back to work teaching. I so miss the little rug rats and hope to teach Kindergarten this year. There is some enticing new Nevadan curriculum in which the American alphabet will be replaced with the Napali alphabet. So, with the interpretive center and all, it’s a time of great excitement. The Nevada governor called yesterday to discuss the plans further. I’m really excited about returning to the classroom.

I’ve trimmed 35 excess pounds and now taken up mountain biking, which is a hobby of Fravash’s. We regularly go for overnight rides through the mountains with mosquito netting, of course, my mink backpack. Just the way they do things in Nepal.

Along with all of this, I just sold my new book, “How to Marry a Rich Nepali Sherpa Dude in Ten Steps or Less.” Penguine Books snatched up the chance, after my blog reached 20,000 readers yesterday. With a hefty signing fee, I am off to look at new sports cars. Fravash refuses to ride in the little white Jeep anymore. Onward and Upward!!!!

With love in my heart, and a huge smile on my face, there is one more thing……………

April Fool!!!!!!!

Come back tomorrow for more of the REAL stories. J