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You were born at the stroke of midnight!!!! We love you already, so please don’t be shy. There’s no way we’ll accept the possibility that you’ll hold the horror of the last two years. Just by being you, you hold hope of peace, love, health and happiness. We’ve closed the book on 2021. You did your best with what you had to work. Climbing out of hell was a tough assignment for you. We need to cut you some slack. It’s you who is the star of the moment while holding our tomorrows for the next four seasons.
I personally want to greet you with open arms. You’ll hold so many firsts for us all. You hold healing for our broken world. I can feel it in my heart. For this, we’re all waiting breathlessly. I’m excited for my 3rd gardening season here at Winterpast. I’m looking forward to meeting my new neighbors across the street that don’t even know they’re purchasing the yet unlisted house. With hours and hours of hot tub soaking, while deepening a golden tan, Oliver and I plan to enjoy many adventures together as we forge a new path.
Every day, I’m choosing happiness, health, and hope. As a newly-baptized Christian, this will be my first full year living for God. There are always things on the horizon that are focal points for positivity. I’ll reach for those things and smile, sprinkling fun into my life in any way possible. From silly, mindless giggles to well planned activities, my life will include much more fun this year.
2022 will be the year I start my 3rd year as a widow. I’m no longer the Grieving Gardener as much as The Gardener who Grieves. No longer debilitating and mind numbing, there are more trips into memory land that result in smiles and awe at the wonderful life I shared with VST. By choice, we’ll smile in unison, me from here, VST from there. So much goodness to remember and celebrate on this the 34th year of our marriage.
As Covid loses its stranglehold on the world, we’ll all venture back into life. The sun will never feel so grand on our skin as when we all join hands to rejoice together. It’s happening in 2022. Ready those play clothes and get ready to join the fun.
2022, you make me giddy as I greet you. I write your name over and over. Such a beautiful number, not like 2021. Counting on by two’s from a nightmare towards beauty.
Welcome!!! We want you. We love you already!! We celebrate you!! Please don’t disappoint.
On the sunniest Saturday, while tidying the office in a Goodbye to 2021, I forgot something important and essential. Resolutions. In this complicated world, I can’t plan for everything, but in the past, general goals in life have served me well. VST would remind me that before shooting arrows, they need to be aimed. Every morning over coffee, the goals of the day were discussed and then a plan was made to accomplish them.
I miss that.
A Lot.
My resolutions are similar to the ones I made last year. Some of them were accomplished and some of them will challenge me for life. With that thought, these are the ten top goals I embrace as I start of the new year!!!
Improved Diet. For me, this includes what I eat, as well as when. Being single, meals times are of my choosing. Breakfast is simple, being built into my routine. It’s the other two that need more structure. With a sugar and flour free diet, my body is the happiest. Carbs are limited to 20 grams a day, which leaves plenty of room for veggies and occasional fruits. Christmas was a diet-free zone, but Christmas is over now. Back to reality.
Exercise. Living in a neighborhood with beautiful paved streets and limited traffic, I’ve no excuse to avoid walking. With a high concentration of retired Seniors, the neighborhood is safe, quiet, and inviting. Under the blue skies and white puffy clouds is the perfect place to mentally prewrite upcoming blog posts as I stretch my legs. Oliver agrees with this goal and plans to join me. Couldn’t ask for a better walking partner than him.
Budget Effectively. 2021 was a costly year for me. On the best day, just living is expensive and my little town is no exception. The unexpected HVAC replacement in June caught me off guard. Looking around, the next few years will be full of other unforeseen breaks and replacements. With expenses at a minimum now, I need to plan more carefully for the rainy days sure to come.
Publish! My new interest. How different from the 1900’s. It’s possible to publish all on my own, with tools readily available on the internet. With time ticking away and a brain in my head, this hobby of mine I’ll continue. Free webinars with the most popular online DYI publishing site await scheduling. Choosing a front row seat, I’ll be sure to take lots of notes. 2022 will find my projects published. Watercolor painting and crocheting await. Don’t forget your creative side.
READ! Just READ, Already! Without reading, I never would have run across the beautiful story about WINTERPAST and thus, found the perfect name for my home. Reading transports me to places and times I want to visit. A favorite past time of mine, I plan to do more.
Develop New Friendships. I’ll explore my new neighborhood, beginning with my street. I want to learn the names of everyone living here, being the kind of neighbor they can call when there’s a need. Springtime is a great time to meet new people as I add details to my front yard project. I’m lucky to live in a neighborhood full of friendly faces I haven’t met yet.
Visit Old Friends. I plan to be a house-guest this year. From northern Washington to the Central Coast of California, I plan to visit people I haven’t seen in a long, long time. Time is fleeting. I need to gas up and get going.
Eliminate Excess Baggage. Take that however you like. Physical suitcases? Emotional baggage? Junk in the cupboards? 2022 is the year of the purge. Never knowing when it’ll be time to downsize again, I’ll be ready. With adorable thrift stores in town, I’ll be donating in a big way. Blogging will rid my brain of unnecessary clutter as I share life with faithful readers.
Be a Tourist. I live in a tourist area. People come from all over the world to see the mustangs or the fossilized remains of the Ichthyosaur, a marine animal whose bones rest in the mountains of Nevada. Ghost towns. Rock fields. Top Gun. The grand Sierra’s. I plan to be a tourist this year, learning of all the wonderful places that are within a short distance of Winterpast.
Live Every Moment. No matter the success of keeping 1-9, I will keep #10. The last two years taught me that we all have an unknown expiration date. Age matters not and each one of us has limited time. I refuse to wait for things to happen or a travel partner to appear. Days will be of my own creation and liking. I intend to explode out of bed at dark thirty every morning to write. Because, WRITING IS LIFE and LIFE I CHOOSE.
Resolve to make your own resolutions!!!!! Make your target Success. With arrows in our quiver and goals in our heads, we can’t miss.
I must say, the dust bunnies are on the run these days. With Christmas boxed and returned to storage, Winterpast is sufficiently ready for company. Heck, I’ve even dusted which is something I loathe. The thought of having someone come and clean for me isn’t in my DNA at this point in life. Each day, I’ve cleaned a little something. All those little somethings have added up to a house that is crying out for a party.
Making new girlfriends is risky business. Hoping for the best, I’ve invited four lovely women to share snacks and laughter at Winterpast on Friday afternoon! All friends from church, two of them took me to lunch on my birthday. They made an otherwise dreadful day wonderful. Sitting in the restaurant for hours, we talked and laughed until the lunch crowd was gone and the candles were being lit for dinner. It was divine.
With the entire week ahead, I plan to to continue polishing and preparing for their arrival. I wish Miss Firecracker was here to help ignite this party. She always knew the most adorable ways to make any occasion festive. I’ll need to call her for suggestions. These days, she hard to catch as she rolls around town in her brand new shiny black Cadillac. Hopefully I can ask her for suggestions on just the right snacks for a group of five ladies.
CC and Da Girl would be great additions, too. They’re just too far away, both having families and duties tethering them in California. That’s the downside to moving late in life. While I had VST, we were a feral couple who made new acquaintances easily. Lifelong friendships take a lifetime of days to form. Sadly, so do lifetime love affairs. Starting from the beginning is tricky.
Last night at Bible Study, prayer requests flooded in. Many told of a family member or friend in need of a miracle. Personal stories were shared for collective prayer. We’re a family of our choosing. Just like in any family, intimate details of tragedy and sadness are discussed. It isn’t just any church that works like ours. So many Mega Churches hold hundreds for Sunday Morning service. Ours runs around 50 people. Fifty people that know each other well and cherish the times we spend together.
A sweet friend entered the building yesterday her face told she was distraught. A brain injury troubles her life and every day is an exhausting challenge. She was at the end of her rope yesterday.
“Joy, it’s a dog eat dog world and my heart is made of Milk-Bones these days.”
Giving her a quiet hug, I thanked God that my brain isn’t suffering. How unusual it is to find a safe place where others are aware of personal pain when a friend enters the room. Truly comforting and wonderful. My church family is my life line, too.
I wish all the women from the church were coming to visit, but for now, I’ll start with four. Looking on Pinterest for some ideas on luncheon icebreakers, we’ll embark on this journey of deeper friendship.
Oliver had better be on his best behavior. Just like any child, I’ll get him something to distract his little brain while we humans visit. A new bone or toy should do it. Being a 25 pound sausage, he is just a bundle of energy when company shows up. I can’t risk a broken hip because he decides to jump on someone.
Speaking of the little guy, today, his Puppy Camp Extravaganza is over.
Over the desert and through the plains,
To Oliver’s kennel I go.
The Jeep knows the way, today is the day
Hallelujah!
There’s no snow!
Happy to have made it through my 2nd New Year’s Eve alone, it’s time that things get back to normal around here. 2022 has some wonderful things in store for me. Starting this week, my dance card is filling up with activities for me and me alone. Stay tuned. More tomorrow.
Some days, the only thing that keeps me upright is a sense of gratitude that I haven’t yet toppled over. It seems the smallest things can derail an otherwise okay day. A picture triggers a memory. A memory then triggers a tear. A tear finally triggers a frown. Well, you get the picture. A perfectly good hour can be lost to the dark side.
When VST passed, I chose focus words each month. One positive word a month that represented our relationship. In those moments life seemed too dark, I’d focus on the word of the month and ways that word represented us. Words like Friendship, Adventure, and Everlasting Love. Before long, the sadness turned to something else. Gratitude.
Gratitude for the smallest things helps me stay mindful and grounded in the abundance of wonderful events that happen every day. Just last night, my trash cans didn’t blow over in high desert winds that shook Winterpast to her timbers. What a blessing! The horses haven’t pooped in my front yard for a week. Hallalujah. My neighbor felt connected enough to call after losing a very dear friend. She is a true blessing to my heart.
Each day, there are so many things for which to be grateful, I could fill a journal. At this moment, there is the sweetest little dog laying at my feet, sleeping soundly. A little dog with which I’m lucky enough to room. As he lays sleeping, I know he’s thankful that puppy camp ended and Mom-Oh came to bring him home. A little dog can only celebrate so much before needing the safety and love of his Mom-Oh. Oliver is a very grateful little dog who smiles often, brightening my days.
When I turn on the television, which I do so rarely these day, my world starts to lose balance. Negativity flips the switch on gratitude. Fear. Confusion. Hatred. Polarity. Political insanity. It all comes flooding out of this flat screen until I start to slip into the land of pessimism. Life is too short to spend even one minute there.
Covid Fear is a great optimism extinguisher. I know of a family who spent 18 months without sharing hugs. Not one. They talked on the phone and face-timed as two-dimensional flat-screen images. No familiar smells. No feeling of the warmth of skin as one hand held another. No shared meals. No physical visits between a family that had been together every week since their beginning. All this because they were terrified of a virus they may or may not have caught no matter what they did. What a loss. What a tragedy.
Before Christmas, a friend was wondering whether or not to take her littles to see their grandparents for a holiday visit. The children wanted to see Grandma and Grandpa in the worst way. My friend wanted to see her Mom and Dad. Her family doctor gave her the best advice I’ve heard.
“Mental health is very important. You need to go and make a wonderful memory together.”
That’s just what she did. Weeks later, the happy memories of Christmas 2021 are still creating smiles. Guess what.. No Covid. Imagine that.
As gratitude for the smallest things fill hearts, others notice. There’s something different about the way a grateful person holds themselves while interacting. Other people are attracted to happiness. When you share good things, friends and family want to hear more. The more goodness you find in your life, the more goodness there is to be found. Funny how that works. Begin with health. If you have that, you’ve hit the motherload of goodness. Nothing is more precious, and good health deserves a ton of gratitude. A little sick? Be grateful you aren’t more sick. And so on. There’s always a flip side to bad and that’s the something for which we can sing praise.
Being grateful creates a more patient, compassionate, and empathetic person. It’s a way of thinking that can be learned. Just think of three things in your life for which you are grateful. Not things of your physical world. Not things you can buy at Walmart. Real things. Like a bird outside your window. Storm clouds. The sound of rain. The laughter of a child. A call from a dear friend. Those important things make life worth living. It’s a shift in the balance of thought that’ll keep you upright and moving forward, one foot at a time.
All things in life are connected. A smile is the most important kind of medicine. Spread them around and see the magic they leave in a day. Magic. Healing magic of the best kind.
Some days, there are just no words adequate. Life is too brilliant to compose into a few paragraphs. Complete happiness in a perfect moment in time. If your lucky, some days are just like that. As a writer, I need a little time to drink in these moments and contemplate life’s meaning.
I’ll be back on Monday morning. Have a wonderful weekend.
Wow. I sneezed and it’s January 11th. During retirement I thought time would slow but it seems to have done the opposite. Although up and writing today, I’m still not 100%. I’ve been enjoying movies, chicken soup, orange juice, and lots of naps. Today I need to move my brain and body towards normal.
A few bored days ago I wasn’t feeling well enough to write for an hour or two in my drafty studio. Not quite up to reading a novel, I wanted something to do. Daily journaling has become a part of my life. Like a best friend of the “No-Tell” kind, I vent about whatever has driven me mad, made me cry, or brought me to my knees. There are also boring little repetitions about feeding Oliver or the time I rise each morning. Just stuff that I find important at the time I wrote.
Journal One, August, 2020. Reading along, day by day, I revisited my early widowhood wondering where that version of me found the strength to pick up a pencil, let alone life. Grief soaked pages told of a long and arduous journey full of adventure and great memories. These journals speak of flags planted along the way. Milestones. Successes. Failures. My journals are a place feelings of one day are vented and forgotten the next. But when read one page after the other, a mural of this new woman appeared. As I’ve grown, the new me is a reflection of the decisions I’ve made along the way. Thank goodness I like who I’ve become today.
Want to journal for yourself? Here are some tips to help you get started.
Find a comfortable spot to journal in a quiet area. Hate quiet? Find a chaotic place. People are different. Find a place that works for you.
Choose a time that you are well-nourished and rested, preferably at the same time every day. Set your timer for 15 minutes.
Commit to writing for 14 days in a row.
To begin, date your page. On the first three lines write 1, 2, 3.
Think of three things you’re grateful for. They can be as simple as Air, Water, Light. After you list the item, write one sentence about each telling why you are grateful. This is just to get your mind rolling. As you’re writing these three sentences, spelling doesn’t matter. As long as you can read this, it doesn’t matter the penmanship. Punctuation??? FERGETABOUTIT. Just get your words down about these three things. You may write a page about each one. You may write four words and call it good. It’s up to you.
Next, write about one thing that happened over the last 24 hours. This can be as simple as walking to the mail box and seeing a cloud. Write one sentence about what you saw. Continue a little about what you smelled, touched, heard, and tasted. You’ll be surprised that if you start really thinking about your day, you have so much to write, it’ll be hard to choose.
It’s okay if you only write 1/2 page. More is not always better. When you feel like stopping, stop.
Make writing in your journal a priority for two weeks and then see if journaling is something you want to continue.
Reading back through the months at Winterpast, the abundant and beautiful life I’ve experienced came flooding back. I’m so glad I saved those memories like preserved rose blossoms. Full of all the hope and wonder that comes with enjoying a spring sunrise, the words of 2020 show a woman full of hope, adventure, and faith. No matter the dark clouds, it took strength and courage to march on, one foot in front of the other.
Choose a journal that is well made and pleasing to you. Walmart has a wonderful selection with a variety of sizes and layouts. I choose to write in mechanical pencil for quick corrections. Again, remember, this isn’t something others will read. It’s meant for your eyes only, unless you choose to share. Make sure those around you know and respect that, or keep it tucked away. Words written one day will represent different feelings that those written the next. They’re a reflection of you at a single moment in time.
If you come to writer’s block, Google — “Journal prompts”. You’ll find many websites that can help you. The main point is to begin and don’t stop. Writing is life. You will discover things about yourself that you never knew. It cleanses the mind while making the sads and scaries easier to deal with.
Not at 100%, I return to my nest for more sleep. Stay well. More tomorrow.
With my cold on the run, I’m feeling better today. Steaming coffee, a blank computer screen, and Ollie at my feet I’ve not much to write about this morning. One could argue a story can be found in anything. Yes, I agree with that. Heck, I even named my tree Cheryl and gave her human attributes. However, after experiencing a head cold and days of isolation, a worthy topic isn’t obvious. Sitting here, the Snow Birds come to mind. They certainly know what to do when the temperatures drop.
Snow-Birding is on my bucket list. In case you’ve not heard the phrase, a Snow Bird is someone that leaves the ravages of winter snow to live somewhere warmer for three months. In Nevada, there are plenty of those “somewhere’s”. Pahrump, Laughlin, Las Vegas, Summerlin, Henderson. Those are just some of them. Each year, these desert towns swell with Mid-Americans and their RV’s.
The MIGRATION (believe me, it IS a migration) begins around November 1. On or around that date, the interstates swell with a mass of RV’s all traveling west or south. These people are determined to trade the bone chilling cold and winter of their homes for somewhere warmer. Towns like Yuma, Arizona explode. If you haven’t reservations, don’t go. RV spots and rentals are sold out months in advance.
While camping, VST and I would drive up and down the RV site in Pahrump looking at license plates. Minnesota. Missouri. New York. Wyoming. South Dakota. The list went on and on. In Pahrump, mind you. An isolated desert town, there’s not much there but beautiful scenery, a few casinos, and a Walmart. It does have something fabulous. Daytime temperatures of 65-70 with crystal clear skies of the deepest blue.
As the Snow Birds get settled, little communities form and the winter passes. RV’s are decorated for Christmas. Little yards are created with artificial turf and lawn chairs. Pets have outdoor areas in which to play. Shuffleboard comes alive and the pool and spa are hot spots to meet new friends. A mobile society of people that cannot take the winters anymore. In the desert communities, High Season is November to April. You can fry an egg on the sidewalk the other six months of the year.
As one might expect, many of these people are far past the normal driving age, and yet, navigate thousands of miles they do. They are hardy folks that are the fullest of lives. I respect them for that.
Towns prepare all year for the explosion of winter residents. Prices go up. Shelves are stocked with everything the travelers will need for their stay. A grand time is had by all until they pack it up and head back home April 1. Another day you might want to avoid if you are traveling on western interstates.
My bucket list includes wintering somewhere warm for an extended period of time. 70 degrees in the winter is heavenly. Cool enough for a sweater. No parka, gloves, wool cap, and socks necessary. No need for 4-wheel drive or chains. Just 70 degrees.
This morning, it’s 28 degrees with 95% cloud cover. No wind, but way too cold to venture into the hot tub just yet. I’ll wait until it warms up this afternoon. We’ll be having a heat wave at 48 degrees around 2 o’clock. Goodness. Short sleeve weather, eh?
Thinking about the Snow Birds, I remember our feral days when VST would get up and say, “Darlin’, you want to blow Dodge and head south?” In hours, we’d roll down the driveway towards another adventure. Someday soon, I’ll do that again.
To any Snow Bird reading this, please be grateful for your good fortune. You are truly lucky. To any past Snow Birds, please be grateful for all the wonderful memories you made. Without packing a bag, you can close your eyes and be there again.
It’s me. Oliver. I know. I know. I don’t have thumbs, but I figured a few things out while sitting in Mom-Oh’s chair. This computer screen and keyboard are pretty neat.
Mom-oh is still pretty sick. She would tell ya’ll the she feels as great as I do, but really, she doesn’t. This NyQuil stuff she takes isn’t so good for getting my breakfast on time. She says she “groggy” or some such thing. Anyway, she needs more sleep.
We’ll be back on Monday. She’ll be better by then. Please tell your friends to read Mom-Oh’s blog. She works really hard to write every day. I know. I’m her helper.
Thanks everyone. I just might blog more someday.
Oliver
PS….Don’t tell Mom-Oh. She’s not happy when I sit in her chair by accident.
The weather has been super around these parts. Even though the nights are winter cold, the days have been bright, sunny, and warm. We’ve been experiencing the high 40’s, which for winter time, is just lovely. With the bluest skies shining overhead, I’m happy to report my cold is gone.
Almost two weeks have passed since I became sick. Normal viruses used to be predictable, taking ten days to run their course. How I long for the viruses of yesterday. Luckily, my regular old cold followed the proper course leaving me no worse off than before. It was just a runny nose, “I don’t feel well”, negative Covid-test, sneezy, cough-y, two Kleenex box cold.
A few lessons I learned through my little experience into illness isolation.
Stay prepared. A week before I got sick, I inventoried my medicine cupboard, taking note of what was missing. Dayquil/Nyquil comes in pill form in a 14 day package. It’s wonderful stuff. No drippy nose or stuffiness. Take the orange pills in the day and the green ones at night. This stuff kept me feeling better than I would have. It was great to have a package waiting at the ready, just incase. Be sure to check that all your medicines agree with each other. It can be complicated.
Keep orange juice on hand, even a small bottle. Vitamin C is great for fighting colds. It was also great to have a fresh bottle on hand.
Even if you aren’t feeling the best, don’t forget to take your prescribed meds on schedule. A friend was ill with a cold and forgot to take her insulin, resulting in worse problems. Remember to eat and medicate on a regular schedule.
Please don’t go anywhere if you are sick. Viruses are so contagious. Sadly, vaccinated or not, you can still get sick and spread viruses. If you have the slightest suspicion you are sick, PLEASE STAY HOME. Easy for me to say, I’m retired. But then, maybe it’s harder for us retirees that ARE alone. Main point, better be safe than sorry.
Stay in touch with others, just in case. I was so blessed to have family and friends reach out to be sure I was okay. What a blessing! It’s good to have friends that check in. Accidents or illnesses come without warning. You just never know.
Have an easy, nutritious go-to recipe that’s easy to prepare. For me, it was a pan of Mac and Cheese. When feeling the worst, it was nice to have a warm, gooey meal to keep me going. Chicken soup does warm the soul.
With shortages hitting us again, be sure to take inventory of your supplies. Stock as best you can. Don’t forget your furry friends. Oliver had plenty of food while I was out of commission. I keep a month’s supply of his food on hand, as the shortages have been hitting different items, dog food being one.
Today, I’m back on track. Even while riding out a silly cold, my days have been rich with happiness and fun. While resting, I’ve had time to reflect on the possibilities and goals that 2022 holds. Wondering if Walmart’s garden section is being stocked, Winterpast and I eagerly await bud break, still weeks away.
That’s it for today. Remember to start thinking about Valentine’s Day. Never forget to tell people in your life how much you love them. Spring is right around the corner!!!
Enough already. This isolation stuff is a nest for insanity. Two years ago, VST’s ankles became swollen for the first time in his 64 years. Really swollen. Giant in size, we first believed it was from a poor diet of fast food while looking for houses in Pahrump, Nevada. It was three days of Egg McMuffins and Bacon Western Cheeseburgers. Chips. Fries. Sodium overload. Such a weekend changed the course of our lives forever because the illness wasn’t caused by fast-food salt, but cancer. Little did we know. All was quickly revealed.
Just a year before that, we were enjoying one of the best hobbies in the world. RVing. If you know, you know. If you don’t, you might want to investigate. Having a completely stocked home on wheels, we rolled around the country to places we’d only read about in school. We went to the very meadows and hills where VST’s dad, Jack, ran as a boy. Missouri, with its down home ways, could have become our new home. I felt Jack’s spirit with us that entire trip.
Six weeks in an RV with a husband isn’t for the faint of heart, yet, VST and I found a rhythm that worked for us. Not all hearts and flowers, our daily goals were translated into unfamiliar names of towns hundreds of miles away. Meals were planned to the last sesame seed. Naps measured in 30 minute increments. Music set to Willie’s Roadhouse on Sirius XM while rolling at 55 to get to the Next Exit.
Two solitary years later, there’ve been no long road trips. Somewhere in Wyoming, at a lonely truck stop, I left a wisp of my soul. For a State Park outside Rapid City, South Dakota, my heart yearns. Mount Rushmore. Wall Drug. Ely, Minnesota. Lake Superior. All of them long for me to return as much as I dream of them. Once you drive through the peaks and valleys of our great country, you never look at her the same. I long for the mid-west.
Two years ago, VST was dying of cancer while the world was dying of Covid. The first I heard of this was a news story about a little place in Washington state where 90 people suddenly became ill and died. Such a mystery and horror, I paid little attention to the details. It would be the last news I watched for weeks.
April 9th, 2020, I again turned on the news, just one day a widow. The number of dead had grown to 20,000. Quarantining was in place. Go no where. Allow no one into the home. Close your doors and shutter your windows. Shelter in place. Be afraid. Very afraid. And so began my journey through widowhood.
Two years have passed. Because of my strange introduction to the world of Covid, I didn’t depend on the media to instruct me on my every move. Chilled to my bones by the horrors of VST’s cancer, there could be no worse illness. Viruses are a forever thing. There still is no cure for viruses. No eradication. The same is true for cancer. No cure. Certainly, there’s no cure for death. That’s a given.
For the last two years, I’ve done my best to keep living as normally as possible. I’ve eaten at restaurants as often as possible. Stayed in hotels on numerous occasions. Visited spas. Shopped. Carried on in a world that has gone mad. Thankfully, VST and I picked a new home in the perfect place. Spaced away from quiet neighbors, there’s room to breathe. Fresh air. Brilliant, disinfecting sunlight. No air pollution (unless California is on fire). Cleansing winds. A desert paradise.
Through all of this madness, I’ve had two colds in the last two years. Just plain colds. Sniffling. Sneezing. Running nose. Headache. Nothing more. Covid-Negative.
Now, it’s time for me to come out of isolation. Personally, I can’t cower another day. Two years of grief and loneliness is far too much time for navel inspection. 2022 is a time to return to normal, facing whatever that holds.
Healing. So much healing is needed in our world. Forgiveness. Tolerance. Love. Everyone just needs to take a deep breath and learn how to play together again. Drive a little slower. Wave a little more. Wear a smile instead of a mask, at least when you are driving, alone in your car. Plan a spring picnic. Get outside and resume one small part of a normal life. Living in fear is no life at all.
In all this craziness, something wonderful has happened here at Winterpast. A familiar name has returned to my life. Ace is back. Sometimes, isolation is necessary reflection on the course of life. With time and conversation, our friendship was stronger than our differences and we proceed with caution. Although one hundred miles still separate our lives, some friendships are just too precious to lose.
Now is the time for healing. Phone calls to old friends bring back forgotten memories. Walks together under the bright blue sky invigorate the spirit. Trips to the grocery store are more fun when the meals planned are for two. Flowers from a friend make me smile. Church is a room full of love. All those things help us heal together, because healing is always better with friends.
Inspired by God’s Little Devotional Journal for Women
Although all my homes have been very different, with effort, each one has been beautiful. It didn’t depend on the walls color or the furniture, but the feelings inside. Anyone can create an admirable home with thought and presence of mind to make it so. As a widow, I need to remember I deserve a pleasant home even though it’s just Oliver and me.
Harsh or unkind words have no place in a home worth inhabiting. I’ve needed to stop watching television when I find myself scolding an electrical impulse. I suspect many of you may yell at the TV from time to time just like I do. So much negativity and vulgarity is displayed at our own will. The “Off” button ends a source of information that doesn’t affect me in the least bit. Unless the weather report is warning of an imminent blizzard, no news affects me directly. However, it can certainly upset me directly. Lately, I’ve chosen the “Off” button more times than the “On”.
Each person in a great home should be made to feel special, important, and valued beyond measure. That includes ourselves. I forget to speak to myself with respect on many occasions or even cook myself a special meal once in awhile. Somedays, I speak more kindly to Oliver than to myself. Our inner voice can be cruel and judgmental. A little self love goes a long way to a happier outlook on life.
My soul needs cuddling after a trying day. Favorite artists always calm me down. Being the safest place in the world, it’s one in which I can dream up crazy schemes without someone shooting them out of my mind before they have a chance for consideration. My individual creativity takes hold and grow. Without security, that can’t happen. If it can’t happen for me, it certainly can’t happen for others entering my home.
A great home is a safe place to communicate about sensitive subjects. Many possible relationships ended because two people didn’t stop to hear one another. Sometimes hard truths not pleasant or endearing need to be said and understood. In a great home, secrets between two are treasured and protected.
Friendship blossoms in a solid home. Boundaries and privacy are respected. People living there put others before themselves. Giving more than taking, members put the important demands of a home first, being helpful while trying to keep a cheerful demeanor even if it’s dog poop day.
Sound heavenly? Impossible? No. It’s not. It takes focus and mindfulness while desiring to make it so. Really, it’s that easy.
Today, try to make your home the perfect one for you. If there is something physical that bothers you, fix it. If it’s messy, clean it up. If it’s dirty, wash it. If there a disagreement that is bothering you, talk about it. If there is a need for hugs and kisses, make them happen. If laughter has been missing, find some. Make it what you want, because, after all, there is nothing more important than home.
Life on the farm was never dull. March 1, 1990, VST and I became the proud owners of a 40 acre vineyard and the stewards of nearly 17,000 vines. They were geriatric vines of vintage varieties. Mostly Thompson Seedless, there were few antique vines thrown in the mix. Most of them were at least 60 years old and patiently waiting to teach us a thing or two about viticulture.
One such vine was the “Lady Fingers” in Row 101 just behind the house. My dad knew the exact row and vine, watching all year until the grapes were ripe enough to each. “Lady Fingers” weren’t my favorite. Extremely long, sugary sweet, and seeded, they’d been planted by Volga German immigrants long before I was born. These grapes were picked for special occasions and had a taste all their own.
Once we became farmers, time was no longer our own. Our days and nights were controlled by the God’s of What Will Break Next. Duct tape is an awesome tool when in the middle of a prescribed application of pesticides costing upwards of $3,000. A little duct tape placed over a split hose can save the day and the farm. VST and I purchased lots of duct tape throughout our farming years.
It was at the end of those years that we became very weary. Hopping from broken this to failing that, it was hard to keep all the balls in the air as we juggled farming life. The kids had run off in five different directions. Even VST’s parents had jumped ship, one to heaven and the other to a retirement apartment miles away. It was just us, the dogs, and 17,000 demanding vines.
Our farming endeavor didn’t involve wine making. Our grapes were of the Thompson Seedless variety which is juiced and blended with much of the wine produced in California. Our grapes were used for a different purpose. They became Sunmaid Raisins. You know, the dancing kind. Same versatile grape with many different uses. Thompson’s also become the very large green table grapes you buy in the store. The large size is achieved by spraying them with Gibberellic Acid, a growth hormone. Not much is ever printed about this practice, but, that’s one way the large size is achieved. Otherwise, the grapes stay small, sweet, and are used for wine or raisins. In the area I came from, the preferred grape variety was the Thompson Seedless.
On one particularly long Saturday, we’d been preparing for an irrigation. Due to a drought, we’d need to turn on our underground pump, circa 1936. This pump was an antique we used only when county irrigation water wasn’t available. It did work well, even though the large belt on the pump was hand crafted from a strip of leather. I know, because it broke one time, causing us to find an 80 year old pump repairman to create another.
On this particular day, we had a different problem. It seemed the equally old underground pipe had a break of approximately 8″ in diameter. Water gushing from an 8″ hole in a 12″ pipeline is quite a thing to behold. A crazy making event when two people are so worn out they can hardly think. The gusher was turned off as quickly as it had been turned on.
Quietly sitting on a pile of the best soil in the world, VST and I weren’t far from crying. This wasn’t a repair that we could afford in time or money. It wasn’t an easy fix, involving big equipment and worse than that, an extra bill from an outside company that we couldn’t afford. It was then that my little blonde brain kicked into high gear.
Quietly, I went to the orange tree and picked 10 oranges. It had been a bumper crop that year with the fruit being large and sweet. These were vintage oranges with a taste you could only imagine and better than anything you’ve ever eaten.
Returning to VST’s side, I put them on the ground and then went to the shop. The very shop in which vermin and wild creatures wintered, entering through the large cracks in the back wall. Wiping away spider webs and dust, I unwrapped a new roll of duct tape and hurried back to the pipeline. The water had already disappeared into the thirsty soil, leaving a huge hole and the exposed break in the concrete pipe. Perfectly round, there were no spider cracks that we could see.
Without stopping, I sat down and leaned over the edge to touch the pipe which was a good 15″ down. This was a muddy affair. I took the oranges and started plugging the hole with them. The first attempt resulted in the loss of couple oranges that dropped into the pipeline, but once I had three in place, the others fit nicely. The gushing water had washed away the soil around the pipe, giving access to all sides. Once the oranges were tightly packed, eliminating the hole, the duct tape was applied. Around and around we went, stretching the duct tape as tight as we could while using the entire roll.
The entire time, VST was grumbling but also amused at the odd and crafty repair. Six large oranges. One roll of duct tape. Snacking on the leftover oranges, we turned on the pump. Humming nicely, as only a 1936 irrigation pump could do, our patch held. The irrigation proceeded without a leak and luckily, that was the last time we ever needed the pump. Repaired in the spring of 2007, we sold the ranch later that year.
Sometimes, the best memories involve a bunch of oranges and a roll of duct tape. We laughed so many times about our amazing fix. Was it fixed for the ages? Of course not. Did it do the job so that we could continue to the next broken disaster? Yes, it did. Did we sell the ranch that way??? That will remain an eternal secret kept between VST and me. The ranch passed all inspections. Just sayin’.
Farmers have the toughest of jobs. Plants and animals can’t wait around for the perfect weather in which to be born or the sunniest of days to be harvested. Life happens 24/7. It isn’t convenient or planned. Things break when you use them. It matters not if you are in the middle of a roundup of new calves awaiting castration or while inspecting dusty little dancing raisins as they hop away from dirt and dust across a shaker into a waiting bin.
Nature breaks things, too. An ill timed rainstorm can wipe out an entire year’s worth of work in a single night. An illness can rip through a herd of cattle and kill the new crop of calves. A frost or hail can eliminate an entire crop, leaving vines that need care throughout the year, even though there’ll be no profit. Farming is the ultimate gamble. Farmers know this, but continue anyway.
Those days are long gone but the lessons learned helped me to deal with VST’s death. Untimely and the ultimate system failure, duct tape and some oranges wouldn’t fix the problem. Only patience, faith, and acceptance have helped me to get through some mighty tough days. How I wish I could sit with VST once more on that pile of dirt.
“Well, whatcha thinking, Darlin’? How can we fix this?”
“It’ll never be fixed, but time will patch things up until I see you again, VST.”
What if January were a person? How disturbing for her to be stuck between Christmas and Valentine’s Day. Sure, she owns New Year’s Day, but, who remembers that? The real fun belongs to December 31st and her wild parties. By January 1st at 12:05 AM, all the kisses are delivered. People are ready to turn in, if they stayed up that long. Nope, January has a right to be a little bitter.
If all the months had a party January would surely pick August as a BFF. They could sit together in their extremes and complain about the world. Bitter cold and outrageous heat. Things covered in snow or burnt up by the blistering summer, January and August are no one’s favorite unless, of course, you have a birthday in those months. August has no major events either. In both months, teachers and students return to school and the serious business of learning. The fun and games are saved for the good months.
August and January would criticize February for hearts, April, May and June for Bunnies, blooms, and new life, June for brides, July for fireworks and September for the apple harvest. October would get their scorn for Halloween and November for turkey dinners. Of course, they would vent about December until they could say no more. Christmas is the holiday they would never get over. I’d guess all the months might throw a little shade at December’s good fortune.
Unforgiving, it seems January always has a chip on her shoulder. Her days are filled with blizzards and bitter cold, unless you live somewhere warm, like Florida or Arizona. Then, the high season of the snowbirds is in full swing. Oy Vey, the misery of it all. Through her 31 days, she’s a pessimistic month.
If you’re a history buff, perhaps she might be your favorite, with MLK’s holiday thrown in for good measure.
Really, she’s made of 31 days in which people pack up Christmas and find Valentine Cards for their loved ones. A middle month. A time when Americans begin to worry about new tax rules and old tax write offs. One in which Christmas bills come due.
Too early to start spring cleaning, even the house get’s kicked around a little. Yards are ignored. Nothing grows outside. Winds blow and snow falls, while no one ever talks about how romantic the snow is in January. They are counting down the days until the spring thaw. Everyone is tired of winter by the end of January.
If January were a person, I wouldn’t choose her for a friend. Stubborn and detached, she’s set in her ways. Not fun and free like December when any day is a great one to share a little brunch with neighbors. January brunches need to be planned around temperatures and icy roads.
Colds seem to linger longer in January than in other months. There’s no reason to get better quickly. It’s too nice to lounge under the covers and practice lazy.
For me, January holds sad memories of the worst kind. It was January that stole my first love away from me when we were only kids. Death on a Wednesday for a boy that just wanted to wrestle. RIP – Derrick Ray Wilson (7/30/1955 – 1/31/1973).
However, she does hold memories of the best kind, as well. On sunny, spring-like January afternoon in 1988, VST and I married in front of family and friends. No real reason January was chosen except that we didn’t want to wait until February. When you know, you know. When you want to start life with someone you love, you want it to start as soon as possible. January had an opening.
Throughout our years, three precious grandchildren were born to our family in January. Of course, every month gives the gift of new life as the seasons roll along while stealing others away. The rhythm of life isn’t always something that can be explained. It’s a wonderful fact that any month is a perfect time to become a new grandparent.
With her pessimistic and condescending days, January seems to have difficulty letting us go. These past few days have been like cold molasses, dragging on minute by minute. January, in her aloof way, hasn’t been a comfort as winter is brutal here in the high desert of Northwestern Nevada. Even the mildest winter day, as we experience now, begins with frigid mornings and a frost covered world.
I hope your experiences with our friend January have been a bit more positive than mine. Miss Firecracker will begin construction on her lovely home as she winters in California. January might just have a better attitude in California, with every season a little lovelier there. Miss Firecracker’s attitude has definitely improved as new life in a new home is exploding with possibilities!
Wherever you are, find something to do that brings you happiness. The world needs more happiness to grow inside each of us, one heart at a time. Even if it’s STILL January.
In this crazy world, we can all use some scheduled rest. A day in which we give ourselves permission to stay in jammies and snooze. One in which we do exactly what feels nice and peaceful. Everyone needs this, but sometimes it’s easier said than done. Either we find ourselves behind, swamped, or interrupted. And yet, rest is one of the most important things a person needs.
Not only rest of the body while sleeping, either. Our necks need a rest from looming over a keyboard. Our fingers need rest from typing emails or texts. Our brains need relief from constant stress and worry. Ringing phones or continuous video conferences leave us frazzled. Our eyes need rest from computer screen strain. Our spirit needs a rest with the constant evil bombardment from this messed up world.
How many of us race around in our cars like we’re speeding through the Daytona 500. There’s always a million errands waiting for us. Watch as people drive here and there, frowning on their way. Worse yet, so busy they forget to take their masks off in the car. On overload, we all need to stop and find one thing each day that brings happiness.
I got the sweetest email from my Godmother, Auntie TJ the other day. She wished for me a happy day. She mentioned how much lovelier the world would be if more people would just find happiness. She knows a thing or two. On the subject of happiness she is 100% right. What if our politicians in Washington, DC would smile at each other once in awhile? Genuinely smile. What might happen if the entire place just had one good belly laugh? Maybe they could cut through the insanity and get to work to fix problems that are making citizens more unhappy day by day.
What’s a person to do? I try unplugging for at least one hour every day. Turn the phone off. Darken the television screen. Turn off anything that rings, dings, or sings and enjoy the quiet that follows. Sometimes quiet can seem absolutely foreign but it’s definitely something of which we all need more.
During whatever time period you have, try to avoid conversations of any kind and be peaceful with yourself. What comes to mind? The feeling of solitude may be shocking at first. Give it a good 15 minutes with your eyelids down. The less sensory stimulation you have the better. Focus on your breathing as you let the rest of the world handle the troubles for a little bit.
Having the luxury of scheduling a daily nap at 12, I find Oliver eager to join me. The two of us melt into our respective beds and refuel our energy reserves. It’s one of the best perks of retirement. Rest during the day, while turning off the world and quietly resetting.
The garden is another wonderful place to find mental relaxation. As much as I poke and prod at them, I’ve yet to get a verbal complaint from my rose bushes. With a breeze and the bright blue sky, the sounds of nature complete the picture. It’s a great place to forgive, grieve, and get on with happy thoughts.
As every morning, it’s early hear, just past 5:00 AM. I’m going to take a little of my own advice and get a little more sleep before I’m off to Baptist on Main. Have a restful Sunday.
If you have any access to a baby, run, don’t walk, for some fun. Babies are some of the finest people in the world. Period. They live their life in the moment, just taking everything about this crazy world in, while making everyone around them happy. Here’s the deal. You can’t be anything but happy in the presence of a baby. Even when they pitch a fit, they are irresistable.
Yesterday, Baptist on Main had a very special day. Along with Holy Communion, a special guest of the littlest kind came for his Dedication. Little Mr. Dandy Pants sat in the back, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Of course, being only months old, he depended on Mom and Grandma to pick the right seat. Pastor C introduced himself to the little guy, but the baby was having nothing to do with strangers. Mom had obviously taught him well.
Funny thing about babies is that THEY KNOW. When it was his turn up front near the pulpit, Little Mr. Dandy Pants was okay at first. Of course, the entire congregation just melted. Here is this tiny little guy who controlled the room. His mom had him dressed in a tiny little shirt that said, “Ladies, I Have Arrived”. He looked from person to person, most of whom were older than Grandma. Every one of us were immediately in a better mood from receiving a single gaze. Truly, this little guy could work a room.
Now, Pastor C can be a little scary to someone less than 2 feet tall. Sporting a beard longer than this child and a booming Southern Baptist kind of voice, Pastor C wasn’t immediately accepted as “Friend”. Little Mr. Dandy Pants tried avoidance. He looked everywhere but the direction of the Pastor, while getting the tiniest of worry lines above his eyes. He was figuring out that he was the center of attention for some adult reason. The problem was, he didn’t quite know what would happen next.
It was then that he started to cry with the faintest whimper. Even more adorable, he clung to his mom’s finger and became more worried as Pastor C went through the meaning of a child’s dedication to the church. Finally, the time had come for Pastor C to hold the child and anoint his forehead with oil. The faintest of whimpers turned into a full blown ruckus every angel on high could hear. Little Mr. Dandy Pants made it known he wanted his Mama. NOW.
In a matter of minutes the dedication was over and he was returned to the safety of the back row in church. Everything quieted down again and the service went on without another interruption. Little Mr. Dandy Pants fell asleep with those little hiccup-y sounds all of us retired Mom’s remember. Everything was okay now that Mom and Grandma were on guard on the earthly side of things. I am sure the angels were singing about the newest little boy brought to Jesus.
it would be fun to fast forward decades to observe The baby as an old man. Many people choose to sit in the back of the church. Maybe his seating preference today will follow him through life. I wonder if he’ll sleep through services then, too.
Babies. One of the brightest spots in the universe. If you have one, spend lots of time snuggling with them. If you don’t, try to borrow a snuggle once in awhile. Babies know a lot. Have a wonderful day.
Living close to a vacation spot has definite benefits and temptations. Although my dusty little wide spot in the road offers no entertainment or services, I only need to drive a little ways to find everything a person could want. It is from here that I write this blog entry today.
My favorite thing to do on any day ending in a “Y” is to enjoy spa services. People that have never been to a spa must wonder what could possibly be this wonderful. Well, you must try it sometime. The only spa I talk about is the one I revisit as often as I possibly can. Three stories high, each level offers different services. The first floor has gender specific dressing rooms and facilities. In the steam room the warm fog is so thick it’s hard to see if anyone else is using it. A dry sauna feels like the desert in August. There’s a cold plunge to use after either of these two treatments.
A very large Jacuzzi provides a private space for cackling in the cauldron. The few times I’ve visited the gender specific area, the incessant talking has driven me away. Why is it that some people can’t enjoy peace and quiet? I will say, an author could get some pretty steamy material for upcoming blogs if only my laptop could take the humidity.
To complete this area there are the best showers, shampoos, potions, and lotions. There are vanity areas in which ladies can put themselves back together before they head back into the real world. Every detail has been covered, with the results making a spa day effortless.
After my 50 minute Swedish massage on a table that translates Zen music into tiny vibrations, I found myself again using the zero gravity chairs in the Reflection Room. Glowing on a wall size projection screen, the night skies of places around the world are so beautiful I wonder how they can be real. As often as I’ve come, the Reflection Room is not a place people congregate to visit. Always empty, it calls to me.
In the Caldarium, men and women settle into comfy lounge chairs or bob around in the heated swimming pool. Although the Nevada temperatures are in the 40’s, you’d never know it. The caldarium is an inside room protecting everyone from the elements and is a great place for brides to treat their bridesmaids to a day of pampering. Just listening to the bubbling of the two spas and distant conversations of gossiping women, it reminds me of a day at the beach without the sand.
Even though this is a place of relaxation, State safety rules must be followed carefully. Hilariously hung that on one wall, dusty and out of place, there is a life ring next to two emergency shut off switches. Wrong on every level. Dust in this gorgeous facility seems totally odd and out of place. Besides, how could someone drown in a spa where the depth of the pool is 3’6″? This is rather funny. Of course, in my world, that person could be me. Good thing I spied it and can give a shout to others if I need it.
The men in the caldarium enter, most with darting eyes. Although they know they shouldn’t, they look here and there, while knowing they have entered a space reserved for the luckiest of women. Men can be quite amusing to watch under such circumstances.
As I enjoyed my Crab, Avocado and Pita Nachos, the bubbling and soothing sounds of water nearly drown out a conversation two women were having across the room. Although I couldn’t quite follow everything, it seemed there was a “SHE” that was on their doo-doo list. Every time I heard the word “SHE” emphasized, I got the definite impression that “SHE” wasn’t their favorite gal. I did consider moving closer, as the thought of more topics for my blog came to mind. Just as well, I remembered to be quite thankful it was not “ME” that was this dastardly “SHE”
After such a strenuous day, it was time to move on with the rest of my day. The resort made it possible for me to BOGO the hotel room. I do need to remind you, staying near a tourist town has its perks, but also its temptations. i plan to enjoy the glorious winter sun. Another winter storm is right around the corner.
Whatever you are doing today, please pamper yourself a little. In this crazy world, we all need to slow down and remember that this moment is really all we have.
Still on vacation, today I’m writing to you from an unfamiliar setting of a ski lodge. I would love to say, “Never have I ever”, but the truth is, I have. Skiing didn’t go well for me the two times I tried it. Not just kind of “Not Well” but a miserable fail. I’ll admit, I do ski lodge well, just having downed a delicious cup of hot chocolate. Not homemade, but still really good.
Watching skiers ride up the open lifts with five people across, I’m not envious in the least. From past experience, it is quite possible to drop both ski poles and a glove while being suspended 100 feet above the snow. Yes. I found this out in my 23rd year. It is also possible to be talked into traveling heavenward on some ski lift, that drops you off in a sheet of ice, where it is possible to make five skiers fall in a heap. They turn the lift off for that, even though it hits many in the head before they can make that happen.
After those major lessons, I know it’s possible to fall about 53 and 1/2 times when trying to get down a mountain that is for advanced skiers only, until finally taking off the skis to walk down. Finally, it’s possible for one lone ski to zip through ski school, causing many people to become quite agitated as they yell “Ski”.
In my 66 years, I’ve learned a few things. I do ski lodge very well while having no desire to actually ski. Ace, on the other hand, skis with the best of them. 45/45 is his best. A 45 degrees slope at 45 MPH. Having witnessed this with my own eyes, this is true. What he wants with this Danish Dumpling is beyond me, but, he smitten he is. His athletic abilities are a fascination to me.
As I sit here, I find that unskilled skiers clumping around in ski boots on wooden floors are very annoying to a writer. However, I’m in their world. Everyone is so thin and tanned, it makes my hidden little seat in the corner and out of the way seem secure. Not being thin or tanned at the moment, I prefer being invisible at my own little table. Skiers are in a hurry. Everyone races around to get back to the five person chair lifts that goes to the top of the mountain. Like ants, I watch them traversing the hills, gracefully and in full control.
In a small way, I wish I could learn to do something even 1/10 so graceful, but that isn’t to be. Graceful is not a word that describes any part of me. Smart? Sometimes. Intelligent? A little. A writer? Absolutely. But, able to put one foot in front of the other and walk a straight line? No. Fergettabout sliding down ice and snow on two boards.
Ace, on the other hand, is able to jump small moguls with a single bound. Learning to ski at the appropriate age of five years old, it’s second nature for him to spend time on the slopes. He has skied resorts I’ve only seen in movies.
Coming prepared with my laptop, I planned to write while looking out at the breathtaking view. However, there’s a new rule in the lodge along with insane rules everywhere else in this crazy world. So sick of idiot rules, I cringed when I was told, “Absolutely, Without Discussion, and Final in Every Way……..NO LAPTOPS!!!!” Now, in this laid back, “Hey Dude” environment, what the heck? What IS the problem. There were four of us in a restaurant big enough hold 150. I’m out of the way. Quiet. Drinking $.25 hot chocolate for which I paid $3.25 at THEIR snack bar. My keyboard is quiet. I’m on MY hotspot. So, what’s the problem with my activity? The two employees that protested most likely failed their writing classes in high school. Jealous.
I got up to move to the Lounge at 10 AM when it opened, thinking the vibe might be a little more relaxed there. Helga of Baskerville informed me of the “NO LAPTOP” policy before I even got my two feet into the place. What the Heck??? Mattered not. Places where 10 people are drinking beer at 10 AM isn’t good energy for me, “DUDE”. I went back to reclaim my territory in the restaurant.
With blaring music from an antiquated sound system, I wish that I was in the comfort of Winterpast with sweet little Oliver at my feet. This place with it’s athletes and winter warriors isn’t my cup of hot chocolate. At least, for 2022, I can add it to my list of adventurous outings and plan to sit in the hotel hot tub later today. I’m glad Ace is having a wonderful time doing what he loves the most. Glad I got to experience a little of it with him.
Whatever you do today, try to stay upright. Ice and snow are slippery to negotiate. Keep that in mind if you venture out. Remember the sun screen and go have a great day!!
Would cause his proud head to in anguish be bowed,
It’s a pretty good plan to forget it.
If you know of a skeleton hidden away
In a closet, and guarded and kept from the day
In the dark; whose showing, whose sudden display
Would cause grief and sorrow and lifelong dismay,
It’s a pretty good plan to forget it.
If you know of a spot in the life of a friend
(We all have spots concealed, world without end)
Whose touching his heartstrings would play or rend
‘Till the shame of its showing no grieving could mend,
It’s a pretty good plan to forget it.
If you know of a thing that will darken the joy
Of a man or a woman, a girl or a boy,
That will wipe out a smile or the least way annoy
A fellow, or cause any gladness to cloy,
It’s a pretty good plan to forget it.
Be kind today. Look for the good in people. In this crazy world, it’s hidden sometimes, but there is good to be found. The world produces an abundance of bad every day. Choose happiness.
In only a few short months, I’ll no longer be the mom of a deployed Master Sargent of the United States Air Force. For the last 25 years, I’ve been a military mom. There are no hidden benefits to being a military mom. No discounts or awards. No parades honoring us. When our children are deployed, there are not too many groups that remember us as we silently count the days until our kids come home. Blue Star Mothers of America offers support to each Mom while they worry in collective silence.
No one wants to become a member of American Gold Star Mothers. These mom’s have given the ultimate sacrifice with the loss of a child in the service. No one wants to get an invitation to that group. Their Mission statement shows direction while requiring fortitude. Finding strength in the fellowship of other Gold Star Mothers, they strive to keep the memory of our sons and daughters alive by working to help veterans, those currently serving in the military, their families and our communities. No one asks for an invitation to that group.
My oldest son, Master Sargent J (MSJ), has been in the United States Air Force the longest. Now in the Air National Guard, he’s looking forward to retirement in a few short months.
I so remember the day VST and I drove him to a hotel near Sacramento, California to begin his journey towards boot camp in Texas and then beyond. A clunky high school graduate, he was half man, half child, skipping off on an adventure called life. VST and I cried our way home that day, not believing that the boy we both raised was going off to find his own way.
Years and years of training and dedication led him on a great career path. He patiently accepted every order treating it as the opportunity it was. His wife and children paid the price of hours, days, and weeks away from him during his service. Everything was winding down, with monthly soldiering taking time away from his family. Creating a successful business and raising three children, his hands were already full when he got orders for deployment to the Middle East at 42 years of age. 6 months in the desert.
When deployment orders come, young families put everything to the side. Plans to expand a business, vacation, get a new car, or do something new to the house are on hold. Everything comes to a stand still while making arrangements for the absence. My son’s deployment this time was especially difficult during the pandemic.
Mom’s are usually the last to get the news.
“Hey, Mom. Going to the desert. But, don’t worry. It’s a safe base. Safe. Safe. Really, Really Safe.”
That safe, really, really safe base was in harm’s way a few weeks ago. Calls stopped. Messages were short.
“I’m okay, Mom. I love you, Mom. Don’t worry, Mom. ”
Safe.
Safe.
Really, Really Safe.
Repeat those thoughts.
That’s what a military mom must do, over and over again. Don’t worry. Know you are loved. Know they are trained to survive and conquer. And pray. A lot.
Today, I’m sending off another care package. This one’s for Valentine’s Day. Hard to figure out what to send to a desert quite unlike my own addressed to a grown man of 42 who moved away at 18. Of course, what would a Gardener send? A tomato kit. What would a retired teacher send? Conversation Hearts. Lots of other little goodies filled the Flat Rate Shipping Box from USPS. There is a military discount at the post office not limited to mothers.
I filled the empty spaces in the box with prayers and love. Filled the box with good wishes and lots of wonderful memories. My son and those deployed with him deserve the prayers of a grateful nation. Without our soldiers around the world, things would surely not be as safe as they are today.
Look online for a ways you can support a soldier or his family. Troops are sent to places long distances from their homes and moms. If there is a base near you, contact them to see what programs are in place. If not, consider writing to a soldier that is deployed. Just because we are not at war, (at the present time), don’t forget that men and women are giving time out of their lives so we can be safe at home.
Be grateful for all the branches of our military and don’t forget to send prayers. It’s a scary time for our world right now for Mom’s everywhere.
Another weekend of sunshine here in the high desert of Northwestern Nevada. Bright blue skies have confused even the birds. A new nest has appeared on the back porch behind the garden Buddha that sits on a high shelf. With his little smiling face, he is laughing at the notion that this is winter. I, myself, am relieved the weather’s not worse while also wishing (just a little) it was.
I must say I did enjoy tackling the snow storm back in December. Hoping to get a little more winter driving practice of the snowy kind, I keep checking the forecasts for the next two weeks, but, nothing is coming. Days and days of nice weather are forecast. No winds. No hail. No snow.
The local lake, which dried to a little puddle last summer, is again filling. The melt from the December storm is making its way down the Eastern Sierra’s to the lake. Each time I drive by on my way to Walmart of the East, it’s shores have expanded. With any luck at all, it’ll be back to normal, providing a place for us desert folk to camp, fish, and water ski.
Longing to enjoy a little more of the winter season, I remember the days of teaching 3rd grade. After a few snow days, Valentine’s Day was notice that the year would quickly be over. In a flurry of test preparation, testing, and recovery from the test, there was one long celebration of Valentine Presidents Breaking for Spring and Memorializing the year. Just that fast, all the holidays were gone like the wintery snow and summer vacation appeared. I’m glad retirement doesn’t speed along that fast.
With social media, politics, and Covid, we all need the simplicity of a snowflake to side track us for a bit. Today, the news reported a law change that will only require a high school diploma to be a substitute in our Nevada schools. So very sad those are the skills lawmakers think necessary to substitute a class of children. In this crazy age of senselessness, the children are the ones that are being short changed every day. Kids and their teachers need a few more snow days to gather thoughts about school these days. It’s not what it was in the 1900’s.
Looking out on the back yard, there are so many projects that are awaiting real springtime. Although the sky is bright blue, the air is cold and crisp. The mornings find Oliver’s stainless water bowl frozen solid. It’s cold enough to snow, it just hasn’t.
Ace, feeling sorry for me as I whined about the cold temperatures during Sunday worship services, bought me the most beautiful full length goose-down winter coat. A pretty navy color with a fur-lined hood, it hangs by the front door ready for real winter to show up. It looks a little silly to head out the door prepared for a snow storm when the temperatures have been soaring to the 50’s in the sunshine. My new coat will need to wait a little longer to get every-day use.
Feeling out of shape, I could do some jumping jacks which resemble upright snow angels while requiring more energy. There is absolutely nothing prohibiting me from resuming a walking schedule at this point. Pondering the subject of winter activities, a better idea comes to mind. I’ll get a head start on my summer tan with afternoon soaks in the hot tub while awaiting the next storm. Bright desert sunshine equals lots of essential Vitamin D and beautiful skin. Win-Win!!
Thank goodness the Winter Olympics will be televised next week. Ignoring the obvious political discourse and propaganda associated with the games, I’m going to enjoy watching athletes achieve their dreams in a winter wonderland with the sound turned off. I’ll even sit through a few rounds of curling. I sure hope China has some snow to show us on television as we watch those downhill racers give it their all. Go USA.
If you are already sick of your snow, I apologize. Spring is just a few weeks away for us all. Everyone has a favorite time of year. Winter has never been mine, but a little snow would remind me of the season we are really experiencing right now. January couldn’t even call herself normal this year. Crazy is the new normal. I guess that fits the world these days.
In this the crazy world of today, the Art of Gentleness has been lost. In my Daily Devotional Journal, I found a nice acrostic poem on the subject.
G — Gracious and good
E — Engaging, willing to listen
N — Nice to others, regardless of who they are
T — Taking the time to move at another’s pace
L — Loving
E — Endearing by act of kindness and goodwill
An interesting fact popped up on a few days ago on the Internet. Ah, what could we ever do without the internet, right? It’s been 52 years since 1970. Now, I would guess a lot of my readers could remember that like yesterday. I know I can. It was the year that I met VST and we became friends. That spring, I was a freshman in high school, he a sophomore. Heck, I could probably tell you what dresses hung in my closet as girls weren’t allowed to wear pants to school. It was so simple in those days. There were boys. There were girls. No confusion on that.
There were 52 years between 1918 and 1970. People (again, men and women) took pride in acting like a Gentleman or a Lady in 1918. People were civil to one another. Sunday was a day to rest and visit your church, whatever denomination that was. It was a day to enjoy visits with family and friends. I wasn’t there, but my grandparents shared stories. Life wasn’t all a bowl of cherries for them, either, being immigrants from the Volga area of Russia. They faced prejudice like others in our great country. They were too busy building a life to sit and worry about it.
In 1918, meals were cooked at home and every mom of that era would be considered a fantastic cook today. If her kids were living, she did alright in the kitchen. People raised their own food or at least knew bacon came from a pig and milk came from a cow. Not too many years after that, my dad’s family would take the family cow with them on camping trips because she needed to be milked and the family needed to drink the milk. She was an important part of their family and treated as well as any other cow in the neighborhood.
Back in 1918, people knew the neighbors for miles around. They knew who possessed what skills when they were needed. They attended each other’s funerals when people had just three days bury their dead. They celebrated new life in the community when a baby was born. They helped each other raise the barns on new farms, and raise the roof at weddings. Most people knew how to dance and loved the opportunity to do so.
In 52 years, the 1970 arrived.
In the early 1970’s, my family got our first nice television. Big and boxy, it was housed in a very large cabinet made of solid wood. You could still get things like that in the ’70’s. There were hours in which there was nothing to watch on television because the TV stations, (three in our town), went to sleep. Every morning at 6 AM, they woke up to the raising of our flag and the National Anthem.
News was just that. News. And not news from other parts of the country. News from our own town that pertained to us. Walter Cronkite was respected, whether he should have been or not. He was everyone’s friendly Uncle that had a calming voice as he delivered the nightly news. Everyone shut the trap and listened at our house. No extra yapping until the news was over. Maybe that’s where the troubles began.
In the 70’s, I remember buying my first tape recorder for $100.00. I had saved awhile, needing it for college. It took 6 “C” cell batteries and recorded words on tapes. My parents and I sat at the kitchen table trying to figure out the push buttons and how the thing worked. It was an amazing machine, almost the size of a small shoe box.
“But why can’t you just listen and take notes? $100.00?? So much money.”
I hardly heard them, while thinking about taping an entire lecture from Mr. Deacon in Biology. How much more time I would have to check out the guys in class! I used that tape recorder throughout my four years in college.
Fifty-two years later, today everyone has the phone. If you misspeak on a topic, there are plenty of people to fact check your information. You can find support for any position or belief on the internet. Need a recipe? Don’t worry about calling a neighbor. Just Google it. Need to find out opinions on the quality of a business in town? Google it. Plenty of strangers will lift up or tear down a business’s reputation with words on a screen. Five Stars to the best.
In the age of technology, garage doors stay closed. People hide from the virus. Connections are lost. Our society has lost something very special. Respect for others. Gentleness. Kindness. Sincerity. Tolerance. Work Ethic. God.
In the 70’s, I remember my Grammie and Grandpa S shaking their heads about society then. It must have been the end of the world coming, because the evil ways were shocking. No one in 1918 would have ever behaved like they did in 1970. Thank goodness they didn’t need to live in 2022. It would have blown their minds, for sure. Heck, it blows mine at this point.
Not all is lost. In a dusty little wide spot along the road in the high desert of Northwestern Nevada, I know a place. People still hug when you walk into a little church on Main Street. Neighbors wave to each other and stop to talk on their daily walks. Friends meet at the local Walmart. Weekends hold car shows and rodeo events. People fly the American flag and pray for our great country. Police and firemen are our heroes. Families keep their history alive and remind each other to be kind and gentle.
Yesterday, February 1st already, I made a point to stop by our gorgeous new Senior Center. Built by the community with the best intentions, each day, a safe place is provided for Senior Citizens to come together. Sometimes it seems the people running the place have never met a real Senior Citizen in their life.
Real Senior Citizens are not dead fish that are happy to sit in the corner and string beads or weave baskets. Don’t think you can put us in the corner and set a plant on our heads. We have the same worries and life concerns we’ve had our entire lives. Compound those daily worries and concerns with changes in eyesight, hearing, mobility, or general health. Many Seniors work twice as hard to keep up with conversations around them because of hearing loss. Take the crispness out of our sight, or the sureness out of our step and life becomes a little more challenging in the later years. We may not all have the best health or the most money, but, we certainly have TIME.
Next to the front door of the Senior Center a monthly calendar listing activities and meals is offered. Someone should let the Director know Senior Citizens still do have good appetites. The few times I’ve tried their meals I’ve gone away hungry. As my Dad would have said, “Not enough to keep a bird alive.” Truly so, in this case. The variety is interesting and with a cost of $2.00, one can’t complain too much. Comfort foods like Beef Pot Pie or Chicken Noodle Casserole are included in February’s entree’s. Nothing sounds enticing enough for me to mark on my calendar. A few of them would definitely keep me away, like “Flounder in Cilantro Sauce”. Who chooses these recipes? Maybe the same folks that designed the building.
The Senior Center used to be in a house. I’ve had more than a few women tell me they found the cutest clothing at the Thrift Store there. If the new crew would plan such a place, I’d have a load of things to donate. No plans were made to continue that at the new facility.
Whoever designed the building really missed the mark. With extremely high ceilings, the cavernous room reminds me of a high school gymnasium. On the times I’ve been there when music was playing, the echo could make ME deaf. Just what do those with hearing aides do to adjust to that? The tables are okay, but the chairs are hard plastic and extremely uncomfortable. When I’ve visited, there are but a handful of Seniors hanging out. Sad, because the Golden Years can be a really lonely time in life. A comforting and lovely place is a necessity.
Holiday meals have been interesting. On March 1, there’ll be a Mardi Gras Dinner. Cajun Gumbo, Chicken and Sausage Jambalaya, King Cake, and Virgin Hurricanes. What? Shirley Temple’s next??? Sounding very spicy, another idea bites the dust. Done with the monthly menu, I moved on to the monthly activity portion of the flyer.
I will say, there was one activity that did sound interesting, but it’s offered only once a month. Commodities. I’ve marked it on my calendar and plan to attend that one. Line Dancing, Resistance Exercise, and Chair Yoga will get a try. Penny Bingo might be a place to meet some new friends. A Computer, Smart Phone, and Tablet Class is something that anyone could use. You don’t know what you don’t know and you may not even know you should know it. Ya know???
On our town’s Face Book page, I did find it interesting that a church in town is teaching “Grandma’s Cooking”. They limited the class to 20 and it filled up immediately. Ladies will be teaching cooking skills from the 1900’s such as canning and candy making. Now, that sounds like a Win/Win. The elders of the church can dust off their antique skills and share them with the youngers. That is the kind of Service to Community through which Senior Citizen’s thrive. Being relevant and appreciated will enrich anyone’s life and give a reason for getting out of bed in the morning.
There is one more activity that I plan to attend, front and center. It’s one in which I might be brave enough to add a few suggestions.
“Meet with the Manager — 12:30 PM — 2nd Wednesday of the month”
I plan to be there listening to what the Senior’s in my community desire. I, for one, would love a literature class, or an interesting book club. I’d love a writing class for memoirs or a math class. A Sudoku group. A chess club. Even a jigsaw puzzle room. Something to keep the brain working, while encouraging new friendships. Yes. I plan to be front and center at that little meeting on the 2nd Wednesday of the month.
If you find your days of retirement boring my Auntie TJ would have something to say about that. Boredom, in our opinion, is the sign of a lazy mind. So, get moving. Look online. Find out what your town has to offer. If it offers nothing, which is unlikely, then find out how to make some noise and fix the situation. It takes a person willing to change things for things to change. That just might be you.
On such a beautiful day, yesterday I went on a road trip. There’s a place I’ve wanted to visit for sometime. I took a little drive out to the Palomino Wild Horse and Burro Center operated by BLM.
No.
Not THAT BLM.
The one and only, original BLM.
The Bureau of Land Management of the United States government.
The wild mustangs of Nevada are always in the news, forever in the way. Trying their best to avoid people, they have a hard time doing so as people move further and further into the wilds. Everyone has opinions about the horses. Some people LOVE them. Some people HATE them. Some people feel SORRY for them. In the middle, the horses are caught in a trap of the worst kind.
I’m the first to admit there is absolutely nothing more wonderful than seeing a foal, only hours old. They are beyond precious, but also fierce. Within hours, they must be up and ready to follow the heard. Without complaint, they get up and run after the lead mare. Somedays, I can barely make it to the mail box, while they are constantly on the move.
When VST and I first moved to Nevada, we were told about the mustangs.
“Where can we see them?” We asked this innocently, assuming we’d need to hide behind bushes on the highest hill top overlooking a secret meadow that only locals knew.
The person we asked didn’t answer because the horses are everywhere. We just needed to be patient and wait a bit. After a few months, we knew where they were during different times of the year. Many times, our Virginia City herd was either in our front yard or back yard. It mattered not. While they were there, it was THEIR yard.
One day, hearing strange noises, I went out on our deck, later to become known as the Mustang Observation Deck. 15 feet below, in the middle “A” Street, fought two beautiful stallions. On their hind legs, they batted each other with razor-sharp hooves, while trying to bite viciously. Hoof-shaped scars from past fights told me these two were out for blood. It was a real life episode of Wild Kingdom right at my feet complete with snorting, squealing, and squalling. I earned an appreciation for the brutal power of these “ponies” that afternoon.
Here in Nevada, many people have been badly injured by colliding with black horses on a moonless night. Slowly, I’ve been introduced into the nightmare of Mustang Management and it’s a terrible problem. Both horses and people suffer without too many workable solutions to a delicate situation.
The horses aren’t native, but feral. Over the years, unwanted domestic horses have been released to the high desert. They usually don’t do so well, being domestic and all. These have bred with the mustangs. A native man pointed out that pure mustangs (a smaller horse with a larger head and distinctive almond eyes) aren’t seen that often. It matters not, as these are still wild animals that weight 1,000 – 1500 pounds.
Typically, the horses are moving from one place to another, traveling miles every day. You can see your favorite herd next to the road and, an hour later, they’ve vanished. I’ve witnessed galloping mustangs a handful of times in the 8 years I’ve lived in Nevada. Normally, they stand or walk, but, they’re always on the move.
This winter, the push to round up the herds has been more intense than usual. We’re coming off a terrible drought, and there isn’t much left to eat. Yet, more foals are being born every day.
The mustang round-ups aren’t done by spur-booted cowboys in Stetson’s. With helicopters, pens, and trailers, horses are chased and collected. Some aren’t so lucky, getting badly injured. The females are chemically sterilized. A small portion of the healthiest horses are released. The others are trucked to holding areas. Many of those areas, such as the one I visited yesterday, resemble cattle feed lots.
Make no mistake. These horses aren’t released to the wild again. Their necks are tattooed with their new number, and they’re now taken care of by you and me through our tax dollars. They are marked property of the US Government.
You didn’t know you own a horse or two, did you? Well, we all do. Over 100,000 horses cost us $115,000,000+ per year. Domestic horses can live 25 -30 years. I was told by a person who knows things that these horses don’t suffer for years, as an unspeakable fate awaits the un-adopted.
All that is truly not a nice thing to ponder before falling to sleep, but I find this a bit worse.
These are WILD ANIMALS. They aren’t a kitten or puppy. They weren’t birthed in a barn by a 4-H family. These are huge, wild animals. There are thousands of them offered for adoption. But, by whom will they be saved and under whose terms? Until they have a home, they’ll be kept in a feed lot situation because there isn’t another solution. To keep WILD ANIMALS captive is the most cruel thing a human can do. Even zoo animals have minimum standards for space and cover from the weather. Their emotional well being is considered.
With all that dismal news, I will report that the horses I saw were calm and collected. There was plenty of food. They looked relaxed as they stood around like lawn ornaments. The corrals we dotted with fresh hay. Of the hundreds of horses I saw there, all looked physically healthy. Nobody was limping or starved. I sensed the captives were collectively plotting a curse on mankind.
The center was as clean as it could be considering the number of horses locked up there. To no fault of the facility, the odor of the place was awful. You can’t expect anything different when you have so many horses in so many corrals, with a smell exactly like a feed lot full of cattle. With plenty of room to move around, the only thing missing was an open gate. Nope. Those horses are in a terrible spot for the rest of their natural lives.
The next time you have a moment, pray for some bureaucrat to come up with a logical solution to this very big problem. If you have room, consider adopting a few of these horses and burros for yourselves. Know, you have one hour to make your selection from hundreds of choices. Bring your oldest trailer, as I hear they get quite upset and kick a lot on the way home. Be sure that you have the next 25 to 30 years cleared off your calendar to give them all the love and care they need. Some situations are extremely wicked in the Wild, Wild West in which I live.
Oy Vey. I’m so very blessed to be living here in the comfort of my home, Winterpast. As careful as I can be, I tenderly open and close my cabinets while knowing they aren’t the best. I had the best. In 2015/2016, I designed a beautiful kitchen just for VST and I. Lovely in every way, I chose all the bells and whistles while VST beamed at my glee. I was such a lucky woman in those precious days.
VST was like a boy with new a new set of Lego’s. He anxiously awaited the delivery date, and slowly put the kitchen together. Truly, it was like a jigsaw puzzle. Although we had professional installers, every evening VST sat fixing little details that weren’t to his liking. When it was done, it was a thing of beauty. No, it wasn’t white. Who ever dreamed up a white kitchen, anyway??? Ever had tomato sauce boil over???? A husband with grubby fingers? A real life? Mine was maple. With soft close cabinetry. I miss my kitchen, but also know, that ship sailed. I’m now the owner of run of the mill, stock Oak cabinets that will still be here when I sell the house.
Ace and I had a conversation one day about houses. There is a magnificent mansion on the hill above me. At least 5,000 square feet built in 2004, it’s multiple stories and very out of place. It looms over our development like the house in Psycho. If someone lived there it wouldn’t be so eerie. It’s void of life most days of the year. Just a small light shines from the lower floor. Nothing else. One small light.
AS we sat chatting about the house, I shared the opinion that a house needs a family or it’ll deteriorate. Things do break. With no one there to fix them, broken things can cause other complications. Pretty soon, you have a house that’s falling down. The Dunmovin House in Virginia City had that problem when we first moved in. Being empty for so long, faucets were stuck and toilets were leaking. A house needs constant attention and love.
So, on my last little vacation to the Biggest Little City just West of here, disaster struck while I was gone. The problem was discovered not long after my return. Of all things that could have broken, my silverware drawer runner gave way and snapped. Go figure. Just like that. A broken drawer left me with a problem to fix.
I should have paid closer attention to VST during our cabinet adventures. To him this would’ve been such a minor little problem, he is surely laughing up in the heavens. I bet the kitchen there have has soft close cabinetry. I wish he’d talk to me in my dreams tonight and give me instructions on how to fix this broken runner. As that isn’t happening, I made my way to Lowe’s this morning to see what replacements parts they might sell. Depending on the skills of Mr. Handy Lowe’s Associate, I asked whether or not they had a matching piece to the one I had in my hand.
“Oh, yes, we sell those in packages of two. They go on each side of the drawer.”
You know your boat is sunk when you run into Gilligan.
“Yes, Sir, only one side is broken. This is the support that goes against the cabinet wall. The drawer side is okay. The plastic connection piece in the back snapped.”
“But they sell them in pairs, so you can’t buy just one.”
“Yes, sir. I know that. But the space on the store shelf for the size I need is empty. Could you check to see if you have any more in stock?”
“In the package of two, right?”
In the end, my patience held, and he decided that I really needed a plastic piece in the back of the cabinet that had snapped. The one I hadn’t removed to take with me. That one. So, he sold me two replacements, because, as you know by now, they only sell them in pairs.
While I was there, I also needed two garage door openers of the new kind. The ones that open two doors, not just one.
On the package, the words were comforting. They went something like this.
“Universal Garage Door Opener. Simple. A moron can do this. Even a widow.”
Returning home, you could already connect the dots to the end of the story. The plastic piece is in no way the same as the one I should have taken to show him. Besides, it will just break again because it is flimsy plastic and the silverware drawer is extremely heavy.
The garage door openers will work with the two units I have with one small problem. While on top of a 10 foot ladder, I need to disassemble the cover of the unit, press the Yellow “Pair” button, and stand on one foot while singing “How Dry I Am”. Truly. The instructions are just that Chinese to me.
Tomorrow. On my To Do List.
#1. Hire a handyman.
#2. Pray for a good one.
Lord have mercy on this poor widow woman. Big girl panties and all, this is real life on the high desert of Northwestern Nevada. Nevada means home. Suck it up, Buttercup. Be thankful everything else is working today.
For the last two days, I’ve been sucked into the world of Olympians, even though I promised myself I wouldn’t. It’s been so much fun to watch our USA teams and individuals do their best on the ice and snow. Closing my ears to all the Chinese propaganda, at the heart of it all, our fellow citizens are representing us.
This morning, I found that one of the skiers lives and trains in the Sierra’s near here. How fun to cheer her on. It reminds me of my experience at the ski lodge last week. I wonder if she ever skied the small local ski resort that I visited. I’m sure she’ll get a heroes welcome when she comes back home.
During the opening ceremony, I was reminded that it isn’t the 1900’s anymore. I remember the Olympic Opening Ceremonies of old, when the team would do their best to behave in a respectable manner. Tight little waves. Smiles. Walking together in a group. Shy. Ready to compete. The days have certainly changed, with nothing off the table. Chants. Tongues out to the camera. Hand gestures of one kind or another. Some jackets open, some closed. Different behavior for different times, it seems respect is shown in different ways these days, or just forgotten all together.
The technology on the field was mind boggling. I want to look up more information about how they did the things they did. It was certainly impressive to watch on television, although a bit sappy at times.
The lack of an audience during the events has left the cameras to capture all kinds of weird sounds. During the woman’s hockey game, one of our women athletes was badly injured. Her cries were clearly audible as her team watched the medics remove her from the rink. The music for the skaters wasn’t balanced well in an auditorium that was empty except for the team members. So sad that all the work done in preparation for a worldwide event was ruined by the virus. Rather fitting that it happened while showcasing the country responsible for this nightmare.
I’ll do better.
Team USA.
Team USA.
Team USA.
Watching the downhill racers, I was astonished at the angle of the slopes they tackled. I was also amazed that it doesn’t appear that China has all that much snow. At least not during competitions that I was watching. It’s the same here on the Eastern side of the Sierra Nevada’s. La Nina is at work, keeping the storms away. I hope it snows at least once more before Spring arrives on Sunday, March 20.
Which brings me to the temperatures here in the high desert of Northwestern Nevada. Two days ago, Oliver’s outside water bowl was frozen solid. 3″ of ice. I tossed the ice onto the cement where it broke into two 8″ chunks. The ice never even began to melt for the entire day. By evening, all the shards of ice and the two big pieces were just as they were at 7 AM. It’s still that way this morning. I could sweep up the entire mess and never see a drop of water. It actually looks like glass laying there.
Yesterday, it was time to check my Spa for pH, Chlorine, and foam. With all the Olympic excitement, I haven’t been out to soak since Monday. To my dismay, the temperature of the spa was at 81 degrees. Normally, it’s at 104, dropping to 102 when in use during the winter temperatures. No. No. No. Not this, too. The spa can’t go south on me.
I’m not sure why the temperature dropped so low, except that it might have been because of what happened the other night. With feet freezing on the cement, I raced inside and forgot to close the cover. It’s true. Everything seemed okay when I discovered it the next day. Sad, but true.
Fiddling with this and that, I got the temperature reset and hoped for the best. By 9 PM last night, it was 100 degrees. Let’s just hope it’s bubbly hot this morning. A broken spa is more serious than a kitchen drawer on any day of the week, and repairs would require a specialist.
Although it’s really cold here, the sun shines all day long. The skies are the bluest with no clouds to speak of. The roads are all dry so there’s no problem with ice. Actually, we’ve had the perfect winter, if you don’t like snow. I’ll keep hoping we get a few more storms.
I truly wish I could skate, ski, snowboard, or in any other way slide down a mountain of snow. Even more fun would be skiing, snowboarding, and periodically shooting. The only way that I can see that happening is perhaps cuddled up in a really cool sleigh pulled by big strong horses or perhaps a dog sled ride. Even a snow mobile excursion, as long as I didn’t need to drive the thing. Yes, all those things would be so much fun and doable for this Senior Citizen. Skiing, skating, and snowboarding are only for my dreams.
Today is a day for Crock Pot Stew, as I haven’t made any for decades. When the propaganda from NBC or the Chinese gets too thick, I’ll turn off the TV sound and turn up some music. Saturday is a great day to eradicate dust bunnies, which seem to multiply like crazy here at Winterpast.
Whatever you do, have a wonderful day. Remember that Valentine’s Day is just around the corner. Plan something wonderful to celebrate the day with people you love.
Other than the Olympics, I seldom watch network television. The commercials on NBC seem foreign and judgmental. Becoming irritated with the entire mess, I began thinking about the most enjoyable movies I’ve watched since VST died. Some of them were his favorites, too. But, at this point, most of them I’ve discovered on my own. With Valentine’s Day coming soon, I thought I’d share my list of my favorites with you.
Viewing romantic movies alone can be a little sad, or they can take you to a time and place when you weren’t. These days, I enjoy seeing a normal world in which we didn’t need masks and social distancing, even if just on a television screen. Days of picnics and walks in the park. Outings that were jam packed full of laughs, great conversation, and tenderness. For those experiencing widowhood, those days are in the rear view mirror for awhile.
Everyone needs love in their life. Sometimes, it’s fun just to watch a movie and get sucked into the dialogue, knowing a happy ending shows up in two hours or less. At least the boy and the girl usually end up in a good place. So, here is my list of Go-To Romantic movies.
An Affair to Remember — This has it all. The Atlantic crossing. The handsome guy. Beautiful gal. Star Crossed Soul Mates and surprise ending, if you haven’t seen it yet.
Sleepless in Seattle — A little rough if you’ve just entered the World of the Widowed. But, also a good message. Time moves on. Everyone needs love. Back in the saddle again, Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks work well together.
Ghost — Cry-eyes warning. Some scenes were stunning. So beautiful. I mean, young Demi Moore’s eyes are just too much. They must have computer generated sparkly tears. And those lashes. Get out the Kleenexes. Although it gets a bit much towards the end, it’s still fun to watch.
IQ — Mechanic meets beautiful intellect. This isn’t as well known as many of Meg Ryan’s other movies. Walter Matthau, as Albert Einstein himself, does a great job. This was one of VST’s favorite’s, too. Wa-Hooo.
Along Came Polly — Jennifer Anniston plays an adorable character named Polly. Pretty cute.
South Pacific — Twice a year, I need my fix. The beautiful island. The tension of the war. The nurses. Mitzi Gaynor and Rossano Brazzi. One of my all time favorites. No surprise, VST wasn’t a fan as this is a musical.
The Lake House — I’m usually not a Sandra Bullock fan, but she nailed this one. This movie has a twisted little tale to tell. A quiet little love story about time.
The Notebook — Oh my. One of my all time favorites. Who of us wouldn’t love a partner like James Garner? This movie is about the strength of a life time of love and the frailty of life.
The Holiday — Just a ditzy little movie about two unhappy women looking to find love. Switching homes with each other, they find love exists in many forms.
When Harry Met Sally — My all time favorite movie on so many levels. Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan nailed the movie that seems to have been written for them. They play off each other so well. Not an intellectual movie, it’s strictly sweet and fun.
So, those are my top ten romantic movies. I’m sure you know of many of your own. Comment about the titles of any you think we shouldn’t miss. After all, there are only eight more days until Valentine’s Day! Plenty of time for watching movies.
Good Morning!!! With my Internet back up, it seems strange to be rattling around Winterpast in the dark, fumbling for coffee and ideas. My internet is back up!!! In the wild west, services are often out of the olden days. Such is life in my little town. I’m lucky to have any internet at all.
When VST and I first moved to Virginia City, we needed to select a television provider. Of course, the two obvious companies available on Mount Davidson were Dish Net or Direct TV. Both were quite expensive, considering our TV bill had been $0 for the last 7 years in California. Perched on our California mountain top, we’d been lucky enough to get free television signals from an inexpensive antennae. Thirty high definition channels were quirky and free. Okay, one was in Hindu and the other in Hmong, but, they were still High Definition entertainment.
On one of our first nights in VC, while enjoying dinner with the new neighbors, the topic of television services came up. Just WHO should we choose for television service.
“Comstock Television.”
A choice of which we knew nothing. Just like that, we were introduced to the world of Red Neck Television.
Stop by and chat with Mabel, who lives at the house on the corner with the wild poppies. Her husband, Bob, died a few years back. She isn’t always there, so just keep trying until you reach here. She’ll set up an account.
Stan, across the street, tends to the power cord and antennae on the mountain. Cord runs to the Atkins, right under the rock “V” on the side of Mt. Davidson. Stan takes care of the antennae. Let him know if the reception gets grainy. He may need to go clean it off. Be patient. His jeep doesn’t always run just right. Might take him awhile to get up there.
Reception in the snow? Well. FERGETABOUTIT. Besides, in the snow, everyone is either out shoveling it, or inside watching it fall. Better things to do than television watching.
Price? Oh, Yeah. $25 a month. About 18 channels. Not high def. Some days, no def.
Being cheap, for the first four years we lived in VC, we went with Comstock TV. Everything ran just as the neighbors had said. For $25/month, we had all the channels we could handle. A pretty good assortment. News. HGTV. Three Western channels. Sci Fi. Three local channels. Everything worked great unless the antennae was dirty or covered with snow.
Each month, a hand-typed carbon paper bill arrived in our PO Box, signed in blue ink by Mabel. Every month, VST wrote out a check and sent it back to her. We never met even though she lived in the house on the corner with the wild poppies. She had her woes and we were busy working. Always busy working.
Stan wasn’t the best at keeping the antennae clean. He had a real job with the VC utilities. But, we would catch him when we could. I loved watching his faded red jeep snake up the mountain road to the antennae at the top and right by the “V” which is made of white rock. All the towns in these parts have their town letter on a hill above them. Made it easier for travelers in the olden days to head in the right direction.
In my little town, I was hoping for fiber optic internet of the fast kind. It would be great to get the best connections for all my surfing needs. I soon learned to FERGETABOUTIT here, too. Mountain communities sacrifice good services for the joys of living with nature, or something like that.
The realtor told me I should check on a little provider located in the county seat, 45 miles to the south. The price was right, so I signed up for internet services only. Some days are great, other days are not so great. The company sold a year ago, with price hikes and many days of no service at all. When it’s the only game in town, you just go with it. No other choice.
This last outage was planned for equipment upgrades. However, during the upgrade, there was an additional little problem. The fiber optic cable feeding my company was cut clear through with a shovel. That’ll do it. Luckily, they got things working again.
When moving from a real town into a pretend one, patience is key. Expecting Nevada to be California never works out well. When the internet is down, one must find other things to do. Unplugging gives one time to think about things that are truly important in this world. It gives a writer a chance to regroup.
On this first day back with you , it’s finally snowed again. Thank goodness. Maybe things can get back to normal around here.
Twenty-four hours of winter has been a delightful thing to behold. Waking up to an inch of fresh snow was beautiful. Every little limb outlined in stark white, against a backdrop of angry black clouds. Winterpast was again dressed for the ball in a blanket of snow. Opening all the blinds, my town was a more appropriate host for the Winter Olympics than the landscape of Beijing as seen on TV. With a little more than a month of winter to go, there was no need for man-made snow here.
Throughout the day, the snow disappeared. By last night, there was no trace left. The perfect kind of snow storm for me. No shoveling. Snow in inches, not feet. No need for 4 wheel drive anything, really. Just postcard beautiful for the morning hours, and then business back to normal.
February patience is tough. The 2022 bathing suits are hitting the racks at Walmart. Walking down the aisle in the toy section, stacks of wading pools and water wings are on display. The pink and red of Valentine’s Day are gone, replaced by Easter baskets and bags of cellophane grass. Spring shorts and tees are on display, while I just wait for the iris’s to jump out of the ground.
The weather had been so nice for so many weeks, it was easy to forget that winter isn’t done with us yet. During the 24 hour storm, the local ski resort was covered with 9″ of fresh powder. The interstate slowed to a crawl with travelers sharing knowing looks with each other as they passed Donner Lake. THAT Donner Lake. If you’ve ever driven through a Sierra snow storm, the horror those folks endured takes on a new meaning. If you are unaware of the Donner Party and their gruesome tale, Google it. It’s a story you won’t soon forget.
Waiting for spring to arrive, it’s time to refocus on goals. Time to plan the garden, and then order the seeds and bulbs. Examine the shape of the trees and how a pruning might give them a chance to produce larger fruit. Here in the high desert, it’s a given that most years, the first bloom will be lost to frost, but we can hope for a second. Without pests, the apricot crop is the one I’m waiting for. I hope this year brings enough for Oliver and I to share.
Thinking about the garden furniture tucked safely in the barn, I wish it was time to bring my living space outside again. The chairs and tables could use a little paint. The bird houses are in need of some TLC, too. All too soon, the desert temps will be blazing, leaving everyone hoping for an early autumn. And so go the seasons.
All of these gardening ideas amuse me, while keeping irritations and upsets at bay. So many things can derail a person from the beauty of the day in the high desert. Things that really matter not one bit in the giant scheme of things. Keeping the television viewing at a minimum does help. The news is nothing but bad. Tedious. Minute by minute, the revisions of yesterday’s news only turn more rancid, souring the day. Politicians need to pick up a shovel and move a pile by hand. Refocus on goodness and light. Wouldn’t that be swell?
Whatever you have planned for today, focus on positivity and patience. Find a happy spot to enjoy something. Be grateful for what you have and try to forget about what you don’t. There is always something about which to smile. Spring 2022 is just around the bend.
Thank goodness Oliver is so darn cute. In this world, cuteness excuses many defects. Oliver knows how to work this survival strategy with the best of dogs. It fills his dog bowl and keeps a bed next to my writing desk. He stands with the cutest of cute dogs.
Three years ago, no one found him cute at all. He was left behind as his brothers and sisters were whisked away in early Winter, 2019. His littermates all went at the height of their desirableness at appropriately 8 weeks of age. For some reason, Oliver was left behind. Too old to be one of the desirables, he spent his days playing in the farm, getting bigger and bigger. Not only was he aging out, he was sizing out. Mini- (under 12 lbs) and Tweenie (12-18 lbs.) dachshunds were the sizes most people want. Standard Dachshunds (18+ lbs.) are reserved for a different breed of folk. Oliver was twelve weeks and twelve pounds on the day we met.
Dachshunds come in many colors you may have never seen. Oliver is a Standard Cream Piebald Wire Haired Dachshund. If you Google that combination of descriptors, you will find pictures of those that look just like him. Standard is the problem. In the age of pocket puppies, a 25 pound, badger seeking tornado of a dog isn’t first on everyone’s list, and so, Oliver got left behind.
When we first met, he’d just experienced his first car trip at 4 months of age. Covered in bodily fluids of one kind or another, the breeder thrust him into my arms, where he settled right next to my heart. For the first three nights, we slept on the recliner, nestled in thick blankets. With no yard in VC, Oliver became a house dog. Later, he would become an even better RV dog, running the show at the various RV parks along the way.
VST found Oliver to be a worthy friend. Somehow, Oliver didn’t mind walks with VST, and VST was happy to control the little dare devil. Oliver loved VST’s big lap, and soon, they started communicating with winks. As I’ve said so many times before, Oliver was VST’s first and last dog. Their friendship was a huge success.
These days, Oliver would be the first to tell you he doesn’t like walks any more than I do. We’re matched in that way. His feet don’t like hot or cold concrete. He doesn’t like meeting up with strange dogs that whisper nasty little things to him long before we get close enough to say Hello. He’s just as happy to dig little holes in the back yard, or eat apricots, being very careful to spit out the pits in neat little piles. Questioning the box of water in which his Mom-Oh sits on occasion, he prefers to ignore it all together. He’d be the first to tell you that humans can be very odd and hard to understand.
At times, I’m quite sure that Oliver sees angels. In a knowing way, he communicates with them and then comes to nestle next to me. His translation is always, “Mom-oh, we have so many things for which to be grateful. We have our health, happiness, and home. We have each other.” So much wisdom in such a big-hearted little dog.
Tired of winter, Ollie is ready for the birds to come back. Being an only child, he loves having other animals to chase. He’s not so happy that the toads will surely return, but, he’ll keep their activity to a minimum. He is his own science project. No. It seems toads are not deadly if ingested by a badger hunting dachshund. The toads will just need to move on if they value their life.
This year, Oliver will be four years old on August 6th. Hard to believe this crazy puppy is a day over 6 months. As we work on manners, I see improvements in his ability to stop wiggling long enough to sit. The door bell can ring twice now without a total loss of control on his part. Some nights, he falls asleep at 5:30 and sleeps straight through eleven hours of puppy dreams. He’s learning patience and understanding more each day. Thank goodness he forgives me for mistakes I’ve made along our journey together. Dogs are far better at that than humans.
Two weeks ago, a new habit came to be. Not something that his Mom-oh is condoning. Oliver discovered a full box of Kleenex. Never had he felt something so tender between his tongue and teeth. So tasty and irresistible. Absolutely a new favorite of this little dog. I see him plotting from his bed on the floor as he looks atop my countertop to where the new box sits. I’m quite sure that if left alone to his own devices, that box would be his in a matter of minutes. Oliver is just that smart.
It’s a good thing that he has his cuteness to fall back on as his main survival strategy. Those sweet puppy eyes. That sweet puppy wiggle. Those little puppy kisses that tell me I’m his favorite Mom-Oh in the entire world. I guess I should stock up on the new Kleenex boxes now.
There are very few places in the world that offer desolation and quiet beauty within 20 minutes of a bustling town. Yesterday, Ace and I discovered such a place off the loneliest highway in America. Holding court above the sage brush and under the blue desert sky next to the road. Sand Mountain. Something out of a movie. A 600 foot high mountain of singing sand with only a handful of people enjoying the day at her base.
Only miles from Winterpast, the remnants of an ancient sea remain. The entire area was covered by an ocean at one point. The fossilized remains of an ichthyosaur await my visit still. Just a little further than I want to travel alone, these marine fossils are embedded in the mountains. When the Pacific is just too far away, the call of an ancient ocean can be just as strong.
While enjoying breakfast at Angela’s and considering options for a little adventure, Ace told me of an ancient mountain made of sand. Googling it, we found the following information on the BLM site. Remember, the real BLM, not the made up one. BUREAU OF LAND MANAGEMENT. The one our tax dollars support.
“The 4,795 acre Sand Mountain Recreation Area is a designated OHV fee site located in the high desert of west central Nevada. Created by the migration and deposition of windblown sand as it is stopped by the rising Stillwater Mountains bordering to the north, east and west, the most dominant feature of the dune system is Sand Mountain which is approximately 3.5 miles long, 1 mile wide and 600 feet in height, making it the largest single dune in the Great Basin. The recreation area also includes the Sand Springs Pony Express Station historical site (1860) and the Sand Springs Desert Study Area.
In addition to off road vehicle riding on the open dunes, there are 23 miles of riding available on the designated trail system that was established in 2008 to preserve the Kearny Buckwheat habitat and protect the Sand Mountain Blue Butterfly which is endemic only to the Sand Mountain area.
Sand Mountain Blue Butterfly, Euphilotes pallescens arenamontana, BLM, Carson City Field Office
Visitation averages 50,000-70,000 visitors a year with the primary activity comprised of riding ATV’s, motorcycles, sand rails, dune buggies and side by sides. Sand sailing and sand boarding are also practiced by those adventurous enough to brave the OHVs and the climb to the top of the dune. Primitive camping is available at the base of the dunes and facilities are limited to six fault toilets. Water is not available on site.”
Being only a stone’s throw away, we decided to drive there to see this movable mountain for ourselves. Where else can you find salt flats, a pony express stop, nearly extinct butterflies, and a singing sand mountain???? Only in Nevada.
Spending time with Ace is always fun. Knowing each other a year now, the times we spend together still provide new and hilarious stories that keep us talking for hours. I can resort to being a simple wingman and enjoy the wide open spaces of a desolate landscape. It’s always better to hold hands with a friend while venturing into the unknown. You just never know what dangers await.
The further we traveled East, it seemed there was no mountain of sand to see. At first, there was an agricultural oasis dotted with country homes. The more we drove, the less homes were around. The stark outlines of the rock mountains against the blue desert sky were like a western painting. Zipping by Rattlesnake Raceway and Grime’s Point Petroglyphs, we were soon in the land of nothing. No other people or cars. No mustangs. No cattle. Nothing. Just miles and miles of sage brush and towering mountains on either side of the interstate.
Until we came to the salt flats.
Resembling fresh snow, salt grows out of the ground to be harvested. This calls to a certain type of person to find rocks in which to leave messages. This phenomenon can be seen in the salt flats outside of Wendover, as well. The strangest things are written in rock along side the road on the salt. Yesterday took the cake.
The Preamble of the United States Constitution. My goodness. Even typing that took a bit.
For as long as it took the words to stretch, someone or ones had taken rocks and spelled out every word in a straight line. At first, it just seemed like a line of rocks until I started looking at the words. Some people have way too much time on their hands. These words were big enough for easy highway reading in block letters.
Finally, 25 miles east from where we started, there it was. Sand Mountain. With a handful of hearty RVers, the 600 foot mountain of sand stands, singing on occasion. Ace and I were quick to think of camping possibilities on a moonless night. There are no lights for miles around, so the stars must be amazing on those nights. No light pollution there. Under a full moon, the landscape must almost glow with the reflection of the salt flats.
Avoiding disaster, Ace backed us out of the sand when it was obvious we started to sink. In situations like that, it’s a good thing to be with a car guy. They know things. A new desert lesson. Don’t try driving in sand, even with a 4-wheel-drive jeep. It just isn’t a smart thing to do.
After seeing enough of this natural beauty, it was time to retrace our steps, get an ice cream, and head home to Winterpast.
Adventures don’t need to be costly or time consuming. Exotic beaches are nice, but so are the simple and quiet places that you find everywhere in our beautiful country. Sand Mountain. She’s a beauty.
Meatloaf is an honest recipe. Ingredients can’t hide in meatloaf. Whatever you throw in there will remain identifiable. You can make your recipe as simple as meat, bread, eggs, and seasoning, or you can really dress it up with an assortment of vegetables. Whatever you choose tp throw in it, meatloaf is meatloaf, unless it’s eaten with friends. Then it can become something much more special.
After traveling about Nevada for the morning, Ace and I decided to try his recipe for The World’s Best Meatloaf.
Preheat the oven to 350. Mix all the ingredients by hand.
Evenly flatten the meatloaf mixture in the bottom of a small baking pan. During the cooking, the meat will shrink away from the sides of the pan, leaving a space for the grease to accumulate.
Cook for 30 minutes. Drain off most of the grease and cook for another 10 minutes.
Enjoying a home cooked meal with a friend is the best feeling in the world.
With projects spread all over Winterpast, this writer needs to create stories. Saturday and Sunday are the perfect days to do just that. Have a wonderful weekend.
How high’s the snowfall, Mama? “One foot high and rising!”
I ate my food and Daytona came. The snow last year was just the same. I gorged myself and loosened my belt. Knowing that stuff would only melt.
How high’s the snowfall, Mama? “Two feet high and rising!”
Don’t worry Mama, it’s okay. An early thaw is on the way! Relax, my dear, enjoy the fire. This snow won’t make it any higher!
How high’s the snowfall, Mama? “Four feet high and rising!!”
Okay! Okay! We’ll compromise!
I’ll get the shovels, you get the guys! Let’s bring this white stuff down to size! It won’t take long to make the run. We’ll build a snowman when we’re done!
How high’s the snowfall, Mama? “Six feet high and rising!!”
We cleared a path to the outhouse now, Thanks to our trusty John Deere plow! You gotta go? Then do it soon, Or you might not make back ’til June!
How high’s the snowfall, Mama? “Eight feet high and rising!!!”
The snow’s still comin’! It’s gotten colder! Better get the front-end loader! And Mama might need an army tank! I just lost Fred in a huge snowbank!
How high’s the snowfall, Mama? “Land sakes!! Ten feet high and rising!!!!”
The outhouse now is not in sight! I gotta whiz, but that’s all right! Make sure you got some pots to spare, We’re gonna need to go…somewhere!
How high’s the snowfall, Mama? “(Sigh)…. Take a look outside!!!”
We gotta get this window cleared! Frank and Tom have disappeared! It’s buried our new car and truck! It looks like we’re plum outta luck!!
How high’s the snowfall, Mama? “Zzzzz… Zzzzz… Zzzzz… Zzzzz….”
Well I’m tired, too, so I’m relaxing, Even though the roof’s collapsing! It’s nice and warm here by the fire. I know this snow won’t get no higher!
Oh, no!!!
We’re outta firewood!!!!
Worry we should!!!!
MAMA!!!!!
*** Have a wonderful day, wherever you are. Buried under 4″ of fresh snow here. Going to enjoy the fire.
Winterpast is one of the most quiet places on the planet. I don’t appreciate it until I venture out into city life. After so many months of ordering online or just making due with my little town’s restaurants, a trip to the state capital is exciting. Don’t get me wrong. The capital of Nevada is the most boring and unexciting place there is, but, it is a city compared to my little town. It’s the oddest mixture of strip malls, gas stations, old casinos, and box stores. End of subject on Nevada’s capital.
Talking to an old neighbor yesterday, she shared thoughts of moving out of Virginia City and next to me. After two years here, I would tell someone considering my town to think long and hard about their choice. For me, it was the best choice of all. FOR NOW. In my 7th decade, I’ll need to reevaluate circumstances and needs. My friend and her husband find themselves in the middle of their 7th decade.
In my town, there are six casinos. No hospital. Four Mexican restaurants. A Subway. Three casino coffee shops. Two real restaurants. Suishi. Two Chinese restaurants. A 76 Service station deli. 27 churches. A bowling alley. City Hall. A Senior Center. One Walmart. A terrible Lowe’s. Two walk in medical clinics. Two grocery stores. Three truck stops. A dried up golf course. An old folk’s home. And me.
Even though you wouldn’t think entertainment abounds here, there are so many things to keep me busy in my little town, somedays I forget to stop and just listen to the beautiful silence. I once told someone that snowfall sounds so beautiful. Confused, they didn’t believe snowfall has a sound. Indeed, it depends on the snowflakes and how intently you are listening. Here in the desert, the flakes hit surfaces with the tiniest of sounds. City sounds are muffled after a beautiful snowfall like we’ve had the last two mornings. Snow can be such a beautiful part of life but especially if it melts by evening.
Oliver must have partied hard at his Puppy Camp Extravaganza, as he really hasn’t woken up since coming home yesterday. He loved the surprise snow in the back yard and had fun making tracks while showing off his best zoomies. Then, it was off to puppy dream land. Such a funny little guy, I’m glad he’s home.
With a full fridge, I plan to enjoy the confines of Winterpast until the weekend. Plenty of snowy day tasks await. One of the more troublesome involves calculating my annual taxes. Not that it takes a rocket scientist to do it. It just takes patience and doing. We should all be grateful that something so unpleasant only comes once a year. Even more grateful am I that Nevada has no State Income Tax. FOR NOW.
On the more interesting side of life, I’m committed to reading the Bible this year. Right now, in the middle of Leviticus, I’m fascinated at the understanding people had about infectious diseases and other ailments. It’s as if I was reading about the Covid quarantine when reading about instructions for people with ailments in the Old Testament. Even though nothing was known about bacteria or viruses, it was still known that separation during illness was necessary. Reading a specified number of chapters each day will bring me to the end of the book by December 31st. Some of the best reading I’ve done in a very long time.
Quiet peace on the range. No deer, antelope, or mustang are playing around here these days. At 25 degrees, I won’t frolic outside, either. While practicing lazy with Oliver, ideas for tomorrows blog will come. Until then, have a wonderful Tuesday.
A few Sundays ago, something troublesome happened during our worship service. A church is a place one shouldn’t show disrespect. You’d think any church ELDER would know as much. But then, the ME generation is truly cut from a mold all their own. That statement pertains to three young men observed a few Sunday’s ago at my little church off Main Street.
It was time for the worship service to begin and there were only a few seats left. With self-propelled fanfare and swagger, three young men in suits and ties bulldozed their way in and sat down on the far side of the chapel. Everyone noticed them immediately, observing their actions while wondering about their intentions. These days, one needs to be observant in church. There are people wishing harm towards Christians. Sad but true.
I’m pretty sure that, in our church, there are door watchers that are quite prepared for anything. In the high desert, there’s no lack of fire power. These days, churches can be targets sitting under crosses, big signs, and the American flag. One can’t be to careful when observing surroundings and strangers.
Our church has no dress code. Most of the woman folk dress up nicely, while the men usually wear a clean shirt and pants. No ties. Pastor C is one of the few desert men that does wear a tie while always looking sharp with his big puffy beard and sparkling eyes. Everyone knows everyone, down to where we sit. Left front, right rear, or in the middle. Although none are assigned, Sunday after Sunday we sit in the same seats. This probably happens in most churches. In our sanctuary, the back seats fill up first being closer to the door. Spots are always available in the far front corner.
Anyway, these three young men came in and sat down together, making sure to draw plenty of attention to themselves. Fancy-schmancy, young, and a bit cocky, they talked amongst themselves. Three attractive, tall young men in suits and ties were hard to miss. It was obvious the oldest was in charge, being an immature 20-something. None of them shared an introduction with the ELDERLY members they walked right by, so no one in the church knew who the visitors were or what their true intentions were.
According to Webster’s, the definition of an “elder” is …… “A leader or senior figure in a tribe or group”. These ELDERs behaved as boys in suits. In age, they weren’t elders in the church they waltzed into. Why, they were not far from an appropriate age for the Children’s Sunday School in the back.
After much head turning and whispering, our main greeter went over to welcome them. Then it was Pastor C’s turn. The men wore badges. Two were ELDERs from their church. ELDER. What a word when you are only 20 something. The other young soul was a trainee of some sort. The older of the two ELDERs was in charge. That was obvious, as he instructed the trainee to sit between he and the other ELDER. Trapped.
If they’d come respectfully into a house of worship without trying to draw attention, it would’ve been so much more “ELDER-ish”. But, that wasn’t the plan as they sat, arrogantly bathing in the glances they were getting. No, attention they wanted to commandeer. Luckily, they were towards the back of the sanctuary. As soon as Pastor C began with his booming Southern Baptist voice, all focused on the message of the day. Because not many of the members knew who these boys were, there was a bit of uneasiness. You could feel it. A distraction was taking attention away from the reason we show up every Sunday. Worship.
Well, the service progressed. Singing praise. Scripture readings. Offerings. All the things you expect in a Sunday service. When it was time for Pastor C to give his sermon, he began to share the story about Aaron and the golden calf. He was right in the middle of his message when the most disrespectful thing happened.
The three childish ELDERs, who obviously had no training in respectful behavior, stood up in unison, pausing just enough to grab eyes away from Pastor C. They then turned, walked along the back of the church, and right out the door in lock step. An audible gasp from the members of the church could be heard.
Things like this are common these days. No respect for a restaurant, plane, gas station, or even a church service. No respect for those that ARE elders or elderly. No respect for customs. No respect for waiting your turn in line. No respect for anything. There’s a general lack of respect for one’s self these days. Respectable church ELDERs would’ve known if the message wasn’t for them, they should’ve never come. After all, the message in a Southern Baptist Church is a wee bit different from their religion. A real ELDER would know that, too. A real ELDER wanting to shine good feelings on his religion wouldn’t have disrespected another in such an outrageous way. I thought all religions teach respect.
The subject of the three visitors comes up often, even though this occurred months ago. If they were hoping to shine a good light on their own faith, they failed miserably due to their lack of respect for others. Disrespect in a church? There isn’t much lower our society can drop when ELDERs from one church purposely drive to another to disrespect something as sacred as a worship service. Dishonorable.
Today, be just a little more respectful in some way. Maybe, if we all band together, respectful attitudes will come back into style. Our troubled society needs respect and love at the moment.
Waking this morning, many things are lost. On Tuesday, my friend, Summer Breeze, lost her husband before the sun had even risen. Her life has just taken a harsh detour on the path of widowhood. On Sunday, I ran into her at the local coffee shop.
“Bob’s sick. He’s in the hospital. I just saw him. He’s doing so much better. My daughter’s here.”
Without makeup or her beautiful church clothing, she showed all the signs of being consumed by a growing fog of disbelief. No matter how long one knows the time is near, there’s no preparation for the day it really arrives.
New widowhood stirs my memories of almost two years old. Cancer. Nothing to be done. No cure. No more time. The shock and awe of fatal illnesses. How lucky it was that VST and I had nine weeks to prepare. Sometimes, there isn’t any time at all. Such was the case with my friend’s husband. Here, and then, gone.
As a friend, there are so many things we can do to make things better. Listen. Hug. Bring food. Don’t bring food. Help with the dog. Do the dishes. Fold the laundry. Be the driver. So many things one needs at the worst moments in life. Summer Breeze is so lucky to have a loving church family to surround her with the help she needs right now. We are all there for her.
Another church angel is fighting an unimaginable war while praying for a miracle. We are all praying for her while she fights to keep her balance. Fearful and stressed out, she keeps her sense of humor while watching her health slip further and further away. Imprisoned physically and mentally, her spiritual health soars. She is a true child of God. There are so many things we can all be thankful for, even something as simple as memory. Somehow, through her darkest times, she finds ways to make others smile. Her new doctor is waiting to see her next week. We pray his knowledge and expertise will help bring her the miracle she so desperately needs. We need her happy and well. She is so loved.
My bestie CC is battling for her mom. A warrior she is. While her mom is trapped in the darkness of dementia, I’m seeing CC at her most fierce and best. She worries not about hurricanes, because SHE is the storm. The medical advocate. The daughter. The only person who can watch over her mother and make the right decisions. She is one tough cookie, battling through her own exhaustion on every level. Just when she thinks she can’t, she continues. All in the name of love. For over 40 years, we have been best friends. I’ve gained a new appreciation of her strength and loyalty.
Truckers are headed to battle for us. Losing their freedoms, they’ve had enough. We may lose out for a while, too. Yesterday, the old me would have loved to pack up the Jeep and join them for their first night in Williams, Arizona. Sadly, my rebel days have passed. The best I can do is pray the message remains peaceful while inspiring positive solutions. Hmmmm. Truckers. Mad Truckers. Truckers intent on putting a stranglehold on our capital. Hmmm. Probably not a peace inspiring situation unfolding before our eyes.
Finally, an attack. In 1977, I lived not far from Kiev when the entire region was the USSR. All the names are different now. Moldavia isn’t anymore, it’s Moldova. Kiev isn’t anymore, it’s Kyiv. The Ukraine was a beautiful place with rich soil capable of feeding her people along with natural resources like precious minerals and oil. Their people have made Ukraine a unique place in this world. Now, it’s the center of war. Man builds things. Man destroys them. Such a cycle. Such loss.
Today, with loss everywhere, I plan to unplug. Sometimes the world just spins too fast. Loss takes. Love, prayers, and peace replace.
I’ll be back next Monday. Until then, stay safe. Please prayer for Summer Breeze and CC. Please prayer for our truckers and their families. Send prayers for our leaders and our country. Pray for our soldiers and the men that guide them. The Ukraine. Our crazy world needs all the prayers we can send right now.
Happy Monday! With spring just around the corner, life feels lighter. The Mourning Doves have been busy gossiping on the wind. Although I’m not sure where they’ve been, it’s nice they’ve returned to Winterpast, my Air B&B. (Air Bird and Bath). Of what they mourn, I’m not sure. The name “Morning Dove” would fit them just as well, as they hop about on my metal chimney in the early dawn hours causing a ruckus while cooing to their friends.
In Spring 2020, when I’d barely lived here a minute, a temporary boarder came to stay. Having just moved in, I’d leaned my metal ladder against the barn. With every new snow, the ladder should have been put inside. With more pressing issues at hand, it stayed where it was while becoming just another part of the landscape.
When taking some empty boxes into the barn one day, I looked up and came eyeball to eyeball with a Mourning Dove. With eyes as wide as mine, we both froze and studied each other for a moment. On the top step of the ladder, nestled in a freshly built nest, it was obvious she had a clutch of eggs. Although certainly of interest, this was a situation not to be disturbed, so I went on about my day.
For weeks, she and I tolerated each other, while both mourning our losses. Mine – a husband. Hers – a loss of flight. She didn’t often leave the nest and I didn’t often go out to the barn. Keeping an eye on her from the kitchen window, days went by until her eggs had hatched. A most attentive mom, she taught her little ones everything they needed to know until her four little dove-lets flew away. Mourning doves know things AND they can fly. Pretty awesome little creatures.
After days of being unplugged, it’s time to cultivate some new interests. Thinking back on all the ways the internet has enriched my life, one of the most enjoyable was helping me learn to crochet. Coming from a family of five girls, I’d learned the basics of crochet as a child. A simple, mind-numbing little skill, I hadn’t crocheted for years. Finding many instructional videos on simple stitches, I bought some yarn and started. Before long, I was creating all kinds of projects, from a baby’s sweater to a full-sized afghan. Instructions and patterns were all free, without the distressed looks from someone you love telling you you’ll never get it. Until you do, stitch ten, rip out eight, rest a bit, and try again. You Tube is a patient teacher.
Needing to feed my intellect, yesterday, I discovered something grand. Harvard University on the Cheap. The actual website is pll.Harvard.edu. There you can find free classes through Harvard University. Go a step further and Google “Free College Courses”. There are many universities that offer online classes you can enjoy for free.
Signing up for my Harvard class was simple and fast. They asked for completion of a simple survey to help them better serve their students. A real Harvard student may call if they need to know something else.
Then, the course began.
Choosing a course entitled “Christianity – An Initial Overview, one of the first requirements was to introduce myself to the “group” and say “Hello” to three participants. Reading through the short bios, I discovered others interested in the history of the Christian faith. One of the participants is a Catholic priest from Brazil. A young woman from Minnesota is questioning her faith and wants to know more about customs of biblical days. A gentleman from San Francisco has always been interested in ancient culture. The introductions went on and on. Students from around the world are enrolled in this free course.
With text and videos, the course should take a few weeks to complete. It isn’t taught from a spiritual point of view, but from a scholarly one. Pastor C is giving me plenty of spiritual guidance right now, but the scholarly point of view is a puzzle piece that will help me better understand The Holy Bible.
Each day, I’m reading from the Old and New Testaments. By December, I’ll have finished the entire book. This is the most interesting reading I’ve done in a long time. I wish I had a better mental picture of the terrain and customs of the time. I just finished a story in Numbers about a donkey that got sick and tired of his master beating her while she was only trying to avoid an angel in their path. I’d better be sure to take good care of Oliver or he just might decide to give me a piece of his mind.
Surrounding ourselves with Winterpast, sweet friends, a new church family, and the high desert of Northwestern Nevada, Oliver and I are truly blessed. Lonely and broken in Spring 2020, the last two years have been a time of spiritual, mental, and physical growth and healing. Living a purposeful life takes time and patience. Out of the darkness come more and more days of pure light, one after the other. Life is beautiful.
Time for me to dust off my book bag and get off to Harvard for my morning class. I want to get a seat in the front row. Check out the college you’ve always wanted to attend. There’s so much to learn in this crazy world.
I’d never lived alone until April 9, 2020. Considering my life began in the second week of December, 1955, there were decades of togetherness. Growing up in a farming family of five daughters, there was always someone to help figure things out when questions came up. We were never at a loss for suggestions on “How to……” With a dad that could fix absolutely everything with a weld, including an Aunt’s underwire bra, and a mom that could make a gourmet dinner out of sparrow breasts, we had it covered.
At college, I had a roommate for a year.
I married at 21.
Divorced, I lived with my two sons.
In 1987, I met VST and we fell in love. End of story. I always had someone that could help fix any problem that arose. Living alone, things aren’t so convenient. Oliver certainly knows how to fix everything, however his lack of thumbs gets in the way. He certainly knows where everything is. He alerts to me to so many problems, including but not limited to, smoke of any kind, the doorbell, 4:30 AM and 4 PM (his breakfast and dinner times) and now, text messages. If I’m distracted, or even asleep, he makes sure to alert me to important things around here.
There’s one thing he can’t help with. It’s a human dilemma.
Passwords.
#%$@! #%$@! #%$@ !
Of course, a password is a great idea. Do you remember when one was enough? Now, it’s a password for a password. Passwords are required to get private codes texted to your phone. But, you might be on your phone and the internet at the same time. By time you find the code, the time limit has expired. Passwords are necessary in this dangerous world.
I’ve gotten much better at creating them over the past two years. One tip that VST shared with me is that if you start or end a password with five zeros, it’s harder for the hackers to hack. I use that for sensitive log-ins. It used to really upset me when someone would demand the creation of a PIN or Password immediately, while tapping their little pencil and including an occasional eye roll. Well, bless their little heart.
One of the first times K and T, my CBC’s, (children by choice), came to visit me after VST’s passing, K brought me the best gift of the century. A small black book entitled “$%# I Can’t Remember”. Of course, the real word is on my book, but I don’t want to offend. This little book is one I use on a daily basis, with a place to organize all my passwords and @#$%. My version was Copywrite by Christelle Ball in 2017.
As seen without entries on the photo of the day, this little book is my life saver. As it was explained to me, anyone who meant me harm would fall in two categories. Computer literate — a person never thinking a book of passwords might be laying around. Or, Computer illiterate — a person who wouldn’t know what to do with the passwords once he found the book.
In this little gem, I have everything anyone would need when the unthinkable happens. It is hidden in plain site, which does present other problem. I do need to FIND the book on occasion. I added many other categories inside the front cover, including Attorney’s name, Financial Professionals, Doctors, my internet code, Passwords for the computers, etc. The list goes on. We have so much to remember on a daily basis, it’s nice to have a place to store the information.
Some of you might point out that the computer is a great place to store this stuff. So true. However, in case of emergency, this little book will help the helpful with everything they need. When living alone, you need to have a Key to the Kingdom for the day you might be on the way to another sort of Kingdom. Get my drift?
As a widow, I’ve written so many times about something called Widow’s Fog. Now, there’s also Covid fog. Senior Citizen Fog. Having a Rotten Day Fog. As we might all experience foggy days from time to time, the importance of this book cannot be overstated. You can find this and others like it on Amazon.com. A great little gift, priced $5.00 and up. Of course, you do need to remember to write every Website Name, Username, and Password down the minute you create it. That’s the FIRST thing not to forget.
Today, a dental appointment awaits. I can hardly wait to find out which teeth will rob me of a trip to the beach or some other great place. The dentist WILL find SOMETHING amiss. That’s why we go, right? Have a wonderful day, whatever you do. Don’t forget to remember those passwords.
If you visit here, you like to read. So do I, although it’s been awhile since I’ve found something other than The Bible to hold my attention. I finally have a wonderful suggestion you might enjoy. “O Rugged Land of Gold”, by Martha Martin is a true story written during an Alaskan winter in the early 1900’s. According to her Great-Granddaughter, this intriguing woman wrote under a pen name. Her real name was Helen Bolyan. All names in the book were changed, even the location of the mine.
In the early 1900’s, Martha was a wife and the mother of her boy, Lloyd. With Lloyd away at school, Martha and her beloved husband, Don, were prospecting partners on Cobol Island in deserted Alaska. Martin was the self sufficient woman I would love to be. She was MacGyver x Mike Holmes of the women’s world. This woman was a proven survivor.
As the story begins, an injured Martha decides to write her story as she heals. The main reason for writing is to stay connected in some way. Similar to this blogger, except all she had was her journal and a heavenly host of angels to read her works. After the first two page-turning chapters of this book, I couldn’t put it down. Her accounts of loneliness, despair, talks with God, and worries about her unborn child are riveting and heart wrenching.
Details about two cabins in the wilderness and the instincts and knowledge needed to survive were amazing. When her beloved husband left on a short errand just before I storm blew in, she had few worries. Her decision to retrace some steps to retrieve an item proved disastrous in more ways than one.
In a snow storm, I have my groceries delivered. I drive a car anywhere I need to go. At night, a thermostat keeps my heater at a constant temperature. A refrigerator/freezer keeps my food from spoiling. All the comforts of home unless your home is off the grid in Alaska.
For 32 years, VST was always there to help in times of trouble. He took the risks when hard errands or chores had to be accomplished. He navigated the taxes and our business affairs. Being smart, he had the last say on many of our most important decisions, always after sharing his reasoning. He was a comfort when I was ill, never letting things get too bad before shuffling me off to the doctor. He was my lifeboat. Until he wasn’t. Martha’s husband Don, business partner Sam, and son Llloyd were all there for her until they weren’t.
In some of her darkest moments after her husband went on his distant errand, Martha heard his voice giving her needed direction and support. She was sure of it. Except that he wasn’t there. When a bear woke her as she slept, it was his voice that calmed her and helped her play dead. One of his old gloves found in a pile of leaves gave her the message she needed. Even though she had no way of knowing for sure, her heart found comfort that her Don would return to her side.
This story has everything. Risks people take because of greed and money. The excitement of adventure. Creating something from nothing. Trust. Faith. Hopelessness. Renewed faith. Strength in the dark. Drama. Beauty. All told in very plain language in a scared and pregnant mother’s journal while sitting all alone during an Alaskan winter.
Could you imagine being seven months pregnant without any supplies? Not a chance of a stray diaper or baby bottle just showing up? No support from friends and family? Just the observations made through the eyes of a deer or crow?
In reading the book, Martha spells out well planned provisions. At the mountain cabin, they had nuts, raisins, and other dried fruits. They had plenty of flour, sugar, and tea. While gardening, they raised carrots and potatoes, although the sizes were small due to the short growing season. As survivalists go, Martha and Don did a pretty good job, except that both cabins weren’t stocked equally.. Unfortunately, she depended on both for different reasons.
Her troubles continued when she finally decided to escape on the boat for a 31 hour trip to civilization. She had hesitated to try this, as she was 7 months pregnant. She was also certain her Don was on his way. Her biggest problem was a lack of needed strength to start the engine. Although never mentioned, I assumed she needed to pull a starter rope to turn the flywheel. At any rate, with the engine finally started, disaster struck in the worst way. For days, back at the beach cabin, she heard the boat engine running, until it finally stopped.
So, if you are sitting around with nothing to read, find a copy of “O Rugged Land of Gold”. Think of Martha and Don, and the faith it took for them to dream their adventure and then go for it. Enjoy.
Bianca two brand new puppies 3/3/2022Scott Aubin and Grey — Courtesy of ScottAubin.com
At this very moment in time, you have the opportunity to see Great Dane puppies enter this world through Service Dog Project at Explore.Org. I found this site about five years ago when I was teaching middle school. If you’ve never heard about this site and you love nature, I would highly suggest you visit. After reaching Explore.Org, choose the square that says “Dog Bless You”. Click on the picture showing the black and white Great Dane. Service Dog Project also has a Social Media Links, as well as a site on You Tube.
On Explore.org, you’ll find all kinds of fantastic views of nature around the world. From the waves at Waikiki Beach to up-close coverage of fruit bats, there is something for everyone. The fruit bats, Bison, and of course, Service Dog Project are my favorite. The cameras are run by volunteers. At the time of this writing, “Bianca” is heavy with puppies and busy delivering them. Her care taker did have her x-rayed finding here are at least eleven hidden in there.
Service Dog Project produces puppies for people having issues with mobility and balance. Great Danes are the perfect height to lend support to people with balance issues. The preferred recipients are veterans who may also benefit from the calming personalities of these great dogs.
Many children have received these dogs, as well. The most famous pair are Bella and George. Bella lives with some rare medical challenges. She was losing her mobility when her mom found out about Service Dog Project. Bella went to Crazy Acres as a volunteer. She would receive a dog, but there was one problem. The dogs choose their person, and visit after visit, none of the dogs chose Bella. Not one.
Things were not looking good, when one day, out of the blue, George chose Bella. Just like that, they were a match. Bella and George have gained rock star status as a team. They were selected and won the 2015 AKC Humane Fund Award for Canine Excellence and have been featured on many television shows. Although George towers next to her, through his gentle strength and calm help Bella continues to walk on. If you Google “Bella and George”, have some Kleenex ready. Theirs is a great love story.
Another great pair are Scott Aubin and Grey, his second dog. Scott is an inspirational speaker who lives with PTSD. His story is another way a dog has done fantastic work to help a human. You can watch him speak on You Tube or read about him at his website ScottAubin.com.
Getting back to the puppies. The cameras roll 24/7. You may see squirming little puppies that are seconds old. You may see drama. You may see some puppies that cross over to the Rainbow Bridge. You see it all. There are also current comments from regular views and newbies. Everyone is learning while watching. It is not uncommon for a litter to take 24 hours to enter the world, so you have time. Please remember, the cameras are in a personal house 24/7. You see real life in real time.
Mail call is at 3 PM, M-F, at which time the sound is turned on and Carlene White, the head of the operation, opens mail and answers questions online. She runs Crazy Acres in Ipswich, Massachusetts where the daily drama unfolds. All this filming is in Carlene’s house. Crazy Acre’s is her farm. There is a lot to unpack with this story. Even more amazing is the fact that Carlene is in her mid 80’s. Almost everyone seen working there volunteers their time.
Crazy Acres is run on Chicken Poop. Truly. Each month, she sells Chick Bricks. This is actually a number on a board which cost $10 each. One Sunday a month everyone heads outside, where chickens are placed on a large board with 2,000 numbers. The first number on which a chicken poops wins the bragging rights for the month. By doing this, she funds Service Dog Project for one month. She has done this for years and never had a month she didn’t meet expenses. Crazy Acre runs literally runs on Chicken Poop.
Dog food is delivered by the truckload. Everything is large scale. Carlene usually has 60 danes at a variety of ages and training levels. Right now, she has a litter of 8 puppies born on Christmas Day and the newbies. The adorableness of the entire site is just too much.
If you have ever raised puppies, you know how much work they are. These puppies are treated as well as human babies, having care and nursing around the clock. The fluffy blankets are always pristine. The food and water on-time and fresh. The training unique to the jobs these dogs will perform in their lifetimes.
So, if you are totally bored today, go see some new life come into this world. Don’t judge. Just watch. You are bound to learn some pretty amazing things.
“I was raised in a religious home, but I had to live in the wilderness to experience the meaning of faith. In the States, I accepted what my people believed, conformed to what was prescribed, and bothered my head no further. Here, the slate is wiped clean of all creeds and doctrines; faith is stripped down to the fundamentals; and it becomes clear that all religion is no more and no less than the human soul reaching out to the Creator; that the individual alone, of his own free will and accord, must do the reaching. For me contact with God comes through his creation; the forests and the hills, the winds and the tides, the birds of the air, the creeping things upon the earth and the fishes in the sea, the starry heavens, the loyalty of a friend, love and devotion, faith and work, honor and awe.
I worship my god humbly before his manifestations, which go far beyond the doctrines of any Church. From deep within me my worship surges forth. I am thankful and humble. A divine force — a spiritual guidance surrounds and envelopes me. This I know, not how or why; I only know that I do know, and it cannot be different.
As your needs are great, you will pray. this I ought to know from experience. I have said prayers since I could talk — mumblings and say-words — yet I have never prayed truly until there was nothing else possible for me to do. These last few weeks I have prayed more than in all my life before.
My prayers will be answered only if I pray with all my heart and humbly accept the answer to my prayers. To receive help I must do my part ungrudgingly, no matter how hard it will be.
I must work with all my might and intelligence and pray as I work. Then all will be well with me and my child. Yes, I do sometimes doubt and question — much less now than at first. After all, I am only a mortal being, and I have been sorely tried.”
Yesterday was the perfect day to pull up VST’s big office chair and snuggle to the taxes. One day is as good as the next when retired. A blustery winter Friday seemed fitting, so I opened the Tomb of Taxes Past and got to work.
Visiting with girlfriends over lunch on Wednesday, I mentioned that I prepare my own taxes. They seemed a bit horrified. VST and I always completed our own. We faced an audit at the ranch one year in the 1900’s. The auditor was there for less than three hours and walked away shaking her head. She expected to find hidden money for the government. After examining a huge binder full of hundreds of supporting documents, all organized and at the ready, she found a mistake in our favor. We assured her we were happy to leave things as they were.
VST and I always shared the unpleasant task of preparing the tax forms. Four eyes were better than two. Two brains better than one. Through the years, I learned I’d rather be the Outlaw of Tax Town while VST followed every single tax rule to the max. Between the two of us, we’d settle nicely in the safety of the middle between jail and paying way to much.
2022, my second year widowed, the first TT entry was the saddest. This year I’m required to file S (Single). Just one word. No MFJ (Married Filing Jointly) as I did for 33 years. Just S. It’s the smallest things that make us stumble.
After that, Turbo Tax did the work. Asking questions and then providing appropriate worksheets, it was simple. I do have some tips to make things much better as you create your new banking world as a widow or widower.
After you nice feature is that it provides a printable Tax History of prior years that to keep with your final documents. Information can be uploaded from your banking institutions. It’s possible to E-File your taxes on this program, or you can send them snail mail. All in all, it works for me. I order my program in December on Amazon. They have lots of choices. Luckily, with no state taxes in Nevada, I only need the Federal version.
At the beginning of each year, decide on a dedicated place to collect the various tax papers that will arrive. Organization is key. You may need to print copies from online accounts. My bank emailed notice when they were ready. I made paper copies and those went with the rest. If you are just getting organized now, find papers related to income, such as W-2’s, and the various 1099’s. Then, find documents showing deductible expenses, such as property tax or medical bills.
Now is a great time to clean out your filing drawer, if you have one. Organizing my office drawer always starts with the best intentions, but by December, mine is just a crowded mess. Going through the drawer, I remove everything from the prior year, deciding what will be filed away with the taxes and what to discard. This is an important step before beginning anything. When organized, any task, even the most unpleasant, goes much better.
Turbo Tax offers two choices when beginning. You can go it on your own, or be guided through each step. Their guide is helpful. By answering easy questions, you are led through a maze to the end, as the amount of your tax liability shows at the top of the screen. Up and down it goes. Where it stops, only Turbo Tax knows.
Finally, it’s time for a final review and then, decisions about how you will receive your refund or pay up. In my case, let’s just say that it took a minute to find something for which to be grateful about the final amount shown.
Americans are blessed to live in such a wonderful country with beautiful states and towns. With a positive attitude, I will send my taxes into the world, focusing on the good the $$$ will do to make a better world. That’s the best way. Send them with blessings to Do No Harm. When I hear of a project I support, I”ll choose to believe with all my heart that a few cents of my money went to help with that. For those things I find abhorrent, I choose to believe my funds didn’t reach that far. It’s better to keep a cheerful attitude about something of which we’ve no control.
I’m not sending my taxes until April, but they are complete. I hope VST is up in heaven smiling at the job I did. I hope the IRS angels will approve. Turbo Tax says that I have almost no chance of triggering an audit with the information given. 2021 Taxes are put to bed. I hope 2022 Taxes are gentler to the pocketbook.
As a new widow, I wasn’t afraid to seek help the first year. I prepared my taxes as usual and then went to a CPA referred by a close friend. For $100, it was worth the peace of mind. There is always someone that can help when you are just not sure what to do.
Taxes and death. There is no escaping either one. With a new storm blowing in, I plan to spend the day doing something pleasant. Soup in the Crock Pot. Saturday Chores. The Singing Nun as my Movie of the Day. Whatever you do, enjoy.
The hills are alive with the spring rains. Even deserts do become a different shade for a few days in March and April. Little patches are grass are springing up under the protection of the dead tumbleweeds. From a distance, the hint of grey-green and the scent of nourishment will call the mustangs to higher grazing. There they will find food and water without human complication. And so the cycle begins again.
It’s been cold here. Desert cold. High winter humidity always makes it feel colder than it is. Another storm was predicted, but, only the high Sierra’s received snow. My little town just shivered with night time temperatures dropping to the 20’s.
March is a deceiving time for a gardener. The nursery is a sea of color with fresh deliveries of the prettiest Peonies or Johnny Jump Ups. How they keep plants alive at this early time is a mystery. Their garden center freezes at night just as my back yard does. To plant anything so fragile at this time of year isn’t wise. Pretty in the afternoon; frozen solid in the morning. Our growing season is shorter here in the high desert. Early March is still too soon for planting.
Waiting patiently for the day things will bloom around here, the Saturday mail held a wonderful surprise from my beloved God Mum. She never forgets a chance to make a day special, that’s for sure. In my mailbox lay a very fat letter addressed to me. I never get worthy mail around here. No cards to brighten my day. Not even unwanted news from a distant relative. Just bills and advertisements. I’m grateful I get anything, as I love opening my mailbox to received letters. To find a surprise letter was a welcomed treat.
In an adorable little card were four packages of seed. All my favorites. Forget-Me-Not’s, Shasta Daisy’s, Marigolds, and a Butterfly Garden Mix. All happy flowers for a happy gardener. That’s the thing about flowers. They are medicine for a winter weary soul. Just the pictures on the front of the packages make me smile while I think of all the fun I plan to have cocooned in the back yard of Winterpast.
For the last two years, I’ve been a Grieving Gardener. But, now, I consider myself a Gardener who Grieves on Occasion. Holding VST’s favorite shovel, I notice how worn out it is. How many hours, days, weeks, months, and years we worked side-by-side to create beauty. Although our physical projects were always stunning, the beauty of our relationship was the real masterpiece. Now, these memories make me smile. I want that beauty surrounding me again but this time, I need to create it on my own.
Wishing I lived where these flowers would bloom all year long, I accept that they might not ever mature here in the desert. There are terms you accept when living in a harsh climate. I always thought I needed mind numbing surroundings to thrive. Yet, I find the simple signs of spring here on the desert beautiful. Four defined seasons is something I never experienced in the continuous fair weather of the Central Valley of California. It was wither fog or 100 degree days. That was life in the Central Valley, something I’d find very boring at this stage of my life.
Now, it’s time to get busy with my garden check list. It’s time to make my plans and watch the projected weather forecast. Soon, I’ll call my garden expert, Mr. B, and get the water turned on. Oliver will, once again, be on toad patrol and interested in eating my emitters. Shovels need sharpening. Pots need to filling. The patio furniture will once again make the back yard my favorite place in the world.
Stay tuned tomorrow for suggestions for readying your garden plans. Spring is just 13 days away!!!!
With the countdown to spring underway, it’s time to plan. Winterpast places high demands on me. She wants to show off her best spring colors, so I’d better get ready. There are many trees and bushes that’ve been removed. Now, the time for replacement has arrived. Updating a yard takes some thought and time. It’s nice to observe a yard at different times of of the day and from different places from the yard.
While the weather is still more winter than spring, I plan to organize and repair my garden tools. Many of them have been with me for decades, some even belonged to my dad. It’s time to organize, repair, and sharpen them. A wheel barrow has a flat. A rake needs a new handle. Ladders need to be hung. The shed needs a good cleaning. Projects that got put away for Spring.
Next, the garden needs a plan for 2022. A bank of Irises sit behind the shed. A beautiful lavender shade, they are the earliest plants to brave the desert cold. For two years, I’ve had intentions of moving them around the yard. This year, it will happen. With the Irises moved, there’ll be a savings on my water bill, always important when living in the desert.
Budgeting wisely, I plan to see how many trees I add. After removing some very tall junipers, I have a blank slate against the RV Barn wall. Two Japanese Maples will do nicely along that wall. There are a couple other places that trees were removed. I plan to put in five trees this year. Perhaps a peach. Maybe a nectarine. It depends what the nursery tells me will thrive in these desert soils.
Shopping for seeds I’m thinking butterflies this year. Lavender does very well in the desert. Honeysuckle is another plant that does well. I want color and beautiful scents in the back yard. Lots of color. Pots that overwintered need to be emptied, fertilized, and refilled. Pots relieve me of the tedious job of digging in the desert soils. If worst comes to worst, I can always depend on Mr. B and his amazing gardening services to help me out of a jam.
The back yard paths are covered in decomposed granite. After years, they need some attention. Rocks covering garden cloth need refurbishing. Bark needs freshening. All this as the sprinkler system needs constant repair. Gardening is such a healthy and healing activity. Growing beautiful plants is calming providing a time for meditation and prayer. Spring is the perfect time for both.
Be sure to check out on line videos on gardening tips for your area. Spring fertilization is important while things are still dormant. Late winter is the perfect time to separate and replant bulbs.
Don’t forget to freshen your yard art. Old bird houses might need a fresh coat of paint, as mine do. Wind chimes could use new strings. Patio furniture always looks good with a fresh coat of paint.
When planning your garden chores, plan your time wisely. My finish date is always July 4th. Dividing the weeks appropriately, you can be sure to get everything accomplished to meet your deadline. Having a dedicated garden calendar helps. Keeping track of the prior year’s freeze dates helps you plan for the next year. Or, you might have your own gardener like Mr. B, who will be calling me when it’s time to turn on the water.
If you do have the need to winterize and then un-winterize, it’s a good idea to take a video of the process. In a complicated yard like Winterpast, there are many steps in the process. By having a video, you can save a little money and do it yourself. It’s not a hard process, just a bunch of things you need to do in a specific order.
Don’t forget You Tube when you have a project to do. I am amazed that the number of things you can learn by watching You Tube. Even something as simple as how to open the hood of a Jeep Wrangler can be found there.
Tomorrow, I’ll give you a few more ideas for Spring preparations. These days, I’m a gardener who grieves sometimes. Today, it’s been one year, eleven months since I lost VST. This year, Winterpast’s garden beauty will be dedicated to his memory.
Pruning seems like it would be such a simple skill. It’s all about balance. Fruit wood. Dead wood. Thinning. Somehow, my end product never ends the way I envision. I’ve never lost fingers, that’s true. But, the plant becomes unbalanced or too thin. I’m really trying. Sadly the plant suffers through the year. This year, I plan to study more and get it right.
Last year, the roses were pruned with Mr. B’s small chain saw. This year, I’ll sit down with each plant and apologize. They pouted all year, giving me minimum effort in small, ragged little blossoms. This year, I’ll make it up to them. They are getting premium plant food and lots of attention. Rose aren’t for everyone or every yard. I really want them to like it here at Winterpast.
At the Ranch of Long Ago, VST built me a fountain. Not just any fountain, mind you. A mountain fountain made from the finest Sierra Nevada boulders. These boulders were so large, their placement involved a REAL forklift. Luckily, we had one on the farm, complete with a real farmer that knew how to drive and use this type of machinery. A friend had great ideas about the boulders, until he had better ideas about moving to Oregon, so we inherited the rocks. VST created a waterfall.
When the mountain waterfall was finished, it was awe-inspiring.
“Okay, Darlin’. I need to go disk the vines. The rest is up to you.”
I sat with a blank slate. The back wall of the garden area faced west. It was impossible to enjoy an evening out there until the sun went down, as the summer heat was relentless. The temperature soared over 100 degrees for months from May until October. In the middle of summer, the nights would often hover in the 90’s. Having a barrier of climbing plants to grow on the chain link fence would help a lot.
Going to our local Handy Andy’s, I found the perfect and inexpensive solution. Something called “Lady Banks Climbing Roses”. The softest yellow, the informative tag promised they were fast growing and hearty. They wouldn’t die in the 115 degree sunshine. They’d make a luxurious hedge. I bought 20 of them and headed home.
The soil in the Central Valley is heavenly. If I could receive a truck load of that soil, it would be more precious than 1,000 diamond rings. The soil here must be amended with years and years of added mulch and tillage. Even after that, you still have desert soil. At the ranch, you could toss out a tomato, and in two weeks, a new plant would be growing. California is rich in everything except sanity.
Scurrying home after work each night, the twenty rose bushes were soon nestled in and ready for their first year. Sure, I planted them a little closer than the instructions said. Really? “Plant 4′ apart”??? I wanted shade. I wanted action. I wanted a wall of the softest yellow beauty. I wanted it NOW.
Oy Vey.
The roses started growing. At first, it was delightful. They spread their little branches and GREW. They GREW through the chain link fence and touched leaves with their others.
How high are the rose bushes, Mama?
Two feet high and rising.
They met the top of the 5′ fence in the first month and kept going.
How high are the rose bushes, Mama?
Eight feet high and rising.
By September, they reached into the air and went for the roof of our patio cover.
How high the rose bushes, Mama?
Ten feet high and rising.
I couldn’t measure them after that. With all the love, care, best soil additives, and water, they were on their way. The afternoon sun was blocked. The softest yellow blooms provided nests for birds, pollen for bees, and a butterfly haven. The choice was brilliant, except for one thing.
This inexpensive variety of rose has millions of tiny little pokey thorns. Thorns up and down the stems. Thorns on the branches. Thorns on the trunks of the plants. Thorns that look so small, they couldn’t amount to anything, but thorns that will tear a chambray shirt to threads when you try to prune. I had planted a monstrous bank of evil thorns.
As the years went by, those roses were left to their own devices. Over 15 years time, their trunks split the chain link fence in many places. At their highest point, they were a good 20 feet in the air. They produced so many roses, it was impossible to trim away the dead ones. A wonderful hiding place existed now for a gopher snake or two. My great idea, over planted and abundant, had taken over. Thank goodness we lived in the country.
After the tenth season, VST helped with our REAL honest to goodness John Deere Tractor. Putting big chains at the trunks of a few of the biggest plants, he said some words that VST didn’t often say. With a few tugs, we thinned them. At 4′ apart, they were still overgrown, but it was all we could do to remove five bushes. The entire time, VST was questioning my though process in purchasing these horrible plants. I had to be quiet for he was 100% correct. They were a big mistake in many ways.
How I wish I could have that wall of roses now. Sadly, my desert roses struggle to grow at all. This season, I’ll talk to them and thank them for having a sensible amount of thorns. Thank goodness.
Today, I’m off to the garden center to see what’s come in. With nightly frost, it’s still too soon to plant much. Of course, there’s always the bareroot plants and bulbs The last days of winter taunt our gardening souls, eh?
Original by Alanis Morissette — Personalized Version by Me
I’m old, but I’m happy I’m spoiled, but I’m kind I’m short, but I’m healthy, Oh yeah I smile, but I’m grounded I’m sane, but overwhelmed I’m lost, but I’m hopeful, baby
And what it all comes down to Is that everything’s gonna be fine, fine, fine ‘Cause I’ve got one hand in my pocket And the other one’s giving a high five
I’m alone, but not lonely I’m smart, but retired I’m tired, but I carry on I’m still, but I’m restless I’m here, but really gone I’m wrong, I’m sorry, baby
And what it all comes down to Is that everything’s gonna be quite alright ‘Cause I’ve got one hand in my pocket And the other one is eating chocolate.
And what it all comes down to, my friend Is that I haven’t got it figured out just yet ‘Cause I’ve got one hand in my pocket And the other one is giving a peace sign
I’m free, but I’m focused I’m a fool, but I’m wise I’m hard, but I’m understanding I’m sad, but I’m laughing I’m brave, but full of $#%@ Wrinkled, but still pretty, baby
And what it all boils down to Is that no one’s really got it figured out just yet Well, I’ve got one hand in my pocket And the other one is planting a peony. And what it all comes down to my friends, Is that everything is just fine, fine, fine ‘Cause I’ve got one hand in my pocket And the other one’s writing my story.
Oh, the varied activities of the retired. Choices are everywhere. Even at the brand new Senior Center, which has been brimming with excitement. It was there I found myself two days ago. A friend needed a ride into the biggest little city just west of me. She asked that we could leave after her exercise class.
Now, here’s the deal.
Exercise is not for everyone. That’s an uncomfortable fact. Haven’t we all heard of the pencil thin jock who loves his 10 mile long morning jog, until one day, he drops dead in the middle of it? At the present time, my knees are good. Hips bones, work well. Connective tissue doesn’t complain. Spine remains flexible and working fine. I’d like to keep all the parts working as they are at the present time. Structured exercise isn’t in my plan at the moment.
I get plenty of exercise in the workout place otherwise known as Winterpast. There is stretching to reach high places with my dust cloth. Endurance when vacuuming. Endless miles of sprinkler line to repair. Squats while lifting heavy pots. Lunges chasing Oliver. Weight lifting when I move the furniture from here to there. Balance when doing things on the ladder. Truly. For an old gal, I get a lot done in a day. All followed by plenty of soaking in the hot tub. A real gym and spa around here.
People are quick to point out that the I just things listed aren’t cardio fitness. I would ask them to lug bags of mulch from the truck to the back yard for me. We’ll find out who is winded first. We can do this at 4400′ elevation for a little added fun.
When I arrived to the Senior Center, I found my friend, Willow, my friend, LEADING the class. A detail she forgot to mention. She is gorgeous and thin. Pencil thin. Model thin and tall. The perfect woman to lead the class. I decided to give it a try. Luckily, I do own favorite leggings. I resisted leggings for a long time, and then made the fatal error of buying a pair. They are from the heavens. Along with the leggings, I wore a turtleneck for warmth, layered with my new t-shirt that has a big butterfly on the front along with the word FEARLESS. On top of that, a cashmere sweater, because cashmere is perfect for everything. I was ready.
Remember, this is a Senior Center. My friend is more senior than I am. By ten + years, mind you. The other women in the class were all more senior than she. There were chairs on which to sit on and balance while standing. No high impact, these were all stretching and balance exercises. No problem, right?
Those.
Exercises.
Kicked.
My.
Saggy.
Butt.
One hour is way to long to focus on exercises. No text breaks. No coffee break. No time to check the latest news. Nothing. Straight exercising for one hour. After 30 minutes of hell, I hobbled over to the art room to see what was going on there.
Hallelujah.
There were three of the coolest women in the place. Pinkie, Raspberry Beret, and Free Spirit. They sat while working on an acrylic painting projects. Pinkie had escaped the torture of the exercise class by following my lead. The three of them were full of questions. I found my people! I left there with a list of necessary art supplies. Rather than gym shoes, I’ll be hitting the Art Section of Walmart to stock up.
After class, Willow was excited to see if I’d be attending the next class to be held today.
Living alone isn’t for everyone. Some people are scared of their own shadow. One person I knew had so many outside lights screaming into the night sky, the house was never in true darkness. While neighbors silently complained, these lights were left on day and night. The house glows at night. Of course, Winterpast is in the desert. It DOES get VERY dark here at night. Bad things CAN happen in the dark. But, bad people have also discovered they can do their evil in broad daylight, too.
Here at Winterpast, the outside lights are rarely on at any time. I detest light pollution. Trying to do my part to enhance the night sky, when I’m safely tucked inside, there’s no need to light up my surroundings outside. Beside, if I do hear something, I hope the someONE creating the someTHING I hear trips and falls over the rocks, boulders and other obstacles outside. Why give them a clear path to my home?
Asking for protection from angels before I slept every night, being scared of the dark isn’t in my nature. I was raised on a farm. There were no street lights to help joggers find their way home. No one jogged because we are all too tired from the day of farming. No one ran down the street in the dark because every house had a few loose ranch dogs that worked the night shift. If you DID hear someTHING in the night, it was someTHING that needed investigation with a shotgun. That explained the situation in which I grew up. I have a healthy respect and love for guns.
Times are changing, and I decided that protection might be a good idea. A can of wasp spray by the bedside is a great idea. The stream of toxic goo can shoot a long way. Wouldn’t want that in your eyes. There’s the secreted big rig tire thumper VST and I bought in Wyoming. That would bring on a headache for a little while. The skull crusher is positioned in another “quick-grab” spot, ready if I need it. The name explains that manual device perfectly.
Living on the high desert a girl can’t be too careful. Nevada is an open carry state. That doesn’t refer to a open can of beer in the truck. It refers to wearing a gun strapped in plain sight on your body. At my age, that would be an open invitation to a mugging. Not being strong enough to keep it away from an attacker, I realize I’m too old to do that. But, I’m not too old to have gun properly stowed right next to my bed. It’s for that reason I purchased a pink and black Saturday Night Special (similar in appearance only to the picture above).
Without research, I chose this gun because it fit perfectly in my freakishly big but weak Germanic hands. Basically made of plastic, this gun felt fantastic at the gun store. A perfect fit. Love at first sight. No, the color wasn’t the reason I liked it. A gun is a tool used for protection. In my opinion, guns shouldn’t come in pink. It was the weight and balance in my hand that sealed the deal.
It’s been a long time since I shot anything. I never liked going to the range with VST, as he was an expert at shooting, like everything else. A target would go up. His gun held five bullets. He’d shoot five times. The bullseye would be eliminated by his shots, leaving a gaping hole in the middle of the target. Then, it’d be time to go home. Every single time was the same. Buying the best gun is half the battle and VST shot with high end equipment.
Ace is also a precise shooter. There is a difference. His precision skills kept him alive during two wars. With that being said, the equipment I purchased for myself is low end. How is it that for everyone else, I bought the best money could by. For my own arsenal, I bought low end products. Yesterday, I discovered the error in my way.
Ace offered to take me to the range for gun safety and shooting. Off we went into the bright blue sky with a scary black long gun, two black pistols, and my cheery pink gun. The range is a marvelous place. With a range master watching over everyone, lots of people were practicing.
Proper preparation is needed when you go to an outdoor gun range. First, you better have a reason to be there. Don’t just drop into watch, because everyone is very aware of who’s there and what they’re shooting. There are very specific rules. You need to have ear and eye protection. You need to listen to the range master to know when the range is hot or cold. You also need to be on high alert for idiot nimrods that don’t know the rules. They can be a danger to everyone.
We chose to shoot in a private lane for my first lesson. Ace was patient and kind. We loaded my new pink gun, while he was worried about this pink nightmare. The Saturday Night Special was quite possibly the cheapest gun he’d ever shot, and I know he was praying it didn’t blow up in my hand. Confidence in my weapon of choice was evaporating in the morning sun.
After 50 rounds, we both agreed I need to trade up to a quality pistol. That being said, I hit the target and still know the gun is the perfect weight and size for me. I could hit the target. Aim and shoot. Hit center mass. That’s all you need to hit. Accomplished.
It would be a mistake for someone to break down a window or door and enter Winterpast with evil intent. Oliver and I are ready. Not scared. PREPARED. Preparation empowers even the oldest of widows.
Scared of the dark? Negative.
Scared of intruders? Isn’t everyone?
Prepared for the worst? You betcha. All part of living in the high desert of Northwestern Nevada in a little house named Winterpast.
In winter I get up at night,
And dress by yellow candle light.
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.
I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people's feet
Still going past me in the street.
And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?
This is my least favorite morning of the year. Time change. Why? Oh, Why? Oh, Why? Things are going along nicely. The sun is shining a little longer every day. The birds are returning to Winterpast. The trees are budding. Spring is less than a week away. And, BAM. Right in the face. Time change brings an hour of lost sleep.
The first day isn’t always the worst. Retired, I had time to set the clocks Saturday night. Ace set the more complicated ones by looking up instructions on You Tube. Why didn’t I think of that??? Lots going on yesterday while I preparedfor Bible Study and Church and Ace drove west through a high Sierra snow storm to attend to his life in California. The time change wasn’t even noticeable.
It’s always the first week of time adjustment that gets me. Sleeping soundly, my 4:30 AM alarm went off with its annoying little beeps. My brain was shouting, “No, No, No. It’s still 3:30.” Even Ollie gave me a dirty look and burrowed deeper into his blankets. Morning involves his breakfast, so that says a lot.
Of course, there is the promise of summer evening barbeques in the back yard. The evening breezes as the sun sets and the stars come out. Evenings on the desert are grand. In the big scheme of things, adjusting an hour either way is not a nuclear crisis. Just something small to complain about in a blessed life. God is great, all the time. All the time, God is great.
Whatever you do today, enjoy the last few days of winter. Spring comes on Sunday. Easter is just around the corner. It’s a beautiful time of year for renewal and new beginnings. Have a wonderful day.
Childhood on a farm is as magical as it gets. The world is open for experimentation and exploration. In the mid 1900’s, there were few boogiemen that ventured into the vineyards of the Central Valley of California. Sure, there were roaming hippies high on drugs and love, but they just sauntered on by on their walk towards the coast range and the Pacific beyond. Nope, it was an idyllic place for a blonde little tomboy to grow up.
Although we did have animals, we could never have had enough for me. The ones we had really didn’t count as REAL farm animals. No cow. No pig. Not even a rooster if Dad could help it. Just chickens, rabbits, pigeons, and 4-H lambs. On a farm, it’s not wise to name the animals. Whether furry or feathered, they all met their end at the dinner table.
Of course, there were the dogs. Through the years, many many farm dogs. There were also the visiting Guide Dog for the Blind puppies that came to stay for a spell while we helped them grow and learn. Although I raised five puppies to maturity, all five were rejected due to physical birth defects. Random problems that broke my heart each time. Crooked ears that never straightened. Hyperactivity beyond the normal. Hip dysplasia. A pronounced limp that never went away. Just a few of the problems that came with little puppies delivered in the amazing Guide Dog for the Blind van.
An amazing imagination was necessary because toys weren’t plentiful. It wasn’t smart to be bored because plenty of chores could be found to amuse you. Living on a farm, there was always dusting and ironing, if nothing else could be found. Our farm was a 45 minute drive from town, so there were no matinee movies for us. Just long sunny days outside.
An old rusty bike from the 1950’s always had a flat which always needed fixing. Goat Head stickers were tough on tires, even those with thick tubes. Grammie and Grandpa lived down the road to the north. A best friend lived down the road to the South. Two feet never failed me in either direction. That was my world.
Name brand toys were just starting to become popular. I had my cousin’s hand-me-down doll, Lula Belle. A Madame Alexander baby doll, she was about to be discarded when I snatched her up for my own. She sits in my guest room today, having earned some down time in her old age. She still hasn’t gotten over the fact that Barbie and Ken came along.
As a young girl, my nose was always in my Dad’s shop. Girls weren’t allowed. Ever. Except for me, his favorite. A dark, mysterious, rusty place of dust, rust, grease, and oil. Dangerous beyond anything in today’s world, open bags of chemicals and heavy equipment were everywhere. Spray rigs for the ranch were waiting for repair, dripping with toxic goo. Big disc blades that could cut off a toe, or worse were propped by the 12″ galvanized sliding doors. A huge hoist could lift up a butchered cow’s carcass like a feather. Mysterious and wonderful things were in the shop, and I loved sneaking around there to check out the equipment. Boys had all the fun. Sadly, we were a family of five girls.
Presents of any kind didn’t happen too often and certainly not without a reason. At Christmas, there was one gift for each girl and occasional gifts from relatives, if they remembered. My Auntie TJ never forgot. Her gifts were always the ones I waited for. Special and just right, she knew us so well.
On my tenth Christmas, Santa brought one gift so special it left me speechless. My first box of Legos. Primary colors. Little square and rectangular blocks. No specialty pieces. Just a box to blocks with which to build things. I was in heaven, slowly adding to my set from year to year.
Fast forward to Winter 2020 in Walmart. A down-in-the-dumps kind of day, I was purchasing some toys for the Children’s Hospital just west of here. It was then I accidentally found myself in the LEGO aisle. No longer just squares and rectangles, there were boxes of every type of LEGO known to the world. It was then I realized I never stopped loving them.
Looking from side to side for onlookers, I found the perfect set and put it in my basket camouflaged by the toys for the hospital. THIS set was mine. Christmas is a great time to let the inner child run the show.
The box sat for a year, just collecting dust. With so many adult things to do, every time I looked at it, I felt silly and childish. Why did this 65 year old woman purchase such a toy? Utterly ridiculous! Shameful! Here’s the deal. I didn’t return it. 😁
During the winter Olympics a few weeks ago, I remembered the box and took it out. Well, the genie is out of the bottle. LEGOs are still as fun as they every were. Gone are the rectangular and square pieces in red, blue, and yellow. There are inventive and wonderful pieces that make all sorts of interesting projects. Mine happened to be an RV with moving parts and adorable tires.
Now, LEGOs are not for those gifted with true talents for carving wood or painting pictures. Not for those that can sew up a dress out of nothing or create a handmade dollhouse from scratch. They are for those of us that are challenged by following simple directions, while hoping that we use all the pieces in the right place. We, too, need a little creation to sit on the shelf.
Next Christmas, Santa will bring me that functioning LEGO typewriter. Age — 18+. “Perfect for that special writer. 2,079 pieces.”
Have yourself some fun today, whatever life brings you. It’s never to late to play. Isn’t retirement grand?
The other day, I was in working in the “vault” of my online banking account. One of the last things VST taught me was how to navigate through our online banking site. Decades ago, we switched from “In-Person” banking to online banking. It’s been convenient and safe. So Far.
I make it a habit to check in with the banking every day. Crooks these days are quick, so a daily wellness check on the banking site is important. On my site, there are a variety of alarms that sound off from time to time. Alerts for messages. Bills that are due. And a new one that came to my attention last month. A monthly Credit Review.
There are three main credit agencies and your FICO score (credit scoring model designed by Fair Isaac Corporation) can be found on any of them. Equifax. Experian. TransUnion. Each one offers a free credit report once a year. I was about to get my free review from all three at once when my banker suggested I stagger the reports throughout the year. Such a good idea. Every four months, request a free report with another company. Mark your calendar so you don’t forget.
Reviewing posted information for my first report, I found some obvious errors. My entire teaching career was missing from the report. Isn’t that a rather important part of credit??? Everything seemed in order except one thing. I found a delinquent account reported in 2001. It was reported that I stiffed someone for $327. Yes. A credit card company. Walked right away from that bill.
Now, I’ve done a lot of things in my life. Some things I’m not so proud of. But, walking away from a credit card obligation isn’t in the lineup. Even in our poorest days, the bills came first. VST and I were careful about the bills. Always. This information was incorrect so I disputed the delinquent charge.
“Thank you for your inquiry. You will hear back within a month.”
Sure enough, this week, I heard back. The abandoned bill wasn’t mine and removed immediately. After 21 years of being there, of course.
Credit is so important to a widow. You never know when you’ll need to borrow on that rainy day. Last summer, my air conditioner broke. After catching my breath, I had no choice but to replace it as the sun is pretty hot in the high desert of Northwestern Nevada. Expenses don’t stop for the grieving. Life keeps rolling along.
Along with checking your credit report at least once a year (free), be sure to keep an eye on your credit card charges and balances. My cards have been compromised a few times. Just call the number on the back of the card and they’ll have you up and running in no time. Always stow a second card in case something happens to your main card.
Talking to some women in church the other day, I was surprised how many don’t shop online. I was one of them long ago. These days, everything is online. Even grocery shopping on some days. During my last shopping experience at Costco, a customer was run over in the parking lot requiring an ambulance. I love ordering staples from the safety and comfort of my kitchen table. My paper towels, coffee, and laundry detergent arrive within two business days. They never let me down.
As for Oliver, Chewy’s delivers his dog food and toys. Amazon handles everything else. In all the transactions I’ve made, I’ve had few problems. If one does arise, the bank is excellent in handling it. The key is to keep a watchful eye on things.
In my banking experience, it has been most helpful that all my business is with one large bank. Checking accounts, credit cards, and investments can all be seen from the main website. It’s convenient having everything in one place.
So, along with the dust bunnies and window washing, take a little time to look at your finances and credit accounts. As widows and widowers, it’s all up to us now. We can do this!
Turn on the television these days and what’s playing at any given time, day or night? Adults behaving badly. Screaming in the name of what they’ve decided is right. Yelling over each other. Setting a bad example in technicolor. The worst behavior get the highest ratings. The world has become The Jerry Springer Show. At some point, I started to accept this as the norm. Until last night.
Baptist on Main needs some updates. Built in 1974, there’ve been updates along the way. The building is structurally sound. Although a little worn around the edges, so are we, the members that attend. It’s a high desert church of Northwestern Nevada. Paint peels a little around here. Carpet gets worn. Those aren’t the reasons our membership is growing. God is.
Last night, Pastor C called a business meeting to order at 6PM sharp. Familiar faces settled into their seats to discuss the needs of our building. Everyone was Sunday Morning friendly on a lovely Wednesday evening.
First on the agenda was discussion about a new sign. Our sign is a 1974 model. It’s outdated, with black plastic letters that are changed every other week with our message. As signs go, it’s a nice sign. The thing is, it truly needs updating. I’m not sure if anyone thought of pressure washing the thing and spray painting it. A sparkly new sign will cost $30,000. That’s a chunk of change in a town of 25,000 people. We’re a fixture on Main Street. Everyone knows the building and who we are. Although a bright and shiny sign glowing with electronic messages would be cool, we aren’t the glow in the dark kind of folk.
While viewing Sign #1, #2, and #3, people discussed their favorites. All lovely. Personally, I see a $30,000 target for vandalism. One pellet gun could ruin a big investment with a single shot. With removable letters, the most vandals can do is change the message. One company was located 75 miles to the East. The other company was in Florida. Not much service available when the provider is on the east coast.
The remarkable part of this meeting was how this issue was discussed in a lovingly and quiet way. Dressing up the sanctuary was the goal, not personal victories. The committee put a lot of time and effort into their project. They had their personal favorites for different reasons. They had gotten the very best prices they could using hours of their own time. Sometimes church work is behind the scenes without many thanks. It’s always an offering of time and gas. Without reaching a decision, we went on to the next topic.
Future plans for expansion were discussed. There were the lofty thoughts of a new sanctuary with all the bells and whistles. Then, there were practical suggestions of rearranging furniture to provide more space in the Sunday school classrooms for our 12 students. After an hour of meaningful and respectful dialogue, the membership decided to table everything for right now. A purging and rearrangement of furniture will be first on the list. I’d imagine the same people will show up on our church work days. The church savings account remains untouched for now. After hugs and well wishes, everyone left with smiles on their faces.
I wish this meeting would’ve been televised to demonstrate adults behaving like adults. It was a beautiful example of a goal driven meeting. An example of how to show love for one another. Listening skills and indoor voices were used. No one turned red and stomped out of the sanctuary. After all, it was for the love of our place of worship that we met.
The meeting started with praises for many wonderful things that had happened to members since Monday. Even the weather is looking like spring. As we met, the sun hadn’t set on another bright and beautiful day on the high desert plains.
Naomi is missing.
Then, we prayed for our Naomi. Naomi is 18. I’ve never met her. She is a brave girl making her way in this world. Certainly she’s braver than I was at 18. Her mom and dad work in South Africa while she lives here and works at a factory 20 minutes down the road.
Saturday, she was waiting outside our Walmart for a bus ride to work. Around 5:00 AM, a hooded man was caught on camera. He overpowered her, taking both her and the vehicle. The car’s been found riddled with signs of foul play. Naomi is missing. She wasn’t missed until Sunday evening and by then, leads were fading.
I stopped going to that Walmart some time ago. Right on an interstate, it didn’t feel safe anymore. These days, it’s hard to find things that do feel safe. Just yesterday, Willow asked if I would help her learn to shop online. As a new widow, she’d like to shop from the comfort of her own home. The mall isn’t a place to meet people anymore, but a place to look over your shoulder before you dash to your car with keys at the ready.
Nevada is an “Open Carry” state. My town is a gun town. It’s full of manly men and strong women capable of protecting themselves. For goodness sakes, Pastor C owns his own gun shop. But, on March 12th at 5:00 AM in that empty, dark parking lot, no one was there to protect Naomi.
As you read this, please pray that more people remember kindness and respect. Please pray that our leaders would behave like adults and be quietly helpful. Please pray for the innocents in Ukraine. Please pray for our Naomi. We need her back. She’s one of us. Desert Strong.
Driving through town last night, you’d never know anything was amiss. The Tee Pee Bar and Grill had the usual five cars in the parking lot, while The Bear’s Den was overflowing. No traffic to speak of, even though it was the evening of St. Patrick’s Day. The truck stops were bustling with activity, but there was no sign of police presence. That’s usual, because, 18 year old women didn’t get snatched while waiting for a work shuttle.
The hidden homeless encampment secreted by the brick next to the freeway is now exposed. The homeless near the abduction site have moved on. Otherwise, the town’s folk carry on, many not even knowing this happened.
The usual things you read about in other abductions are happening. The ribbon makers are sitting at the local Pizza joint making Rainbow pins. Flyers are being sent far and wide. The candlelight vigil is being planned by a family friend. The “Find Naomi” Face Book page is up and running, keeping everyone informed of what the news isn’t saying.
Last night, in a tiny lake town next to an Indian Reservation, law enforcement showed up with lights blazing. The locals wrote about both uniformed and plain clothed officers working an area. The FBI had arrived. You can tell from the picture, this isn’t a city. There are thousands of square miles with desert terrain just like this. Naomi could be anywhere, but they chose this spot to investigate. With requests for the public to “Stay Away”, they worked late into the night searching for possible evidence in the case.
As today’s sun rises, there’ll be more facts and rumors weaving a tale more fantastical than the girl they are about. With the best luck, we will all be celebrating her return. But then, the story may end like it does for so many young women these days. With tragedy facing her friends, family, and our little town.
Please keep Naomi and her family in your thoughts and prayers.
Help Bring Naomi Home!MISSING –Naomi Christine Irion — Google her name for more information
These have been some sad days in our town with the kidnapping of 18 year old Naomi Irion. Slowly, the town is filling with ribbons, as towns do when something terrible has happened. Naomi loved rainbows so her ribbons have all the colors. Tuesday night, hundreds attended a candlelight vigil, with many more people lighting virtual candles in hopes of a safe outcome. Our town doesn’t lose our young girls. At least not until now.
Her parents and brothers have flown in from South Africa. The town raised the funds for them to do so on a Go-Fund Me Account. Her sister is here from Texas. Her brother, with whom she lived, is a local. My town has come together to find her. Last Saturday, 700 people searched on horseback, ATV’s, Jeeps, and Trucks. Nevada’s desert plains are vast. The town spent the day looking, along with local police and even the FBI.
Just look at the high desert of Northwestern Nevada on Google Earth. This is a difficult task. I could drive on dirt roads for a hundred miles in any direction and never meet up with a soul. Naomi could be thousands of miles away, or she could be right under our noses. She is SOMEWHERE and SOMEONE knows SOMETHING. Please come forward.
Naomi’s story is viral now. She was taken from a town right next to some major interstates. I-80, Highway 50, Highway 95A, Highway 50A, Highway 95, Highway 395. All those roads lead in different directions. She could be anywhere by now. She’s not a small girl. 5’11”. 200+ lbs. Keep an eye out for things that don’t look right. Report anything you know to the police. Her family needs our help. We need her back.
As for me, I’ve been a busy one. Last Saturday, Ace invited me to join him in California for a change of scenery. Even though his town has a smaller population than mine, it is a busier place. People were out and about in mass. I was lucky enough to enjoy a beautiful breakfast at the town’s tiny airport where we ate just feet away from the planes. It’s wonderful that the world is returning to normal, even though it might not be exactly as before.
On my side of the Sierra’s, we stopped in at Cabella’s. If you’re interested in outdoor activities, hunting, or guns, this place is for you. They have everything the adventurous person would need. From hiking and biking to fishing and hunting. Target practice. Clothes in which to look cute while target practicing. Purses for secreting personal protection.
When first entering the store, two very friendly associates were pushing their credit cards. It’s been a long time since I opened a new line of credit, but their deal was so great, I did. Along with the Visa, they’re offering $$$ off purchases, $$$ towards future purchases, a Cabella’s hat, and a versitle, multi-headed tool in purple or green.
While I was excited about my extra’s, Ace was a little down that he didn’t get goodies when opening his account just a week before in California. Sure enough, the Nevada people were happy to give him the knife and hat, as well. Happiness for all. Sometimes it’s the smallest things. If you are near Cabella’s, drop in. You won’t be disappointed, unless you’re looking for perfume, an evening gown, or stilettos. On second thought, they might have the stilettos, as the definition reads — a short dagger with a tapering blade. Hmm, I thought the word referred to heels only. Silly me.
Now back home, the mountains around here are the slightest shade of gray-green. In the desert, that’s as much green as you can expect. Mustang foals are making their grand appearance. The herds have made it through another winter. We all have.
Please keep Naomi in your hearts and minds. Send prayers for her safe return. She has her entire life in front of her. We need her back.
More tomorrow.
PS– Watch more about Naomi’s case at KOLO, KTVN, or KRNV in Reno. Podcast at Crime Stories with Nancy Grace. Several stories on YouTube.
VST’s headstone will lay between the two tallest ones.
Who would even think that creating, purchasing, and setting a headstone would become a nearly impossible task? Of all the things I’ve gone through as a widow, this wasn’t something I considered as difficult. It seemed it would be something easily done. Two years later, I’ve found out differently.
Choosing the right place to memorialize VST took some consideration. There are family plots in the Central Valley of California, but that’s too far away. VST wasn’t a US Veteran, so that eliminated the National Cemetery in my town. Although his ashes will be spread, I wanted a place to go. A place to think. A place to grieve. A place for friends and family to remember him. Virginia City, Nevada was the last place we dreamed and lived together. My “Bionic Cowboy” was never happier than taking his daily walks on the boardwalk. Everyone in town knew VST. A headstone would be fitting there.
The next step was to find a stone cutter to create the headstone. This was not to be an easy task. In case you haven’t done this lately, you are in for a surprise. In the biggest little city to the west of me, headstones are ordered online. Can you pick your own slab? No. You can’t even see what it might look like when finished. All are computer-generated and delivered by Fed Ex. That didn’t sit well with me, but the next part was horrifying.
“I’m planning to place the headstone in the cemetery at Virginia City. How much will it cost to set it in concrete?” I asked.
“Virginia City?” he asked with a puzzled expression.
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
“We don’t set headstones there. You can come pick it up when it arrives and set it yourself.”
Excuse Me, Mr. Funeral Guy????? Are you kidding me??? You’re kidding, right???? This little old 66 year old woman is going to come to your office, pick up a 180 lb. headstone, hoist it in the back of my Jeep, travel to Virginia City Cemetery and set the stone in concrete? Has this man lost his flippin’ mind????????
These days, I’m constantly floored by society. In this case, Mr. Funeral Guy (MFG) works in the business of grief. Wearing shorts and tapping his little flip-flopped sandal, our conversation was obviously going no where. Besides, he had a tee-time and was sure I knew that. Only one thing raced through my mind.
FERGETABOUTIT!
I wasn’t purchasing a headstone online. This wasn’t a casual purchase. This was a stone that will last hundreds of years, like the others in the Virginia City Cemetery. Although two years have passed, I’m a grieving widow. Widows don’t set their husbands headstones as they did in the prairie days. Zero Stars for Mr. Funeral Guy.
T and K met in on a sad day in the Central Valley at a real headstone manufacturer. They chose all the elements, lovingly creating a beautiful headstone. Even so, it took months to create. The headstone will still need to be transported to Virginia City by family, but it feels more personal coming from the Central Valley where VST became a man, married me, raised our children, and became a Grandpa.
I met with the Virginia City Cemetery care taker, Donald, almost six months ago. On a fall day, we walked around the cemetery to choose the right spot. As it turns out, when placing a headstone in Virginia City Cemetery, you just pick a spot. There are no pristine rows of manicured plots. In a mosaic of headstones, you just find a spot you like and claim it. Donald knows who is buried where. He makes the rules.
“How do I select the spot once I find it?” I asked.
“Just set a rock on it.” Donald replied.
Just so you understand, Virginia City is a big pile of rocks. Big rocks. Little rocks. It’s a town that has been mined numerous times. Everything sits on one big pile of rocks. This is not a green cemetery. It’s a rock cemetery. One rock looks just like all the rest.
Finally, I found the perfect spot. VST’s headstone overlooks all of VC and The DunMovin’ House. VST always had to know what was happening around town. From his spot, C Street and all the excitement of the tourists can be seen and heard. From this little cemetery hill, the Washoe Zephyr Winds will gently blow from the west towards the east. From where we came together to where he left me alone. In my new little town, evening winds will pass over VC to me, connecting my past with my present.
On April 8th, we’ll meet in Virginia City one last time. Neighbors, friends, children, grandchildren. I hope the Sheriff stops by.
Donald did agree to set VST’s stone. Thank goodness that isn’t something I need to worry about. I’ll put a little heart in the concrete for good measure. With all the yards and yards of concrete work VST and I did over the decades, signing our pieces was something we always enjoyed.
After we’re done, we’ll have a meal at Virginia City’s finest restaurant, Café del Rio. So many happy memories were made on the side of Mt. Davidson, elevation 6200 ft. Although our life story ended on April 8th, 2020, it’s a story I’ll remember with love for the rest of my life.
It’s been two weeks now since Naomi was kidnapped. A girl with big dreams finally living her own life in the safest town in America. I moved to this little place because it was so safe. Out in the middle of no where, bad guys would need to be crazy to come here. There is not much to rob or pillage. Just a sweet little desert town.
Just the other day, I met a Marine in California. He was a crusty old sort for being in the middle of his life. He was complaining about everything in the world. This was wrong. That was wrong. But looking in his eyes, you could tell that he wasn’t happy. That was the real reason everything else was wrong. I mentioned that he could always step across the Sierra Nevada’s and live in a good state like Nevada.
“Nevada? Who the heck would want to live there?”
I get that response from many of my California friends. When VST and I first chose to move to Nevada, it was for political and financial reasons. We wanted a fresh start. Nevada was the closest place to start. Wyoming was always called to my heart but the distance was too great. Nevada would have to do.
Nevada has exceeded every hope I had for a new home. Desert life will morph into anything you want it to be. Want to be miserable and see only brown desolation? There it is, staring you in the face. But, when you open your eyes and really examine the wonders of the desert, you just might find a wild mustang looking you right in the face. The green isn’t blinding here. But, the springtime greening of our hills does occur. When you do see the Truckee River flowing into Pyramid Lake, you appreciate the beauty of water. Our crackers don’t turn stale if we leave them out overnight. Nevada has everything except the Pacific Ocean. Until now, it felt very safe.
There are no smash and grab robberies here. No major forest fires bringing terror to the fleeing public. Earthquakes aren’t as severe, as we are on a primitive ocean bed of sand, cushioning all the action. There aren’t pile ups in the fog, or hours sitting in the car in traffic jams. There are no angry mobs taking over entire towns. It’s quiet. You can hear yourself think about important things. You can watch migrating birds. Imagine shapes in the most beautiful clouds. Enjoy the Zephyr Winds. Until now.
Last night, at around 8:30, it was announced that the monster has been found. The soulless piece of flesh that kidnapped Naomi. He didn’t only ruin her life, but disrupted something special here in our little town. His eyes are vacant, like that of a great white. He has a smirk on that ugly mugshot. He knows where she is. He did this. It’s on video.
The Walmart from where Naomi was stolen hasn’t been my Go-To place for some time now. Choosing to drive 30 minutes across the desert, I’ve felt safer. The Eastern Walmart store has been cleaner. The associates friendlier. This monster was arrested only a couple miles from the front door of that Walmart. Two communities are now on edge. What a big man…… Now where is safe?
Spending time on “Naomi Irion – Missing/Abduction – Fernley, Nevada” Facebook site last night, I read posts from a community in shock. Hearts are breaking. We all want her back. Now. Family members were absent from the site last night. I hope they found comfort in the prayers being sent for them.
Today there will be a community search by foot. It’ll be interesting to see how many thousands show up. Rainbow ribbons are everywhere. The sunset was a ablaze in a rainbow of colors last night. A sign? Please God, let it be a sign that she’ll come home today. We all need a miracle.
Naomi’s Sunset — Friday, 3/25/2020 Rainbows come in many forms. Thank you, Barb Lund.
Yesterday, the town came together for another search. This time, it was on foot on a very hot, dry desert day. This says a lot. As I pulled weeds in the garden yesterday, the sun was getting pretty warm by 10 AM. 150 citizens went out in the desert to look for any and every clue, down to the tiniest thing that looked out of place.
All the while, the arrested piece of soul-less flesh sits in an air-conditioned cell. Something is so wrong with this picture. You see, he’s an experienced murderer. At 17 years of age, he helped kill a man and dispose of a body. That’s who stalked and kidnapped an 18 year old girl in our town. Truly, a real-life monster among us.
Listening to her mom’s pleas, I wish Naomi could be teleported into her arms. I can’t imagine waiting and not knowing. We’d love a few minutes with this monster. The community would make him talk, the easy way or the hard way. But, that’s not who we are. We aren’t monstrous. We have hearts. And so, we wait and pray for Naomi’s return.
The sky was flaming with rainbow colors on the evening the monster was arrested. The rainbow is a beautiful symbol hijacked by one particular group. Rainbows and lollipops. As a child, I certainly grew up loving them. I still do. As a woman, they represent an everlasting covenant between between God and man to me. Their exquisite beauty make me stop in my tracks whenever I see one.
At only 18, Naomi was a still a girl in many ways. She grew up in many different countries in the world in which the rainbow didn’t have hidden meaning. I can assure you, a rainbow in Russia or South Africa is just that, a RAINBOW. How refreshing that she loved rainbows for the beauty they hold. I wish the world could go back to a simpler time, when a rainbow was something magnificent to behold far beyond ridiculous earthly symbolism.
Winterpast knows nothing of current headlines and human strife. The gardens are sprinkled with an abundance of weeds. They weren’t so prevalent last year. Almost non-existent the year before. It seems I need to apply a pre-emergent treatment which will stop weeds from growing. Caution. It stops anything starting from a seed from growing. Be careful where you apply this. “Preen” comes to mind. I need to check and make sure Ollie will be safe with whatever product I choose. Although highly effective, pre-emergents do wear off after many years, especially in a harsh desert climate.
The irises are just starting to awaken. So funny that in California, the irises and daffodils are in full bloom, along with every other flower known to man-kind. We cherish our desert blooms because it takes water and effort to grow them in the garden. In my neighborhood, there are only three or four houses that have traditional yards with mature trees. The rest of them are desert-scaped. It’s a luxury to have an oasis in the backyard. For me, a necessity.
Trimming the roses, I wonder what type of crop I’ll have this year? It’s time to start developing the blank areas in my back yard. Plant some nice hedges next to the back fence. A few more bushes. Some flowering plants. And, lots of annuals. My completion date is July 4th. Who knows? Maybe I’ll host a big party this year.
Last night, Mr. B, the gardener, called to remind me it was time to turn on the water. It sounds easy enough. Go to the faucet and turn it on. When living in a harsh environment with snowy winters, it’s a little more complicated. The garden water must be turned off at the main line when the night frosts begin, and turned on again when the temperatures remain above 32 degrees Fahrenheit. It’s that time of year. Once the sprinklers start sprinkling, everything will come back to life.
Two years after arriving at Winterpast, she and I are a unit. Her garden walls provide peace and tranquility in troubled times. The desert gave a rainbow sunset on the evening Naomi’s kidnapper was arrested. Now, if the desert will just give her back. She’s out there somewhere. Hopefully, today will be the day she’s brought back home.
Danger is part of life. In my case, the Wild, Wild West is alive and well. Naomi is still missing, along with several other missing and dead women in my area. For some reason, the news isn’t reporting many of them. Not every victim reaches the status of Gabby Petito or Naomi Irion. Not every case goes viral. Plenty of families in our country wait years for their missing loved one to return. We just don’t hear about them.
Take for instance, a lovely woman named Anna Scott. Found in her burned car, she had been shot in the head. The car was found on a busy freeway. IN PLAIN SITE. The case grows colder every day. Someone knows something somewhere.
The hand signal in the image above was created by a person on Tic Toc to quietly alert someone that something is wrong. If you are out and about and see someone repeatedly making this sign with their hand, you may be the only one around to help. You could easily save a life by alerting the authorities. If you are in an abusive relationship, you can easily flash this to someone on a video chat. It’s brand new. Many people haven’t learned it yet. It saved a girl just recently.
Most importantly, be aware of your surroundings. There is a You Tube site that addresses Active Self Protection (ASP). Here you’ll find many helpful reminders of things we can do to keep safe, even as a Senior Citizen. The first is to avoid dangerous situations all together. Sadly, in this world, that isn’t always possible. Pumping gas comes to mind. Where is your “go-to” gas station. Are the pumps well lit? Is there a convenience store attached? Do people recognize you there? Do you look at others at the pump before you unlock your door? Do you keep your car doors locked while inside?
I used to love getting up early to be at Walmart or Lowe’s by 6 AM. The stores are quiet and clean at that time. For some reason, I thought bad guys like to sleep in. I’ve recently discovered that a high percentage of crimes occur in the early morning hours. Examine your routines and make sure that you are shopping at a time of day in which folks are around to help if something goes wrong. Make sure your routines aren’t predictable.
If you see something that doesn’t look right, turn your car around and leave. Naomi did a strange thing the morning she was kidnapped. Day after day, video surveillance showed her parking in the same spot. The day she was taken, she chose a different spot more in the shadows of the lot. She had promised her mom that she always parked under the light and in view of the cameras. That day, she parked in a different spot. As we are all creatures of habit, why did she do that on that morning? Did she notice the creeper lurking behind the cars? Did her spider sense kick in? We won’t know until she is found and able to tell us.
Being aware of people and your immediate surroundings can make you safer and, perhaps, help someone in trouble. Bad people don’t always look sinister. The person walking behind you may not be a danger, but danger doesn’t always come from behind. Try to avoid being a sitting target. Don’t get in your car and sit in the parking lot while checking messages. Especially at Walmart. Walmart is not the safe place we all wish it was. Walmart attracts a certain element.
As a single senior citizen, DO NOT stop to help a stranded person. Call 911. Stopping to help someone on the road could be the beginning of a carjacking situation. Sadly, it’s not the world in which we grew up. Unless you are packing protection, you can’t be the hero in that situation. Avoid being the victim.
Today, take some time and think of your personal protection plan. In your home, what items do you have that could cause bodily harm to an intruder. Mace is great, but it can also disable you. Wasp spray is a great one. The long stream of chemical is great for an eye shot. A baseball bat. Even a disposable Air Horn. Don’t forget the button on your “Help Me, I Can’t Get Up” pennant. My unit would alarm the angels in heaven as voices blare, “Ambulance on the way! Ambulance on the way!”
Danger-fatigue weighs heavy on all our shoulders. As a widow, traveling solo after decades of marriage increases that. No matter how tough anyone imagines it is, it’s 100 million times more lonely, frustrating, tiring, and terrifying. It’s exhausting trying to fill the void that a missing partner leaves. In my case, the missing partner that always gave 150% to my 75% (although he would tell you the percentages were reversed). Don’t ever tell a widow you know how they feel unless you’ve walked through that wilderness. Trust me, you don’t have a clue.
Stay aware. Stay safe. Be prepared to get away from danger should it come knocking.
In the mean time, please pray for Naomi. We want her home, safe and sound. Her kidnapper will be arraigned today at noon. Pray for his continued confinement and “No Bail”. Let’s all hope today is the day Naomi comes home.
Two and a half weeks later, Naomi is still missing. Her image has exploded into the world through media, but no one has seen or heard from this missing 18 year old. Kidnapped from the Walmart on March 12, she is hidden away from everyone who loves and misses her.
One of my sweetest friends cuts my hair. This young woman has it all. She’s bubbly, beautiful, and smart. She’s a great mom and a loving wife. A caring daughter and loyal sister. We became friends the first day we met two years ago. When I saw her Monday, her words summed up this entire mess.
“Joy, I take this personally. My family, friends, and neighbors take this personally. I have an 18 year old still at home.”
That explains my feelings of ownership over this tragedy. I have an 18 year old grandson that is a senior in high school. At 6′ a lot”, it wouldn’t be so easy for someone to take him. But, wait. Naomi was 5’11” and 200+ pounds. She wasn’t a tiny girl. He didn’t pick her up by her hair to drag her off. He went to her driver’s door, she moved over (her car had a bench seat), he got in, and stole her away.
The time stamps on her phone show her snap chatting at 5:24. At 5:25, the car droves off. Just that fast. All caught on video. If only she would have been more aware of her surroundings this might have ended differently.
Naomi’s image is on 20 billboards now. There is a $10,000 reward. People are just learning her name. But, the reality is, she is still missing and we want her back. We take this very personally. She was one of us.
The soul-less piece of flesh is being arraigned today at noon. It will be televised on ZOOM for anyone that wants to watch. His physical body will remain in the jail, appearing on video in the courtroom. If you happen to see his picture, don’t miss the fact that the top half of his left ear is missing. Although no one knows for sure, it appears to have been bitten off. Yes. After all, at 17 years old he assisted in the planning and execution of a young man in California, spending over a decade in prison for that crime. He helped hide the body a girlfriend shot in the back of the head. This man is bottom-of-the-barrel scum who managed to get a great job supervising men at various mines for Led Cor. What a great company to have hired a murderer to watch over their other employees. His days in the desert could be numbered if he’s released. Rattlesnakes would be the least of his worries, as the town’s people are pretty upset about Naomi’s kidnapping.
We all need to pray he stays safely tucked away in the Yerington jail, not far from here. We need him safe. Please pray that God would soften his hardened heart so that he might reveal what he did with our girl. He needs our forgiveness and prayers, but it’s a little too soon for me to embrace that thought just yet. The soul-less piece of flesh needs to fess up.
I never saw myself as a crime writer, but I’ll continue to blog for Naomi’s safe return. Please study her pictures. Keep your eyes peeled for anything that doesn’t look right. This soul-less piece of flesh spent time at the Led Cor office in Reno (he was arrested in Reno). He lived in Fallon. He joined the Silver Springs Facebook on March 13th, the day after Naomi’s disappearance. There are many missing women in our area. If you remember the tiniest thing that bothers your brain, report it to Law Enforcement. You can keep up with the case at “Naomi Irion-Missing/Abducted Fernley, Nevada”.
Please keep praying for Naomi’s safe return. We need her back.
Thinking back to my college days, I became fascinated with terrariums. They could be made from anything, but the container of choice was the coveted 5-gallon water bottle. With the help of a funnel and a long grabber tool, soil and plants were placed inside. Little tropical plants would thrive in the artificial space created just for them.
With the proper amount of sunlight and water, the level of humidity was perfect for those small plants to thrive, never growing bigger than the container. Transplanting those little plants was so much easier than transplanting an entire human life. As long as their nutritional requirements were met, the survived.
Moving to the desert, I’ve found a culture and way of life that is unique. Certainly not for everyone, even the shades spring-time green take some getting used to. Four distinct seasons are pronounced, each with their own distinct challenges and beauty. VST and I quietly moved to The Dun-Movin House in Virginia City, Nevada, sat back, and waited for our roots to take hold. Having each other, we had a wealth of shared memories to talk about. We had plenty of adventures to create over our six years together. It’s easier to transplant when you are a unit of two.
Seventeen days after his death, I transplanted to Winterpast as a Unit of One with one little dog to keep me company. The move has been easy in some ways and the most difficult thing in the world in the other. Choosing desert life has been good for me, being very similar to the one in which I grew up. Farmers. Ranchers. The Feed Store. Rodeo. Living with nature. Understanding weather patterns. Spring time and harvest. Those things are second nature to this farm girl. To someone transplanting from city life, those things can be learned, but it takes a lifetime to internalize them.
The Central Valley of California was a desert before it became the Bread-Basket of the United States. Anything you could imagine grew there until that was all abandoned and it returned to desert status. Without water, a desert is just that. Barren wasteland. Add water and can see what happens. Here in my little town, there’s not much help for the soil. Even at Winterpast, where gardens have blossomed for 18 years, the soil is still marginal. Some things can’t really be changed.
Will my tap root really grow strong enough to keep me from blowing away in the Zephyr Winds of the desert? That remains to be seen. I’ve transplanted myself in a nurturing, positive environment. My new friends are encouraging me to do my best by moving forward one day at a time. I’m finally finding out who I am and what I can accomplish. I’m also discovering all the limitations that come with my age.
At the present time, the town is comforting its residents, still in shock over the nightmare of the last three weeks. Visiting the local Walmart last night to get a few things, I noticed people staying a little closer to their loved ones. It will take some time to get over the unthinkable that took place on March 12, 2020.
One of the family members spoke yesterday, cursing the desert lands that kept Naomi hidden for weeks. The blame belongs with the one that caused this, which wasn’t Naomi or the desert. I, for one, find comfort in the wide open skies with their puffy white clouds. As the desert night skies reveal beautiful galaxies of stars more plentiful than I can count, I feel extremely blessed to live here. Nevada’s state song says it all.
“To be a praying Christian does not mean we pray occasionally, but that we pray continually — wherever we are, whatever we are doing. We must put our faith into action. Just as…..
No one can live by taking a breath once in awhile or survive by taking only a sip of water once a week.
No person can read by a light that flickers on and off.
No sailor can steer his course with only an occasional puff of wind.
So it is with prayer and the Christian life. We must pray always, in all things, and in spite of all circumstances.
Exerpt from — “God’s Little Devotional Journal for Women” Honor Books — Tulsa, Oklahoma
My goodness, what is happening around here? Just when we find the body of Naomi, a couple goes missing. With the same absence of news coverage, the silence is as vast as the desert that swallowed these two up. It doesn’t take 48 hours for people to know their loved ones are in trouble. Whoever created that rule up is insane. Sure, in New York City, why not? 48 hours is just fine. In the desert, a 48 hour wait leads to finding a girl buried in a shallow mine.
When VST and I moved our rig, I can tell you this. Our daughter knew where we’d been, where we were and where we were headed. She checked in often, and sometimes, I think she may have installed a tracking device. Nothing would make her dad smile more than getting a call as we drove mile after mile. No, if we were on the roll, family knew our plans. For the second time in a month, law enforcement has disregarded a family’s terror when a member has gone missing. That’s only the two in our area. Something’s got to change.
Here in the desert, night has a whole new meaning. If you are scared of the dark, this isn’t the place for you. The desert night is so black. You can scream, holler, and cry and the only things that will hear you are the mustangs and rattlesnakes. I can drive five minutes from my house and be in vast nothingness.
Ronnie and Bev Barker are on an RV trip on roads that VST and I traveled many, many times. I assure you, this isn’t a trek for the unexperienced or faint of heart. There are hundreds of miles with NOTHING. No services of any kind between Hawthorne, Nevada and Tonopah, Nevada. That’s a long, long stretch of Highway 95. If you’ve driven it, you know. Highway 6. Highway 95. Plenty of places to disappear.
Ron and Bev are good people. Again, I don’t know them, but, their kids said they are members of their local Search and Rescue Squad. That speaks volume to their abilities and character. Not people that just decide to blow off plans to visit friends on a Tuesday afternoon.
These two stopped in Stagecoach, Nevada on Highway 50, March 27th. That’s the last credit card purchase they made. Their rig has a 55 gallon tank. At 6 – 7 miles per gallon, they could have travelled 330 – 385 miles. Their phone last pinged in Coaldale, Nevada. It’s been a week now. They were on their way to see friends in Arizona last week, Tuesday. Now, they’re gone. Their last cell phone Again, desolation doesn’t begin to describe these places. Dangerous things can happen. Rattlesnakes are pissy when they wake up in the spring. A flat tire could lead to many other problems. One things for sure, this couple had a brand new rig and car, cell phones and computers. Their RVing life was dialed in and now, they’re GONE.
Around here, Search and Rescue requires aircraft. There are just too few roads that go anyway. Most roads off the main highways are dirt. Rutted and pot-holed. A 385 mile nightmare for their family. Where are they. It’s over a week now. The days are getting very warm, the nights are still extremely cold. Ron and Bev are in trouble.
Coaldale, Nevada — Hundreds of Miles of THIS.
As awareness for the missing around here is rising, the false sense of security is gone. A local Ammunition store is offering a Self Defense class on April 25th at our brand new community center. There’s room for 100, and those seats were gone in minutes. I hope they offer a second class, because I certainly want to attend.
In some ways, Covid did teach us the 6′ rule. That’s a space to remember for self defense. Either you want to be two arms lengths from anyone, or you want to be hugging your attacker and fighting like heck. The middle range is the danger zone where you can get smacked. Just as Chris Rock.
It will take some time for things to calm down around here. If Ronnie and Bev had to go missing, this was the best time ever. The cavalry is coming. People are revved up and ready to search. Let’s hope are found safe and sound, with nothing more than a flat tire or broken axle.
For those of you that are RVing, please be safe. Things are not like they used to be in the old days. Everything has changed. Be prepared, not scared.
Ronnie and Bev — Prayers needed for their safe return
Life is just that. A complicated balancing act of so many varied responsibilities. Retirement makes me wonder how VST and I ever kept so many balls in the air at once. At times, life seemed nearly impossible, and yet, thing always got done. In the prime of life, productive people don’t have much time for examination of the belly button.
April 8th will be the two year anniversary of VST’s death. Remembering back to those last days, a variety of needs were put on the back burner with one main focus front and center. Hospice care for my dying husband. Those days were the darkest of my life. Horrific memories still pop into my head from time to time. What could I have done differently? How could I have made things go more smoothly? Being a hospice team of one on the hillside of Mount Davidson, I did the best I could. How difficult were those days with only VST and I knowing the toll “Goodbye” took on us.
During the last 726 days, so many challenges have been conquered. From moving 350 moving boxes from storage to keeping a 1/2 acre yard lush and lovely, life’s been busy enough. There were days when I spent too much time weeping. Other days when I wasted time sleeping too much. Some days were spent just thinking about life. Each day, writing took me to a focused place that I could express an abscessed wound. Coming to the end of my second widowed year, I find that my life is finally coming into balance.
For those of you just entering the foggy wilderness of widowhood, I send my prayers and love. I wish I could send you a road map. That was the original intent of this blog. After all this time, I realize that was a bloated and arrogant thought. No one can lead another on the journey of grief. It’s all a new widow can do to put one foot in front of the other and find her own way. I know that the prayers of T, K, Miss Firecracker, CC, Ninja Neighbor, Ace, and all the others who supported me helped me find a new life, one day at a time.
Today, I was taking inventory of the parts of myself that need nurturing. Thinking of my recent activities, a personal balance is finally coming into focus. Spirituality, artistic abilities, social needs, grief, financial security, home-owner responsibilities, self care, creativity, intellect, community service, and love of nature. Listening to my inner voice, I’ve slowly plugged in nurturing activities. God’s grace and mercy have given me strength to carry on.
As a widow of 66, these are the last years in life I can enjoy activities of my very own choosing. Slowly, health and circumstances will enforce certain limits. Until that happens, I need “make hay while the sun shines”, as my dad would always say. VST would just tell me I can sleep when I’m dead”.
Awhile back, when things weren’t very balanced, I made a pie chart of my activities to see from where the imbalance came. Being a visual person, it was interesting to see that laziness was taking up more of my life than necessary. A little more social interaction was necessary. By adding a little of this and taking away a little of that, the balance I’m currently enjoying is starting to feel natural.
726 days represents quite a journey in my life. In reality, it’s only 3% of my days on earth, yet sometimes consuming 100% of my thoughts. In the big old world, April 8, 2020’s heart wrenching loss wasn’t even a hiccup. Life goes on. Grief is something we experience as we continue living. At some point along the way, the 8th’s of every single month now hold promise instead of loss. Instead of two years a widow, I’m coming up on two years with my own personal angel. Tall, dark, and extremely handsome he will always be to me. Today is the first day of the rest of my life. What will I choose to do next?
Look for your own balance. If one activity is taking up too much of your time, try a different approach. Add a new activity to spice up your life. The choices are too numerous to count.
Continued prayers for Ron and Beverly Barker. As of this writing, they haven’t been found.
Yesterday looked a lot like this picture here in the high desert plains of Nevada. The weather can’t decide yet. One minute it’s still and warming, the next overcast and blustery. It always surprises me how tall the sage brush grows. Even though it doesn’t look like it, sage brush can grow to be 4 1/2′ – 5′ tall. Everything seems closer than it really is. The ground looks flat, but it’s really uneven. All deceiving at a first glance.
Yesterday was an in-between spring day. Bright blue skies made things look warm and inviting, while the desert winds were brisk. It was the day they found Ronnie and Beverly Barker. Sadly, only Beverly was taken to the hospital. Ronnie had already died.
I don’t know these folks. They aren’t my beloved mother, father, brother, sister, aunt, uncle or friend, although they were all those things in their lives. It took nine days of red-taped insanity to get anyone to listen. Even the Nevada Silver Alert System couldn’t be activated right away because the couple didn’t live in our state. It took regular citizens to hound the governors office to bend that rule. WHATTHE HECK??? It took a week to get planes in the air, even though Beverly and Ronnie had been in the Civil Air Patrol themselves.
Ron and Beverly carried 8 days worth of supplies and medicines. They were both diabetic, according to family. Beverly used a walker.
In this crazy world, it isn’t common to make a plan and stick to it. Our generation of people do just that. These two were going to be at their friend’s house on a certain day at a certain time. It’s called an appointment. Not suggested arrival time, but a day and hour in which the visitors knock on the door and the host has an array of goodies and drinks waiting for the travelers. Pillows are fluffed and waiting for their weary heads. When one has an appointment on a certain time and day, they don’t decide at the last minute to go see the wildflowers in Death Valley, or take a side trip to Yosemite National Park. Friends and family of Ron and Beverly knew, without a shadow of a doubt, something was very, very wrong. Again, Law Enforcement didn’t LISTEN TO THE FAMILY.
My generation doesn’t decide at the last minute to take a detour in an opposite direction. We know how to prepare and execute a real plan of action. However, it’s so easy to trust travel technology. Their chosen route ended in death. How these medically fragile, elderly people were abandoned in the desert for 9 days is beyond my comprehension. Lack of action by Law Enforcement will definitely be a factor when I plan a road trip. In this day and age, we’re all on our own. Don’t expect or welcome help from anyone. Don’t expect the Calvary to come to your aide should something go wrong.
Ronnie and Beverly’s RV was located on Red Mountain near Silver Peak. I haven’t been there, but expect its a place that VST would have never chanced taking our rig. He was careful in that way. The news reported their rig was found stuck in mud. It was raining the night they went missing. Their car was gone. The couple was found a little later.
Two days ago, when no one had any idea where they could be, I had the most chilling thought. Remembering back to my own RVing days, I wondered if Beverly ever learned how to drive the rig herself. I didn’t. In an emergency, I could have. I would have. But, I also wouldn’t have known the best ways to move a 30′ house, especially on dirt roads. I remember eliminating certain motorhomes from consideration due to their extremely low clearance. Sadly, Ronnie and Beverly’s motorhome appeared to be that type. Not recommended for off road adventures.
I also wouldn’t have had strength enough to unhook the Jeep trailing behind the rig. Ladies, if you are the passenger of an RV, insist that you know how and are able to do these two things. Be an active participant because it just might save your life.
As the days go on, please join in prayer for Beverly’s recovery from this nightmare. Please pray that our “protectors” change some laws to locate vulnerable people that get lost in the desert. Minutes are critical in “Missing Person” cases. In the last month, Nevada authorities have twice wasted valuable days, resulting in death to victims.
Thank goodness for Missing Person Facebook Pages. It was because of thousands of interested people that both cases received attention from the press and law enforcement. Those concerned followers got Civil Patrol planes in the air.
Heal quickly, Beverly. Rest in Peace, Ronnie. You are missed.
If you have been following, you know my area has been hit by two high profile cases in the last month. The one that brought back so memories and emotions has been that of Ronnie and Beverly Barker and their disappearance while RVing in a place I know very well. It took nine days for the authorities to get it together to find them. Once the air search began, they were discovered in a few hours. Ronnie died because of the Nevada’s legal road blocks on days 1-8.
Law enforcement — #LISTENTOTHEFAMILY.
The following speaks for itself of the strength and courage of Ronnie and Beverly Barker. It speaks of their faith in God Almighty. It speaks of so many things bigger than us, you just need to read it and find the message for yourself.
Written by Ronnie and Beverly Barker’s relatives Travis Peters, Lynn Bledsoe, Chris and Jennifer Whaley. Told by Beverly Barker, survivor.
UPDATE 9:22 EDT 4/6/22
If anyone would like to see my full interview it will be on at 10:00pm Indiana time / 7pm Nevada time. Just open Facebook and go to the WTHR-TV homepage and out Facebook live segment will begin. I’m not use to being on that side of the lens.
UPDATE 8:02pm EDT 4/6/22
I don’t even know how to tell everyone the story… I will try to tell the best I can. About 6:15pm, we received a group video call from Jennifer. Like you all, we were waiting anxiously to hear how Bev is doing and get some details about what happened. Jennifer appeared on the phone and waited for everyone to appear…. she was sitting in the driver’s seat of a car so we assumed she was headed to the hotel after visiting with Bev. There was a gasp of astonishment when Jennifer simply panned the phone over and there was Beverly sitting in the passenger seat of the rental car. You guys cannot imagine the rush of emotion that shot thru us all….
We anticipated Jennifer was going to tell us what happened, but instead we were given the story directly from Beverly.
Through an intermittent cell signal, and the voice of someone that had just spent 9 days on the side of the mountain we heard the details. I will attempt to re-tell this but I will never get it 100% correct but I will try.
Beverly stated that the GPS was to blame for getting them into the pickle they found themselves in. The “highway” switch was not turned on in the GPS settings so I suppose it found the shortest route to their destination and that’s the way they went. I’m unclear of where they were heading on that Sunday evening, that’s a detail I missed when talking with her.
In any event they started down the road, following directions. There never was a fear that they were doing anything wrong. Bev recalls they they saw other cars, I believe she even mentioned another motorhome was seen. The directions had them making turns and they knew they were going up a mountain but I don’t think they ever had a fear that they were doing anything wrong. Bev said that the RV was doing just fine on the road other than the fact that they had to slow down because the trailer dolly that was bouncing around if they went too fast. Eventually the motorhome became stuck in the gravel and sand that was their roadbed. In my mind I pictured them stuck in the mud, but I think it was more of the sand.
They were going nowhere that Sunday night so they figured that they would just sleep in the RV and just hop in the Kia Soul in the morning and just continue up and over the mountain and get help to free their RV.
Without thinking about it, they just got in the car the next morning (Monday) and drove away from the RV. Thought wasn’t given to getting some water or blankets… They were ok, they just needed to go get some help to get the RV. Bev said they continued and came across numerous intersections and they took a wrong turn and eventually found themselves stuck again.
The next part of this story isn’t about the struggle to survive, because yes, that was happening. No, the rest of this story can only be described as a religious experience. I cannot provide a day-by-day account, but I will give you some details only because Beverly gave me permission to tell you all.
They remained with the stranded Kia, roughly 2 miles from where they left the RV. They had no idea how far they had went or how to begin to get back to the rig, especially in the shape they were in physically. They stayed with their vehicle and Ronnie would tap out SOS signals on the horn every 10 minutes. Ronnie taught Bev the pattern and she would do the same throughout the 9 day ordeal.
It was cold at night. Bev said the temps dropped to roughly 27. She never mentioned hunger as an issue, but thirst was their enemy. I’m unsure of when things got to the point that Bev had to begin taking care of my uncle as the dehydration began to pull the life from him.
Bev mentioned finding the strength to walk a long way to get snow that remained along a ridge. She used her walker for balance and she had bags that she would fill with snow before returning to uncle Ronnie. She mentioned using N95 masks that they had in the car to hold the snow. My uncle Ronnie was dying, and there was nothing they could do but honk that horn and try to melt snow for drink.
Bev mentioned the beauty of the area they were stranded in. She recalled how gorgeous the blue skies were and how many aircraft they would see crisscrossing the skies. I THINK she mentioned hearing or seeing someone that was looking for them but the cell signal made it hard to understand her at times. She spoke of the nights and how beautiful the stars were as they cuddled in the backseat of the Kia Soul.
My uncle was having difficulty breathing so Bev would have to position herself in ways that allowed Ronnie’s lungs to get air. She joked about one time she put her leg across his body and he told her it felt good because of the warmth she was providing him.
My uncle began to see Ananias from the Bible and he would talk to Ronnie. Ronnie asked Bev to read to him from the bible and she would do so as they passed the hours and days in the car.
Ronnie blamed himself for getting them into the situation but I do not think that there was any blame for him to shoulder. Eventually peace came upon the both of them and Ronnie Barker passed away at 3:12pm on Monday April 4. Beverly said that she snapped a photo so that she would remember the time of his passing.
She left her husband in the back seat and moved to the front of the car and resumed the only thing she could do….honk the horn….S O S….. She became frightened that the battery had died at some point after Ronnie passed. She went to honk and nothing happened. She waited a few hours and though to try again and luckily it started to honk again.
She remained with Ronnie and the next day (yesterday) unbenounced to her, rescuers located the RV. They were able to see the tire tracks and began following, although they were having a difficult time keeping the tracks as the desert would swallow them occasionally. Finally, after 9 days on Red Mountain, a rescuer heard that S-O-S coming from the Kia and Aunt Bev was finally safe.
Bev didn’t go into details of how she felt when she saw her rescuers. She said that they asked her what she needed and she instantly said “Water!” They asked if she needed food and amazingly after 9 days with nothing to eat she told them that she really wasn’t hungry.
She never mentioned weeping for her loss, I’m not sure she had the water to even form tears at that moment. She didn’t mention fighting anything that was happening around them. It was like they were ok with how it could end.
My friends…….that is everything she told me that I can recall. I was due to record an interview with my evening reporter Scott Swan so I think I staggered from my edit bay and he was the first person I saw so I told him I had just talked to Bev. We were already supposed to record an interview, so with Beverly’s blessing I talked to Scott and told him what I just told you all.
I will post that interview later this evening for you to hear. I still have questions…. where were they trying to get to? When did the gas run out? Bev mentioned that it had 3/4 of a tank when they started down the mountain. Did they ever come close to rescue? Did they see any search aircraft? Minor details that really don’t matter at this point.
The story has been told to me, and me to you….A miracle took place on Red Mountain. There’s no physical way that Bev would have been able to make it to get snow time after time without the Lord carrying her up to that ridge. The story Bev told, while heartbreaking, was uplifting as well. There was way more talk about how they were at peace with the fate that was closing in on them. There were more words of love and kindness to each other than pain and suffering. It truly was a religious experience.
I often tell people that my favorite church is when I’m alone in the woods or out on a creek or lake. It’s real…and there’s nothing fake about my church. Ron and Bev spent 9 days in my favorite church and in a way I’m very jealous of the spot that the Lord chose to bring Uncle Ronnie home.
We told Bev of all the prayers that you all were sending out. We told her of people from England and Australia that reached out to us. All of those dropped what they were doing and went looking for them in that Nevada high desert. She thanks all of you from the bottom of her heart. Thank you all….
The following words are the “official” statement we are now releasing to members of the media. We thank them all for their coverage of this harrowing story, and we ask that they continue to follow us as we try to get things changed so that no family has to struggle for the help we were seeking. Ronnie Barker passed away on Monday 4/4. Beverly was rescued roughly 21 hours later. Had proper steps been taken from the moment they were reported as missing, my Uncle would be alive today. Your inability to deal with this situation cost my uncle his life. I hope that haunts you for the rest of yours.
————-Statement from the Family of Ronnie & Beverly Barker April 6, 2022
The family of Ronnie and Beverly Barker wish to thank those who participated in the search and rescue operations to locate our beloved family members. The outpouring of support was nothing short of incredible by the members of the local community. Our hearts are full because of the efforts that were put forth to help us bring Ron and Bev back home again to Indiana.
While the loss of Ronnie Barker is tragic, we are grateful that Beverly was found alive and can now begin her recovery from this tragic ordeal. We are grateful that Beverly will be able to fill in the blanks and give us the answers that we all so desperately seek.
Ronnie Barker loved his family and loved his country. He served our nation proud over his 26 year career in the United States Air Force. Ronnie was a believer in our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. He was proud of his faith and was always willing to give to others. He was funny, witty, and was the spark of energy that everyone gravitated toward. People just loved and wanted to be around Ron Barker.
Our family grieves over this news, and we question the roadblocks that seemed to stifle the search from the moment we were made aware of their disappearance. It’s our hope that Ronnie Barker’s legacy will be changing policy that will allow for a more expeditious approach to locating missing persons of all ages for both non-residents and residents of the state of Nevada. We call upon the citizens of Nevada to stand up and demand that changes be made at ALL levels of Public Safety to avoid the hurdles that our family faced as we attempted to bring resources into the search of our loved ones.
Fly high MSgt Ronnie E. Barker, you served us all well.
Ronnie Ercel Barker 11/21/1949 – 4/4/2022————–
Ronnie and Beverly Barker
You can follow their story at
Ronnie and Beverly Barker – Missing from Dyer Nevada (Facebook page)
I give you this one thought to keep I am with you still – I do not sleep I am a thousand winds that blow I am the diamond glints on snow I am the sunlight on ripened grain I am the gentle autumn rain When you awaken in the mornings hush I am the swift, uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight I am the soft stars that shine at night Do not think of me as gone – I am with you still – with each new dawn.
I am so blessed to have shared such a life with VST. Today is all about honoring his memory.
Do something special today in memory of those you have lost. Hug someone. Smile. Enjoy some laughter. Perform a random act of kindness. Be mindful that in the blink of an eye, everything can change.
Ballet — using movement to illuminate human emotion and endeavor.
Northwestern Nevada
April 8th, I visited a place that’s become my favorite when a change of scenery is needed. The Lake. To be quite sure, this isn’t a place to park the car and go for a stroll. Vast and lonely, mysterious stories and secrets surround her which is one of the reasons I’m drawn there. On days when my focus is disrupted by sorrow, nature’s beauty comforts me best. Friday was a day just like that.
Needing a picnic, I stopped at the local Subway on Main. I could easily live on Subway sandwiches for the rest of my life. My little town has a busy shop and the sandwiches are always fresh and tasty. I’ve recently discovered the Child’s size sandwich. 4″. Perfect for lunch.
Stepping outside, the crisp spring day made me smile. Across the street, the hardware store was bustling with activity. Just minutes before, I’d stopped to buy couplers for my decaying sprinkler system. Fix one spot, three more leak while becoming a never ending project. Who needs the gym when one has a beautiful yard that needs tending?
With Easter just around the corner, I’d love to buy spring flowers and put them everywhere. Nature has other plans. For the next week, nightly frost will blanket us. Tahoe is expecting 12″ of snow. The winds continue to howl. Expensive spring flowers would be ruined this week. It was announced last week that Nevada is the most expensive place in the US to garden. After looking at 2022 prices for flowers, I’d have to agree. Nope. That project needs to wait a little longer.
Driving out to the lake, the clouds were performing a ballet just for me. Big Sky. If you haven’t experienced it, you need to. It’s something wonderful to behold and nourishment for the soul. Driving along while listening to tunes from the 80’s, I had plenty of time to think. 1987 changed my life forever. I met four people that transformed me into a better woman. VST and his three kiddos. Along with my two boys, we became a pack of 7. What an adventurous life we shared! Time remembered a little differently by each one of us, but cherished by all.
The terrain on the road to the lake reminded me of all the places VST and I traveled through the years. The coastal ranges of California, the plains of Wyoming and South Dakota, and the Central Valley of California where we both grew up. The spring rains have given new life to the hills, turning them the prettiest shade of desert green. At The Lake, shore birds come to rest and nest. With the high salt content of the water, grebes, pelicans (yes, PELICANS), cormorants, waterfowl, gulls, and terns all enjoying time there as much as I do. On the vast and wild lake, life is abundant. You just need to stop long enough to eat a sandwich and watch.
My time at the lake was cut short when a fisherman surprised me as he up over the ridge towards the bathrooms. With Naomi’s murder fresh in my mind, the Jeep and I were already rolling before that gentleman got any closer. Miles and miles of silent emptiness is the perfect place for one old lady to be snatched and never missed. Not happening on my watch.
Driving back home under the brilliant blue sky, the clouds danced along, changing shape and speed. A show just for me and the memories that tagged along for company on April 8th, 2020. Such a beautiful day to mark two years since VST’s went on his way.
With Mother Nature in the middle of her indecision, garden hoses are stowed and soup’s in the kettle. The winds are wild today, just the way I like them. All the while, the clouds dance on, eastward.
The desert. A most comforting place to call home. I’m so glad it’s mine.
Have a wonderful Sunday, whatever you decide to do.
Every day, the best place is found in the middle. A very wise friend once told me the following. “Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift.” Sandwiched between what was and what will be is today. With no hope of changing the past or the writing the future, we need to get with it and make today the best it can be.
Everyone values time differently. Make no mistake, it’s the one thing you can never get back. It never goes on sale. A minute is worth 60 seconds whether it is in the morning, afternoon, or evening. Passing at a constant speed, it’s a personal decision on how minutes are used and everyone does that a little differently.
As a 3rd Grade teacher, one of the first lessons shared was about the available teaching minutes in a school day. We had 340 teachable minutes. Listing everything my eager students wanted to learn and do during the school year, we then dealt with the reality. The school district required 180 minutes for language arts, 85 minutes for mathematics, 22 minutes for physical education, 30 minutes for Social Studies AND Science. That left a whopping 23 minutes for the Pledge of Allegiance, roll call and lunch count, art, music, drama, story time, and a little fun. Get the picture?
During the first week of each school year, we would brainstorm how minutes could be bankrolled to give us extra time to create the fun that 3rd Grade is supposed to be. My students were creative. We always found time to create dramatic plays, and work on cursive handwriting (not required, but taught). It was all about time management, even under the watchful eye of a very strict and performance based principal. When there’s a will, there’s a way.
While teaching, the middle was a great place to be. Children change by the hour. Something horrible happens in the morning, and by the afternoon, three great things have already replaced the bad. Grouchy moms would drop off their children with complaints and worries. Just hours later, they would return in smiles and complimentary remarks. In the middle, I found fun, peace, acceptance, and love from my students. After all, we didn’t have the minutes to waste anywhere else. There wasn’t time for drama or grudges. Things happen. Life moves on. Get on the bus or get left behind. It’s all a choice.
I miss those days of meeting goals and growth. Of watching a class of silly little squirrels turn into responsible children while working together to create an educational atmosphere in Room 20, where teachable moments were everywhere you looked. Somedays, the Winterpast is pretty quiet.
My best minutes, as you already know, are in the morning hours of darkness. This morning, the wind continues to howl. Zephyr Winds as Mark Twain called them. You can hear them racing from miles away, exactly like the rumble of freight train. The closer they get, the louder. Like ocean waves, they blow over Winterpast. One blast after another.
Ninja Neighbor was out last night waiting for Mr. B, Master of the Gardens. We were both considering whether or not to turn the water off, yet again. It’s a process that is best done during the day. Mr. B had just turned mine on two weeks ago. He’s not turning his own water off. I decided to take a chance and leave mine on. Ninja Neighbor is going the safe route and turning hers off. With a forecast of freezing nights for five days in a row, we’ll sit tight and see who was right.
This week, my minutes are totally consumed. From Jeep maintenance to Easter Dinner for ten, I’ll need to count my minutes and make choices on how to spend them. Precious time on which to paint beautiful memories. It’s all we have in life.
Time is a marvelous gift. Just what will you choose to do with yours today?
It’s raining today, I’ll stay in my room Quiet Oliver, the clouds will break soon But I must confess, I’ll be glad if they stay I don’t want to leave It’s raining today! Here and then gone Invisible dawn All of the edges are frayed No warmth on my shoulders, the weather’s gettin’ colder Zephyr winds carry old worries away. My hat’s on the porch, it’s heavy and soaked I’m on the steps and I don’t have a coat. What do I do? What can I say? It’s raining today! The gardening crew all can sleep in Local joggers and walkers, too. I want it done but I’ll have to wait I can’t get to work It’s raining today! It’s raining today! What does it mean? Probably not much of anything! Still I can’t resist to let my thoughts stray What harm will it do? It’s raining today! Here and then gone Invisible dawn All of the edges are frayed No warmth on my shoulders, the weather’s gettin’ colder Zephyr winds carry these old worries away My hat’s on the porch, it’s heavy and soaked I’m on the steps and I don’t have a coat What do I do? What can I say? Its raining. Today.
Borrowed and Customized. Inspired by The Avett Brothers — It’s Raining Today
Sundays have become really special days for me. Looking forward to seeing my church family, I arrive early to enjoy visiting friends. With the rest of my life before me, new friendships take time to sprout and grow. Attending Bible Study is a chance to let these friendships bloom in a healthy environment.
Finding my little church was something I couldn’t have predicted before it happened. VST and I had faith. As Christians, we relied on God’s grace and mercy to carry us through a great life. Experiencing normal ups and downs, we always planned to join a church just as soon as life settled down. We never took that step together. I wish we would’ve. It’s one of the very few regrets I have about our life together.
April 8th, 2021, T and K (VST’s twins) had come to observe their Dad’s one year Heaven-ersary. We were looking for some ammunition at the local hardware store, which had a limited supply. An employee suggested we check out a new gun store in town. Hidden just around the corner, as is everything in a small town, we went. It was there I met Pastor C, the owner of a legal and federally-licensed backyard gun store AND the preacher of Baptist on Main.
Gun stores in the Wild Wild West are something to behold. You never know where you will find them or what they merchandise they might sell. I’ve even held in my hand a REAL flame thrower. It was tough to set that one down. Just about every kind of gun is available in Nevada. In fact, it’s an “open carry” state. The first few times I saw a .45, visible in a holster, I was a little shocked.
If our recent murder victim would have had a gun in her car she might not have been the girl shot in the head and buried in the desert. The bad guys always have their own weapons. Consider the New York City shooting yesterday. Guns are BANNED in New York. EXCEPT for the active shooter. You can’t fight a bullet with a brief case. Again, the bad guys ALWAYS have guns. Their bad guys. Laws don’t matter to them.
So, on April 8th, I was lucky enough to meet Pastor C while making a purchase. He invited me to Baptist on Main and I decided to give it a try. Best decision ever. An unusual place of love, respect, consideration, and worship. Everyone knows everyone, if not by name, by smiles and handshakes.
At Bible Study yesterday, we held a birthday celebration for a lovely friend. A widow alone, like me, she moved here to live with family while getting treatment for an illness. The chocolate cupcake with extra icing and sprinkles reminded me to teaching days when the random birthday would come along. A classroom of 3rd Graders know how to celebrate.
Friday, I’ll attend a different kind of gathering at the Northern Nevada Veterans Cemetery on the outskirts of town. At 11:00, a veteran I never met will be laid to rest. The brother of church friends, Tom and Katherine, in honor of him I plan to attend. In a church, every aspect of life is front and center. Celebrations and grief, all while reflecting on and holding tight our faith. For me, it’s a great comfort.
On Easter Sunday, church friends are coming to Winterpast for a pot luck. It’ll be my first gathering since VST’s memorial. I have no idea how many people will drop by, but they are each to bring something yummy to eat. I know Samantha is bringing her homemade rolls. Charlotte is bringing a ham. I’m making a turkey breast and salad. Now, if the weather will just cooperate.
Hosting lunch for the church choir, you can only imagine the list of things that need doing. I’ll be back Monday with lots to share. Please enjoy your Easter week. Springtime is a lovely time of year to get outside. It’s the best time of the year for new beginnings.
A brilliant Easter was enjoyed by all at Baptist and Main. Wondering where 1/2 of our Bible Study students were yesterday, someone made an odd statement.
“Well, it IS Easter.”
Exactly. EASTER!!! Wouldn’t the sanctuary be overflowing? As Pastor said quietly, it was a day for CEO’s to attend (Christmas and Easter Only). If you’ve never attended a little country church, give it a try. At times it is most entertaining.
Anyway, the crowds did come and fill the church with not a seat left to spare. In the Christian faith, Easter symbolizes new beginnings. Appropriately, there were two baptisms along with a fine message. Excited children raced to the classrooms when it was time for Children’s Bible Study, right after the time we sing praises. The service and message couldn’t have been nicer.
My friend, Willow, was having a pretty rough day. It was her first holiday without her husband, who passed away on 2/2/22. Although ill, no one was expecting him to get Covid and die a few days later. Still in deep shock, she is lost. Watching her takes me back to Easter 2020 when I was the widow who hadn’t expected things to go so badly. I was the woman in shock that thought everything was FINE, FINE, FINE. I was the widow in the fog.
Watching her now, I realize just how much my life has healed over time. I also see that decades will need to pass before memories don’t haunt me on a lonely nights here at Winterpast. A different type of memory now, they’re often the type that I would love to share with someone that could remember a certain time or day. The feeling of baking sun when raisins had to be boxed and shipped because rain was on the way. The excitement a family of seven crowded into a Volkswagen Van going to Santa Cruz for the weekend to see The Monkey’s play a free concert at the beach. Weekends at the Delta enjoying the ocean breezes on the deck of Club 19. Memories stored and waiting, all bright and shiny like they happened just yesterday.
Willow is having trouble remembering the day and time with everything so new and overwhelming. Tasks she never thought of doing continue to need attention. A woman that never asked for help with anything needs help with everything. Swimming in the deep end without a life preserver, she’s treading water as fast as she can. Doing really well, she just needs to get to the place where she believes in herself. That takes time.
Sneaking out a little early, I raced back to Winterpast. Decked out in Easter-Pink, the tables were set for twenty. A guess, as it was an open call to a morning worship service of 90 people. “Come on Over if you have no where else to go. Joy’s house is open.” During the service, I quietly envisioned all 90 people and their kids coming to clog the streets and my plumbing for a free lunch.
Fresh ham, turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, green salad, macaroni salad, and fresh rolls, with freshly made Carrot Cake for dessert. There was a lot of food, but for 90? We could always order some pizza, if needed.
Slowly, all SEVEN guests arrived. None of them had been to Winterpast. It was fun to see what people asked questions about. The pictures of my grandparents. Our wedding pictures. A bauble here. A gewgaw (now, THERE’s a great word) there. Things taken for granted because I see them every day, and yet each one holding a really great story. Everyone’s homes are like that.
The difference in a widow’s home is that you could pick up a bent nail sitting quietly on a shelf, and it could be the most precious thing she owns. It could be from the very day her sweet husband was installing solid oak hardwood floors just for her. Looking up to see her paint smudged face, the need to kiss her overwhelming, a stray nail was bent. Like I mentioned. The things most precious to a widow are sometimes entirely worthless to the rest of the world.
The seven of us sat in a room waiting for 20 guests. We enjoyed the food, all eating way too much. This little country church has helped me find my way. These wonderful new friends brought different sounds to Winterpast. Sounds she has missed since her family of long ago met for Easter inside these same walls. Winterpast and I have some parties to throw. We need to get our game on.
That was my Easter. A usual church day with unusually happy people. Friendly new faces I hope to see again somewhere in this dusty little wide spot in the road that I call home.
Sometimes your life feels like a broken rollercoaster A thousand useless moving parts Sometimes you spend your nights Too scared of getting closer Hiding out in the back seat of your car
You tell yourself it’s raining The clouds are in your head You tell yourself it’s better To jump before you fall again Before you lose it all again
Look up! Do you see the sunlight? Look up! There’s flowers in your hair Hold on! ‘Cause somebody loves you You know trouble’s always gonna be there Don’t let it bring you to your knees Look up!
Mondays aren’t always bright Some days, you lose the fight But life can be beautiful if you let it be Tomorrow keeps taunting you With all kinds of mystery It’s a blank page for your poetry If you let it be
So don’t tell yourself it’s raining The clouds are in your head You tell yourself it’s better To jump before you fall again Before you lose it all again
Look up! Do you see the sunlight? Look up! There’s flowers in your hair Hold on! ‘Cause somebody loves you You know trouble’s always gonna be there Don’t let it bring you to your knees, yeah Look up!
Look up! Hold on! Look up! Sometimes your life feels like a broken rollercoaster A thousand useless moving parts
Look up! Do you see the sunlight? Look up! There’s flowers in your hair Hold on! ‘Cause somebody loves you You know trouble’s always gonna be there Don’t let it bring you to your knees, yeah Look up! Trouble’s always gonna be there Look up! Don’t let it bring you to your knees, yeah
For those of you that don’t know, Winterpast is the name of my home. Not ever thinking about naming a house, in April 2020, I named two of them. My old home is named The DunMovin’ House. It sits on A Street in Virginia City, Nevada. If you visit there, look her up. She’s a beauty.
My new house is in a tiny town at a dusty little wide spot in the road. I knew I loved her when I first found her on Realtor.com. Her name is Winterpast. She didn’t have that name before I moved here. Now, it’s displayed by the front door. Forevermore. Winterpast.
As a new widow, heartbroken and lost, I’d teleported into the next phase of life. Physically moving only seventeen days after VST’s death, I was in a deep shock-y fog. No routines were established yet because everything needed attention right then and there. There was so much to do that on most nights I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
During the move, I found a series of books I’d been meaning to read. When VST was alive, I never had time. We were too busy building, remodeling, or RVing to even begin a have a moment to read. But, the need for distraction was real, so I began. The series is about a town named Mitford. The author Jan Karon.
One night, deep into the story, the author spent a chapter introducing an old woman and her memories of love lost. Her one true love, an architect, had built a mansion in her honor. She would have moved in after their marriage, but her father wouldn’t allow it. Her lost love secretly carved the name Winterpast on a hidden beam, in memory of the woman he lost and loved still. He had told her about it in a yellowed letter he’d written to her so long ago. On her dying bed, the woman asked the priest to go to the home and see if the word was indeed carved on a beam in the attic. All those years she had wondered while she spent her life alone. The home had been sold to strangers when completed.
Indeed, chiseled onto the beam was the word “Winterpast”, hidden for decades.
The author then went on with the next chapter without explaining the reason for the name. Scrambling to get my bible, I read the verses in Song of Solomon — 2:11-17. I knew. It was if the angels had whispered the name in my ear. I’d just moved into my very own Winterpast. Plain and simple.
Winter has past me for a little while. Spring is here. “The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.” Now, in some versions of the Bible, the Turtle Dove’s voice is heard in the land. In my Bible, it is the voice of the turtle. It makes me smile every time I read it while thinking of little singing turtles enjoying life.
Get out and enjoy the spring time; it’s here such a short time. Lot’s to do here in the gardens of Winterpast.
A Song for Winterpast
Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin Dance me through the panic ’til I’m gathered safely in Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove Dance me to the end of love
Oh, let me see your beauty when all the neighbors have gone home Pretty roses growing after the day’s work is done Show me slowly spring’s beauty with your sweet allure Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the autumn now, dance me on and on Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long We’re both of us beneath a desert sky, above us twinkling stars Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the apricots who are ask a ripened orange Dance me through the curtains to the gardens that need work Raise a tent of breezes now, until all the tilling is done Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin Dance me through the panic till I’m gathered safely in Touch me with your natural beauty, sent from God above. Dance me to the end of love.
“Dance Me to the End of Love” –Originally written by Leonard Cohen, changes written by me, inspired by Winterpast.
Everyone finds their own truths along the road of widowhood. Truths I’ve discovered over the last two years hold me up like a giant walker these days. Walkers work best on a well laid path. It’s better to veer to the right than to get left. Putting one foot in front of the other, we all move forward into this beautiful world.
Yesterday, after shopping at the Walmart to the East, I took the main road back home. Many city folk have never experienced Big Sky and might be a bit scared of the open spaces. In every direction, nothing but miles of high desert plains, sage, cheat grass, and distant mountains. Not even a horse or burrow along the way, it seemed like my little town was close enough to touch. Signage told me otherwise.
18 miles from home.
Truly, it looked like I could park the car and walk. But, it took 18 minutes to drive there. A two day walk, I’d need to camp overnight if I were on foot. Sometimes, things aren’t what they seem as we look onward in life. Tasks that seem easy become complicated and take more time than we think. Chores that should be quick and painless often are just the opposite.
The other day I was questioned about the hope, faith, and love I’ve experienced with my church family. I had to stop and think for a moment. Some friendships do end up being mirages. Surely they seem to be the greatest thing in the world when shiny and new. Sometimes relationships are part of the scaffolding to help get us through until one or the other moves on. Beautiful moments in time. Other relationships weather all kinds of storms, making up the foundation of a beautiful life. It’s those that are truly golden.
As the weeks have turned into a year, the closer I get to my church family, the stronger my friendships are growing . A soft place to fall, the lives of a congregation come together to showcase every aspect of life. Babies and Grandparents are born. Children accept Christ. Young lovers marry. Funerals are held to celebrate the lives of those that continue on their journey without us. A picture complete with the richness and complexity of life. A lot can be learned by observations. Baptist on Main is a mysterious little place of love and worship. A blink of the eye and one might drive right by, never experiencing the beauty inside.
A life lesson learned early on is to be grateful for the smallest things. Every minute there is something wonderful to behold, in the the midst of something terrible. As a child, when a killing frost hit the vines, my dad immediately focused on next year’s great crop, while five little girls were comforted by his optimism. Nature doesn’t always listen to a farmer’s prayer. VST and I learned that the hard way while tending to our own vineyard.
Positivity is easier when the television is turned to the “OFF” position. Mine stays that way most days. For the last two years, I avoided most of the fear mongering about Covid-19. Funny. I had it once. The worst thing about it was that I had to stay away from any human contact for 10 days. Didn’t die. Didn’t even wish I could. Sniffles, sneezing, and a little pity party for one. How much mental turmoil does the media cause in the name of information? Oy vey. Off. Mine stays off.
Constantly, a grateful heart is the best way to contentment and happiness. Of all the personal traits I’ve learned in my 66 years, optimism has helped me through the darkest of times. Little miracles unfold every second of every day. A thankful heart is a comfort. When you think there is absolutely nothing to be thankful for, why not start with this. Our homes aren’t being bombed to smithereens. Our loved ones aren’t being shot in the street by Russian’s. It’s a beautiful spring day. Start there and more things will come if you just look around.
So much of life is governed by fear these days. Take the shot or die. Stock up or starve. Shortages are coming. Famine is near. Hand wringing at it’s best. Yet, somehow, we live to eat another day. Somehow, the supply chain crisis is repairing itself. Things are returning to a new normal. Another thing for which to give thanks.
Be thankful that you have a day to live, be it pleasant or not. At the end of the day, take inventory of things that made it good or bad. Tomorrow is a fresh slate. Change the things you can, accept the things you can’t. Try and figure out the differences, all while giving thanks for the opportunity to try again.
Today is all we have. Tend to your grateful heart. Today is full of possibilities. It’s up to you.
Somedays you just don’t know what can be happening right under your nose. Just next door in an unassuming house built with exactly the same floorplan as Winterpast. Not a big place, but not a tiny house either. Three bedrooms, two baths. Kitchen. Dining room. Three car garage. A normal looking home with extraordinary new occupants.
The original occupants didn’t move out. Others moved IN. Three in total. Needing constant care, they’re a handful. From what I’ve been told, caring for them is like trying to nail Jello to a tree. Busy and demanding charges, their care is the ultimate focus. They shall want for nothing per the letter of the law. It’s all spelled out in reams and reams of court documents.
The new neighbors don’t drive. Being challenged in height and weight, they are at the mercy of a staff of people hired to watch over them. The three are a flight risk, so for now, no one has really been allowed to meet them. Just getting settled from the loss of their original caretaker, their world is as messy as a litter box. I hope things settle down for them. I’d love to meet them, as I’m always up for new friendships.
A variety of professionals have been stopping by to check on their new surroundings. With clipboards and clickity-clackety high heels, I’ve seen them over the fence. Making notes of available light and the condition of the new home, the focus is entirely on comfort and care. And yet, no one can really know what the three are thinking, as (I’ve been told from a reliable source) they don’t speak English. Everyone wants the best for them, but some want the best for nefarious reasons. Money does that to people when there is a loss. The jackals come out spewing alligator tears. There’s enough money available to cover a lifetime of care. Thank goodness for the team of professionals and their watchful eyes. They will choose the best environment for happiness and contentment.
Not that these three breathe or eat any differently than others. Their story began with birth into poverty and abandonment. Through adoption, they landed in the lap of luxury, with every need and want attended to by a loving caretaker. Sadly, death stole him away and they now wait for a new home with a new family. Thank goodness they have each other.
I’m not sure if the new neighbors will stay long, or if they’ll even be allowed to remain together. Psychologists and social workers are responsible for those decisions, while state, federal, and estate judges will decide their final fate. Money can provide watchful eyes to make sure the innocent are well cared for. Yes. Money can provide the best of everything.
Take care to watch your surroundings. You just never know who lives in the quiet little house next to yours. They could be sleeping just feet away from your own pillow, separated only by a fence line. Grimalkin or moggy, pedigree unknown. I may need to provide some tutoring to these non-English speaking wards of the court. Going to dust off my old text books now.
Recovering from grief can leave one feeling somewhat like a deflated basketball, blown tire, or flat soda. This week, I’ve had trouble bouncing, rolling, or even being a little sparkly. Sometimes, a little fresh air or an injection of fizz are required to get moving again. Widowhood has been that way for me. Something about seeing a black slab of granite inscribed with VST’s Birth and Death dates was a slap in the face. Wonderful memories are all that are left behind after everything is said and done. Standing at his headstone on top of Cemetery Hill in Virginia City, life screamed that at me though the chill of the Zephyr Winds.
When frozen in grief, forward movement can seem downright impossible. Just when I started to believe the wilderness of widowhood was clearing, I found myself again in the thickness of the forest. One year? Two Years? It seems the paths are the very same month after month. Time has healed so much, while opening other, more subtle wounds. No one prepared me for that cruel fact of life.
Which way now?
Choose a path NOW.
Although the same choices have existed for the past 2 years, the fog kept the vast number of possibilities hidden. The horizon expands with each new day, leaving me “Decision Weary”.
Turn here.
Volunteer there.
Move this way.
Travel that way.
Help this new widow.
Lean into the oldest of friends.
All the while, choices and directions have painfully personal outcomes. Widows and widowers understand this. Life is now surrounded by a loneliness wished on no one. Surrounded by overwhelming and complete solitude in the darkness of night, faith comforts me.
During traumatic times, self care and self love are vital. Listen to your personal needs and take address them. Sometimes, it could include a swift kick into gear if you find yourself sitting in one spot too long. Get moving. It doesn’t need to be very fast or far but in a forward motion each day.
If you find life is different than you desire, it’s time to change things up. Choose a new hairstyle or trade in your favorite “mom jeans” for a pair of cute leggings. Do things in a different order and life will begin to brighten as it becomes your own.
The spring weather here has been like my moods. Hot one minute and freezing cold the next. I compare the change in the weather to the next chapter of life. Some days, you’re cruising through life at 70 degrees. Other days, you’re burned to a crisp in the desert sun. The long days of winter’s chill are conquered with cups of hot cocoa by a roaring fire, while the snow falls just outside your door. Yes. Life is continual string of seasons, one right after the other.
Spring 2022 has brought on a new crop of weeds to Winterpast. I’ll leave you to enjoy the best day you’ve had all year. Make it so by doing something Saturday-ish. But, first and foremost, take care of yourself.
Face it, carpet cleaning is never an adventure. Not fun or glamourous. The only great thing about it is finishing the job and enjoying the beauty of a clean rug.
Yesterday, while getting ready to attend another funeral, my neighbor asked to borrow my nifty and new carpet cleaner. My machine is bright and shiny, having been used less than ten times. It still has tags hanging on it. There IS a small problem with the design.
When I chose this model, it was love at first sight. The box displayed a woman and her lovey-dovey Golden Retriever sitting in a room with brand new carpeting. Now, if this machine could handle the hair of a golden retriever, it would surely take care of Oliver’s tiny little hairs. Coming equipped with a bag of attachments that I knew I’d never need, my choice was made. It would be the Bissell Super Deluxe Hair No More Model for the carpets of Winterpast.
After using the machine for the first time, I was in love. Through each canister of hot and soapy solution, the most awful looking stuff was sucked up and captured for proper disposal. It was easy to use, unlike those monsters I used to rent during college days. Remember?? The big red ones rented at the grocery store that you needed a hunky boyfriend to lift into the trunk of the car? I never understood what could make those so huge and heavy. My new model was sleek and efficient.
My dreams of looking just like the happy woman and her dog displayed on the box were quickly dashed. There was a major design flaw that quickly ruined the moment. There was no way to open the suction area to clean out the wet gunky hair and lint. This stuff was clogging the entire machine, even after vacuuming twice. Soggy, thick masses of hair, lint, and dirt. Like a small marine pet stuck in the uptake slot. 12″ of clog that, if allowed to dry, would render my new machine useless.
Assumed there would be a way to take the plastic pieces apart and rinse away the gunk, my quest began. Unfortunately, this part of the device was not to come apart. Any cracks or openings would have ruined the suction.
This is where the fun began.
It would have made for great TV Viewing. I squirted water down the top. When filled to the brim, it showered me in the face (remember, gunk water—Ewwww). Then, I tried rinsing from the bottom. I held the cleaner on it’s side, no movement. It seemed the gunk was growing. There was no movement and the clogs stayed in place, visible through the clear plastic.
As the cleaner and I danced in the kitchen, the carpet dried, while my kitchen was another story. Water and debris were everywhere, while the nasty clogs remained. Finally, I found a tool that did the job. A bamboo skewer. Just the right thickness, the first one went right in, making contact with the debris.
Until.
Snap.
Crackle.
Broken in two and becoming part of the stubborn clog. Determined to win, I persisted and finally, After an hour and several more skewers, the machine was finally cleaned and ready to be put away. Since then, carpet cleaning is a choice that comes requiring the extra hour needed to clean the machine. I was okay with that arrangement.
Yesterday, I got a call from the sweet neighbor with the mysterious adoptees. It seems THE AGENCY is coming to check on the welfare of the newest neighbors. Wanting the house to look just right, she asked if I had a machine and if she could borrow it.
Well, of course. This could be the chance I’d been waiting for to meet the non-English speaking strangers. All three which, (truth not gossip), are juveniles. A win/win. She came to get the carpet cleaner, as she explained the littles were napping and needed no disturbances.
Late in the day, I received the call.
“Joy. Thank you so much for the carpet cleaner. I want to return it in the condition it was when I borrowed it. Do you have the tool?”
Now, I was at a loss. A tool? For? What necessary tool had I missed? A bag of bright shiny tools hung in the hallway closet, awaiting the day I might use them. Not an attachment kind of gal, I’d never opened the bag.
“I just watched You Tube on how to remove the gross stuff stuck in the machine. You should have a tool. Do you?”
Visions of hours by the sink came to mind. Flying gunk. Shooting water. A tool could have prevented this? Racing to the little bag of extras, I started removing everything looking for something that resembled a “tool”. There were hoses, extensions, brushes, and more. When I was pretty sure nothing was left, out popped a very thin, flat, long piece of grey plastic with a hook on one end.
THE TOOL.
The carpet cleaner is shiny and clean now. Who knew????? A TOOL.
Oy Vey.
This week, I will be going on a short vacation. It’s obvious I need a change of scenery when the best I can write about is a “Gunk Tool”. Hopefully, sand and waves will be included in my little excursion. I’ll settle for some humidity and lush green surroundings.
Have a wonderful week. I’ll be back with more adventures next Monday.
Hi there, faithful readers! It’s nice to be back with you. Last week, I spent a few lovely days in California. The weather there is so different, making me appreciate desert life all the more. Dry cold days don’t seem as severe on the desert. Yes, the wind howls, but it’s a dry wind. The chill is present but without humidity. A 60 degree day on the Northwestern desert plains of Nevada feel much warmer than a 60 degree day in Northern California. With the unsettled weather everything was damp making it still to cold for shorts and a t-shirt.
Everything reaches for the sky in California. Bright fields of green, sprinkled with fresh California Poppies. A glorious sight to behold. As a young girl growing up in the Central Valley of California, there were days when both the Coastal range and the Sierra Nevada were visible from our ranch. When the mountains called to us, we would take a drive just to look at all the wildflowers blooming in the high country. Such fragile beauty, all boasting sweet little names I have long since forgotten. Each week, spring blooms once again at a higher elevation, until the last of the wildflowers die and fall is near. So go the seasons of the Sierra’s.
Last week, Donner Pass was clear of snow. Just two weeks before, T and K were stuck in Truckee for three hours in an early spring blizzard. Interstate 80 isn’t forgiving. When you decide to cross the Sierra’s, it’s important to carry water, blankets, and snacks, because you just never know. The Sierra’s aren’t a place one should try out an unknown short-cut or new GPS route. Just ask the Donner Party. We should all show great respect for those that lost their lives in the winter of 1846-47.
The little town I visited is one of the oldest in California. Even though the population is much smaller than my little town, the amenities were dazzling. It’s been awhile since I’ve stayed in a town enjoying every kind of store one would like to visit. Here at home, I have the luxury of my hometown Walmart or the Walmart’s to the East or West.
Restaurants were found on every corner. Too bad the prices were so outrageous. Eating at home is something I’m really loving now. Cooking for one is becoming a new hobby. Last week, I made fresh French Onion Soup that cooked all day long. My town has six casinos, four Mexican restaurants, two diners, and several fast food establishments. It’s poor planning for a town that is now pushing 25,000. With the housing market booming, there will be many changes in the next five years. Hard to know whether they will fit one old lady and her little dog. Only time will tell.
Walking through the produce section of a California grocery store, I remember eating fruit off the trees at the ranch. What I would give for a REAL peach or nectarine (not the cardboard variety you find for sale today). Here in the desert I haven’t found many road side fruit stands. Produce for our Farmer’s Markets are trucked in from California often leaving it bruised and tired after the extra days on the road. Nothing compares to California fruits and vegetables when purchased next to the field in which they were grown. Absolutely nothing.
Why, some people actually go through quite a process to get their hands on freshly grown ear corn from California State University, Fresno. One such Goddess involved several service industries and even law enforcement to have a box of fresh corn delivered 150 miles to her door. You know, Goddesses have all the luck. Especially those that drive the Highway 1 topless with tresses flowing (of course, topless refers to the status of the convertible — I think).
Eating at home is something I’m really loving now. Cooking for one is becoming a new hobby. Last week, I made fresh French Onion Soup that cooked all day long. Out of “Mastering the Art of French Cooking”, it simmered all day long on very low heat. I didn’t know some yellow onions and broth could make something that tasted so heavenly. No need to waste money on restaurants when I can cook great things in the kitchen here at Winterpast.
Oliver had a wonderful time at Puppy Camp. His little friend, Clara, popped in for a few days of Doggie Day Care. Upon his return, I can finally recognize a well-trained, almost-5-year-old, gentleman dog. He has much more interest in sleeping at my feet, wherever that may be. Snoozing more, he chews on things less. Finally. It’s been harrowing raising such an intelligent little guy.
Once back home, it was time to get out the hoe, rake, hose, and weed spray. I need to get busy before the weeds win. A little of me misses the green hills of California. Just a wee bit. But, more of me loves the quiet desert rainfall that came last night after a day of high winds. It’s time to explore Nevada to discover all the secrets she holds. I can always pop back over the hill for a little visit the next time I need a city fix.
Get out there and enjoy the first week of May. It’s a glorious time to do something new!
Let’s face it, the only kind of crown one needs in the desert is the kind that fit snuggly over aging teeth. There are no sparkling balls full of blushing debutantes. Nope. Best you have a pair of cowboy boots and a Stetson around here. Two-stepn’ and line dancen’ are about as fancy as we get. I might have gotten a better deal on one of the crowns shown above than the two custom made for my teeth.
Monday was a day for medical visits. Dentist and Optometrist.
My optometrist is a cool guy. He has a house in the biggest little city just to the west of me. During the week, he resides in a motorhome right off Main Street. Quiet and reserved, on Monday morning he was bemoaning the fact that he himself needs new glasses. He hasn’t had time. Reminds me of the mechanic with the broken cars. Fixing everything for everyone else, professionals leave themselves for last.
We had a good discussion about the horrific winds that have plagued us recently. His fence blew over and he can’t find a repair person to come fix it. That’s a huge problem in our area. No handyman available to fix things. Explaining that he might need to have his son-in-law come over to help fix the fence, I smiled. No matter your profession, problems are the same. Fences of the wealthy blow over just as quickly as fences of the poor. In the end, sometimes we all just need to call The Guy. In this case, there isn’t a GUY to call.
I’m so happy to report that at the age of 66, I have youthful eyeballs. Thank Goodness. No retinal tears or macular degeneration. Finally, something that isn’t sagging or out of whack. Just healthy eyeballs with the prettiest of arteries and veins running this way and that. As with a lot of older people, I just need a little vision correction with the help of contacts and glasses.
I bought my first pair of glasses from this office last year. Being the best frame and lenses of my life, I wear them all the time. Light, cute, and the perfect prescription, I was hoping I could just change out the old lenses with new. Someone near and dear assured me that would never be possible. Ever. Well, I had to prove that wrong. At least I had to give it a try.
After talking with Lady of the Frames, it turns out that they COULD and WOULD use my one year old frames and simply replace the lenses. Happy, Happy, Happy Day!!!! Qualifying for a 20% discount, I was just about dancing in my seat! But, I wasn’t done yet.
Could they put prescription lenses in my regular Costco Sunglass frames, I asked? My very cute “$34.00 for 2” Costco “Read at the Beach” Sunglasses? Those?
Well, yes they COULD and WOULD! Prescription Sunglasse hack!!! OOOHHHH LaLa!!! And, because they were a second pair, 30% off those lenses!!! I wanted to shout “Glory! Hallelujah!” right then and there. I’d hit the eyeglass lottery and it wasn’t even 10AM yet.
I knew that because 10AM would find me sitting in the dental chair being prepped for two new crowns. You know the kind I already mentioned. I’d gone back and forth about replacing both crowns or just one. I was there and the dentist was there. Might as well just go through one long visit rather than two shorter ones.
As it turns out, it was a good call on his part. After removing the old crowns, a digital photograph showed the obvious decay that had been growing under both old jackets. Root canal averted! With everything clean and tidy, temporary crowns were created and glued on. After only three hours in the chair and a 20% local discount, I was on my way back home.
Monday was a day for spending $$$ on self-care. Yes, a vacation to Tahiti would have been more enjoyable, but might have resulted in the root canal I averted by going to the dentist on Monday. Besides, I wouldn’t be set for beach reading with my amazing new prescription sun glasses. Things always work out the way they’re supposed to.
If you’ve been putting off appointments with the dentist or eye doctor, don’t delay. Be sure to ask for any and all discounts that might apply.
The world today could use a few more prayers. As the days go by, more and more things don’t make sense. I suppose in the 1970’s my Grandparents thought the same thing. Incomprehensible insanity is everywhere, as I age into one of those that’s not longer relevant. Everyone has two hands. Here’s another way to use them.
Inspired by — God’s Little Devotional Journal — Page 132.
Many children learn to count on their fingers, but a nurse once taught a child to pray on his fingers.
This was her method:
The thumb is the digit nearest to your heart, so pray first for those who are closet to you. Your own needs, of course, should be included, as well as those of your beloved family and friends. As you prayer, be sure to praise God for all the blessings in your life. Even in the darkest of times, God’s blessings truly overflow.
The second finger is the one used for pointing. Pray for those who point you toward the truth, whether at church or school. Pray for your teachers, mentors, pastors, and those who inspire your faith. When pointing out the faults of another, three fingers pointing back at their owner. In prayer, ask for forgiveness of shortcomings.
The third finger is the tallest. Let is stand for the leaders in every sphere of life. Pray for those in authority– both within the body of Christ and those who hold office in various areas of government They need special prayers for wisdom. The world is a bit short on wisdom these days.
The fourth finger is the weakest, as every pianist knows. Let it stand for those who are in trouble and pain — the sick, injured, abused, wounded, or hurt. Ask God to help relieve the pain of loneliness and grief.
The little finger is the smallest. Let it stand for those who often go unnoticed, including those who suffer abuse or deprivation. Even the smallest troubles in the world need prayer at times.
What a great way to pray for ourselves and others. A simple and wonderful way to give the world a hand with prayer.
I got the cutest call from K yesterday. As one seasoned mom to another, I always love getting her calls informing me of the daily antics of my two grown grandsons. How did two little bundles lost in fleece turn into hairy men weighing 200 lbs. each. My goodness, Shorty is over 6’2 while my oldest grandson is 6’8. In my heart, they are still little guys that made VST and me proud every single day.
How well I remember the afternoon that K brought our grandsons to The Golden Chain Theater in Oakhurst, California to watch VST in his signature roll as Buck Badam. In melodramatic fashion, our two littles watched their Papa create a villain onstage while wielding his weapon in a choreographed sword fight. I guess it made quite an impression, as Shorty has become quite the actor. As he puts it, “the second actor in our family”.
Shorty is graduating from high school. Just like that, all grown up. He works 8 hour days at a local grocery store while acting and finishing high school. Of course, there’s always time for his girl, and their last prom is tomorrow night.
Remembering back to when I was K’s age, there were plenty of days when I wanted to scream in pride over the accomplishments of our five children. When VST and I married, we blended a family of 11-year-old twins, two 8-year-olds, and a six-year-old. We never looked back, doing our best to give the best examples of adulting to them, hoping that their lives could turn out as happy as ours. Now, almost 35 years later, it seems the kids have turned out alright.
Bubbling over on the phone, K was sharing her Mother’s Day delights, which for any mother is every single day. The highs and lows create a patchwork quilt of love and commitment that covers our children, even when they aren’t children anymore. In my own empty coop these days, thank goodness I have so many precious memories with which to snuggle on nights that are a little too quiet.
Still smiling this morning about K and her accompishments as a mom, I got my coffee and started with my morning ritual. Always checking the emails first, I had my own reason to scream with pride from the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada!
My beloved son, J, is on his way home from his deployment to another desert on the other side of the world. At 42, no one expected him to be chosen for deployment in his last year of service to our Nation. But, someone had to go and it was him. Leaving three children and a wife behind, along with his own business, he was plucked out of his life to serve our country for the last time. He’ll earn his retirement from the military later this year.
Yes, K, sometimes I’m so proud of my kids I just want to scream with delight. This is one of those moments for sure. Entrepreneurs and inventors, educators, healers, protectors, veterans, mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, brothers, and sisters, husbands, wives, friends and mentors. Although a group of five to VST and me, each person unique and individually successful.
When I was pregnant 42 years ago, my obstetrician required weekly classes covering all aspects of parenthood, as well as the physical aspects of pregnancy and delivery. There were 25 classes, in all. No epidurals were necessary. Sheer will power and focus were enough. Knowledge of how to handle the difficult situation of labor and delivery would be better for the baby. It turns out, in my situation, it was.
One of the classes I remember the most was one on teaching independence to our children. As I sat, round-bellied like the other Pre-Mom’s in our maternity class, Doctor Ellis himself came in to teach the ultimate importance of independence. For two hours, he discussed the most important job of a mom. Teaching her babies to ultimately leave the nest and live life to the fullest on their own. That process begins with the simplest snip of the cord. What a lucky group of women we were to hear such such wise advise.
This Mother’s Day, it’s with pride that I scream in pride just a little about my flock. Five wonderful people that are contributing to society in their own unique and beautiful ways. That’s better than 100 Hallmark cards. It’s worth my everything. VST, rest easy up there in heaven. We did alright.
Yesterday was a day full of outdoor activities for me. From spraying the weeds to cleaning the spa, I enjoyed every minute of sunshine.
Oliver spent an hour protecting me from a leaf under the rose bush. It had caught his attention so he went to investigate. Every time he went to sniff it, his head was tapped by a rose thorn. Being a dog and all, he was sure that monstrous leaf was causing the problem. Try as he did, the thorns prevented him from getting closer. Who knows? Perhaps he saved me from a rattlesnake or something worse. I did check it out. Looked like a random leaf to me.
The birds have moved back in. Finches, black birds, crows, and doves. Everybody seems to be getting along on this Mother’s Day weekend. They’ve taken up residence in the little bird houses. With a bubbling drinking fountain and plenty of shade, they’ll stick around Winterpast for the season. I wish I knew what they were talking about as they seem to know all the neighborhood gossip.
The Peony’s and Iris’s will be opening soon. With the chance of snow on Sunday, I may pick some now and let them open in the kitchen. This year, I was really looking forward to plums, apricots, and blueberries. Late frosts and snows ruined the crop here at Winterpast. Well, there’s always next year. The best I can hope for is some pretty flowers, and that’s questionable.
Around noon, I went out for a cheeseburger after I’d received a coupon in the mail. My little town is suffering from a lack of workers. Restaurants are empty because people like me have given up the long waits and expensive prices in exchange for home cooking. Having the place to myself, I enjoyed the best hamburger and fries. My first Mother’s Day meal of the weekend!
Thinking back to my teenage years, I’d have loved nothing more than to get a job. Living in a sea of vineyards, the nearest town was 40 minutes away. To far to go when the average wage was $1.25 an hour. In the businesses around my little town today, the workers are mostly my age or older. Not many teens joining the workforce these days. A sad state of affairs.
Today, my weekend will continue with a binge on the Kentucky Derby. No favorite here. My favorite was always Bob Baffert, and that bad boy can’t attend for a few years. Now, we’ll never know if his horses were good enough to win all on their own. So many things in this world are not what they seem.
Just look at the Johnny Depp trial. Two people that had the world at their fingertips. Ego driven. Money wherever they turned. Private islands and entire villages. Private jets to movie premiers in which they were the stars. The world was theirs. How many millions have been put under the spell of Jack Sparrow? In the end, they were both pirates of the worst kind. Stealing admiration and accolades, when they weren’t acting but portraying their true selves. A pity.
Whatever you do this Mother’s Day Weekend, treat yourself kindly. Do something that makes you smile. Mom’s have the most wonderful superpower of all. We created other humans. Pretty incredible.
I’m ready to walk the mall today Pennies in my pocket, I’m ready to play And it’s a goofy thing but I just got-ta say, I’m doin’ alright in the best kind of ways.
Meet-n’ the gals for salad and soup I’m feelin’ pretty good and that’s the truth It’s neither drink nor drug induced Nope, I’m just doin’ alright in the best kind of ways.
It’s a great day to be alive!! I know the sun’s still shin-n’ when I close my eyes Hard times get me down, that’s always gonna be Why can’t everyday be just this good?
It’s been 2 years since you left home And said “Good Luck” to every seed we’d sown We gave it our best and then you left me alone And now, I’m doin’ alright in the best kind of ways.
I look in the mirror and what do I see My grandmother there stare-n’ right back at me Long in the tooth but still pretty as can be Lord, I’m doin’ alright in the best kind of ways.
It’s a great day to be alive I know the sun’s still shin-n’ when I close my eyes Hard times get me down, for sure. But why can’t everyday be just this good?
Sometimes it’s lonely, sometimes it’s only me With lonely shadows creep -n’, filling my empty room Somedays I’m fall-n’ desperately, call-n’ out your name Howl-n’ at the moon, grief for this old dame.
But, today I’m doing alright in the best kind of ways.
I could always try a new hair-do Or take my dog for a three day cruise Might even grow me tomatoes, Go wild and plant some cukes.
It’s a great day to be alive I know the sun’s still shin-n’ when I close my eyes Hard times get me down, for sure. Praise God, my life’s this good.
I’m doin’ alright in the best kind of ways
Original written by Travis Tritt….. personalized by Joy Hurt
Spring is a great time to try new adventures. Things I’d thought impossible are now routine, such as a morning drive 45 minutes west to meet up with girlfriends for lunch. I can hardly believe these gals have been my besties for eight years now. Time moves on. VST and I became Nevadans in May 2014 when we purchased The Dun Movin’ House in Virginia City.
The girls and I chose a favorite upscale chain restaurant in which we all vowed to eat our factory-produced cheesecake first. Only one of us stuck to that promise, and it wasn’t me. I went for their signature chopped salad. Such a disappointment all the way around. This lovely, lovely building sat empty at 11:45. A restaurant that was once sold out every day at lunch and dinner. The booths and bar sat empty and waiting. With only a handful of customers inside, one would think we we’d have the best meal and service ever.
Wrong.
Our waitress was having a rotten day, and the restaurant had barely opened. Miss Happy snarled at us when we weren’t quite ready to order. The menu at this place is pages long, with delicious and exotic choices. That’s part of the fun of eating there. The menu. We weren’t shaping up to be a good team, this waitress and her three girly customers.
“I suppose you want bread and butter with your meal?” the waitress snarled with attitude. Alrighty then. Yes, we certainly did.
Nearly throwing the stale bread on the table, she snapped again.
“What’ll it be?”
Now, we WERE dining in a cow-town. But, couldn’t this beautiful restaurant with blown glass lights and polished marble floors do better than this woman. Surely they could. But, with empty booths all around, maybe not. What is with the lack of help these days? Where are the college students with their big loans that need re-paying?????? I’m not feeling too sorry for those that aren’t working three jobs while paying off their very real debts. Nobody rides for free. Well, silly me. Maybe that’s just not true anymore. I, like many of you, certainly remember filling every college day with work and studying. Not much time for naval examination.
We each ordered meals that collectively cost $77.00. For lunch. For that amount, we had two salads, a tiny cup of soup, stale bread, two cups of tea, a cup of coffee, and one piece of cheesecake. The haphazard presentation of the food went along with our waitress, Diner Dolly. How sad that even the experience of having a nice lunch out is no longer something special. Next time, we’ll bring bag lunches and sit by the river for lunch. With everything being so expensive, we could prepare and enjoy a much better lunch for the $$$.
The girls filled me in on the gossip of my old home town, Virginia City. Yes. People really live nice quiet lives above the craziness of “C” Street. I’ve never missed moving off Mt. Davidson with it’s dangerous blizzards and wild tourists. Two million people a year visit one tiny part of “C” Street. The dusty wide spot in the road that I now call home is much more fitting for me. If I have one walker a day go by my house, it’s a busy one.
In Virginia City, any reason could be good enough for a parade through town in which Highway 341 would be closed for the duration. The white lines of the Highway are painted green for Saint Patrick’s Day. The state highway is the sight of the Outhouse Races, along with the Easter Pet Parade. The high school athletes climb atop the town’s firetruck and ride proudly down “C” Street after winning their state divisions with horns blaring. It’s quite a sight to see the entire football or baseball team atop a working fire truck. Nowhere else are such antics normal occurrences.
One of my friends excitedly talked about my favorite coastal town in California. It seems she and her husband will be RVing there next week in their rig. Talking about the route they’d take brought back many memories. VST and I traveled there so often, it seemed like our second home. A solo ten hour road trip to the coast is something that remains just beyond my limits for now.
After all the news had been shared, it was off to shop. The girls each had a blast buying new clothes for spring. Not finding anything for myself, I had fun watching them choose their bright colored blouses and shorts, giving them encouragement. You know what they say — “Some days you’re the windshield and some days your the bug”.
After a fun day of visiting, it was time to hit the interstate and get back to Oliver who waited patiently at home.
Stopping for a my own small Blizzard at the DQ, I smiled. The biggest little city is right there waiting for the next time I need a little retail therapy. Just a 45 minute drive away, I only need to get in the car and go.
Have a wonderful day doing whatever it is you love doing.
With the crazy weather we’ve been experiencing here on the desert plains of Northwestern Nevada, thoughts have turned back to the comfort of soup for dinner. I’ve always wanted to try recipes from “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” by Julia Child. I was a big fan of the hilarious impersonations on Saturday Night Live from long ago. Then, I watched the movie “Julie and Julia”, and decided I needed that cookbook. On my first Christmas as a widow, Santa Claus came through and I got my very own copy. The first section is all about soups.
Two weeks ago, after dicing cups of onions and buying the right kind of beef broth and Vermouth, my first try at French Onion soup was a rave success. Prepared only for myself, even the carefully prepared crouton was perfect. Each day the soup ripened, until on the third day, it was truly mind blowing.
Today, the clouds are again forming in the sky. With temps never getting above 50 degrees today, Soup #2 is in the crock pot. Cream of Mushroom soup. I found the perfect mushrooms today at the store. With all the necessary ingredients, I began dicing and slicing. It will slowly cook in the crock pot on low until dinner.
Below is the recipe. Although the soup isn’t finished yet, it has every promise of being just as fantastic as the first. Who knew that so few ingredients could create such a wonderful result. Enjoy.
Potage Veloute’ Aux Champignons (Cream of Mushroom Soup)
Mastering the Art of French Cooking — Julia Child — Pages 40-41.
Here is a fine, rich mushroom soup for grand occasions or as the main course for a Sunday supper for 6 to 8 people.
1/4 cup minced onions
3 Tbsp. Butter
3 Tbsp. flour
6 cups boiling chicken stock
2 parsley sprigs
1 bay leaf
1/8 tsp. thyme
The chopped stems from 1 lb. of mushrooms
2 Tbsp. Butter
The thinly sliced caps from 1 lb. of mushrooms
1/4 tsp. salt
1 tsp lemon juice
2 egg yolks
1/2 – 3/4 cup whipping cream
Optional
1 – 3 Tbsp. softened butter
6-8 fluted mushroom caps cooked in butter and lemon juice
In a 2 1/2 quart, heavy-bottomed enameled saucepan, cook the onions slowly in the butter for 8 to 10 minutes, until they are tender, but not brown.
Add the flour and stir over moderate heat for 3 minutes without browning.
Off heat, beat in the boiling stock or broth and blend it thoroughly with the flour. Season to taste. Stir in the mushroom stems, and simmer partially covered, for 20 minutes or more, skimming occasionally. Strain, pressing juices out of the mushroom stems. Return the soup to the pan. ( At this point, I put the soup in my crock pot on low heat).
Melt the butter in a separate saucepan. When it is foaming, toss in the mushrooms, salt, and lemon juice. Cover and cook slowly for five minutes.
Pour the mushrooms and their cooking juices into the strained soup base. Simmer for 10 minutes.
*If not to be served immediately, set aside uncovered, and film the surface with a spoonful of cream or milk. Reheat to simmer just before proceeding to the step below, which will take 2 to 3 minutes.
Beat the egg yolks and cream in the mixing bowl. Then, beat in hot soup by spoonful’s until a cup has been added. Gradually stir in the rest. Correct seasoning. Return the soup to the pan and stir over moderate heat for a minute or two to poach the egg yolks, but do not let the soup come near the simmer.
Off heat, stir in the butter by tablespoons. Pour the soup in a tureen or soup cups, and decorate with optional mushrooms and herbs.
In Julia’s own sweet words, “What a happy task you have set for yourself! The pleasures of the table are infinite. Toujours bon Appetit!!!”
Last year, Winterpast got a new blanket of DG. For those of you living in the lush green grasses of California, let me explain. DG stands for Decomposed Granite. In other words, crushed rock. DG is the material covering lovely garden paths at your local nursery. It’s great for zero-scaping, making everything look neat and tidy. The larger-sized DG doesn’t blow away like sand does in our Zephyr windstorms that regularly blow through here.
This year, for some unknown reason, my DG is supporting a crop of weeds. Growing atop two inches of crushed rock, these little succulents and their roots are easy enough to remove. With no mulch or dirt in which to anchor themselves, these little weeds have managed to find enough moisture from the air to grow. I spread DG as an effective weed barrier. How many would I have without the DG?
Life is just like my DG, isn’t it? You think everything is raked up neat and tidy, when in reality, we’re all just a lab report away from disaster. Those moments when your DG looks just perfect as you sip lemonade on your porch are moments. Real life is everything else we deal with or dodge 24/7. Weeds in the DG is God’s way of giving me something small to distract me from off the bigger problems in life, even if only for an hour.
Living on a street of retired gardeners, letting the weeds remain isn’t an option. In my dusty little town at the wide spot in the road, my neighborhood is an oddity. People actually like creating a beautiful yard and spend hours caring for them. On my street especially, weeds are frowned upon. Mind you, this isn’t the normal way of thinking in my town.
Two of the best gardening home owners are ready to sell. Sadly, they live right across the street. Aged out, they are returning to family in California while the fate of our street remains in the hands of reality professionals. Loud music? Zero-scapers? Party animals? People with multiple adult children and their children living under one roof? Or retired people that appreciate the quiet solitude that the desert provides. Only time will tell. I know that I’ve been blessed with the quietest of neighbors for two years now. My luck probably won’t hold out much longer. Living in a sea of original owners enjoying their twilight years was a risk I took when buying Winterpast. After 20 years, the neighborhood is ripe for a change.
Today, the weather may start warming up a little. It’s 42 degrees as I write this morning, with an expected high in the 70’s. A wonderful day to get rid of the unwanted weeds in the front yard while soaking up the sun and making a little Vitamin D on my own.
After the weeds are done, I plan to visit VST’s headstone in Virginia City. If you visit the cemetery, go to the top of the hill and look for one of the few new headstones of the only Dr. in the place. You’ll find it. If you can’t, ask Calvin, the caretaker. He’ll take you right to the spot, as he knows every inch of the property.
For the first time as a widow, I’ve purchased a lovely headstone spray in red, white, and blue flowers. While decorating Winterpast with some patriotic buntings in recognition of Memorial Day, I remembered that my other little spot of Nevada real estate needs some attention. On a barren hilltop, surrounded by headstones of those who passed in the 1800’s, few relatives are left to remember their loved ones. A wonderful reason to spend a morning in VC and enjoy a lunch of Gospel Fried Chicken at Cafe del Rio. I may even chase it with an ice cream cone from Grandma’s Fudge and Confections.
Whatever you do today, make it enjoyable. It’s Friday!! Kick up your heels and live a little.
Ahh, somedays life throws us unexpected complications on top of worry? The things we value the most occupy our thoughts and color our deeds. So, what do you spend the most time worrying about? It seems the future becomes less certain every day providing a script of worry and woe that not even the best writer could dream up.
Yesterday, thirteen people decided they needed groceries. Grocery shopping is a lot of things. Boring. Tedious. Time consuming. Expensive. But, it shouldn’t have ever cost ten of those people their lives. Three others have unnecessary injuries that have changed their lives forever. A troubled young soul had evil on his mind. It brewed in his heart, producing hate that he expressed with the trigger of a gun. Even worse, he filmed the rampage for other innocents to watch. Again, another tragedy at the hands of a mentally ill fool.
These days, I avoid the news whenever possible. In the third year of widowhood and the Single Life of the Senior Citizen, I have plenty to occupy my mind without the thought of bullets whizzing past me in Dairy or Produce. Did I close the garage door? Are the gates locked? Did I turn off the burners on the stove? Are my underwear presentable if I need to go to the emergency room? Will my neighborhood remain a safe place for me to live? And my favorite VST saying, “What shall the end be?” Each day, it seems we’re closer to the realization that “All good things must come to an end.” I just never thought that’d refer to America and our way life.
Looking for peace in my heart, I ran across a little advice that is helping comfort my worried heart. Approaching some rapids, these things will buoy me like a life vest during these harrowing times.
I need the simplest things to live. God. Food. Water. Shelter. Clothing. Health. Personal safety. How simple is that? Everything else is above and beyond. So, I’m going to dial back expectations for my life, relying on gratitude for the simplest of things, which I already have in abundance.
2. Courage. We all need to be courageous in our day to day lives. Life is not for shrinking Violets. Johnny Jump Ups don’t life very long in the desert. Now, Saguaro Cactus! That’s a plant. And entire community of protection and life, thriving in the desert. Yes. If I had to be a plant, I’d pick the Saguaro.
3. Self-Denial. Time that we could all dial back our “I must have……’s.” Have you ever walked down an aisle in Walmart and looked at the ridiculous things we are convinced we NEED in our American lives? Really? Have you ever purged a closet, realizing a month later that you can’t even remember what you threw out? Turn attention to the things we already have and find enjoyment in them. There are no pockets in a shroud.
4. Occupation. Stay busy. If retired, stay busy with all the chores that, once done, make life more comfortable for you. If a widow, double that amount, because you have no one to help. Do them your own way and in your own time, but, stay busy and be thankful you are able to stay occupied.
5. A Clear Conscience. Live in truth, whatever that may be. If you want to say “No”, say no. No explanation needed. Don’t lie. Read the Ten Commandments and do your best to follow them. Avoid gossip, judgement of others, prejudice, and a stiff neck. Breathe in the spring air and close your eyes at night knowing you did no harm. Live in peace.
Any one of those tips is monumental, but if even one of them is embraced, comfort is sure to follow.
When in the world did we all get too busy to show a little kindness? Let a person go ahead in line? Smile at a stranger? Helping a neighbor? The world is speeding at warp speed. The grouchy waitress might have been up all night with a cranky baby. The distracted sales clerk may have just lost their beloved pet. Unless the world starts connecting, things will only get worse. The greatest thing is that kindness is free. The simplest act can make someone’s day so much better. It just takes a little awareness and effort on our part.
Try it today. Just pick one person. Be kind. See what happens.
Is anybody happier
Because you passed their way?
Does anyone remember
That you spoke to them today?
This day is almost over
And it’s toiling time is through;
Is there anyone thinking about
A friendly word from you?
Can you say tonight in passing
With the days that slipped so fast
That you helped a single person,
Of the many that you passed?
Is a single heart rejoicing
Over what you did or said
Does one whose hopes were fading
Now with courage look ahead?
Did you waste the day, or lose it?
Was it well or poorly spent?
Did you leave a trail of kindness
Or a scar of discontent?
Kindness is a simple thing
Free and ever present.
Spread it all throughout your days
With joy, go forth. Be Pleasant.
Borrowed from God’s Little Devotional Journal for Women
Have a wonderful day today. Go forth and spread some kindness.
Due to technical difficulties, I will be back on Monday. Sometimes, the computer world is a little too complicated for one country girl. Enjoy the rest of your week.
Last week, a series of unfortunate events left me praying for girlfriends on Thursday morning. Having been raised in a family of five girls, I’m the one that isn’t the girly type. High drama and the silliness of fashion leave me cold. Shopping isn’t a hobby of mine. I really rather talk about guy stuff. And yes, at 66 years of age, there is a big difference between girl stuff and guy stuff. Anyone who says there isn’t hasn’t lived much.
Thursday morning, being alone with my Bible, I prayed for a source of new girlfriends. Face it, as a single woman, the minute you are seen having coffee with a man, gossip spreads like wildfire. Not wanting to be THAT woman, I would delight in having a group of girlfriends to do things with. A group that is supportive and kind. As I prayed, in the back of my head a negative voice was saying “Right. Where are you going to find this?”
Around 9:15, still being alone and a little blue, I went out to actively search for a new source of friends. Another church had always been of interest to me. Not far from Winterpast, the church in question was located by the golf course. They might offer Bible studies at times different from the ones I was already attending. It was worth a try, so off I went in my little Jeep.
Sadly, when I drove into the parking lot, I realized not every church is hub of activity. On Thursday morning at 9:45-ish, this church was zipped up tight. No welcoming office staff. No Pastor out cutting the grass or washing the widows. Nothing except an empty parking lot. As empty as my heart at that moment.
Where would I ever find friends that were worthy of trust and laughter? Interesting people of like mind. Although I have a lifetime left to find them, that lifetime is getting shorter every day. I’d already tried the woman’s political group. That wasn’t a source of anything except heartburn and angst. A small town is limited in options.
I made a decision to go to Lowe’s and hit the garden section. Nothing better than a good selection of flowers to brighten a day. The threat of frost has now passed for this growing season and good temperatures for planting are almost over. Needing tomato plants, I decided that it would brighten my mood. My search for friendship could continue on another day.
Driving towards the railroad tracks, something came over me, ultimately guiding my little Jeep in a different direction. I remembered that on my first Thanksgiving, I’d been buying food for the dinner I had planned with Miss Firecracker and myself. Being our first widowed Thanksgiving, we would find laughter someway, somehow. Leaving the store, stood a small group of people collecting food for less fortunate families. They were such a good group, I went back in the store and shopped for them.
Now, I had some direction. The time — 9:50-ish. I’d go there first and see if they had a list of the programs offered. I knew they’d have something.
The church sits on the opposite side of the tracks. With three main buildings, cars filled the parking lot. Signs of life made me feel better the minute I drove in. Although I didn’t see any people, I spotted a small wooden sign pointing the way to the office. I’d just pop in, hoping that door was unlocked.
Opening the door, I wasn’t prepared for the scene on the other side. While I was just hoping for a slip of paper listing times and dates of studies and prayer meetings, God answered my prayer with something far more wonderful. Inside that door, around 4 tables set up in a square sat 12 – 14 of the most beautiful smiling faces. Refreshments sat at the ready. Homemade carrot cake and other goodies, along with steaming coffee.
At an empty chair, front and center, sat before a piece of paper. In rather large font it said the following:
FRIEND
\frend\ noun
someone who gives you freedom to be yourself;
one of the nicest things you can have;
the best thing you can be.
“Hi!!! You’re just in time for Bible study. Please stay!” said the cheery woman on the other side of the room. The time — 10:00. I had driven to this Bible study and arrived at exactly the right time on exactly the right day. There are no accidents in this life.
These women were similar in age to me. By 11:30, I felt as if I had known this group for a very long time. It’s all in the eyes and smiles. One woman brought me the study materials. Someone handed me a pen. Another made sure I had a copy of words to the songs we would sing at the beginning of the meeting. Yet another asked me to tell the group a little about myself. Just like that, God sent me to a safe place full of tender, caring people. A group of friends I hadn’t met yet, until right then.
Now included in their text chains, let the fun begin. Last night, a phone call turned into an hour of getting to know someone new. The most special woman who started the Bible study just months ago. A woman who is amazed at the speed in which it’s growing, one woman at a time. I’m so glad, I was last week’s new woman.
My Thursdays are booked for awhile. This group hits the Senior Center for lunch after class. I’m invited to a birthday party in June. Just like that.
When you need something, ask in prayer. Listen for the answer. Because, answers will come. Remember, there are no accidents in life.
Each one of us possesses unique and beautiful gifts needed to make it through life. This weekend, artists came together all over town to create magic on empty walls. At first, the Grumpy Old Woman in me was a little bent about “graffiti” adorning our shared spaces. After all, who wants “graffiti” littering our streets as we race around the town. Well, color me too stuffy and a lot wrong.
Just look at the water tower! Over a period of days, volunteers of all ages came to paint the most beautiful murals around town. By Sunday evening, the town had a new look. Desert winds sandblast the best of paints, leaving our Main Street buildings looking faded and tired. Having some new murals to brighten things up is a cheerful addition to our rather quiet wide space along the interstate.
An intriguing part of this activity was that no one really knew who would be doing the painting. It was decided the painting would happen this weekend trusting that the murals would be completed by strangers. Isn’t life a little like that? It isn’t all about who shows up with their talents and gifts? Not one person possesses every talent. In this project, there was the graphic design artist that had to make their murals fit to scale on the side of the buildings or the water tower. The color artists picked out the correct paint and made sure everything was ready on painting day. Those that were skilled in organization prepared all the supplies necessary to pull this off. The advertising people made sure to get the word out about this fantastic event. Musicians got their play lists ready for the weekend. Before you knew it, it was a one-of-a-kind, small town event.
In our own lives, we are gifted with what we need right where we are, right here and now in this very moment. For sure, we need each others. That’s a given.
Even in a place as barren as the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada we need to strive to thrive where we are. Life’s mural will slowly unfold if you only step back a little and allow it to do so. Each having our own assignments, if we work together the results will be stunning. I can’t do your thing and you can’t do mine, but together, we can achieve miracles.
If you have a knife, fork, and spoon, then that is what you need. But, if you’re missing one, don’t forget to ask a friend. They might just have an extra to lend you. No one else has what you have, the same way you have it. It’s okay to ask for help, but just don’t give up. We’ve all come too far to turn back now.
Watching the choir in church on Sunday, the lesson was evident. The guitarist might not have had the strongest voice, while the vocalist couldn’t begin to pluck out Mary Had a Little Lamb on the guitar. The drummer couldn’t play the hymn we were signing on the piano, but he kept us in time with the beat of his drums. It took each of them, along with the congregation, to make “I Come to the Garden Alone” ring in the rafters. Just like life, nobody has everything they need to handle everything alone.
I hope your town is lucky enough to have an event like the one we had this weekend. If they do, go pick up and brush and discover the artist in you!
The world lost someone precious today. Not a movie star or well-known personality. To her students, she was Queen of their school year. She was their teacher. Her name was Eva. As I’ve said before, a lot is said through a person’s eyes. Here, I see kindness, compassion, and confidence. Yesterday, Eva showed something else. Ferocity. No, I was not there. But, Eva was a teacher. Teachers are fierce people when anything threatens their students. We’re just wired like that.
Yesterday, Eva and 19 of her students were stolen from this earth.
The news said Eva had been teaching for 17 years. She was in her prime. I remember my own classroom and the students that taught me so much over the years. On 9/11/2001, we comforted each other in Room 20. On so many regular days, we became heroes to each other. For one year out of their lives, they had an additional family member. Mrs. Hurt. As for me, I have hundreds of “extra” children that will be 3rd graders in my heart for the rest of my life, their memories frozen in games of jump rope or animal reports handwritten in the sweetest cursive.
To be a teacher is one of the most beautiful professions a person can choose. Over the years, you become identifiable as a teacher because, face it, sensible shoes are comfortable. Clothes that hide stains while being easy to move in are the way to go. Hair styles aren’t important because there are too many papers to grade and activities to plan. Tired eyes happen after nights sleep doesn’t come while trying to decide the best approach to a classroom problem. There are confidences to keep and accomplishments to cheer. But above all, there are children to protect. My last class was made of 27 5th graders, 9 going on 10, just like Eva’s kids.
Happy. Smelly. Intense. Sleepy. Funny. Inspirational. Bored. Confused. Hormonal. Tussled. Hopeful. Growing. Inquisitive. Pure. Purposeful. Open to new ideas. Thinking. Analytical. Life long learners. English-Second-Language. Entitled. Poor. Sniff-ly. Athletic. Clumsy. Kind. Respectful. Bundles of love.
All those adjectives described the 27 reasons I went to work every day at the crack of dawn.
Every day of my career, I told my students I loved them. Once in the morning, and once before they walked out the door. Guess what? They told me they loved me, too. Because, without love and respect between a student and teacher, something very special gets lost. I put on band aids and dried tears. I knew when they weren’t feeling well before they did, and the same care and affection was given to me. We shared important stuff like a special birthday song and homemade cupcakes brought by proud moms. They knew “the look”, and all secretly accepted the fact that teachers DO have eyes in the back of their heads.
Teachers – a special group of people that are on the front lines everyday. Students – a special group of people coming together to learn. Together – MAGIC.
No, I wasn’t there.
But. I know.
Eva died protecting her students.
The world lost something very, very special yesterday. A teacher and her students finishing a year they would never forget, while being ready to begin a summer ripe with possibilities. They will remain elementary students and their teacher in our hearts forever. Please send prayers to Uvalde.
Covid and the memory of being locked up like caged rats is no longer a reality here on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. On our small town Memorial Day, along with remembering the heroes that served our country while paying the highest price for our freedom, we celebrated. Just plain old fun with all the bells and whistles.
In the last week, I’ve received more phone calls and invites than I thought possible. I did get my new crowns last week. Perhaps that’s why I feel like The Queen of Everything these days. Establishing even one friend in a new town isn’t the easiest thing to do, especially in a town that is just a wide spot along a dusty part of the interstate. But, slowly, my friendships are growing.
Last Thursday, with Zephyr winds howling, Ace and I attended a Thank-You BBQ given by my beloved Realtor and her husband. In the middle of 25 mph winds, they pulled off the entire event with a great band and wonderful food. Of course, this was held in “In-Town Park” (as opposed to Out-Of-Town Park which is out of town). While there, a friend from church and his two children joined us as we tried to keep our hamburger buns from flying away. Going to an event and actually meeting up with friends is a new and exciting experience after two years of isolation. Ignoring the crazy winds, we all had a wonderful time enjoying the music and great food.
Saturday, Ace and I went to place flags at the Northern Nevada Veteran’s Memorial Cemetery. The event started at 8:30 am. We arrived at 8:35 to find almost all the flags were already handed out to eager helpers like ourselves. Finding one last crate of flags, we took a bundle of ten and a carnation for each grave. In a matter of minutes, our part was done. By 9:30, every grave was dressed with a flower and flag.
Dogs always catch my eye, but any time I see a service dog with a vest that says “Guide Dog Puppy in Training — San Rafael, California” I must approach the handler. As a young country girl, I raised Guide Dog puppies while in 4-H. So when I spied the adult puppy raiser holding the leash of an adorable black lab, I had to go to her. We were friends at “Hello”. During our conversation, she mentioned the names of several 4-H-ers that had raised puppies with me in the 1900’s. Such happy memories came flooding back. We knew many of the same people, even though we’d never lived in the same town.
While I visited with her, Ace visited with her husband. It turned out he was born in the California town in which Ace lives now. Both being Veteran’s, they exchanged information about their duty stations. This man had served in the Coast Guard on the Jersey Shore near Ace’s childhood home. Small world.
Saying our Goodbyes, it was time to go to the polls for early voting. Again, waiting in line, friends were everywhere. I’ve finally lived here long enough to know who I know and run into them once in awhile. I never realized how lonely I was until now that I’m not that alone anymore.
New friends have been calling to visit. This week, I’ve been invited to a 75th birthday celebration for a wonderful new friend. People are returning to their natural state of friendly around here. It’s all new to me after my move here in April 2020 when the fear of Covid had us all cowering behind closed doors.
I hope your Memorial Day weekend was just as you wanted it. As the year flies by, remember something special about each day. Our world can heal if we do normal things again. Carry on with a smile.
Last night was a special one here at Winterpast. At 7:30 PM, my computer came to life with red, white, and blue gowns and a sea of smiling faces as my grandson graduated from high school. Life has a way of shocking us sometimes. The years go by, lulling Grandparents into a rhythm of normalcy. Game times and activities. Academic awards and summer fun. It does seem life an endless stream of childhood accomplishments, until your little grandson is 6′-to-the-sky with facial hair and a girlfriend.
I did miss the feel of graduation breezes on my face. My mom always talked about graduation weather. Raised in the country, typical graduations were outside on the football field. Spring evenings in the San Joaquin Valley of California were often unpredictably windy, wreaking havoc on long curls and mortarboards. Last night, the weather seemed perfect as I watched from the comfort of my home.
This high school graduation wasn’t what you’d expect in the worldly craziness we live in today. The young men, (for the most part), wore shirts and ties. Slacks and dress shoes. The young ladies looked like young ladies. No purple hair or studded faces. Heels and dresses. Fresh faces and lots of smiles. This class is going places.
There was no nonsense of childish interruptions. No offensive speech by the top Graduate. No throwing of hidden beach balls or messages written on the tops of mortal boards. Nope. This was a celebration of accomplishments. I must say, I was quite proud to be a part of the evening, even though six hours away.
The students in my grandson’s class have goals. The top students are off to top schools like UCLA, Pepperdine, or Brandeis University. They’ll go on to be doctors, lawyers, and scientists. There’s just something in the eyes of students like that. Serious. Appreciative of the gifts they’ve been given over the past 13 years of education. In this school district, they run a tight ship. Even after two years of distance learning through the lock down, these kids stayed the course. Perhaps there’s something to be said for staying home with mom and dad for two years of high school. It’s a thought, anyway.
The graduating class of 2022 was referred to as “2 Good 2 Be Forgotten”. From afar, I must admit, the staff must have been sorry to let them go. Classes have distinct personalities and traits branding them with a reputation. Some years, the staff celebrates for different reasons. Last night, parents should’ve been very proud as their children reached an important milestone in life.
My grandson will begin his college journey this summer. He’s been working full time his entire Senior year and plans to pursue his career in acting. He sings. He dances. He’s devastatingly charming, just like his Grandpa VST. Hard to believe that 50 years ago, his Grandpa was graduating from a country high school just a few miles west, looking forward to his own journey in life. We were friends then. I know. With a smile and a sigh, life goes on.
If you are a grandparent that can’t travel to a graduation, don’t forget to check out “You Tube”. It’s the next best thing to being there. You may find you have the best seat in the house, like I did. Remember to have your tissues at the ready.
Congratulations to The Class of 2022. Go forth and do great things.
The first time I visited the gardens of Winterpast, I knew I wanted to be the one to tend to her. Each day, I do something in the yard. Winter is a great time to dream of spring plantings. Haven’t we all fallen for the sweetest blooms at the nursery, only to find the place we chose to plant it wasn’t right? So frustrating in the expensive times in which we live today. If you live in a spot where things grow on their own, feel lucky. The desert is unforgiving. Brutal. Crisp.
Summer is the time I gasp at the water bill. Looking at an aerial view through Google Maps, Winterpast is readily identified. It’s the only green yard in the subdivision. California green. Every square inch is planned, and tended. Well. Some people have fancy cars. Some travel. Some have walls of shoes. I have an oasis in the desert. With that being said, the water bill is still a little painful.
The things that love growing here are thick-skinned and thorny. Just once, I’d love to have a burst of color growing along the paths. Blooms of the most delicate types. Ferns, knee deep and lush. But, I need to be glad the roses are doing well this spring. That’s about the extent of my success with blooming plants. Low humidity, high heat, and poor soil don’t produce the best blooms.
A beautiful flower garden is a work of art. God must have been in an exceptionally cheery mood the day he thought them up. They must be his way of laughing. Last night, at a birthday party for a new girlfriend, I sat with a florist. Every day, she lives in the land of flowers as she creates beautiful floral arrangements for special occasions. Somehow the magic of flowers stays with her even when she isn’t at the shop. People need flowers. Flowers nourish our very souls.
The trees of Winterpast all have their own personalities. This year, my banyan-like apricot tree is struggling. She just can’t die. Not on my watch. Her long limbs are struggling to produce leaves, and at this point, I might need to call in an arborist. Ace mentioned that some limbs are too low to walk under. At 5’5″, they hang at just the right height for me. Perfect for picking a stray apricot on an early summer morning. Being the largest apricot tree I’ve ever seen, it’s obvious she’s struggling. It’s up to me to keep her alive.
Gardening requires planning, work, and upkeep. Plants need to be staked until they grow strong and tall, struggling through the forces of the desert heat and wind. Roses need to be fertilized and trimmed. Gravel needs to be replaced and bark replenished. The only sure thing is that the weeds continue to grow. Especially those with thorns like needles.
These days, Oliver is finding it nice to bask in the morning sun. He hasn’t eaten a plastic solar light in over a year now. The emitters hold no more fascination for him. He still protects the fence with his ferocious bark, even though it’s only the next door neighbor. To Oliver, it is some fantastical beast that could come eat us at any moment. Ollie finally likes his back yard as much as I do.
Gardening gives me time to attend to my own internal struggles. Thriving in the Nevada sunshine, I still need pruning, straightening, and correction on a daily basis. Weeding out negativity, I try to replant with optimism and forgiveness. Somedays, those wilt just like the Johnny Jump Up’s I planted last week. But, slowly, I’m making progress in improving myself one step at a time.
So, even if it’s only in a pot on the back porch, plant something. Gardens flourish with love and care, just like we do. Enjoy!!
I’ve had the garden tidied up, As they would have me do. These little pals who couldn’t stay To see the season through. The flowers were their dearest friends, The garden was their own, I’ve watched their work, but never knew The things that they had grown. Their catalogues keep coming, and Their garden magazine; I run across the queerest names, And study what they mean, I read them all, from end to end, And when the spring is here, I’ll have a garden just like theirs, As though my friends were near. Albert H. PEDRICK
We are all just the caretakers of today, not really owning anything. I came after a long line of TRUE gardeners that created the beauty of Winterpast. Each spring, new plants make an appearance, and I struggle to keep things looking like a real gardener lives here. For my new readers, let me explain.
I moved to Winterpast seventeen days after my husband, VST, died of cancer, a train wreck that took him away in only nine weeks. We knew each other for 50 years, harmonizing in high school choir. Lost in a widow’s fog so dense, I started reading a book by Jan Karon about a little town that doesn’t exist. Woven into the book were stories about Mitford and the people that live there. The story of a mansion named Winterpast unfolded.
Winterpast is place we want to be as a new widow. It’s a place where healing is starting to take root. A place of hope. A place where you can sleep soundly, waking up without the daily shock of an empty pillow next to yours. A place where you finally find your footing to carry on down the path out of the first brutal days of widowhood. I was lucky enough to find a home that is my Winterpast. I named her that.
Cared for by amazing gardeners before me, my yard is a true desert oasis. No matter the problem, Winterpast is my place of answers. In the cold, she keeps me warm. While I sleep, she keeps me safe. Cocoon-like, she’s let me spout new wings and rise to meet each day. Somedays, she is the only purpose I have. As a retiree, that’s the way it should be at this stage in life.
In memory of a sweet gardener that lived here before me, I end with verses from Song of Solomon 2:11-13 (NKJV). It is from these words that my Winterpast came to be.
For lo, the winter is past, The rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; The time of singing has come, And the voice of the turtledove Is heard in our land. The fig tree puts forth her green figs, And the vines with the tender grapes Give a good smell. Rise up, my love, my fair one, And come away!
Heaven will be lovelier now that this beautiful man has gone to his favorite girl. May they have endless gardens to enjoy. I promise, I’ll take care of the weeds and watering around here.
With gas prices skyrocketing and groceries costing as much as our mortgages used to be, we’re all looking for a deal. Just yesterday I read that stores are now discounting merchandise because they have no more shelf space. The world has gone totally mad. What happened to the supply chain problem??? The Walmart to the East has merchandise stacked in the aisles.
Yesterday, I decided to investigate this for myself. I found many great deals on clothing at Walmart. I hope our young families are clued in and doing Back-To-School shopping now, even though the last day of school hasn’t yet arrived for some kids. Lots of bargains to be found on the overflowing racks.
You may not know this, but, garden centers often discount struggling plants. Sometimes, perfectly healthy ones get thrown in with their ailing friends. At my Go-To Garden Center, the discount is usually 50%. Plants are so expensive these days, and everyone loves a bargain. Buying a discounted one can be a risk. You might be buying a plant that has no chance of survival, so be careful. Do your homework.
Think about your local temperatures for the next two months. Here in the desert, Johnny-Jump-Ups or pansies are not a flower I would ever buy, discounted or not. Their delicate blooms and the hot desert sun are not a match. But, a succulent that has been overwatered or in the shade a bit too long is a good selection for me. If you do live in the desert, try those that have thick waxy leaves.
Try to avoid those plants that show evidence that their blooming cycle is finished (dead or dying flowers). Those plants are often annuals that are at the end of life. Best you leave them on the shelf.
A great choice are grape vines or roses. Both bounce back after a little tender loving care. Here, it’s late in the season to transplant anything, as most plants need cooler spring temperatures to establish themselves. That goes for vegetable starts, as well. If you have a covered patio, you might want to place the vine or rose bush in a pot until fall when the temperatures are great for planting in the garden.
At my store, there’s a separate area for discounted houseplants. Thursday is the day the tired plants get marked down. I never pay full price for houseplants and have so many, my favorite coffee cup is marked “Plant Lady”. House plants clean the air and make me smile. A home can’t have too many.
A note about house plants. I often get compliments and comments about the health of my house plants. Yes. They are all thriving. There is a trick to this phenomenon. If they don’t thrive, they are replaced. No need looking at a Pathos that has one leaf. Say your Good Bye, shed a tear, and begin again. When replacing the plant, (because plants are good for you), consider the reason the last plant died. Perhaps you need to change its location or open your curtains more often. Miracle Grow plant food does produce miraculous results.
Don’t forget to shower your houseplants at least once each season. That’s right. Shower them with cold water to clean dusty leaves. You’ll be amazed at how much better they grow.
Enjoy the beautiful outdoors today! In just 17 days, we begin Summer 2022. Hard to believe we’ll be celebrating Christmas 2022 in 203 days. And so it goes.
Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened.
Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you. The old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.
Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident?
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner.
All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before. How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!
“Can a dead man remember the singing of a nightingale and the fragrance of a rose and the sigh of a brook?
Can a prisoner who is heavily loaded with shackles follow the breeze of the dawn?
Is not silence more painful than death?”
“He was the one who first sang to me the poetry of real life.” Khali Gibran — The Broken Wings
So, Lord,
Take these broken wings
So I may learn to fly again
And learn to live so free
When I hear the voices sing
The book of love will open up
And let me in. John Lang
There is a very strong woman that lives in my town and worships at my church. She works full time training doctors and nurses so that they may care for others. She provides a soft pillow to travelers through her air BNB. She feeds the poor in our town through the church food pantry (last month feeing 612 people). She has the brightest smile. The meaning of an angel in “human form” is a messenger, a kind and lovable person, or one who manifests goodness, purity and selflessness. This description fits her perfectly.
A few days earlier, the pastor had asked for prayers for her, as she was under the weather. Seeing her at church yesterday, I asked if she was feeling better. She replied that she had an injured shoulder that acted up from time to time.
“Boy do I understand. I have a broken wing, too.” I replied.
Stopping, she looked me squarely in the eye. “I’ve named my problem the same thing. A broken wing.” In that moment, we formed the bond of The Sisterhood of the Broken Wing. Wanting to write about this productive woman who manages to squeeze more into a day than I can squeeze into a month, I googled “Broken Wings”.
“An angel with one wing still in tact symbolizes freedom and that no matter what happens, there is still hope.” I had no idea this is really a thing. One-winged angels. Who knew?
Personally, I’m the one-winged angel that, thru widowhood, managed to maintain optimism, faith, and hope. At times, the wilderness of widowhood brought me to my knees. But like a beautiful butterfly, freedom is here. I’m learning to “fly” again. Through God’s grace and mercy, I’m continuing to fly higher and higher each day. I’m learning to love myself again. Still the same person I’ve always been, I’m becoming stronger and freer with each new day.
The sisters of the hood are now nursing our broken wings back to health. Together, we can do greater things now that we have two good wings between us. A town needs angels on earth. Find a need in your town and help fill it.
School days are coming! I, my dear readers, am returning to school on July 8th. With back pack and cute jeans. Oh, yeah. Wait a minute. Things are different now. I’ll be spending more time in my studio in front of the computer screen. I must say, the excitement wore me out yesterday. Let me unpack the story for you.
Two weeks ago, I met a new friend. She works at a tiny little school by my favorite local lake. Yes, it IS the one in which they find an occasional body, but it’s so beautiful, I’ll overlook that little fact. As we talked, she told me about her job and how much fun she was having. With graduation just around the corner and memories haunting me, I asked her to tell me more. She mentioned that the number of Christian teachers there had increased to five and it was a great staff and even better students and families. A small country school focusing on reading, writing, and arithmetic in 2022. Go figure.
So, her words worked on me until curiosity got the better of me. I Googled the district office and found that there IS a one year 3rd grade opening at that very school. Fancy that. 3rd Grade is my happy place fbecause the people there are the nicest found anywhere in the world.
Doing more research, I realized why the position is a one year appointment. An abundance of 2nd graders. That happens once in awhile when a huge class creates a staffing problem. You need an additional teacher for that particular class as they go through the year.
On my end, there are a few obstacles in the way.
I am no spring chicken. At 66, 3rd graders have much more energy than I do on a good day.
Naps aren’t even for kindergartners anymore. I love a good afternoon nap.
I would be starting the year with no personal supplies. Teachers spend a huge amount going back to school every year. Starting from scratch is expensive.
Those three points should’ve given me pause, but there was one more challenge presented a bigger problem. My Nevada teaching license expired in 2018.
Reciprocity – the practice of exchanging things with others for mutual benefit, especially privileges granted by one country or organization to another. Nevada honors teaching credentials from California with a minor requirement.
I used up my one chance at reciprocity when VST and I moved to Virginia City to teach middle school. They simple required three classes to be completed in three years. Guess who missed the bell on that one?
Driving to the Nevada Department of Education yesterday, I thought back to the last time I went there in person. VST drove and I was a bundle of nerves. A new school. New students. I would be THE Science teacher for Virginia City Middle School for one year. Their teacher was running away to snorkel at some tropical venue for a year. Middle school science will do that to a person.
Yesterday, I drove myself. Once arriving, I received the best news. Two of the three classes were no longer required. I only needed one class to re-activate my teaching credential. ONE. Only One. With online schools, this would be done in a snap. Driving home with a pre-approved list of colleges in hand, I was giddy with delight.
Well, not so fast. As it turned out, the list I was given was old and outdated. Colleges had shut their doors. Some had changed names. Some were closed for the summer. Finally I found the one that would work for me. University of Phoenix. You know, the one that tailors every situation for every student? That one. Sure enough, quicker then I could type in my Visa number, I transformed myself into a college coed. I’m thinking of a bean bag chair and black light for my studio. My hair is long enough for braids now. Add a pair of Birkenstocks and it will be 1973 all over again. For sure, the hair might be gray, but the roots are still as blond as ever.
Here’s the deal.
I may never make it to the first day of school for the 8:00 bell on August 9. There may be no need for a complete teaching wardrobe or sensible new shoes. I may not need a shiny lunch box and thermos set. Or new hair clips and scrunches. I may never get to feel the First Day Jitters just one last time. Or wipe away tears as a beloved class skips out the door towards 4th grade.
But, this is the truth.
Without returning to college to complete one class, I’ll never have a choice about how I spend my August 9th, 2022. That much is true.
With that being said, I need to start my lists. So many things to prepare for the beginning of college on July 8th. I need to spend some time roaming around the Student Union and Resource Center at the virtual campus. I got a special invitation to do so from the Dean.
What can I say. This little guy runs the show. He doesn’t ask much. Just the basics.
There is nothing that Sir Oliver, Gentleman of Ashworth Hall loves more than his daily meals. Two 1/2 cup servings of Iam’s Lamb and Rice mini chunks. He loves his food, enjoying the happiest times of day at 4:00 AM and PM. It became necessary for me to buy a puzzle bowl to slow him down. Until today Oliver was a hearty eater.
This morning, everything was normal. Oliver whined a little to wake me up. After starting the coffee, we both used the bathroom. Pee Pads are the greatest thing ever and Oliver has mastered them.
He raced off with normal excitement to wait at the pantry door for his breakfast. I scooped and shared his normal meal.
That’s when the most bizarre happened. He sat and looked at me. Then, he looked at the food container in the pantry. Looking at his dish with disgust, he refused to eat. Absolutely refused his food. I’m quite sure his eyes were saying, “Look Lady, here I draw the line. Something’s wrong with this food. ‘Aint happening.”
Weird things are happening with our human food supply. Watch your pet’s behavior around meal time. Be sure that what goes in comes out looking consistent from day to day. Make sure to provide plenty of fresh, cool water for your pets as summer approaches. Watch their behavior and listen to them when they are truly trying to tell you something.
The 1/2 bag of Iam’s food went into the garbage. Opening a new bag, he ate, although not with his normal excitement. It doesn’t help that his human idol, Ace, is visiting. When Ace is here, Oliver’s world is complete. Food is second place. Little else exists for Oliver when Ace is around.
Our furry friends are such an important part of life. Be sure to take good care of them. If something looks or smells off with their food, listen to them and start over.
i don’t want to be someone who writes in pencil and eats too slowly and walks with eyes that are glued to the sidewalk and tops of strangers’ feet i’ve been underwater for so long that i’ve forgotten lungs are meant to be filled with air; exhaling seems more like something found on the second star to the right, rather than a process that is meant to be done twenty-three thousand times a day
i feel like an old woman who looks in the mirror and all she can see are wrinkles and white hair and tired eyes and the absence of who she used to be
but i am not someone who turns away from sunsets and pretends that darkness is all i’ve ever known; someone who thinks the sun will never rise again
because the sun will rise again— the words hiding inside of me will find their way out, because i cannot hold my breath forever
i am not someone who writes in pencil and erases the bits that are too honest and too imperfect and too real to claim as thoughts of my own
i cannot keep my lips pursed and hands tied behind my back, i cannot keep pretending i am a shadow of who i used to be
my tomorrows hold suns much brighter than ones that have risen over horizons of my past; i have not reached the summit yet
there is so much more me for me to become
each day, i am new.
Written by Madisen Kuhn
Thank you for these beautiful words, Madisen Kuhn. Have a wonderful Friday! I’ll be back on Monday.
Not Winterpast — But a girl can dream, right? (Set from Something’s Gotta Give, 2003)
It’s been 2 1/2 years since I painted anything. Thank goodness Winterpast was in great shape when I bought her. Having a few other problems on my plate, painting was on the back burner until now. And now, it’s time.
Ninja Neighbor, the gal next door, recently painted the interior with the help of a few friends. With rooms bright and white, her home looks like it was plucked from the pages of Home and Garden. Yes, she has 22 years on me, but, I’m capable of painting the smaller spaces. I’ve started with the laundry room.
Choosing a color took a little time. I was going for white, but which one? Some are more green. Some more gold. Some more blue. All still white. My favorite was one called “Calcium”. Having a degree in Biology, that seemed a good fit.
It was during this selection phase that I discovered the latest trend in decorating.
Coastal Grandmother.
“Coastal grandmothers are those who are effortlessly stylish (but in a comfy way), have a put-together presence (without trying too hard), know how to be the best hostess (while never breaking a sweat,) and appreciate the finer things (yet still feel approachable)”. according to Southern Living Magazine.
It’s a lifestyle that embodies the love for clean, light, simplistic beachfront properties, white button-down shirts, cozy interiors, fresh flowers, white wine, going to bed early and a laid-back, minimalistic, coastal feel. The typical coastal grandmother does not decorate her home as a maritime museum, but rather, he or she gravitates toward coastal neutrals, light-colored breezy linens, and minimalistic style.” Susan Claire McDonald — The Island Packet –Hilton Head, SC
Okay, I’ve seen “Something’s Gotta Give” (2003). Although further from the ocean than I’ve ever lived before, I could see that look going on here at Winterpast. After all, seashells are made mostly of what? CALCIUM. And so, my decision was made.
Going to buy the paint was interesting. The paint guy had a very grey braid longer than mine. Promising to whip up that paint in a jiffy, I visited the kitchen cabinet department to dream about my Coastal Grandmother cabinets. Being the painter for VST’s projects, my cupboards are stuffed with all the things necessary to complete the job. Rollers, extension poles, brushes, paint pads, and much more. All that was lacking was the paint.
Funny, before beginning this project, I thought everything looked great around here. But, there is nothing like one freshly painted room to let you know, the rest needs freshening as well. And so it begins.
If you are starting your own project, remember to choose one room at a time. Choose something you can finish within two weeks. Finished means everything, from baseboards and trim to the ceiling. Done and put back together with flowers on the counter. Otherwise, the project can sour and, quite frankly, never be finished. A fact in my experience over the years.
Now that there is an actual decorating trend involving the word “Grandmother”, I’m pretty jazzed. Who knew that we would actually get our day in the spotlight? Be sure to choose your whites carefully. Buy the best brushes and paint you can afford. Avoid ladders if your balance isn’t great. Better yet, when at all possible, hire it done.
New horizons always hold excitement for me. Traveling over the years, the best part of the morning is before the sun even comes up. Everything is new and ripe with potential as the day begins. That’s how I’m finding my life right now. Exciting, unpredictable, and brand new.
As the story of my future here at Winterpast slowly unfolds, I’ve chosen a path different than the one I’ve been on for the past two years. It’s leading right back to that 8:00 bell and a room full of beautiful 3rd graders with the jitters in their legs. Needing to dust off my whistle, this teacher is headed back towards the playground of life.
Last night, eyes wide open in the dark, I thought of all the ways VST helped me my last two years of teaching. It was, indeed, a team effort. Both up at 4:30AM, I left the house by 6 AM every day, with classroom preparation ahead of me. He waited until he dropped me off at school. Faithfully at 3;30 every day, he waited again in the parking lot for a tired teacher to roll on out to the car.
Each day, dinner was already planned. Patiently, he waited for me to correct papers from daily lessons and watch me tumble into bed. All the while, he longed for his own opportunities that never came. While remaining hopeful as he waited, he built things. Outrageously beautiful things, all while helping me.
In the dark, it crossed my mind that I will remain irrelevant if I don’t spread my wings and take a chance. There are children that need to discover the beauty in writing. They need to know that math is really fun and science is the most interesting part of the day. They deserve a safe place to spend their days. I deserve another chance to learn more about the world. Molding in the darkness of irrelevance isn’t me.
After experiencing the devastation of the last two years, times have changed. The days are really long here at Winterpast. The quiet solitude is becoming a bit of an annoyance. It’s time that I find a purpose outside of these four walls. There are kids that need a teacher just a few miles from my front door.
It’ll be up to me to round the bases for the 185 days of the next school year. Up to me to pack my own lunch and navigate snow and wind as I travel to a tiny little school in a very out of the way place. I’ll be on my own when I need to discover ways to help every child in my classroom. Having my own in-house psychologist was pretty handy when confusing situations arose. VST was always there to listen.
At a church function yesterday, I spoke to the pastor’s wife. As I told her I had applied to her little school, and only hers, she brightened.
“Have you interviewed? I’ll call the principal right away and let him know he needs to call you. Come, let me introduce you to the librarian. She also attends our church. ” Just like that, I know two co-workers. There are no accidents in life.
Later in the day, the Pastor’s wife and future co-teacher texted to tell me the following:
“Two minutes after I sent a text to my principal, he responded. He will be getting in touch with you on Monday to set up an interview.”
Technically, I’m now on summer break. It’ll be a short one, as I return to college on July 8th. The 2022-2023 school year begins on August 9th. My 22nd year of teaching. The formality of an interview will come and go and then, I’ll know three co-workers. By August 10th, I’ll just be one of gang looking forward to a wonderful school year full of amazing growth and adventures. There’ll be no time to bask in my moment as the new kid on the block. Teaching isn’t like that.
College coed. New teacher. Home owner. Gardener. Church girl. Friend. Mentor. Oliver’s Mom.
Descriptors of me in a very new and exciting life! My, how quickly time change everything, bringing with it the first chapter of a brand new life. God is good all the time. All the time, God is good.
Let me begin by telling you I LOVE THE WIND. The stronger the better. There is nothing better than hunkering down in the worst of winds with a good cup of coffee and a book. Better yet, a windy nap under an overcast sky. On my favorite days, the wind blows at around 10 – 12 miles an hour all afternoon. Unless of course, nice hair and driving are involved. Then, wind is not my friend.
On the high desert plains, wind is a part of life. It’s one of the many reasons I love my home so much. Desert winds age or break everything. You can hear them coming like a freight train, much like huge waves at the beach. They always carry things away, leaving the air fresh and clean.
Yesterday, I came to know why some people fear the wind. During the storm, Oliver and I cuddled up on the couch, but not in a good way. A way that felt like we should really be in the bathtub with a mattress over our heads. A “tornado’s coming” kind of way. The winds yesterday exceeded 50 mph.
Here on the high desert plains, things are built to withstand winds. Winterpast has stood strong for almost 20 years. With the finest vinyl fencing, there is no wood or weather rot from sub-standard cedar that is sold today. Nope. This fencing is made for our winds and weather, while wooden fences become rot and then break. That being said, my fence did have one small break. The winds were that strong.
When the storm began, it seemed normal. Windy, but not terrible. On my to church, there were a few dust-devils, very common here. Nothing said, “Storm’s com’in” to me. Leaving the service to go home, the weather had changed with a dust storm upon us. Sand can ruin a perfectly good windshield or paint job. Not a place to leave a nice Jeep sitting out for the day. I scurried home.
Once inside, the winds howled. Around 4:35 pm, I lost power.
Losing power around here is always a time for me to catch up with my loved ones. Living alone, we all agreed that I should have a “Help! I’ve Fallen and I Can’t Get Up” button. The system is marvelous. It came with a waterproof shower button, an “Away From Home” button, a wrist watch for sleeping button, and a pendant. In any sort problem, whether from an errant dust rag, a power outage, or a real emergency, all my kids and my dear friend, CC, are alerted by text.
“Something’s wrong with the crone. Give her a call.” They all call me immediately to be sure it was a false alarm.
It’s always nice to reassure them that I am just fine.
The power was out for 2.5 hours yesterday. Pretty sure that Nevada Energy pulled the plug on us. I can’t blame them. Earlier in the day, a downed power line caused a fire in the biggest little city just to the west of me. I’ve lived here at Winterpast 26 months. This was the first and only extended power outage in my time here. That’s pretty darn good.
I learned that I have depend way too much on the internet to fill down time. My 100 watt light bulbs are necessary for my weak eyes. The soup I wanted to eat needed to be microwaved. My “Verizon Hot Spot” doesn’t work well in a storm. Everything that seemed fun at the time involved electricity. I also learned that 50+mph winds scare Oliver and me.
This morning, it’s time to go walk the fence line and look for damage. I’ll call the gardener and ask him to come prune some broken tree limbs. There’s new leaves to rake before summer comes knocking on June 21st.
The other day, another “news” article further confirmed my decision to move away from the crazy state of California. It was a beautiful place to grow up until it wasn’t. Over the last 8 years, I’ve never looked back once, but only wished VST and I had moved much earlier and much further East.
The article stated that California lawmakers have now rewritten biology and settled it once and for all.
BEES ARE FISH.
In the 2,000’s, elders have been forced to accept many, many things. The craziest of trends are better left undiscussed. Something that was called this is now called that. Names of mountains are changed to be less offensive to some. History is rewritten with lightning speed. But this, I will not accept or teach.
Bees are and will remain animals that are insects. They will never become fish, unless you live in California. I won’t teach my students that a bee is anything other than the insect that it is.
The classification of animals is something kids love to learn about. I remember a young mom that came to my room in confusion. All the animal groups were confusing. Mammals. Reptiles. Amphibians. Birds. Insects. She had all animals placed in only two groups. Animal and human. Not everyone understands that basic biological facts place each creature into a group of their own kind. Bees share traits with other insects, not fish.
California’s change in classification began with an important issue. Bees are in danger. We need bees in our world to pollinate some (not all) of our food plants. They are very sensitive to pollutants and pesticides. Bees are wonderful little creatures. Their numbers are declining. They need protection. Fish have much broader protection through environmental laws. That being said, bees will never be fish.
All insects are invertebrates. That means they do not have a vertebral column. No backbone. Bees are insects. Therefore, bees are invertebrates.
There IS a group of marine invertebrates that ARE fish. Animals like jellyfish, clams, and other sea creatures are included here. They are fish. They are invertebrates, having no backbone. My personal favorite’s are the cnidarians. Jellyfish are in this group. A kindergartner could explain that a jellyfish and a bee are not similar in any way, except that they are both animals.
The loophole in the California law is this.
Insects are invertebrates.
Some fish are invertebrates.
If some invertebrates are fish and bees are invertebrates, then, a bee can be a fish. Simple. Sound the gavel. In California, a bee is now a fish. Put a nice news story on television that bees are now fish and the mother sitting at the kitchen table helping her child with homework will be even more confused.
Farm in the 1900’s was simple.
Respect living things.
Leave everything better than it was when you found it.
Water the garden twice a day.
Watch for tomato worms.
Ignore the bees and they’ll leave you alone.
Use the right bait and we’ll have catfish for dinner.
Do your homework.
Follow the rules.
Get to bed early. There’s lots of work to do tomorrow.
Say your prayers before you go to sleep.
Pretty easy.
I never needed to watch for the attack of underwater honeybees while swimming in the river. The beaches of Santa Cruz were never posted with warnings of incoming swarms of underwater bees. Bees buzzing around the fruit. Fish stayed in the rivers and streams until we caught them for dinner.
I’m going to finish painting my laundry room today while watching a lovely movie from the 1900’s. Things were so much simpler then.
Congratulations Cheer Squad and Softball Team!!!! Go Vaqueros!!!!!
Driving down the highway in my little town is informative. There are signs advertising goods. Signs for small businesses like the Roundtable Pizza or Auto Zone. The flooring store always has a catchy message. This week it said, “Honoring our High School Heroes — Town Parade Down Main — 6/14 — 7pm.”
Finally, someone was honoring our Champion softball team and cheer squad. It was about time. These type of events make their way into my datebook. Born in the 1900’s, I don’t keep a calendar on my phone. I prefer a large daily calendar that has lots of space for notes. Writing in pencil, there are plenty of erasures for those things that get canceled, ignored, or re-scheduled. When I arrived home, I penciled in the word PARADE – 7PM on Tuesday, June 14th.
Parades really aren’t something I love or even like. This parade would be different. Honoring our high school students was a worthy cause. Pretty sure that parking wouldn’t be a problem, I contacted a girlfriend to see if she wanted to join me. She jumped at the chance and we decided to sit in front of Subway under the shade of the Jeep while enjoying a parade and dinner.
Pop up parades aren’t elaborate. There are no clowns throwing candy or marching bands. No car clubs or dancing horses. Yesterday was no exception.
Arriving early, it was fun to sit on Main Street and watch the traffic zipping by. There was a time when taking an hour out of the day to wait for a parade to roll by was unthinkable. Watching all the commuters returning home from work reminded me that once I return to the classroom, I’ll be back in that group of racing rats.
I did hope I’d really seen the sign at all. Could I have imagined that there would be a parade on a random Tuesday night at 7PM? If so, it would add to the fun of the night. Visiting with a girlfriend over a Subway sandwich is never wasted time. The nice thing about being old is that you can get away with not always getting dates and events just right. Eyesight or hearing play tricks on us sometimes.
My friend showed up right on time. After working all day at the hardware store, she was tired. As we caught up on the week’s events, our laughter was good medicine for the two of us. Both widows, we traded notes on the perils of widow’s fog and how deafening silence can drive a woman back to the work place. We both agreed that we hope we are able to work for many years to come.
Right on time at 7PM, the distant honking horns signaling the beginning of the parade could be heard. Coming from the East, flashing lights approached as a caravan of two vehicles slowly rolled up Main at a snail’s pace. The parade consisted of the town firetruck followed by a pickup pulling a flatbed trailer. Atop the trailer sat the 2022 Nevada State Champion Soft Ball Team and National Champion Cheer Squad. Not bad for our tiny town.
This parade seemed to be a private affair held for two old women that honked like there was no tomorrow while waving like loony old bats. Different generations of women exchanging a cheering moment. We were the only people that had come out to cheer our teams. Just like that, the parade was done. And so was dinner.
My entire evening took 45 minutes out of my day, but gave me much to smile about. Small town fun is so different than city life. A memory was made for a tiny little group of people on June 14, 2022. It didn’t make the papers. It wasn’t a national event. Just a little bit of fun that was advertised on a sign off a dusty highway on a wide spot in the road in the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada.
Look for some summer fun in your town. Remember to check the billboards. You never know what you’ll find.
Churches are made of really great people going through different phases of life. My church is no different. Just last Sunday, our membership grew by one little boy weighing 9 pounds something. This little guy is a brother to two others who would be waiting for dinner the night he came home. Baby brother’s are a fuss about nothing when the Biggers want to eat. Little’s can just nestle in their cribs and wait. Biggers need to eat.
Everyone at our church is cared for in time of need. Through the grapevine, people know who is sick, sad, or hungry. The storage pantry is the size of a small grocery store, stocked with everything from diapers to donuts. If someone comes in need, the church helps. It’s what we do.
Last month, the church pantry fed over 600 people on $300. Rather like the story of Jesus feeding 5,000 people with five loaves of bread and two fishes. Our pantry is open to anyone that needs food. Lovely and so needed in our small community during these hard times.
Last week, organized women got to work. The new baby was coming on Sunday at noon. Surgery had been scheduled for weeks. Mother and son would go home on Wednesday. The little family of six would need to be fed until Mom felt better after the “baby extraction procedure” as the Pastor called it to the delight of a church full of worship-ers. Volunteers would deliver a meal a day for one week.
A very persistent leader didn’t stop until she had seven volunteers. I took Wednesday evening.
My kitchen and I are friends some days and foes on others. I need to be in a real mood to cook something deliciously wonderful. The children, aged 3, 4, and 10 and their dad wouldn’t really care about French cuisine. They needed food for dinner. My go-to is always Subway. You can’t go wrong with a sandwich. Subway has kept me alive through some very tough days.
Standing at the counter, I had to be mindful that kids are fickle. What if turkey was the one thing they hated more than tuna? What if roast beef was worse than “abocado”? ABOCADO??? Avocado would be the kiss of death. In the end, I ordered three children’s meals and a footlong turkey (hold the onions for the breast feeding mama). Smother it all with ranch dressing. Add chocolate milk and cookies with a bag of chips on the side. A bag of apples for snacks. Call it dinner.
The Sandwich Architect smiled when I told her about the new family. I watched her as she added extra meat, veggies, and love to the meal. Not every day you get to prepare a feast for a special homecoming. She understood how special this meal was.
Dropping off the sandwiches at church, I mentioned to the Pastor that I was concerned the kids might not like the sandwiches.
“Ahhh. Not to worry. Mikey and Carl have an agreement. Mikey will eat the bread. Carl will eat the meat. Sadie will keep hers neat and tidy. Dad will be relieved that dinner isn’t something he needed to cook and mom will be grateful she’s off for the night. They make it work at their house.”
Smiling, I remembered back to the days when my kids were creative at meal time. Bless Mikey and Carl and their little agreement.
Brand new baby brother and the little family are settling in to their life as a six-pack. Everyone is doing well. Today is a new day. The way these women at the church cook, the family will get a home cooked meal with all the trimmings tonight.
How can you help someone today? Random acts of kindness make everyone appreciate their friends all the more. The world needs love this very moment.
My new Bible study group is the happiest spot in my week. Every Thursday, beginning at 9:15, the women begin to arrive. Everyone comes together from different situations in their lives. Some struggles are minute to minute, while others are long battles with years of mourning and grief. Leaving our public masks at the door, we come to learn more about the Bible and each other.
Yesterday, gals brought in items for the food pantry. Everything from dog food to a watermelon. People bring what the spirit moved them to buy. Bread. Eggs. A little chocolate. Non-perishables. A can of this. A bottle of that. Shopping for someone’s time of need. A very nice thing to do.
I’d almost decided to take care of my Driver’s License appointment at the DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles) office located in our county’s seat. If you aren’t a rural type, a county seat is an administrative center, seat of government, or capital city of a county or civil parish.
My county is spread over 2,024 square miles (Think of a square with 45 mile long sides). 2,001 sq. miles of that is land. 23 square miles of that is water (Think of a square with almost 5 mile sides). My town is the largest, even though the county seat is 45 minutes away. The population of that vast amount of land is under 60,000 people. Our highest peak is 10,565 feet. That kind of gives you an idea of the expansive area in which I live.
Yesterday, I decided the DMV could wait for another day. I needed my girlfriends more than a driving test. That can wait until next week. I needed the friendship of 15 of the best gals in my town. Laughter. Gasps of astonishment. A few tears. And, hugs. Plenty of hugs.
The meeting is supposed to last an hour. It never does. It starts 30 minutes early and ends 2 hours after that when the day calls us out the door to other responsibilities. Some ladies continue on over lunch, while others, like me, return to a quiet home.
Yesterday, in the most gentle and beautiful way, we practiced the art of conversation and compromise. All being of different backgrounds and all very strong willed, some of the class doesn’t like the curriculum, while others need it. The current curriculum is a college level course about fundamentals of the Bible. Some of us need that foundation, while others are further along on their spiritual journey. Some women prefer book clubs, while others prefer a class that is prepared by Bible scholars.
The leader of our group sat by, quietly nervous. Blind in one eye with poor vision in the other, she had prayed long hours over the choice of her curriculum. To hear that it was beneath some was hard to hear. In the classroom, you can please some and some will find fault. Keep your eye on the goal and carry on. ‘Aint nobody gonna please ’em all.
In the end, we decided to carry on and leave the decision for another day. The general agreement was that we all have one thing in common. The Bible is a very confusing manuscript. Coming together to study The Word brings it to life.
I’m happy for another week. Tonight, the preparation for the big church yard sale tomorrow is in full swing. Friday night activities in a small town vary from house to house. From BBQ’s to a drag down main, everyone will be out tonight as the weather’s fine. Next Wednesday, we step into summer and the desert will turn up the heat. One last spring weekend is upon us with unseasonable cool temperatures.
Whatever you do today, enjoy a little happiness. Whether it’s in the garden or sneaking a favorite snack. Do something that brings you a smile.
I am worthy of my life and all the good that is in it.
I am worthy of my friends and their friendship.
I am worthy of spacious skies, amber waves of grain and purple mountain majesties above the fruited plain. (I am worthy, too, of the fruited plain.)
I am worthy of a degree of happiness that could only be referred to as “sinful” in less-enlightened times.
I am worthy of creativity, sensitivity, and appreciation.
I am worthy of peace of mind, peace on Earth, peace in the valley, and a piece of the action.
I am worthy of God’s grace and mercy in my life.
I am worthy of all my love. Written by Peter McWilliams
**Today, be grateful for all the blessings you have. You’ve earned everything wonderful in your life. Enjoy the peaceful and bright Saturday that is the last one of Spring 2022.
How is it the the year is flying by, but time at Winterpast is at a standstill? The laundry room project, which in my youth would have been done in an evening, crawls on at a snails pace. Each time I clean the floor for the last time, there is more trim to touch up, or an additional spot on the wall that needs a touch up. Then, there it’s time to wait for the paint to dry. Again.
So far, the products I’ve chosen are wonderful. With the Sherwin Williams paint factory on the outskirt of town, the paint we buy here is the freshest and best quality. Comforting, as I’ll never be painting this laundry room again. In fact, this may be the last painting job I tackle before summer arrives.
Miss Firecracker’s engines are revved up with brakes locked waiting for the green light. For one year she’s been in the process of building a house in California. Her brand spanking new and gorgeous bachelorette pad awaits final inspections. Talk about practicing patience!!!! The worst part of having a new home built is the last week, when everything is finished except the final inspections. Of course, the inspectors are all at the donut shop discussing whatever inspectors discuss. There is nothing more upsetting than being one inspection away from the first night sleeping in a new home.
I envy her new paint job. An entire house of finished painting. How lovely! No ladders or aching shoulders from painting a high ceiling. Just shiny new and every detail her own choosing. Congratulations to Miss Firecracker. How I wish I was there to help you move in and celebrate.
While I’m not complaining, the weather here has been intense and unpredictable. This morning, the heater is humming with the temperature hovering at 45 degrees. Last night, it sprinkled. With our total yearly rainfall estimates at 5″, any rainfall is significant. A few more days of nice spring weather, and then summer will be here to stay. Time to fill Oliver’s pool and enjoy the desert evenings.
Waiting takes patience. Patience is hard to come by sometimes. Especially when nothing much is going on. That’s the situation I find myself in now.
Terrible for a writer’s mind.
Sometimes life in the desert is a little too quiet.
On my way to a brand new day here at Winterpast. So many parts of my life are being renewed at this very moment. From the gardens and their fresh green leaves to my Teaching Credential, I’m resetting life one step at a time. Today, it’s the Nevada Driver’s license. Mine expires in December, 2022. Much easier to navigate the roads when it’s not the middle of winter.
In 2015, VST and I were like comets shooting out from the bowels of California. Although we had a beautiful house on top of our very own mountain, life had become unbearable for us. We were fleeing just like millions of other Californians who know a bee is not a fish and other important facts.
Wanting to stay close to the kids, (who aren’t kids but amazing adults), we decided on Virginia City, Nevada. A tiny little place just outside the Biggest Little City in the World. One of the first things that we needed to do was establish residency with new driver’s licenses. An easy fix, we had the proper documents in hand and plenty of time. After all, we were both retired for the first week we lived there.
The DMV office was similar to every other office in the land. No one goes there to hang out and enjoy a cup of coffee. This DMV had something not yet seen in California. Direct texting about appointment times and place in line. Yes. It was a glorious introduction to Nevada to sit in our car and wait for the text alert that we were next. We were giddy with delight.
Until.
VST presented all his documents. Success.
His eye test was finished. Eyes of an eagle.
I was next as we were a two-pack.
My documents were flawless. Perfect.
And then.
The eye test.
At the time, I was wearing one contact lens that provided 20/20 vision in the left eye. The other contact was for reading. At the time, a 2.25 correction. What girl wants to wear glasses anywhere if contacts are available? Right?
Don’t let vanity slay you at the DMV.
No wrinkled eye chart 20 feet away on the wall. Nope.
A digital device that you look through, up-close and personal. The 20/20 eye did great. All the little letters were in on the screen as plain and clear as anything. It was the other eye that caused the problem.
“Okay, read the letters.”
In my perkiest new Nevadan, old Californian voice I said, “I’m ready. Turn them on.”
“The letters are there.”
“Uh. No. They aren’t. Turn them no please.”
After a few exchanges, VST looked into the device and then at me with a most horrified stare. The letters were visible. The machine was set to make them invisible if a dope was wearing a 2.25 corrective contact lens. It would mean a return trip on another day with the dopey glasses.
“Next.” The Nevadan ponytail behind the counter enjoyed that one a little too much.
The next day, wearing my glasses, the test was a complete success and my driver’s license was issued, good until my birthday 2022. At the time, that seemed an eternity away. In reality, I would teach two more years, helping 113 more kiddos. 3,300 square feet of house needed painting. Balls to attend. Curbside parades for every tiny celebration. And, one husband to love until he died. The most precious days of my life were ahead.
Fast forward to today.
Glasses? Check.
Necessary documents? Check.
Prepared to take written test, if presented with one? Check.
Money for licensing fees? Check.
The only thing that can ruin this is my nerves. Limiting the coffee, I’ll set off on dusty roads heading south. A 45 minute drive to review the rules of the road in my head. Leaving early, if I’m not one of the first 5 people in line at 8 AM, I’ll feel the defeat before the battle.
Have a wonderful day, whatever you do. I don’t plan to celebrate anything today except my very new and wonderful Nevada Driver’s license. I wonder what the next 7 years will hold????
Small town living is usually laid back and quiet. Fergettaboutit at the local DMV.
There was an old woman who loved to be rude. Got out of bed. Came to work in a mood. She worked at Window #3. There was no window #1, and at Window #2, there was a runny-nosed woman that looked like she was dying of Covid. The Shrew at Window #3 was my best option. But, let me start at the beginning.
Needing to renew my Nevada driver’s license, I’d studied until I was dreaming about white broken lines and crosswalks. Pedestrians jumping from the sidewalks. Intersections with green, yellow, and red blinking lights all going at the same time. I had down the correct answers for every question thrown at me and I was ready.
Yesterday, I dressed as if I was going to church. I washed and dried my hair carefully. By 6:45 AM I was out the door and on the long lonely road to the town just south of here, a 45 minute drive (one way). Of course, there was a little road work that blocked part of my route, but I arrived 15 minutes early to find out I would be the first in line.
#001 at the DMV is a primo spot. I probably could’ve sold my place in line to those not so punctual. This DMV is located in an old strip mall. There are four folding chairs outside the front door for the first lucky few. Other than that, old red X’s on the ground speak to a time when we all social distanced.
Yesterday was a new federal holiday. Maybe in New York City. Not in the desert towns of Nevada. The DMV did not observe said holiday and would be opening at 8 AM. This might be what put the woman at Window #3 in such a foul mood. Cantankerous. Desert hard. Windblown. Plain spoken. This woman was attractive until she spoke like a drill sergeant.
When the doors finally opened, there were four people behind me. I took the number from the machine. I will frame it.
June 20, 2022 — Nevada Desert DMV — #001.
Woman #3 immediately started shouting orders to the masses.
“Driver’s Licenses — Fill out the form on the table to the right — COM. PLETE. LY.”
As I filed out the double-sided form, the man who just needed a random form was taking a verbal beating from Window #3. I was praying for Window #2 until I saw the heap of used tissue sitting on her side of the plexiglass. I switched my prayers to Window #3. I would shower this woman with some random kindness.
Ten minutes had passed since I finished the form when my number was called.
Ah the sweet sound of #001.
“# 0.0.1. Report to Window #3. NOW.”
Walking a few steps to the window, she grabbed the form and immediately snapped at me.
“YOU didn’t sign the form. It’s not COM. PLETE.”
I had had enough. Period.
“On Page 2, the form clearly states that it will become invalid if not signed at the counter in front of a DMV representative, does it not?” Using my best 3rd Grade Teacher tone, she backed it on up.
That woman’s shriveled quicker than the legs on the Wicked Witch of the East when hit by Dorothy’s house. I was no Dorothy, but I certainly wasn’t going to take any rudeness from this State Employee.
Quicker than I can remember you must not park closer than 50 feet to a train track, she had entered my application, given me the eye test, taken my picture, and charged my credit card $17.25. No tests of any kind. My transaction was completed in less than 15 minutes. A record for any DMV visit I’ve ever had.
As I walked out the door, the woman continued to bark orders to her minions and customers. Her days must be tiring, causing grief to the masses.
All I know is this. For four years, I have a valid Nevada Driver’s License. It could outlive me. Time will tell. For now, that is an unpleasant activity checked off my list. In two weeks, I return to college, and with any luck at all, I return to work on August 9th. Life is what you make it.
Remember, don’t let the Witches of the East get you down. With a little tough love, they shrivel up.
The cutest wire formed into words hangs over my kitchen table. I put it there so each and every day I can remember my best friend, CC. She’s the one that gave it to me as a housewarming present two years ago. Two words. “CHOOSE HAPPINESS!” That’s something everyone in the world needs to do right now. Just sit down and be truly grateful for the blessings in our lives. Face it. No matter the trials we face, we all have an abundance of things for which be thankful.
You can’t buy a jar of “Happy” through Amazon. The biggest jackpot at the local casino won’t do it. Even living in the best house on the best street in the most wonderful desert town won’t do it. It sprouts from within. Very quietly at first.
Happiness strikes a chord in our heart when we find THE ONE THING we are supposed to do with our lives and do it. I’m finally healed enough to go on with my journey. MY ONE THING is teaching. It is a passion. A fire that never went out, but instead, was dwarfed by the flames of grief, sadness, and loneliness that have consumed me over the past two years. Burning brightly now, it’s guiding me to new opportunities just outside my door.
No one can leave a box of happiness on your doorstep. It doesn’t come when it is demanded or expected. It just happens.
There is no measure to tell you when you’ve found enough. Like a painter’s hands, a a drop turns into a smear and pretty soon, everyone who sees you knows you’ve been painting the hallway. You might not even see the joke until you look in the mirror. Internal happiness oozes out like that and friends begin to notice a change.
“This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap; the being a force of Nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.” George Bernard Shaw
Now, isn’t that is just the best quote ever?
I intend to be thoroughly worn-out before I am thrown into the scrap heap.
I refuse to waste another moment as a “feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making me happy”.
I choose to be a force of nature.
What affirmations! The only person who can turn on the happy is me. It’s a choice.
On Sunday, I had the most wonderful lunch with three couples and a mom and daughter. Each individual couple carried heavy burdens. One couple would enjoy their mother on this earth only a few more days. One couple shared only three legs between the two of them. Everyone had scars from Covid. I was the “Plus 1/2” that no one wants to be. Each one of us had reason to dominate the table with tales of woe. But we didn’t choose to do that.
Instead, there we sat after church, brand new friends enjoying each other’s company. For two hours, we laughed, enjoyed our meal, and got to know one another. Even the daughter, who had ever right to be very unhappy due to the 50 year age difference between us, added humor to the lunch, enjoying little conversations with everyone at the table.
The man that had the best attitude of all had just had his leg amputated a few months before. With an infectious attitude of kindness and gratitude, he had us all laughing with his amazing attitude during this most special lunch. It was an afternoon I will remember and hope to enjoy again next Sunday.
So, make a choice today. As VST would always say, “Fake it ’til you make it.” We all have our “somethings” that are unpleasant and painful. If we truly take inventory, we’ll see that the basket that holds our “beautifuls” overflows into a colorful puddle that can look a lot like happiness.
Things are hopping here at Winterpast. The girl is BACK!!!!! No longer do I look at the ladder, Sigh, and put painting off for another day. My painting schedule says that I will be finished with the hallway and laundry room by June 30th and I’m right on schedule.
If you haven’t painted a room in awhile, be ready for a rude awakening at checkout. I remember painting The Dun Movin’ House in Virginia City. At 3,300 sq. feet, it only took me six years to finish the entire interior and most of the exterior. Only 8 years ago, paint was $17 a gallon. Yesterday, I paid $48. It IS a wonderful product that contains both primer AND paint, but one gallon doesn’t go very far. I remember when painting was a cheap decorating option. Not any more.
Roaming around the hardware store while they were mixing my paint, I remember the hours and hours I spent with VST doing that very thing. We were always the couple people smiled at. Two Senior Citizens holding hands as they walked through the aisles deciding on the next big project. How may times I helped select clear redwood boards for the deck or MDF (Medium-Density Fiberboard) to trim 33 windows. VST taught me so much about home repairs, the only thing keeping me from most of them is that I’m not as strong as he was. That man could single handedly lift a cabin to replace a beam. I know. I witnessed it.
After my purchase of supplies, I returned home to begin painting the doors which I had moved to the garage. After setting up my painting station, I unwrapped some small rollers. Whizz rollers. If you are in the middle of a project yourself, I can recommend them. They come in a variety of sizes and are made of a material similar to low pile fleece. In a matter of minutes, two doors were covered and drying. Excellent coverage, with little wasted paint.
While painting, I was startled by THE NOISE. My heart sank. Sort of like a belch. More like internal, gassy rumblings it sounded like a “pre-explosion” noise. Gosh I wish I was a city girl that didn’t know about this stuff. Those glamorous types must lead such a protected life. Anyway. Back to the noise.
The noise persisted every time the hot water heater came on because, it was coming from the hot water heater. My hot water heater needs a good flushing. Flushing ISN’T just for toilets.
VST taught me something very important. Many household problems are related to water. Think of it. Leaky roofs. Broken pipes. Clogged drains. Mold. Rumbling hot water heaters. If I hadn’t been painting outside, it would’ve been easier to ignore. But, spending time in the garage listening to the rhythmic rumblings, I realized one thing.
My list of “Must Do’s” for today has changed a little.
Purchase Home Warranty.
Hot water heaters have also increased in price.
After a day on and off the ladder, the hot tub was a great way to end the evening. Unsettled weather continues, with the winds whipping evening-cooled air across the desert. I’m hoping for one rip-roaring thunderstorm, but will be grateful for beautiful desert evenings that make me so glad “Nevada is Home” to me.
Whatever summer project you find yourself accomplishing, take time for some lemonade and rest in the shade. Be respectful of the ladder. Carry On and Get Things Done.
I am blessed to have really strong girlfriends. That’s a good thing, because I’m too young to sit in a dark corner in a heap of spent Kleenex. Strong women figure things out. Sure, we may be down a little at times, but we just adjust our course and keep going. Strong women are great traveling partners. My strong women gals consist of those that know the workings of jet engines, patch up sick children, build neighborhoods one house at a time, and hold broken hearts in their arms. They make people feel better with a new hair style. They come together to learn about God and each other. Strong women with amazing lives.
Miss Firecracker is one such gal. And, she’s my best friend. We met at a dinner for our husband’s service organization. Just two strangers on the arms of their handsome guys. We were lucky enough to sit at HER table. Once WE started talking, we’ve never found a subject we couldn’t mow down in short order. We don’t need to agree on everything (and we don’t, sometimes), because we respect one another. So, we talk about all the things we do agree on and leave the rest in a heap in the corner. All the while, laughing until our sides hurt, or helping each other to get through the tears.
I moved to my little wide spot in the desert on Miss Firecracker’s recommendation. She had lived in the two towns VST and I were considering. When Miss Firecracker lives somewhere, she doesn’t just hang out in her back yard or stay inside with her blinds closed. She explores a place and knows things. She showed me the mustang on the mountain just outside our town. An old mining scar, hundreds of people drive by it each day never noticing. To Miss Firecracker and I, it’s THE mustang. I think of her every time I’m driving to the Walmart to the East.
Without missing a beat, she told me all the wonderful things about my new town. To the outsider, this place is a dismal, sandblasted truck stop town. But to those in the know, it’s the best place in the world. My town is a chameleon that blends into the desert so well, many miss seeing it for all the wonderful things it is. I moved here and discovered she had been right on all accounts.
Miss Firecracker taught me about shortcuts and the best places to hang out. Tee Pee Bar and Grill used to be open long into the night. Now, it’s only open until 2 PM. Well, heck, Miss Firecracker moved away and there was just no reason to go on. Oh, the wonderful meals we shared as we held things together, two being stronger than one. She stayed until she couldn’t any longer. And then, she moved away.
Miss Firecracker is the only woman I know with the guts to buy the biggest, blackest, shiniest SUV on the lot, keep it for 9 months and then trade it in on a sleek, sexy race car. She is the only person I know that decides to travel to Florida to have afternoon wine with friends, making reservations to jet off for her getaway. She is always on the fly, never losing her sparkle while leaving a trail of smiles wherever she goes. She has laughed away age and pain. I am quite sure she doesn’t own a rocking chair of any kind. Not her style.
There are some women in the world that are born heart friends. Through our travels, if we run into one or two of them in a lifetime, we should consider ourselves lucky. If they happen to be strong women, we are truly blessed. Miss Firecracker and I are true heart friends of the very best and strongest kind.
Recently, she lost her true best friend, Chewie. He was her guide through very dark days when her sweet guy, Bailey’s and Cream, passed away. Bailey’s and Cream was the other reason I chose my dusty little town on the wide spot in the road. He was one of a kind. Brilliant, debonair, crusty, hard as nails with a heart as soft as a marshmallow. He was intimidating in his knowledge of everything industrial, electrical, and engineered. Truly brilliant. I was looking forward to getting to know him better, but Covid took it’s grip on any chance for BBQ’s making visits of any kind impossible.
Bailey’s and Cream passed away 4 months after VST. He rests in the Northern Nevada Veteran’s Cemetery. When life gets too confusing, I visit by his niche at the columbarium and think about what he would advise. Before I’d finished unpacking, four friends became two strong women holding back tears over dinner at the Tee Pee Bar and Grill. Two hearts have supported each other through thick and thin. I hope we’ve seen the thinnest for awhile.
Well, Miss Firecracker’s life is now thick with things to do. Boxes to unpack and sort. Treasured belongings to cry over and new things to assemble. Her brand new, shiny, gorgeous luxury car sits in the driveway of her beautiful new home with her very own door that locks. For a year, she has been living out of a suitcase. I hope the explosion of her belongings into her new space brings a sigh of relief.
You are home, Sistah!!! Enjoy every peaceful moment in your new space. Make it all you. We have another thing in common now. We own “She-Sheds” that just happen to be our very own homes. Congratulations!!!! You earned it!!!!! Now, ENJOY!!!! Cheers!!!
Gold-medal athletes don’t become so in a day. It takes years and years to accomplish their goals. Many times, they fall. After each failure, they simply get up and continue on. So it is with me and my painting project.
I scheduled my progress for a woman of 50 years. In my mind, I’m her. Spunky and spiffy. Ready for a great challenge. Able to take care of any project I choose to tackle.
The reality is that I’m a 1955 vintage model. Most days, I’m motivated, but stiff and slow to move in the morning. I peek around noon and then decline in my enthusiasm until bed time. That being said, I do start my day at 4 AM.
Why, then, is this painting job whipping me into a puddle of sore muscles while the doors seem to be multiplying?
Yesterday, I felt victorious as I carried in a freshly painted door under my arm, careful not to scratch or in any way ruin the paint job. Once in the hallway, I realized there was a tiny little problem with the reinstallation. The hinges were about 1″ lower than their seats on the door jam.
Now, in my hay day, I’d have hoisted that door, held in in place with one arm and put in the screws with my free hand. That ship sailed into the night around year 50. So spoiled was I to have my hunky husband, VST. As you already know, he was strong and always at the ready to help a lady in distress. Yesterday, there was no hunky guy to come to the rescue. Oliver would have loved to help, but he was busy patrolling the yard for toads and random birds.
What to do? What to do?
I decided if the holes were too high, the door needed to be raised. With the help of 4 copies of my large print “Daily Bread”, the holes were at the correct height and and the screwing began.
Yesterday, I carried two freshly painted doors from the garage to the hallway and then rehung them! Gold medal for the lady!!!!!
Champions have some traits in common.
They know their abilities, strengths, weaknesses, and delusions. I am well aware that I won’t be painting the 12 foot ceilings in the family room and kitchen. Beyond my God-given abilities. But, I also discovered that I’m quite capable of taking down heavy doors and transporting them to the garage. After painting and carefully returning them to their rightful places, I rehung them. I’ll take that as a win.
Champions compete with themselves. If I did two doors yesterday, I will do two doors today. If I set a goal to have two rooms painted in June, on June 30th, I’ll be celebrating victory. Defeat is not an option. I may not be able to walk on July 1st, but two rooms will be freshly painted.
Focus is key. I’m finding that anything is a more attractive thought than painting. Truly, the toilet rings are fascinating me at this point. But, until all the doors are back on their hinges, I will remain true to the task and continue on.
With a belief that this is well within my ability, I will remain tough. Such an opportunity have I to increase my upper body strength and balance. I have a game plan. I will succeed.
All that being said, I am pretty whipped this morning. Wish me the best.
Whatever your Saturday holds, find some humor throughout the day and enjoy your minor successes. Life is a challenge. Accomplishments are proof of our efforts. Stay the course.
The birds are showing ultimate respect to Sir Oliver these days. He patrols the yard making sure there are no ground dwellers. If you have a toad or bird problem, Oliver’s the guy. The Exterminator.
The birds around here should remain mindful that Oliver is a master at figuring out how to achieve his goals and get what he wants. He will only need to practice tree climbing for a short time and they’ll need to choose higher ground or a different yard.
When he’s on the prowl, they sit comfortably on the tiniest branches. They aren’t worried about the branch breaking, because they know the strength of their own wings. They don’t think or believe they can fly. They just flap their wings and DO IT. What a great gift!
These days, I’m testing my own wings. Testing the things I KNOW and the things I’ve BELIEVED to be true. There is a big difference there.
I used to believe in Santa and the Easter Bunny. Both of them, one in the same, died on April 8th, 2020.
I choose to KNOW someone worth knowing now. The King of Kings. Not just a belief in human doctrine. A deeper knowing in my heart that brings comfort on the saddest days.
When I find myself standing on the fourth rung of the ladder, I still depend on my legs to hold me upright. I wouldn’t want to trust an old, rusty ladder because I’m not blessed with wings. As a human, we still have the duty to choose our branches wisely while using our brains. Some branches in life are just to fragile to hold us securely. Some break unexpectedly, leaving us scrambling to find a new perch.
It’s good to know when to fly for our lives, even if the day is windy and the journey difficult. The next place will make it all worth while. Then, we’ll appreciate the fair weather days that much more. That’s called Faith.
Last night, I did everything I normally do before falling to sleep. Arranging my materials for writing this morning, I carefully put my glasses on the nightstand. I even got my phone plugged in for the night. But, somewhere, I omitted the important step of setting the alarm. Luckily, my back-up alarm never fails. I can count on Oliver.
In 22 years of teaching, I never missed the bell. I never even came close. In my first days of teaching, I made it a point to be at my desk by 5:30 AM every day. That wasn’t the most convenient or easiest, as I still had kids and a husband at home with ranch work on the side. Arriving so early, the school was quiet. There was time to think and put the finishing touches on our day. Morning work was placed neatly on each desk. The copy machines were empty and there were no teaching friends to talk with. The day unfolded in such a great way, and by 3:00, I left with the kids.
Being on campus early, I discovered that parents liked to meet at the beginning of the day better than after school. It meant they didn’t need to clear an afternoon during their work day. All in all, it worked for me during my career. But, I was 40-something and it was the 1900’s.
A friend recently asked me about my choice to return to the classroom and what it meant for all my new found activities and friends. Just what will I do without Thursday Bible Study and all the impromptu lunches I’ll miss? What? No shopping trips with friends? Or fall trip to Mount Rushmore and Yellowstone?
Twenty-seven years have passed since I bought my first shiny whistle. Almost three decades. That being said, 3rd Graders haven’t aged a day. I locked my door for the last time May 26, 2017. Five years is a long time to rust up. It didn’t take the Tin Man but a few overnight thunderstorms.
Hmmmmmm.
This morning was my first good jolt that there is no back up alarm except Oliver here at Winterpast.
Once he was retired, VST was the best support system a woman could have. He would start the pellet stove a few minutes before I got up. Making sure that I had on all pieces of clothing, (none being backwards), he even checked for matching shoes. He made sure that I had a good breakfast and drove me to the front door of the school. After work, he was waiting in the parking lot to take me to dinner. All without complaint, 5 days a week. All I had to focus on was teaching.
Now, if Oliver only had thumbs he could probably do more to help. But, at best, he is an amazing alarm clock. His small noises start about 3:50 AM every morning. Little suggestions that it is getting close to his breakfast time. By 4:00 AM, he is insistent that “IT IS TIME FOR BREAKFAST, MOM-OH”. This morning, he didn’t wake up until I did.
These days, I’m in training for the physicality of the classroom. I’m sharpening my mind for the demands of college, as my course starts in less than two weeks. I’m organizing my life and collecting items for my new classroom. I’m considering my current life of retirment and analyzing the plusses and minuses of re-entering the work force. My beloved readers, I’m freaking out just a little. What am I about to do? What will I gain? What am I willing to I risk? What could I lose? Helping children on their academic journey is the obvious WHY in this situation.
So far, my new morning schedule works well. Up at 4:00AM. 1.5 hours for writing and then my day can unfold with an ETA arrival time at work at 7 AM. So far, that’s a comfortable time frame. But, add late nights of grading papers and worrying about kiddos. Add a couple missed alarms. Yikes. The wheels could fall off my train quicker than they’re falling off the brand new recalled Toyotas.
As VST would surely remind me, a contract has not yet been signed. There are many more days of summer left in which I’ll make a decision that’s right for me. I don’t want to look back three years from now with regret that I didn’t fake it until I made it. I also don’t want to look back at a disastrous attempt that failed.
Plus-Minus-Plus-Minus. My favorite way of considering and making a hard decision.
Today will be full of painting and door hanging. As June 30 creeps up on me, I won’t miss my goal. The hallway is almost done. Painting is a great time to decide if I have what it takes to go back to school. All prayers for wisdom are welcomed.
All day long, “What If’s?”, “Should I’s?”, “Why Not’s?” and “Am I OUt of My Mind?” cloud my thinking. Really? All I want to do is finish painting my hallway. Thoughts of moving into a new classroom after being retired for five years haunt me. Yesterday, everything became real.
My morning started like any other, although I’d overslept for a job I don’t yet have on quiet Monday morning. To stay on track, each evening, I write down my plan for the next day. Assigning times and activities, I have a written To-Do List all prepared in case it’s a day I need to be on auto-pilot. As a widow, those days pop up and I need a pre-designed plan to guide me through. These days, those kind of days don’t happen too often anymore.
6:30 AM. Water the plants outside.
Simple, until it became complicated.
Winterpast sits in the middle of lush gardens. In the desert, this is selfish and extravagant. I have my own personal oasis. Now, I didn’t plant it. I maintain it. In fact, under my watch, several trees have died or been removed. I’ve limited the water in some areas, shrinking my green footprint. My yard remains California green. This takes a lot of water in the summer.
I own two complicated sprinkler systems that I needed to learn. Nine stations feeding water to old tubing and even older emitters. The back station quit last year. Installing a new box, it still didn’t work. I believe I have failing solenoids. What a curse! Sounds like a dreaded disease.
Yesterday, when I turned on the back up system, (now leaking in all the wrong places), water didn’t magically spring to life where it should. Water in — No water out = Big leak underground.
There are many things I can do well. I’m finding I don’t mind a ladder as long as I’m not higher than the fourth rung. I don’t mind trouble shooting minor car problems. I can hang doors with the best of them.
But, I need to draw the line at digging. I can no longer be the human mole and dig. Oliver could help me with this one if only there were a stash of dog bones involved, but the heat gets to him, as well.
Calling Mr. B, Gardener Extraordinaire, I always feel I’ve failed. Really? Why can’t I fell the tree? Why can’t I dig holes in the cement we call desert dirt? Why can’t I fix the sprinkler system?
Why?
Because I am old, frail, and able to pay Mr. B to do it for me. End of story on that.
Mr. B will be arriving tonight and we’ll start the process of finding out what the heck is happening to the water. Whatever it takes, whatever the cost. When Mr. B is done, I’ll have an automated system in the back yard that waters daily, right on schedule like me. My solenoids will not longer be failing. If I need to be up and functioning, my watering system will be.
So, after an extremely frustrating morning in which the haunting of the future took a backseat to the rantings of the present, my phone rang. An unfamiliar number flashed on the screen begging me to pick up.
“Hi, this is Janice. I’m calling from the little elementary school one mile away from you. The cute one that you think of often. The one you applied for. The one in which we’ll give you the keys to Room 10. The one where you’ll lovingly teach your kiddos from August until May. That one. When can we meet?”
Well, the conversation wasn’t exactly like that (except in my mind).
Mrs. Principal would like to meet me next week on a special morning. Now things are very real. “Go Big or Go Home” VST used to say. We always went big and I have no intentions of stopping now. Being Intelligent, Resourceful, Intuitive, Seasoned, 1 part Mary Poppins, and 2 parts Amazing Teacher, the eyes in the back of my head will slay them. The job is mine to accept or refuse.
I suspect the hauntings of possibilities will be intense today. That’s okay, because the more I think, the faster I paint.
Stay tuned. The story is starting to getting interesting around here.
People have lost their minds. Plan and simple. Living in a small desert town on a dusty wide spot in the road, I have a hard time comprehending the actions of many these days. Case in point. The Love Boat that needed assistance from the Coast Guard because of an onboard fight in their nightclub.
In recent days, a cruise ship was bobbing along the seas in international waters headed towards the east coast of the good old USA. What lucky people to be able to enjoy the luxury of a cruise, right?
Once, in a lifetime long, long ago, I went on a cruise. Newly divorced with two very small children, I spent $440 on a one week singles cruise to Mexico. The catch was that I would bunk with three other singles that I didn’t know. At the time, being 20-something, that wasn’t as horrifying as it would be today. It was simply a way to take a much needed vacation. Single motherhood was taking it’s toll. At the time, I had two boys, age 4 and 2.
During that week, the world was at my fingertips. All meals were served at a set time. My roommates were celebrating their graduations from Cal Poly. Three adorable women that had spent the last four years of their lives studying engineering. We bonded immediately, they being quite sure I was the true Goddess of fertility for producing two children. I was equally as positive they were the Goddess Dream Catchers on the brink of having the corporate world at their manicured fingertips. The truth was somewhere in the middle on both accounts.
During that week, we sunned our bikini clad bodies by the pool. We drank and ate way too much. Sightseeing at exciting ports, we met new people. We snorkeled and saw all the sights. We danced at the nightclub while flipping our long and luxurious hair. In short, for $440, I felt human again during that one week of splendor.
I can assure you of this. In our wildest dreams, it never crossed our minds to get involved with an onboard fight at the ship’s nightclub. In fact, during the cruise, I never heard anyone raise their voice in anger. Everyone knew how to behave. But, that was the 1900’s. Things were different then, weren’t they?
Watching the children of today on news footage, I can only wonder if their parents are watching proudly from home. When our kids were 18, we were proud of them because each one struck out on their own to make good lives for themselves. Pretty sure they never incited a riot anywhere. They were too busy serving our country in the Air Force, working, and going to college. By the way, we raised five people to adulthood. We’ve remained proud of each one for their numerous accomplishments and contributions that have make our world a better place.
Looking at protesters ruining cities and causing fear, I can’t help wondering, “What’s the point?” The issues they’re fighting about are often nothing that even concerns them.
Right to choose? Hmmmm. I’ve had little right to choose when it came to some recent medical decisions. As far as I know, my body is still my body, but that surely didn’t matter when considering real medical reasons why the vaccination isn’t right for me. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t throw a punch in a cruise ship night club if I wanted to right now. Non-vax-ers are forbidden, and will remain that way for the foreseeable future.
Children are breaking things and revolting much like the two year old that throws messy tantrums. Except, these aren’t children. They’re young adults that are ruining a very nice, calm way of life for others. These actions are taking away our right to choose peaceful, clean, cities that were once beautiful places to visit, live, and work. Now ruining expensive vacations for others, crazy actions caused the need for the US Coast Guard to get involved. ON A CRUISE SHIP FOR GOODNESS SAKES.
I hope someday to take a cruise around the world. I have it picked out. Three months of bobbing, dining, and sight seeing. Wondering if the restrictions on people like me will ever be lifted, I now have another consideration. If they are, what do I pack for personal protection? Mace? Brass knuckles? Should I brush up on my karate moves? A cruise ship is the last place a person should worry about being part of a fight in a nightclub. Such is urban life and warfare. I’ll take my chances with the rattlesnakes here in the wild, wild, west.
For now, back to the reality of painting. Two more days to finish the job. Covid just broke out at the church. Staying in is a grand idea right now. At least, if Oliver decides to start a fight, I think I can still win. No US Coast Guard protection needed here at Winterpast.
Here we are on the last day of June, excitedly anticipating the 4th of July festivities. Just this morning, I read a helpful collection of tips to make the festivities more enjoyable. I would imagine my little town and all the surrounding villages will be showing up in mass numbers to celebrate the day on Main Street and Out-of-Town Park.
While blogging, I try not to include the actual names of places around these parts. People that know the places about which I write, know. We desert folk need to keep some local treasures to our selves. But, the Out-of-Town Park is really named that. Not named after the founding fathers of the town or the current Major. It’s just Out-Of-Town Park. This shouldn’t be confused with In-Town-Park. Two separate places. Their names tell you all you need to know.
4th of July will begin with a pancake breakfast. At 10 AM, the parade down Main Street will begin. Long ago, I rode in this parade. It was the last time I ever offered to ride down Main Street while displaying the beauty queen wave. You see, in my town, the parade entries are the target of water balloons and water cannons. Very scary to have unwanted projectiles flying at you from the crowd. The parade route is long, perhaps more than a mile. It seemed an eternity until we finally turned off the route. Right then and there, I told VST I would never ride in another parade.
In this long stretch of road, there isn’t a bare spot to sit. I didn’t know there were that many people in our area. While children darted in and out of the road to get candy, their parents sat on lawn chairs visiting with neighbors. There was another problem with my parade experience. The service organization VST and I represented doesn’t allow the throwing of candy during a parade. Yes. They allow creepy clowns and midget cars, but NO CANDY. So, as we went by the littles, all anxiously awaiting a treat, all we got back were angry looks and more water balloons.
After the parade ends, the party will move to Out of Town park where there will be lots of food, games, and booths. In the evening, all eyes will turn to the night sky for the fireworks display. I haven’t decided from what vantage point I will watch. The park is awfully crowded and in the desert, there are hills that provide better vantage points. Even Virginia City is a possibility.
The highlight of the late afternoon the highly anticipated Greased Pig Contest will be held. Now, if you haven’t ever been to such an event, have no worries about the safety of the pigs. On a farm, an respectable animal can out run the farmer without even trying. A child and a pig are no match. The pig will win every time. Worry more about the children that will be chasing them for they are the true victims in this scenario. It’s similar to Mutton Busting, where littles try to hold onto a running sheep. How these things are not lumped into the Child Abuse category is beyond me. The kids are in far more danger than the animals.
The pigs are coated with something non-toxic and slippery. These are young pigs that like to run, jump, and play. They are released and the children must attempt to catch one. That’s where the close-toed shoes come in. A valuable tip from a parent whose child probably lost a toe last year. Around here, kids still go bare-footed. It’s just the way it is with us rural types.
The town is ready for visitors. All the murals are finished, looking crisp and festive. The streets are swept and waiting for Monday when we will celebrate our REAL independence day. Never forget how many men and women have given their lives for our country and way of life. Our traditions are precious. Starting as a dream of freedom, honor our great country on her birthday. There is absolutely no other place in the world as wonderful.
Driving in to the parking lot of my possible new place of employment, I felt a peace and belonging that’s been missing from my life for five years. Like an old cow going back to the barn after a long day at pasture, my car found a respectable parking spot in the middle of the lot in front of the low brick building. This could be my routine until June 2023. Or not.
Teaching interviews are always interesting. At least that’s been my experience. My first interview was in the summer of 1996. The farm was failing and VST and I were flailing. With the responsibilities of raising five children, farming 40 acres, and managing all aspects of a multi-million dollar John Deere dealership while earning his Master’s degree, VST hadn’t a minute left to spare. His bag of tricks was almost empty.
“Darlin’, we need to find some extra cash. Could you substitute for awhile?”
Substitute? I was pretty busy helping with the care of the five children and 16,000 ancient Thompson Seedless vines sitting on forty acres. Sure, I’ll just strap an eraser on one foot, a skateboard on the other, throw a whistle around my neck and do the hustle. After all, substituting would only take away six hours of my life five days a week. Sure. Why not?
My spring was spent falling in love with a class of children with severe challenges. Their teacher had no one she could count on because her students had “special needs”. They did have a “special need”. It turned out to be me. We fell in love and I was hooked. Their teacher was getting married to an English gent and was gone many weeks that spring. That April, I got the inspiration to got back to school and get my teaching credential. Whipped on by the shrinking checking account and growing debt, I went back to work at a real job. Ahh, to be a rich California farmer. If people only knew the truth.
I’d been enrolled for one month at National University. Already having a Bachelor’s degree in Science, the registrar had assured me that in a few short months, my credential would be finished. Night school. A couple of Saturdays. It would be simple to start a new career. She had bubbled over with enthusiasm and I signed on the dotted line while thinking of the amazing days I enjoyed with my special kids. That’s how it all started.
The most amazing thing happened shortly after I had enrolled in the program. For once, California did something great. “Class Size Reduction”. It would begin the fall semester of 1996. Every K-3 class in the state would be limited to no more than 20 students. There was an immediate teacher shortage of the worst kind, and I’d spend the next 20 years reaping the benefits of this wonderful program.
Once enrolled, driving 45 minutes one way to attend night school four times a week and Saturdays was intense, but it was a sacrifice that would open new doors. Dreams would come true in exchange for 18 months of hard work. It was the best $10,500 I’ve ever spent, hands down.
One the second night of the second month in the second class, my heart skipped a beat for more than a second. Two very tired gentlemen came to talk to our class. Would we? Could we? Maybe? Pretty Please? Consider teaching with their district. A list of promises were made. Enticements to earn a salary while going to school. We could start immediately with their district on provisionary credentials approved by the State. Eagerly, I took the bait and applied on the spot.
Three weeks later, I found myself interviewing in a mop closet at a tiny little schoolhouse in Sanger, California. Mop closets are not pleasant places. The air held the scent of pine sol and mold, with the slightest hint of vomit and urine. Damp mop heads stood at attention behind the exhausted principal as he asked me question after question while taking copious notes about this wanna-be whistle blower. It was a day that changed the course of my life forever bringing me face to face with my calling in life. Teaching Littles.
I don’t remember his name, and can’t say that I ever saw him again. Through the years, I would interview three more times, receiving all three offers for wonderful positions teaching the greatest people I’ve ever met in my life. The essence of a person is found in a 3rd grader. Challenges. Perfections. Personality. Pure thoughts. There is a window when a person is absolutely perfect. That happens about the same time as 3rd grade.
Yesterday’s interview was different. In an office with three highly skilled and very professional educators, I knew the answers to each question they asked. With 22 years of experience to draw from, great memories and examples flooded my thoughts. Once a teacher, a teacher forever. The essence doesn’t change.
At peace with whatever the decision of the interview panel may be, I await their answer. I’m a 1900’s version of a teacher. Not a shiny new model ready to try out the latest theories in teaching, I’m vintage “Good Teacher”. Their school will benefit from hiring me. I’ll groom 20 new writers, sharing a love for learning in a way that a newbie can’t. My students will behave and learn without knowing they are. I’d cherish the chance to be that tired again at the end of the day.
God may have other plans and reasoning behind presenting this opportunity. Perhaps it’s to show me that retirement is appropriate and wonderful at this golden stage of life. As my dad told me once when talking about getting a replacement for his farm dog, “I’m no puppy anymore, better look for an older one.”
Yup, Dad, I’m no puppy anymore, either. But, maybe just for one more year.
Summer is a great time of year to work on the house. A little spackle here, a dash of paint there and focused attention to the details. It seems I’ve been walking around Winterpast ignoring the details and the more obvious. Just as I am an old wrinkly woman, Winterpast is almost 2 decades old. She needs a little freshening up.
While I wait to see if my career will be rebooted in August, I find that my energy level is through the roof. Just yesterday, I found the perfect way to channel it, (although not the cheapest).
In the 1900’s, brassy gold trim was all the rage. Golden faucets, hinges, door handles, and even ceiling fans. Sparkly gold that, over the years, began to tarnish just a little. I’m not a fan of golden things, being more earthy and practical. Most people probably wouldn’t even notice the hinges or towel racks. But, Winterpast and I have a special relationship.
Yesterday, while putting the finishing touches on the hallway painting, I decided to do take my renovation a step further. Opening a “Pandora’s Box” of new touches, I went to the hardware store on a mission.
Aisle 16. There they were. An entire row of door handles and hinges. Every kind and color possible. It was exhilarating to be back in my element doing what I love doing the most. Handyman-ing. Winterpast now has four new door handles of oil-rubbed bronze. Striker plates — Changed. Hinges???? Changed. Out with the old, in with the new. With patience and focus, the hallway is transformed.
A word of warning to those of you that are itching to get out the tool belt. It is very unusual that the hinges in the store actually fit perfectly. Doors and their adjustments are very touchy. That I was able to exchange the old for the new was a bit of divine intervention.
As I was changing out the hardware I chose to use VST’s drill instead of a screwdriver. His energy and love surrounded me, guiding me to work at lightning speed and finish four doors in under two hours. Memories of his love and protection cloaked me as I remembered the hours we spent renovating our little cabin in the woods or the DunMovin’ House. There isn’t an hour that goes by that his words of wisdom about life, love, and home repairs are not comforting me. I am so lucky to have loved and been loved by such a man.
Later today, I’m installing my very own “Ring” doorbell. With security concerns always in the back of my mind, I look forward to having eyes and ears on the front of my house, even when I’m away. A handy way to record all the comings and goings here at Winterpast. VST, I apologize for chastising you about your love of video surveillance. You win. I’m moving into 2022 enjoying the wonders of a computerized sentry at the front door.
With my very expensive shopping trip and project completed, I’m off to Bible Study today. My new group of girlfriends are fluffed up in excitement with talk of all the snacks they’ll be bringing to class. I’m so blessed to be surrounded in a sea of people that genuinely love and care for me.
At 6:18 last night, the direction of my life changed with one little phone call from a pretty amazing principal. Principals work very long hours, spending their days analyzing all sorts of things. From soothing a scratched knee on the play ground to smoothing ruffled feathers of disgruntled staff and parents, it’s a thankless job. I have my administrative credential, but after all these years it remains virginal. Being a Principal is a thankless job. I’d take 20 kids and a chalk board over that job any day of the week.
Yesterday was filled with trouble. Finally turning over the reins to God, his strength carried me into the evening hours. Somedays are like that. Suffice it to say, I navigated through some very rough waters while remaining focused on my truths, values, and heart. Tough decisions are just that. Choices that must sit well in one’s heart and on one’s conscious. Life isn’t always easy.
Jagger and Richards nailed it when they sang….
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes you might find
You get what you need
Everything became clear when I focused on who I am at the core. I am a serious, accomplished, beautiful, and unique teacher-woman. I will not waste my remaining earthly minutes on undeserving endeavors. The time has come for me to aim my arrow straight at the bull’s eye of life. Being a great shot, I had one arrow and it hit the mark.
To clear my mind, I’d resumed installing more door handles. I’m getting pretty experienced. It takes ten minutes to change a handle. I smiled to see that my screwdriver actually had a greasy handle. From me!!! Finally, something that brought me a smile.
At 6:18, my phone rang. In the most professional voice, Mrs. Principal made her move.
“I would like to offer you a First Grade Teaching Position at our school.”
I’ve been offered a teaching position here in my dusty little town on a wide spot of the road! The cornerstone of the community! Is it what I want or what I need? I woke up this morning knowing it is both things and a lot more. Life is complicated that way.
My first classroom, back in 1996, was a 1st-2nd Grade class of 20 bubbly little people including one with very special needs. On one of my finest days, I found myself on a bench in the Autumn sunshine with little Hazel nestled against me showing me she had finally learned how to read the night before. There is nothing as precious or important than teaching a child to read. Nothing better than listening to the sweetest of hesitations as they put together those images while forming their first little words.
I was a bit shocked. But then, I wasn’t. I had aimed in a new direction for very valid reasons. I had applied and then interviewed. I’d done this four times before and hit the bull’s eye each time. Never have I found myself being sorry. Teaching is my calling.
I asked for and evening’s worth of time to pray about my decision. Time to assess this old body that’s been through some stuff over the years. Hours to think about everything that goes into making a year the best for 20 very important little people. A few tears wishing VST were here because he remains my perfect sounding board and source of support. Time to fall into the deepest sleep to dream about schedules, routines, school bells, and students that need me in their lives.
I did have a brief discussion with someone about my pressing decision.
The exchange included words like “Nasty Teacher’s Union”. “NEA” this and “rotten school system” that. I needed to remind him that I am a teacher. Me. Christian Woman. Smart. Independent thinker. Child loving, book toting me. Not every teacher is one for the evening news. Not every school climate follows what you see in big city life. Please remember that. There are millions of teachers just like me. We want to do the right thing for the kids. We want to teach math and language arts. In the privacy of classrooms across the country, learning still goes on the way it has for hundreds of years. With love, patience, respect, and kindness between students and their teacher.
This morning, my decision is made. I need to tell Mrs. Principal first, so you’ll need to wait until tomorrow. This is the tallest cliff I’ve been on for quite some time. Starting college today, I have no more time for nonsense. With purpose and direction, my new path awaits.
It’s official. I am the newest employee of our little elementary school! On 7/8/2022, at 10:23 AM, I officially accepted the task of taking 20 children through the first numbered year of their education. I will be pictured with the class. Me. Mrs. Hurt will live on in their memories long after I’ve joined VST.
Thursday night was not especially restless, but one filled with the happiest of memories from my very first classroom in the Fall of 1997. I remember how anxious I was to begin the year. A 1st-2nd Grade combination class including a student with special needs. Not having much in my own bag of tricks, I could at least look nice. What was a girl to do but utilize the skills of a professional shopper. That’s exactly what I did.
Macy’s used to be a different place than I find it today. It was neat and clean. Each department was brimming with knowledgeable associates to help you with your purchases. Employees were fresh and experienced. They put forth a group effort to present Macy’s as a store with a little more. In the 1900’s. Ahh, for the days gone by.
In late summer 1996, the Macy’s professional shopper lady put together a school teacher look for one very terrified Mrs. Hurt. Everything from the proper blazer to penny loafers, I had the look down. Tailored and tweedy. Blouses that went with pants or skirt. A couple wool jumpers. Dark tights to warm me on winter mornings out on the playground. Everything I needed to pull off the burgandy and navy look.
When I look at pictures from that first year, if nothing else, I was the best dressed teacher at the school. But, that first year I learned some valuable lessons.
Glue and cashmere don’t mix.
The classroom is a petri dish of bio hazards.
You can’t kneel down to a child’s level to comfort them in a pencil skirt.
Penny loafers provide no arch support.
The most important thing of all……
NOBODY CARES. Fashion is not why teachers are teaching.
I have a plan for my wardrobe this year. I hope there is a Casual Friday, because my Levi’s Signature jeans from Walmart and a school hoodie will do just fine.
I’m going to use what I already have in my closet and zing it up with some color in one way or another. First graders find black rather boring. If things don’t quite match, we’ll work on adjectives that day. Clothing is the least of my worries.
In my old classrooms, I had a refrigerator, microwave, and cabinet full of comforting supplies. I often missed going to lunch with the other teachers. That will change this year. 25 minutes of adult contact in the middle of the day is the best nourishment of all for a new teacher. The lunch room already has those appliances.
A friend mentioned that it must be incredibly stressful to get an entire room together after being retired for 5 years. Not especially.
I was the single classroom teacher for five years at a Children’s Hospital. I taught out of a rolling cart because the hospital didn’t have one extra inch of space for a teacher’s office. TRUE. My office was at the back table in the cafeteria for 5 years, as the staff at that hospital behaved badly. They had not even a cubicle where I could go to cry on days I needed to. I saved those tears for the 45 minute drive home, when I would talk to God about childhood cancer or cystic fibrous. I mourned the loss of 35 students in plain sight, without the benefit of an office door to close.
My rolling cart always provided the right lessons at the right time. It was just big enough to carry all the books and lessons I needed for the students I saw every day. From the heights of intensive care to the depths of the rehabilitation wing, I rolled through five years and over 200 students.
During that time, I learned something very valuable. A teacher needs just a few things. A baggie full of pencils. A packet of paper. A bright, beautiful smile and attitude to support that. And a brain. With that, a teacher can teach in any outfit, on any day, in any situation. Even while machinery beeps and IV’s drip.
Today, I’m working on my first college assignments. My instructor is from one of my favorite states in the mid-west. Her husband has written 13 novels, five of them being westerns. I admire her already. There are three of us over achievers sitting in class, waiting for Monday morning. I want the other two in my group.
As for clothing, my VC squad is going to outfit me this time. I’ll be looking at the discount section of Macy’s. This time, no personal shopper. Just too great girlfriends that will help me get a 1st grade look going. I can tell you, it will be the most memorable shopping experience I’ve had in some time.
Well, it all started so innocently with my daily walk. I’m in training for 1st Grade. Those energetic littles are not going to get the best of me. Walking two miles a day is becoming routine. Jane and Tony sit out every morning on their porch waiting for me. Poor Jane is new to the neighborhood and waiting to wave to anyone that walks by. They are the adorable couple that VST were well on our way to becoming until I was one woman alone.
Now, I’m the zippy, leggin’ wearin’, pony tail swingin’, widow woman that is walking every day at dark:30. My goal is to assess my progress at 70 miles. Have a few miles left to go. In my area, cars are infrequent. I’m more likely to hear the wind or count birds flying through the big sky.
Last Sunday, tense racket alarmed me from inside the house. It was something high pitched. Not really talking. More bold than that. It was a hideous sound that continued with no real rhythm. It was so annoying, I had to go outside to better identify the sound.
It seems that SOMEONE had brought CITY KIDS to the quiet countryside to let off screams. And, that’s what they were doing. Screaming and yelling with no message other than sheer jubilance at being in the country. They were two blocks away, and it was still so loud I had to return inside. In this day and age, with everything children have endured, I guess they need to get out the primal screams as well as the rest of us.
It did give me pause to realize that my neighborhood is THAT quiet. That children playing in the countryside was unidentifiable as an unusual and disturbing sound. I guess I better get used to that right now, as I’m sure my world will hold plenty of those noises very soon. What will happen to the tranquil cloak of Winterpast remains to be seen. With almost every house within a one block radius owned by sedentary octogenarians, things are only going to be this quiet a little while longer.
Anyway, on my walk yesterday, I headed in a direction I’ll keep to myself. I have marked off how many miles I walk for each route, and today, I chose the easiest of them. Two miles round trip. With a hello to my new friends along the way, I had lots to think about. Even more so, I had lots to be grateful for. I name blessings on the walk out and then plans for the day on the way back. It sets the tone for a lovely day.
I’d walked by the corral-ed group of the four equines many times. Although I’m not sure WHO is which gender, I do know that a very mature colt was still suckling from the dominant female of the bunch. Now, if SHE could say a few things about this BIRTHING PARENT situation, she’d have plenty to say about that. Nope. She’s just a patient mom whose 1500 pound, 4 year old foal needs to get a grip, grow up, and move away from the tit.
The four of them don’t get up very early on most days. Somedays, they role around in the dust acting like children themselves. Otherwise, they stand like statues just watching the world go by. They are a mixed bunch of fat. Fat butts. Fat rib cages. Fat everywhere. Fattest group of horses I’ve seen anywhere.
They get visitors from a lot of people walking by, like me. I’ve so often wanted to stop and visit with them, but there was never the right moment. Yesterday was the day.
I was on my way back home, thinking about training for my walk in Spain when I retire. I was almost halfway home when I realized THEY were out. The lawn ornaments. Three horses and a MUSTANG. I’ve known for a long time that a wild mustang is not just a horse. They are incredibly strong, resilient, and afraid of nothing. They never stop eating and moving throughout their entire lives. They are incredibly beautiful. If you gaze into the eye of a mustang, you have been given a gift. Something you’ll never forget.
I happen to know that one of these was a wild mustang earlier in life. The owner was lamenting about the lazy bunch to me one day last year. It seems a man had owned them and couldn’t keep them anymore. He was at the point of turning all four into the desert when my neighbor said he would take them. There were three at that point. One was hidden in the mother’s belly. The female. The one that COULD produce offspring.
These four took notice that I was coming down the road. I know they were discussing whether or not I might have a snack for them. I could tell. Well, not the one that was trying to nurse, but certainly the others. When I approached, it was the youngest that had the nerve to come to the fence and say “Hello”.
I haven’t been next to a horse for years. Magnificent in every way, this huge animal came to the fence to check out my pony tail. I’m thrilled the fence was higher than him. We had a real moment, as he breathed in my scent the way horses do. When he decided I was okay, he lowered his head, as calm as a kitten. He was not the one I wanted to meet.
Slowly the others came along, one by one. Horses are like that. They look to the dominant horse for direction. It was such a complement that the others accepted me, too. All but the last one. The buckskin mustang. Finally, she came to the fence to take a sniff.
A mustang’s eyes are different. Wise. All knowing. It was a moment I’ll not forget. With all four new friends standing with heads down for a scratch, it was as if I had performed a circus act. All I had done was stand quietly at the fence and wait for them to investigate me.
Today, I’m off to complete two more miles. Much has been accomplished around here at Winterpast, but there is a good month of work to finish before my summer is over and school begins. Never could I have predicted this detour in the road two years ago when I was deep in widow’s fog. God has carried me through such a dark wilderness to the light. I’m a college coed and brand new teacher. I just gazed into the eyes of my first mustang and I’m in love. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
The pieces are slowly coming together to create the mural of my new life. Like riding that old bike, there are some things that come naturally after many years in an occupation. Readying a classroom is one of those things. Twenty of this, 40 of that. Office supplies. A comfortable desk chair. Collecting the tangible items is quite easy and fun.
After a wonderful lunch yesterday with new friends, I remembered I hadn’t visited Dollar Tree for months. DT is a teacher’s best friend. For any holiday, they’re stocked with trinkets for prizes, as well as important Back to School Items. Painfully, it is no longer Dollar Tree. It’s $1.25 Tree. Going up and down the aisles, I remember how VST always found the coolest additions to my classroom. Even when he put his retirement dreams on hold for my work, he did his best to make my life easier. He sacrificed a lot during the school years between 2015-2017.
After buying 80 items, which would have cost $80 in the olden days, I returned home to Oliver. My next project will be to prepare a nice place for Oliver during the hot days when I’m at work.
Make no mistake on this. Oliver is not yet mature enough to wander the halls of Winterpast without restraint. In so many ways, he is now a real dog. August 6th we’ll celebrate his 4th birthday. Just now, he’s learning that life is not one big chew toy. He’s perfectly house-trained, as long as I remember for him. To stay home alone is just more than this dynamo could handle. There would be damage.
Oliver is a fair weather kind of dog. He doesn’t like weather that is under 65 degrees or wet. He also detests weather that is over 80 degrees with no shade. We have a 15 degree spread in which he will go outside for no more than 15 minutes and then, he’s jumping at the door to come back in. For goodness sakes, something earth shattering could happen and he wants to be involved in every little detail. I think he actually has a journal hidden somewhere to jot down the activities of the day. He is a writer’s dog, for sure.
Winterpast came with a doggie door. Oliver knows it. If treats are involved, he even goes in and out. Otherwise, he has no use for this invention. He wants to enter and exit the yard through the sliding glass door, like all the other humans around here. My plan is to put a large crate right by the doggie door to give him access to air conditioning and shade.
My yard is a great environment for a dog. Perfect fencing, all in great repair. Paths on which to run. Beautiful lawn on which to jump, play, and roll around. Trees under which to lay. Even patches of wet dirt in which to dig. He owns his very own swimming pool with clean fresh water. Lots of natural shade. Oliver could care less. 65 – 80 degrees without intense sunshine. Otherwise, he wants to be inside. Solutions will come, because after August 15th, I’ll be gone during the day.
Such silly problems, eh?
Considering the blessing in my life, I’m in awe of my God that made them all possible. He has commandeered this school bus of life and I’m along for the ride. When I think of everything that needed to happen, and how it all unfolded, I see a string of miracles.
Still being alive and well two years after Terry’s death and five years after my retirement date, I found the door to the rest of my life opened. My happiness is here and now.
The Nevada Teacher Credentialing website initially indicated that I needed three classes to renew my license. In reality, only one was required. There was one spot left at University of Phoenix in the right course allowing me to complete this requirement one day before the 2022-23 school year begins.
My computer led me to Lyon County School District and the little advertisement that stated so simply… “Teacher’s needed”.
The words flew onto the pages of the application as if I had written the questions myself. My references were still employed by Lyon County School District holding respected positions.
My interview was with new “old friends” that I’d met only minutes before who asked questions that were familiar and easily answered.
The expected offer came and was accepted after a night of prayer blessed by my new principal.
Projects around Winterpast are coming together with lightning speed, as I prepare for 185 school days of work.
Walking has become something I find I enjoy, as I set a goal for my own pilgrimage towards Camino de Santiago in the Autumn of my 69th year to honor my one great love, VST.
All these things wouldn’t have been possible without God’s blessing and guidance on this my new path. Knowing this makes the new scenery on this journey all the more beautiful.
Have a wonderful Monday. Do something you love. Love something you’re doing.
Yesterday was a scorcher. As temperatures soared over 100, Oliver and I enjoyed the comfort of Winterpast and fresh air conditioning. AC. Truly a gift from the heavens. When it’s this hot in the desert, there’s no choice but to find a cool spot and wait it out. I moved out of the Central Valley of California to get away from the 100+ degree days and yet, in the twilight of my life, here I am again. Sweltering.
Two friends from church came over yesterday to inspect the wood lathe I have sitting in the barn. Turning wood was one of the few remaining skills that VST hadn’t developed in his 64 years. With hundreds of spindles lining our deck at the Dun Movin’ House in VC, he had decided to give her more charm and make square spindles into decorative ones. Time got the better of us and he never even switched the brand new lathe to the “On” position. Instead, we packed up and sold. He moved on to heaven, and 17 days later I moved on to my dusty little wide spot in the road now known as “Home”.
VST would have liked this visiting couple. RVing and enjoying all things outdoors, yesterday’s visit was enjoyable in every way. Overlapping interests kept us talking for a good long time. I kept thinking it would be swell if VST could just pop in for an hour. He would’ve added to the conversation, interjecting details probably forgotten. Talk about VST comes easier to me these days. No one here can possibly know what a loss it was to lose the other half of my soul. They’ll never be another VST. Not even close.
I’d just settled in for an evening with Oliver. With my diet totally blown on a Sonic Burger and Chocolate milkshake earlier in the day, I settled for a fresh shrimp cocktail and some trash TV. This is something I don’t make a habit of because such programming is a delicious waste of brain power and I enjoy it way too much.
It was then I got the invitation.
“Would anyone like to meet be for ice cream at the ‘Cream and Cone’?” The lone text came across my phone.
Well, color me off my diet. They didn’t need to ask twice. Quicker than a cricket, I had my hair in a pony tail and was off in the Jeep. “Cream and Cone” features homemade ice cream of the best varieties. Made out of the finest ingredients, they sell the best treats to enjoy any time of the year.
The three of us chose to sit outside to enjoy the desert evening. How can a place be so intensely hot at noon, yet perfectly breezy hours later. Such is life here on the high plains of Northwestern Nevada.
We talked about so many things, getting to know each other better over our cones. These women are cornerstones of the foundation of my circle of friendship. Strong women with values they wear like brightly colored scarves. Christian women that demonstrate their faith with deeds, not words. They feed the elderly and poor, finding their pantries never empty. They see the unseen, fragile homeless that are sometimes invisible in plain sight. While doing this, they remain real women with salty secrets, just like me. I shared ice cream with two angels on earth.
As I was inhaling a huge cookie dough ice cream cone, a man slowly walked by our table. He was in obvious pain as he limped. His skin was baked and cracked like brownies just out of the oven. We were talking about the mysteries of the local mansion and he interjected that it had a value of $2.9 million. With that, he stopped to talk for a couple minutes. Right away, Angel #1 cued to the fact that he was hungry. She asked if he needed something to eat and produced two gift cards for food. Hesitantly, he accepted them.
Then, he shared. A marine for 12 years. Lived there a long time. Down on his luck. Trouble with alcohol. Living under the bridge. His encampment burned a few nights ago by kids. His brother on his way from Utah to take him home. All details of a life in trouble, shared in a passing conversation.
Before he left, he did something so amazing, it shocked me. He prayed for us in his native language. A beautiful prayer. Spiritual and earthy from this soft spoken gentleman who was just waiting patiently for his brother to arrive from Utah. As he limped away, his prayer covered us as we finished our ice cream.
I got back home well after dark last night. The mustangs are on nightly neighborhood raids now, looking for a drink and some cool grass to eat. The sound of their hooves on the pavement was a lovely lullaby as I fell asleep.
Once in awhile, slip outside your comfort zone to listen to another’s story. There is such love, tragedy, intensity, pain, and adventure in our great world. Sometimes, the best stories are those told by someone just waiting on a brother.
Yesterday, after a two mile walk in the cool between night and day, a project was waiting. My new Ring doorbell needed to be installed. At this point in time, I COULD call A Mr. Fix-it Type. However, why would I choose to do that? After watching a short video, it was demonstrated that with a screwdriver, a ladder, and a main breaker to turn off power, I could do it myself, so I did. DYI SUCCESS!!!!!
Every woman should know a few key things.
Where is your main breaker box? Winterpast has the main box and two sub-panels. Makes things very convenient. That’s more complicated than most houses, which just have one. Some people keep a lock on the box. If you are a lock person, please know where the key is in an emergency. Your breakers should be labeled. Investigate exactly what those labels say.
How do you de-energize your entire house? Flip the biggest switch in the box marked MAIN. You simply flip it to the “Off” position. You ALWAYS check your project with a tester to make sure what you flipped to “Off” really cut the power. Getting shocked is not fun on any day. Electrocution kind of ruins the fun of the project.
At the same time, find your gas main. How do you turn that off? Look that up on You Tube. In some unforeseen disaster, you just might need to cut the gas to your house. Know where these things are.
Sometimes, breakers will flip off for some reason. Make a note that this has happened, because, that isn’t normal. Something caused the problem. But, flip the breaker back on. Here are Winterpast, that has happened a couple of times. No big deal. What would be of concern is if the breaker continues to flip off. Sadly, that is the time to call a real $$$ELECTRICIAN$$$. Did I mention the $$$ part? It’s good to try a few things before you need to call THAT guy.
I have a new code to live by. When considering a project, the only things keeping me from doing it myself are extreme heights or the the need for manly strength. Anything else, I’ll be handling. VST taught me so many things and, in his honor, I will not waste money hiring any GUY. I am now THE GUY in this house (while fully embracing my womanhood, thank you very much).
If you are stuck on any project, You Tube is your friend. Remember, last week I learned how to re-program my external garage door opener. A world of knowledge is at our fingertips.
After a few short minutes, I had the physical doorbell installed. I did some troubleshooting when it didn’t connect right away. I needed to turn the power back off so the doorbell could reset. After that, it was done in a flash.
There is the need to do some work on the Ring.Com site. The doorbell needs to communicate to your internet system and your phone. Directions are clear, but, there is a need to install and activate the technology end of the project.
I must say the sensitivity of the camera is pretty amazing. Yesterday, I had visits when some friendly finches and the cutest jackrabbit came to call. I’m now alerted when the postman drops my mail or Ninja Neighbor comes back from the grocery store. Today, I’ll fine tune the app. There is even a way to talk to people outside. All this will be on mute when I’m teaching in a few short weeks, but for the first 24 hours, it’s been fun to play with this technology.
My college course started yesterday. It’s exciting to meet other teachers from Nevada. In fact, two are from the biggest little city to the west of me. Both are music instructors, so we don’t have the love of writing in common. It’s just fun to know they are close, almost like sitting in class together.
It’s been years since I have cited sources, so today, I’m reviewing the AMA style. My first assignment is due tomorrow. I wrote the rough draft last night. Today, I’ll be adding the finishing touches and put it on the instructor’s desk before I close my eyes tonight.
I also had my first contact with my new school district. It seems my district is paying bonuses for new hires. Just another happy little accident as God unfolds this amazing summer for me. I’m now journaling all the surprises along this path. What a ride!!! My guest room is filling up with supplies for the classroom. My attention needs to turn to attire and other important items for my big comeback.
Yesterday, Subway was showcasing their new menu and giving away lunch. Their app is another great one to keep on your phone. They often offer deals, but rarely a free 6″ sandwich. Then later in the day, KFC offered free home delivery to try their Mac and Cheese Popcorn Chicken Bowl for $5. Also necessary to order from their app. In 25 minutes, dinner was at my door, steaming hot. Technology just makes things too easy.
I’m off to walk in this the beautiful time between night and day. Enjoy your day, whatever you choose to do. Remember, always turn the power off first before working with electrical things. Stay upright while having some fun.
Oh what a day I enjoyed yesterday! As July rolls on, broiling under the desert sun of July, my days are filled with more fun than any widow woman could hope for. These days, my phone rings and pings with the laughter and prayers from new friends. The Church Ladies. I have over 20 of the best women in town on my team now. Team Giggles and Grins.
It’s an amazing thing to receive an invitation to an event, because in this dusty little wide spot in the road, we don’t have many. We are a truck stop town. A place to pull off the interstate to gas up because it’s 30 cents cheaper than the next county. A place to get some fast food and keep going. A place two hours away from Tahoe and on the doorstep of Burning Man. That’s where I live. The high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. A place where the women are tougher than sun-scorched paint.
Yesterday was a special day for one such woman and her husband. It was the Grand Opening of their brand new employment agency. Nestled between the China Buffet and a small church, there’s a most beautiful office. Everything new. Inspirational signs on the walls. Fresh paint. New carpet. The freshest of hopes and dreams. It was their Grand Opening day.
With the promise of free food and a job, three of my Sisters in Christ and I showed up to meet them and celebrate. The mayor and his wife were there, along with city council men and women. They held an enormous pair of scissors and a roll of blue tape for the official announcement of the opening. It’s been awhile since I have been present for a ribbon cutting. We all did it desert style. There were no suits and ties. With temperatures of over 100, the parking lot was sweltering. Definitely casual attire.
Talking with the new owner, it was evident she is a business owner that has her sights set on success. She spoke of her desire to be an example of grit and determination to inspire her daughter and teach her that to get somewhere, sometimes you need to walk through the desert. At 14, the young girl was already answering phones and filing. A family working as a unit is sometimes invisible because they are in the background working. I’m sure there are far more of these units in our country than the daily news wants to recognize. I remember one such family that farmed grapes for 17 years. Mine.
The event was graced with the most amazing food. Churros. Now, if you have never had a fresh fried churro, then, you have never eaten a churro. They are the Mexican version of a funnel cake. A man named Jesus (pronounced HAY-soos) was deep frying a batter a little thicker than pancake batter. Squirting it into extremely hot oil, in minutes, the golden friend treats were dipped in cinnamon and sugar and left to cool. If you have ever had a freshly baked Krispie Cream donut, the texture was just like that, but with a crunch.
Even better, Jesus and his mom had the best smiles. They were genuinely happy to be helping make the event a celebration. Mom sat on the tailgate of the truck, quietly watching her son work his magic. He makes a living deep-frying churros for all kinds of events and he obviously loves Churros. Add it to a long list of carbohydrates that scream “This will make you gain 5 lbs. immediately, Joy”. A list of foods I must try to avoid. Carbohydrates. My dark addiction.
We had the best time enjoying the party with a business owner who was now our new friend. The mayor’s wife shared pictures of her 12th grandchild. The councilman that owns an office store in town talked with pride about his exceptional staff. In all, it was a parking lot party to remember.
Feeling the need to share more time together, the four of us decided we would drive to the home of Top Gun (yes the REAL Top Gun Naval Air Station) to get some Pho. Again, an ethnic food of another kind you may not have ever tried. Pho (pronounce “fuh”. Snap that off your tongue. Fuh. Fuh. Fuh. Kind of fun to say. Like FUN with no N). Pho is a Vietnamese broth based soup with meat and vegetables.
The 30 minute drive was filled with chatter about all kinds of things. Church Ladies don’t only discuss the Bible. Just normal gals that have lived us some life, we all have stories.
In the car sat a world traveled Hollywood executive who retired from that career and now runs the food pantry for our church. A retired Coca Cola executive who worked at a time when women hit their heads on the glass ceiling while men shattered it and went on up the ladder, sometimes by stepping on the heads of women they passed. A woman who has lived and worked from coast to coast of this great country learning about people, politics, and the ways of the world. And me. Four beautiful Women of Christ. Four of the best kind of friends. Heart friends.
The restaurant and staff were delightful. It was my first experience saying or even seeing a bowl of Pho. I do know one thing. It’s a super fun word to say. PHO. PHO. PHO. Especially for church ladies.
I got home after dark last night. Oliver was unimpressed, still in trouble after destroying my lone bell pepper plant. When will this dog grow up? Maybe never. That is the sad truth of the matter. I love his intelligence, but it gets him in trouble more often than not. Back to the leash and Doggie Manners 101. I know there is a great dog somewhere in there. I hope I live to see the adult side of him.
Go out and try some new foods today. Find some PHO or a fresh churro. Attend a Ribbon Cutting to help celebrate the efforts of a new business owner. Meet the mayor. Hug his wife.
There are some things so private and beautiful it take time to find the right way to tell the story. So exquisite that words couldn’t possible explain the impact on one’s heart. So healing that life has not choice but to turn and go on. I’ll tell you such a story now. I’ll only tell it once on this screen.
In the last two years, the most difficult decision of all remained to be made. It was mine to make and I didn’t want to get this one wrong. VST’s cremains had been sitting on the bookcase shelf for 25 months. Where would I release the last physical connection that said it all really happened? The first dance on a hot night. The romance. Our vows. The kids. The ranch. Our private mountain top at the gateway to Yosemite. 50,000 miles of laughter in the RV. Sailing. Virginia City. All of it.
To make such a decision took me two years, one month,and 12 days. Should he watch over the vines of the ranch, the beach at Bass Lake, or our beloved Pacific Ocean? Or should he remain in Virginia City, the place he loved as much as the others? I asked T and K. I questioned CC. Of course, no one could make that decision but me. I wrestled with this more than anyone knew, all the time being comforted for the beautiful blue urn that held nothing more than ashes. VST left us on April 8th. This would be the final formality.
The presence of the urn gave me strength on days that I really didn’t know if I could go on. I could talk to VST. Just outside my bedroom, he stood sentry allowing me to sleep soundly. All irrational and delusional thoughts of a widowed wife of 32 years. Someone grieving so deeply for her life’s true love. You’ll just need to trust me on that, those of you that didn’t know us. For those of you that did, you knew that before I wrote those words.
I’d just enjoyed the first meeting with new friends at Bible study and I was walking on clouds. In the morning, I had prayed so deeply for new friends. God granted me 20 of the best friends in town that morning, even defining the word friend on the hand out for that day. That day afternoon , a storm blew in. No rain or lightning, just wind. Ferocious wind.
Late that day, the urn caught my eye, and for the first time I KNEW where I was going and what I was to do. There was no second guessing, because the end of the final chapter flashed before my eyes. VST and I needed to go on one last ride together and I knew just the place we would go.
Wind. Quite possible my favorite force of nature. VST loved the Zephyr Winds of Virginia City, but I probably loved them more. So powerful and cleansing. One of God’s most powerful forces. Especially here on the desert. Wind carries us through life. It cools us on the hottest days. It’s a life force that awakens our senses. It’s wild and free just like the times VST and I enjoyed being feral parents. It’s force is awe-inspiring. It has a fierce voice as it roars along. It can also be a soft caress on the loneliest of days.
With deliberate steps, I got dressed and lovingly lifted VST’s urn off the shelf. A perfect outline would remain where his urn sat for so many months. The weight still shocked me. Dense. Compact. Heavy as a brick. Hard to believe that the 6’1″ man of flesh and bone could be reduced to twelve pounds of ash. Another reminder that, indeed, the time had come. It was right. It was now.
The late afternoon was the kind of desert day I write about all the time. Puffy white clouds racing across the biggest cobalt-blue sky. Strapping VST into the seat belt, I remember the last times we drove together, he only a week from death. Even on our last drive, he taught me about engaging the 4WD as we drove down the treacherous and unforgiving Geigher Grade towards medical news that would shatter our hearts. Today, there would be no driving instructions.
Behind Winterpast, wonderful gravel roads lead up the mountains toward God. The sweeping views look out towards Winterpast and hundreds of miles of high desert. Sentinels watching over us, these brown, barren mountains take the brunt of the wind. It would be to that force, to which I would release my sweet husband to go on his way.
Standing on the mountain top, I felt God’s grace, mercy, and love surround me as I held the urn tightly one last time. Not VST. Not VST. Not VST. In my mind, I kept repeating those words until my heart calmed and I caught my breath. Blowing sand was stinging my skin. My hair whipped. The intensity of the moment was just the perfect place for such a GoodBye. A physical manifestation of how cancer had ripped VST when nothing else ever would have.
The winds had slammed the door of the Jeep causing me to jump. Now, I was one lone woman saying Goodbye. It was the end of our physical connection on earth.
Releasing his ashes to the wind was the most beautiful experience I could’ve experienced with him. I released him to a force of nature, not to one particular place. Racing off towards adventure he left me. Traveling East to all the places that were our favorites. I’m sure part of him will linger, overlooking Winterpast and his one true love. The one with the bluest eyes that stole his heart on that beautiful September night so many moons ago.
I sobbed for a very long time crumbled in the dusty Zephyr winds of the desert I love so much. Comforting me, the wind covered me in bits of ash leading me back home to the loving walls of Winterpast. It was done.
VST had been released to a force of nature. What better words to describe a man among men? A true force of nature throughout his life, VST bulldozed through all of his life’s ups and downs. He lived life on his terms, even when the game changed. He chose happiness every day, and always found a way to share that with others. He aimed his arrow and hit the bulls-eye time and time again. A regular guy leaving brilliant memories when he left for heaven.
I can’t properly explain in words the amazing healing that occurred on that windy afternoon. Intense beauty cocooned our private Goodbye. The last time he would ever cradle me with his love and devotion. A beautiful healing occurred on that lonely mountain top. In that moment, God sang a lullaby to my grieving heart while he guided VST on his way.
Free.
We are both free.
Happy Birthday, VST. I’ll have an ice cream for you today. I’m sure you’re having one, too. Peanut Butter Chocolate. It wouldn’t be heaven without ice cream, right??
My project started out on such a good note. It really did. Locks and hinges are now my specialty. Until last night. I found I can be the plumber, too. But let me start at the beginning of my evening.
It had been a long, hot desert day. I’ve been working on varied projects such as my college reading, written assignments, visits with new girlfriends, Bible study, and housework. It’d already been a long day.
As I usually do, I started a new list of all the projects I want to complete before returning to full time employment. Under white glove inspection, Winterpast is a dismal fail. There is dirt everywhere. When did this happen??? After returning to work, there’ll be a few weeks when my attentions will be needed elsewhere. So, I best utilize my time and complete those remaining projects.
I love projects that involve a single effort, not returning to become a project again. Like locks and hinges. Once and done. Beautiful results. Move on to the next. No extreme ladder work. Everything neat and tidy. Out with the old and in with the new.
After sitting on Main Street watching the cruisers until dusk last night, I came home to a minor problem. In my flurry of activity before I left the house, I’d forgotten that my sheets needed to dry before I could turn in for the night. No problem. While the sheets were drying, I’d just be-bop right into my bathroom and install locks and hinges on three doors. I wasn’t planning on including plumbing and woodworking into my evening chores.
The bathroom pantry door was a snap. Everything came together like it should. I got the package of lock and hinges opened without sliced off fingers. That’s an accomplishment right there. No fall from the ladder. The drill functioned properly. Proper door and latch alignment. With 35 minutes left in the drying cycle, I moved on to the privacy door for the toilet. It was there things started to go south.
Removing the middle hinge, it was obvious this door had some issues before I came along. In case you’ve never noticed, there are doors that are solid wood and there are doors that are not. Mine are not. This type of door is delicate and screw holes are easily stripped. In this situation, really long screws were needed. Three were provided should this problem arise. Problem solved.
If you’ve watched me move, you must’ve noticed one thing. I’m the first to admit it. I am painfully clumsy at the worst times. A true fumble fingers. I can drop just about anything. An important lesson was reinforced last night. When you are tired from a long day and you try to finish a project in a limited time, fumbling fingers can become a problem.
A package of hinges contain 15 screws. 12 of them are the ones most often used. Three of them are super long, in case your screws are stripped. That’s it. The exact amount of small black wood screws are included to secure your hinges. Lose one and YOU might become unhinged.
The opening in a bathroom sink is a gaping hole of unforgiveness.
#1. ALWAYS CLOSE THE SINK DRAIN OR AT LEAST PUT A TOWEL OVER THE OPENING.
As quick as I could say, “NO! NO! NO!”, my screw package was knocked into the sink. Four screws were gone. Four. One-half of a hinge-worth plus one.
No problem. My hubby taught me good. Opening the sink, I got to work loosening the trap. A J-trap collects everything heavy. There I would find my four screws. Sadly, it also takes time to get under the sink and mess with nastiness. After becoming a few minutes closer to clean, dry sheets, three of the screws were retrieved. The fourth will remain lost forever. You win some you lose some.
I smiled at a special memory of VST. When we first met, I had a plumbing issue in my bathroom at my little house in the barrio. He had a laughing fit because my J-trap was really made from a radiator hose. To me, it was no laughing matter. It worked. The important part of a J-trap is the shape not the material from which it’s made. He laughed about my J-trap for years to come. In the mean time, I learned a little about plumbing.
With the J-trap in my hand, I could hear the screws rattling around in the bottom. Into a large I carefully poured the disgusting liquid, retrieving the screws.
What do you do liquid you need to dispose? Pour it down the drain. Of course.
NO! NO! NO! NO!
Before the brain kicked in, I was now in cleanup mode, sopping up the disgusting liquid from the bottom of the open drain. Two disasters in a few minutes says it’s probably time to put away sharp tools and go to bed. I would’ve already been in bed asleep, but the drying cycle for the sheets wasn’t finished. Neither was I.
With the clean-up finished, my diversion into plumbing was finished. I just wanted to finish what I started and call it a night.
Getting up, not as spry as I was at 5 that morning, I reached for the open cabinet door to pull myself up. With a sigh and a snap, the hinge broke. NO! NO, NO, NO!!!!!!!! Add a few more words that a proper church lady just shouldn’t say. At that very moment, the clothes dryer chimed. Sadly, no bedtime for this bozo.
After close inspection of my hinge, I found it to be as filthy as many other parts of my house. Dust bunnies were living on top of it!!! Oh the horror of it all! After 20 minutes, the door was back on. “New cabinet hinges” earned a place on my Fix-It list.
My bathroom doors now have beautiful new locks and hinges. There is one cabinet door I don’t use anymore. If anyone touches that door, it will fall off in their hands. It won’t take me long. I’ll be the one.
Home projects. No matter the detours, I adore my home projects. It’s the reason I love owning a house. Always something interesting to fix or renew.
Check out your own hinges. There are so many working parts it will blow your mind. All of them can be fixed with a screw drive and a visit to You Tube. Carry on, and don’t use your cabinet doors as an assistive device when getting up off the floor. Better yet, avoid going under the sink.
Thank you, Lowell Herrero, Artist Extraordinaire. The cow in the painting is a Dutch Belted. My absolute favorite. A little joke from God, they are one of the cutest cows on the planet. Google it.
There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.
What do workers gain from their toil?
I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race.
He has made everything beautiful in its time.
He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.
I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live.
That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God.
This morning, I woke to memories of the rhythm of the farm. Life was dictated by 16,000 100-year-old-vines. Old crones that cracked the whip. They broke tractors, discs, spirits, and bodies. The only thing bigger than their demands was God.
Every month, for 17 years, from the 1 – 4th, VST could truly rest while I irrigated. Think of planning your life from March until September without including the 1st – 4th. Just mark them off the calendar, even if the month happened to be July. It matter not, because you had to deal with acre feet of water, valves, gopher holes, and the heat.
It didn’t matter that two farmers had real jobs as a teacher and business executive. Nope. Irrigation reined supreme. For those for days, with a shovel in hand, every vine got a nice long drink. Forty acres isn’t the biggest patch of land in the world. However, when irrigating it all with at least 3″ of water, it can seem like half the world lays at your muddy irrigation boots. You need big hands, a big hat, lots of cold water, and patience.
At least twice a day, 4 came twice a day. 4AM and 4 PM. For two hours, up and down the dusty avenues I’d go, making notes on a chart that no one but another farmer would understand. More water on Row 72, flooding on Row 53. Whoops, forgot the shovel at Row 109. Man, it’s hot. We’ve got a gopher hole on Row 12. All this while the afternoon temperatures could be 105 or even higher.
The rhythm of the farm was woven through everything in our lives. You had to eat fast because there were only a few hours left of daylight. Or, you had to rest because it would be cooler at 7PM. When the grapes bloomed, you needed watch the weather closely, hoping that frost wouldn’t steal your crop away on a 30 degree night. The minutes of the day dictated that raisins needed harvesting on September 1st, because by September 15th the angle of the sun would be quite different and not good for drying the grapes.
Four times a year, scheduled crop payments arrived just before the rhythm of the creditors plucked the money away for services rendered in previous days. Yes. A time for everything and a season for everything under the heavens.
King Solomon was an amazing writer who penned Ecclesiastes 3 along with The Song of Solomon 2:10-13, from where came the inspiration for the name Winterpast. What a brilliant mind to leave such words for us all to ponder thousands of years later. His works are woven throughout the Bible sharing his very human side with mankind.
I miss the rhythm of the farm, woven into my soul for 52 years. Even though we sold the farm in 2007, a farm girl never loses her instincts and roots. Born on the farm from the rich soil, I grew and blossomed into a woman.
Whatever your activities for the day, remember your own season of your life. Embrace it. Many things lost along the way have been replaced with new wonders. Life is an amazing journey. As VST loved to reminded me, we can sleep when we’re dead.
It’s all fun and games until someone signs a contract!
Such was the case after a long, productive Sunday. The day started out in a prayerful manner. My dad used to say that he found his week on Sunday morning. I didn’t truly understand that until I reached my 66th year. Yes, Dad. You can relax. I now find my week on Sunday morning at church.
Each Sunday, the Church Ladies connect Like magnets drawn to one another, the women of our Bible study group have bonded into a unit. What a beautiful thing, friendship. Especially between women. A magical sisterhood of caring and concern. These women have become my soft place to fall in the short time we’ve known each other. Each one of us has experienced profound loneliness and isolation. Through this group, we’ve found the other pieces of this puzzle we call home. It’s a precious gift.
One of the gals suggested that we share a meal at The Tee Pee Bar and Grill. Okay, throw a small casino in along with the Bar and Grill. My goodness, it’s Nevada. Casinos are everywhere. It’s always shocking to see slot machines at the front of the grocery store or service station. Although I’ve never seen any desperate housewives playing them, they are there for a reason.
Times have been tough for the TPB&G. The veteran waitresses left their posts for greener pastures. The customers, mainly an older generation, have stayed away. A once thriving 24-hour diner has become a 7:00-2:00 establishment, while the slot machines remain open 24/7. Going there made me wish like heck Miss Firecracker would have walked through the door to join us. We shared so many secrets, always drawing attention when shrieking with laugher leaking tears down our faces. We were two women finding their way through a widow’s wilderness in the Autumn of 2020. We made it to the otherside, Miss Firecracker!
Chatter. Chatter. Laughing. Chatter. With future plans for puppy play dates in place, in a flash our plates were clean and we were hugging out our Goodbye’s until Thursday.
Racing home, faster than the desert’s Zephyr Winds, I morphed from Church Lady into College Coed. I had an assignment to finish and my papers are never late. That’s not how I roll.
Oliver had his first experience with what will become his way of life. The laundry room and the doggie door. On the way home, I panicked a little that I would find my loveable little piece of lint laying in the back yard. Dehydrated. Steps from his freshly filled pool. Too hot to take a dip. Panting his last little doggie breath in the desert sun just steps away from the shade of the apricot tree. Little x’s over his little green eyes having just succumbed to the desert heat only minutes before the sound of the garage door opening.
Not to worry. That little survivor didn’t even break a sweat. He had been inside enjoying the air conditioning. Happy as a clam to see his Mom-oh, I think he liked his time home alone. I’ll find the damage when the sun comes up later today.
Within a couple of hours, my assignment and the rest of my Sunday would be peaceful.
It was just that until 6:32PM when I received 10 emails all containing employment documents. Computer-generated forms. Last night, I promised to report all child abuse, safety infractions, bullying, and side-eyeing. I promised not to use my computer for outside activities such as shuffling funds to the Cayman Islands or other nefarious deeds. I was informed that Title IX was respected in the district. That there was no discrimination when I was hired. My direct deposits were directed and the government will now get a hefty portion of my check in the form of taxes. Twenty-eight forms in this batch, each one needing a cyber-signature from me.
The last and most important one signed was my contract. It’s now official. I am an employee again. My yard duty whistle will stop hallway runners in mid-stride. For 185 school days, I will again be Mrs. Hurt. Eyes-in-the-back-of-the-head-one-of-a-kind-loveable Mrs. Hurt. The one and only. I will watch a group full of littles grow up to read, write, and add with carrying. We’ll sing. We’ll laugh. And, then, we’ll all be tuckered out every night after long days of learning.
People are still in horror that I’d be willing to teach once again. I guess some people don’t have an intense love for something they do well. Writing and teaching provide inspiration in my life. I’m relevant again. I have a place to go in which profound and life changing things will happen every day. My group of students and I will form a bond over the year that will last a lifetime. Do you remember your 1st grade teacher? Mrs. Erickson was mine. All my teachers remain in my heart to this day. All dead and gone, they taught me critical elements of a successful life. In honor of them, I’m thrilled to return to the classroom.
I must leave you to finish my assignment. Proof reading is the last task. The paper is written in the proper style. The word count is correct. 2000 words+. 25% of my course work is now complete. This week, I’m tasked with creating a classroom Newsletter. Perfect, because that’s on my To-Do list for the school year.
Have a wonderful day! Do something you love. Love something you do. Find creativity. Enjoy a quiet moment in the day. Pet your dog or cat. Sit outside for a little while. Enjoy life. It’s beautiful.
Pictures tell a thousand words. No matter his antics, this is the sweetest guy in the entire world. I mean, really. It’s all in the eyes. Oliver’s technical breed description is long. He’s a Cream, Piebald, Wire-Haired Dachshund with a liver nose and green eyes. They look black inside the house, but in the sun, they are weirdly human and quite green. I can identify every adorable little spot on his body. He understands the human language quite well, but hasn’t yet been able to form a word. He is the friendship ambassador in this household.
No one wanted Oliver. He came from a large litter and 4.5 months later, two days before Christmas, he was the last of the bunch. He was a discount dog. This breeder has a wonderful reputation. His puppies sell before they are born, costing almost as much as I paid for my first car in the 1900’s. VST and I would have never gone for that. But, Oliver was a discount dog waiting to come home with us.
When VST used to talk him for walks, they’d be gone awhile. Between VST’s charm and his little four-legged friend magnet, they visited with strangers on every corner. Both of them loved going their walks. Because of Oliver’s strong opinions, his days of walking in my neighborhood are over. There are big country dogs that don’t take kindly to the yapping’s of a little piece of lint like him, even if he is 25 lbs. of raw fighting machine when necessary.
Once a month, Oliver shares time with his friends at puppy camp. His bestie is Angus, who must be driving his owners bonkers, too. Angus and Oliver run the joint. The party starts when those two are together. Whether laying by the pool, or playing tug of war, they wear each other to a frazzle. I’m sure there are some girlfriends I haven’t heard about. He’s pretty private about stuff like that, wanting me to feel that I’m #1. Especially at dinner time.
Oliver has another special friend. Sam. Oliver and I met Sam the summer of 20019. Oliver was almost one-year-old, and it was time for a grooming. His hair was a little out of control and his nails made a pretty decent clip-pity-clip on the hardwood floors. Not sure where to take him, it was suggested that the groomer next to his vet was a good one. It was there we met Sam.
We both liked her from the beginning. Sam is a stand up kind of woman. The love of dogs beams from her eyes and Oliver liked her as much as I did. She made him even more handsome every ten weeks while sending him home with a kerchief instead of little bows on his ears. After all, a Virginia City dog cannot be sporting bows on the ears. Good grief!! The talk would be endless.
Since that time, every ten weeks Oliver and I drive 45 minutes to her door. Yesterday, it was to be our last visit. You see, Sam is closed on Saturdays. She works 9-4, M-F.. I’ll be busy at school with my littles. No matter how I tried to figure this out, it was a fact. I’d need to find a new groomer. Oliver and I would need to trust someone else with their sharp clippers. Maybe even accept ear bows. Tragic.
I did look for a replacement here in my dusty little town on the wide spot in the road. Visiting the shop everyone raves about was an experience. Can I just leave it at that? Not a match. The other was a mobile groomer who has no way to suspend Oliver for his nail grinding, which he detests. Sam just hangs him up like a bag of potatoes and goes to work. Not much he can do but wait until she’s done. Sam knows Oliver. They have worked out the details.
Yesterday was to be our “Goodbye” day. Oliver didn’t really believe it at all. I guess I should have shared his faith. Sam wouldn’t let us down. And she didn’t
When I entered the shop, she presented a bright green sticky holding 10 AM appointment dates until January 2023. She is now open on Saturday for two dogs every other month. Guess what? Oliver is one of them! Her extreme kindness made me so glad that she’s MY friend, too.
Seven days after VST had passed, Oliver had a grooming appointment. I don’t remember all the details because widow’s fog has robbed me of so many memories. But, I do remember her sweet face as she took Ollie’s leash.
“Things are pretty rough, aren’t they?”
With a shake of my head, she gave me the best hug and told me how sorry she was. It was then I realized Sam not only loves dogs, she loves people too.
During Ollie’s two hour mutt fluff, I usually shop for groceries. Yesterday I changed things up and went bargain hunting, finding three classroom sweaters and two adorable dresses. A 1st grade teacher has to look as nice as her dog.
When I went to retrieve my furry little friend, I had to laugh. Around his neck was no kerchief this time. It was a scholarly silk bow-tie covered in colorful happy faces. Perfect for my little canine, the teacher’s dog. Sam is part of our family here in the high deserts where the winds blow kind people into our lives every day.
Remember people in your life that help every day. The smallest things you do for others can solve big worries. You’re a super-hero to many out there by just doing what you do. Have a beautiful Tuesday.
I will remain positive. I will remain happy. I will remain upbeat. I will do these things even when my internet is continually failing while the experiencing an outage that will be repaired shortly. I was patient the first week. I remembered to be kind the second week. In the middle of Week #7, the gloves are off. My new friend is the Federal Communications Commission of the USA or FCC for short.
Let me back up to the beginning. My little internet company was an adorable idea out here in the high desert plains of northwestern Nevada. After calling all the big boys, their answer was always the same. Assuring me they could fix me right up, after doing a little digging they would apologize that their extensive coverage didn’t quite extend to my distant neighborhood.
Since March of 1990, I’ve lived in remote places. In the middle of a sea of grapevines. On top of my very own mountain at the base of Yosemite. In the wild, wild west of Virginia City. And now, in the dusty little town at a wide spot in the road on the high desert plains of northwestern Nevada. I didn’t really plan to have a list of past residences similar to that of a con on the run. It just worked out that way.
After experiencing the joys of no close neighbors for 42 years, now it’d be nearly impossible for me to live in an urban setting. I’m feral in that way. I need a wide ring of personal space. Winterpast and her 1/2 acre of gardens is my version of a condo in the city. To me, this is the closest to a big town in which I care to live. Last night, Oliver was uptight because the neighbors were outside talking in their driveway at 8 PM. No one ever talks outside. Aside from the noises of nature, it is totally quiet 98% of the time.
My tiny internet company is located in a littler town, a 45-minute-drive from here. I’m sure their employees face complicated complaints every day. Good service is even more vital to their customers. Through those signals, desert dwellers stay up with current events, communicate with friends and family, and even attend university classes. Excellent connectivity is everything these days. Until it goes out. Repeatedly. Hourly. Without notice.
My internet fails so often, they have not changed the message for weeks.
“We are currently experiencing an outage and are working tirelessly to restore your service.”
“You are #123 in the que.”
“Your business is so important to us. Please stay on the line.”
A most irritating part of the situation is their irritating music that fades in and out. Happiness erased all the way around.
During week one, I was polite and kind. The BEST thing about this company is that all their employees can and do speak perfect English. They are local people. Neighbors. Their business is located on Bridge Street. As a woman who lives in a place that boasts OUT OF TOWN PARK, This company exists in a real place with no imagination for street names. Bridge Street is the street with the bridge. So descriptive and simple to visualize. And yes, this is the REAL name of the REAL street on which sits the REAL internet company I deal with.
By Week #3, the outage increased to 100% for TEN continuous days, no longer being intermittent. During those long days, I had to rely on my hot spot. Now, there’s a treat. With huge mountains surrounding our little town, a hot spot works sometimes. But, most times, not so well.
Now, at Week #7. I’m not buying their story anymore. It’s time to play hardball, and this, I can do. I’m the best at finding the right Federal agency to put the fear in the hearts of thieves in the night. In this case, complaints were made to the FCC. It’s a government agency so one wasn’t enough. They finally responded three days ago.
It’s a miracle at Winterpast! Since Monday, I’ve received two personal calls AND I’m getting a personal visit from a technician today at 10 AM. Suddenly, whining about thievery has caught the attention of my little provider. Attention will focus on providing me with the service for which I pay each and every month. I’ll work on getting a one month refund next.
It’s not unreasonable to expect 16 mpbs when you are paying to receive 16 mpbs. Would you go to the store to purchase 5 lbs. of potatoes and be happy to leave the store with one spud for ten weeks in a row? I think not. Consumers of the world, widowed or not, rise up and remember that we are not in this fight alone. There is ALWAYS a regulatory agency thieves fear. Find that one agency, and you will move to #1 in the que. That’s a promise.
Whatever will I do with full speed internet? I can hardly wait to watch non-pixelated shows on my computer or I-Pad. If you have concerns about the speed of internet you receive, it’s very easy to check the speed you are receiving. I use a test call FAST. There is an icon on my iPad. With one click, it will tell me my speed at any time.
If you do have continuous troubles, document everything. FCC loves times, dates, and speed. It makes the complaint even more cringeworthy for the company ignoring your request for services you have already paid.
To stay happy, we need to create an fair environment. Sometimes, that means standing up for ourselves. It’s part of Survival 2022. Life was so much easier when we depending on the pen and paper, eh?
In a perfect world, a couple of decades from now, this is how they’ll find me. In some quiet backyard on the perfect island of Molokai. My right arm propped up slightly to support my head like a pillow. The softest robe of miniature clover will give me protection from the soft Hawaiian rains. No doubt, my extremely straight hair will resemble the sea grasses growing here. Having just laid in the cool of the garden for a moment, I’ll slip away. Two or three decades from now, in the garden on the perfect island of Molokai.
On some days, when my tomato plant hasn’t even grown 1/2″ in the last month, or my shriveled roses struggle, I really consider moving to the islands. Hawaii was our trip to the beach. VST’s and mine. It didn’t take much to get us moving in that direction. We visited 30 times over the years. If we had only put our trip money towards a beach house, we could have had a nice one. We visited so often that in many ways it became home.
For one year, I’d like to curse thriving plants that grow inches in the night. With a color of green so lush and deep, the dense foliage would beckon me to walk further into the jungle. That would be just feet from my back door. Tropical flowers sprouting from every possible plant with fragrances oily and rich. Fruits ripe and ready for the picking. In my mind’s eye, I go to the islands as often as I can to sit with the memories made there, as soft as the trade winds gentle caress.
The reality is, I live in the desert. In 2015, my springtime trip to the garden center involved the purchase of everything that grew beautifully in California. Delicate plants begged to be potted in designer containers and placed on our enormous deck in Virginia City. Over and over, as if the angels of darkness had planned it, an unexpected frost would come to kill. Any hope of colorful spring blossoms would be dashed.
I don’t buy what they’re selling anymore. If it isn’t a succulent or cactus, it won’t survive. Succulents and cactus only live until the killing frosts and snows of late fall. In the spring, we begin again, wishing again that maybe this year will be different. Well, if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride. Right?
Most of the neighbors around here have embraced desert landscapes. Not that it makes them happy, it’s just cheaper and easier to accept reality. Since 2004, Winterpast has been home to oasis dwellers. Those of us not willing to let the green die water. And water. And water some more. I’m so thankful for the first owners of Winterpast and their vision for gardens with paths and green lawn. For planting roses and fruit trees. For setting out bulbs that shoot up through the snow to say hello before anything else is green. For my apricot tree, as big and wide as a banyan.
The maintenance on keeping all this watered is costly. This weekend, my gardener, Mr. B will come and work his magic on the sprinkler system that waters the back of the property. Broken since the summer of 2020, it’s time that it works on its timer. Broken solenoids are annoying. They’re also very expensive. Hence is the life of the gardener.
In April, 2020, I was the grieving gardener. I spent countless hours manicuring my yard through tears. Weeds were plucked as soon as they sprouted. Everything was fed on time. I replaced every emitter as fast as Oliver ate them up. I put out special lighting and I grieved. Oh, how I grieved.
Two years ago, the lush grass of Winterpast was the site of VST’s memorial with 45 of his closest friends and family. On that day, I wish I could have laid on the lawn and been swallowed up by the lawn. Thank goodness I wasn’t. That wasn’t the plan.
Each month on the 8th, a lonely widow went out to release balloons showing the number of months since her beloved “HE” had gone away. Each month at precisely 10:30 AM, muffled sobs came from Winterpast until finally, on a windy day in April, the last 12 balloons floated towards the heaven and one year gone.
Winterpast and her gardens have sheltered me through the seasons twice. She’s helped me to focus on the needs of my gardens, moving towards a different phase of grief and a different stage in life. Acceptance and healing.
Living in Hawaii is high on my bucket list. I imagine Oliver would like it, too. A year of morning walks on the beach. Of course, it would involve the most intense year of gardening ever.
Bucket lists are a funny thing. VST and I never shared one. When we came up with a worthy dream, we made it a reality. He always reminded me that someday might never come. Today is the day to embrace every worthy dream. That’s the way we rolled through one adventure after another, never looking back with regret.
With the desert heat to reach 100 today, I need to roll right outside and get to work. The weeds around here laugh at me. They know this old woman just might let them live for a few days more.
Whatever you choose to do today, find time to sit with some memories of your own. Grieve what you must, but also spend time celebrating the happy’s of your life. Being grateful makes life wonderful.
Awarded to Joy Hurt — 250,000 Reads — July 22, 2022
Never in my wildest dreams did I envision myself as a blog writer. But, this week, my total reads since September 24, 2020 reached 250,000. In internet terms, I’m not fooling myself. This is peanuts. But without advertising, while showing lots of patience, it’s huge to me. These reads have come from all over the world. From the beaches of the Philippine’s to the shadows of Mt. Kilimanjaro, for whatever reason, people have been reading. Around 600 times a day, someone is reading another one of my posts, and slowly the numbers rise.
There are platinum awards for records. I think there ought to be a Golden Pencil award for the first 250,000 reads on a blog. I think I’ll create that very award to hang in my new classroom. I’ll be the first recipient.
The Golden Pencil Award — Joy Hurt — July 22, 2022.
God has always been by my side in life. Yesterday, I was labeled a new Christian. I have my own thoughts about that. Indeed, I was baptized December 12, 2021. That is very true. I am reading the Bible from cover to cover for the first time in my life. But looking back over the years, I’ve had a relationship with God, deep and truly tested, throughout my life. One doesn’t survival the perils I have without God’s assistant. He has carried me through many fires throughout the nearly seven decades of my life.
Surviving a terrible car crash at 17. Escaping from Russia at 21. Healing from an abusive marriage. Finding VST. Farming. Teaching. Cancer. God has always guided me. I know, because I’ve asked for his guidance, mercy, and grace thousands of times through the years.
I especially remember being the hospital teacher to my sick kiddos. An aide and I were the face of school from 2010-2015. Every morning, as I drove the 45 minute commute from my mountaintop, I spoke to God about the kids. The ones that were mending and the ones that were irreparably broken. I cried out to him for miracles. I sang his praises when miracles even the doctors couldn’t explain occurred. Then there were the darkest of days on which I cursed him when heaven got a new angel.
35 times, God and I had some pretty rough discussions. 35 times, one of my students went to heaven. On the worst week, I lost seven kids. They all know I’ll ring the school bell when it’s my turn so our lessons can begin again.
The human definition of being a Christian can be rather limiting . God searches and tests my heart every day. He knows the light and the darkness found there. He sees my intentions and the fruits of my labor. He and I talk about it. He knows me by name, as does his son. This I know as well as I know my own name.
His messages often come through loud and clear. It is by his direction that I’ll be teaching at my new school. I know there won’t be one problem that I can’t get through with his help. There will be days when I wonder “Why me, Lord?” But there will be more days when I say, “Thank you, God”.
In the case of my blog, the idea came to me in the summer of 2020. I was in a new town. I had one girlfriend, but couldn’t see her because of Covid. I knew my Ninja Neighbor and a girlfriend from Walmart. I was planning VST’s memorial to be held in the Gardens of Winterpast. That was the extent of my daily human contact.
One morning, I awoke with the words “Grieving Gardener” flashing like a road sign in my brain. Over and over, my first thoughts that day were these two words. Being rather literal while still in a heavy widow’s fog, I decided I’d start a gardening group of widows, using the spacious and very empty RV barn. In a flash, I planned the year’s curriculum and was all set to go. But, something held me back.
I planned for tables, chairs, books on gardening, and the coffee pot. I designed a flyer for bulletin boards around town. Still, I didn’t go forward. The name kept flashing. So much so that I even bought a green and white road sign to hang above the door of the RV Barn. Grieving Gardener.
It was September 23rd, 2020, when inspiration hit. I’d been inspired by a gentleman that did a daily podcast. Like clockwork, his dedication led him through hours of work each morning to produce a Conservative podcast from his home. On that very day, I knew in my heart that I would blog. I would own the domain name of Grievinggardener.com. In 24 hours, my first piece was published. My healing journey began.
Each day I would look at the number of reads. Two here, five there. When I hit a consistent 10 people a day, I was amazed that ten people were interested. From there, it slowly expanded. When I hit my first 1,000 reads I cried. I stopped counting at 80 countries and 30 states.
As you all know, for me, writing IS life. There isn’t a more powerful elixir or drug in the world to calm my heart while my brain comes up with a plan. There is no better way to leave a string of my life’s story for one of my Great-Great-Great grandchildren to pick up and read someday. There is no better way for me to cultivate happiness and contentment than sending out one little blog a day.
Stories are meant to be told. If you don’t write, then record them. They tether us to the way things used to be. Because those of us 1900’s models know that the way things used to be were flat out wonderful. Maybe with enough stories, generations to come will find their way back to that way of life.
With so much to collect for my classroom, the next two weeks are hectic ones. On Monday, 1/2 of my college course will be complete. Next week, I’m hoping to meet my room. Summer school is still in session, so hopefully, I’ll get my keys to the kingdom on the 1st of August. Then, the real fun will begin.
Whatever you do today, add a dream for good measure. You, too, just might earn the Golden Pencil Award just a few short months later.
In my dusty little town, there lives an Earth Angel who morphs from one type of helper to another. It is about her today’s blog is dedicated. To listen to her tell it, she isn’t doing anything special at all. She just ACTS. She sees community needs every day while greeting them with a smile and action. I will call her Bella, (Italian for beautiful, at least according to Google), because she’s that through and through. Let me tell you a few things about her.
Bella was the very first voice I heard say, “Come join us. Our Bible study is just starting.” Walking in 2 minutes before the study was beginning, I’d been praying to God for even one new friend that very morning. It seemed my heart couldn’t beat another day without female connections. My town is no longer my new home. It’s MY home. When you live in a place for two years, it’s time for girlfriends and I was missing the one’s I hadn’t yet met.
That morning, Jesus took my wheel and drove me to a Women’s Fellowship that was just ready to begin. 14 women sat around a big table, ready to study the written word of God. Sometimes, scholars do that. Sometimes, Bible buffs do that. But, in this room, 14 Christian women sat ready to improve their relationship with the trinity. There was power radiating from that room on that very day.
From the first “Hello”, Bella has been a bundle of energy and love. She’s a quiet woman, showering praise onto others. She is the first to find kind things to share with everyone in the room. It’s obvious she is directing her own life by doing it her way. She’s careful in choosing how she will spend her time, a part of life we can’t renew.
In her former time life, she worked in the movie industry while traveling the world. As she tells the story, one day that lifestyle wasn’t enough. In fact, one day, she couldn’t do her job the next. She needed something more in her life. Can you imagine the strength it took to give up glamor, travel, and the A-List? Well, come to think of it, it at least took courage to change a life that wasn’t filling her heart.
Over a few decades, she decided on a different kind of life. Today she runs a food ministry on very little of her own money. Every week, she feeds about 600 people in our community. No, not 6 or 60. 600. Could YOU do that? WOULD YOU if you could? Out of the back of the church, she boxes donated food, from perishables to cans. From soup to nuts. She feeds the hungry. They walk from the river. They come from under the bridge. Some come from their own kitchen, where the weekly paycheck was sucked dry by the rising cost of gas to get to work. They call and she meets them at the church sharing her trademark smile. That beautiful Bella smile.
Bella does work as a trainer of nurses and doctors. She finds time to keep a gorgeous yard, immaculate home, and thriving garden. She always looks as if she could be the center model for a fashion layout. Even when she wears jeans and a hoodie, she makes sure her hair is swirled just so and her lipstick applied.
She just shared that, recently, she saw another need. It seems a family of Littles had moved into the neighborhood and they were causing grief to the quiet elders. These little children hadn’t had too many examples of NICE and RESPECTABLE in their life. There was a ring leader. I can’t share his real name, as unusually adorable as it is. I’ll just call him Remington, because when she met him, he was ready to go off just like the gun.
Remington loved expressing himself with his middle finger, or worse, shouting greetings not blog approved. He and his little followers were well on the way to forming a pack when Bella stepped in and became the neighborhood “Grandma Bella”. Calling the wayward little munchkins to her front step, she held their first meeting and schooling, Bella-Style.
“I am Grandma Bella. I run the show around these parts. If you need food, water, a cookie, some ice cream, a hug, or a listening ear, you WILL knock POLITELY on my door to POLITELY ask me if I have time, and I’ll get you whatever you need. We will have NO hand gestures or bad words. We WILL be respectful and kind. This is how we WILL behave at Grandma Bella’s house and in OUR neighborhood. UNDERSTOOD????”
I can only imagine the look on their faces. She was offering safety, love, friendship, and a cookie on top of that. All for just acting civilized. What a deal!
Since that day, Grandma Bella is growing her Child Development ministry, as well. This is one busy woman. On any given day you’ll find her feeding the hungry, schooling the community children, being the best sister in Christ, all while running an AirBnB AND working two jobs.
Bella is on my list of Earth Angels I’ve met this summer. There are 14 of them that swirl around my town helping others in their own quiet ways. I know them, because I worship with them on Sunday and study with them on Thursday. It’s them that will help me get through my 185 days of teaching this year. It’s them that will help me find laughter on rough days and God at times when I think he might have stopped listening. Bella is just the first one about which I’m writing.
When Bella shared the details about her latest endeavor, she looked around the room and said, “All of you can be a Grandma, too. Look around. Is there trash in your neighborhood? Are the kids acting out? Somedays we need to step up and help. The world needs the love of more Grandmothers. BE ONE.”
Bella. What an inspiration she is in my life. Because of her, I now shop before Bible study, because the food pantry always needs bread, eggs, and meat. I feel so blessed to be a part of her ministry. Her love for others has washed right over me, inspiring me to do something to help. She is an example true Christian love all wrapped up in a beautiful human being.
That should plant some seeds for today. Think about your own strengths and calling and then get to work. There are 24 hours in a day. We can all sleep when we’re dead.
Yesterday I got the sweetest request from K. It had been a day. Oy Vey. We’ll talk about that tomorrow. Anyway, K asked if she could be my guest blogger for the day! And the way yesterday was going, I needed a guest blogger in the worst way!!! So, please enjoy these beautiful words from my own sweet K, who “Stepped” up to teach me the beauty of having a daughter when I need one so very much.
Enjoy
Guest Blogger Alert!
Every morning I arise and open up Grieving Gardener blog in hopes of reading something about my dad or how my dad’s widow is doing for the day. If you are a daily reader, you know me as K, the other half of T&K (the twins, kids but really adults). This blog has allowed me to grieve and heal all at the same time. And I feel it’s important and time for you to know a little about your daily writer.
J came into our lives when we were just nine years old. She has always been kind and loving to everyone she comes across. As she has had to grieve the past two and half years, she has also been our rock, the person we could turn to when we needed to relive a memory or just reflect on what an incredible smart man our father was. She never hesitates to answer a call or a text, no matter how small or big the matter is. She opens her doors to my brother and I every three to six months so we can visit with her, sit at our father’s desk, use our father’s tools and just sit in her oasis of a yard to let us grieve in our each and individual ways. Today I will share with her reader’s one of the most special things she has done for me.
When my father passed away, I had to depart the residence when they came to pick up his body. As I walked down the hill, in their most unique town they lived in, I sat on a huge rock. Trying to process what had just happened, the fact that I had just lost one of the smartest men in my life, I looked up at the sky and asked my father for a sign, how will I know you are around?
As I sat there, a bee started to buzz around my head. I thought, oh no, not a bee. Dad, is this really going to be your sign? Then when back home, I looked at the sky again and asked my father, how do I know you are around, and once again, a bee landed right on the mirror of my car and just sat there.
And so it was, the bee was my sign. Anytime J feels me struggling, I magically find something in my mailbox shortly after with a beautiful bee on it. Whether it be the flour towel that hangs in my kitchen or the sign that sticks in my garden, these beautiful gestures from our Grieving Gardener (otherwise known as my step-mom) have become some of those most treasured things in my home.
I just wanted to share with her readers, what a kind, healing soul J has been to my brother and I, and as she puts those words on her computer screen day after day, she not only provides you, her readers advice and suggestions, but she allows this grieving daughter a glimpse into her life and the beautiful memories she had with my father.
So, as she ends each of her blogs, I ask each of you to never hesitate to share your story, even in the smallest way, you may not realize what an impact you can have on your listener or reader because we all heal in individual ways. Thank you to J, for allowing me to jump on her blog and let her readers know what a kind, compassionate person she is.
***
I love you, K.
J
*Just a note about K. She is the most amazing teacher. An even more wonderful woman. Almost at the brink of being an empty nester, she watches over her grown family as they find their way in the world.
K is the best mother and wife I know. She shines so brightly in this world. God knew I needed a daughter. He knew K needed an extra mom. HE get’s things right every time. We are so blessed to have each other as we share memories of the man who meant everything to both of us, Dr. Terry Lee Hurt.
This summer has been the most magical one of my life. From start to finish, miracles just keep unfolding. It’s one such an event I must share. God works in mysterious ways sometimes, but then once in awhile, he just hits us with a pintsized whirlwind named Dahlia.
I know I whine way too much about the second sprinkler system. Golly gosh darn, it’s an amazing blessing that I have a second system, working or not. As you know, mine hasn’t been working. Mr. B, who does all the heavy gardening around here, called to tell me he would come Saturday with an assistant to install new solenoids and get things wet again! For his help, I’m always grateful.
Saturday’s weather was the nicest in quite a few weeks. Even though we’re still in the middle of summer, that morning felt like a kiss of autumn. A light breeze had cooled things off and I was excited that Mr. B would have decent working conditions. However, he soon texted to tell me would come to work in the late afternoon. By then, the summer heat was blazing.
When he arrived, at first glance, I thought he had brought his mom. A little person sat on the passenger side, quietly looking straight ahead. When I looked closer, I realized the person was a Little.
“This is my daughter. Dahlia.”
Again, my eyesight isn’t the best when changing from bright sunshine to the shadowy interior of a pickup. But, yes, there she was. A big girl with a mane of long, auburn hair. She turned and smiled a school girl smile revealing her age by missing teeth and their replacements at different stages of growth.
“Where are you teaching,” Mr. B asked.
When I answered, father and daughter both gasped.
It seemed that Dahlia had just finished 1st grade in Mrs. Smith’s class in Room 13 on the 1st Grade hallway at MY new school. She was the first person I’ve meant who could answer all the questions I would never ask an adult co-worker. I’d get the goods on my new school from one of their very own students!
Sprinklers AND a SPY!!!!! All for the price of one! It was my lucky day. Little did I know that another heart-friend just walked into my life. A pint sized tornado of energy. The one and only Miss Dahlia herself had arrived.
Bouncing out of the truck, she was in the back yard, quick as a cricket. She bubbled. She giggled. Energetic and spunky, she was ready to Spill the Tea and answer any questions burning holes in my brain. She’d paint a detailed and vibrant verbal mural of my new school. For the next two hours, I listened with my ears, brain, and heart to some precise details.
Dahlia is a writer. Of course, GOD would send me a writer. Dahlia is tops in her class. She wants to teach “high school something” when she grows up. She loves her guinea pigs. Most importantly. SHE LOVES SCHOOL MOST OF ALL!!! She told me so.
Dahlia should be on every single news show there is, because Dahlia is the very reason I could pop with excitement. She is a normal, every day little girl who loves to learn and loves the teacher that will help her. She is positive and truthful. Watching every detail, she wants to do things just right. She is one of the nicest humans God ever created, because she is 7 years old.
The littles in my town need me, because they are at the age in a love our hate for school will start to develop. It’s my job to give them the very best I have to offer without any politicized nonsense. It’s my great privilege to teach them to read, add, subtract and multiply. Yes. First graders know their multiplication facts. Dahlia told me. Then, she showed me.
For two hours, I was enchanted. I have a new friend at my school. She will find me on days when no one knows I’m scared, tired, and just plain freaked out. She’ll sniff me out like a hound dog finds a bone, and come give me a hug. Yes, kids still hug their teachers when needed. It’s one of the benefits of the job. She’ll spread the word to the kids at summer school. “This Mrs. Hurt. She’s a good one.”
Dahlia told me about the breakfast routine (eaten in the classroom), the lunch lines (orderly), the cafeteria food (delicious), and the playground rules(to be respected). She told me of some tough hombres that will be in my class (kids do grow out of stages, don’t they?). She cringed when she divulged that some students call the teacher bad words in class (They’ll learn not to do that, no problem at all). Every once in awhile, she’d just let out the most adorable little fact. “I JUST LOVE SCHOOL!”
I don’t really know the details of the sprinkler system repair. I guess it is working. I have new solenoids and it looks lovely out there. I paid Mr. B for his fabulous work. I set up a big work day sometime in the next two weeks in which he will give Winterpast her much needed late-summer spruce up. He’s going to handle my leaves this fall. Quite frankly, I just won’t have enough time. With over 30 deciduous trees, the leaves of Winterpast are intense. This year, my yard will look beautiful every day when I come home from work.
Dahlia. What a gal! God could have sent me a shy “Kyle”, glued to Dad’s side while he worked. But HE didn’t. He sent me just the person with which I needed to converse. Mrs. Dahlia B.
After two hours, my brain was FRIED.
Dahlia x 20 in my class = Mrs. Hurt had better be ready.
What on earth was I thinking???? I’m starting my vitamin regimen this very day. I’m going to start freezing dinners, because my first weeks are going to be overwhelming. I think I’ll be crying a lot at night. But, rest assured I’ll save those tears for my pillow.
Find a Dahlia to fill you in on the details of real school. Quit watching the TV nonsense. Dahlia would tell you that a 1st Grader pounds out syllables to music. They read stories with their teacher. They sit on the rug Criss Cross Applesauce during carpet time. They have real cubbies for their things. They listen and they learn. If they listen very carefully, they’ll be reading chapter books and multiplying just like Dahlia.
A+, Mr. B. Well done, Dad. Bring Dahlia along anytime. She and I have a lot more to talk about.
It’s all fun and games until the weakly assignment includes the words “create” “Newsletter” and “Microsoft Office 365” in the same sentence. Add the words “photos”, “videos”, and “citations” in the same paragraph, and this is the thing my nightmares are made of. You see, as a 1900’s model here, I’m still learning about this wonderful little box on my desk. It was my practice 5 years ago to send paper Newsletters home in homework folders. This newsletter is for a college assignment, to be sent and accepted by a college and graded.
Oy Vey.
The content part is second nature. No problem-o. Having created “Mrs. Hurt’s Sneaky Peek at Next Week” every Friday since the fall of 1996, I have this down. A need for the newsletter arose that year because I had a student with very special needs. He was an adorable boy with the best attitude. He was two years older than the rest of the students in my class due to his challenges. If we would’ve been at a larger school, he would have spent a few hours a day in my class. We were tiny. He attended class all day, every day.
Early in the year, Mom, THE PRINCIPAL, and I decided that it would be of help if Mom had all lesson plans for the following week to preteach the lessons over the weekend. An extremely educated woman, she was an older mother. This boy was her first of three children. She’d turn this little situation around and her son would be absolutely normal by the end of his 1st Grade year. In her denial, she’d will this to be true. Bless her heart. She was a mama bear at her finest.
And so, Mrs. Hurt’s Sneaky Peek at Next Week was born. I found other parents were frontloading their children with enrichment about subjects we’d be studying. The newsletter helped everyone. It also held me accountable for all the subjects I’d finish teaching by Friday. Hence, my absolute fixation on time management. Teaching school does that to you.
For those of you not familiar with the classroom of the 2022, let me clear something up.
On any school work day, we start with 450 minutes. That’s 7.5 hours. Now, right away, take 85 minutes off the top for lunch and two recesses. That leaves 365 minutes of working time during the day. 200 of those minutes are dedicated to word decoding and comprehension, grammar, punctuation, handwriting, and vocabulary. And in learning about proper classroom behavior. That can take down the entire 200 minutes on some days. On a great day, we have 165 minutes left. Monday through Thursday, the kids leave the room for 45 minutes. Each day it’s for a different reason. Computers, PE, Art, Music, and Library. 120 minutes left, if I did the math right.
Well, we can’t forget math. Every day, math consumes 80 minutes. So now, we have 40 minutes. Settling in with the flag salute, announcements, and “Show and Tell” all take 20 of that. 20 minutes left.
Have you ever watched kittens? They play and play and play, and then fall over and sleep? Littles are a lot like that. A good rule of thumb used to be that a child’s keen attention to something is one minute per year of life. So, my six year olds really key in for the first six minutes of a lesson. After that, kittens. And just like kittens, they are the cutest little people in the world. Master teachers wrap there day in 15 minute segments of fun activities, and breeze through from morning until night. After 23 years of improvement, at this point in life, I am a master teacher.
With 20 minutes in which to fit everything else, you can see, there is no time to waste. Not one minute. I didn’t subtract time for the occasional fire drill, assembly, or other little time munchers. Just wanted you to understand a little about the classroom.
Now, back to the Newsletter. When I read the assignment, of which I had one full week to complete, I was gloating with happiness. I could do this one in my sleep, or so I thought. I started right away with a template with elementary school style. Off I went, not paying attention to the pre-designed format. I had four pages of beauty as I pushed Save. Great. But the Newsletter was formatted differently. It was 9 pages of things I hadn’t put in places to which the computer moved them. It was a disaster. And so the week began.
Finally, after six trying days, the Newsletter was complete. A thing of beauty. I could move it anywhere and everything stayed put. I was feeling absolutely giddy with delight. It was an “A+++” assignment for sure. I went into my college site and hit import.
Nothing happened. The submission box would not populate. A
ARE YOU KIDDING ME????? I HAVE “A+++” INPUT. IT MUST POPULATE THE BOX.
Time and time again, I massaged the entire situation. It would try to populate, no assignment would appear in the box. No pretty pink “Welcome Back to School” badge. No cute picture of Mrs. Hurt with her long flowing hair. No information about important dates. No research about the benefits of parent engagement in the classroom. No pleas for classroom helpers. None of it. Just an empty Submission box, with the clock ticking towards Monday.
Finally, after saving the file as a .PDF and employing the help of the sweetest tech lady from the college, my box populated. Totally. I submitted. Entirely. I was mentally fried, but my little assignment which would normally have consumed an hour, took almost 15.
Oy Vey.
Thinking all was well with my world, I bravely looked into the assignment for this next week. My heart dropped to my toes.
No. No. No, No, No.
“Next week, you will create a 20 side Microsoft PowerPoint presentation complete with…………………..”
I blacked out for a bit. Might have said a few un-teacher-ly things.
Such is the life of the coed. Even at 66, there are uncharted waters as I paddle down a river called college. I hear tell of some rapids ahead.
I was always an A student in school. From kindergarten. Shining star in the classroom.
Please, God. Hear my plea. I only need a C to renew my credential. I need this for my new job. Please hear my request. Even a C- will work in this situation.
With that off my chest, and just so you know, I currently have an A-. It’s the minus that just rubs me the wrong way.
Stay tuned as the saga of Mrs. Hurt and the Computer unfolds.
OH the days of REAL college. I remember all the assignments I completed. Some were A papers, and others went in the trash when I saw the grades. My GPA certainly didn’t reflect a 4.0 student. I was taking 21 units a semester of pre-med classes because those sciences had my attention and heart. Chemistry. Anatomy and Physiology. Statistics. Taxonomy. The list went on and on.
All of them were typed on a very unforgiven electric typewriter. Electric typewriters were new back then. I would start with a beautiful sheet of paper, get 1/2 way through the assignment and mess up. ZZZZIIIIIIIPPPPP was the noise of me pulling the paper out and starting over again. Typing a flawless paper would consume a very frustrating night.
As I sit here today, I’m sad to tell you that true-blonde-to-the-roots little 21 year old graduated in 1977 to get her MRS. degree. An heiress never really plans to work, right? Well the heiress thing didn’t quite work out any better than my first marriage which crashed and burned six years after the “I Do’s”.
My very wealthy mother was horrified that I didn’t use my degree until much later in life. After my divorce, I found that having my very own little cleaning business was the way to support two little boys, aged 2 and 4 at the time. “Silent Partners” was born. The trick with a cleaning business is to limit clientele to wealthy women over the age of 75. Cleaning on top of already clean is a wonderful way to spend the day. The wisdom I gained from watching my clients was amazing. They were a group of women that stepped up to mother me when I needed it, even though I was in my late 20’s.
The word’s of Adele’s new-ish song apply in my life and to this blog, so I will share them with you.
“Easy On Me” — Adele
There ain’t no gold in this river That I’ve been washing my hands in forever I know there is hope in these waters But I can’t bring myself to swim When I am drowning in this silence Baby, let me in
Go easy on me, baby I was still a child Didn’t get the chance to Feel the world around me I had no time to choose what I chose to do So go easy on me
There ain’t no room for things to change When we are both so deeply stuck in our ways You can’t deny how hard I have tried I changed who I was to put you first But now I give up
Go easy on me, baby I was still a child Didn’t get the chance to Feel the world around me Had no time to choose what I chose to do So go easy on me
I had good intentions And the highest hopes But I know right now It probably doesn’t even show
Go easy on me, baby I was still a child I didn’t get the chance to Feel the world around me I had no time to choose what I chose to do So go easy on me
Yes.
Go easy on me, baby.
For the first time in my life, I’m able to chose ever single one of life’s details without consideration for anyone but myself. It’s the scariest thing in the world, but also the thing that has made me grow up and blossom into an independent woman for the first time in my life. It’s quite an accomplishment for me.
So, as this woman sits here, there’s still the internal child screaming for some fun. At least I didn’t choose to go the route of Barbie and her collection of possessions. Alright, I already drive Barbie’s Jeep and own her house and dog. But, there it must end with Barbie and me.
Legos.
Growing up on a farm, there were not bushels of toys. I had live farm animals to play with. I had school work and house chores. I had church on Sunday. A bicycle. One girlfriend that lived one mile away. An older sister who was the antagoniz-er and a little sister was the tormentor. The two oldest sisters got their MRS. degrees right after they finished college and hit the road, never really looking back.
Living 45 minutes from any stores, shopping trips were few and far between. My mother was excellent with at budgeting. She managed meal preparations for seven people 21 times a week. That’s 148 different meals a week, all delicious and perfectly balanced to grow healthy girls. Always on time at 7, 12, and 6. Like clockwork. She canned everything from the garden she grew. Dad did the butchering of meats in between farming and irrigating. We were 100% organic without trying.
So, no fast food. No neighborhood kids with which to run. No shopping malls. Hundreds of square miles of vineyards and one funny looking blonde girl with long straight hair. That was me.
One Christmas, (on which we each got one present and a stocking full of trinkets), my present was Legos. I was hooked. I loved them so much. Never would I have thought of leaving MY Legos on the floor. Never did I lose even one. At that time in life, they came in primary colors and in just a couple of different sizes. There was no instruction booklet to guide a person through. I absolutely was hooked for a few years.
Then I grew up and forgot all about Legos.
Today, I’m not interested in Lego Land. Not interested in most of the dumb projects Lego sells. That was, until I saw IT.
The Lighted Typewriter.
Now, I saw this item about 1 year ago. I started dreaming of the significant event that would need to occur in which I would reward myself with such a gift. Every writer of my age started on a manual typewriter and knows the QWERTY keyboard. I’m no exception.
This Lego product was insanely expensive. Another reason I would wait for the proper time. Just turning another year older wasn’t enough. Christmas wasn’t either. It had to be something really, really significant. So, I waited, checking in throughout the year to see if it was still available.
Last week, when the total reads on my blog passed 250,000, it was time. I ordered the Lego Typewriter AND the LED lighting kit.
When it arrived in the brown paper box, I shook it to hear the familiar rattle of the blocks inside. And then, I began to click the pieces together.
Due to the engineering of the design, it makes very realistic noises as you hit the keys making the carriage move along the track. When you manually move the carriage back, the resulting noise is realistic, as well. It even has a set of pre-typed letters you can choose to put in the typewriter when you are done. I’ll be creating my own letter to myself as a finishing touch.
So. Here’s the truth of it.
I have a meaningful relationship with God.
I have beautiful children and wonderful family memories.
I have the cutest dog in the world named Oliver
I have the best girlfriends a woman could have.
I have Barbie’s Jeep, Hot Tub, and House.
I have my own She-Shed. (It just happens to be my entire house, as a neighbor pointed out.)
I have a career that I dearly love.
I have my very own Winterpast.
I make my schedules, getting up when I want and closing my eyes to complete silence and peace when I go to bed to sound and restful sleep.
And now, I’m reliving a moment from my childhood while I choose to play with Legos.
“Go easy on me, baby I was still a child I didn’t get the chance to Feel the world around me I had no time to choose what I chose to do So go easy on me”
Blessed, I’m off to start the day! Do something you’ve enjoyed in the past. Go ahead. Choose what you choose to do!
Precious hours last night were another gift from God. As I’ve said so often, this summer has been full of a million quiet miracles showering down on me like sequins and glitter. No. I’m not into lacey pink dresses or very high heels. But, I realized an important fact of life last night. Every girl NEEDS a tiara.
This week, our church is teaching littles about God at Vacation Bible School (VBS). There’s no more important mission than introducing children to God. Such magical times. I remember my own Vacation Bible School. During the hot San Joaquin Valley summer, it was a time to meet other children stuck in different rows of vineyards that went on forever in the land of Dancing Raisins. Kids and teachers I would only meet during that one week every summer because we all went to different schools.
If he feet would’ve been chewed off my wolves, my mom would’ve carried us there on bloodied stumps. She was always looking for enrichment because I was a very bright and busy girl, always thinking, exploring, and doing. My sister shadowed along for the ride. I was the true mastermind of exploration. It was my mom’s job to keep me directed in positive ways.
This week, I had intended to help at VBS, but, the tasks awaiting completion before summer ends became too much. Four more big college assignments need to finished by next week. Then, it’s time to see if my whistle still has its power.
Because of VBS, there is no Women’s Bible Study this week, so I decided to throw a little party celebrating my life’s surprises. New girlfriends that make me think and laugh a lot. A new chance at my career, at least for one more year. A new opportunity to be the best version of myself, without regrets.
The menu was simple. The guest list complete when everyone arrived. The food abundant. The minutes evaporating in an instant. From the first “Hello” to the last “See You Soon”, the girls and I had a blast. We never stopped talking for over two hours.
The Gal with the Golden Spatula whipped up the best spinach dip I have ever tasted. The Mother of Humble Beginnings made an extraordinary potato salad. Shy Shel brought my absolute favorite, RICE KRISPIE TREATS. First Grade Fran brought a touch of the islands with fresh pineapple and cantelope. Blossom brought fresh watermelon. And sweet and wonderful Miss Dyn-o-myte came with a green salad. Ladies if I forgot anyone, I’ll remember you in a second. My mind is swirling through everything that happened last night, remembering every single hug and smile. Added to the mix were two of the sweetest kiddos who tolerated a bunch of women who needed a party.
With hot dogs and hamburgers cooking on the Ninja grill, and homemade ice cream for desert, we did this up right. Winterpast was the perfect hostess. Even though the temperature was 104 degrees in the shade at 5PM, we were cool as cucumbers sitting around the kitchen table. There was no 6′ rule. So glad those days are over, at least for now.
I know these women are my new family for the most obvious reason. We all sat around the kitchen table. The best conversations and friendships form around a table. If it’s in the kitchen, all the better. If the table is filled with party food, BEST OF ALL!!!
When the food was gone and the party was wrapping up, my sweet and wonderful friends surprised me with TWO gifts. Most of them knew of my recent accomplishment of winning The Golden Pencil Award for 250,000 reads. If one is awarded The Golden Pencil, it should be accompanied by a diamond encrusted tiara. So, they gave me my very own!!!!! The first thing I put on this morning, I may well wear it when I do errands today. People will just be in awe of this Desert Jewel as she ponders the parsnips and pineapples while picking her produce. Just let them wonder. If they look too long, I’ll smile and wave!
Mine is the most beautiful tiara. Did I mention it is made of diamonds?? How they got the perfect fit I don’t know, but they did. It catches the light in just the right way and sparkles like crazy.
As if that wasn’t enough, there was a second gift to celebrate my new job! A travel cup that says, “It Takes a Big Heart to Shape Little Minds”. How sweet!! And exactly what I need for the classroom to avoid spillage on important papers. Every teacher needs a signature coffee cup. I’ve got mine.
As the sun dropped below the mountains, the party was over and they were gone. In an instant, standing in a cleaned kitchen, it was as if the party was just a sweet dream. I was left to praise God for the blessing of friendship in my life. These wonderful women sparkle more brilliantly than the diamonds sitting on my head. (I did mention that I now have my very own tiara, RIGHT????)
The time is short and I have extremely big shoes to fill. For a time, I can hide behind the new clothes I’ll be wearing. I can look the part with my 1900’s whistle and lanyard. I’ll put in long hours before and after school and on weekend to make this school year the best for 20 littles. I’ll assess record, talk, and listen. I’ll sing and make funny faces. The eyes in the back of my head will get tired from alerting me to tell student A to stop tormenting Student B.
I have five days, 4 hours until I get the keys to the kingdom. My Room. Not sure what the number will be, but Dahlia assured me my name will be one the door!!! How cool is that?
Ladies, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for enriching my world with your love and friendship. I know you’ll be right there with me when I open for business on August 17th. My coffee cup will sit proudly on my new desk and the tiara will go with me for the first few days of school. Don’t you worry! Mrs. Hurt is finally BACK!!!! Be ready!!!
If you are reading this at a later time than normal, let me assure you of two things. At this writing, I haven’t died, and I awoke at my normal time of 4:00. The problem was not on my end, but an irritating technical glitch on the blog site side. Sometimes these things happen. It’s fitting it’s happening on my last few days of summer.
Although the Autumn Equinox hasn’t arrived yet, summer is indeed ending of million in two weeks because we’re all heading back to the classroom. For me, it’s a space I’ve yet to meet or nest. Its appearance is like a nebula in my brain. Swirling colors and possibilities more heavenly than you can imagine. A combination of every teaching experience I’ve had for 22 years. In reality, it will be four walls that I will magically transform into a beautiful classroom in seven days or less.
Reality will hit when I pick up my keys at 10:00 AM on Monday morning, August 1. Early that morning, I’ll be at the Nevada County Office of Education finding out the procedure for getting fingerprinted and dropping off my grade for the course required to free my credential.
Ah. My college course. Well. I’m holding on to my A-. In my book a 92% isn’t an A-, it’s an A, but the screen shows an A-. I was working on accepting the “-“ part until I got her explanation. It was then, I came apart at the seams.
She explained……
Didn’t I KNOW that this assignment from the PRINCIPAL was to write a DISTRICT-WIDE Newsletter about parent engagement???? A K-12 Newsletter (there is no such thing, never has been, never will be, doesn’t exist). AND, my Newsletter, although lovely in every way although not in a A+++ way), was a CLASSROOM Newsletter.
Lovely in every way. Every “A-“ way. Fuming, I let this digest for days. It ruminated, coming up like left over cud to chew again and again in my angry little head. I re-read the instructions repeatedly. Nowhere did I interpret this little bit of information.
“Your principal asked you to create a Newsletter explaining parent engagement”. Period.
I finally did write a “lovely in every way” e-mail asking for more precise instructions for students to come. Graciously, (because she is the nicest instructor I EVER), she offered to let me redo my assignment. Well, we all know. An A- in the hand is worth much more than what could come out from under a bush. No, I’m back to working on humility and acceptance. I’m at peace with my A-.
Yesterday, Winterpast got her yearly cleanup. The gardens look fabulous. I had one dead cottonwood tree removed from behind my garden shed. Dead limbs and low branches were removed. Bleeding stump scars were sprayed with sealant. Dead leaves were blown and collected. Stumps were ground, all during 5 hours of a whirlwind of activity. She’s ready for the yearly shower of golden leaves.
I found myself at the computer most of the day finishing up two more major assignments. With only left for Week 4, I see my CLEARED State of Nevada teaching credential flashing before my eyes. My first paycheck will be deposited on August 20th and just like that, I’m part of the working world.
Today, I’m putting all things computer-related away. I’m closing up shop to run away with Miss Firecracker. After one year, it is time to give her the biggest hug ever, and have fun laughing well into the night. We are going to enjoy our old favorite places. Share war stories about our wonderful husbands, now years gone. In general, we are going to eat too much and sleep too little at a beachy little location known only to the two of us. Just look for fireworks and a lot of laughing. You’ll find us with our toes in the sand.
On Monday, I’ll be picking up my keys and officially morph into Mrs. Hurt, 1st Grade Teacher, Room ?. Amazon is loving my new career, sending me a little of this and a little of that. As my classroom arrives at my door, one box at a time, I’m remembering all the stuff from my past. A good teacher can teach out of a rolling cart. I know. I taught K-12 at a hospital in just that manner. But a HAPPY teacher is something all together different. She has a mountain of lovely teacher stuff. That’s pretty great, too.
Ollie is off on Puppy Safari until Monday, searching for lizards, birds, toads and an occasional cat. Everything just came together in the perfect jigsaw puzzle, as Ollie would have lost his mind with the party and yard clean up. He’s far happier with his friend, Angus, on Safari. Oliver is a very lucky little dog, indeed.
It is for the those very reasons, I will be absent for a few days, returning on Tuesday morning to fill you in on the fun created with my bestie. There is nothing better than girlfriends. True dat.
Please check out my early writing. My very first post was in on September 24, 2020. On the blog site, there’s a menu where you can find my posts from the beginning. Click on “Select Month” and then choose September 2020. I just fixed this link to include all my posts. September 30th will come up. If you scroll to the bottom, you will find a picture of VST and me as well as my very first post on September 24, 2020.
Please accept that my spelling and punctuation were rough on some days. Life is imperfect just like my blog. I smile through the eyes of an A+++ teacher and know my life was a D- at that time. Continually leaking eyes do that to a person. Some articles were too long. Some too short, but all from the deepest sorrow and loss a woman can experience. Widowhood. Please remember, that woman has left the building, leaving bread crumbs of words so we can find her again, when needed. Returning to those first days of widowhood is a wonderful reminder of how far I’ve come and how much I’ve grown as a woman. I hope you like her as much as you like me.
I have keys. I have new Grade level girlfriends! There will be five of us. A perfect number to accomplish great things.
My room is as big as a cafeteria in the most beautiful shade of pale blue. Freshly painted, I’d have chosen that very color. Crisp white cupboards stand empty and clean. A beautiful new teacher’s desk sits in front of a private cupboard. Clean carpets. A quietness that screams anticipation and a bit of terror before the storm.
On the HUGE back wall from one side to the other, is a gorgeous mural of the high desert, complete with mustangs. Hand painted, the teacher before me was a very talented lady. God put me in this room, Room 56, just off a summer-hot first grade hallway. I’ll need to leave bread crumbs to find my way there again because it it an huge campus.
My heart is singing this song in every step I’m taking. For me, this beats any drug, glass of wine, or piece of chocolate I’ve ever eaten. Teaching is what God assigned me for my mission in life. I’ll be teaching with women decades younger than me. They all have rooms filled with stuff. Too the ceiling. But, as I already know, any great instructor can teach out of a rolling cart. Rather like Mary Poppins’ carpet bag, my rolling cart contains a bottomless assortment of adventure.
Let’s read in the middle of a thunderstorm and getting under the desks so we don’t get wet. Yup. In the next week, we’ll be doing that, thanks to the wonder of a thunderstorm CD and a student flickering the lights for the feeling of lightning. Let’s shoot into space with the shuttle laying on chairs flipped backwards on the floor, everyone in position for take off. Done that one when they used to show the Shuttle launches. We were right there taking off with the crew. Why don’t we ride our classroom chairs trotting down the beach with Black Beauty. Or pretend our classroom is the great land of Narnia because we just came through our very perfect kid sized closet door.
When you enter the world of the child, if the teacher is a smart writer, there are endless teachable moments that have nothing to do with books and materials. Teaching children to imagine and create is magical, and starting two weeks from tomorrow, it’s my curtain call. I can assure you, MRS. HURT IS IN THE BUILDING!
We’ll imagine and live through books. Some of them might even make us cry a little bit. We’ll learn numbers, addition, and subtraction. But, the very best thing is this. For 10 months, we’ll become a family of 20. We’ll practice respect, listening skills, and sharing. All while trotting toward the exit marked 2nd Grade.
I hear there’s a child that likes to run out the door. There’s a 20% chance I’ll get to know her by name. Don’t worry. After a bit, she’ll be running INTO class for a quick hug and lots of work. We’ll figure all this out, she and I, because there might be times I want to run out the door, too. I like her spontaneity already.
Today, I’m behind in a most important way. Okay, not REALLY behind, (my very last assignment isn’t due until next Monday). Behind because until it is out of my brain, it’s taking up valuable real estate rattling around in there. My college coed CULMINATING ASSIGNMENT. Rows of boxes in a chart need to be filled with valuable words that will take forever to grade.
After the last day of college, I’ll be waiting for my transcripts to arrive to clear my credential. I suppose it doesn’t really matter. The school has grown so much they’re hiring another 1st grade teacher this week. Her room will be even more bare than mine. Here’s the deal. You only need what you need for the first day. The same for the 2nd and 3rd, and so on. Pertty soon, you have a room full of necessary stuff, not cast off things you’ll never need.
It’s almost a relief that there’s nothing in my room. Not even a teacher’s manual. I wouldn’t even know where to locate them in this huge school. Today is the day I will finish this silly culminating assignment and close the college door. I’m pretty sure my grade will be above a D, and that’s all I need to clear my credential. No one will ever look at my transcript with disdain, asking why I couldn’t do better. I know, I did just fine. (Even if I get an A-.) Then, I’ll have time to go hunting for materials at school.
Time to turn on the music and dance a little.
Be happy. It’s the only way to roll. I’ll report back tomorrow with the progress I’ve made.
Preparing a classroom is a ritual I’ve always loved. You’re given a space that is very boring, and you have two weeks to create something warm and homey for littles. Of course, it must include creature comforts for the teacher, as well. My classroom is pretty bare. I have yet to find all the reading and math books. Last year it was used for another purpose, not a classroom.
In years past, I’d have been stressed to the max walking into a room with clean, empty closets and cupboards. I’ve always installed my own curtains, area rugs, and furniture to cozy the place up. But, this year, I’m going to keep that to a minimum. At least that’s what I had in mind until yesterday.
With all the tables and chairs in place and leveled books in order, I moved in the first load of belongings. Consumables for the kids. In my classroom, the parents pay for nothing, (if I can help it). As a young parent in this crazy world, no one will be bringing crayons or colored pencils to school if I can help it. I can’t imagine raising kids in todays world. The least I can do to help is provide the supplies necessary to learn. Teacher’s around the US are doing the same thing. People don’t realize what the classroom would look like if teachers didn’t donate hours of unpaid work and supplies. It would be a different first day of school. Our kiddos deserve much better than that and so teachers step up.
Yesterday was the moving day for my comfy Teacher’s chair to make it to the classroom. A recliner, this chair was a bad purchase from Costco. It’s never really fit in any house since 2007, always ending up in the bedroom. Too nice to give away, it’s been waiting for a purpose. Being beige, it certainly never reflected my personality. VST and I bought it because it was a comfy chair. Now, it’ll go to school.
Taking a recliner apart is simple. There are two levers at the base. Pull those up and the entire top comes off. The top was light as a feather as I carried it to the pickup. It was the base that was challenging.
If you have never moved a swivel rocking recliner, you’re in for a workout. With a round pedestal, rolling this way and that, every time I grabbed one arm of the chair, it would swing around and hit be in the behind. Try and drag it???? Like a stubborn mule, it wouldn’t budge. Stuck in place. Slowly, I worked this monster into the garage, having to turn it this way and that to navigate the doorway. I felt like a new episode of “Lucy”. You know things are not going well when you are talking to the bottom portion of a recliner. Let’s just not discuss exactly what THAT conversation was like. Kind of one-sided. Not pleasant.
Once at the back of the truck, I was licked again by my lack of strength. There was no way I could lift 70 pounds of chair into the back of the truck. Just no way. Heck, I could barely drag the chair out of the house. In my classroom now sat the top of the chair, with the bottom portion still at my house. It was then, I called Ninja Neighbor to the rescue.
At 7 last night, she and and her friend, an adorable new Top Gun agent came to the rescue. This young woman actually works at the Top Gun Training facility to the East of my town. She was in full uniform, not a hair out of place after a long work day. It was her smile and adorable personality that made me glad I’d just made another new friend. Military personnel are some of the most polite people I’ve ever met, and she fit that image perfectly.
So, Ninja Neighbor and Miss Top Gun lifted that chair like right into the back of the pickup like it was Forrest Gump’s feather The maintenance men will unload it for me tomorrow, and I’ll have a comfy chair in which to rest after long mornings with kids. I’ll also have a wonderful chair on which to sit during story time, my favorite time of the day. My chair will be shared with kids during Show and Tell, every morning. Yes. Dahlia told me. They still have Show and Tell in 1st Grade at our school.
My first graders are the class returning to a normal world. They weren’t scarred by two years of distance learning like all the older children in the school. However, they WERE raised in a sea of masks. Who knows how much that affected their emotional growth or speech development. Time will tell.
Just a note. I have a new principal. The darling woman that hired me was promoted. This was just announced. My newest, new principal is wonderful. She sat in on my interview. She’s friendly and seems to be on top of everything, having been the assistant principal last year. She and I have a first year in common.
There is a new math adoption this year which should be fun! It comes with shiny new work books that look colorful and challenging. I’m not sure if some of my students will be able to count to 100. I hope so, but, then, they are only 6. Think of that!!!! Walking for only 5 years. Talking for only 4. We’re expecting them to write on the first day of school? Many of them don’t really know their ABC’s. Or worse, many don’t speak English at home.
I need to get going. Today, I’m planning to be at school by 6. The classrooms are still very hot from the summer. I’ll be planting my indoor garden station with some herbs and flowers. In the olden days, I’d be gentling a gerbil, or placing a parakeet. In this day and age, animals aren’t allowed in the classroom. How very sad because animals add a lot of interest to a normal school day. Somewhere along the line, I’ll sneak in something. Maybe a few fish or a tadpole. There will be animals in my classroom by the end of the year.
Whatever you do today, make it count. Smile at someone new to your area. Wave at someone you don’t know. Tell a checker at the store “Thank you” for just coming to work. But most of all, “Choose Happiness”. It’s the only way to roll.
Life cruises along at such a wonderful clip, and then, just one little thing causes memories to spring to life. The monsoon rainstorms we’re experiencing here at Winterpast are very similar to widowhood. One moment the sun is shining and birds are singing. The next minute, it’s dime hail and 5″ of rain in two hours. Such is life.
You know what they say. If it’s not ants its fleas. Just heard that one this morning. That will be a staple in my first grade class, for sure. I may even make a bulletin board to help us remember, life has plenty of ups, but the downs are here to stay.
The college class is a big down-ER at the moment. Those of you from the 70’s remember that phrase. My final assignment rests at 29 pages of little columns and rows filled with information. It’s a grid of grief. The original template was three pages of questions and five columns of which to place our answers. Rather like the Who? What? When? Where? Why? game we played when I was a beginning writer in 1st grade. I felt trapped in a sea of repeated nonsense that has no relevance to my life as a teacher.
The assignment even involved script writing in which I had to write fictional dialog for an unpleasant meeting with parents. After creating the problem in my head, I needed to resolve the issue and then create a written visual of how it played out. I thought my skull was going to crack open and allow my brain to run away and hide. It was all something, I’m happy to say, I’ll never do again.
Today, I’m inserting random quotes and citations, and create the final reference page. The instructions to this assignment were almost invisible. If I totally missed the target, I’m afraid it’s a bullseye that wasn’t meant to be hit. Funny, I aimed my arrow carefully, but it only hit the A-. I have a very real career that needs my attention and life goes one.
I did find out that, of 18 students, I’m at the bottom of the barrel in my class with a grade of 92.7. Well, does this tell you something? It tells me lots and lots, but today’s blog has a different focus.
Through the summer days of the Zephyr Winds, my studio remains a bit of a mess. The gardens are pristine. The garage glistens. The RV barn is neat and tidy. Winterpast is sparkling. Everything is right as rain until you get to my studio. It is my She-Shed on steroids. It’s there that hides the little slob inside me.
I’ve been searching through everything to find bits and pieces of my teaching life. Little things for Room 56 to cozy it up for me. I decided to buy a brand new stapler for my classroom. Take note of the picture above. This is the most wonderful brand of stapler. One tiny little tap and your stapling is done, even if your document is 29 pages. I know this from my Bottom of the Barrel 92.9% college experience. The final count will be 30 pages including references.
VST was a brilliant man, but a man he was. He had the need to mark everything in his office to ensure everyone (me) knew these were HIS possessions, not to be taken anywhere. It was annoying. I think he even marked the television. He marked scissors and his hole punch. Everything was marked, and not neatly either. Now, if you are going to mark something, please do it neatly.
I was in a drawer the other day, boxing up staples and paper clips. Rulers and tape. The box was filing up when I found an extra stapler. It was just the item for which I’d been searching. As I tossed it in the box, it fell to the other side and it was then, my eyes started leaking. It was his very private and fully marked stapler. I cried for a little while clutching the stapler to my cheek, as if I could absorb the last bit of him through writing on the side of a stapler.
My widow’s journey is full of crazy little experiences like that. For a long time I had a drawer packed with his things. The things we would take if we could meet for one more weekend in Hawaii. The weekend we could be sure to have a proper “Good Bye”, not the hideous one we were given in which cancer won the battle. No sense keeping such a drawer, whatsoever. But, guard it I did, until I could let him go. It’s a process, you know. They leave you one thing at a time, on each widow’s time line.
Well, this stapler is more precious to me than just about anything I own. It sits in my studio and isn’t allowed to leave the room. It’s mine to look at and hold when I need to. Silly. I think I have three more here and a new one for school. This one is now mine, even though the name says otherwise. I’ll watch over it, VST. No one touches the stapler.
Today is a busy day with the end of my coed summer, classroom preparations, my last Bible study with the best girlfriends in the world, AND, a meeting with the principal. I’m already in trouble, but that story will wait for another day. This day must begin. Please pray for me as my new world unfolds.
Whatever you do today, don’t get in trouble. Just follow the rules. Hold hands if you cross the street and, for safety’s sake, use the crosswalk. Rules are there for a reason, even if you don’t find them necessary. It’s easier if we all just stay in our own lanes. 1. I will not get in trouble anymore. 2. I will not get in trouble anymore. 3. I will not get in trouble anymore………………
And yes. There is a chalk board in my room. Unbelievable. There aren’t many of those around anymore.
At least that’s the situation for this teacher. Helping children learn to read is just about the most exciting thing in the world. Little children are eager to learn. They really want to learn CURSIVE! At least, when CURSIVE was something approved by the school. Alas, Cursive is a 3rd Grade skill. We’ll be learning to print first. Being a writer, you already know that teaching 6-year-old’s to write will be my happiest part of the day. And, I’ve been given 30 state-approved minutes to do just that.
Here’s a break down of instructional minutes. The children are under the school’s supervision for 380 minutes in the day. I should have time to expose them to everything you’d think 1st graders would need to learn, including music, the library, PE and computers. These littles need to eat a hearty breakfast because they’re going to be busy all day. That much is quite true, so, let’s do the math.
380 minutes minus lunch and recess = 305 minutes. Still quite a lot of time. Four days a week, the children are away from my care for 45 minutes. Computers, Library, PE, and Music are covered by specialists in those areas four days a week. 305 – 45 = 260 minutes.
Still quite a bit of time left! Reading and Writing take up 120 minutes of that. 260 – 120 = 140 minutes left. Subtract 90 minutes for math. 50 minutes remain. Oh, yes, the students eat breakfast in the classroom which takes 15 minutes. So, 35 minutes remain to teach Science and Social Studies. Which leaves 0 minutes for being 6, zipping jackets, throwing up, having an exciting show and tell, enjoying teacher story time after lunch, being 6, veering off track a little, playing, being 6, getting back on track, pulling Sally’s braid, sticking a tongue out a Johnny, or remembering a potty break before it’s too late. Fergettabout birthday treats at the end of the day! And MY birthday is on a Friday. We will be banking minutes for that little celebration!
1st graders have an attention span of about 15 minutes before melt down begins. A good teacher creates a wonderful dance, repeated 187 times throughout the year. Everything in a constant routine, the kids learn the dance, but the song changes very frequently. It’s in that way the days go by like a symphony. But, they need to learn the dance first. Everything is done in 15 minute chunks with a lot of movement thrown in for good measure.
I can’t wait to teach the kiddos how to walk in a straight class line. One of the most darling and hilarious things to do and watch. We’ll be seen following the lines on the basketball court for a few times while watching the person in front of them. Classroom control can be a life saver in this crazy world. In our school, you only walk on the right side of the hallway. Tough, because most 1st graders still need to learn their right from their left. Just like driving a car, walking on the right side avoids crashes. And, please. Remember, no running. Don’t make me blow my whistle.
What will the kids be teaching me all day? That time is really an adult concept. That the place we left off in our chapter book was too exciting to stop. That thunderstorm reading (with the help of a magical cd) under the desks after a hot recess makes everyone feel better. You need to be under the desks so you don’t get wet, which makes everyone giggle with delight. They will teach me that I’ve been missing little hugs for the last five years. They’ll teach me that the eyes in the back of my head are not always open. And, they’ll show me love in a million ways every day.
The input does decide the outcome. When I first became a teacher, the best information I ever received was this. “The first day is everything. If you have them under your spell on Day 1, you’ll breeze through the year to Day 187.” Nothing else matters more than Day 1.
This weekend, I’ll be deep into Teacher’s manuals, choosing specific activities for each of the first 380 minutes. Next week, I’ll increase my vitamin intake in preparation for the influx of microbes. An input of germs = the outcome of a very healthy immune system with a few sick days thrown in for good measure. I’ll be planning my wardrobe for next week, while cooking up meals for the freezer.
I’ve received an invitation to the “New Teacher Gathering” on Wednesday and Thursday. Friday is “Go Time” in which all the teachers from our huge district will gather at the high school for a rally to kick off the 2022-2023 school year.
As I walked across my little campus yesterday, my keys click-edy clacked softly on my chest, hanging from a bright blue lanyard. My whistle, silver in color and a 1996 vintage model, added to the tune. Click, clack-edy, click, swaying right over my happy heart. I’m back doing something I’ve truly missed. I’ve been handpicked by God to help 20 littles I haven’t meant yet. He needs me to teach them important lessons. He needs me to make sure they all know they are as brilliant as the shining stars, as important as the sun in the sky, and loved to the moon and back.
I’m sure I’ll have some questions for God.
“God, are you sure about that one?”
“Did you really mean ME?”
“Did you check my year of birth?”
“Do I still have the patience?”
“Will you grant me patience, wisdom, humor, and peace to get through this year. Please?”
Those questions are ones I ask him every year. Then, as we celebrate Laborhalloweenthanksgivingchristmasvalentine’seastermemorial Day, (which does seem to be one long holiday), each hour the reasons will slowly be revealed as to why each child was selected for me. My students have so many things to teach me about life. I, in turn, will teach them to write their best stories for the bulletin board. Sounds like a fair deal to me!
Whatever you do today, think about inputting some positive and happiness in someone’s day. Smile. Wave. Stop to talk a minute. You can make up the time somewhere else, for you’ll never regret time spent with a friend. The outcome will be happiness. Just try it.
I can hardly believe the car sick little puppy placed in my arms on Christmas Day, 2018 has turned into this handsome boy celebrating his 4th!!!! He has grown up to be quite the companion, although, I’m the only one that knows this. Visitors still see the Tasmanian devil barking like crazy as he is led away. I wish like heck he would realize we are not under siege here at Winterpast. He is a dog on high alert and all visitors are suspect.
VST wasn’t a dog person. Yes, weekly, he would hoist 40 pounds of dog food into the back of the truck for the two English Mastiffs that guarded the ranch. He put up with the littles named Iniki, Chloe, Freckles, and Barkley. But, never did he enjoy them like a dog lover does. They were tolerated. They were MY responsibility. That was that.
So, in the fall of 2018, when I had been pining for a dog because I finally had time for one, I was shocked when he said, “Let’s look.” Of course, with VST, looking was the mission with no end. Every town we visited while RVing was a source of investigation. SPCA’s. Humane Society’s. Craig’s List. Every town could have been hiding my new furry friend, but as the towns fell to the rear view mirror, there was no dog for me. This went on for months of miles.
My very first dachshund was Fritz who was a red miniature smooth coat who lived outdoors on our ranch. He was a superb watchdog. Nothing got by him. He slept soundly on a burlap bag by the back door, eager to great us each morning. He knew everything about the farm and things were in order under his watch. No feral cats, skunks, mice, or lizards too close to the house, Fritz guarded us. I was six when my dad and I drove to an old red barn to pick him out of a litter of four. Fritz was the fun one.
My mother wasn’t a dog person either. Not that we didn’t have dogs, just like every other ranch. She did tolerate Guide Dog for the Blind Puppies in her house. But she found no enjoyment in dogs. They added to the work of a farm wife. So, when she mentioned to my dad that we needed to go get a smooth red dachshund one day, I was shocked. Fritz was the dog I remember growing up with and he was a wonderful friend. One night at dinner, when I had aged out into a Senior in high school, I realized I hadn’t seen my grey-muzzled friend when I came home from school. Mom and Dad were a little quiet at the table. Fritz died earlier that day on the farm he loved so much.
Many people doubt Oliver’s heritage. A standard dachshund is a biggish little dog. His size is the first thing that throws everyone off at 25 pounds. Then, there’s the color. He is a cream dachshund. The spots? He’s a piebald (spotted). He’s cream with brown spots, not brown with cream spots. Then, there is the liver base, which gives him the brown nose and green eye color (not shown in the photo, because his pupils were wide open in the low light. In the sunshine, their green). The wire hair is another difference. All those things together, and people ask what pound he came from. Often.
Although he didn’t come from the pound, he was a discount dog. His relatives cost three times what I paid for Oliver. No one wanted him and it was getting close to Christmas. He waited for me and I for him.
What a ride it has been with this dog.
Oy vey.
At this point, he impresses me more very day with the words and phrases he understands. He will immediately understand ANY command for a cookie. He knows them all and will work ONLY for food. Pay up or FERGETABOUTIT.
He no longer chews on anything but his bone. He’s happy to sleep hours on end as long as it is at my feet. Oliver only cuddles at night and loves sleeping with me. VST, stop frowning. He doesn’t snore or hog the blankets. He just burrows under the covers and sleeps until morning. At 3:59, his intent gaze awakens me. Nothing interferes with potty time and breakfast at 4.
Oliver’s morning potty breaks are on pee-pads. He learned to use them when we RV’d with him as a puppy. On long trips, his bathroom breaks were quicker than mine. This is so great when preparing to get ready for work. It is also delightful when winter temperatures keep the snow on the ground from melting. Done with morning duties in under 2 minutes, we have that down to a science.
I don’t have any idea how many hours I’ve spent training Oliver. I know, on some days, I’m rather tired of being trained by him. I know that after three weeks of his intensity, he needs to go on Puppy safari and I need a break. There isn’t a chore that he ignores, making them more difficult by his inspections to make sure I have all the necessary items. Oliver is a watcher.
I wish, in his life, I could’ve provided him with a job. He would’ve loved being a drug dog or TSA suit-case checker. He would have been a grand termite finding hound or been the best on gopher patrol. On the ranch, he would’ve loved sleeping under the stars to keep the coyotes at bay. But, he is just Sir Oliver of Ashworth Hall, keeper of the grounds at Winterpast. I mean, when your name is Sir Oliver, what else would one expect?
VST had been working on his genealogy the week I talked to the breeder about the strange little discount dog shown on website. I was having doubts about whether this puppy would be a good thing or a bad thing in Virginia City. We had no yard and 12 feet of snow in the winter. This puppy would be in the house 100% of the time.
“What’re you going to call him?”
I had not a clue.
“Here’s a good name. Sir Oliver of Ashworth Hall.”
He was named after VST’s relative from the 1600’s. That would do just fine.
I’m not sure how Oliver and I will celebrate this wonderful day. Lots of ear scratching and treats. He knows me better than anyone these days. He knows all my aches and pains and reminds me to get over them because it’s dinner time. He reminds me in the evening that unfinished chores can wait, but bedtime cannot. He loves me when I find myself unlovable. He is patient and considerate, until he isn’t, just like me. Yes. We’re a match.
VST, I’ll scratch Ollie’s ears for you. Sometimes I think he can see you sitting in your recliner watching over us. My sweet angel, thanks for the best Christmas present you could have ever given me. Like I told you then, it was the last one you ever needed to give me. Our little Oliver.
Whatever you do today, appreciate your pets. God was smiling when he decided to make dogs and cats. What wonderful little souls placed on this earth for no other reason than to love us and be loved in return. I’m sure glad they were part of God’s plan.
Happy Sunday, Readers!!!! Yesterday held so much fun with the birthday celebration for Oliver blanketing the entire day with a colorful confetti of happiness! Oliver thanks each and every one of you for the good wishes. Last night, he was so exhausted, he chose to sleep in his own bed. It was quite the party complete with two helpings of Iam’s Lamb and Rice kibble and his favorite bones. Pretty sure he might have eaten one unlucky lizard or toad as a party favor, but he keeps those things to himself knowing I don’t approve.
During the day, I worked on my schedule of teachable minutes. Assigning daily minutes to language arts, math, science, and social studies in 900 second blocks is always fun and challenging. In all my years of teaching, math has always been taught in the afternoon. Language Arts in the morning. Science and social studies included when time permits. That’s just how it is when teaching littles.
In reality, the littles have very few minutes left for anything else, although the science book looks so delicious, we’ll steal a little time from something else. The first lesson is all about living things and what they need to thrive. Not a threatening word in the entire chapter. The experiment involves sprouting beans and making observations. I can’t wait to hear their squeals of delight when the first seeds sprout. We will be observing them with hand lenses. Very scientific.
While getting jazzed about the first three days and instruction of classroom procedures while assessing and getting to know the littles, I ran across an unusual project. We’re going to adopt our very own COW!!!!!!! This is an amazing group of lessons offered by Nevada to classrooms across the state. If you want to learn more, Google “Adopt a Cow — A Mooving Experience” Kolo 8 News. It’s a great story about the farmer who owns a dairy in a little town east of here. It’s from his farm that the calves are adopted.
Our application is in, and Room 56 has been accepted. Our furry friend will be ours starting October 1st.. Possible fieldtrip to a dairy??? I can only hope so. I hope the principal loves cows, because I’m pretty sure the five 1st grades are all adopting them. Good thing we have a really big playground with lots of grass.
In the flurry of activities on the First grade wing, the four classrooms are about to become five with a new teacher onboard as of Friday. We are all pretty new to 1st grade and bonding!!! There is nothing better than the sisterhood of teachers, and I’ve fallen into the best group ever. We are smart, organized, and preparing to circle the wagons, hold hands, and pray for a great year.
God has all of us in his hands. At this moment in time, he’s presented me with a summer of the most lovely miracles. New friends. A career, refreshed and alive with wonder. A home dearly loved. Grown children and grandchildren thriving in their own worlds. Acceptance and appreciation that I am enough. It took a life time for me to realize that. I don’t need anything else to validate me. Not a mother. Not a father. Not a husband, boyfriend, or neighbor. Friends and family are wonderful jewels that enrich my life, but at the end of the day, I’m enough in my own skin. 66.5 years it took to grasp that concept. Slow learner, I guess.
Whatever you do today, be grateful for all the good things that happen. From a really great breakfast to a perfectly formed tomato in the garden. Maybe a bird happens to sing a beautiful song just for you to hear. Listen. Look around. Feel the summer breezes. Take time to smile. Life just doesn’t get better than it is this second.
After working all morning Saturday, a trip to school was necessary to see if my next door teacher was working in her classroom. I expected she wouldn’t be, it being a beautiful and rainy Saturday. Without a phone number or email address, I couldn’t contact her. It was the first day I opened the large parking lot gate with my very own key, drove through and locked it behind me. An extra procedure making everything all the more real. With no other teachers in sight, I’d just drop off a few things and go back home. It’d been worth a try.
Driving to my room, I travel through the land of “Oh Goodness, please don’t let me hit this or that”. Teachers love driving their cars to their door instead of taking countless trips with a moving cart. After missing all the obstacles by the cafeteria and rounding the back of the 4th grade wing, the treacherous part begins. The GRAVEL. I’ve been told three times that I’ll get stuck if I do not have 4-wheel-drive. Thank goodness Barbie’s Jeep came equipped with that and I know how to engage it. Whew.
So,
Over the gravel,
And threw the courts,
To Room 56 I go.
It’s quite a trek, even in a vehicle. No car was parked outside my neighbor’s classroom, and I will say, I felt a little sad. She’s the best co-teacher friend. Her smile and twinkling eyes just make everything better! She shines when she talks about her littles. She has Kindergarten experience, so I plan to learn a lot from her.
Entering my classroom, I breathe in my future. I really wish I could sleep there. It’s adorable in every way, but especially because of the mural with six wild mustangs galloping across the desert. Looking in the hallway for an interesting cast offs and finding nothing, my neighbor surprised me as she popped out of her room!!!!! She WAS there!!!! Yes! Yes! Yes!
Just like a new 1st grader, I showed her the daily schedule I’d put together. She told me of a grade level meeting on Monday morning meeting at 10. We exchanged phone numbers and contact information. I told her about Adopting a Cow and she was so excited we almost danced in delight.
I stapled up some silk sunflowers on my “Buzz Into our Hive” bulletin board. I plan do a picture blog this week to show you the most beautiful room in the world. Room 56.
Yesterday, another miracle occurred. A most important woman to me, (regularly tending to my hair), saw me at 3PM! I had so many wonderful things stored up to tell her, but it was she that had the biggest surprise of all. There’s a 2023 Valentine she just can’t wait to meet! Her new February baby! A baby I will get to hear about on a regular basis! She even invited me to give him or her a little pat yesterday! What family is complete without littles running around? My desert family is no different and I plan to be a really good honorary Grandma. With 2 sisters in high school, this tiny little will be a window into what my life looked like when I was born, when my two oldest sisters were in high school. My friend’s oldest son is 19! With three high school kids and a 5th grader, she’ll have lots of help.
Driving home with a huge smile, I wonder if people think I’m pretending. How could one woman feel so good? It doesn’t seem right or possible she is me at this time in life. I’ll continue to smile, causing people to wonder just what’s going on with that woman who lives within the walls of Winterpast. “What’s up with that one????” they’ll whisper. It’ll just cause me to smile more.
Regarding college, all assignments are now submitted and class ends tomorrow. Yesterday, I calculated a worse case scenario. In order to get a C my class, I’d need to bomb the final assignment. At 30 very intense pages, although not exactly my best work, it’s far from F quality. So, now, we wait with a renewed credential depending on a passing grade. I’m at the final sprint with an A- and the heat is on. With 20 + students all turning in 30 to 40 page assignments, it may be awhile before I learn my fate. I assure you, as soon as I do, you will know the outcome. This was my very last attempt at college life. And, no. There was not even one wild party. The college experience of today isn’t as it was in the 1900’s.
God holds all of us in his hands. At this moment in time, he’s presented me with a summer full of the most lovely miracles. New friends. A career, refreshed and alive with wonder. A home dearly loved. Grown children and grandchildren thriving in their own worlds. A new baby to celebrate. Acceptance and appreciation that I am enough. It took a life time for that realization. I don’t need anything else for personal validation. Not a mother. Not a father. Not a husband, boyfriend, or neighbor. Friends and family are wonderful jewels that enrich my life, but at the end of the day, with Jesus as my Savior, I’m enough in my own skin. 66.5 years it took to grasp that concept. Slow learner, I guess. Maybe I’ve really been a C student all along.
Whatever you do today, be kind to yourself. Remember the good parts of your day before you close your eyes to go to sleep. Be grateful for all the beautiful things in life. We are blessed every day with the wonder of life. Just focus on the good. The bad will work itself out because, as we all know, nothing lasts forever.
Well, today is the last day of summer for me. When I finally get around to looking at the gardens again, leaves will be falling. Until then, I have so much to do, it’s mind boggling. Yesterday was a day of setting up my classroom library. Sounds easy enough, except that at the start of the day, I didn’t have enough books for even one shelf. Because of my wonderful teacher sisters, I now have two full bookcases holding a wide variety of reading materials. All well used and from the 1900’s, there isn’t a bad book in the group. I know. I looked through them all while organizing them.
Today is ladder day. Amazon is such a blessing. Each box arrives holding just a little more to adorn my room. Today, I’m stapling and sticking charts and color up. Then, with a quick cleaning, I’ll turn my attention to the desk and student materials and planning.
There are NEVER enough hours in the day, (even if a teacher didn’t sleep), to finish 100% of everything on any given day. But, there is progress towards the finish line of June 2nd. By setting goals, I’ll avoid the agony of defeat of being left behind my lofty goals.
These are some daily benchmarks I’m coming up with.
Don’t trip over anything. Above all, do not fall in front of the children.
Smile at least 25% of the day.
Don’t let the kids make you cry in front of them. It a bad look.
If you don’t know the answer, look it up in front of the students. No Guessing, Miss Teacher.
Hold firm and don’t cave to their adorableness. It’s their secret weapon.
Drink lots of water and eat a good lunch.
Enjoy the first three days of school while it’s still puppies, kittens, and flowers.
Repeat. “I am the teacher.” at least once every 3 minutes. NOT OUTLOUD, JOY! Just to yourself will do.
There are so many more things I need to remember. There are a lot of things I’ve already learned through 23 years of experience.
I can teach out of a box. Don’t sweat the lack of curriculum or materials.
I don’t need to save the world. Just 20 adorable littles who are just as excited as their teacher.
Everyone will learn many things each day, especially me.
With a good plan, the details will fall into place. Don’t map out the year, it won’t go the way you planned anyway. No one could every pre-plan the surprises the school year holds. Just look at 2020 and Covid.
Love each minute. Embrace it. Experience it. At the end of the day, it will have turned out just as God planned, even if it doesn’t seem so at the time.
The last teacher to be hired for our team is seasoned with sage just like me. She lovingly came out of retirement like me to teach again. We have much in common. We both gave away every box of teacher stuff we had. Now, we’re starting from scratch, all over again. The difference is that she is down a week. She just got her keys yesterday. Another difference is that she has a husband to help her. How envious I am of that. VST was the best support person that ever lived. It will be lonely teaching without him.
In my personal journal, I’m keeping close notes of all the happenings. In May, I promise to re-read the school year to decide if there will be a second. Nothing written in stone to say this won’t be my fourth retirement from teaching. It is kind of fun. You get to have a little party and cake. But, there’s also nothing to say that I won’t smile at a summer rich with possibilities while collecting more stuff for Year 2.
At this point, my heart is saying, “Way to Go!!!” Although many don’t understand how or why I could want to go back to the classroom, I do. That’s all that matters.
So, I’ll be a 50% for the first week. For everything I plan, if 50% is accomplished. It will be a win. If 50% of my yard looks, okay….. Ya-Hooo! If 50% of the dust bunnies get vacuumed, Oliver will lick up the other 50%. If it takes me 50% shorter of a time to fall asleep, (at present that is about 45 seconds), all the better. Yes. 50% is enough for the first 7 days. Then, we’ll work towards 75% the next week.
A teacher never finishes 100% of her dreams. At least, not this teacher. But the dreams fulfilled are magical, just as they should be. Dreams are magic in the making. My room full of littles and I will dream big this year, and trust me, it will be magical!
That’s 100% the truth.
Whatever you do today, have fun. Be ready, because life can throw a curve ball and you need to react. I’m off to the ladder, stapler, and glue. That just might be the title for tomorrow’s blog.
What an amazing and exhausting first day. I can’t even tell you the number of times my mind was frying, both from the heat AND from sensory overload. In our brick school in the desert, with windows that do not open and doors that must remain shut, the AC is broken. It is humid and almost too hot to think. Before everyone gets angry about that, our district employees are the very best available and dancing as fast as they can. No doubt everything will be fixed before the first day of school. It’s just a little warm at the moment.
There are teacher angels at my school, from each grade level. This team of women know everything about what I need before I do. They know where all the hiding places are in the school and they stand ready to help. I now have all the teacher manuals necessary for 1st grade thanks to their help.
It’s a daunting experience to enter a classroom that has empty cupboards. Not just a little empty, stocked with antiques from the 1900’s, but, really empty cupboard that have a hollow sound when you close them. My cupboards that are slowly filling with necessities.
With 23 littles showing up next Wednesday, this teacher has a lot of shopping to do over the weekend. Snacks for those that don’t have one. Toys to keep some of the class busy while the rest are working with me. A refrigerator to keep some water cold. A coffee maker to keep my mug full. The list is endless and every increasing. Remember what I said. Teachers across the country are doing this very thing. Teachers buy a large part of the consumables for American children with our own money. Many districts prohibit teachers from asking parents for help. Kids must learn. Teachers must teach. I’m so glad I hit Walmart early, as their shelves are now filled with Halloween goodies.
Yesterday, all the new teachers met with the very new principal and vice principal. All I can say is this. God saved me the best for last. These two women are the kindest and most focused of all the principals under which I have served. And there have been many. Also new, they are observing everything about the beginning school year with a critical eye. Their main objective is to start the school year repairing and making new connections between the staff, parents, students, and community.
In the fall of 1996, my very first principal was the worst. She loved sitting on counters in her mini skirt with legs crossed while flirting with my male co-worker. They were both from Connecticut. Although older than him by a good ten years, he was her special project. Neither were the sharpest knife in the drawer. One day, she came in to interrupt my teaching day with a photo album. She wanted to share her body building photos with me. Not sure of her thoughts on why this was a good idea in the middle of class time in my 1st-2nd grade class, but, she was in charge. We marched to her orders. Oy Vey.
As a first-year teacher, I said, “Of Course” and “Sure” to anything that needed to be done, while my male co-worker skated. As I understand it, he is now close to Superintendent status, with a salary 4X that of this lowly teacher. I think back to the chart he put on the wall for Open House that listed Knee and Elbow as Pronouns (in black and white for all to see). Such is our educational system. Some days there are just no ways to distinguish which direction is up or down. Great scammers rise to the top.
My new school took a real hit when Covid came through. All schools did. Returning to the classroom environment is different now. Some kids will be wearing masks. Some kids not. Some kids will be vaccinated. Some kids not. Some kids will be terrified of what they just went through. Some kids are too little to remember. It’s like walking into a vast wilderness to create a new town and a safe place to learn. That’s the point from where we’re starting.
Our school lost ten teachers. Schools are families, so this one just lost a quarter of the family members to other districts. That’s left some wounds that need to heal. My town is located about as far away from civilization as you can get. With the price of gas higher than anything the news is reporting, commuters have no relief. Any way you look at things, the drive from the nearest town is a good 30 minutes, at the minimum. On a beginning teacher’s salary, that drive isn’t feasible. So, we have the teachers we have and are going to make it a great year. I wish a few more retired teachers would dust off their credentials and come back to work.
Yesterday’s trainings were informative and basic. A school tour. Snacks fed our nerves. Especially the chocolate cupcakes in the afternoon. Best principal EVER.
Today, it’s the district’s turn to tell us newbies what we will and won’t ever do. Reinforcing the rule that teacher’s always walk in lock step while marching to a tune that sometimes doesn’t make sense. We’ll get passwords, logins, directions, and mandates. We’ll sign more papers and leave with brains fully loaded with stuff we need to re-learn at the beginning of every school year. All this while sitting with all the new hires in the district.
While getting into our new routine at Winterpast, Oliver was better this morning. He ate his breakfast while I showered, therefore banking valuable writing minutes. I grabbed my freshly brewed coffee from my new, automated coffee maker, and we went to the studio.
Attempting to log into my blog, it was then disaster struck. The blog site is DOWN. Not just a little slow. DOWN. After making a call, (the first one of the day at 4:00 AM), it was confirmed. DOWN.
I am writing this on WORD at the moment and may not post it until late this afternoon. Good writing minutes can’t be wasted, when every minute of every day counts. Working schedules are demanding.
As you start your day today, know that I’m having the best time of my life. I can put all my energy into something I dearly love and have missed so much. I’m making more local friends as my desert roots sink deeper. Twenty-three littles are going to enjoy the best school year of their lives with Mrs. Hurt. I’m going to make sure of it.
More tomorrow.
PS–Thank you Bluehost for getting everyone back online.
Hold on just a cotton-pickin’ second here. I signed up for 1st grade. That included sitting on a colorful carpet with “crisscross applesauce” legs while enjoying a graham cracker and a great story. Maybe in the 1900’s, but not in the classrooms of today. Yesterday, I attended a serious new teacher training. So many things happened, I don’t know where to start, so I’ll start with the union.
Our teacher’s union is a very small group of dedicated people that do wonderful things for us. Yesterday, they fed us a tri-tip lunch complete with beans, mac and cheese, beans, and salad. Add some sodas and cookies and it was delicious. While doing that, they gave away $1,000 in $100 amounts to lucky teachers that joined yesterday. Nice in every way. And then came the plea to join them. I mean, really join them. Pay $$$ every month to join them.
Here’s the thing. I’m not buying what they’re selling. In my first career as a teacher, there was no choice. At that time, $80 a month was stolen from my paycheck over 20 years to support a machine. The California Teachers Association. Never did I run for office or go to their functions. No little BBQ’s or raffles held there. All the money was syphoned to the mother ship supporting causes in which I had no say. Robbed. We were all robbed.
Without ever willfully giving the money, it was quiet thievery of the worst kind. A large portion went straight to support the NEA head-quartered in Washington, DC. I visited there one time with VST. I just wanted to get a pencil that said “NEA” as a souvenir. A guard at the door interrogated me, refusing us entry unless we had a scheduled meeting time. I bought them a lot of pencils over the year. We couldn’t even enter the building.
No. In California you have no choice. If you take the job, you will be robbed. Period. Please remember that when you talk about teachers and the union. In California, teachers do not have a choice. If they did, I assure you, the Union would lose a huge portion of their membership.
In Nevada, things are different. Teachers DO have a choice. We are not judged if we say NO. And, for the 3rd time in a row, I’ve done just that. I do thank the union for the lovely lunch. It was great! We’ll see you all at our schools, for we are all united in teaching our students.
The meeting with new teachers was wonderful. The youngest teacher was 18. The oldest teacher looked to be 70-something. From 8 until 2:30, information was pumped into our brains. We met District Administration. We got an adorable T-shirt. And then, it got very real. We broke up into groups with our team leaders and went to work on language arts.
Language Arts is my favorite subject to teach because it was my favorite subject in school. Very early on, writing became my passion. The paper heard every word I said, displaying it in slashed charcoal words shooting across the page. I had the most wonderful teachers throughout school. Intelligent and wise, they were experts in their fields. There was no retirement back then. Teachers taught until they couldn’t, and then, maybe they just died in the closet.
Some girlfriends that started teaching in 1981 made $6,000 a year. Of course, by the time they retired, they were paid back in full. But, at that time, there were no big pensions or paychecks. People taught because they loved children.
For hours yesterday, I learned about our reading program and how best to implement it. There are no colorful student books or workbooks provided with our program. This is an authentic program in which the children read out of books of their choosing and write stories through pictures and words. Our goal is to work up to 35 minutes of both reading and writing by the end of the school year. I think my class will surpass that because I already know I’m getting the writers. All kids have stories to tell. Great ones.
I’ll have 23 children in my room. 23 busy little people with opinions, troubles, and happiness to share. That’s 46 little legs running as fast as they can to an open door and 1st grade. That’s a lot of energy.
My teaching group is a solid group of women in this for the right reasons. We will provide a united front to conquer the masses. All the while, we will find things about which to laugh. We’ll also comfort each other when we need to cry, which will probably be every day at lunch.
Yesterday was another wonderful day. Chapter 1 in a book of memories. I’m not committing to more than this year. Time will tell whether or not this will prove that I am really old, or prove that I will be the oldest teacher in the school that dies one afternoon correcting papers at her desk. Today is the first real day of the school year for all teachers. The new has rubbed off. Off I go to school!!!!!
As the days go by, so do my Amazon arrivals. A box of this and a bag of that. A beautiful classroom takes work and $$$. Consider this. All five of us brand new teachers have donated all our hours from August 1st until August 10th when our pay began. We will again today, Saturday. That says something about the sacrifice teachers make every year. Multiply that by millions of American teachers. It’s all donated for love for our students and our profession.
I was a bit disappointed the other day when a man I really respect was poking fun at my school. Being a “city” school in a economically depressed little town, he was laughing because some of the teachers were stolen by a bigger school district to the West. Just like the Wicked Witch of the West, evil magic had lured away primary teachers for better pay and signing bonuses. While speaking with this person, I could feel the disdain in his voice for public schools. I wish this attitude would cease. With the news media on fire against public schools, it seems to worsen every day.
I’m going to spread the message that needs hearing. Every single retiree should run, not walk, to their local school and volunteer in some capacity. From being a crossing guard, to a lunch aide, to in-room support, volunteers are needed. Then, after volunteering, you need to spread the word about the very wonderful things being taught to our littles. Things that were taught to you in your own grade school experience. These should be aired on television. Stories about kindness, courage, respect, and school loyalty. Goodness comes from school rooms. If someone sees differently, they need to get involved to fix the problem. That is why they are called PUBLIC schools.
Your teachers are neighbors. They sing in church next to you. They quietly provide for the students that need help. They give countless hours of their time at home, preparing for the next day. They lose some sleep each week thinking of new ways to help Johnny and Jane do better. No one talks about that.
Principals are at the front line of the battle. Send them flowers. Support them. Support every single school employee, because, they keep our kids happy, healthy, and safe.
Whew, I feel better now.
This year, it’s my mission to find at least five adult volunteers for my school. Not just for my classroom, but for the school. Five adults that will help the staff and kids have a wonderful year, while finding out that our elementary school is a fun place to hang out. Honorary Eagle Grandparents. Fingerprinting is necessary. A smile and good attitude are mandatory. Can’t get there? Volunteer at home. There’s plenty of prep work to go around. As this blog is read in 50 states now, this should start a little movement across the US.
Last Saturday, I found it necessary to find my co-teacher at school. I knew she would be there, yet, without a phone number or way to contact her, I had no way to confirm it. It was the first day I needed to open the double gate with my gate key, drive through, and lock it behind me. With no sign of any other teachers there, I’d just drop off a few things and go back home. It’d been worth a try.
To drive to my outside door, I need to travel through a maze of “Oh Goodness, I hope I don’t hit this or that”. Teachers love putting their car by their door instead of countless trips with a rolling cart to the parking lot. After missing all the obstacles by the cafeteria and rounding the back of the 4th grade wing, the treacherous part begins. The GRAVEL. I’ve been told three times that I’ll get stuck if I don’t have 4-wheel-drive. Thank goodness, Barbie’s Jeep came with that and I know how to engage it. Whew.
Over the gravel,
And threw the courts,
To Room 56 I go.
Quite a trek, even in a vehicle. There was no familiar car outside my neighbor’s classroom, and I will say, I was a little deflated. She’s just the sweetest gal. Her smile and twinkling eyes make everything better! Consistently, she shines and her positivity is infectious.
Entering my classroom is like breathing for me now. I really wish I could sleep there. It’s adorable in every way, but especially with the mural with six galloping mustangs under a soaring Golden Eagle. I looked in the hallway for an interesting cast offs. All of a sudden, my neighbor popped out of her room!!!!! She WAS there!!!! Yes! Yes! Yes!
Just like a new 1st grader, I was showing her about possible block schedule plans. She told me of a Monday morning meeting at 10. We exchanged phone numbers and contact information. I told her about “Adopting a Cow” and she was so excited we almost danced in delight.
I stapled up some silk sunflowers on my “Welcome to our Hive” bulletin board. I plan do a picture blog next week to reveal the most beautiful room in the world. Room 56.
To the world, I say this. School is such a positive place. I doubt many news pony-tails would make it one day in a classroom with 20 littles. They’d run to the parking lot crying with a broken heel and smudged makeup. The focus at my school this year is positive relationships and rock-solid teaching. Very simply. That is our mission. To teach our littles to read, write, and manipulate numbers. If you think differently, please, come. I need volunteers.
With only days until I meet my littles, I’m in a really good place. This new endeavor has taken total focus and determination. With hours and and hours left of things that must be done before Tuesday night’s Back to School function, every NEXT thing gives me more energy.
I took a selfie two days ago and the image said it all. It’s the first picture in a very long time that shows a smile radiating from my heart. I seem to glow in the picture. I was the only person in the room. I took it on my first paid day. The picture says everything. I made a good decision to return to the work I so dearly love.
To add to the wonder of the moment, I’ve now seen pictures of my class. Tiny little thumbnails taken one year ago, these students are the readers and writers I’ve been waiting to meet. With adorable names that I can’t share with you, these children are going to teach me more life lessons than I can count. They are going to make me laugh more deeply than anyone on the planet, and they are going to cause me to cry in my pillow. That’s a given. Another given? They are all brand new writers, even at 6 years old. Who knows, I may meet the next Jan Karon who will enchant readers for generations to come.
I started preparing my lesson plans for reading, writing, and phonics last night. Teaching in 10 minute blocks, the kids don’t know it, but they are going to be the exhausted ones at the end of the day. These kiddos are so lucky to be taught by a real writer knows what works and what doesn’t. I turn writing into one of the best things in life, because, as I was told by a 5th grader, “Writing IS life”. You’ll be happy to know I’ve personally handled every book from which my littles will learn to read. I’ve found no hidden agendas anywhere. I did find many adorable books that made me giggle and laugh. All the more fun to teach from books like these. There are many titles I remember from reading with my own little boys.
The kids are going to write their first three page book on the first day of school. I can’t wait to see what they come up with. Now, they are not illustrators. That’s a different skill. We’ll focus on the words, ideas, and messages. My illustrators will need to wait just a little while to practice their skills. Kids always have a lot to say and I can’t wait to listen.
Last week, I ordered another “Raffi” cd. In case you don’t know, he is quite the children’s artist, singing “Baby Beluga” and “Down by the Bay”. Singing with Raffi yesterday took me back to 1996 and my first classroom. Yes. Returning to work is a very, very happy thing.
As promised, I am here to tell you I earned 100% on my 30 page culminating project. 350/350. If my instructor is reading, thank you so much!! I hope it’s the last college course ever required of me. I’m at the top of my pay scale in both years of teaching and college units. Nothing more will increase my pay other than time and in that commodity, I am limited.
This summer has been one for the books. Thinking back to June when I was fretting about renewing my driver’s license, so many miracles have taken place. The stars aligned to carry to me to this, the last Sunday of my summer. I’ll need to wait until June 3, 2023 when the summer will be, again, full of possibilities. Until then, it’s pedal to the metal. Mrs. Hurt is back.
Our staff is having a potluck lunch tomorrow. That should be a fun time in which to get to know more people. There is another widow on our staff that lost her husband in 2019. I need to speak with her. Her son is our computer tech. At least she isn’t physically alone.
My grade level gal pals continue to give me strength through scaffolding, strength, and love. We’ve all been working massive amounts of unpaid overtime to be ready for the first day. Today, I need to create a 3-D bee-hive, as my beautiful bulletin board never arrived. Thank goodness the bees arrived. Everything will be picture perfect on Tuesday at 4:30 when it will be showtime. Twenty phone call invitations will go out tomorrow.
Whatever you do today, spend time with a child, if any are around. Talk to them about how important it is to act respectfully at school. Tell them their teachers are just as nervous and excited as they are. For goodness sakes, I have my new Barbie lunchbox AND school backpack ready to go.
This has always been one of my favorite pieces of art since I first saw in in 1973. A beautiful example from the French pointillist painter, George Seurat, There are so many stories to be told from this piece, it boggles my mind. I plan to use this in 1st grade, observing which details will capture my students imagination. Most will probably pick the monkey or dogs, but, what about the faceless little girl in the center????? Or the team of rowers??? Sailing on a Sunday. The lovers showing PDA. The jilted woman looking off into the distance. The crazy man talking to himself. Or, the modern dude in the tank top and ball cap front left. There are so many ways to go with this.
I remembered this painting while thinking about the 1st annual church picnic at Out of Town Park. It will be coming up next month, complete with games, a piñata, and 60 homemade cupcakes provided by ME. I didn’t say baked, because I may or may not make fancy ones of my own creation. I need to start practicing, if that’s to be the case. I may simply go to the local grocer and order some up. Not sure yet.
Our church hasn’t had a church picnic for a very long time. Everyone is buzzing about it. Why, yesterday, it was the talk of the after-church-continuation-of-fellowship luncheon held at The Bear That’s Black Diner. It seems our town has come back to life, while all the help in town is down for the count. One restaurant (we only have seven), has shuttered it’s doors again for lack of employees. With the added travelers from the interstate, the locals don’t have much of a choice in places to eat. Going to lunch took over two hours yesterday, time spent laughing, talking, and catching up. There was one waiter serving with an entire room of diners.
Time spent with friends is never enough for me. It was so lovely to get caught up with my besties from the bible study. I will really miss them on Thursday mornings. From a new flower shop on Main to the church picnic, the gals filled me in on the latest news. Not gossip, because gossip is never helpful, but real town news. Their friendship and support on the first day of my first week back to school was better than ten naps and a soak in the hot tub. Lunch was grand.
The discussions we shared made me think beyond the words I read in my own daily bible study. Often perplexing, the bible is one tough book to read. Like any interesting book, there are some things that get shelved in the back of my brains, and other things that capture my attention. I continue to marvel at timeless beauty and truths captured over 2,000 years ago. While studying Romans, it seems I’m reading about current day troubles in our society. On the other hand, the Psalms remind me that trying situations will surface during the school year. I need to be ready because storms are on their way.
The rest of the day was spent planning lessons for the first 2.5 weeks. The writing program is delicious. Although I would have approached it the same way, without direction from the teacher’s manual, I would’ve been thinking “Am I doing this correctly?” It’s lovely to get direction from those who created the teaching materials, all supported by the school district. Any parent complainers need to head to the district office. This teacher is following district approved curriculum. The writing program will work out just fine.
Today, I have more planning to finish. I need to write out 21 ID name tags for my littles. I don’t want to be the 1st grade teacher who loses a child on Day 1. I have cubbies to mark with numbers and tables and chairs to sanitize once more. Along with a long list of Amazon orders to make. For me, it’s the best kind of busy there is.
Going back to work has been the most appropriate decision made so far, right behind buying Winterpast while moving 17 days after VST died. My life has never been conventional. This is just one more crazy bend in the road that couldn’t have come at a better time.
I do wish I would’ve had a chance to work under the Principal that hired me. It seems she was just in place for that moment in time. My new principal brings me smiles every time we speak. I plan to learn a lot about leadership from her. Love and support from the staff cover her. How lucky she is to start the year in a school full of co-workers who are also dear friends. Many of the teachers I work with have known each other since grade school. Small town living has its rewards.
Today, I must hurry and scurry. I was quite sure I’d take a little break from the blog to get started. Now, I know I need to keep writing, or time will devour something I love doing so much. Beware, there may be a few days in which more is not in me. On those days, I’ll let you know.
Have a marvelous Monday, whatever you choose to do. Make it grand. Try your hand at your own writing skills. Really look at “Sunday in the Park with George” and find your own little drama to ponder, all the while remembering, “Writing IS life.”.
Tonight, at least 21 happy families and children will come to Room 56 to begin our journey together through 1st Grade. There will be moping. Tears. Fear. Hesitation. Terror. And then, I’ll breathe deeply and know God brought all these children and me to Room 56 with his love, mercy, and divine wisdom. Knowing that, it makes tonight all the more exciting.
I have one more day to get the room in order. I still have teacher cabinets that need straightening, and a very messy desk that needs to be put in order. The children are covered and that’s all that matters. As Kindergartners, they already have a full year under their belts. I’m sure they’ll fill me in on important details.
At church, members have been telling me about the most wonderful Kindergarten teacher who works at my school. She’s been absent from church for awhile, but everyone assured me that she is one of the very best around.
Yesterday, as I worked on name tags and seating arrangements, the sweetest woman came to find me. Yes. Everyone at church had been correct. Lovely in every way, she welcomed me to the school with a hug. Such a connection between my spiritual world and my occupational world occurred. I’ve never experienced this before. It was a little surreal. I’ve been busy making friends, and now, connections are intersecting. I’m starting to know someone who knows someone else I know. That’s the beauty of small town living.
There are many of us at this school. On a certain morning for a few minutes at a certain time each week, we’ll quietly meet as teachers of faith. As she named off Christian co-workers, the names were from all grade levels. Schools have many sides to them. Tiny little details that never get coverage on the news. Very good people from all walks of life choose teaching because they want the best for children everywhere. What a blessing to have met such a wonderful teacher.
“Oh, you have Johnny Bell! I can tell you, he is one of the best students I had last year! You’ll love him! Sally Grenish!!!! Ahhhh, she’s a little shy at first, but hang on to your hat! She is handful! Mitch!!!! What a writer! You are going to have a great year, Joy.! Your kids are wonderful!”
Words I needed to hear from someone who loved them throughout their first year of school.
With that, I must close for today. I’m taking a short break and will be back on Saturday morning to fill you in on all the fun! Until then, I need to remember to breathe in and out, knowing that I’ve got this because I’m covered. God wouldn’t have placed me in this school at this time in my life without blessing me with the proper amount of courage, strength, fortitude, laughter, and wisdom. It’s my time to shine doing something I love. Yes. Teaching is my calling.
Whatever you do today, smile at kids getting ready for school. Know their parents are counting the seconds until they can catch a breath themselves. And so it begins.
To say this has been hot whirlwind of activity wouldn’t even begin to cover the last few days. Just like that, I know 20 beautiful little children that are skipping towards 2nd grade with me. They are bright, inquisitive, and ready to learn. They listen like they have been doing their best in school forever. They are Nevada at its finest.
In my class, I have a perfect blend of boys and girls. I’ve discovered they love to talk, their not shy, and they adore dancing. They giggle a little while still trying to figure me out. They are beginning readers. They can read Max the Cat, you know.
They KNOW people don’t have eyes in the back of their heads, BUT, they aren’t sure about Mrs. Hurt. She’s a teacher, you know. Teachers are different. They know they need to move so they are not squashed by my Size 11 shoes. They know how to sit crisscross-applesauce. If you don’t understand, don’t worry. You aren’t a 1st grader.
When I asked them to describe their first day in class, they all responded that they were sad. I get that. Sadness is true and deep when you are six and need to leave Mom at a big door. Even more true when Mom is crying. Independence is a tough badge to earn with the first day of First Grade is a milestone. They’re big kids now.
I’ve used my lunch box ice brick to help a child’s bumped kneed. I have wiped tears and hugged away loneliness. I forgot what wonderful hugs 1st graders can give. Just out of nowhere. Hug. “Now, class, we are going to….” Hug. Hug. “What is 1 + 0?” Hug. Hug. Hug. Spontaneous. First Graders are just that. A wonderful pint size package of spontaneity.
It is still desert hot here. We are not allowed to prop open doors for obvious reasons. The bad guys have won, stealing fresh air from children. Our huge, west facing windows do not open. Although tinted very darkly with shades over them, the heat blasts through. The AC is still not working, being an ancient unit. AC parts are so hard to get right now. This is truly a supply chain nightmare. All this is no fault of our amazing Mechanical Marvin. He fixes everything at the drop of a hat. This problem is bigger than me, the school, or even the district. IT ISN’T THAT NO ONE CARES. There’s no blame necessary, as everyone scrambles to make due for now.
This is a life lesson and I am learning from the littles. You dress accordingly. You sweat some and carry on with a smile. Years ago, I would have been a grumpy mess about this, but, as you know, grumpy solves nothing. Children accept what is. Not one of my littles, mind you, has cried about the heat. It is sweltering. Not One. I have learned patience from these kiddos.
Not one of them has complained about anything. They are so happy to be in school. And, this is the reward of it all.
Every story must have drama and mine has plenty. So much so that I continue with the fretful part of my story.
As you all know, I just completed my college class. I could’ve learned from my littles then, as I complained a bushel about the last assignment. I earned a perfect score and got an A, by the way. Glory be!!!
My credential has been locked because I didn’t hadn’t completed this one class. I WAS retired. I was assured that as soon as the State of Nevada received the transcript it would be unlocked. Everything has taken time. The professor had to grade 20 culminating assignments. The University had to process my order for transcripts and then send them. The State of Nevada must process them which is now the biggest snag of all. No sign that has happened and school is now in Week 2.
After 22 years of teaching without one hint of a problem, my career could end because of State bureaucracy. Not overly dramatic. Quite true. The district is in a pickle. They hired a teacher some technical difficulties. I found out the severity of this problem 15 minutes before Back to School Night began, leaving me shaken. My career could be over if this isn’t fixed, and fixed now. I have until October 11th for the State to process this application.
My job performance? Spot on. My relationships with co-workers? Growing every day. Student performance? Outstanding. My happiness level? Through the roof. But. Because of this glitch…. it may turn out to be one of the saddest losses of my life. If I would have had any idea, I would have never applied to a school district that is so desperate for teachers. And no. I’m not working as a long term sub. It’s the full credential, as I was promised by state workers, or nothing.
Cliff hanger, right???
I’m taking the day off from my littles on Monday to travel one hour away to the Mother Ship. Nevada Department of Education. I will sit on my favorite bench and be there right at 8 AM. There, the two little people that told me this would be resolved so quickly will help me, or I’m not leaving. My account will be unlocked, so I can submit my $180 fee, get fingerprinted and get on with my year. Or, I may face devastating news that this won’t be resolved until Christmas, at which point, I will face some heartbreak.
I will need to focus on my coffee cup that says “She believed she could, so she did.” And then, Oliver and I will need to take a very long road trip across the country, or something else wild and free. Sometimes, the best laid plans go awry.
Now, I wait until Monday.
Before then, I have many things to prepare. I need substitute plans and materials for Monday and the rest of the week. Somewhere between now and then, I need to mow the lawn, do the laundry, clean Winterpast, order more on Amazon, and rest.
Life is interesting. God is teaching me patience, and showing me wonder. Each day as I walk the halls of my new school, I pray for our safety and for the goodness of teachers, administration, and kids. I pray for fall to arrive quickly to give us relief from this heat. I pray for more monsoon rains cool us. And I pray that I will be a teacher when my littles walk out the door towards summer.
Enjoy whatever you choose to do today. Find something that makes your heart sing a jaunty little tune. Even in the worst situations, find the lesson you need to learn. For me, its tolerance, patience, and maturity. This will just be the beginning of a great year of stories. I know it. Please pray for great answers on Monday. My students and I are depending on it.
Yesterday, putting this entire credential mess out of my head, I turned my attention to more pressing matters. For goodness sakes, I can’t change the slow pace of government and all state agencies are closed on Saturday. When trouble hits, I tend to fixate on specifics. Long ago, I learned a wonderful technique. I’ll only allow myself to worry during the hours the problem can be fixed. Government offices are open 8-5, M-F. Those are my worry hours. Then and only then.
So many things I left by the wayside last week. Laundry. The lawn. Mopping and vacuuming. Washing the car. Grocery shopping. Check off all those things, because this woman was on fire. I love days like that when accomplishments stack up like fire wood.
The neighbor across the street has now moved, and Ninja Neighbor held an estate sale for them yesterday. People were coming and going, which was an odd feeling for our neighborhood. It was crawling with strangers. I went over to see the house, which was lovely in every way. They have a solarium, which is a nice idea, but maybe not facing to the sun in the summer. All in all, I won’t be selling Winterpast to move across the street, even though they had a beautiful soaking tub.
It was there I ran into another widow who’s been healing her broken heart just a few doors away. We started talking and another miracle occurred. She is now experiencing what I experienced this summer. Isolation and loneliness. With the walls closing in, she’s ready to go back to work. She would love a dinner partner once in awhile. Translation — another new girlfriend! All these things happened when I turned my frustration over a silly credential to my very real and blossoming life.
Oliver was in heaven. He moved from this bed to that one, all the while keeping a watchful eye on his Mom-Oh. He’d been scheduled for puppy camp, however, an outbreak of kennel cough canceled that plan. I am so glad he didn’t go. Oliver and I are having the best weekend together.
With happiness growing in every nook and cranny of Winterpast, my focus finally turned back to my credential and I decided to check my emails. It was then I couldn’t believe my eyes.
Utter amazement.
“Your credential issue has been resolved. You are now allowed to reapply for your Nevada Teaching Credential. Go to our website immediately. Blah. Blah. Blah.”
Shrieking with excitement, I first called K. She’s my go-to. Aren’t all daughters your go-to? I so missed out earlier in life. Anyway, K was happy for me. Immediately, my focus turned to business.
On the website, a very long line of checkmarks awaited me. One by one, data was entered and red check marks turned green. Two hours later, my email arrived.
“Your application is complete. Get fingerprinted now!”.
The long awaited email had arrived. Fingerprinting is mandatory for every teacher and necessary to be cleared to teach. On Monday, I will be printed.
Another string of miracles had just occurred.
Just Thursday morning, a voice told me to email my principal and request a release day to settle this problem at the Nevada Department of Education. She wasn’t too keen on the idea but agreed this problem needed immediate resolution. She arranged a substitute.
Monday, I’ll check in with the Mothership to make sure everything is really in order. From there, I need to travel one hour to the Biggest Little City to the West for fingerprinting. And then, I’ll travel back home on the interstate. Just driving that loop will take 2.5 hours. Things aren’t next door around here. Add the wait time, it will take me most of the day to complete these two tasks.
Later in the day, I ran right into one of my gal pals at the grocery store. It’s impossible to go anywhere in town without running into friends these days. I love it! Anyway, SHE is going West on Monday and would like to meet for an early dinner. Well, HECK YES!!!! We’re going to a little place that uses only locally grown products in their foods. I can’t wait to find out more about her new shop, opening October 1st. Mainstreet Flowers!!! What luck to have a friend that has access to beautiful plants and flowers. I can’t wait to learn about everything she is doing to prepare for her new venture over a delicious meal.
Disaster avoided.
I’m settling in with my students for a wonderful year. I love each and every one of them. They already listen and work their hardest. They are good friends with the nicest parents. I have grade level co-teachers that are kind, dedicated, and funnier than any teachers should be. My principal covers us all with her protective wings and best intent.
It just doesn’t get better than this.
Have a wonderful Sunday. I’m going to enjoy a leisurely breakfast and then prepare for church. I have lunch plans after with the girls. Oliver understands and will watch the back yard for signs of intruders. You know, toads and lizards. Team work makes the dream work.
Smiling from ear to ear after completing the application for my credential, I ran off to the grocery store for Saturday supplies. I drink Folgers coffee and have since my first cup in 1973. Never much considered of the price of coffee, it being so much cheaper to make it at home. After 50 years of drinking a certain brand, it’s just habit to buy the same thing.
Well, shiver me timbers!
The price of a tiny container of coffee was $15.79. This is FOLGERS. Did I mention the TINY container? Not the mega one I usually order. This tiny little container would last me a week, at best. Our Discount store in town doesn’t carry any major brands. Period. They just deal in off brands. I might add, this was a sale price. The store was PROUD to offer this product as this reduced price
The coffee I buy from Costco comes in a large container. When I got home, I checked the price on Amazon. The pricing was similar to the grocery store, although not quite as high. It was then I decided it was time for a Costco run, online-style.
Bless that store. A huge container is still $14.72. Almost three times as much coffee as the local stores. I bought three. Costco Online is a great way to save money. I also save by avoiding the brick and mortar Costco. Too many temptations. Online, I order the needed staples and call it good. When things arrive in two days, I’ll be stocked up for the fall. Thank goodness I’m lucky to have storage space in my garage.
Strange things are happening all around us. Beware and keep your pantry stocked. I don’t believe the supply chain story anymore. This is something deeper. There seems to be no supply shortage when ordering on-line. Hasn’t been for anything I order from Amazon. But, shockingly, local store shelves are bare of many essentials.
When I lived in Russia, a recurring nightmare haunted my sleep. I would be walking up and down the aisles of Safeway. In 1977, that was my store of choice. Up and down those shiny aisles I pushed a huge shopping cart as the store music played on. I’d buy everything I wanted without hesitation. Oreos. Cashews. Potato chips. A chocolate cake. Ice cream. Just had it all. In my dream, the basket was overflowing, but nothing ever fell off the cart. The store music was sweetly familiar, composed of all my favorites.
Each morning, the dream would end and I would again wake up to the hell known as the communism.
The little town in which I lived had waited ten years for their new grocery store. It opened the summer I lived there and I was given a pass to the front of the line on opening day. Once inside, I almost believed I’d died and gone to heaven. There was cheese. Of course, without the protection of real shrink wrap, flies were zipping in and out of the packaging. Meat and cheese were not sealed properly. Refrigeration cases were cool-ish. A brand new grocery store with flies and fly strips handing overhead. Go figure.
On that first visit, the store could have almost passed for a US version of a grocery store. Almost. There was a little meat. Some cheese. A variety of canned goods. Some produce. A little milk. No frozen section, because most homes had no refrigerators. Some still had no electricity or running water. Tiraspol, Moldavia. 1977.
Communism. Such a great thought.
Not.
Returning one week later, I needed more cheese.
Shock of shock.
Every single aisle in the store, every last one mind you, was full of cans of green peas. From floor to ceiling. Canned peas. The entire center of the store. Canned peas. A sea of them. Not Jolly Green Giant canned peas. These were moldy-grey in color, overcooked in an oily substance that had a putrid odor. I know. I bought six cans that day because there was nothing else to buy in the entire store.
The meat and cheese aisles were never filled again that summer. The milk case stood empty. The only thing in that brand new supermarket was canned peas. Customers went in and out with their little bags of peas, excited the new market had finally opened. I returned to shop the outdoor market where live nutria were on sale for the dinner table. I’d never heard of or seen that critter before. Animals are kept alive until dinner time. It’s better for everyone that way, as there’s no refrigeration.
Fast forward to our own Walmart here in town. First of all, the entire place is a tripping hazard. There are not enough employees to put out the stock. The store is using the “Just in Time” method. There is no storage in the back anymore. Things arrive and are placed on the shelves. Groovy if the supply chain issues didn’t mess that up. So, now, things that didn’t sell are still on the shelves, while new stuff sits in boxes in the middle of the store.
But, I noticed something else. Normal, day to day items are gone from the shelves. For so many years, I could buy my favorite Stone Wheat crackers anywhere. I tried my first one in 1977. Now, they are not to be found anywhere. At the grocery store, an empty spot sits waiting for them to arrive. It’s been empty for three months now.
Again, checking Amazon, I found them. Red Oval Stone Wheat Crackers. Not Keto approved, but so wonderful with cream cheese. Yes. I can get them. Sure. $24 for four boxes. CRACKERS. These are CRACKERS.
After 50 years, maybe I need to change the products I have loved for so long. If I could adjust to losing VST after 50 years, I can adjust to anything. Life is so different now. Somedays, it’s just better to stay home.
Today is not the case. Off I go to the Biggest Little City to the West. I’ll be fingerprinted, again. Again, I’ll be cleared of murder, robbery, and cat burglary. The dust will settle and I’ll be Mrs. Hurt until June 2nd.
Whatever you choose to do today, inventory the important things in your home. Especially necessary medications. Don’t forget your furry friends. Keep a stash of chocolate. They are already talking about shortages for Halloween and Christmas. Oy Vey.
What a productive day I had yesterday! Different than my normal days since August 1 when I received the keys to my classroom. It was a change of scenery and purpose. I needed that more than you know.
Rising early, there was still a mound of work waiting for me. I’m now officially planned for the next two weeks of school. I still have nightly review to be sure I know exactly what I’ll be doing the next day, but to have the bulk of the work done will alleviate a lot of stress. Who knows, maybe I will actually get back to cooking myself a real dinner.
Leaving the house later in the day felt strange. Like I was doing something sinister. I should’ve been in my classroom preparing for my day with the littles as the Jeep flew down the road towards the Department of Education and then, Fingerprinting Express (FE). It is of the FE experience I will focus.
After my meeting at the mothership, it was on to FE in the biggest little city town to the north of the capital city to the east of me. The associates were bustling about getting ready for the onslaught of people coming for their services. I watched as they even mopped the floor. The place was immaculate. I was amazed at how many people need fingerprints from the DOJ. From police and teachers to ladies of the night. Everyone comes to one spot. FE.
I remember the first time I had fingerprints taken. It was in Virginia City, and let me tell you, it was creepy. Here I am in my mom jeans and hoodie, waiting for someone to help me. The jailer came to the front of a tiny jail and asked if I needed something. I told him “Fingerprinting”. His entire demeanor changed.
“Well, let me be the one to help you.”
This guy was linebacker big and cowboy strong. Quickly grabbing me by the elbow, he steered me into the actual jail. It would be there he would strong arm ten fingerprints out of me, rolling each finger in ink and onto a paper card. The one prisoner, (Judy Black’s suspected murderer husband), was within earshot of me. I was in the bowels of the jail. Bench seats had chains and handcuffs suspended on the wall above.
“Do I need to be handcuffed?”
His steel blue eyes were cold. He just looked at me and I gave him the first hand. Now, fingerprinting is tough for me. You need to relax your fingers and the person taking the fingerprints rolls them. Of course, in VC, there is not electronic anything. The guy didn’t even have on gloves. He just grabbed and rolled, five times on each hand. I must say, I felt sufficiently intimidated while promising myself I would never get in trouble in VC. EVER.
I LOVE VC’s Sheriff and deputies. They are the kindest men and women, always ready to help. They helped me so much the day VST died. But, I would not want to be arrested there. I think there are two sides to that story.
Yesterday was an entirely different situation. FE is in a strip mall store front. It almost looks like a kiosk you might find in Las Vegas or Universal Studios. Everything is done digitally, even registration. After waiting a little while, they called my name. The room where the prints are taken was dark. Very dark. Not tripping-because-you-can’t-see-dark, but almost.
The fingerprints were all done digitally and immediately forwarded to the Department of Education through my portal. In one day, I went from a locked account to a fully-licensed State of Nevada Credentialed teacher. The only thing that changed is that I’m $180 poorer and I have been fingerprinted at FE. Life goes on.
Now the fun begins. My grade book is set up with enduring standards and a few grades. I have appropriate lessons that will coincide with Common Core Standards. Funny. Just a few years ago, that was the phrase about which everyone was upset. Now, there are many things much worse. CCS’s just give teachers exact areas on which to focus for each grade level. Example. A first grade focus is phonics. The details can be found in a CCS. You can look them up per grade level. Teachers need to know the skills their students are to master during the year. It drives the curriculum.
On the way home, I happened to see an RV dealership with a row of travel vans. My Jeep turned off and I found myself in the showroom talking to a very nice salesperson. In the heat, he showed me several possibilities. A travel van has been on my bucket list for awhile. My silly dream of returning to the road. After two hours with this man, I can tell you one thing I have learned.
FERGETABOUTIT.
That ship has sailed into the night. I barely drive my pickup because of the size. Standing next to the vans, I realized all the reasons I will not be RVing anymore. The best part of that realization is that its okay. I am fully able to stay in any hotel I choose. Some may even include room service. All hotels accept dogs, so Oliver may or may not come with me. I can pack my Jeep full of every little essential I need and next summer, off we will go.
Sometimes in life, one needs to know when to hold ’em and when to fold ’em. Yesterday was a wonderful day to accept the fact that my RV memories are wonderful, BUT, I need to make no more. That door is closed.
Driving home on the interstate, I took time to think of all the ways I have grown in the 2.5 years since VST left. It amazes me. I’m not that scared, frail woman who didn’t drive for 6 years. I am steering my own life and doing well. Not to say that an unplanned flat tire or wrong turn won’t change my course again. Things will surely happen. But for this moment in time, life is wonderful. For that I’m truly grateful.
Take time today to think of the next year and consider possible adventures. If you don’t dream it you can’t scheme it. Right?
Whatever “normal” is. At least a New normal. My littles are a resilient little bunch. Even with an older gentleman substituting, they did their job wonderfully. I received a nice note from the substitute about the class and their behavior. The usual suspects were on the list for both good and not so good accomplishments. The huge stack of work that I’d prepared was completed. All seemed to have gone as planned.
But as with any absence, it takes a minute to roll back into routine, especially when a routine is just being established. That’s for both the children and me, by the way.
Preparing dinner for one isn’t something I enjoy, or even want to do on a good day. And after being with 20 littles from 8-3:30, I want three things. Low light, a cold room, and food service. At least two days a week, I’m going out for dinner. Not sure where, but I’m going out for dinner. It might even be to the city to the east. A drive might just do me good. I’ve exhausted all meal options in my town.
How is it that a town of over 20,000 can’t have a descent restaurant? Even the roach coaches that frequent the town are better than the stick and brick establishments. Dismal at best. Yesterday, I went to one of the six restaurants in town. It’s in a casino just on the east side by out of town park. I parked in a full parking lot, realizing this must be the place for the best food ever.
Not even.
Everyone was crowding in for the hot game of bingo. As I ate in hamburger and sweet potato fries in glorious solitude, the bingo guy droned on. For those of you that know me well, Hamburger and sweet potato fries is the only thing on the menu for me. The buns need to be grilled, there better be no “Secret Sauce” or mayo, and the meat need not be pink. Simple. Or it should be.
The loud speaker blared in the restaurant with Bingo numbers. I had to laugh at the voice of the man calling numbers. He sounded like he had smoked something other than cigarettes, had a few to many drinks during the day, OR just got done teaching 20 littles.
“B-4”.
An extra long pause.
“N-#”. Another extra long pause.
“O-something.”
“1,000 to the gal in the blue.”
My ears perked up at that.
$1,000?
Maybe I’m in the wrong game.
After finishing my dinner in a darker, cold, somewhat quiet restaurant, I drove home. Oliver was overly excited to greet me, for one reason only.
Dinner.
I was 30 minutes past his dinner. How could I? He was crazed after a day of crazy. I hate kennel cough. Oliver’s vacations at puppy camp help both him AND me. We get cabin fever. I’ll be glad when the kennel cough season is over. We’ll both appreciate his next visit all the more.
After one more hour the work of grading papers and entering grades in my grade book, it was finally time to stop. Last night’s soak in the hot tub was like a trip to the spa and Christmas all rolled into one. I’m so blessed to live in a silent neighborhood with brilliant sky hanging over the loveliness of Winterpast. I think I’ve never enjoyed the spa as much as I did during last night’s late summer sunset.
With that my day was over. It was filled with drama, the details of which I cannot speak. There were intense moments in which the teacher won, because this teacher always wins. There were sensitive moments of shared hugs, both adult and little. There was plenty of heat amid the ongoing saga of the broken air. There was a sweet apology wrapped in a smile and lots of work.
All this takes me back to the fall of 1996 when I was a brand new teacher with a brand new set of 1st grade littles. These adorable little kiddos were my first educational responsibility and they taught me so much. The very first girl who read her very first book while sitting very close to me made me cry. Remembering it as if it was yesterday, she is my inspiration. It wasn’t an easy journey for her to become a real reader, but, she made it. I know. I was the first person to whom she read an entire book.
Other things have made me cry through my 22 year career.
Mean, egotistical, vindictive principals and superintendents. A moldy room that made my littles and I sick for one whole year. The fencing of a community playground, ending weekend use. The death of 35 children over the course of 5 years as a hospital teacher. Useless spending of tax dollars. Wasted time on senseless professional development. Mean parents. Abused and psychologically abused children. The murder of a student. Cancer in a co-teacher.
Having lived out school drama for that many years, there was bound to be every kind of celebration and tragedy known to life. After all is said and done, school is just a micro-community.
I can’t explain how this summer of miracles has changed my life for the better. It’s become my favorite summer of all. That’s saying a lot because I hate summer with a passion. I’ve learned more about myself in the past three months than I have in a very long time.
I am finding that I’m stronger than I thought. Even though I’m exhausted at the end of the day, it’s a welcome feeling. I have tangible benchmarks and end goals that affect the lives of 20 littles. I’m teaching them about respect, kindness, goodness, and friendship. I’m also teaching them about time management and pride in a job well done.
How did I ever think for one moment that I was too old to teach? For goodness sake, I’m at my prime. So far, although physically beat up at the end of the day, by morning I’m repaired. With the right shoes and a good attitude, I plan to make it to June 2nd healthier and down a few pounds. That’s a win-win.
All Green is a Good Thing –Realistic Stock Photo — Not my school
Ahhh, the fire drill. Today is the first of many throughout the year. In 22 years, I’ve helped lead children through many fire drills, but this one feels different. Too many school tragedies make the serious nature of emergency procedures heavy and all consuming. I don’t see that my class feels that because they are so very small. I hope they don’t.
We have been practicing forming straight lines and walking quietly in the halls. Oh my. Have you ever tried to nail Jello to a tree? Or bagged lightning? These kiddos are adorable busy every second of the day. Their minds are absorbing every detail. They know incredible facts, with brains that race a million miles a minute. But, their bodies are 6 and 7. And, we have a serious lack of teeth in our group. I guess I fit in that respect.
The drill starts with ear shattering alarms, piercing the brain. I am sure these are heard in the next county. Why they are at that decibel in a room full of littles, I have never figured out. Along with the unsettling buzzing, there is are two strobe lights that flash repeatedly. This is to alert the deaf. Well, might be after the intense noise. Between the two parts of the alarm, the children must race to their pre-designated place in line. In seconds, we will be walking across the gravel playground towards the land of the lawn.
Movement must be in a speedy but silent straight line. I must grab the class roster and my paddle and three squares of paper. A green, a yellow, and a red. I hold up the green if I have my entire class with me. A yellow if one student is gone receiving services, like speech, or the red if there is someone that is unaccounted for. I’ve had principals that would sneak kids away just to throw a wrench in the drill.
This blaring and flashing lasts until every child, (almost 700) at our school, is accounted for. Usually within 15 minutes, we are back to penmanship and our ABC’s. Pretty amazing, actually. I hope today goes well. My class if full of amazing children. They need to rise to the occasion and do their best. I already know of four that melt down with loud noises. These littles have been through the wringer with Covid. They are survivors.
We have just started the chapter book, The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe by CS Lewis. It is my very favorite read aloud, and I’ve read my copy to a countless number of children. I’ve never wanted to see the movie because it would destroy my own thoughts of Narnia. I’ve never read the other books in the series. Just this one is enough.
At first, I didn’t know if they would even be able to follow a story without pictures. Boy was I wrong. They are glued to every word. Even my most busy students are listening. The next day, we review what we read and go on. As we finished Chapter One yesterday, they were disappointed that we had to stop. So was I.
We’ve now experienced the first indoor thunderstorm of many. During an indoor thunderstorm, the children take three books and find a spot where they can stay “dry”. For 20 blissful minutes, we read quietly. Zero level voices. Mind on reading. When everyone gets ready, (just before the first hint of thunder, of course), the storm begins. Thank goodness for the blessing of a good cd player. Yesterday, every foot was under a table while every child was enjoying a great book. I haven’t met a kid yet that didn’t enjoy a good old indoor thunderstorm. I remember having a few when I taught continuation high school. Something are just too fun to miss. For somethings, we are never too old.
My grade book is filling up while my grading is stacking up. The dust bunnies again form along my baseboards. By 7 PM, I am completely exhausted in the best way ever. I hope I manage to tired my littles out because they do me in.
Friday afternoon has new meaning. A group of teachers meet every after school at a popular spot in town. From 3:30 – 6:30, they become regular women that have created magic for an entire week. With superpowers of kindness, love, compassion, and empathy at a low, they meet to regenerate for a weekend with family and friends. This sounds like the healthiest idea yet. I plan to join them this week.
That’s the news of the day. I’m off to prepare for the 9:20 event. Please keep me in your prayers. I’m really trying my best to stay out of trouble.
I’ve decided Thursday is the longest day of the week. I think someone snuck 6 extra hours in there somehow. All between the hours of 8:40 and 3:05. I have busy little hombres to control. As the children are becoming more comfortable, they are now showing themselves. Whew! What a bunch!
In our room there is every type of personality known to mankind. The only additional challenges I’m not facing are language barriers. I better not say that too soon, or I’ll get another student. Most of them are still six. I remind myself of that so many times in a day. When dealing with a group of kids like this, I have very high expectations because they are very bright children. Already, I’m seeing improvements. It’s a slow journey to January 9th, 2023, when they will transform into Almost-2nd-Graders.
In a typical day, one must be ready for fire alarms, unplanned messages over the intercom, visitors coming and going through the room, children running in, children escaping. Trip and falls that result in blood on the knee. Bloody noses. Frantic children racing to get to the bathroom. Children needing help with their math questions. All the while, the AC has been “fixed”. My room remains at 94 degrees in the afternoon.
I would suppose working in sweat shop conditions is shrinking my carbon footprint. I’ve noticed that 78 degrees when I arrive home feels absolutely bone chilling. Of course, I’m seeing red while being more environmentally green during the day.
Having a 30 minute, duty free lunch is glorious, except noon aides aren’t available, so we handle that, too. I think I got an 18.5 minute lunch yesterday. People always comment on how fast I eat. After 22 years of teacher lunches, you learn to pack a lot into 18.5 minutes. You listen to co-workers worst case scenarios and silently thank God he gave you the kids he did. You tell your worst and co-workers are saying that same prayer to themselves. God never messes up the class lists. He gives you the students you need.
After that exchange, there is barely time to speed eat, take a potty break, grab your whistle and get the kids. The days race by one after another while the kids learn and grown.
I’m happy to report that I didn’t misplace anyone at the end of the day. At least, I haven’t heard if I did. One student tried. Thank goodness for a tag team of administrators that stepped in and corrected the situation. I’m too old to chase anyone, let alone a little at 3:05 PM.
With every last Mustang (our mascot) rounded up and accounted for, I rolled out of Room 56 with my cart full of homework at 3:40, ten minutes after my duty day ended. Arriving yesterday at 5:30 AM, there is only so much time I should be giving away. It doesn’t come at the end of the day in a room that is 94 degrees and “fixed”. Besides, in my rolling cart at least two hours of homework is waiting.
After picking up pizza and a salad, I made it home to dark, cold, and quiet with a side of a snuggly pup. Oliver is handing our new schedule like a champ. I have a dog now and not a nutty puppy. As long as he has his meals on time, he isn’t too upset about my absence. He’s so happy to see me at the end of the day. His wiggles and antics make my day complete.
I need this weekend to regroup, plan, and carry on with next week. I’ll be back on Monday with a report on the antics at the afterschool meeting I’m attending tonight. What a marvelous idea to meet with adults after work. I’m planning to enjoy every single minute. They already know the darkest, coldest, and quietest place in town and let me in on the secret. It’ll be a new place for me. I feel lucky to have been invited to the inner circle of our school. I can’t wait to enjoy a wonderful evening with great teachers.
This is a first for me. Living in the last bit of civilization before Gerlach, Nevada and BURNING MAN! How could I have forgotten that I should be ready? Due to Covid, Burning Man hasn’t been held the last two years. This weekend would be my first experience as a local.
Burning Man is a one week extravaganza in which people I do not understand fly, drive, crawl, bus, or bike all the way to the PLAYA to camp in the desert sun for one week. I must remind you, it is still very, very hot here. Desert hot. 100 degree + hot. The Playa offers no relief from the heat. The Playa is an ancient sea bed. Dry as a bone. Everything necessary must be trucked in and trucked out, including 2.5 gallons of water for each person, per day.
VST and I were once RVing and noticing vehicles covered in whitish-grey moon-dust. I mean covered. We didn’t understand what it was all about until someone explained that they were “Burners”, the name given to anyone who goes to Burning Man.
After a day with littles, I’d stopped by Subway to get Friday night Dinner-Lunch-Dinner in the form of a 12″ Cali-Fresh Turkey on Whole Wheat. This is now my favorite sandwich after a long day at work.
I had to wait for a very long time due to call in orders. Each order included five foot longs. This takes a minute to put together, so the sandwich artists and I started to talk.
“Well, they’re here, you know.”
Hmmmmm. Just exactly was this “They” referred to by the sandwich artist?
Seeing my confused expression, he continued.
“The “Burners”, Dude. They’re all over town. Buying out Walmart right now. You need to go over there and check it out.”
These “Burners” come from around the globe. Every part of our area is impacted. The airports are bustling. Transportation. RV rental stores. Everyone waits all year for the “Burners” because they drop lots of cash as they go on their merry way. In fact, the Subway was almost out of oil and vinegar for the sandwiches. That is only one very tiny example.
Although I haven’t been grocery shopping, I heard the shelves are bare. No more dairy, fruits, or vegetables. This wave of strangers wipe out the town twice every year, with their arrival and the following weekend with their departure. Our town is the last and first civilized spot they come to on their journey. We get hit the hardest. A city of around 60,000 people just stopping by.
These partiers profess love, kindness, and total respect for the environment, but each year, they leave behind thousands of pounds of trash, including at least 5,000 bikes. No error there. 5,000 discarded bicycles on public lands. It takes weeks to cart away the bicycles. They are often given away for free. I thinking of driving up to Gerlach next weekend to grab one.
With curiosity in a frenzy, I had to drive to Walmart to check it out. The parking lot was a sea of RV’s. But, there was something else very strange. Strategically placed at the end of the parking lot were 7 or 8 huge industrial sized dumpsters. These were all brimming with discarded packaging and garbage bags. Oh, I see. Totally environmentally friendly anywhere buy our little town, now left with the duty of discarding their trash at our small transfer station. It all makes perfect sense. Just leave the trash at the wide, dusty spot in the road off the interstate. No one will ever know the difference. Except the residents that actually live there.
The towns people here are amused with the antics of the burners. Even more so with the money they spend. The roach coaches were in full swing, as the number of restaurants are limited right now. Walmart was “burned” again this year. Now, we wait until they leave. Then things can return to normal.
One of the more bizarre stories is the legend of the woman that went into Walmart covered in body paint of the American flag. That’s all. Just paint. I hear she was asked to leave almost immediately, but not until a few hundred shoppers had time to look in amazement at the stars and stripes. Only at Walmart, for sure. Almost never in my little town, also for sure.
If you are interested in a front row seat, Google “Live Feed Burning Man”. It is a pretty good overhead shot of the playa and a video of how things are going. Tens of thousands of festival goers locked in a fence in the desert for one week. No one goes in or out once the gates shut. Only “Burning Man Rules”. Nothing can go wrong, right?
How did the internet capture my classroom so perfectly? The only difference is that the other ten would be talking, writing on the desk, hiding under them, poking Sally, making faces at Ben, asking for drinks or bathroom breaks, and otherwise not attending to the task of learning.
Oy Vey.
What was I thinking??????????
That’s the very point.
I WAS thinking.
This is the most fun EVER!!!!!!
My kiddos make up a deliciously adorable little group of people, truly the best I could’ve ever hoped to meet. I also have one adult in my classroom. I will name her the Goddess of All Things Right and Pure. She is not an Aide. She is my right hand adult in a sea of littles. Together we see all, hear all, and correct all. I am so blessed to have another grown up in the room. Without her, I would be at a definite disadvantage.
Miss Goddess has been at this awhile. She is a beautiful and quiet woman who is assigned to one particular child, while helping three others, as well. She is cheerful and competent. She has wonderful suggestions about improvements that are helpful. I trust her opinions about the things that are going on in Room 56. We laugh at the same antics and I love her already. I am blessed that she is there.
I plan to round up the moms very soon. Any mom that identified herself as a possible helper in the classroom will be commissioned. These children will learn in a quiet and focused environment if it is the death of me.
I will say that their attention is improving every single day. I’m getting more eyeballs on the teacher. Their writing is improving, even though they don’t know exactly what they are doing. Today, we need a lesson on how to hold a pencil, which most do not know. I still need to corral my left handers to give them some aide. The list of details is endless.
I’ve started assessing the words they know to find reading levels. Most are below Kindergarten level. A lot of improvement will be made this year. To be a grade level reader is our goal. I’m sure after testing the entire group, I’ll have some readers at 2nd grade level and some at Pre-Kinder. That’s the world of the classroom. One size doesn’t fit all.
Now, I’m in no way saying these kids are naughty children. They just don’t know what a real classroom is like. They are still wondering where the playtime, graham crackers, and milk went. Believe me, I’m wondering about where my daily Noon-Nap went. Retirement is just a fuzzy memory. Adjusting, we’re all finding our way in to the second day of the third week of school. Seems like yesterday that I interviewed? The time has flown and now the school by which I drove for two years is my daytime home.
The AC is “fixed but not working well”, according to a supervisor. No kidding. Nice until lunch followed by a brutal three hours of 90+ degrees. Everyone leaves at 3:30 when the day ends. It’s just too hot. Funny, no administrators come to my room in the afternoon. It would be lovely to see them in professional dresses and suits. I hope they come to watch a lesson at 2 PM. We look forward to their visit, as long as it is in the afternoon.
1st Grade Teachers are thinking about a field trip to the pumpkin patch. It’s still under consideration, as we all have classrooms full of very busy people. 105 littles on buses to a farm doesn’t seem like good thinking on paper. But then, neither does teaching 1st grade at 66.
I do find that I’m not so exhausted at the end of the day. Why, just yesterday I had enough energy to defrost some homemade spaghetti sauce and boil some noodles for dinner. That’s a step in the right direction. Last night, my grading only took an hour. I’m organized for the day. Things can only get better from here.
Yesterday, we worked through another guided drawing lesson. It’s so cute to watch them drawing. The resulting pictures warm my heart. We drew “Pete, the Cat” yesterday. Everyone was serious and trying to get their picture just right. Yes. 6 and 7 year old children are people at their finest in every way. I’m one lucky teacher.
This weekend is one that will be quiet and reflective. I plan to celebrate Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. Monday will mark 35 years ago since I ran into VST at our 14/15th combined class reunion. A catered barn dance under the stars. A night that changed my life forever. He was 33, I was 31. Looking back, we were kids with kids. I haven’t planned all the festivities for this weekend, but there will be some laughter and some tears, I’m sure. I may need to call on the gal pals for dinner.
But, days away from the 5th, I need to focus. With Oliver fed and a shower and blog finished, I need to scramble some eggs and get on my way to school. The morning hours are calm and reflective. I can dream of all the things we’ll finish throughout the day. Thinking of the day before, I again move children from one spot to another, finding the one spot that the talking will be the least.
The 2022-23 school year goes on. It will be grand in every way. We’ll make it so.
Hard to believe it’s Wednesday and August 31st. Good riddance to my least favorite month other than January. August is hell in the desert. At least in January, I can add layers of clothes. Heck in January, there’s always the chance of a random snow day.
Big plans are brewing for our Nevada Day Celebration as well as Veteran’s Day. I need to volunteer for some committees, but right now, I’m dancing as fast as I can just staying graded and prepared for the next day.
Nevada Day was officially celebrated on October 31st for years until the date was changed to the last Friday of October. Not every state has their own day, but we do. It’s a big celebration with parades and parties. Our school will be celebrating Halloween AND Nevada Day on the same day. That’ll be a no brainer for my littles. It’s Halloween. To heck with anything else.
In my neighborhood, there isn’t much action on Halloween. I guess that’s because I leave my lights off and hunker down in my bedroom. It isn’t much fun to wait for kids that don’t come because of the secluded nature of the neighborhood. Night in the desert is extremely dark. Our neighborhood is short on street lights. Thank goodness.
School has been hopping and it’s something to behold. Children treating property and adults badly. Never have I ever. So far, all onboard my ship are doing fine. There’s no time for disrespect, as I’m keeping them fully occupied while EARNING their respect. They are earning my respect, as well. But, other situations have arisen outside our classroom that are disheartening. And yes, some of mine were guilty.
People, even the little ones, are full of rage these days. Tied up inside and ready to explode. Littles lash out. Cry. Scream. They show signs of anxiety and fear. The world we live in is taking a toll. For that sadness, my heart hurts. They are littles and should be able to enjoy being just that. Little.
For this year, I’m in charge of teaching my littles to imagine. Today, we are going to take the afternoon and write an imaginary story about taking a trip to Disneyland. Half of my students have not been. Today, I’m going to front load them with images of Disneyland and maybe a couple videos. Then, we are going to write our story together. They will illustrate. Each student will add a part. It should turn out really cute. One for the wall on large colorful chart paper.
It’s time to change up my bulletin board outside my door to a fall theme. So many to choose from, Amazon will help me out. I just want this year to be full. Full of everything I’ve loved over the years. Mostly, full of children that learn so much it fills them up and spills out their ears. I hope I can get them to LOVE school. So far, they’re learning they can’t just race around like feral kittens. This is taking a toll on our learning minutes, but if not now, when?
Yesterday, after an extremely tough time with one little, we were together at the bus. There are some children’s names that wake a teacher up with a start during the night. After saying said name 56 times in a two hour period, a teacher gets a bit affected. Anyway, she looked up at me with the clearest and sweetest eyes.
“Mws. Huwt,” (her R’s are not strong yet), “I’m will-ly sohr-we about today. I’ll do bettew to-moh-wo.”
Now, that’s a total win.
Working on towards Week 6, which is my witching-week, I see activities occurring that must be squelched. A frisbee and the girl’s bathroom are a terrible combination on a hot day resulting in a lot of cleanup for the students involved. Actually, the same frisbee was also used as a weapon during afternoon recess resulting in an investigation by the Vice Principal. Frisbee is now history. Maybe in the spring.
The new shoes are a little dustier. The back backs are starting to lose their zippers. Mandatory bus pass zipper tags are being removed by parents, causing tears and frustration at the bus line. Kids are starting to go on fall vacations, causing extra work for teachers with the need for vacation packets. School is in full swing.
In a sea of 700 littles, the energy level is incredible. Everything from Kindergarten melt downs to 4th grade shenanigans, our school is a very busy place. I’m just in charge of making sure 20 littles move quietly from one place to another in a straight, quiet, and single line. Try that on for size. A lot can happen at the back of the line if you lead the front. If bringing up the rear, the front has a tendency to wander.
Oy Vey.
Onward and upward. I must run. Time for breakfast and some quiet work time before another day begins.
Whatever you do today, thank a teacher. Think back to your own school days and quietly bless the women and men that helped you through your childhood. I am sure mine are looking down from heaven. I hope they are saying, “Well look at that one. She’s doing alright.”
Yesterday was another blistering day in the desert. The morning temperatures were not that bad. It does seem the AC keeps up until it doesn’t.
Then. It doesn’t.
By the time recess came, I was ready to go stand in the shade with the very dry 102 degree breezes to blow away trickling sweat. Of course, vanity would never let me wear a sleeveless dress without a sweater. Those of you that understand do. Bat wings are more appropriate for bats than ladies.
Yesterday was an active recess duty. The tetherball rope suspended the ball above the reach of the littles. Thankfully our newest teacher, who is only 18 year old, was nimble enough to release it. (She is already one heck of a teacher.)
There were the random cases of bumps and the blues. Racing littles. Hot littles. All very tiny and extremely active. It takes five adults to watch 100+ 1st graders. Even then, we had a boy breach the girl’s bathroom. The bathroom is the only respite from the heat and a great place to play when you are 5 or 6. The echoes are amazing when screaming during true play. And then, there is always the water which is cool and inviting.
Yes.
Yesterday was quite the busy afternoon on the playground.
As a grade level, we made the executive decision to decrease recess minutes from 30 to 20. Being so hot, it made sense to shorten time in the sun for everyone. At 1:35 on the dot, the first whistle blows and everyone freezes. When the second whistle blows, everyone trots off to their designated spots for pick up.
My class lines up in number order. By now, they know their numbers and count off as we enter the room. It’s important during events like fire drills, when stress levels are high. The lunch ladies love it, because the numbers place the children in alphabetical order. It makes everything easier. Number order is a wonderful thing.
Well, I was listening to the hot and tired children count off.
1. 2. 3. 4. 5.
7.
S.T.O.P. RIGHT. THERE.
There must be some kind of mistake. Hot? Yes. But we are missing 6.
Try it again.
1. 2. 3. 4. 5.
7.
Immediately I counted heads.
20 total. One absent. I needed a head count of 19, but only 18 were present.
18 little heads.
One missing!!!!!!!
Scanning the playground, my heart sank. I was on duty. #6 had escaped. The playground was empty. 100% empty. My students and I needed to get out of the heat.
Being in charge of 18 littles is not a post I could abandon. I closed the door, while one remained lost at sea.
Immediately, I bolted across the room to the intercom.
“Yes, Mrs. Hurt.”
“We have a missing child. Girl in pink. Did not return from recess. Please help.”
The other littles were oblivious. This was snack time with a touch of soft music. The overhead lights would be off for 10 minutes, making things feel a little cooler, if only in our imagination. I couldn’t believe there was an empty seat. One little empty seat. My heart was racing.
Continuing to check the playground through the window, the view remained the same. Empty. Gravel filled. Hot as anything. Still swings. Vacant basketball court. No one at the covered tables. My little had vanished.
Morning headlines were racing through my head.
“Mrs. Hurt Loses Her Little”
“One Little on the Run. Last Seen Playing Hopscotch.”
Just then, a heavy knock shock the playground door.
Upon opening it, I found a very tired Vice Principal and one tiny little holding a stolen flower. From where this flower was picked, I haven’t a clue, but it was already wilted. The lost was found.
Where did she go?
A friend can be a friend sometime. Sometimes, it’s straight up “Thelma and Louise”.
Two little girls decided to purposely hide and then go hunt for flowers. School and learning just wasn’t what they had in mind for the afternoon. Flower picking was a better idea.
Thank goodness all ended well. I counted heads frequently until 3:05. Thoughts of a fall fieldtrip to the pumpkin patch are on hold for now. Thankfully, my little Houdini was lost in a locked playground. The pumpkin patch would be another story entirely. We’ll try for a fieldtrip to the Christmas Tree farm. That will give everyone a couple more months to grow.
Whatever you do today, please keep eyes on loved ones. Hold hands crossing busy streets. Don’t lose anyone you love.
Yes. It’s a fact. I’m falling for my littles. But, after all is said and done, they really had me at “Hello”.
It’s hard for me to accept that 35 years ago today I again met VST on a warm summer evening in the Central Valley of California. Not intentionally. Just a random dinner meet-up at our 14th and 15th High School Reunion. Two very wounded people who happened to be good friends in choir sat and sparred over dinner. Who could have predicted the love story that would follow?
I hadn’t wanted to attend the shindig. After all, at that time, I owned and operated a one person house keeping business. As a single mother of two very active and sweet little boys, my dance card was full with school assignments and clients. On the side, I cared for our own little hovel in the barrios of Fresno on a street where the police used my front yard to lob tear gas at the apartments across the street.
On the good side of town, VST had just finished building his own bachelor pad across the street from a school chum we had in common. Peter Ambrose. What a character he was! Smooth as aged cognac, and about the same color, Peter worked the ladies. He had a different date every night of the week, with a steady chain of women in his stable. Peter was never at a loss for companionship. He was a “wealthy cattle baron”, or so he pretended in his mind.
Fast cars and fast women. That was Porsche Peter.
Peter and his family didn’t own a herd of pedigree angus on a huge California ranch. They simply found cheap cattle and fed them out. Dairy calves or cast offs from other herds, the cattle down the street never came to the Ambrose farm in the best of health. To the family’s credit, they healed and fattened their cattle, later sending them to market. They did alright, that crew. Living in a simple farm house in the middle of 20 acres, everyone knew the Portuguese family.
On the evening of reunion, I sat in clothes only hours mine. Hitting Macy’s at 3:00 pm, I put together a cute look of a straight denim skirt, long-sleeved cream cotton blouse, and a red bandana scarf. On my feet, I wore my very first pair of bright red heels. Never had I worn red shoes, but I did that night. It symbolized the anger I felt towards myself for wrecklessly spending $25 hard earned dollars on a party I didn’t even want to attend. At that time, I would collect Coca Cola bottles for the $.05 refund, often being the grocery money I needed to feed my family.
VST, on the other hand, was seeing someone. She had begged and pleaded to be his date to the reunion. As VST would later tell the story, he had one thought in mind.
“Why take sand to the beach?”
VST was learning about the hardcore bachelor life of his bestie, Peter. Thank goodness the high school bass singer I liked so much in high school was still there. He would never get down the bachelor moves because he was stopped in his tracks. He proposed 11 days after the dance. Of course I said “Yes”, never looking back.
So many wonderful things came from that night under the stars. A night that seemed to have crashed and burned before it began. Two people, closed off and angry at the world found each other and a new life. Best friends bloomed into lovers. Two beautiful people found that love was possible again after the pain and sadness of divorce. We lived. We really lived.
$25.00.
A mountain of money to both of us on that night.
$25.00
The best money we ever spent.
On the first anniversary of VST’s death, I chose happiness on that entire day. Setting down the Kleenex box, I put on the very shirt he wore the night we met and danced around the house. I fixed a special chicken dinner, remembering our awkward and angry dinner conversation. Closing my eyes, I remembered his arms around me during our first very slow dance. Every possible memory came back to me that day bringing comfort through a few tears.
VST, I know you’re up there smiling. I hear your slow, deep southern drawl calling me “Darlin'”. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t mourn your absence deep in my heart. That night was one that plays like a current movie in my head whenever I need to remember. We were something together, Dr. H. A force to be reckoned with. Two team mates. Business partners. A married version of “Thelma and Louise”. A couple full of dreams. A connection so deep, even death hasn’t taken you away. It never could.
Life has slowed to rest a moment at the corner of Happy and Content. Each day, I choose happiness in honor of the life we shared. You showed me how to be a great “other half”. You were the “One In A Million Guy” that fell for the prettiest Skoegard girl with the bluest eyes.
Happy Anniversary, VST. As always, I send you my love. Everything is good here on the mortal side. I hope you dance today. Save the last dance for me when I get there. Mrs. H
Thank you for the amazing miracles and blessings you have given me this summer. Scales have fallen away from my eyes, allowing me to see my world as it really is. You have blessed me with countless friends this summer, and now, I have a solid and beautiful foundation on which to place the bricks of my life, one by one. I belong in this desert town, as sure as the desert heat, Zephyr winds, and the mustangs you send to greet me in my yard.
My summer of miracles started with something as simple as renewing my Driver’s License. Such a silly task. Shouldn’t have been a game changer, but it was. I learned I could still focus and retain facts not becoming bogged down on the “What If’s” because 95% of them never happen anyway. I was so scared I wouldn’t pass a test, written or otherwise, that I was ready to be an Uber customer forever. How silly was that? Of course, my license arrived in the mail four days later, renewed for more years than I care to drive.
You brought me my new set of girlfriends, all giggly and wonderful. An assortment of women that share similar traits and goals. We fear the same things and yearn for the same knowledge. The same, yet uniquely different, together we shine like jewels on a crown. These days, wherever I go in this dusty little wide spot in the road, I find them. They text often to check on me. I go to lunch and get plenty of hugs. Your blessings have overflowed and grown me a garden of girlfriends.
I’m getting good at realizing when a miracle really truly occurs. Like finding the energy and organizational skills to run herd on 20 littles at 66 years old. You’ve given me the sweetest kids in town. Even the difficult personalities are beyond adorable with their clear little eyes and amazing hearts. You wanted me to experience the classroom one last magical time, and now, here I sit in a sea of papers. So tired every night, I drop in my tracks at 7:30 to do it all again the next day. Although physically tired, my brain has needed this assignment. Of course, you knew that. These kids will be my 1st Graders long after they have 1st Graders of their own. It just works that way.
You healed my God Mother when she was so darn sick she almost died, not once but on many occasions this summer. You saved her so I can go to her side one more time allowing us to share more secrets and laughs. You gave her the strength to phone me yesterday, making my summer of miracles almost complete. You knew I still need her wisdom and caring. I still need to visit the ocean I love so much to hug the best Auntie in the world.
Now, you’ve introduced a new character into the mix. Someone I have yet to name in this blog made of two years of healing words that have mended my broken world. This person’s life is built on the same solid foundation as mine. Both healing from losses that shook our worlds. Both kind, compassionate, and funny. Both recycled teenagers ready to tear up the town. Appearing out of thin air, perhaps the final miracle in my summer of miracles.
You sent someone that mirrors much of my life. Blending our families from a very early time while both enjoying long term marriages to high school sweethearts. One from a family of five boys. One from a family of five girls. Both from exceptional country families that know how to fix things and make them new again. Both dog lovers, although both severely bitten in the face as children, with almost identical memories of the medical treatment we needed.
God, my life looks a brighter now. New door are opening to experiences for which I have been praying.
My summer of faith, acceptance, boundaries, and patience is about to hand over the reins to my favorite season, autumn. This time around, the season will be brighter. Of this, I have no doubt. Never did I imagine a life could transform as much as mine has during this, my Baptismal year. And I’m only in month 9!
God, you’ve given me more than my share of miracles this summer. I’m blessed beyond measure. If I never received another until you call me home, I would’ve received far more than I ever deserved, the last the one being the one I’ve prayed about the most.
God, in Jesus name, watch over me and the kids today. Our school needs hallways of angels flapping their wings because it’s so very hot. Please let me find a smile for every child in my room, even when they are so 6-ish. Let me find patience for my co-workers and be the good in my world. Take bitterness and hardness out of my heart and let me turn on my light for everyone to see. A smile costs nothing. A hug, the same price.
Thank you, Lord, for this amazing life. Can’t wait to see what’s next!
It’s all come back so easy. Every mentor teacher I’ve ever known whispers to me throughout the day, reminding me of helpful little tips to make the day go smoother. My kiddos are coming right along, learning that our minutes are valuable. High expectations produce wonderful results and I’m amazed at how fast the littles I started the year with are growing into real students.
At this point, we are a classroom family. Yesterday, the sweetest thing happened. It has every year I’ve taught.
A very active little boy was having a hard day. An impulsive 6 year old, he’s one of my youngers. For the first three weeks of school, his name is one blasted through the room.
“Davey.”
“No, Davey.”
“Please sit down, Davey.”
“Davey, we’re waiting.”
DAVEYYYYYYY.”
His mom contacts me every evening to check on his behavior for the day. A teacher needs to be gentle when talking with parents. My expectations are extremely high, as I mentioned. These littles are going above and beyond as they follow my lead. They are kind and funny. I’m expecting them to turn into scholars (which, by the way, they will by the end of the school year).
Good Lemonade has a little lemon for flavor and a lot of sugar for sweetness. I think of that ratio when making a call to parents. Sandwiched thoughts come out in a certain order. Good traits. The problem. Suggestions for a better day. A final compliment. The conversations usually go well.
I always reassure parents that their child is a unique creation. A wonderful work of art. Face it. They all are. Every single one of them. If a teacher doesn’t believe that in her soul, she shouldn’t be teaching. My conversations with Davey’s mom are that way too. Davey is one of my kids, now and forever more.
Yesterday, I was helping my class with their laptops. Consider that picture. 20 littles each with a laptop, working on programs leveled to their ability. Silence. Focus. Learning. Davey needed something but I was helping another child with a problem.
With a little tug on my sleeve, I heard, “Mom……….I mean Mrs. Hurt.”
There it was. Just once more in my life, I was waiting for the sweetest of little slips. Yes. We are a family. Our relationships are intense and critical. Smiling, I turned to help Davey for another time. He is growing into a responsible and respectful Eagle even if his daily Mom reports have a little more lemon than sugar on some nights.
Teaching is full of surprises. Just when I had our day planned so carefully, a wrench was thrown into the works. One of my teaching partners called in sick. There were no substitutes to be found. Yesterday, I had four guests and a ghost (absent student). Five names added to my roster. Five more children added to my class at a critical time for behavior. My students are just getting to know what I expect. Distractions are not helpful.
My room yesterday was the hottest it’s been. Hot air was adding to the sweltering temperature. Not much better than a classroom in India. At least those classrooms have windows that open.
With an afternoon of frazzling complications, recess outside on the gravel playground was a welcome relief. The kids were running off their own frustrations while catching up with the latest news from their friends. All of a sudden, my gal pal teacher friend came quickly, telling me to go look in my room.
There, on my desk, sat the most exquisite bouquet of delicate flowers imaginable. Star Gazer Lilies. White roses. Babies Breath. A work of art. In this sweltering, messy little classroom sat something from the outside world. Delicate, fragile, and right from the florist.
I won’t share the words on the card. Just know, it’s something I will keep forever, the message now etched in my heart.
The rest of the day, I got plenty of questions about my flowers.
Was it my birthday?
No.
Anniversary?
Uh, think again on that one.
Late Labor Day?
Early Columbus Day?????
Younger women would never consider the possibility that a old veteran teacher with her hair in a bun just might have an admirer. My mentor teachers stood open-mouthed and in awe as I left for the day tightly clutching my vase of flowers. The heat in the room was too much for them. They needed to come home to the cool oasis of Winterpast.
Hopefully today will be a better day. With a few more hours of testing, my littles will learn more today. It’s kindness day, so I’ll be wearing my jeans and kindness t-shirt. The one that says, “Kindness is my super power.” I need to make sure my shirt doesn’t lie. It’s all about patience, love, respect, and kindness. Being back in the groove is a delightful place to be.
The dreaded Week 6 waits just around the bend. Throughout my teaching career, I’ve observed that the worst happens during Week 6. Everyone has usually had enough and finally has the courage to say something about it. I’d hoped that the Zephyr winds would blow away past experiences, leaving me to truly enjoy my last year of teaching with littles. Week 6 is just part of my teaching experience. It will come and go.
Yesterday, my room was in the 90’s with only two small household fans to blow a little air. You. Cannot. Imagine. By the end of the day, 6 kids were missing for one reason or another. I wish I had a mom that would take me out of the heat. The only escape is the Office. Sad, but true. The only place in the main building with air. Go figure. Even 15 minutes of AC would help to lower my core temperature. But, that isn’t to be.
Along with the heat, we are coming up on a huge test. Computerized, it is a big one. Hours for littles to sit and think, typing their answers into a glowing screen. 6 year olds. Something isn’t right with this. A few of my kids still don’t know their letters. Such is school in the 2,000’s.
I’ll be gone until next Monday to regroup. A certain gentleman suitor is taking up some of my free time these days. Papers need correcting. My Friday Newsletter needs writing. Oliver needs his ears scratched. And, quite frankly, I need a moment to regroup.
Of course, everything will settle. Week 7 is always a glorious affair. This year will be no different. It’s the Dance of the School Year.
If you have a spare prayer, please send it my way. Cover the teachers and children in my school with good wishes. Please pray that everyone lives through this heat.
There are just some weekends so special and rare, they are for the history books. Dinner company so compatible that one wonders where the time went when the check arrives way before the night should be through. Thoughtful gestures so kind that it makes one happy to be alive. This last weekend was full of those things, overflowing with one special moment after another.
Friday afternoon at 3:30 the weekend was ripe was possibilities. Starting things off by sharing a meal, surely the next few days were headed in a wonderful direction.
On an given Friday night, there’s nothing better than pizza for dinner. On Friday, that certain Marine hand-delivered a Take and Bake pizza to one exhausted teacher. With the correct ratio of cheese to sauce to meat, the dinner was the perfect ending to a wonderful week with students. Of course, the quality of the pizza wasn’t the focus. Laughter and great conversation filled Winterpast. If a house could smile, she was, but not as happily as I was.
On Saturday, Oliver and I took a trip across the desert to see his girlfriend, Sam. She’s the one that trims his nails and cuts his curls. On his last two visits, he’s come home with a bow tie looking absolutely adorable with his new haircut. It was a good thing because Oliver needs to look his best for new a friend. With her very long legs and golden hair, she has turned Ollie into a blithering idiot. She’s much younger at 1.5 years and her antics remind me of how much Oliver has matured every time they romp and play. It seems they’ll have many more playdates. It just wouldn’t be fair to keep such a budding romance from blossoming.
Saturday night, my presence was requested on a real, honest-to-goodness, old-fashioned dinner date. How refreshing to know that chivalry is not dead. That a certain gentlemen might still ask if you are available, and then drive you to a restaurant where you’re invited to order your choice of meal. The Tri-Tip platter, complete with mashed potatoes and cold slaw was mine. So darn tender and delicious. I can’t really tell you if the place was busy or not. I was a bit distracted by great conversations and some very blue eyes.
Yesterday was a day of remembrance of 9/11 at the firehouse. How nice to join hands with a group of friends on such a sad day. The firehouse was cleared of trucks and covered with a sea of 508 beautiful flags (the number of first responders and Flight 93 passengers and crew). Each one had a paper attached with the name of a Fireman (343 died that day), Police, Military, and members of Flight 93 with a small story about how they died. I read about a man that ran into the Pentagon several times to bring others to safety. His mother was told he would have lived if not for Carbon Monoxide poisoning. How senseless. We can NEVER FORGET.
The evening ended with an annual viewing of “Come From Away”. If you haven’t seen it or don’t know about what happened at Gander, Newfoundland, please do some research. “Come From Away” is an award winning Broadway musical written about something wonderful that happened on 9/11. Research some of the characters that were involved that day. I found it on Apple TV. It is not typical in any way and a story you won’t soon forget.
This weekend showed me that I’ve finally found the balanced life for which I’ve struggled to attain and achieve. I love my work and students. Winterpast is the coziest of nests. Oliver is coming of age to be a great dog. I’ve made new friends in the dusty little wide spot along the interstate that I call home. Now, the biggest hole in my puzzled existence just might be filled with a true companion.
Be thankful for all the good thing that happens each day. Life throws plenty of downs coming with certainty. But along with those heartaches, there are plenty of moments that are absolutely golden. Focus on them. String them like pearls in your day. It looks just like happiness when you’re through.
Another new crisis is forming. When dealing with small children, one can’t be too careful. Today will be a bit different from the norm due to raging California wildfires. Here in my little town, we’ve been lucky this year to only experience extreme heat until now. Add dense, choking smoke to the mix, being outside is anything but pleasant.
First for some great news. The school AC system is limping along better than it has the last six weeks I’ve been in my district’s employ. It’s almost cool in the morning when I arrive and the afternoons are not half bad. I’m so thankful to the men that worked so hard to fix the unit, as it is an antique and parts are hard to come by. If you’ve tried to have repairs done lately, you know things aren’t what they used to be, for sure. My students and I are grateful for a cooler room.
The kiddos are coming along in grand fashion. I can read their first names now. There are fewer backward numbers. I usually have 18 sets of eyeballs glued to me during a lesson. Very little tattling and telling. All in all, we’re becoming the family that works together in the Room down the very long hall. Every morning I help them with juice boxes and muffin wrappers. They are responsible and respectful at 6 years old. Now, what teacher could ask for more?
We are just beginning our major computerized testing today. I’m a bit nervous, because these guys are little and I hear that any stray button pushed causes a nightmare. They are removed from the program and it is a lengthy process to get them back in. I plan to test them in small groups. I wish these children didn’t need to take so many computerized tests, but that is the world in which we live. At six, these kids know more about the computer then I will ever live to learn. It’s a miracle that one old lady can capture their attention while reading a chapter book with no pictures. I’ll take that as a win, as well.
As far as our reading material. It was my greatest desire to read CS Lewis’s The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe just one more time to a group of littles. Selfish, I know, but there is just nothing better than capturing the imagination of students during a read aloud. If you haven’t read the book and like a bit of fantasy, do. The story is about four children that spend some time with a professor in the country side because the war is raging in England. He has a mysterious house with a strange wardrobe. The story goes on from there.
So far, my students are following the story, recalling every main idea the following day. I’m impressed. Reading to them is the best part of my day. With the overhead lights off, a blind cracked for light while sitting on the floor with my class, we all travel to a different land. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t have endured to have taught just one more year. But, as each day passes, I know these classroom experiences will be my last. I need to make this year shine brightly and take lots of memories with me because they’ll need to last the rest of my life.
Picture Day is around the corner. The children know the Pledge and say it proudly every morning. They line up and can walk in a straight line when we need to move from one place to another. Now, it’s time to get into teaching them the finer points of reading, writing and math. Slow and steady will get us to 2nd Grade and beyond now that I have their attention.
Today, the recesses will be inside the hallways of our school. The playground will be an empty space of smoke. School is never cancelled on these days so I’ll be making sure kiddos with asthma are comfortable and quiet.
The smoke reminds me of the times I had to evacuate my home because of fires. For 30 days, an arsonist and his wife terrorized our little community in the foothills below Yosemite. Each day at precisely 4 PM, another plume of smoke would billow up, with helicopters full of water trying to douse the flames. 30 fires in 30 days before they caught the monsters. On two occasions, the fires were set very close to our beautiful mountain home. It’s hard to know what to take when the only space you have is a small car. The monsters went to prison for decades. Only in California, they spent ten years behind bars and then were released for “Good Behavior”.
Arsonists should be helicoptered in to the bowels of New York City, or some other concrete jungle and dropped off on their heads. No one so demented to start a forest fire deserves to ever see another tree or deer again. Yes. The bowels of New York City.
Smoke carries me back to those days. Even though Winterpast isn’t in any path of wildfire, it still upsets the day when our beautiful blue desert skies are heavy with smoke while the sun glows deep reddish-orange at sunrise.
Whatever you do today, have some fun. If you are lucky enough to breathe fresh air, you are lucky enough! Pray for our firefighters and the unluckies that are in harms way.
In this age of computers, no one has time for more traditional skills. Need a signature? Sign electronically. Sheets of paper? No need. Go Paperless. All the while, the lost art of penmanship and hand-written manuscripts are going the way of the Edsel. How sad for a teacher that loves to teach penmanship and writing. Those skills are just not valued or considered necessary anymore.
Growing up, there was nothing as intoxicating as the smell and feel of real books. Opening a new book, I always put my nose between the pages and breathe in. Each book smells just a bit different and all have a feel you get to know as you spend time reading stories and gathering information. Pages in my Bible have the soft and delicate parchment feel, while my teaching manuals are so heavy I need to wonder why any book publisher felt the need to make them so. Some novels are so heavy, I prop them on pillows to read late into the night as the words carry me into another place and time. Words hold power like that.
My 1st graders don’t have current text books. Someone found it more prudent to use online programs and hands-on kits to teach Language Arts and Science. Needing and wanting a tangible book, I scoured the cast offs before school started and hit the jackpot. One more year, I can use a reading series appropriate for littles, even if it was printed in the early 200’s. The colorful pages full of stories and poems are enchanting. My students find them pretty interesting, too. I also scored Science and Social Studies books. My own private stash.
Yesterday, with dangerous levels of particulates in the air from the California fires, I spent one entire day with my class.
OY VEY.
By 1:15 pm, they were ready for a recess, so I showed an exercise video on the Promethean board. This is a large, television like screen covering part of my desert mural of six mustangs and local mountains. This screen does everything you could imagine. I can even write on it with my finger. It projects work from my desk onto the screen for the children to view and follow. It also projects my lap top images and videos. This exercise video was 7 minutes of high intensity exercises by a guy that was a cross of the Incredible Hulk and Superman.
While I sat in my chair trying to catch my breath for just a moment, my 19 kiddos did jumping jacks, push ups, and lunges. They never missed a step. It was a mass release of energy that I should have filmed. Outdoor recess is necessary for these kids. Yesterday, there was no fresh air for anyone in our desert home. Thank you, California fires.
Because our time together was extended by almost 1.5 hours, my plans lacked an activity for the last hour of the day. A grand day to break into the science books with a book for everyone. Brand new, although dated in the early 2000’s, it was apparent past teachers didn’t like science, or just didn’t have time. These books hadn’t seen much use.
There is so much to be learned by watching a class of 1st graders with new books. They stroked the paper, thick and rick. They looked at every picture of living things in the book. They had questions about the subject, Living and Non-Living Things. How rich and simple to hold a discussion with 6 year old’s about what makes something alive. One of those amazing and sweet moments I’ll take away as I journey back into the land of retirement.
The message was so pure and simple. Living things grow and change. Non-Living things do not. It was then I passed around my class roster with the sweetest kinder pictures of my littles. It was from this roster I first came to know them before school had even started. I looked at that roster many times a day while dreaming of all the fun we were to have over our year together. Looking at those pictures now, these children are certainly living organisms, because they’ve grown and changed. Some of the children could see and appreciate that, while others thought they looked exactly the same. What a moment salvaged from a day that ran out of work before the school minutes ended. Teachable moments are the best and not always written out on a lesson plan.
My littles are starting to write now. I did remind them that I am a real writer. I still feel I’m a fake when I say those words. A REAL writer. I still prefer the pencil and my daily journal, where ALL the stories of my life are jotted on blank pages. Dates, names, and all the juicy details are scrawled out in Number 2 graphite. Never to be copied or distributed on the web, they are just words that flow out of my fingers at the end of very long days. Yes, I’m a REAL writer loving written words as much as I love teaching them. For, we all know, writing IS life. A fifth grader once told me that.
Today, I begin the laborious task of administering THE TEST by computer. I’m not looking forward to it. Testing will take the entire day, covering Math and Language Arts. THE TEST is read aloud to the children. In the old day, that would have been my job. Now, it is just heard through headphones. I’m just the monkey in the room making sure the computers keep working. The old days were certainly more fun.
With pencils in my pocket and sunshine in my brain I’m off to the land of littles. It’s my last September 14th as Mrs. Hurt, 1st Grade teacher. The weather has changed to fall at last and with any luck at all, we’ll get recess today. Who knows, I just might sneak a swing under the desert sky if the smoke stays away.
Whatever you do today, consider journaling. Nothing to write about, you say? Then start out writing down three things for which you are grateful. And then, increase that by three more. The next day, do the same and write the “WHY” of your grateful nature on the pages. It just flows from there. In a year, you’ll be amazed as you look back at the journey. Writing has such healing powers. How far I have come since September 24, 2020. It’s all there for you to see. I kind of which some of it was in pencil.
Although this isn’t my student, and my students tested on laptops, this young man’s expression captured our classroom experience yesterday.
Imagine the following.
Being responsible for 20 children, 7 or younger, who test on laptops that cost $300 each. Carefully watching over laptops and children that are the responsibility of parents you do not yet know well (who are not present) hoping no one throws up on, drops, or otherwise damages said equipment. Twenty busy little minds. Forty little hands. Four hundred little fingers. Twenty delicate laptops. Every day for 45 minutes. You get the picture.
STRESSFUL.
THE TEST provides data the district needs and wants sooner than the kids can learn to type their names. It’s from the data that all things flow. Praises and demands. Meetings and conferences. Work and more work. Everything is centered around data. I will say, in this day and age, collecting data is pretty amazing and my kids stepped up to the plate in a big way.
While they were having special time at the library, I had 40 uninterrupted minutes to deliver running computers and headphones to their desks. Starting the test was a breeze, although time consuming. Once the children were at their desk, I’d been pre-warned that they’d push this button or that arrow causing them to exit the test. It’s a long process to return to the program again. I was dreading the next 45 minutes.
Well, let me tell you, my littles showed off their listening skills. Nobody touched nothing. Headphones in place, they sat still and silent while waiting for instructions. Truly, an awe inspiring moment. Another teacher came to help me when I needed it, and even she commented on their attention and behavior. That meant a lot coming from a respected veteran teacher.
During the test, my boys and girls were still, focused, and quiet. As I made laps around the room, not one made a false move or noise. They completed their task perfectly. At 6 and 7 years old. I don’t know that I could have done as well at that age. Of course, there was no data collection at that time in life.
My kids are busy, funny, and so darn sweet. They shoot me hearts from across the room. They are loving The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe as much as I am, following every plot twist and turn. They know if they are not attentive to the story, we can always begin math, and we have a lot of math to get through. They also know how much I love sitting crisscross applesauce on the carpet to share a wonderful story just for them.
Monday is district Teacher Appreciation Day and school is cancelled for the “celebration”. Go figure. In my lifetime, appreciation has been something earned, not given out like gumdrops on Halloween. It’s hard to earn anything in five weeks of school, let alone a reason to be appreciated. Not really time for a party, in my humble opinion.
I have not felt appreciated in ways that count. No, people that are appreciated on a daily basis are treated with care. No one much cared when my room was over 90 degrees for weeks on end. Let’s see. How many district types came to check on us as we were dripping in sweat? Zero. For five weeks. Zero. It will be a meaningless day in which I miss my students and wish we were together. A day that District’s across the US create to make themselves feel good. Miserable idea. The JOB part of teaching, not the JOY of teaching.
Today, the computers will again by glowing as the children are tested in Language Arts. I’m expecting the same wonderful behavior I witnessed yesterday. They will quietly share all they know in the best way they can and then be ready to move on to the next assignment. I teach the best students in the school, even my tough ones. I have the kids to watch.
God got this right, again. For 22 years, HE’s planned my classes. The kids on my roster need things only I can teach them. They provide lessons I still need to learn. I know, Lord, I know. Patience. Acceptance. Forgiveness. Gentleness. Laughter. I need work in these areas. I’ll do my best. Thank goodness my students understand I’m learning, too.
I look around the workspace I have and smile. On this my last year, I have the prettiest room with a huge mural of wild mustangs and the desert mountains I love so much. The walls are the perfect sky blue. My carpet is newer. I have a wall of glass that overlooks an expansive playground. Everything I need is there. Everything is at it was supposed to be.
Whatever you do today, look for blessings and be grateful. Life is beautiful and rich. No matter the circumstances, there is always humor to be found, even on the darkest days. New friendships brighten our worlds, keeping us surrounded by hope and happiness. Be grateful because life is truly beautiful.
Finishing Week 5 of this school year, I can see potential for greatness in my students. They have settled. At least 18 out of 20 have found that listening quietly will sit well with me. They are beginning to write while take pride in their work. We have actual writing hanging in the hallway outside our room, and it’s now beginning to feel like home. Spending indoor recess time with them, I’m learning more about each child as I decide how best to help them.
Today is a day for completing a little of this and a little of that. Six kids still need to test in Language Arts. Five need to complete Math. Everyone needs to pay attention until 1:15 today when we all get to enjoy early release. It’s FRIDAY!!
Where do they spend their time on the weekends? Some play soccer. Some have ballet or tap. Some do karate. And some just play at home with their families. We all need some down time. They are no different.
Tonight, I’m hosting a quiet dinner while Oliver is entertaining his new long legged girlfriend. With the week’s laundry folded, and the clutter cleaned, I’m ready to enjoy an evening of good conversation and laughter. I LOVE Friday’s these days. The weekend is ripe with possibilities of rain and cool weather. Hoodies, jeans, and sneakers are my wardrobe choice for the weekend.
Oliver is showing signs of aging these days. Earlier in the week, he was sleeping on the bed as he loves to do while I’m getting ready for work. I needed to mail and letter and he heard the ring doorbell go off. Jumping off the bed, (which is not good when your legs are six inches long), he strained his shoulder.
Fiesty little Oliver sleeping on the bed,
Jumped right off when he lost his head.
Holding up a leg with a very sad face,
One little Oliver can’t jump all over the place.
Anymore.
He was holding up his little leg and just looking at me. He knew. There was an understanding in his eyes that this craziness must stop. I sat and rubbed his leg for awhile as it slowly returned to normal. Okay for now, but the next time he might not be so lucky.
Oy Vey.
Such a busy puppy. What would I ever do without him? The bed is now more closely monitored. Nothing can happen to this little guy that is the best friend in the world. Not under my watch.
Tomorrow, Ollie and I will head off across the blue-sky desert to his favorite social outing. He’s pretty excited, as puppy camp was canceled last time due to kennel cough. It’s been awhile since he visited with Angus and the gang. Sometimes, Ollie needs his friends as much as I need mine.
Tomorrow, I’m lunching with girlfriends from the church. I miss my Thursday morning Bible study gals so much. These women are an amazing group, making me smile with texts and warm wishes. I can’t wait to see them tomorrow and exchange news.
I also have plans with a certain Marine this weekend. A variety of outings and meals that should prove to be great fun. Sunday, he’s joining me for church. It’s about time he meets all my gal pals. God shines in both our lives.
Please, if you have a spare prayer, The Coastal Goddess of Cambria needs one. You are in mine, Goddess Girl. You stay Pacific Strong on your journey to Los Angeles. You need to be back on the road as soon as possible.
With that, I am off for the weekend, return Monday. Two days of brain laziness will do me good.
Whatever you do this weekend, enjoy time with friends. They sprinkle happiness into our lives. Take care of them, whether their 6 or 60.
This weekend was one of the best I have experienced in many years. Full of new friends, football, and an adorably cute and smiling Curly Doodle, it was one to remember in detail. Weekends of the working folk are supposed to be just that. Fun and friendly.
It started on Friday at 5 with a homecooked Filet Mignon dinner. The steak was tender and cooked to perfection. The dinner was followed by a homemade apple pie that didn’t disappoint, all enjoyed with the best conversation about this and that. Conversations are filling in the details of lives well lived, while we’ve quietly take note of similarities and weigh emotional risks. The best conversations occur when two people are clued into the topic, each adding their own details.
It’s unusual to meet someone with so many core values in common. Such is the case with the Mysterious Marine that has marched right away from formation to greet me in real life.
The weekend continued with a Saturday of Must-Do’s and Want-To’s. At 2 PM, I met the best kind of gal-pals to spill the tea. Dining in an adorable little café in the town just to the east of here, it was if a day hasn’t passed since I started to work on August 1st. The specialty of the house is TEA, and I enjoyed of pot of mint with a slice of quiche and a serving of fresh fruit. These gals with their values built on a strong foundation provided a great sounding board. They can tell something pretty great is going on in my life. Something different. Something changed and rearranged. We were the last patrons of the day, making the staff stay 30 minutes past close while we oooo-ed and ahhhh-ed about our shared secrets.
Sunday was a day of worship in which Mysterious Marine joined me. Introductions were passed around and lots of smiles were shared. Praise and glory to the one that made this all possible.
The most important part of the day remained. Yesterday, I met an amazing woman and mother. Our town has an unusually beautiful retirement home for our elders. T and K have often laughed about that being my last residence if I don’t straighten up and fly right. All in good fun, of course. Well, yesterday, I went there on a mission to meet one important resident finding the place gorgeous and beautiful. It wouldn’t be half-bad to end up in such a pretty place.
Once the formal introductions were over , we found we share a few important hobbies. For one, we both think this Marine is pretty outstanding, she seeing things from Mom’s side, while I see things from an admirer’s side. Our visit was way too short, as she was getting ready to start her first crochet project in a long time. I wanted to whip out my hook and yarn and chat awhile longer. Busy hands are a wonderful back drop when getting to know someone new and important. I can’t wait to watch our favorite girly programs while we count off stitches and share stories. Our first meeting was a hit.
I’ve left the best part for last. Over a home-cooked steak and lobster dinner at a kitchen other than mine by someone other than me (and yes, HOME-COOKED LOBSTER), we all shared smiles while football played in the background. Just the three of us. Mr. Marine, Me, and THE DOG. She couldn’t wipe the cutest smile off her furry little face while wiggling with delight. Although not the dog in the picture above, she’s pretty close. There ‘s something to be said about the attitude of dogs. Either you are in, or you’re not. I’m taking the smiles as an adorable “What took you so long?” because that’s just how this last weekend unfolded. Two widowed people living in a dusty little town at a wide spot on a desert road happened to say “Hello” with a smile. It doesn’t get simpler than that.
Local gal-pals. Small town church. And now, a special friend that I want to know much better. My roots are deep into the desert soil now. This is home. This is happiness. This is the rest of my life’s story opening to the Chapter 1, Page 1.
Once upon a time, there was a very brave woman who’d found herself alone in a strange land. With nothing else to do but forge ahead, she took her first step into a terrifying wilderness. Not to worry, her story will have a happy ending. It’s hers to write.
Rain. Beautiful rain. As I write this, the rain is falling on Winterpast creating a relaxing atmosphere. Wonderful, because life right now is anything but relaxing. As Adele says, “I created this storm, it’s only fair I have to sit in its rain”. Such are the crazy days I spend under the weight of work related demands.
The children are my rock. 20 littles that are trying their very best to do their very best. They have finished all their initial testing, which took focus and thought. I’m proud to say not one hurried through, and because of that, I have a very high scoring group. That being said, they are littles that have more energy than I could have imagined. Rain yesterday cost them another recess. Keeping children busy for hours on end is an exhausting art. I’m hoping the rain this morning is gone by recess time this afternoon.
The bureaucracy, on the other hand, will be the reason I will truly retire with a party and trip to Hawaii planned for June. It will be the party I should have had but never did. One with BBQ, friends, music, and laughter. This time, I am sure. No more. I have hit the organizational wall and will not longer subject myself to moronic demands. As VST would have commented, “The juice ain’t worth the squeeze, Darlin’.”
In my darker moments, I’ve hoped for terrible evaluations. Performance evals so bad that the district will never hire me back if I ever get the insane idea to try this again. Hahahaha. Don’t worry. I’m sure you all remember how the A- nearly did me in this summer. Giving my all is how I role in the classroom. My students were given to me by God and I can see reasons why we’re spending these next months together. They need me as much as I need them. Any other craziness is just that and I will ignore as much as I can.
Of course, today is payday. That sweetens the experience a wee bit. Money was never the driving force, but I won’t complain about the automatic deposit once a month. I just wanted to teach one more year. Ah, if only it were that simple.
Winterpast is a lonely place these days with Oliver in puppy camp. Mysterious Marine has been keeping me fed and in laughter during the evening hours with dinner invitations. To have a gentleman know his way around the kitchen is something I haven’t experienced in my entire life. My Dad was too busy. VST juggled everything he could throughout our 32 years together. The kitchen is still a foreign land to me, especially when I’m exhausted at the end of the day. Just like that, in walks the most adorable guy in his Levi’s and t-shirt to whip up a little steak and lobster, just because.
Just yesterday, the seasonal shift caused my automatic tire sensors to alert me to low air pressure in two tires. Just like that, this adorable Marine came to my rescue to correct my tire pressure. Yes. Of course I could have done it myself. I’m learning I don’t need to do everything myself. Independence is a heavy cross. It’s nice to finally know the guy that can help at a moment’s notice.
Oy Vey in the very best way.
With autumn here, I need to dig out my sweaters, turtle necks, jeans, and hoodies. Two weeks ago, it was 104. This morning, 50 degrees in the middle of a downpour. That’s desert life.
Two days ago, as I left Winterpast, there was the most beautiful rainbow behind my house. The end was right there, just beyond the hill where I set VST free in that violent windstorm early in the summer. I took that as a sign. Everything really is as good as it seems, and it doesn’t get better than this. Busy days and happy evenings. I don’t know what pieces of the puzzle are yet to be found, but they are the happy ones I’ve been searching for. Of that, I have no doubt.
As for evaluations, testing, and other meaningless crap, it will come and go. Maybe I will make deadlines and maybe those deadlines will just pass silently with no comment from me. At this point it doesn’t matter. They can always fire me and I wouldn’t complain.
Whatever you do today, look for hidden rainbows. Life is wonderful. If we didn’t learn another lesson through the horrors of Covid, we should’ve learned that every single second is a blessing. Choose wisely those things that are important, and ignore those that are meaningless. Always choose a smile over a furrowed brow. Worry just makes us old before our time.
More tomorrow.
PS — To K — Today, you are free from some pretty heavy chains. Time to dance in the rain, Miss Skinny!!!! Can’t wait for the 7th!!!!!
Skipping along the yellow brick road, somewhere I landed in Oz and hadn’t realized it. Who knew purple potatoes would thrive in the desert? Certainly not this gardener. I never thought of planting such a thing, let alone enjoying a 10 pound harvest of the beauties. Thank goodness for the Mysterious Marine and his bountiful garden. By the way, his were prettier than these in the stock photo.
The last few days have been the best kind of normal. These days each Friday afternoon arrives with a gigantic sigh at 3:30 pm. With a week of stress and strain in the rear view mirror, weekends are now to be enjoyed without worry of kids or classroom.
Friday night, I ventured into a place that I’ve never been. In such a tiny town, there are still so many discoveries to be made. This weekend began at the bowling alley, where many very tired and stressed out teachers met to laugh and share a cold drink. With my choice being a tall glass of ice water, it was fun to sit and listen to these wonderful women that give their days to children. We are all growing our town one little child at a time. It was nice to meet these gals in a different setting.
With a dinner date looming, I had just enough time to laugh a bit and then it was time to dash. Now, how often does a gentleman prepare fresh caught Alaskan Salmon reeled in on his very own line? The Mysterious Marine is a man of many talents, cooking being the most special of all. He can turn anything into a marvelous meal. Everyone who knows me well knows this. Fish and I don’t get along. Ever. This man has introduced me to a different kind of fish. The fresh from the ocean kind. Although it will never be my #1 meal request, under his watchful eye, fish is delicious.
On Saturday, it was time to retrieve Oliver from his delightful time at Puppy Camp. He was worn out in the best kind of way. Then, it was on to a day of shopping at Costco. Just as I remember from so long ago, Costco had everything I needed and more. From packaged rotisserie chicken breast to Gummy Halloween Candy Eyeballs for my kiddos, walking the aisles was so much fun. In 1989, the first Costco opened in Fresno, California. What amazing things they sold then. Costco products have changed over the years, but it still holds treasures of the best kind.
In the evening, still stuffed from lunch, MM and I decided to skip dinner. Sitting outside on his deck under the beautiful desert sky, he decided it was time for a down home potato harvest. And so it began. Truly, I haven’t had this much fun in awhile. Just under the soil, we found at least 10 pounds of purple potatoes of every shape and size. Big ones. Little ones. Misshapen ones. Ones that were perfectly formed. All purple. In a matter of minutes, the harvest was over, while we continued to marvel at the crop. If you have never planted potatoes, do it next year!
Yesterday was a day for church and family. Greeting all my gal-pals in the House of God was nourishment for my soul. Sunday has become my day of rest and worship. A time to think about the upcoming week and all the duties and responsibilities that wait. With a visit to a sweet Mom and a turkey dinner with all the fixin’s, the weekend evaporated. I enjoyed every last moment.
Purple potatoes are now my vegetable of choice. The potato harvest is over, but the memory will live on. A weekend of friends, family, and autumn harvest. It just doesn’t get better than that in this little dusty town at the wide spot in the road off the interstate.
Whatever you do today, marvel at the smallest of blessings. Even when the days are their darkest, there is something worth smiling about. Find YOUR purple potato. You might need to scratch the surface a bit to find it.
Over twenty years ago, on another playground a sweet little red-headed girl with the biggest blue eyes became my heart friend. The best conversations happen on the playground. That’s where true friendships are formed. The lasting kind. My little red-headed friend is now almost 30 with a beautiful life all her own. She is earning her doctorate at University of North Carolina to help little children. We remain heart friends to this day. It doesn’t get better than that, or so I thought.
It has been a long six weeks, as I now enter the 7th. I have decided the sixth week is so bad because the brain is turning to mush. At week 7, the numbness sets in as the expectations and requirements bury a teacher in e-mails and paperwork. This is why recess is so vital. I’m pretty sure my littles feel the same.
If the weather permits, I take the long walk across the gravel playground to the lawn. Beautiful, lush, green and inviting lawn. There are the lawn kids. The monkey bar kids. The basketball kids. The tree kids. I prefer to be with the lawn kids. The kind that look deep into the grass to discover the life of the roly-poly. Roly-poly’s are those little bugs (not real bugs) that roll into little balls. Heck, they fascinate me, too.
There are those that are itching to do their summersaults and cartwheels. The football kids. The runners. The lawn lovers. I fit in the last category. I love lawn, and our school has the most beautiful lawn anywhere around.
As I was walking over the gravel to the lawn (a good walk for an old gal), a very quiet and lovely young girl joined me. She is struggling in 1st grade, slowly catching up, but struggling. Quiet and shy, it takes a lot for her to find her voice, so I was pleased that she decided to take the long walk beside me.
She began speaking about her beloved Grandmother and how much she loves being with her. Grandmother helps her with everything that grandmother’s do. They love doing math together. They read together and have a blast playing. In our conversation it became obvious that she adores this woman she calls “Grandma”.
We were almost to the lawn when she started to talk about her spiritual growth with Grandma. The sweetest things can be learned in the quiet of a walk together.
“Mrs. Hurt, my Grandma is teaching me all about Jesus. Do you know who Jesus is, Mrs. Hurt?”
In a school setting, this subject came from left field in just the way I needed. It was a jolt to my system. Here was a child making sure her teacher believed in Jesus. In 22 years, this conversation has never been one I’ve had with a student. With such a faint voice, I wondered if I had heard her correctly, but of course I had.
“Yes. Of course. I believe in Jesus. Couldn’t get through the day without him.”
This was so strange, I wondered if this was a set up? Was there someone behind us, listening? But no, just brilliantly blue little eyes looking up at me with the purest of hearts. In that very moment, I had to smile, knowing God has always brought me to the children I needed. Littles that would teach me as much as I would teach them. Probably more.
We discussed the churches we attend. Grandma takes her to two different places. At one point two other little girls joined us, but were disinterested in our conversation and left. A good thing because I can’t be holding seminary on the school playground, as much as I might like to.
Recess was different yesterday. Something changed. I’ve been praying for angels to surround my classroom to take away the heat. I’ve asked them to shield the doorway, keeping away those with ill intent. I never expected a pint sized Evangelist to council me on the way to the lawn under a perfectly glorious desert sky.
Miracles surround us every day. The smallest little things occur that many people might miss. I could’ve been talking to another teacher or blowing my whistle to stop unwanted behaviors. I could’ve been tending to a scraped knee or listening to a tattle, but I wasn’t. I was listening to my little as she asked me an important question.
Boy am I glad I knew the answer!
“Yes. Of course. I believe in Jesus. Couldn’t get through the day without him.”
Getting up at 3:30 AM to write before work is a challenge. When the website goes down it makes it all for nothing. This morning, I have already talked to India about the problem, but my writing time has vanished.
The last two days have been trying to use a word nicer than the one in my head. Monday, I was at work by 5:30 am. I got home that day at 5:00 pm. Yesterday, I was at work by 5:30 am. I got home last night at 7:15 pm.
I will regroup and be back tomorrow when the computer is not glitching and I am not………..complaining.
Framed by the window, she watched Jackson Elementary put on its best face for the most important night of the year. Open House. Her heart wished she could return to be one of the flaming stars of the night.
Miss Teacher Girl.
Back then, student dreams were carefully held in her heart, next to her love of teaching. Yearnings for one more shot at those days made her eyes leak tears that dropped one by one, sprinkling her blouse like tiny raindrops.
Over her classroom years, Open House was always the ultimate explosion of art, writing, books, and pride.
Open House.
The best of nights she remembered as she sat just a window away while watching Jackson Elementary across the street.
Mrs. Wells.
Sometimes, even in her twilight years, she’d be out to dinner, blankly suffering through her loneliness in a venue different than her kitchen table, when a voice from the past would catch her off guard.
“Mrs. Wells? Mrs. WELLS???????? Is it really you?”
Embarrassment caught her every time because the person asking was a stranger she had known as well as their parents, at one time. Someone who held one-year-long spot in her heart with all the others. A former student. She would always pause and respond with a “Yes” as she waited. Sometimes she would know, as she scanned her mental year books, like taking attendance. It was always in the smile. Sometimes she’d give in, saying, “Help me with this, because the years have robbed my brain and you’ve changed a bit.”
She’d love her students until the day she died, which was much closer than all those yard duty days as children raced with their wide open arms to hug the teacher they loved the most in the whole world.
Today, the colors of a brand new springtime were bold. She watched as Sam, now gray and hurting from the long day, was making his way across the school yard. Everyone loved Sam, the janitor. She knew well, on this most important night, Sam would have been at it at least 12 hours by now, with never a gruff word. Teachers would have asked, pleaded, and demanded without a “Thank You”. “Sam, Could You..” “Sam, Right now.” “Sam.” “Sam.” “Sam.”. The man was a saint.
The memories hurt her heart in a cruel way, as she found herself needing to close her eyes, remembering back to one of the best nights of her life. Open House in the infancy of a new century. The most beautiful of nights, a celebration of the taming of a wild, little boy, and the gentling of a brittle, new teacher.
“Jimmy. My Jims.”
She wept as she recalled a beautiful yet sorrowful vignette of past, present, and future. She needed to replay this story for herself one more time, wondering if something so precious could’ve really occurred in a generic classroom over months and months.
“My Jims,” she thought, over and over.
If you could have only visited her innermost thoughts, in her very best story time voice it was this memory you’d have heard her tell. Yes. It had happened in that very new year, in a very new decade, now so long ago.
We met in first grade.
Madder than a hot hornet in a glass jar, that one. Small package of intensity. Rather like a molten shooting star. Something to be seen, but never touched. Streaking. Raging. White hot. He had so much reasons to rage in such a short life. My Jims. I’d watched him grow as he was assigned to teachers from Kinder to my 3rd Grade classroom door.
In those first few years, his fiery temper was the talk in the lunchroom. Overturned desks. Rantings. Raging’s. Temper turned outward, all the while, anger devoured him on the inside. Punishments came because he raged at himself so not even knowing why. Neither did anyone else. Tags. Detention. Estrangement from the others. Separation. Anger on top of anger for years as he grew up.
I asked for him, you know. I prayed he would come to me on an August class list. Year after year, anecdotal stories exploded as warnings. No sane teacher would willingly want this child disrupting her classroom . But, I wanted him. I saw through his exaggerated melodrama, to see a bright, bored, brilliant soul screaming for someone to notice. Raging for someone to demand he stop because there was something worth stopping for. I wanted that someone to be me. I waited for his years to add up to 3rd Grade.
With my new classroom roster in hand, his name RED and UNDERLINED, I found his cum-file filed attached with “year’s-gone” actions that were Un-acceptable. Un-tolerated. Un-understood. Yes. I had to agree. They were all that. Past offences, now expected behavior by everyone in the school. Except me. I filed them away unread.
We’d make a new file. He’d find his good. I wanted to know why he hurt. I wanted to be the one to help. The one to change his course, while helping him set a new one. I didn’t want to know his previous path. I wanted to be the one to draw the road map. He would come with me for the ride.
The first days were rocky. Constant detours. Turning out on muddy roads. Pit stops in the middle of no-where.
On one of the worst, we had been at odds all day. By mid-afternoon our differences escalated into a picture prior teachers had vividly painted for me time and again. Jimmy could take no more. After spitting verbal daggers at me through clenched teeth, his legs chose flight. Out the door and into the playground he flew, with 15 other students sitting in wide-eyed amazement. Controlled and with purpose, Jim’s and I struggled verbally, him like a Marlon on a reel. He took the line and ran with it, I reeled him back in with a call to his mother to report on his actions. He took the line and ran further. I tired him with demands of compliance. I finally won. In the safety of our classroom, he was back in his chair quietly working, respectfully spent. Never again to flare or flee. He’d returned to Room 20 of his own choosing. The road to goodness and light. He made the choice to avoid certain and known embankments and cliffs, a choice made in his heart. He told me.
He shared so many feelings with those tiger eyes that softened from steel to chocolate over the months we built our team. After that day, I let him drive sometimes, a tiring teacher as the year drove on. I didn’t know the direction he would like to journey. It turned out, he was a good driver. We almost never turned off anymore, unless there was something we both want to see. He read our map quite well. A solid compass guided his heart.
The days leading up to Open House were tension filled on my part. I wanted to race, breaking all speed limits to make our destination before parents arrived to visit Room 20 on April 21 at 6:30pm. Sometimes, it’s hard to remember there is a pace for every activity. A proper speed is needed, less you might lose young passengers clinging on the roof with their bare fingernails. Take the corners gently. Remember bathroom breaks. Be sure to look at the landscape. Encourage them. Love them. That’s tough when you have 16 tired passengers asking “How Much Longer, Mrs. Wells?”
The day before the big event, Jimmy came to me during recess with a question.
“Mrs. Wells? Are you sure you are coming tomorrow night?”
“Jims, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. It’s the most special of nights for a teacher, too. I’ve found it to be magical.”
He pondered this, as many of his past experiences had not held a magical quality. Often, his mom, exasperated and beyond humiliation, had chosen to stay at home in hiding.
“Mrs. Wells? If I dress up really nice for Open House and you dress up really nice, do you think we could dance?”
I was taken aback? In this day and age? Dance with a student? This student? This little boy that had been the source of so many discussions about proper behavior and good choices? My little friend? My co-driver on this year long journey of discovery? This student maligned and allowed destructive freedoms until he arrived to find safety with me?
I found myself smiling and telling him. “Of course!” as if it was the most natural question in the world.
The night arrived. I didn’t wear a dress, but I did wear black. As the children and parents came to “Oohh” and “Aahh”, I remembered that Open House was the most special night of the year, not only for them, but for me. In my mind, I was, again, in grade school, remembering my special nights. I was, again, a young single mom with my beloved sons, amazed at their accomplishments. I was, again, a middle-aged teacher on my very first Open House, and I was, again, the Grandmother wishing I could be in two places at once to see my oldest Grandson’s Open House unfolding across town at the very same hour.
As music softly played, the door opened, and there he was there with Brother and Mother. He had dumped the grubby boy clothes. There was someone else in his place. A little person lost between brat-hood and adolescence. His hair combed and him shining. Eyes sparkling. Graying, white, hand-me-down shirt with Dad’s tie around his neck. Tubbed and Scrubbed. But more than that, smiling from his soul through his chocolate eyes. Jimmy.
He came to my side, and quietly asked if I remembered.
I said I’d been waiting.
After listening to the music playing, he was momentarily troubled.
“I thought it would be violins.”
We’d make do with saxophones and the chatter of a busy room. Immediately, shyness overtook him and he said we would have to wait. I smiled and continued with the night.
Fifteen minutes later, the softest tap I felt on my shoulder.
“Mrs. Wells. It’s time.” Nerves crinkled his brow. His feet wiggled nervously in his hand-me-down dress shoes, polished for just this moment.
Yes, it was time. Time for us to celebrate this amazing evening and success. Celebrate his growth into someone he liked most of the time. Celebrate smiles and hugs.
“Celebrate life,” as he would say.
We went near the music, and we danced.
We talked, while Mom and Brother laughed as they looked on. They hadn’t experienced the journey. The wrong turns we’d corrected. The flat tires. The anger. The missed landmarks. Now, these were in our rear view mirror. There would be no more Un-acceptable, Un-wanted, or Un-Anything added to his cum folder. In fact, just a string of “A’s” he’d earned for the first time in his life, while finding pride in doing so.
Together, we had made it through 3rd Grade.
As we created a twirly, awkward, heart-smiling, “3rd Grade-Magical” dance, my love of teaching was apparent to everyone there. His new love of learning poured through his smiles shining back to me. His heart sang sweet “Thank You, Mrs. Wells” to mine. Forever one of the moments in which I knew, with certainty, I was my version of The Best Teacher Ever.
“Jimmy. My Jim’s. We dance on in my heart, sweet child. 3rd Grade Special you will forever be to me.”
Returning to the present, new parents were arriving bringing their shining children brimming with excitement. Kate Wells smiled and settled in for the show. She, Mrs. Wells, framed by the window and surrounded by her beautiful memories. She watched, her smile affirming all that goodness right outside her door.
Joy Hurt — Spring 2000 — And yes, I was Mrs. Wells. My student — Bailey. A great heart. A wonderful boy who made me a better person for having known him.
The days are flying by now. In two weeks, I’ll be talking to parents during conferences about the children we both know and love. This will be followed by Nevada Day and Halloween as we race towards the Veteran’s Day and the Thanksgiving holiday. Insane how fast time is rolling on.
I’m settling in to life as Mrs. Hurt, although not without some bumps along the way. This is truly a young person’s game. I knew that going in. Now it slaps me in the face every time there is another computerized requirement. I suppose this is great training for life ahead as the professional writer, but, the training is brutal. I’ll never, ever be fluent in computer issues. That’s just a fact. Like trying to run a race with one leg. I know how my struggling children feel. I’m struggling, too.
I need to remember that when frustration arises as I teach reading to littles. Their minds are not geared the same as mine. They want videos, games, and instant gratification. Quite frankly, to them, learning to read is as boring as watching paint dry.
Yesterday, I turned the bunch loose with Dry-Erase Markers on my white board. It is enough to stop one’s heart watching littles equipped with 10 wide tipped black markers. They were to write as many words as they could think of in 8 minutes. It was amazing to watch 16 littles do their best to share, cooperate with a partner, and write words. They are truly adorable littles and I am so glad their mine for the year.
During sharing, a little boy had something interesting to tell.
“I will tell you all. I love girls. Old ones. Young ones. Girls are beautiful.” End of sharing. Profound and from the heart. I smile a lot when I’m with my little friends.
Homecoming alert!!! The Vaqueros are coming! The Vaqueros are coming!
Today will be a day to play, laugh, and rest. Our high school mascot is the Vaquero. Why? Not sure. The name doesn’t fit the culture here. I need to ask the Mysterious Marine who knows everything about our town, being a native and all. For goodness sakes, he holds high school track records in track!
The high school band, cheer leaders, and players are coming to the 1st-2nd Playground today for an assembly of the most fun time. Rowdy kids will be allowed to yell as loud as they can to cheer on our football team!! Cheerleaders cheering!! A band playing!! A celebration will be had by all.
Then, around 1, we will all line the hallways to watch the first batch of Golden Eagles soar through the school. Each class has one. The first of the year are the cream of the crop. Such an honor to be chosen by your teacher to be student of the month. I plan to do a lot of cheering today as the fun unfolds. It’s about time we celebrate, because the stress level has been through the roof.
That being said, I need a weekend to regroup, regenerate, and enjoy some private time. The weekends fly by as fast as everything else. I want to enjoy every single minute and be back, fresh and frisky on Monday.
Whatever you do this weekend, make it grand. Even if it involves domestic chores. Just kick up the music and dance. Life is precious. Don’t waste it.
As I turn up the collar on My favorite winter coat This wind is blowing my mind I see people in the street With not enough to eat Who am I to be blind Pretending not to see their needs?
I’m gonna make a change For once in my life It’s gonna feel real good Gonna make a difference Help to make it right
A summer of thinking hard On hot desert sands One girl’s mind on a roll They chase each other on the wind you know With nowhere to go That’s why I want you to know
I’m starting with the gal in the mirror I’m asking her to change her ways No message could be any clearer If you wanna make the world a better place Take a look at yourself and make a change
I’ve been a victim of A selfish kind of love It’s time that I realize That there are some with no home Not a nickel to loan Could it be really me Turning to leave them alone?
A mustang deeply scarred My own broken heart And a storm-blown life of petty little dreams
They follow the pattern of the wind You see ‘Cause they got no place to be
It all begins with me
I’m starting with the girl in the mirror I’m asking her to change her ways No message could be any clearer If you wanna make the world a better place Take a look at yourself and make a change
You gotta get it right While you got the time ‘Cause when you close your heart Then you close your mind!
Change
**********
Autumn is a beautiful time of year to reevaluate life. The desert winter will soon cloak my dusty little wide spot in the road here in Northwestern Nevada. Realizing how very blessed I am in this life, I need to stop sniveling in my soup. The time for personal action has arrived.
Hurricane Ian and it’s massive destruction has awakened the good in millions of people. Disasters always do. Please remember the disasters right on our local streets. Be a Hometown hero and look for ways to help in your own community, even if only by donating a bag of groceries to the local food bank. We can all stand to look in the mirror once in awhile. Might be surprised what changes can be made if we just try.
More tomorrow.
Thank you to the genius of Michael Jackson. I hope it’s okay that I changed the words a bit, Michael. Didn’t think you would mind too much.
Although not my class, this picture is a great visual for my experience yesterday. The only difference is that I was on the carpet with them. I wouldn’t have it any other way!
Somedays, the stars align and wonderful things happen. I noticed the half-moon driving to work at dark:30 yesterday. It must have spilled moon dust all over my class, because they were on their best behavior yesterday. It was jus that kind of a day.
Told by admin to hold a “community circle” with my class to discuss respect, I wasn’t really feeling it as we all sat around a large carpet ringed with the alphabet. My 20 littles are growing every day. Their behavior is remarkable and exemplary when it needs to be. I’m able to teach without interruption, while they are feeling secure enough to raise their hands for questions.
Teaching 20 first graders isn’t something that is especially easy. By the 3rd grade, my past students knew the ropes. They had the system down. Those that were trouble caused it. Those that were shining stars beamed. It had all been decided in the prior years. Reputations had been formed. In the 12 years of 3rd grade, I just followed the lead of prior teachers and taught them more.
Now, 1st graders are just pure little beams of individuality that are as unique as the colors in the rainbow. Everything is rainbows in my little class. Any coloring project has at least one. That’s refreshing. No politics. No religion. No arguing over points of view. Just beautiful rainbows everywhere. Add a few unicorns for good measure with a watchful T-rex in the back and you can now understand 1st grade a little better. Yes. Unicorns, rainbows, and the occasional T-Rex.
I didn’t have much hope for this assignment. I was to lead a discussion on respect. One by one, each child gave their opinion on the matter. Handing me a blue or white cloth ribbon that I had just handed them minutes earlier, I would add it as a loop to our class chain. The lesson began without any direction other than that. 45 minutes later, we were in the same position, carrying on a really beautiful discussion about respect and what it looks like. I didn’t want the moment to end. Quite possible one of the most beautiful in my career.
That’s interesting, because I almost didn’t do the activity. Feeling overwhelmed and short on time, the ribbons were almost lost under a growing stack of papers needing correcting. I’m so glad that we had that time to discuss something more important than the 30 lesson on beginning and ending sounds.
It’s not especially wise to fall in love with a class of littles, but unavoidable. Their little jokes make me laugh to loudly. Their smiles and quick hugs nourish my soul. Helping them when they skin a knee or elbow comes naturally. I love each one of them as only their teacher can. June 2nd, a little bit of them will stay in my heart with all my former students, as this class marches away towards 2nd Grade. Even now, that thought makes my eyes swell just a little.
This is the REAL retirement year of My own choosing. Yesterday was the last time I’ll hold that lesson with a group of littles. I’m so thankful it made such a beautiful memory for us all.
Now, don’t get me wrong. There are some tough hombres that give me a run for my money during the day. Corrections are quick and exact. It’s like Oliver and his new girlfriend when they hit a snag. Lots of growling, a few barks, but no blood when the disagreement is done. Yes. That’s 1st grade.
I found out that a 6 year old knows more than most adults about respect. What must they think as they watch adults behaving badly? Perhaps we should ask them for solutions to many grownup problems? They would surely have ways to solve problems in the most kind ways.
After the lesson was over, we walked in a nearly perfect line to the front of the school to place our chain on the school bulletin board. Ours was the first and only. I thought back to just an hour before when this bullheaded teacher sat on the carpet thinking about the phonics lesson that wouldn’t be taught. What an old poop! School isn’t about how many instructional minutes are in a day. It’s about love and respect. Math and reading are important, of course, but there is so much more to 1st grade.
After all, as any 1st grader already knows, life isn’t worth living without love and respect. They told me so yesterday. All 20 littles, sitting around a lettered carpet in a brick school house at a wide spot in the road in our dusty little town off the interstate. Love and respect. Remember that.
One has not lived until you’ve experienced Picture Day in a school of 620+ students. Add the staff on top of that and you have one crazy day. I’m not sure where the picture company found the photographers we met. My class was last and they hadn’t run out of the building screaming, although they looked like they had been through a storm.
Picture Day always starts the same. Children enter the room looking like little people you’ve never met before. They are scrubbed and combed while wearing their best clothing. They walk in with directions from mom that they are not to adjust anything. Breathing is okay. Anything else? Optional. Probably just DON’T.
In the world of things that make sense, a 1st Grade class would be photographed right after Kinder, first thing in the morning. We are talking littles. In an hour, curls are gone. Gel is disturbed. Kids DO things. The look is gone.
Yesterday, that wouldn’t be the case. Everyone was photographed before lunch except my class. They got a full lunch and lunch recess to finish off their look. A group of hot little 1st graders waited in line after lunch, wrinkled and sweaty.
Yesterday, I learned that 1st graders are just learning to button shirts. One little boy could button, just not in the right order. I learned gel works on a 1st grader for about an hour. Many can tie their shoes, but many more cannot. All those things really don’t matter, because my class never loses their smiles. And, that is most precious part of 1st grade.
For my LAST teacher pic, I wore a floral dress and pearls. My hair, quite long at this point, was down for the picture. This caused quite the commotion in class, as the children don’t see me this way during school. 20 littles told me I was beautiful. Littles never lie. I’ll take their compliments any day of the week.
After all the kids were photographed, it was my turn. Because it would be the last school picture of my career, the technician carefully adjusted my hair and took a little extra time with the pose and then, with a click, it was over. She showed me the photo. Not the best, not the worst. Just a snapshot of an attractive senior citizen in a floral dress and pearls. Memories of all the Picture Days from long ago filled me with so many emotions. I was glad the photo didn’t reveal the tiniest of tears welling behind my lids. Saying “Goodbye” to a career is a hard thing to do, especially when it takes a school year to do so.
These days, I do feel like the most beautiful of teachers. My heart is full when I’m watching them learning to read, write, add, and subtract. They are learning how to be respectful and responsible in school in the first year of real school. I’m carefully setting the expectations for the next 12 years of their education. I don’t take that task lightly.
For everything there is a season. A time to learn and a time to teach. A time to work and a time to retire. I needed this last year to end a brilliant career on my own terms. I’m so blessed with this chance to get the last year right.
Life on the 1st Grade playground is brutal these days. Tattling, fights, and a bloody nose tell me everyone has settled into life at our little school. We are now a family. I just didn’t expect the bloody nose to belong to the sweetest little girl in my class. Life is different than it was in 1961, when I was in 1st Grade. Even the boys didn’t fight until we were all much older.
How so much drama unfolds on bright and sunny fall days in the middle of the desert is a puzzlement. Working on math after lunch, the class seemed to be attentive and alert. We’d found a few extra balls in the morning and were all looking forward to the fresh air and a few minutes to run off steam. We all love recess. It could be my favorite subject now. 1st Graders are teaching many lessons. one being the value of a brain break.
There’s a most special teacher at school. I’ve named her Louise. She got that name because when we are together, I’m definitely her Thelma. For my young and tender readers that don’t immediately have an image of two women seated in a convertible flying off the road into the airspace above a very deep canyon, please watch the movie. I’m sure my friend and I often trade parts. We drove off that cliff when we came out of retirement to help a desert school district that needed teachers so badly. We are still in free fall. The principal refers to us as the “Laughing Ladies Down The Hall”.
Louise and I were basking in the sunshine rather marmot-like when a frantic child ran up to get our help.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!”
It seemed a handful of children representing all five classes had collected out of the view of teachers at a place OFF LIMITS to all. One of my most trusted students was there, front and center. Unusual, out of character, and most definitely unacceptable.
There were four girls in a line and backed into a corner. A group of boys were going to fight them. Why? Who knows what lurks in the heads of children. These were all good kids that were not the usual suspects. I doubt they knew the first thing about fighting.
Assessing the actual damage, I asked if anyone was hit.
“No!” They all answered in unison.
Another strange thing about 1st graders is that they often have different perceptions about life and the meaning of English words. A fight usually involves someone striking another. In this case, no contact was made.
“They WERE going to fight us,” offered my little Eaglet (our mascot is the eagle).
All these children looked quite startled and now terrified that Thelma and Louise had arrived on the scene. Everyone denied everything. Ten littles all telling their side of the story while trying to avoid the hot water in which they found themselves.
Louise and I gave them the EYE, told them not to play in the area OFF LIMITS to all, and sent them on their way. We thought it was the end.
Before long, a little and her friend, both my students (again, great kids) came for immediate help. My little had a bloody nose. My little looking so cute in her adorable pink dress and hair bow.
“He hit me. He hit me.”
“Oy vey … What a Curse! Blood and bumps? Off to the nurse.”
I let them in through an exterior door that wasn’t even looked properly as all exterior doors must be at all times. The unlocked door was almost more disturbing than the girl with the bloody nose. Every exterior door in our building is locked at all times while children are present. Sadly, it’s the times in which we live.
With two minutes left in the recess, Louise and I were left to deal with a little boy that was now a solid ball of “I didn’t do it and there’s nothing you can do to make me say I did.” Sad but true, he was turned over to the authorities. He returned to class with a snack and a pat on the head. Oh, the drama of it all.
The rest of the day was full of work. I made it so. The more little minds have to learn, the less time they have to think about upcoming episodes of 1st Grade Fight Club – Part 2. Today is a new morning with new drama, yet to unfold.
I love having Louise on my side. Between us, we’ve seen 57 years of classroom antics. There isn’t anything that we haven’t seen at least one hundred times before. We both agree, this situation was a new one for both of us. Gone are the days of tissue butterflies and watercolor rainbows. Replacing them are one hour a day of computer time and hours of work. Gone are the days when being sent to the office was something to be avoided at all costs. Now, it involves a snack. The 1900’s were a magical place to live, eh?
This weekend, the Mysterious Marine and I will be spending quality time together. Shopping, eating, gardening, and home maintenance. Thank goodness he’s steady on a ladder because my light bulbs need changing. After five weeks, we are settling into the best kind of friendship. An easy one that doesn’t include drama or the need for extra stress. Just neighbors that always have an extra cup of sugar to share. Oliver and his new girlfriend pine for each other when apart. As our new pack forms, the leaves are turning golden. The weekend is primed for fun and happiness. With winter just around the corner, we’re settling in to the best season of all.
With that being said, I need the weekend to sleep in, eat too much, and enjoy life. I will be back on Monday with new stories about my dusty little life at the wide spot in the road off the interstate on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. It just doesn’t get better than that.
These days, I’m finding the best place to focus is on tiny little miracles that unfold in life every minute of every day. They bloom like the fields in this picture. Subtle little bits of happiness sprinkle over life like confetti. We just need to stop long enough to recognize them for what they are. Miracles.
These days, I’m grateful that in my golden years, I’m able to rise at an early hour, take a nice hot shower, dress in pretty new clothing, get in Barbie’s Jeep, and drive to work. A revised schedule was what I needed. Perhaps a little more difficult adjustment at my advanced age, but certainly what was needed to take a look at myself through a new lens. Living along, one can become complacent and stale. Never a good thing when creating the best life possible.
Today is professional dress day. I plan to look my best and slay the day. It’s so easy to look outward and find fault in every direction. The only controllable thing in my life is my thoughts and actions. There’s the award winning master teacher deep inside. I need to be her for just a few more months. That spiffed up Teacher-Gal is ready for a great week.
Somedays, I think I am really afflicted with some kind of hyper-active disorder of the brain. As the weeks go by, the traits of a master teacher are awakening. There is only one focus from 8:40 – 3:05. Well, actually, 20 focuses. My Littles. Mrs. Hurt is out of retirement until June 2. God brought me these Littles for specific reasons yet to unfold. I need to be at my best for them.
Oliver is not having our new schedule. Only seeing his new girlfriend on the weekends, he’s boycotting food and moping around the house like the lovelorn pup that he has become. Meeting this girlfriend has been the best thing for him although, together, the two are quite a handful. Color coordinated friends, they’re like children that push the limits of their play until one gets a little too rough. It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt. It’s fun to see him as the dog he is instead of my shadow.
This week, preparations are in full swing for Parent-Teacher Conferences which are right around the corner. I love this time of year. I’m looking forward to sitting down with parents to share the progress we’re making. My kiddos are an amazing group of children that are learning, growing, and changing every day. No one will value this information more than their parents. I have one chance to get each meeting right. 40 parents are depending on me to do just that.
With Halloween looming, we finished our first craft project on Friday. We made “Leaf Men”. The kids loved working with glue sticks, leaves, googly eyes, and construction paper. It made me realize I need to spend a little more time on Pinterest to find some more craft projects for Halloween. (Google — The Leaf Man — Cute story my Littles loved).
The Mysterious Marine and I had a wonderful weekend dining, shopping, and working on household projects. The Biggest Little City just west of here provided the perfect assortment of stores unavailable in our town. It’s nice to go to a big city once in awhile, but it’s even nicer to return home to our dusty little wide spot in the road. Mustangs have long since moved out of the Biggest Little City. I understand why, being a true country girl myself.
Whatever you do today, look for those miracles that shine around you. Something as simple as the perfect breeze on a sunny day should remind us all that life is so precious and beautiful. Whether it’s a child’s smile or a conversation with a dear friend, find the positives on which to focus. Believe there is good in the world. Be the good.
Cows are quite possibly one of my favorite animals. Trusting and wise, these animals provide products that are vital in every day life. Along with the ultimate sacrifice for humans, they are gentle and beautiful animals. It is with this love that the 1st Grade Teachers at my school are adopting five little cows for the rest of the school year. Yes. Five. They are arriving sometime this week.
I just informed my principal. I sure hope they don’t make too much of a mess when they arrive in the office. I also hope the other teachers don’t decide to run off with them. Cows are pretty trusting and 3rd grade teachers can talk a good game. It is for that reason I alerted the principal to watch for the arrival of the newest additions to our classroom.
I remember a certain summer night that VST had asked me to join him at a fund raiser at a local dairy. The farmer, quiet and shy as the dairy farmers I know can be, had taken the very old family barn and renovated it into a magnificent party venue. The wooden structure was built by great grandfathers and neighbors. Every board was as perfect as the day it was built. If it didn’t start that way, the farmer had made it new again.
VST never shared the same fascination with animals as me. I was born loving every living creature on our farm. I was always messing with the rabbits, chickens, lambs, dogs, or cats. Wild animals were observed from afar, knowing that some things can’t be tamed. VST was into football, cars, and girls. Animals didn’t make the cut.
Under the brightest full moon while bathed by warm summer air, the evening unfolded with great food and lots of gossip and laughter from our neighbors. Farmers are the salt of the earth. Great men that work hard during the day and seldom get out for frilly parties or fancy events. A night in a barn at the local dairy was an inviting affair in which they could wear their Stetson’s and Levi’s. Throw on a pair of boots and they were dressed for the night.
All of that was really grand, but the real interest for me stood just to the side of the lighted barn. There, the farmer had tubbed and scrubbed six or seven of his prize “Girls” to watch over the partiers. These ladies were the most beautiful cows I’ve seen in my 66 years. Holsteins, they quietly chewing their cud as all cows do. Coming to the fence to check me out, their friendly nature was a bit shocking. Their eye lashes hung heavy as if they were wearing their finest mascara. They looked right through me and decided I was okay. We shared a moment.
I spent awhile just taking in their beauty. These cows were of the finest pedigree and part of the prize winning herd. Solid and huge, the time spent affirmed how much I love cows. They will forever turn my head. Maybe someday, I’ll have one of my own. I love them that much.
VST finally found me by the fence and just shook his head. Taking me by the hand, we walked back to the party while he told me I would not be bidding on the calf to be auctioned off as part of the fund raiser that night. Dang. I’d just met her mother. We’d bonded. His answer remained a solid “NO”. Even living on a farm with lots of space has it’s limitations. Mine was a husband that drew the line on any animal over 200 pounds. Thank goodness the Mastiffs were just under his weight limit.
Well, my calves are on the way now. When they arrive, I hope to instill a love of bovines in my littles. First, our calf will need a name. Then, I’ll need nightly a nightly “Calf-watcher” to care for the little guy. That’s right, the calf will travel home with each child and return the next day. Along with the calf, the child will take it’s journal and record just what the it did that evening. I hope the parents will be onboard. It’s not every day that a teacher sends home a calf for additional care and love. It will be the most fun kind of homework.
In the spring, I’m hoping we can travel to the town just to the East of us (home of the REAL Top Gun program) to visit a dairy there. I want my littles to appreciate just how huge our calf will become. A glass of fresh milk would be pretty nice, too.
That’s the Moo-ving news from Room 56.
Tomorrow my site will be down for improvements, so I’ll return on Wednesday.
Drink Milk. Better yet, Eat Ice Cream. While you do, please pray for our farmers. They need all the prayers we can send.
I wake up to a scene like this every morning here on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. To the east, the sun peaks over the barren mountains, causing the sage to be drenched in early morning color. Awe inspiring, evert day I thank God that I live in this quiet and beautiful place. From here I will go to meet Him one day. In the evening the scene repeats itself as the sun sets behind the Sierra Nevada Mountains just to the west of me. And the seasons, they’ve gone round and round.
Either time of day is breathtaking. A day rich with possibilities or a day that has been filled with accomplishments through struggles and perseverance. Two different times to reflect on what the hours of light held for each one of us. Each individual creates their own story during those hours. Depending on what we learn from our waking hours, a personal path is formed. Sometimes there are some pretty scary forks in the road. It is at a life defining juncture I stand now.
I have chosen to resign and retire from teaching.
A sunrise took me to a little school at the wide spot on a very dusty road on a very hot day in July. Hired by a principal that, along with ten teachers, quit the next week, I might have taken a different path had I known the backstory. But, hind sight is 20/20, and we can never make good decisions based on the experiences and actions of others.
God gave me 20 littles to teach with love for the time I had them under my wing. We all learned a lot during the two months I had them in my care, and with pride, I can say they were always my focus. For those weeks, they got it all. Up at dark-thirty, I spent time preparing days that were the best they could be, but extenuating circumstances finally broke me. I refer to this as “Death of a Teacher in 60 Days or Less”.
Some might think their energy level was too much to handle.
Nope. I found it refreshing and delightful.
Some might think it was the computerized lessons that pushed me to my breaking point.
Nope. I learned a lot from the experience.
It was a set of circumstances so broken that they were not to be fixed during my employ.
One very green teacher reminded me that the situation in which we were all teaching was all they knew, therefore, not unusual or wrong. There lies the demise of things as they once were. Accepting insanity as the new normal. I couldn’t participate with the insanity called public school one minute longer.
In my beautiful teaching career, I spent the bulk of my career blessed to teach at an award winning school. People would travel from all over California and Nevada to observe our reading lab and literacy program. All employees were onboard and our students reaped the rewards. Every student’s educational plan was tailor-made just for them and the goal of every employee was student success. Educational minutes were golden and not to be squandered. I know what that looks like in a community and more specifically, in a school district.
When I became Secondary Teacher of the Year in 2010, nothing made me more proud. I earned that award while helping high school students achieve their very real dreams and goals. During those years with my district, I watched the best of the best teachers work their magic while loving every second of our days together. The brilliance of my time teaching will never be tarnished by poor working conditions and even worse educational decisions made by people that should know better.
It was never about the paycheck. It wasn’t about prestige. I wanted to have one more school year with littles. It proved to be too much. My career passed away into memories that I will cherish for the rest of my life. For a little time, I will grieve the loss while knowing my resignation was the right decision for me. If I hadn’t taken a chance at a new sunrise, I would have regretted that. I’m very glad I gave this my best and last shot.
Life is a series of sunrises and sunsets. The sun set on a wonderful time in my life in which I was The One and Only Mrs. Hurt. Now, I return to retirement with a new appreciation for all the opportunities that await. A sunrise brightening the mountains and presenting a day ripe with possibilities. How rich and wonderful!
While making this decision, I spoke at length with someone I met a very long time ago on a playground far, far away. Poppy. Although not her real name, she has a very REAL place in my heart. You see, when she was only 8, she declared that she and I were HEART FRIENDS. She went on to say that there aren’t many people that are that lucky to find a HEART FRIEND.
I chose Poppy for her name, because like the California poppies that color the foothills every spring, this girl was a force to be reckoned with. A child strong and brilliant beyond her years. A child that has forged herself into steel as she walked through a fiery childhood. She is a once-in-a-lifetime HEART FRIEND.
Through the years, Nikki and I have found and lost and found each other again. Through her strength and resilience while homeless most of her educational years, Nikki schooled herself, graduating with honors in high school, UCLA, Penn State, and now, finishing her doctoral program at University of North Carolina. I’m blessed that Nikki is my HEART FRIEND. We talked about my decision to resign from my teaching position.
Torn up about leaving my students in the middle of the year, she said the most beautiful thing to me.
“Joy, those kids are so blessed to have you teach them for two months. You didn’t cause their troubles and you can’t fix them either. You came at the right time in their lives and they were so lucky to spend any time at all with you. They were a lucky class to be with you.”
There is a golden crown a teacher gets to wear very few moments in her life. An almost-30-year-old-student looking back to say you were HER teacher. That you made a HUGE difference. That she loved you then, throughout the years, now, and forever more. That is the shimmery bow that ties up my career. Thank you, my HEART FRIEND. I owe you for the council.
As you can imagine, this week has been one of the most intense since the passing of VST. I need to change gears and celebrate a bright new chapter in my life. I promise I will be back on Monday with new stories from this wide spot on a very dusty road running through the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. Know I’ll be celebrating all the upcoming sunrises and sunsets my life has left with new appreciation. Don’t worry. I plan to celebrate my REAL and FINAL retirement in rare form. Stay tuned.
Autumn is my very favorite time of year. A time to be thankful for all the blessings we have, as well as a time to keep up with the leaves. During this last summer, Winterpast was cheated of hours and hours of careful attention given during past summers. I hope I can make it up to her this fall while completing some much needed gardening tasks. I seem to have a bit of extra time on my hands starting today, this being the first day of unemployment after my resignation.
As I think about my return to retirement, calm and comforting thoughts surround me. Yesterday, I returned all school materials and my keys to a room that seemed so foreign at this point. I did the right thing. A wise person needs to know when to hold ’em and when to fold ’em. Some people and their jobs are not a match. Such was the case with me and my little school.
After a last few months with littles, this week I turn my attention to Winterpast and the gardening chores awaiting me there. The leaves are just starting to change color, floating to the ground to make a carpet of golds, reds, and oranges. Remembering this time of year on the ranch in California, the big difference was the morning dew. In the desert, dew is missing while the leaves remain dry well into the winter. Many just blow away, never to be seen again. Crisp and light, raking and bagging them isn’t the mucky mess it was on the ranch.
If you are lucky enough to have a yard to tend, there are some autumn task that shouldn’t be forgotten.
Autumn is a great time to till the soil. I have a brand new rototiller to try on my flower beds. While tilling the soil, I plan to add some soil amendments. My soil needs a shot of gypsum to loosen it, increasing drainage. Hard as a rock, this desert soil isn’t the fluffy loam of the Central Valley, but desert soil that lacks organic matter. A few bags of mulch will provide a good bed for spring flowers.
Everything in my yard needs a good pruning. Fall is the time to prune back the roses and bushes, as well as unwanted limbs and branches on the trees. I can’t wait to fire up my tiny little chain saw and buzz away. Annual bushes, such as the Russian Sage need their turn with the electric hedge trimmer.
As the yard art goes back into the barn for the winter, there’ll be lots of time to reflect on the past two months while evaluating my summer of miracles. It was a summer I’ll never forget in which I finally remembered and embraced the woman I am at my core.
My Mysterious Marine has shared so many wise and profound thoughts with me. One of the best was one shared by VST, as well. You will be treated the way you expect and accept. Healthy boundaries are essential for healthy relationships. Communication and honesty are key to any strong friendship. All so true. In light of those truisms, the decisions of last week remain the correct course for me. No harm, no foul. Just an unsustainable path on which I couldn’t continue to travel.
I hope Autumn provides you time to enjoy your garden while pondering your own path. There is just something about the smell of newly tilled soil that is intoxicating. The birds will have a thing or two to share as I chase after the dancing leaves of Winterpast.
Whatever you do, enjoy today. There is so much beauty around us that can be missed in such a busy world. Enjoy it.
Today is the perfect day for a little drive about to clear my head. There are so many beautiful places located within a two hour radius. Today is a wonderful day to bug out and drive. Autumn in the high desert is a kaleidoscope of color this time of year and a major tourist attraction. Our version of the colors of New York. The Eastern Sierra Nevada’s are the prettiest mountains anywhere around. Just look at the picture taking in Minden, Nevada. It’s even prettier than that.
I have a friend that needs to come along. She’s a New Yorker that I met in early summer. I’ve never met anyone like her before and probably won’t ever meet anyone like her again. She became the first brick in the foundation for our Women’s Bible Study. She would tell you that she isn’t the reason our Bible study continues to grow. We all know differently. This woman could move mountains before breakfast. She’s all the things admirable. Wise, calm, witty, intelligent, a beautiful woman inside and out. A real no-nonsense kind of woman. The kind you want for a sister.
She needs our love and support in a big way. She’s loosing her sight. Suffering from a progressive disease, this isn’t improving by the day.
Macular degeneration is a horrific disease. It attacked both my parents. It has blinded my God Mother. It can happen to anyone. It’s genetic and final. The outcome is blindness. It can happen overnight. How scary is that? My Gal-Pal is slowly going blind from this disease.
She would love to see the colors of the changing trees of her hometown New York. Well, we have some pretty amazing trees around here. It’s not New York, but, the Cottonwoods and Aspens are also pretty spectacular.
Thinking back to last Thursday, I realized I haven’t shared about the most perfect day with women that have come to mean the world to me. She was there, running the show.
Early in the summer, my life wasn’t all roses and lollipops. There were many truths that had come to light as I forged a new path in my life. Taking a mountain walk in the early summer can be treacherous. With unexpected rainstorms, one often needs to take shelter and wait for them to pass. Life is a lot like that, too. If you’ve created the storm, you need to wait out the rain of your own making. Such was the situation in which I found myself on a certain Thursday that now seems so long ago. Some days it seems I’m just a master at raining on my own parade. Oy Vey.
On that early summer day, God had given me three reasons to leave the church I’d attended for over one year. Three “in my face reasons” that couldn’t be denied. On that certain Thursday morning, I’d woken to a sadness so deep it brought me to tears. My heart longed for friends. Not just a random friend here or there, but a network of true friends. The kind that don’t blow away with the first little disagreement. Friends in Christ.
The first idea that came to mind was to find yet another Bible Study to join. One in another part of time with different participants. I’d just start looking around town and see what was available. I knew where I’d start. A little church on Farm District Road. A real street name in a town that also has In-Town Park and Out-of-Town Park.
With that decision made and with great haste, I jumped in the Barbie-Mobile and drove there. If there were a building more tightly closed and locked, I’ve never been to one. The barren parking lot of the little church sat empty telling me to leave. I felt abandoned and alone.
I decided I’d go buy some flowers at Lowe’s and return home to tend the gardens at Winterpast.
Feeling pretty low as I drove, a vision of the warm and welcoming people of another church across town flashed through my mind. I had met them my right before my first Thanksgiving as a widow in my new town. They were collecting food for hungry families. I’d go there. They wouldn’t be closed. They couldn’t be. Although they might be, my heart said “Drive there, Woman!”
In that moment, Jesus truly took the wheel.
At 9:58, I walked into the very room where my group of friends sat. About 14 of the sweetest women of faith. Welcoming. Smiling. Ready to study the Bible. Waiting on ME, the woman they had yet to meet.
At each place, there was a paper that said the following…..
friend
/frend/ noun
someone who gives you freedom to be yourself;
one of the nicest things you can have;
the best thing you can be.
Last Thursday, we celebrated the 1-Year-Anniversary of our Bible study group. They listened as I shared all the details of my resignation after celebrating my happiness at returning to work only two months earlier. I hadn’t realized the disappointment and feelings of failure that were there for a true friend to see. They prayed for my broken heart while I cried, surrounded by true and complete love. The room was full of angels that morning. Both earth angels and the Holy Spirit. What a morning. What a beautiful group of friends God gave me on a morning I cried out to ask him for nothing more.
Yes.
I think I need to call my sweet friend. She mentioned she’d love to see fall colors again. Me too. We both need to seize this moment in time when the leaves are a brilliant orange, red, yellow, and bronze. In life you never know when our eyesight might fail or be gone all together. Storms can come at any time in life. We need to be ready for them.
Whatever you do today, be ready for Jesus to take the wheel. It just might be that you find treasures more wonderful than gold. The first step is getting in the car to go looking.
There is nothing better than a Small Town Candidates Night on which to base political decisions. So much is said through body language and voice. Random questions reveal a candidates true colors. That’s something one never sees on the hundreds of staged political commercials polluting the airwaves at this time of year.
I don’t know what is worse. Wasting life by the 1/2 minutes while watching people tell political lies through perfect teeth and tightened skin, or being convinced to take drugs that might cure your condition, but could also kill you while doing so. Think how good you’ll feel on the way out!
Oy Vey.
OFF. On many days, the best television setting is OFF.
The Mysterious Marine invited me to join him in support of his brother who happens to be running for THE Mayor of our little town. Having the entire day to think about meeting a portion of his very large family, I decided to get dolled up for the occasion. Black on black with a wool blazer. Hair blown and curled just enough. Eye shadow, lipstick, a faint hint of perfume. It was nice to prepare for an evening out to support a mayoral candidate I actually know and like.
I’d protested against attending the meeting just a little bit. I used to be a voting member of the political group hosting the event. Many of the members are not the most genuine people. If they were, I’d still be a card carrying member, right? But, for the Mysterious Marine, there aren’t many things I wouldn’t do to support him and his family. Going with him was an easy “YES”.
There were many, many nephews, nieces, and even a Great-niece to meet. His brother and his wife have been married almost 50 years and have 25 Grandchildren and 3 Great-grandchildren. They have lived in the town I now call home for 62 years. MM’s nephew was also on the panel, running for a position on the School Board. It was fun sitting with the movers and shakers of our town.
At the table, I met two VIP’s about which I want to know more. MM introduced me to his high school track coach and his wife. Now, not to give out too much information, MM is 68. This fit, funny, and great man sitting at the table was his track coach. You do the math. His lovely wife was there with him. Both were energetic and alive, coming out into the desert night to support our candidate. This man had coached MM to award winning records that have stood for decades. The two are still great friends. What a feel good story!
Through the night, youngers came over to say Hello to this rock star couple. Just two elders enjoying a date night while listening to candidates talk about their positions on important issues. What careers these two people had! How nice that I had a chance to meet them. I’m so proud to live in a town small enough that our vote will make a difference in the quality of our lives. Even more so that the locals know the importance of a single vote.
The two sheriff candidates sat across the room from each other like buffalo bulls. Not signaling that anything was amiss, but ready for a sparring match if the need arose. I noticed residual tension from their long day at work. I can’t imagine the days our police officers experience. I pray for them often. These two men stomp out crimes in an area covering over 24,000 square miles. A lot of territory to keep safe.
With a new sheriff and a new Mayor, our town will be ready for 2022 and beyond. It’s time. We have water, school, and policing issues. Our roads are in dismal shape and getting worse with each passing season. The “Good Ole Boy” system that worked so well for so long isn’t working anymore. The housing bubble has again burst. With gas at almost $6 a gallon, the 30 minute commute makes our town just a little too far away. Skyrocketing rent has priced us out competition with bigger cities. All these situations spell tough times for a little town and the residents. Last night, there wasn’t an empty seat in the house.
Mr. Mayoral Candidate looked dapper in his suit and tie. He’d prepared for the evening of questions and had meaty answers. At one point, the current mayor (hopeful Past Mayor) threw out a big lie. After careful consideration, Mr. Mayoral Candidate didn’t pick up the rope. Tug of war is a nasty game in which someone gets muddy. It was refreshing to see a candidate that preferred to take the high road. Mr. Past Mayor (hopefully) had sent a letter to the entire community that held a big lie, (quite provable), about Mr. Mayoral Candidate. It was wonderful to see Mr. Mayoral Candidate take the high road. Way to GO!!
Many old women were there, older but not wiser. I was glad MM’s family was so big and welcoming. A little baby with the sweetest curl was the icing on the cake. I can’t wait to know everyone better. Blending into a gigantic sea of supporters, it was easy to focus on the debate. A night I will not soon forget and issues that will steer me to vote my conscience at the polls.
Today, Oliver is coming home from October puppy camp. I must say the house is very quiet without him. These days, we are a working team. Although he doesn’t understand why I’m again home and tending to Winterpast, he loves it and is at my side at all times. After almost four years, when I make a request, he complies. Sit? He sits. Down? He’s down. Bed? Off he goes. When alone, we’re a team. Add his new girlfriend to the mix, it’s twice the crazy all over again. There’s always more a dog can learn, right?
Have a wonderful day today. Take time to look at the political candidates before you vote. Make sure you are voting for a person and not just a party. If you get the chance to meet candidates, I highly recommend it. You might find some new friends in the process.
Like so many children of the 70’s, I fell in love with houseplants. Angel Wing Begonias. Spider plants. Pathos. Mother-In-Law’s Tongue. Grape Ivy. Elephant Ears. I loved them all and had plants every where I lived. At that time, plants were an inexpensive way to decorate, bringing beauty and life to any home.
Through my life, I would have a reoccurring dream that someday I would own a home covered in plants. That was quite an odd dream because, at that time, VST and I were living a healthy and happy life together. There were no thoughts of bugging out and finding a little hippy shack somewhere. Certainly no thoughts of becoming a widow at 64.
During those years, we were gone so much of the time, there wasn’t time to nurture an indoor garden. VST never coached our kids in the variety of sports he enjoyed throughout school. He loved all sports, having been a starting player on an award winning football team throughout his high school years. The legend lives on in the memories of his team mates.
While our five children grew, VST was one busy guy. Professionally he worked full time. When I met him, he had 3 college credits. Throughout our lives together, he earned his Associates Degree, Bachelor’s Degree, Master’s Degree, and Doctoral Degree, all while raising our kids to the adults that brought our grandchildren into the world. He also built everything from a waterfall to an outdoor smoking room and a garage for his parents, supporting them in their elder years.
During those years, I was racing as fast as I could with my own professional endeavors. I, too, became the evening famer specializing in irrigation of 16,000 100-year-old-vines. When we weren’t growing them, we were shaking the dust from hundreds of tons of dancing raisins There just wasn’t time for any indoor plants, as the outdoor ones drained the life from us on a daily basis.
Once we retired and moved to Virginia City, there were three more teaching gigs in store for me. VST continued to build. We also became feral parents, riding the range in the RV. When I look back, it’s lucky that Oliver found a spot with us. Our days flew by until I was left with days alone to dream up new adventures on my own.
Houseplants are now thriving at Winterpast. The dream I had so many times over the years has come to be. A home full of lovely and calming plants. Their pots sit everywhere there is enough light to sustain them.
I sure wish houseplants still cost what they did in 1970. As I’ve started to get back into my hobby, I’ve realized that some varieties are no longer sold as house plants. Coleus were the most beautiful plants, coming in a variety of colors and textures. They are now sold at my hardware store as an outdoor plant. Not sure how the delicate leaves would do in my backyard, as the desert winds would surely kill them in a few days.
One little coincidence that has been noted with a smile is that Mr. Mysterious Marine happens to share the same love of houseplants. His Angel Wings stretch towards his ceiling, while plants frame and fill every window. Such life they bring to his home. I must say, one doesn’t often meet a person with such important similarities and sensitivities. It isn’t lost on this Gardener who Grieves.
Last night, I showed him my favorite place to shop. In the back of the hardware store, near the garden exit is a wonderful little secret. It’s the “On Sale Because We are Almost Dead” plant section. On shelves sit fantastic bargains of the 50% off kind. There, (if you are optimistic, handy with Miracle Grow, and able to look past a few dead leaves), are wonderful plants that just can’t sit on the perfect shelves anymore. Between the selections of the two of us, there aren’t many good ones left on that lonely shelf.
After a wonderful shopping adventure of the best kind, the Mysterious Marine cooked a gourmet meal of specially seasoned chicken and very purple homegrown potatoes and onions. Complemented with homegrown tomatoes in a salad, the gourmet meal couldn’t have been purchased anywhere because the man who cooked it also grew the potatoes, onions, and tomatoes.
Thinking about gardening plans for the 2023 season, this Mysterious Marine and I have many notes to compare. I see many new fruit trees and flowers in my future, along with more houseplants.
Retirement has returned. With a new appreciation for hobbies from long ago, I am blessed to have found a friend with whom to enjoy them.
As I’ve gardened over the decades, I’ve come to believe that flowers are God’s way of laughing. Truly. It would take a very hard heart not to appreciate the beauty and diversity of flowers. Coming in every imaginable color, they are powerful. We order them at times of extreme happiness and celebrations and need them in times of great sadness. Their energy is real and able to mend a broken heart.
Miss Sunflower is a treasured friend of mine. Shy and reserved inside, she hides behind a powerhouse attitude of “I believe I can do this, so I will.” And, she does. She has been through many trials and tribulations in her 50 years. She reminds me of myself at 50. Overwhelmed while she forges ahead, she’s determined to handle whatever needs handling. Being a master florist, she just bought the flower shop on Main Street.
Of all the women in Bible Study, I’ve probably spent the most time with her. Miss Sunflower radiates the goodness of the earth. Surely floral spirits are lodged in her blonde locks as she transform a bucket of flowers into an arrangement of beauty. Don’t get in her way as she handles business in the shop. She might run you over with a bucket of soft, grey roses, intended for those customers in the Halloween spirit.
Yesterday, her business partner was out of the shop. I learned a one person flower shop is tough to handle. A person needs to take orders and also make deliveries. People come in at random times during the day to make varied requests. Homecoming wristlets. A hospital pick-me-up. Red, long stemmed roses that scream about new love. Red, white, and blue cemetery arrangements to watch over the grave of a newly fallen soldier. In a single day, the emotions that come and go are as varied as the people walking through the door.
Miss Sunflower had asked if I’d be able to come and hang out with her in the absence of her partner. She didn’t need to ask twice. As I wrote yesterday, my love of plants and flowers is intense. To spend a day peeking into the back side of a floral shop would be fascinating.
Yes. I’d be there.
Sitting on Main Street, Miss Sunflower’s new shop has a front row seat to everything our little town has to offer. Big semi-trucks roll by as they snake their way towards Las Vegas, only seven hours to the south. I noticed that many honked as they drove by. Miss Sunflower filled me in on the back story. It seems the owner of Tee Pee Bar and Grill has a deal with the truckers. If they gave a honk, they’ll get a discount on their meal. All afternoon, hungry truckers tooted their horns at the restaurant just a little down the street. Another little bit of folk-lore of which I wasn’t aware until yesterday.
Yvonne’s hot pink hot dog stand is now a thing of the past. It’s changed into All American Home Town Burgers. The little stand is now painted lavender and boasts the best Philly Cheese Steak Sandwiches in Northwestern Nevada. I’ll need to give this place a try.
My first assignment, which I eagerly accepted, was to deliver two beautiful arrangements. One a birthday gift and one a gift of new and intense love. Two very different arrangements sat in the Barbie-mobile on their way to two unsuspecting women. What a fun assignment to share such happiness with strangers!
The first arrangement was accepted by a young man. Not sure if he was a husband or son, he opened the front door to reveal a room full of balloons. The lady of the hour was out lunching with her mom. I hope she enjoyed such a wonderful surprise on her special day. When the young man looked at the card, his face softened into a knowing smile. A lovely moment in every way.
The second delivery fell on an unanswered door. The roses professing deep and abiding love would need to journey back to the shop for another delivery at another time. The lady of the house wasn’t there.
During the afternoon, Miss Sunflower refilled her display floral display case with beauty. When I arrived, she had three arrangements in the case. When I left, her cases were full. I learned about pricing and arranging. She even let me arrange two bud vases, which I must admit, turned out pretty nice.
Before I knew it, her daughter arrived to help and I went on my way. I really didn’t want to wash my hair last night, knowing flower fairies are perched up there. I’m quite sure some hitched a ride home with me after such an enchanting day.
Miss Sunflower would have it no other way than to give me a rose filled bud vase and a box of chocolates for helping out. Not a bad exchange for a day I really needed.
The Mysterious Marine has asked me twice about my favorite flowers. I had to give this question careful consideration. In the garden, roses and peonies are unbeatable. In the wild, California sunflowers and high Sierra wildflowers of any variety always make me smile. The smell of a gardenia or the shape of hydrangea blossoms make me think of my grandmother. Coastal flowers make me want to move there just to grown them. The simplicity of a daisy or the intricacy of a Bird of Paradise. The simple elegance of a crisp, white daisy. There are so many to choose, I can’t say that one flower is favored over the other.
The only flowers I really don’t like are lilies of any kind. I hope that some day when I’m pushing up daisies the kids remember that. No lilies of any kind. Rather an arrogant flower, in my humble opinion.
My day was topped off by sharing a PoPo appetizer at Golden Chef with the Mysterious Marine. Today, we’ll begin the long process of family introductions. It’s time each family gets to know the person who has been taking up our free time. By the end of the day, strangers will become acquaintances. What a wonderful way to begin the weekend!
I’ll be back Monday with much more to tell. Until then, buy yourself some flowers. They just may heal what ails you.
Last week, temperatures were still reaching 80 degrees by late afternoon, but as I write this, my outdoor thermometer registers 23. Winter is just around the counter here in the high desert. Oliver is tucked by my feet as he snuggles under his blanket and my steaming coffee tastes wonderful.
I love weekends, frosty or not. This one was especially great. On Friday, the Mysterious Marine and I went to watch women’s basketball at the university in the middle of the biggest little city to the West. My eldest granddaughter plays for the team that visited. It was amazing to see her play in a professional sports arena complete with a four sided jumbotron. Men’s sports are big in our area. Women’s sports will never catch on. Looking around, it seems there were a lot of family members there to cheer on the team, while most of the seats remained empty.
Regardless of the lack of crowds or empty seats, watching a granddaughter play under the big lights of an event center of that size was pretty exciting. After an illustrious high school career, she earned a four year scholarship to a private college in California. I remember her as a toddler, using a basketball to get her balance. Over the year as she watched her dad’s moves, she developed a few of her own. I’m glad I got to see her play as a young woman. With a front row seat in heaven, VST must’ve been full of pride!
Saturday was full of chores in preparation for the big freeze. In these parts, one must be sure to disconnect all sprinkler systems before freezing nights are here to stay. If not, a homeowner will face broken pipes and costly repairs.
I’ve been unable to complete this task myself, as the valve to turn the water on and off is a beast. Thank goodness the Mysterious Marine helped me out with that problem. The gardens of Winterpast are officially beginning their deep sleep. Let the autumn winds carry my leaves off to parts unknown. If not, my gardener will help tidy things up for the winter.
Playoff games, Pan Seared scallops and home-made Fettuccini Alfredo, visits with family members, home-made chicken soup with Amish noodles, breakfast out and breakfast in. All in all, this weekend was action packed and gone way too soon.
This week fall cleaning here at Winterpast is in full swing. Working full time has it’s draw backs. In retirement, I wonder how I did everything while working. It’s quite obvious. I didn’t. This week, I need to play catch up and get things shining. It’s almost time to start decorating for the holidays and Winterpast needs to shine.
A few weeks have passed since I turned in my letter of resignation and I’ve had lots of time to thing about my decision. The peace that surrounds me tells me I made exactly the right one. Although I don’t know God’s master plans and why I was asked to teach for such a short time, I’m sure it was his intervention that landed me the job.
In talking to others still working there, it seems conditions are improving. My kiddos are doing well. Problems are being resolved. Things are better than when I started there.
Not only did I improve my skills of patience and tolerance, I also practiced making boundaries for myself. Protecting myself, it became clear this wasn’t the environment I’d envisioned for one final year in the classroom. The best ending of all happened. I walked away with no malice or hard feelings. It just wasn’t a fit for me. In that decision, I feel total and complete peace without a single regret. What a blessing!
Whatever you do today, enjoy the crisp autumn days and take a moment to look for signs of the changing season. I plan to visit Virginia City, this the week before Halloween. With a lunch of Gospel Fried Chicken, I plan to go sit awhile at VST’s resting spot while I watch the leaves blow by. This my favorite season of all and I don’t plan to miss a minute.
Planning dinner here at Winterpast is often as tricky as picking something to write about on a frosty autumn day. In honor of Tuesday, tacos will be served tonight along with Mexican Rice, Refried Beans, and all the trimmings. Sounds yummy to me.
As a child growing up in a very German farming household, ethnic meals were limited. My mother was an excellent cook who never repeated meals or relied on leftovers. With five daughters and a hungry husband, there was never anything left anyway. Her mental cookbook held a variety of meals that covered one month’s time and almost all were amazing, (minus the Hot Tuna Casserole With Peas). She never forced us to eat liver, but tried to serve a variety of foods to keep everyone happy, healthy, and trim.
It wasn’t until I was in high school that she learned how to make tacos. Perhaps my Dad asked her to try to make them, having been introduced to them by his employees. I can assure you, she didn’t learn how to make them from her mom. In those days, there were no cooking shows, and besides, she was too busy to watch them if there were. Before the age of the computer, recipes were passed around by word of mouth or on hand written pages. Someone, somewhere showed her a thing or two about making tacos and enchiladas.
Once every ten days, we’d have Mexican Night, which we all learned to love. A hard sell at first, but once we tried them, we were all hooked. Not hooked to the point we would ever venture out to have dinner at a Mexican restaurant. The closest town was a 30 minute drive. Eating out was something a farming family just didn’t do unless someone had died or was in the hospital dying. No. There were no favorite restaurants for farming kids.
About that time, Taco Bell was opening franchises around California. My town, being a farming town between Los Angeles and San Francisco, was always last to get anything great like a new fast food restaurant. My mother’s tacos were the only ones I’d ever eaten.
Visiting my older sister in Sacramento was always enlightening. She knew all the best places to eat and the most outrageous things to do. Already married with two small children under her wing, I think she enjoyed the outings with me as much as I enjoyed going to visit her. I was about 13 when she asked if I would like to try a taco at a place called “Taco Bell”.
What????
A taco from a restaurant???
Not from Mom’s kitchen????
So ethnic.
So risky.
So wrong on every level to a 13 year old who had zero experience eating out at ANY restaurant let alone an ETHNIC one serving TACOS that were not prepared by my MOTHER!!!!
This was just a step too far.
Just what was this sister of mine thinking?????
It took her some pleading and persuading to change my mind on this. At this point, she was hooked on Taco Bell, serving it to her little family many times every month. My little nephew was elated when he learned we might having Taco Bell for dinner. With every bit of bravery I had, I agreed to go and try a bite of their version of a taco. My sister seemed to be correct about many new experiences. I’d need to trust her on this one.
One bit and I was hooked. Mom’s tacos now took a back seat to Taco Bell. The best thing I had eaten in my entire life.
That day is the best example I can come up with to explain the sheltered existence in which I grew up. Surrounded by a miles and miles of vineyards in any direction for as far as the eye could see, there weren’t a lot of opportunities for mayhem or devilment. Just never ending work that changed from season to season. It was easy to get great grades when homework was the most exciting distraction there was. Even the phone was tethered to the wall and well within earshot of a mother preparing to cook, cooking, or cleaning up after cooking. Constance surveillance of the German variety in a 1900’s farm house in the middle of Nowhere-Ville.
One taco in a town far away from the vineyard opened a window to new tastes, experiences, and best of all, TACOS.
I still make my mother’s recipe, although I think mine is better.
German-Girl Tacos
Fry 1 large onions until translucent.
Fry 1 lb. ground beef until well done.
Smother in a secret tomato-y sauce.
Fry corn tortillas until they are the perfect crunch.
Top with cheese, tomatoes, lettuce and a little sour cream.
Serve with homemade Mexican Rice and Refried Beans.
The perfect meal to serve to one hungry Mysterious Marine who will join me for dinner this evening.
Whatever you do today, keep in mind Taco Tuesday is a real thing. Do some research in your town and find out where you can get your own piping hot street tacos at a reduced price. Taco Tuesday. It doesn’t get better than that, unless they’re tacos enjoyed with a friend.
Somewhere out there in this big old world of ours sits a little wooden cabin by the lake. It’s not the biggest cabin you’ve ever seen. Not the prettiest and certainly not decorated in Coastal Grandmother Chic. Nope. Just a little fishing cabin that can get pretty darn cold this time of year. The back door sticks in the winter and lets in the mosquitos in the summer. The roof leaks, but only a little when it rains. It belonged to an old couple that lived out their golden years together. It now sits empty, just waiting to be found by a new couple excitedly awaiting their turn. It seems it’s a little lonely as it waits for them.
Cabins are funny like that. They hold dreams and heal wounds. Just the thought of sitting outside by that little rock fire pit warms the hearts of many. Cabin people dream big dreams and live life to the fullest. The best day fishing on a lake beats all others. Writing to the sounds of the wind traveling through the leaves conjures up all sorts of stories in the creative mind.
This particular cabin sits on the shore of a lake teaming with whatever kind of fish you’d like to fry up for dinner. Walleye, trout, striped bass, or catfish. At different places and times of day, you might even find a sailfish or two, or so I’ve been told. It’s a magical place where bears are always across the lake for proper viewing. Coyotes howl in the distance and never menace the neighbors. Ants, termites, and other bothersome sorts never interfere with day to day life.
The waters of the lake are perfect for an afternoon swim. With temperatures never exceeding 80, an afternoon dip provides a refreshing break summer’s heat. In the winter, the fish can be found just below the ice. With a cup of hot cocoa and a winter parka, a fisherman can have a stringer full in no time.
The cabin is fully stocked with everything a person would need. Endless supplies of flour and oil in which to bread a trout or bake a biscuit. Jars of homemade jam and fresh honey from the meadow. Plenty of cut and stacked wood for the little fireplace that burns on its own from 8 – 8. A thick down comforter on the softest bed, providing the perfect nest for anyone needing a good night’s sleep.
Far from cell service and news of the crazy world, this little place clears the mind of clutter that has no place in a sane person’s thoughts. Wild summer berries are just up the lane, but one shouldn’t take them all. Good neighbors share.
On a day dressed in rainbows, the new owners will blow in on the four winds. Of course, the locals know the exact location Wild Bee Meadow, but they won’t be quick to give directions. It’s kind of nice to have an empty cabin next door. Barking dogs and laughter, although nice, do spoil the quiet. The fish don’t like it much, either. Besides, the ghosts of the past residents want to take the boat out just once more. No, this new couple will need to take a few wrong turns to find the little gem on the lake.
Cabins are the perfect spot for a writer who is looking for the next great adventure in life. Having owned a little cabin in the woods once upon a time, I would warn the new owners that cabins in the mind are the very best of all. No pine needles to rake. No roof to repair. No falling trees or wild fires to fear. Just the peace and quiet of the mind and all the fish you can eat delivered right to the pages of your first novel. Any kind of fish you would like, even sailfish, or so I’ve been told.
This little cabin is out there. Somewhere in this big old world it’s waiting for those that are persistent enough to find it. They need to take their time, finding the bend in the road that veers to the right at the red barn and left at the grey one. Watching out for potholes, (the roads aren’t in the best repair), there are miles to travel, with the rainbow’s end changing the location every few miles. When they find it, they’ll know, as sure as the sun sets to the west on the little lake in the woods near Wild Bee Meadow.
One of the very best things about living in Nevada is NEVADA DAY!!! It’s a real state holiday. No school. No work. Only play.
Although Nevada’s real date of admission to the union is October 31st, this was in conflict with Halloween. The observed date has been moved to the last Friday in October to keep our Trick or Treat-er’s safe. A big thanks to Kelsey Penrose for this complete and helpful Nevada Day 2022 schedule of events for Friday, Oct. 28 through Sunday Oct. 30. Saturday’s parade begins at 10 a.m.
HISTORICAL EAST-SIDE TOUR Join Bernie Allen on Fri., Oct. 28, 2022 at 10:00 a.m. as he guides you on a two mile walking tour of the historical east side. This free tour begins at the Capitol steps and continues to the location of the former children’s home, which was also the site of the 1897 Corbett Fitzsimmons heavyweight title fight. The tour also includes a visit to the site of the former V&T Railroad shops as well as many other historic locations. For more info, call Bernie at 775-315-7616.
Friday & Saturday October 28 & 29, 2022
NEVADA STATE RAILROAD MUSEUM Located at South Carson Street & Fairview Drive, the museum is open Thursday through Monday, 9:00 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. In honor of Nevada Day, FREE admission all day Friday, October 28 and Saturday, October 29, 2022! The museum also offers McKeen Motor Car rides October 28-29, from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m.. Ride tickets: $8 for ages 12+; $4 for ages 4-11 yrs; free for ages 3 and younger. Purchase ride tickets at the Wabuska Depot at the Museum. For more info, call 775-687-6953 or visit carsonrailroadmuseum.org. Friday – Sunday, October 28 -30, 2022
NEVADA DAY POW WOW The Nevada Day Powwow will run from Oct. 28, 29, and 30 with a Friday family culture night at 7 p.m., Grand Entry at 1 p.m. and 7 p.m. on Saturday and 12 p.m. on Sunday at the MAC center in Carson City, NV.
GREAT BASIN NATIVE ARTISTS GALLERY The exhibition, Dancing for the People: Pow Wow Regalia and Art of the Great Basin, will be on display at the Great Basin Native Artists Gallery, inside the Stewart Indian School Cultural Center & Museum in Carson City. The display will include contemporary pow wow dance regalia, photography, mixed media sculpture, Great Basin beadwork, digital graphic design and more. This exhibition is curated by Melissa Melero-Moose (Fallon Paiute/Modoc), founder of Great Basin Native Artists Collective. It opened on Wednesday, Oct. 12 and will continue until May, 2023.
Saturday, October 29, 2022
PANCAKE BREAKFAST AT THE GOVERNOR’S MANSION A Nevada Day tradition, the pancake breakfast at the Governor’s Mansion (606 N. Mountain St.) is hosted by the Carson City Republican Women’s Club and takes place from 7:00-9:30 a.m. on parade day. Cost is $7 for Adults and $4 for Kids 10 and younger. Proceeds go towards a scholarship of $2,000 to a deserving senior from Carson or Dayton High School. Breakfast includes: pancakes, eggs, ham, orange juice and coffee. The Governor is often available for photos. You might even spot surprise celebrities and famous political guests at this annual Carson City tradition! For more info visit www.ccrwclub.com.
NEVADA BUILDERS FOUNDATION HOSTS BREAKFAST BUFFET AT RED’S OLD 395 GRILL 22nd Annual Nevada Builders Foundation Nevada Day Breakfast Buffet at Red’s Old 395 Grill. Saturday, October 29, 2022 6:00 am – 9:30 am Red’s Old 395 Grill is located at 1055 S. Carson St. Enjoy a full breakfast buffet of pancakes and scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages and potatoes and much more. Be sure to treat yourself to Red’s famous Bloody Mary’s and Mimosas. They are available at the bar. Early Bird Special tickets are $8 purchased in advance and $10.00 at the door. Hurry and get your tickets now at www.NevadaBuilders.org/Nevada-day-breakfast-buffet/
JOIN NEVADA BUILDERS FOUNDATION FOR A “BEER BY THE BANK” Beer specials during the parade! Stop by for a drink from the beer trailer next to Bank Saloon located at, 418 S. Carson St. Saturday, Oct. 29, 2022. All proceeds from beer sales will support the Foundation’s mission to help local youth seeking a fulfilling career in the construction industry.
33RD ANNUAL NEVADA DAY CLASSIC RUN/WALK This is a classic road course through the streets of west Carson City beginning at 8 a.m. Costumes are HIGHLY encouraged! An annual event since 1989, the Nevada Day Classic – presented by the Tahoe Mountain Milers – is an 8K run and a 2-mile run/walk through the beautiful, historic west side of Carson City, Nevada. The races precede the Nevada Day Parade with a course finish down the main drag of Carson City with spectators lining the way. All runners of all distances will receive a custom wooden medal! The first 200 runners that register are guaranteed a t-shirt!
The Nevada Day Classic is organized in partnership with Guide Dogs for the Blind, Kaia Fit, Delta Gamma and Lynn Mentzer Timing. All net proceeds will go to Guide Dogs For The Blind. The email for general public inquiries is: tahoemtnmilers@gmail.com
RE/MAX NEVADA DAY BALLOON LAUNCH Watch the majesty of hot air balloons launching right on Carson Street near the Carson Mall beginning at 8:00 a.m. on parade day (weather permitting). The balloons fly for about an hour and are usually down before the parade starts. The launch operates under the assistance of the Great Reno Balloon Race. Team RE/MAX flies their signature hot air balloon, along with many other balloons. Sponsors can ride in a balloon and hang their banner from the balloon’s basket.
NEVADA DAY PARADE The parade begins at 10 a.m. The military fly-over will signal the start of the parade, which begins at William Street and N. Carson Street, and ends 4 hours later at the intersection of Stewart Street and S. Carson Street. The parade features marching bands, floats, equestrian groups, political candidates, historical displays, Burning Man art cars, and much more.
NEVADA DAY BUSINESS DECORATING CONTEST Decorate your business for Nevada Day to fit the theme “Carnivál on the Comstock” and you may win a $100 gift certificate from the Nevada Gift Shop, bragging rights and a big blue ribbon to display at your business. Mayor Lori Bagwell will be the judge and will take place sometime before the parade.
NEVADA DAY BEARD CONTEST Hosted by Cipriani’s Downtown Barber Shop and Paradise Salon Spa Wellness. Held immediately following the parade around 2:30 p.m., the Beard Contest takes place on the main stage at McFadden Plaza (3rd St.) There is no entry fee, the contest is open to anyone with a beard. Award categories include: best overall winner, longest, fullest, reddest, whitest, blackest, best salt and pepper, best groomed, scruffiest, and most bearded community.
49TH ANNUAL WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP SINGLE JACK DRILLING CONTEST The World Championship Single Jack Rock Drilling Contest takes place on Sat., Oct. 29, 2022 at the Carson Mall Parking lot on Carson St. The competition begins around 11:00 a.m. Men and Women contestants use 4 1/2 pound hammers and a 3/4” bit of steel to drill as deep and as fast as they can in a 4,320 pound piece of Sierra White Granite from the Yosemite area (the hardest known granite in the region). Contestants have 10 minutes to pound the drills into the solid stone, their only help is from an assistant who runs water into the hole so the loose stone chips are splashed out with every stroke of the hammer. The deepest hole wins. The contest goes back to the Comstock mining skills of earlier times, when blast holes for dynamite were punched into ore bodies by hand. Contestants vie for a chance at a World Champion title. To learn more visit www.NevadaDay.com.
USAF MOBILITY BAND PERFORMANCE Carson City Chamber of Commerce is sponsoring the 7-member USAF Mobility Band that will begin their show on Saturday, 10/29, at 5 p.m. on the McFadden Plaza Stage. They are a part of the U.S. Air Force Band of the Golden West stationed at Travis Air Force Base and a high energy rock band that have become very popular in Carson City. This is their second appearance to help celebrate Nevada’s most popular holiday tradition. They also will be on the VFW Float to play during the parade.
FALL FEST AT ARLINGTON SQUARE Join us Saturday 10/29, for the 7th annual Northern Nevada Fall Fest. Shop local crafters, reps, and businesses. Food Trucks, food booths, Kettle Corn, Raffles, candy and more! In Arlington Square (507 N. Carson St), across from the Carson Nugget, from 8 am- 3 pm.
CARSON MALL ACTIVITIES Carson Mall will host a Craft Show, a “Best In The West” Bloody Mary Contest with a cash prize, and a Corn Hole Tournament. Vendors will be set up in the Carson Mall parking lot at 1223 S. Carson St from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. displaying and selling unique gifts. Find your next treasure and enjoy browsing through all the booths. -“Best Bloody Mary In The West” contest Cash prizes for top three starting at $50. Crafters will pay at the time of the event! Crafters must supply all the ingredients and the Carson Mall will supply the glasses. -Cornhole Tournament TIME: Register, sign-in & practice: 1 pm & Bags Fly: 2 pm $40/team, pay at sign-in This is a BYOP/B (Partner/Bags). Several round robins will be played to establish seating in a double elimination bracket. Sierra Nevada Cornhole will be running the event: regulation boards, bags & rules. Please pre-register on the free Scoreholio app. Check out our Facebooks @shopcarsonmall or @sierranevadacornhole.
38TH ANNUAL CHILI FEED The annual Chili Feed in the Carson Nugget’s upstairs Banquet Center (507 North Carson St.) on parade day from Noon – 2 p.m. Admission is free, so arrive early for the popular event! Enjoy free chili with all the fixings. It’s a great opportunity to meet old and new friends, plus chat with federal, state, and local leaders.
TELEGRAPH SQUARE BLOCK PARTY Join old and new friends and dance to the music of “Ev and the Electric Soup” from 3 – 6 p.m. in Telegraph Square (at Telegraph & Curry Streets), sponsored by Nevada Day. Enjoy free live music, plus visit food and drink vendors and nearby businesses.
NEVADA DAY FREE CONCERT The Capital City Community Band opens its 45th concert season with a free concert of patriotic and Halloween favorites on Sat., Oct. 29th, at 2 p.m. at the Amphitheater in the Legislative Mall in Carson City, NV (weather permitting.) The concert is FREE to the public. Parents are encouraged to bring their children. Bring a lawn chair or blanket to sit on.
TOURS AT THE GOVERNOR’S MANSION The Governor’s mansion will again be hosting tours this year on Nevada Day (which includes upstairs!) from 2:00 to 4:00. This is a unique opportunity to see the upstairs of the mansion and meet the Governor and first lady. Docents will do the tours in period clothing and they usually have a little treat to hand out as well.
Sunday, October 30, 2022
POST NEVADA DAY TRASH MOB Meet at the parking lot at 3rd Street and Curry Street by 8 a.m. to help us clean up downtown the day after the parade. For more details, visit our website at nevadaday.com or give us a call at (775) 882-2600.
Monday, October 31, 2022
TRICK-OR-TREATING IN CARSON CITY & THE GOVERNOR’S MANSION The Official night for trick-or-treating in Carson City this year is Monday, October 31st. Stop by the Governor’s Mansion at 606 N. Mountain St. where Governor Sisolak and the first lady will hand out candy from 5-8 p.m. There will be entertainment for all ages.
Whatever you do, celebrate fall. We only have a little bit left until the clocks fall back. Fellow Nevadans, lets celebrate!!!!!
Happy Monday! October 2022 is coming to a close. All of a sudden the daylight is gone by 6, leaving the nights high desert dark and cold. Halloween is upon us. Yesterday, the last of the pumpkins were being snatched up at the grocery store. Winterpast will be without a pumpkin or decorations for another year, as this Trick or Treat-er will be elsewhere on this the spookiest of nights.
There is something that makes Halloween even a little creepier when you live in a rural setting. With no streetlights, Coyotes howl at the moon. Owls swoop out of nowhere while hunting in the dark. The white mustang with the red eyes loves to saunter across the road in the dark of night, looking even more sinister than usual. With no fear of cars, mustangs in the night are lethal roadblocks. Drivers always lose. Yes. Halloween and any high desert town are a perfect match.
As far as I can tell, the kids are making a haul this year. Our town started the “Trunk or Treating” last Friday with a Halloween-Pet-and-Master-Dress-Up-Competition near the local 7-11. Lots of masters and their dogs were lined up as the judges carefully inspected the teams. It’s times like these our little town needs a newspaper (which we don’t have) to cover the fun.
Saturday, Flowers on Main was the place to be after hours. The owner, Miss Sunflower, decided to host a private spider-filled and spooktacular flower arranging event. The first of it’s kind in town, seats were limited and at a premium. With snacks on the side, we each cut the top off a small pumpkin and got to work scooping out the seeds and goop.
When the pumpkins were empty, we put a small cup of water and oasis in the center and started arranging. First we inserted leathery fern until the hole was totally covered, appearing that a live plant was growing inside.
Selecting flowers from the buckets in the walk-in cooler, Miss Sunflower made a working bucket from which to choose our stems. There is nothing more fun than going into the cooler of a flower shop. There were mums, roses, irises, and lilies. Baby’s breath. Purple filler. Gerber daisies looked like they were the product of a crazy science experiment. After the initial decision that we wanted one of everything, Miss Sunflower guided us towards some good combinations and we were off to the arranging table.
Friendships are deepened over wine or coffee, but they are solidified over oo-ey goo-ey pumpkin guts and flowers. Stripping, snipping, and snapping, our arrangements came to life in the most beautiful way. With one anchor flower and a little of this and that, after one hour, we had arrangements to take home! Miss Sunflower finished them off with a sparkly spider and webs magically made from hot glue.
Of course, there are Sip and Paint classes in which people follow the teacher and make a painting. There are other types of get togethers. Floral arranging was the most fun thing I’ve done in awhile. Miss Sunflower was so sweet to open her shop to us on a perfect fall afternoon.
Tonight, Mysterious Marine and I are going to share Philly Cheesesteak sandwiches and fries while watching the third game of the World Series and answering the door to Trick or Treaters. This is an activity that is always more fun when with a friend. Oliver and his girlfriend will use lots of energy barking and carrying on as the door bell rings and pint sized ghouls and goblins come for their treats. There’ll be fun for everyone on this Halloween night.
Whatever you do, try something new. Buy some oasis and bunch of flowers at the local Walmart and try your hand at floral design. Remember this. There are no mistakes. Only happy accidents.
A November 1st Welcome to you!!! Hard to believe that Christmas is in 54 days according to the internet. And we all know the internet is never wrong……
Years ago, I decided that Christmas decorations need to be displayed for longer than a few weeks in December. Red and green are my favorite colors. Not really sure why I don’t just use them for my accent colors. At any rate, November 1st is the day I start decorating. Now that I’m the chief box mover, it takes a bit more time to move Christmas from the barn to the house.
Having a birthday in December, along with having the name “Joy”, the number of my Christmas boxes increase each year. The cutest “Joy” decorations find their way to Winterpast. Coffee cups, wall hangings, and other decorations that are all personalized just for me. Such a lucky gal.
Almost finished with Fall Cleaning, it’s on to rearranging and sprucing up. I plant to start with a slow introduction of red and green, not adding true Christmas decorations until the week before Thanksgiving.
My favorite decorations have always come from my Godmother, Auntie TJ. Through the years, she has given me the most beautiful and special things. We’re both Sagittarians, our birthdays falling just days part. Knowing me so well, her gifts are always perfect, while arriving right on time.
Fellow Sagittarian’s, you can probably relate to my feelings about a December birthday. By the time it rolls around each year, I’m not in the mood for a cake with candles. I prefer Christmas goodies only served once a year. For me, a December birthday is the biggest bother of all. One more thing that needs to be squished into a list of celebrations, parties, and gatherings. I’d much rather celebrate the reason for the season. In comparison to that, my birthday in quite insignificant and an unwanted bother.
Off to the barn I go to start the process. Whatever you do today, enjoy the beauty of Autumn. It’s never to early to start planning your Thanksgiving menu. In this the day of unexplainable and unpredictable shortages, early planning may help insure you have everything you will need only 23 days from now. 0y vey.
Time. Such a strange thing. It can race by in the blink of an eye, or take an eternity for just one hour to pass. But, pass it does. It’s hard to believe that 31 months ago, VST and I were in a struggle with time. Wishing like heck there was more time for doctors to discover a cure for the cancer that cut his life short. Longing for just a few minutes to catch our breath and bearings while precious seconds together stopped at the end of his life.
When I lost VST in the middle of Covid, there was no one around. If you haven’t ever experienced days or weeks totally alone, I can tell you a few things I learned.
You are stronger than you think.
You will remember to care for your basic needs.
Although your shirt may be on backwards, you’ll still remember to put one on before you walk to the post office.
You will learn to talk and listen to yourself, hopefully becoming your own very best friend.
In the end, when your friends do come to your rescue, you will understand the true value and meaning of the word “Friend”. One of the nicest things you can have. One of the best things you can be.
In those days and weeks in which I moved to a town in which I knew only two people, I needed grief support. There were no groups. No preachers making rounds to see lonely widows. No long time neighbors that had watched our kids grow into adults. Quite frankly, there was no one familiar except a random woman I happened to meet at Walmart. Pretty dismal.
It was during that time I found a wonderful service offered by the Chapel of the Light in Fresno, California. Offered under the heading “Grief and Healing” was the service called “Daily Email Affirmations”. I’m on my 3rd year of emails, enjoying them in different ways now. Taking away wisdom and truths that I missed the first 2 times.
Each day, an short email arrives which focuses on an appropriate aspect of grief. Grief is such a strange thing. In the beginning, I viewed it as a very long trip through a very dark forest. Those first days, the foliage and trees were so thick it was all I could do to watch one foot fall in front of the other. But slowly, the forest thinned. The first time my grief lifted a bit, my life became was meadow-like. The the peace felt was beyond understanding. Sure enough, there are still plenty of forests I’ll need to pass through. It’s the passing through that can be tough.
If you are in the middle of the forest, try signing up for these emails. If you are in a meadow right now, use the light to sign up for the emails. They have helped me in so many ways, being another silent friend I can count on morning after morning. Somedays we just say a brief “Hi”, while other days, we sit together for a bit. It’s nice just to have another layer of support.
Grief never really goes away. We get stronger and better able to handle it. It’s the price we all pay for loving someone deeply. Pretty fair trade off. Besides, we get to keep the memories.
Whatever you do today, take time to be grateful for at least three things that happen in 15 minutes. Then repeat. You’ll be surprised how many wonderful things continue to happen every hour, even when we turn our thoughts towards our grief.
Time. Such a strange thing. It can race by in the blink of an eye, or take an eternity for just one hour to pass. But, pass it does. Use it wisely.
Be Kind. Be Kind. Be Kind. Repeat for two hours in the freezing cold. That’s what I’ll be doing today.
Our community does such amazing things in the time of need. Right now, winter is knocking at the door. The days are short. The nights are in the 30’s. Gas is over $4.50 a gallon. The shelves in the stores are either empty or stocked with overpriced goods. The holiday season is upon us and there are people that need kindness and help. Small town people take care of their own. That’s just what we do.
When the sign-up sheets were passed around at church asking for help with the food drive, I was one of the first to sign up. Yes. I remember Thanksgiving 2020, when I was a brand new widow facing the holidays. It was “then-strangers-now-friends” that greeted me with their smiles and hugs. I bought everything on their dinner list and brought it out to some very cold but also very happy volunteers.
That memory that took little money and an even smaller amount of time to make stuck with me. In July, on a day when I needed friends the most, it was the memory of that cold November day and the warmth from those community members that steered me to my new church friends. That day, Jesus did take the wheel, taking me to a Bible study that was two minutes from starting. The Lord works in mysterious ways. He sure does.
Yes.
You bet I’ll be there. Today. In the cold. Smiling in front of the grocery store with free hugs for anyone that needs one.
Being kind doesn’t cost anything. It isn’t something you wrap up with a bow or take hours to plan. You need to practice it once in awhile or else you might sour. Our world is home to people with many problems. Everyone needs kindness on a daily basis.
There’s another word that we could all practice being a bit more.
Of course, that is the definition when used as an adjective. After dealing with the un-kind among us, we all might need the noun version.
Today, for two hours, I’ll find all the kindness I can give which will warm my heart against the biting cold of Nevada’s high desert. Having lived in this environment for over 8 1/2 years now, I have plenty of extra warm clothes to fight the wind. If it rains, I have a large umbrella. Grumps will walk on by. Bags of needed holiday food will magically appear. The two hours will go by in a flash.
Today, whatever you do, be kind at least once. It costs nothing. It takes no time. Kindness is a mindset. You need to practice it until it becomes second nature. Smile when you don’t feel like it. Say “Hello” to someone that looks like they need a “Hello”. Remember to have a grateful heart. Grateful hearts are the burning ember that keeps us going and doing. So, get out there and fan your own flames.
Standing in front of Walmart on a cold autumn day while asking for food for the needy was a reality check on many levels. First of all, I can describe desert extremes in great detail, but standing outside in the cold for two hours was experiencing it first hand. Even with multiple layers of clothing, I was glad I hadn’t signed up for more than two days of exposure.
I mentioned the cold temperatures to my Sister in Christ, Widowed Wizard. Now, this is a woman that knows exactly who she is and the jobs she has left to complete on this earth. She wasn’t nearly as bundled as me.
“Cold is all in your mind,” smiling warmly as she said those words.
Interesting and brilliant on so many levels. I just wish my mind would’ve put me in the warmth of Hawaii for the next two hours, because, it was high desert cold outside the doors of Walmart.
Focusing on the reason for being outside yesterday reminded me of the hundreds of people in our little town that don’t have their very own Winterpast in which to drink hot coffee and blog. They are out there right this moment. Cold isn’t in their minds but sucking the life out of them under our bridges or behind our buildings.
Abraham Harold Maslow (/ˈmæzloʊ/; April 1, 1908 – June 8, 1970) was an American psychologist who was best known for creating Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, a theory of psychological health predicated on fulfilling innate human needs in priority, culminating in self-actualization. Maslow was a psychology professor at Brandeis University, Brooklyn College, New School for Social Research, and Columbia University. He stressed the importance of focusing on the positive qualities in people, as opposed to treating them as a “bag of symptoms”.(Wikipedia)
It’s interesting that Maslow placed Love and Belonging at a lower spot than Esteem or Self Actualization. Before taking off on an airplane, the flight attendants always remind us to put on our own oxygen before helping others. That applies to life and self-love, as well. How many times I’ve nearly broken while attempting perfection when we all know there is no such thing. Loving ourselves unconditionally is a nearly impossible task for most of us. At least that is a truth for me.
Standing outside Walmart yesterday, was this 66 year old woman finding her way through life in a body that is never going to be the prettiest, the smartest or the most clever. But I’m pretty enough to smile back at the woman in the mirror, smart enough to avoid drowning in the rain while admiring the clouds, and clever enough to create a life worth living. That’s my reality. The more I embrace basic truths about my life, the happier I’m becoming.
Yesterday, as people streamed by on their way into the store, I was amazed at how many took the time take a flyer and even more amazed when they came back with a sack of food for our Thanksgiving food drive. Self-Actualization at it’s finest. Worrying about others before themselves.
I did find some humor in those two hours.
One fine lady took my flyer and got a very worried look on her face.
“I can tell you this. The day this world stops eating innocent birds is the day I’ll have respect for people. Horrible. Barbaric. Chopping heads off to stuff their guts at Thanksgiving. Bet the turkeys of the world aren’t thankful, now are they?”
Not knowing what the Christian reply would be, I needn’t have worried. She didn’t miss a beat.
“But, you aren’t asking for turkeys here. I can help out with everything on this list. Just stop murdering birds, okay? Awful. Just awful.”
Muttering to herself, she walked away as she read our grocery wish list. More to think about. I do believe she was a few clicks above Self-Actualization.
Thinking about life in between the contacts I made, the Law of Attraction came to mind. It suggests that positive thoughts bring positive results into a person’s life, while negative thoughts bring negative outcomes. When we start to like ourselves just a little, our perception of the world around us will change. Miracles become more visible and happiness may land on our shoulder for awhile if we only accept it.
My life has been full of so many “Should’s”, “Shouldn’ts”, “How Could You’s?”, and “Why Did You’s?”. It’s high time for a few “Why not? Give it a try’s!” mixed with a good dose of mental hugs and high fives. Continued self-criticism creates a very dark environment making it almost impossible to live a full and rich life. I’m still trying to accept those thoughts as my new reality. Some days are harder than others.
Loving yourself involves accepting reality and then making your own path.
In an act of love, accept three small things about yourself. Forgive yourself for three different things. High five yourself for yet 3 more. This human condition didn’t come with a play book. Thank goodness. Individuality makes life beautiful. When we find inner appreciation for who we are, we can find out appreciation for others in our world.
Reality is reality. Don’t stay stuck in the mud. Sometimes you just need to stand in the cold for two hours to realize you need to get moving again.
This weekend is the perfect time for reflection and fun. Oliver is going to get pampered at the spa. Without any real plans, the weekend is an open canvas on which I plan to make a splash. Please come back on Monday to read all about it.
I love adding images to my blog. Today’s message is especially important for me. It’s so easy to backslide into distraction, perfection, or negativity instead of choosing loving and showing it through purposeful thoughts and actions. I took the time to visit www.handsfreemama.com. What a lovely site. Truly worthy of a visit.
Although opportunities to share love are all around us, the actual art of spreading love takes intent and focus. Last week, I volunteered to collect food for our community outreach. The truth of the matter is that this outreach comes almost exclusively from our church. From the sorting, storage, packing, distributions, the volunteers are our members. The church is our home base. But, that information can’t be share, lest those on the “unloving side of life” might get their feathers ruffled.
Persecution of Christians is alive and well. Trust that little fact. It’s getting worse every day. One unhappy hen can cause the rest to stop laying. There were some community members that didn’t like the thought of the “Who’s of Who-ville” spreading love and good will. Although the hen house was upset for a little while, feathers were eventually smoothed and the collection drive went on in spite of the drama.
On another day, one unhappy cluck-er got really upset because shopping carts were borrowed to transport the donated food on mile to the west. Really???? I can’t think of a more trustworthy group than a bunch of elderly church members collecting food for the poor. With a trailer, the baskets made it much easier to transport the donations. What kind of store manager would find a problem with that? The one that runs the store I don’t shop at because it is so poorly run. That one.
Drama is a choice, as well. At handsfreemama.com, Rachel talked about a “5 Second Rule”. Don’t share a negative opinion about something that takes more than 5 seconds to fix. Sharing these negative opinions can do lifelong damage if it involves weight, hair styles, or other physical attributes. Decisions made in haste can derail a perfectly wonderful Thanksgiving food drive. Now, wouldn’t that be a great rule for grumpy store managers? One raging complaint a lot more than 5 seconds to fix while emptying baskets and making up barrels on rolling dollies to handle the donations.
Drama can suck the love right out of the best situations. Working the food drive was such a positive and lovely thing to do. I only saw a handful of familiar faces, but the strangers that donated were beautiful in every way. From those that donated a single can to the person that snuck a $100 bill into our jar, they all made my volunteer shift magical.
Someone commented that this year’s collection was smaller than last year. Someone else was discussing the fact that no one has offered to donate turkeys. Yet another person worried about the number of volunteers that haven’t signed up to help with distribution. In the end, love will cover every need of this endeavor and the families that need food for Thanksgiving will enjoy a lovely dinner.
Last week, one man was walking into Walmart when I asked if he would like to help.
“Heck, I’m the one that needs help.”
I was so glad the name of our church was on the front of the flyer. If you are finding your dollars have shrunk to nothing while store brand turkeys are at $1.88 lb. or more, remember your local churches. Our church is hosting a home cooked meal on Thanksgiving Day for anyone that is alone. I would venture to guess that the grumps that rained on our parade aren’t into helping those in need to enjoy a warm meal on Thanksgiving. I’m so blessed to be surrounded by those that get great happiness in choosing love every day, even when it’s not the most convenient.
To show love is a decision. It’s not a magical thing that overtakes people. True love takes some effort. Sometimes a decision to show love can be difficult. Those are the times love is the most intense and beautiful. When done right, there is nothing more brilliant than acts of love. Love truly does make the world go around.
Today, take a moment to look at handsfreemama.com. There is a place to click on her blog and see what she has to say about life. What a lovely woman. Truly.
Please! Let the commercials stop! I have heard this time and time again. Something needs to be done to stop the insanity. Although we don’t know them and will probably never meet them, they sneak like thieves through our cable boxes and pollute our lives. Along with the Pharmaceutical commercials for drugs that I certainly don’t need and most definitely would never take, they have worn out their welcome.
In the 1900’s, when people ran for office, they were out meeting people. Shock of all shocks, some would even ring a doorbell to shake a hand. Well, those days are long gone.
The saddest thing of all is that they don’t know the 5 Second Rule (if something can’t be fixed in 5 seconds, don’t mention it). I wouldn’t mind commercials that actually told information about the candidate instead of the consistent mud slinging that is US politics. I cringe when I hear people repeating information straight from the television screen. Sadly, propaganda does work.
How fun it would be to have some musical jingles advertising great cereal or hearty beer.
From the land of sky blue waters (waters), From the land of pines, lofty balsams, Comes the beer refreshing, Hamm’s, the beer refreshing.
or
My Bologna has a first name, It’s O-S-C-A-R. My bologna has a second name, It’s M-A-Y-E-R. Oh I love to eat it everyday, And if you ask me why I’ll say, Cause’ Oscar Mayer has a way with B-O-L-O-G-N-A!!!!
Come to think of it, maybe forgettable political ads aren’t so bad after all. At least they don’t create earworms (songs stuck in your head).
Even after falling back on Sunday, time is zooming by. Here we are on the day of election returns. This day will have more significance to me than those in the past. You see, I know the mayoral candidate for our town. In fact, the Mysterious Marine has asked me to be his date for the “Watch Party” at the local golf course not far from Out of Town Park.
Not being sure what one wears to a “Watch Party”, I’ll decide that later today. There will be food, drinks, and a large television on which to watch results as they roll in. Come to think of it, I’ve never known the mayor of a town before.
To complicate the day, the first snow of the year is about to fall. When I taught in Virginia City, we made it the entire school year without a snow day. How crazy it was to be at 6200 feet in the winter and listen to all the other schools getting random cozy days in which to sip hot cocoa and stay in jammies all day. It wasn’t to be Virginia City Middle School in the winter of 2015-2016.
The following year, I had many snow days. That was the year of snow-mageddon as VST shoveled foot after foot of the white stuff from our decks and driveway. We had 12′ of standing snow. Who knows how many feet he really shoveled, as it was an ongoing process. We never called the snow guy because VST WAS the guy.
Today, I’ll see what falls. I may or may not need to shovel snow to make it to the party at 5. If there is too much falling, I may need to watch the results from the comfort of Winterpast. Hot cocoa and election results in jammies works for me, too.
Our town does has some pressing issues on which to vote. The most important one is in support of the Fire Department that desperately needs continued funding. Hard to believe that a town of 20,000+ can run on a mostly volunteered fire department. That speaks to the perils and problems of life in a small town.
With that said, my post will be short this morning. So much to do in preparation for the festivities. Tomorrow, we’ll all look to 2024…….and the insanity will begin all over again. Such is life in the USA.
Whatever you do today, find it in your heart to vote. If you’ve already done so, Thank You for making your voice heard. If you haven’t voted, please do. It’s what makes our country great.
Last night, my roots grew a little deeper into the desert town I call home. Invited to an amazing Election Night Watch Party, the day drug on until 5 PM when my chariot arrived. Chivalry isn’t dead in my little town. The Mysterious Marine would not let his date drive on the wet and potentially icy roads. It could be a very late night.
With Oliver tucked in for the evening, I decided that hearing MM’s voice would be too disturbing for him. Oliver absolutely adores MM, losing his mind in his presence.
Layered and bundled, I decided to wait on the front porch to enjoy a little fresh air and the new blanketing of snow. With my purse in hand, I opened the door to find I had visiting friends. Three mustangs were sauntering across my yard in the calmest way. Just as slow as you please.
Clip.
Clop.
Clip.
Clop.
The first two horses were in good shape except for the fact that their winter coat hadn’t filled in yet. It’s early for the first snow. The third horse was the one that made me sad. Wasting and extremely thin, it followed behind the other two. A hard winter will take a toll on the herd. That guy might be a casualty. Only where I live can you open your door to find mustangs in the front yard. It’s sometimes hard to remember they’re wild animals and wild animals get old and die. Just a fact of life. That being said, I hope they do it in my yard.
The party was held at the Golf Course Club House. Impressive and perfect in size and amenities, everyone arrived to turn the place into election headquarters for one very nervous mayoral candidate. Red, White, and Blue were the colors of choice. In a very short time, the food and decorations were in place and the waiting began.
The local grocery store had done an amazing job with the cold cut trays. Ham, turkey, and roast beef, sat along side several types of cheeses. A variety of crackers and dip rounded out the food choices for the evening. With enough food for an army these were the perfect snacks for a very nervous crowd.
A school board candidate, a city council candidate, and the mayor all stood waiting with the rest of us for results. Voting ended at 7 PM, with an anxious crowd waiting to find our results at Silverstateelection.nv.gov. After an hour of waiting with not one vote counted, it was time to call it a night and head home. In the day and age of computers, there is no excuse for a broken system. It should be the best in the world. Not what we found last night.
This morning, as I anxiously brought up the site, I was happy to see that our candidate is indeed the new mayor of our town. With opportunities for growth surrounding us, we need a strong man to bring businesses and industry into our area. I’m not sure at what time last night the party ended, but now, the real work begins.
Wandering about with the Mysterious Marine last night, it was exciting to meet so many lifelong friends. That’s something that’s missing when your childhood home is hundreds of miles away. MM went through school here still holding track records that remain unbroken to this day. He remembers when our town had one flashing light for a stop sign at the center of town. A time when a man’s handshake sealed the deal. I met people he knew from that time in life. Good solid people that came to celebrate with the new mayor and his family.
As for this very special family, there are so many adjectives to describe them. They are loyal, tight, funny, unique, opinionated, informed, educated, and community oriented. There were so many brothers, sister-in-laws, nieces, nephews, grand-nieces and nephews, (and relations I know I’m forgetting), it will take a while to remember all the names and faces. Mr. Mayor alone has 25 grandchildren and 3 great-grandchildren. There are four brothers and wives. That should give you an idea of what I’m up against.
The children that were present last night were adorable. From the tiniest little great granddaughter to the 26 year old grandson I talked with awhile, this family is a hoot. One grandson just adopted “Pigly”, a little piglet in the process of being housetrained. Whether we were at the bar watching national election results or eating at the table, everyone made me feel special and one of the gang.
One guest last night has a special place in my heart. J works for the sanitation department. It was he that came to my rescue some time ago to fix my ailing sewage lift station. I didn’t talk to him directly, but to his boss, (another relative of MM). Seeing this man reminded me that I owe a pizza lunch to this crew. They helped fix a situation that twirled my world. It was nice to be able to tell a boss what a wonderful bunch of men he has working for him. I doubt the sanitation department ever gets many compliments.
As all parties do, this one came to an end for us around 8 PM. With work today for MM, and early morning writing for me, we called it a night when election results were still not available. Not sure what time they were posted last night, but they were up this morning.
It appears the bickering and back biting will continue. That’s what national candidates are known for. My state has a new governor and a new senator both of whom we so desperately needed. Will they be able to change very much? Probably not, but it feels good that our candidates won.
Personally, I can’t wait for an invite to the office of the new mayor of our town. He won’t start until January, but I’m sure he’s already planning his grand entrance on the scene. These five brothers are just like that! There will be more parties and events that will be new and different. All the while, this town becomes my home more and more each day.
Whatever you do today, enjoy the fact that the political commercials are over for now. Get outside for a little fresh air. With Thanksgiving just two weeks away, we have so much to be grateful for.
We have an understanding, you and I. We sit in silence; nothing needs to be said.
I know the weight you carry. You hold your head high, but inside you cry.
The life of a soldier is not an easy one.
Memories haunt you! But you stand tall and show no fear.
The life of a soldier is not an easy one.
You hear voices of days past come rushing to your head. You think to yourself, “He was a good one; why is he dead?”
You wonder if you should have done things differently. No time to think, only react.
The life of a soldier is not an easy one.
The guilt is too much to bear. Although you were wounded, you question,
“Why him and not me?” You can’t forget the faces that were there.
The life of a soldier is not an easy one.
We have an understanding, you and I. You’re a soldier for life; and it has not been an easy one
– Jodi M. Kucera
Please pray for the young men that fight on in the Ukraine. On either side, they are sons, brothers, fathers, uncles, and friends. They follow the orders passed down from leaders that do not fight beside them. They all need our prayers.
Do something to honor Veteran’s today. Without them, we wouldn’t enjoy the beautiful freedoms we have today.
A special “Thank You” to my special sons who sacrificed more than 40 years of their youth while serving our country. I love you, Jason and Darren. Mom
Happy Monday! I hope your weekend was full of fun and laughter. I must say, my weekends get better and better. Many memories are being made as the days move towards the end of the year. The last of Winterpast’s “Must Do’s” are cinched up, while her leaves drop everywhere. The garden furniture is tucked away in the barn. The wind chimes are inside. Garden buddha rests in the barn. Even the succulents are now inside.
On Saturday, Oliver carefully watched where I tucked each daffodil “ball” (really bulbs, of course, but to him, balls). I’m sure he’ll remember to bring each and every one of them to me. He worries that I bury treasures in the underground and am too stupid to find them and chew on them awhile. Yes. I’m sure a few of those daffodil bulbs will reappear.
Christmas boxes litter the house now. Easier to transport them in good weather, several trips were made with the furniture dolly to move the holidays a bit closer. Now to find places for everything without overpowering the house. Decorating for Christmas isn’t as fun when one does it alone. None the less, friends will be coming over for this or that to enjoy them with me. Thank goodness this year has blessed me with so many new and wonderful girlfriends.
While working in the garden and moving the boxes, the evening storm was inching closer and closer. By time I left for dinner with the Mysterious Marine, sleet was falling, followed by gigantic snowflakes floating down from the heavens. The unpredictability of Nevada’s high desert weather is perfect for me. You never know what you’ll experience. The only thing of which you can be sure is that it will change quickly to something else.
With the domestic chores completed, yesterday was a day for worship and fun.
A few weeks ago, I found an ad for an upcoming play. Set in Lake Tahoe in 1929, it was an interactive murder mystery in which the audience would help solve a murder. Immediately, I thought back to the days of VST and his role as “Buck Bad-am”, “Seymour”, or even “The Great and Wonderful Oz”. Acting turned out to be a great outlet for him, even though I was the one that had answered the call for actors. We’d enjoy two years with the theater, winning an award at our own version of the Tony Awards on a cold mountain evening. He’d worn his tux and I my Marilyn Monroe wig. A memorable night of fun.
The Mysterious Marine accepted my invitation to attend the Sunday Matinee. We’d attend church in the morning and then scoot across the desert towards the town to the west. Not the the biggest or the littlest, by the way. Just the town to the west.
With no time to waste, we’d grab a burger at the joint where the drive-through line snakes around the huge parking lot. The one with the freshest fries and palm tree’s in their logo. That one.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a restaurant that was brimming with people. The tables outside were covered with Saturday’s snow or many would have chosen to sit in the fresh air. Gobbling down our food, we were left with just enough time to make the opening lines of the play.
Upon entering the building, our first indication that we might be in the wrong place was the age of the audience. Giddy with delight, we were the youngest by a couple decades. It’s nice to feel a little younger when hair color and skin tone has secured one in the “elder” category. The youngest audience member might have been 60. Someone’s child and driver.
The building was a small performance auditorium complete with padded theater seating and stairs heading to top. The theater had seen better days, but was perfect for the play. When the emergency exits were announced, it was obvious that a fire would leave many unable to escape. Not a comforting feeling.
The play itself never came together. It was announced at the beginning that the story took place during a radio show. Because of that, the actors would all be reading from their scripts. Well, shiver me timbers! The whole point of acting in a play is to learn your lines so you can become the character and ACT! I could have easily put on a costume and taken center stage. The scripts were right off a 2022 copy machine. Right then, watching the performance became tedious and uninteresting.
Until intermission, it was painfully clear that this group of people didn’t know much about acting and had even less direction. From the backdrops (video display of Lake Tahoe), to the imaginary props, to the costumes. Nothing was believable or even interesting, including the actors.
Now, the true test of a man is to take him to something like a really bad play and observe his behavior. It definitely wasn’t MM’s customary Sunday afternoon football, which he forfeited to spend time with me. It was something he wouldn’t have chosen to do alone. He’d come out of his comfort zone for me and tried desperately through the 1.5 hours to stay awake. What he didn’t know until later was that I was experiencing the same problem. Giving us lots of laughs on the way home, the play had helped us make another great memory. Just not quite the kind the Director and Cast had hoped for.
Sometimes an event that comes across Facebook can be a wonderful surprise. Sometimes, the event turns out to be a bust. You’ll never know unless you get off the couch and try something new. Find humor in the experience while staying awake, if at all possible. It makes the little lady pretty happy. MM, I owe you one.
Today, I’m off to volunteer at the church to accept Christmas boxes for children around the world. As a drop off location, our church is hoping to collect around 2,000 boxes from the surrounding area. Each box will be sent to a child in a distant land as a gesture of love and good will. Volunteering can be so much fun and this is a great time of year to help others. Feeling down? Get out. Go to town. You are needed. Just remember to smile and have a little fun while you help others.
These days, I have plenty of time to spare in my role as the re-re-re-re-tired teacher. Of course, I’m back to the point of wondering how I accomplished everything that needs doing while working. The answer is simple. Prioritization and organizational skills. It’s much more fun to choose random and important activities that come along. Yesterday was just such a day.
In the morning, help was needed to sort cans for the food drive. It’s amazing how many people just clean out the cupboard, forgetting about expiration dates on the cans. Although many expired cans are consumed in my own home, they can’t be given to people in their Thanksgiving boxes. Yesterday, 3 shopping baskets of food needing sorting.
The food drive is heartwarming in every way. The entire community is stepping up to the plate. A men’s group is holding a dinner at the firehouse from 11 -3. “Turkey cookers” are needed. I can certainly turn on my cooker for the cause. Then, the church is holding a dinner for singles at 3:30. Food for Thanksgiving boxes is rolling in. There are cases of cranberry, green beans, boxes of mashed potatoes, and jars of gravy stacking up in the sanctuary. Everything is sorting and awaiting the boxing and delivery days to come.
150 needy families will be very happy on Thanksgiving. People that might have needed to change the traditional meal to something less expensive will indeed enjoy a turkey dinner with all the fixin’s.
There is a wonderful group of people in this area that formed a group called “The Desert Pigs”. About five years ago, the trash in our desert was visible everywhere. It seems some people (true pigs) find it okay to back their truck up to some sage brush and empty out their discards. While totally illegal, it is also downright disgusting. A group of people came together to make it their mission to clean up the desert. Just a random group of people with time on their hands. The Desert Pigs are a great group who donated three shopping baskets of food to our cause.
Small communities take care of their own. That’s just what we do.
Sometimes churches don’t have members that are moved to be helpful. There are no food drives. No community participation. No Christmas boxes for needy children around the world. No sense of giving or empathy for those in need. I’m so blessed to be a part of an active church community that is the exact opposite.
After two hours of sorting out life (with wonderful conversations) and expiration dates (someone donated the opened BBQ sauce right out of their frig– given with love, but not appropriate) our task was complete, and I returned home to my own projects. The two hours given freely energized me for the rest of the day.
At 5 PM, I returned to the church for my second session of volunteering. This time, we were collecting boxes for Operation Christmas Child from surrounding towns and churches.
Each year, Samaritan’s Purse asks people to pack a shoebox full of small toys, socks, games, and any other great gifts as tightly as possible. These shoeboxes are delivered to churches all over the country. They are then shipped to a clearing house in Denver for final inspection and sorting. From there, these boxes are sent around the world to children along with an introduction to Jesus Christ. The boxes are filled with love and prayers and produce squeals and giggles of delight we can only imagine while also containing an important message of hope.
My name was the only one on Sunday morning’s volunteer sheet. The rest of the volunteer slots remained empty. With the possibility of 1,000 boxes coming from our town alone, this would make an impossible task for the man in charge of this mission. As it turned out, last night people came from other churches and one lady from a town 30 minutes to the East. Everyone had a willing heart, ready to do whatever was needed to accomplish this task.
Last year, there were 1700 boxes shipped from the entire Northwestern Nevada Region. Only 1700, grouped 15 in each shipping box. This year, our town alone has already collected 600. It seems this will be a very good year for Operation Christmas Child.
After volunteering twice in one day, I found I had some extra energy of my own last night. It felt so good to help in anonymous ways while never knowing the outcome. How many family rifts will be healed over the dinners we’ll pack? How many children will get a wonderful message of hope and love in a package prepared for someone in a home on the other side of the world? Goodness will follow all the items that passed through our hands yesterday. I must trust know that as absolute truth or my efforts would be worthless. I know this as an absolute truth. These items were given freely and out of love for others. Therein lies the true beauty of both projects.
Whatever you do today, find an organization that needs YOUR help. If you have an abundance of unexpired canned food in your pantry, donate a little to your local food pantry. An old blanket or two? Take them to the animal rescue in your town. Like kids? Buy a toy or two for the local toy drive. Visit the lonely widow or widower on your street. The opportunities to shine for someone whose light is dimming are endless. Find something to do and do it soon. As VST always reminded me, we can all sleep when we’re dead.
A trip to California can be a time for conversation and great scenery. In these parts, it always involves a drive over Donner Pass at the top of the Sierra Nevada’s. Yes. The very Donner Pass where, in the winter of 1847, a group of 87 pioneers were caught in a November snowstorm. By February, only 48 people remained. I’ll leave the rest to your prior knowledge and imagination.
Oliver’s girlfriend has spent the last week enjoying balmy days in California. A girl on a mission, it was necessary for her to have a few days away to visit an old love. Please don’t tell Oliver. His little soul would be crushed. The truth is, her heart has been promised to another and this “other” lives in a small town in Northern California. The Mysterious Marine and I took a road trip yesterday to bring her back home.
I shall give this girl the name “Wookie”. A little derogatory when used to describe a female marine, the name fits her perfectly. (You all know I never use REAL names). Wookie is an Aussie-Berne-Doodle (Australian shepherd, Bernese Mountain Dog, and Poodle). In short, a very desirable and valuable dog. But, her breed description doesn’t describe her true talent. Wookie can smile. Not just a little. At her happiest times in life, she absolutely smiles a deliberate broad and wonderful smile while wiggling to get in your lap. She is the happiest dog in the world. He smiles are appropriate, contagious, and human. She saves them for occasions that deserve them.
While away on her visit of love, far from home, she was accused of a crime most foul. MURDER. Having been found with a few feathers in her mouth, it was deduced that she had dispatched a chicken while on her visit. Her welcome was suddenly cut short because, of course, she was marked as one of “those” dogs that couldn’t be trusted around feathered friends. In horror, it was important that she leave as soon as possible, hence the quick trip to California.
All things considered, there isn’t much to report about the trip itself. The bluest of skies. Crisp, cold temperature that warmed up to California sunshine on the other side of the pass. Trucks, trucks, trucks, and more trucks. Terrible roads. Hours spent talking about this and that. In a flash, we arrived to be greeted by four or five dogs of varying sizes. The only thing they shared was the intensity of their energy as they jumped in delight.
Upon our arrival, I noticed a puppy to the side of the yard pulling the stuffing out of a toy. At least, I believed it was a toy. How often I’ve snatched stuffed toys from Oliver, always a little too late. What is it about the squeaker in the middle? Is it puppy crack? Well across the yard, the adorable little dog was too busy to come and greet us. We were too interested in finding a bathroom to investigate just what it was that captivated the little guy.
On a mission, we were there to pick up our girl and hit the road. With no one home except the dogs, it was easy to focus.
Until we went back outside to leave.
It was then, the horror of the moment was realized.
There
had
been
another
murder
of
a
feathery
kind.
While no feathers had been present when we went in the house, a few short moments later, there were feathers over the entire yard. The residents of the coop across the drive were in shock. Another friend was gone, never to be seen or heard from again. Lucille had vanished into a puff of fluff, her cluck never to be heard again.
And so, the “Who Done It” began.
Quickly, it became evident.
Wookie’s lover held one lone foot in his mouth.
Lucille’s foot. One single three-toed reptilian foot.
Just like that, the murder was solved. The murderer identified.
With a sternness only found in a true Marine, the foot was retrieved, along with a few other body parts. It seems the littlest of the pack hadn’t been tearing about a toy after all. Let’s just leave it at that. Crime starts young.
The best news of the day is that Wookie had not one feather in her smiley little mouth. She was the perfect lady, certainly not responsible for the earlier killing for which she had been accused nor the present blood bath. We knew she wasn’t capable of such a heinous act as only a loyal dog parent would.
After cleaning up the crime scene, the three of us hurried back to the other side of the mountain where chicken is what is served for dinner with mashed potatoes and gravy.
RIP little chicken. Over the Rainbow Bridge, you go.
“Happiness is not the destination, but a manner of traveling.”
Last night, the Mysterious Marine and Wookie came over for dinner. Simple enough. Spaghetti, French Bread, and a green salad with a side show. Throughout the visit, the entertainment was provided by two zooming dogs that couldn’t get enough of each other.
With each dog, one only needs to mention the name of the other to incite pandemonium. At my house, Oliver was jittery with delight while awaiting the arrival of his girlfriend. Running from the front window to the door, there was no containing him. All this excitement because he heard the the Mysterious Marine and Wookie were on the way.
The only time Oliver “talks” is when Wookie is involved. And talk he does.
“Woo. Woo. Wah-woo-dee-do.”
All in a soft lipped hound-y little way. Absolutely a show stopper. He never did this before we met her and doesn’t do it for any other occasion. Just for his heartthrob, Wookie.
On the other side of town, a quiet Wookie became frenzied at the sound of Oliver’s name. So fully of wiggles she could hardly stand still for the leash. These two are insanely happy when they are together. And, last night, they only wanted to do the Conga. Repeatedly and without music. They must have watched the video to get the idea.
Try as I did this morning, I attempted to attach the video that plays with the still photo above. The dogs dance round and round the room to a rough version of the Conga song. Google it. It’s good for a laugh. The still photo, however, does give a visual for last night’s canine activities in full view of their two owners.
Now I understand. They only wanted to Conga! Well, who doesn’t? It’s a great dance!
Dogs teach us a few things about happiness. It’s the path, not the destination. Oliver follows his nose on his many adventures while followed by the cutest puppy butt and wagging tail. In the moment, he lives his life. He gardens the natural flowers of happiness in his own little soul. Happiness. When he’s with Wookie, sheer bliss.
Dogs live their lives fully in the present. We’d be wise to follow their example from time to time while remembering this:
The Past is History.
The Future is a Mystery.
The Present is all we have.
Accept it and keep moving forward.
As the dogs zoomed around the rooms, running in and out the doggie door, they were the embodiment of bliss. For the two, there is room for no other. Just a constant conga line for two.
When the night came to an end, Oliver was spent. He found a cozy spot near my feet and fell fast asleep to dreams of the next time he’ll be with HER.
As a side note, preparing dinner for the Mysterious Marine created an evening of fresh, new memories. It doesn’t matter whether the meal is Filet Mignon or simple Spaghetti and Meatballs, just like happiness, it isn’t about the food on the plate. It’s about quality time spent together with true friends.
As the days go by, MM and I continue to know each other more through honest communication, laughter, and respect. They say dogs often look and behave like their owners. I must admit, we are a pretty happy pack of four these days. No denying that.
With Thanksgiving preparations underway, I’m grateful for so many things. The biggest change in the last year is that, in my summer of miracles, God has graced me with more friends than I’ve enjoyed in my entire life. For every prayer I sent to the heavens on my loneliest days, he has granted me love and fellowship. True friends that are “Ride or Die’s”. I’ll speak more on that subject tomorrow.
Today, whatever you decide to do, you might start shopping for your Thanksgiving dinner. Yesterday, there were only two fresh turkeys in our meat counter. Tuesday, the deli at which we enjoyed lunch had no turkey for sandwiches. This turkey shortage might really be true.
Remember, if you don’t do anything else today, please Google the “Doggie Conga”. What the heck, throw your own Conga party. Life is short.
Throughout life, you will encounter numerous individuals, but true friends are the people who never leave. They’re the ones who are always there for you and remain by your side no matter what.
They’re the people you stay up late with, discussing the infinite issues the universe has plagued you with. The kind of individuals you divulge your most cavernous secrets to, simply because you’re certain they’ll safeguard them forever. They would never gossip behind your back, because if they had something to say, they would say it directly to your face.
They’re the kind of people who always offer a shoulder to lean on, while simultaneously reminding you how awesome you are.
True friends are the sort of people you can be unapologetically foolish with, while remaining completely oblivious to the judgement of others, whether that means singing out of tune to your favorite pop song or spontaneously dancing on elevated surfaces wherever you go.
They always have your back, whether it means peeling you off the ceiling when life has done you wrong, or being the wind under your wings as you try to get off the ground and fly again.
They’re the people who never give up on you and continuously encourage you to strive for the moon. They’re the ones who will wipe away your tears when someone has broken your heart or caused you immense pain.
The type of people you can go days without seeing, and pick right back up where you left off as if no time has lapsed. They’re the first individual you call with good news, merely because you know they’re the people who will genuinely be happiest for you.
True friends never allow an argument to overshadow your friendship, and are always forgiving when you’ve done or said something you shouldn’t have. They aren’t the kind of individuals who hold grudges or remind you of the mistakes you’ve previously made.
They’re the ones who give the most exceptional advice and know how to instantly make you laugh when life becomes unbearably brutal. They’re the kind of people who always show up when they’re needed, preferably with a bottle of wine in hand.
They’re the ones you create unlimited inappropriate jokes with, continuing to laugh regardless how tired they become.
True friends are always honest with you, even if the truth is difficult to hear. They value your opinion above anyone else and sincerely seek your guidance throughout moments of insecurity.
They’re the individuals who you spend hours talking to, mindlessly unaware of the amount of time which has passed.
They’re the ones who make your friendship a priority, never permitting anything to come between you both. The kind of people who saturate your world in pigmented shades of neon, rather than lackluster hues of grey.
Yes, many people will enter your life, but it is a true friend who will stick around long after the party is over.
So perfectly written by Sandra Rose.
This weekend is going to be jam packed with travel, hugs, Ride or Die’s, memories, new experiences, tears, and laughter. Returning to ones home is always a time for reflection and the ghosts of years past. Going with my Ride or Die to see more Ride and Die’s will cocoon my heart as it aches, which it will. My heart will also rejoice that I am so blessed to have the most wonderful friends and family a girl could have.
No doubt there will be much to to write about next week. Every girl needs a break to collect her words. I’ll be back Tuesday to share all the news.
Whatever you do, celebrate your own Ride or Die’s. Call them and tell them they are. A girl can never hear that enough. A woman can never say that enough.
Jeremy Marks — “Gaston” — Beauty and the Beast — Roger Rocka’s Dinner Theater — 2022
Sunday afternoon, amidst a sea of entertained patrons, sat one awe-inspired Granny.
Me.
The young man in the center of the photo above is my 18 year old grandson. He’s been everything a grandson could be from the very start. Adorably cute. Thoughtful. Loving. Sincere. Hilarious. Spiritual. Cherished. Sensitive. Smart. Charming. The list goes on and on with this young man now towering well over me at 6’many more”. Of course, all my family is taller than me. I’m vertically challenged, for sure.
This wonderful grandson works full time, goes to college, and acts. And boy can he act! It’s his passion, along with singing and dancing.
Memories take me back to the theater of long ago, when the decade was much younger and I was still a wife. I’d seen an announcement requesting actors to apply at the local theater. This place was far from professional, but focused on family fun. With a few visits, VST and I were thespians. The difference between the two of us is that VST immediately got cast in not one but two leading parts. Just like that, our off hours were spent learning scripts in a broken down old dance hall. For a magical time in our lives, VST became the voice of the Golden Chain Theater.
One special evening, K brought two very little grandsons to the theater to watch their grandfather portray a really rotten guy who owned a very large sword with which he gracefully danced across the stage while fighting with another. Buck Badam aka VST. Who new the quiet and reserved Dr. VST could turn into such an outrageous villain? The boys never looked at their Papa quite the same after that.
Years later, an older version of that grandson stood singing “Amazing Grace” through heartfelt tears at his Papa’s memorial. So young. So brave. So tender. So together. His voice rang out to the heavens on that, the saddest of days. Barely having the ability to speak that day, I was in awe of the strength he possessed even at that young age.
Well, move over, because the real Gaston has come to life. On Sunday afternoon last, Gaston absolutely stole the show. Singing solos with his booming voice. Charming the ladies on the set and in the audience, he was syrupy and conniving one minute and then vile and intense the next. When he was on stage, he took over. He was Gaston as I was carried back in time on a cloud of memories. It was as if I was watching past and present moments in one. “Buck Badam Meets Belle”.
In this day and age, it was refreshing to see adults expressing themselves through song and dance while entertaining the audience. The sets and costumes were of the best quality. But then, this theater is the gem of the Central Valley having produced the likes of Audra McDonald and other’s that’ve made their way right to the top of Broadway. Their productions span the last 50 years, always of the best quality.
“Beauty and the Beast” is a fairytale. After the disastrous play in which the Mysterious Marine so graciously accompanied me, I was worried. Would MM never attend another production with me? Were plays off the list forever? A true man’s man and Marine, would he fall asleep during this child’s tale and wake up when it was over? I shouldn’t have worried a bit. MM was as taken as I was. We were transported into the fairy tale until the end. When Gaston changes to another character in a future production, we’ll return, front and center.
At the end, with everyone clapping politely, I had to stand and shout out a “Way to Go, Jeremy!” Feeling like he had given everything in his Gaston playbook for his Grandma, I was overwhelmed with pride.
It’s true. The past is made of bits and pieces of beautiful memories. The future holds mysteries yet to unfold. But the present moment is an amazing thing. Grandchildren reflect past influences and project future possibilities. Some just sparkle in the moment as they dance across the stage of their lives. If you have that kind of grandchild, you know. Those of us that do are indeed very, very fortunate.
Going back to past home and life can be draining. Ghosts pop out of nowhere. Lunch with friends at my high school cafeteria. Piemonte’s on a date. The Chicken Pie Shop with my mom. The ranch. Orange trees ripe with fruit. The boring grey-blue sky with not a sign of weather. The flat terrain. All amidst a sea of grapes and other crops. Returning to my childhood home is never without a price. California holds more of my heart than I’ll ever admit. It feels good to return to Winterpast and my true present.
Spending the weekend with my oldest and best-est girlfriend while watching her interact with my newest and best-est boyfriend was golden. Making Memories of Us continues with laughter and new experiences. The Mysterious Marine received a glowing report from the woman I trust with my life. Feelings were mutual. It just doesn’t get better than that.
Thanksgiving is just days away now. As the year is racing towards the end, I want to slow time during the next weeks and enjoy every part of this, the most beautiful time of year. Christmas boxes await unpacking. Decorations need placing. Pies need baking. Through all that, the reason for the season is front and center. Not Santa Claus or the prettiest tree. Reasons to celebrate live in the heart. It’s my favorite time of year.
Whatever you do today, try not to get too frustrated with chores and an endless list of chores in preparation for family and friends. Take some time to reflect on the past months. This year has been full of lessons, miracles, and memories too numerous to count. Life is beautiful.
You know there’s a light that glows by the front door Don’t forget the key’s under the mat When childhood stars shine Always stay humble and kind
Go to church ’cause your mamma 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 sleeping with someone And sleeping with someone you love “I love you” ain’t no pick-up line So 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 it’s hot, eat a root beer popsicle Shut off the AC and roll the windows down Let that summer sun shine Always stay humble and kind
Don’t take for granted the love this life gives you 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
Thank you, Tim McGraw
Well, tomorrow the fun will begin. A 20 pound turkey is defrosting on the Mysterious Marine’s counter. The day will be filled with the search for the proper serving bowls and crock pots to keep the cold things cold and the hot things hot.
I’m in charge of making the pies, and I must admit I’m a little nervous. MM is a top notch chef. Just last night he made a fantastic dish out of three chicken breasts, a little cream, some wine, and mushrooms. With a few other secret ingredients, the most wonderful dish was served over penne pasta. This man can take anything and make a feast. But, I’ll share his one weakness in the kitchen.
Baking.
I need to pull this off. A woman that cannot bake a pie just spells HOT MESS. The crust cannot be doughy or burned. The filling cooked to perfection. I’m making two. One pumpkin and one apple. If I start this morning, I’ll have lots of time for do-overs. This mission cannot fail.
Today, whatever you do on this crazy Thanksgiving Eve, find some moments to show true kindness to another. This crazy world needs more Hello’s and Hugs. We all have so much for which to be grateful. Bake on. If it doesn’t work the first time, try again!
I hope your holiday weekend was as delightful as mine. Reflecting upon Thanksgiving 2022, I can’t think of another thing that would’ve made it more relaxing, fulfilling, and complete. This Thanksgiving, I enjoyed the company of new friends and family that have come into my life. Connecting with old friends, memories were shared while we laughed at beautiful moments of the past. It just doesn’t get better than that.
I do hope you didn’t run into any turkey shortages. In my little town, the grocery stores had plenty for everyone, with some left to spare. Although Butterball Turkeys were a little harder to find, if you wanted a bird, you would’ve found one.
Holiday dinners for those that needed them were passed out with love and care. The Christmas Child Boxes were shipped off to their destination in Colorado, where they will be sorted and then sent around the world. All this activity completed and December isn’t even here yet!!
Thanksgiving Day was a time to discover more details about the Mysterious Marine from the woman that raised him and the woman he raised. Two sides to every story, these two sides featured the man in the middle that we all think is a pretty cool guy. As we stuffed ourselves with the meal he cooked to perfection, it was lovely to sit and talk to the people he loves the most. A rare treat to listen to stories about the past antics of this family member or that one. So much laughter my sides hurt. So much happiness, my heart was overflowing.
But the weekend wasn’t complete. The Mysterious Marine had planned a very special night for us.
But first a little back story.
For a time in my life, I was the Science and Math teacher for a continuation high school in Central California. I must have been pretty good, because I became our District’s Secondary Teacher of the Year during my time at that site. During that time, I held an afterschool writing group for five young ladies that would’ve crawled to write even if their legs had been chewed off by wolves. We were an amazing team of writers, always preferring to write on the edge. Never falling off the edge, we wrote about the topics that filled our minds and troubled our hearts.
At that time in their lives, they were all entering the dating world. I would lecture them on what constitutes a REAL and WORTHY date as they would share their stories. I came up with a list of five “MUSTS” with which to start.
The potential date must first ask if you are available. You can say NO.
The person must come to your door at the time on which you agree.
The person should be dressed appropriately. Even better if person brings flowers.
The person should have made all arrangements for date, including payment at the end.
The person should deliver you back to your home in a better state than when he picked you up.
Now, when first hearing this, these students looked at me like I had two heads. I did understand their point of view. These rules WERE from the mid-century 1900’s, but why fix something that isn’t broken. Right?
Fast forward to my own dating life as a widow in 2022.
I’d abandoned my own rules for dating until the Mysterious Marine showed me that chivalry is not dead. According to the internet, When it comes to dating a true gentleman, chivalry is not dead. With this kind of man, you can be as girly as you like and he is there to support whatever you are doing. He will even find out which is your favorite movie and take you to the cinema to watch it together.
Making plans for a complete date to the big town to the West, he knocked it out of the ball park. Rules #1 – #5 — Check. Check. Check. Check. Check.
Fancy Schmansy dinner overlooking the entire town below at twilight. Check.
Romantic conversation. Check. Check.
An VIP Fan Experience listening to the famous comedian, Ron White. Check. Check. Check.
I was overwhelmed with appreciation for being treated to such a beautiful date. One of a handful I’ve been on in my 66 years, it made a memory I’ll never forget. Asking someone out on a real date and then following through is a lost art. I’m so glad that MM thought of it. I can’t wait for the next.
With Thanksgiving in the rear-view mirror, the focus will turn to putting the finishing touches on Winterpast. It’s time for Ollie and I to snuggle in while watching all the Christmas movies we love so much. It’s time for holiday shopping, fun, ribbons, and wrapping. Time to enjoy the season with old friends and new ones. Time to reflect and learn more about the reason for the season.
We should all remember, it’s not money that brings happiness, nor a big fine fancy car. I have everything a woman could want, even more than I could ask for. Life in this dusty little town on the high desert of Northwestern Nevada is just some kind of wonderful. Yes, it is. Some kind of wonderful, indeed.
I hate the news. Any kind of news broadcast these days has me yelling at the television within a few minutes. I try to avoid watching. It’s healthier that way.
Recently, while hanging out with the Mysterious Marine, the television is often on during news broadcasts. It’s been quite awhile since I have listened to scripted and opiniated shows from beginning to end, so I listen with the intent of finding some news during the show.
Thinking back to the 1900’s, news was news. Period. There were very few news shows, most running no more than 30 minutes. In my country town, there was 7:00 am news, 6:00 pm local news, Walter Cronkite, and the 11:00 pm news. These shows broadcast real news. This happened today. This happened yesterday. These things are scheduled to happen tomorrow. Very simply, facts were shared.
One of the saddest parts of the 6 pm news with Walter was the last sentence of every single broadcast. In that last sentence, he would announce how many soldiers died in Vietnam the day before. Chilling, it was the reality of the day. The news shows were full of news.
Fast forward to today.
O.M.G.
Oy Vey.
Holy Moly.
In every single story, at least once, a reference is made about something that COULD happen, MIGHT happen, is POSSIBLE, or a probable MAYBE, but not a certainty. Never is a suspect really described. Just last weekend, two humans broke into the Apple Store in the town to the west stealing everything they could grab.
Of course, in the stories about flash robberies, its always added that no one was injured. That doesn’t even make sense. Being robbed at gunpoint is a terrifying experience, I’m pretty sure. Luckily, I’ve never been robbed at gunpoint or otherwise, but if it happened to me, it would take some time to recover. No. No one one’s injured in the Apple Store “Grab and Dash” done by two humans that raced away in a black car. By the way, if you know something, please send in a tip.
The next time you listen to the news, really listen to the qualifiers on what COULD, MIGHT, POSSIBLY happen MAYBE even tomorrow or the next day. None of the actors and actresses on the show would ever stick their necks out to give a definitive. It’s easier to suggest.
These words are in every single story broadcast from the bigger tourist town to the west. I wonder if our channels are worse because we ARE a tourist town. Tourists come to relax and feel safe. Believe me, the town to the west IS wild and far from safe.
Another thing I noticed is that, in our area, the actors and actresses that read scripted words are now dressing more conservatively. On our “broad”casts, they couldn’t have worn much smaller clothing. These days they wear long sleeved dresses showing very little of their décolletage. How refreshing. It’s almost scary how many changes I’ve noticed since reintroducing myself to the news.
Remembering the 1970’s and breakfast before school with my parents, the news blared over the radio. Every farmer in the valley was turned to KMJ — 580. An AM station, it always had farming news in the early morning hours. There they would discuss all things farming.
“We’re experiencing a heat wave. Yesterday — 105. Today — 105. Tomorrow — 110 “, the announcer would say. He could have used any number over 100 degrees from May until November and been pretty close to accurate. No rain. No cooling winds. Not a cloud in the blue-grey sky. Pretty easy to be the weather guy in Fresno. Three months of fog. Nine months over 100 degrees.
Of course, you can find humor in the news. Just listen carefully, identifying the ways you won’t die. Falling off a cliff at the Grand Canyon while backing up for a photo. In a plane crash while flying a jet in an air show. In a car crash at the end of a high speed chase. Death by cop. The list goes on and on. When there’s very little TRUE and PERTINANT news anyway, it can be fun to eliminate ways we will exit the earth. I’m quite sure I won’t die being trampled by the bulls in Pamplona……… Just sayin…….. Now shark bite in Hawaii?? That’s another story……..
As for finding real news these days, it’s easier to not be concerned. If there is a major disaster, I’m sure we’ll all hear about it.
Such as the volcano on the island of Hawaii. Funny thing. Just when I’m planning a June trip, one of the main islands is spewing lava. There COULD be a message in this. It MIGHT be all done by the time June rolls around. Quite POSSIBLY, it COULD be spewing more lava by that time. Or, quite POSSIBLY, it MIGHT be all done. MAYBE I should just stay home.
Wait…..
What??????
I don’t think so.
Don’t let FEAR interfere with your FAITH and life’s journey. I plan to hula my way through a wonderful vacation. Besides, there are other islands that AREN’T blowing up. YET.
More tomorrow.
PS–Forget the news. Get out and enjoy the last few days of Autumn. We only have three weeks until the winter solstice!!!!! Not MAYBE. That’s a fact.
Checking these things doesn’t replace an annual inspection, but helps find problems along the way.
Widowhood is hard enough before adding the responsibilities of our late spouses. My mind takes me back to May 2020, when I was fogged in with the newness of grief and overwhelmed with the recent move into Winterpast.
For new readers, VST lost his battle with an aggressive form of liver cancer after 9 short weeks. Shortly before his illness was revealed, we had found a buyer for our home in Virginia City, while making an offer on Winterpast. After VST’s death, I became responsible for the care and maintenance of not one, but two vehicles. Me. The me that never paid attention to vehicles except to ride in them. The me that could be quite the complainer when vehicles didn’t work right, while not understanding much about the car itself.
Every day, during the month of May, 2020, I’d take one of the vehicles and drive 45 miles one way for a load of boxes from the storage area. With 350 boxes of everything from Christmas ornaments to heavy Psychology books, it was all I could do to drive back and forth, hoping not to crash as the tears flowed. One round trip took 90 minutes of travel along the loneliest highway in the America. A real title, I found it to fit the road well.
While driving miles and miles through the desert, it never occurred to me that I should attend to my car’s needs. I didn’t check the oil. I didn’t check other fluid levels. I didn’t even walk around the car to make sure I still had four wheels. I just got in and drove.
Until one day…….
I had driven the Ram 1500 that day. I don’t often speak of this vehicle. It belonged to VST. So many memories are engrained in the upholstery. So many vistas we enjoyed through those windows as we took to the road. We were feral parents of the most wild kind, pulling a trailer behind this pick-up for the better part of a year. VST always drove. I always rode shotgun. Hooked up, off we went. These days, its just a cool truck. Back then, it was an emotional ride just to open the door and sit in the driver’s seat.
VST always made sure it was maintained except for one tiny detail. He had a problem with tires. He would wear the last tread off tires, long after they were safe. In the Central Valley of California, that was just fine. Not too much ice or snow to worry about. No windy roads with the reputation of Geiger Grade which hung precariously on the side of Mt. Davidson on the way to Virginia City. I remember having a discussion about new tires in the fall of 2019. He assured me HE would handle the car issues when it was time. But then, time ran out.
On this certain day in May, I’d returned from the storage area with 24 banker boxes. That seemed to be the maximum number held by the pickup, no matter how I arranged them. Dropping the keys by the front right tire, it was then I was face to face with reality. My tires were BALD. Not just a little used up. Not just a little overdue for new. The tread was gone, or nearly so. So dangerous, I had to get new tires before I drove the truck again. That was my introduction to car maintenance.
At the very least, as a widow, there are some things you simply can’t ignore or refuse to learn about. You Tube is rich with instructional videos. My truck’s hood latch was tricky to find and open. After watching a simple video, I figured it out. It is the same with all the things you need to know about your car.
Please. Make sure your spare tire is in working order. Make sure you know where it is and how to get to it. At the very least, carry AAA Roadside Assistance, so that someone can come to help you in the event of a flat tire. They will also bring gas if you run out or a battery if yours goes dead.
With the cold weather upon us, check your tire pressure to make sure it is correct for your car and driving conditions. Your car’s Owner’s Manual has all kinds of marvelous information, including the type of tires your car requires. Be sure to read through the manual again to refresh your knowledge of your vehicle.
Don’t forget to replenish your windshield washer fluid with the right type for your area. Here on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada, I need the type that doesn’t freeze. Your auto supply store will know the type you need for your area. If you are traveling to areas that freeze, that’s something to remember. A windshield full of frozen fluid sucks. We’ll leave that story for another time.
Find a mechanic by word of mouth, not just Google or Yelp. You need a mechanic that is trustworthy and knowledgeable, not just some guy on the corner. I have a local tire shop that I prefer. For maintenance, I like the dealership in town. A little more pricey, but, they sell both Rams and Jeeps. It’s their business to know the vehicles inside and out.
Do learn how to open your hood and check the oil regularly. If you have a newer vehicle, change the oil when the light comes on. Use the best grade of oil and filter offered.
Even though the sticker price will shock you, replace your wiper blades before winter sets in. If you need a new windshield, call your insurance company and get it set up. Some companies will change them right in your driveway.
Above all, don’t ignore the code. It code lead to much bigger expenses than a trip to the mechanic to find the problem.
Knowledge is power. In this case, knowing a little about your car and paying attention to how it sounds and feels when driving down the road will help a lot when something breaks. And, something will. Things always do.
That’s my helpful hint for the month. Boring, but necessary. As widows, new responsibilities can be overwhelming. However, being able to care for ourselves is also empowering in the best kind of way. Although we may not be able to physically fix the problem, it’s wise to know there IS and problem and what to do.
Whatever you do today, don’t forget that your car could use a detailing. Mine sure did. It felt good to dispose of empty water bottles, dust bunnies, and dog hair. With just a little vacuuming and elbow grease, my Barbie Jeep looks like she just rolled off the showroom floor. Now, that’s something positive!
Happy December 1st!!!!! In these parts, the contrast between Christmas decorations and the stark landscape is as glaring as this photo. With frosty temperatures a nightly event and the ever present winds howling, everything that was grey-green is now golden. The rocky mountains are covered with the slightest dusting of snow, resembling a sprinkling of confectioner’s sugar.
Today, the storm is moving in. As I write, the winds have carried more leaves into the yard. The gardens of Winterpast sleep now, dreaming of spring blooms and summer shade. The Mysterious Marine has been an inspiration with gardening suggestions, hints, and tips for our spring adventures. Once gardeners, gardeners forever. Both MM and I love plants and our yards.
While out shopping together I suggested he buy an Amaryllis. He had never tried to grow one. These are in boxed flower kits at this time of year. Usually, $5. These flowers shoot out of the box quicker than time has been rolling by. It seems they can grow an inch a day, finally blooming in all their magnificent splendor. The Mysterious Marine is a fan now. His plant is about 15″ and growing. It hasn’t bloomed yet, but soon will.
Saturday will be a day full of of Christmas traditions and celebrations. In the early morning, with coffee in hand, MM and I will decorate the tree amidst a sea of boxes and tinsel. Christmas decorations hold such memories and magic. I’m looking forward to learning about his favorites while sharing mine. While he continues on with outdoor lighting, I plan to sneak away for a Christmas social with my Bible Study girlfriends. An ornament exchange and brunch at a house just two streets away from mine. Neighbors and friends I’m getting to know better and better.
With a quick dinner, followed up with coats, mittens, and some hot cocoa, we’ll be out the door to enjoy the Chamber Christmas Tree Lighting and Light Parade at 7pm on main. After Cocoa with the Cops, I’ll be looking for a little visit with Santa and Mrs. Claus. I hope we snap a few pictures. Just like that, the Christmas season is here. Saturday is supposed to be white! All the better.
Driving home last night after a hair trim at Salon 95 and a fabulous dinner of Elk Stew with MM, I carefully drove through the empty streets, amazed at how far life has taken me away from the land of continuous vineyards. Here I am, following my own path through the desert. The massive cottonwood trees and stark landscape have stolen my heart. This is my forever home. Home Means Nevada to Me.
Finding direction and purpose after losing such a big part of my life has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I never expected the blessing of new family and friends in a place I loved drawing as a young girl. While driving along, it is obvious that others feel the same way this holiday season. A return to customs and happiness is twinkling in our little town. Neighborhoods have come awake, trimmed in colorful lights and funny blow up decorations. My four-mile drive back home last night was magical.
Whatever you do today, it’s DECEMBER!!! Do something holiday-ish. There are so many great movies to watch. Cookies to bake. Friends to hug. Songs to sing. These special days go by so quickly, don’t miss out on a thing.
Ahhh, the holidays of the 1900’s. Looking at this stock photo and the smile on the woman’s face, it’s obvious how far women have come. That toy oven would have fit beautifully in our play house. With a family of five girls and a farm to run, Christmas gifts were practical and useful. Perhaps that’s where I got the groovy idea to get an appliance for myself this holiday season.
It wasn’t planned at all. Cyber Monday was in full swing when I happened to see a huge markdown. As I recall, the ad seemed to scream that Amazon was practically giving away the coolest thing. A Robotic Vacuum Cleaner! Some women wish for diamonds or pearls. This woman heads straight to practical with a touch of space-age technology on the side. A self-propelled vacuum.
I’d only heard of these gadgets over the years. Remotely controlled, your house might possibly be dust free at all times if you had one of these. Dog hair would magically disappear. All sucked into the unit until a time when the disc-shaped appliance would redock, recharge, empty, and head out for more.
Even more magical, you could assign names to your rooms and send the Roomba off to clean one space at will. This could be done without lifting a finger by merely telling “Alexa” to start the process
“Alexa, Unleash the hounds.” (The true command to start vacuuming.) “Vaccuum Guest Room.”
“Would you like to send your Roomba out to vacuum the Guest Room?” Alexa would ask.
“Yes.”
Off the machine would roll like the happy little robot it was made to be. Oh the pure bliss of the moment. The pictures and reviews were intoxicating. Before I knew what happened, a huge box was delivered to my door only 24 hours later.
It was then reality set in. Apps and information were loaded. The vacuum needed a name. Alexa needed to learn about her new slave. Then, the real fun began. The house would be mapped while the machine learned every nook and cranny.
Within the first 6 hours, I downloaded some important points of my own.
Robotic vacuums are not quiet. If you’re absent at work, they are quiet enough. If you are trying to sleep in the next room, prepare yourself, especially when the vacuum empties. A 747 jet engine would be a bit quieter.
Robotic vacuums take a long time to map your house. Mine mapped 6 hours. According to the map it produced, my house has 27 rooms, all needing identification. In reality, my house has 10, if counting the closets, hallway, and bathrooms.
Robotic vacuums are not a dog’s best friend. Ollie views me differently after this purchase. Not understanding the new device, he became irritated about the loss of sleep and unknown bumps in the night. Of no interest to him, he ignored it as best he could.
After playing with the device for a few minutes here and there, my floors really didn’t look any different. The tiny dirt catcher was quickly filled with wool from my oriental rugs early on, requiring extra trips to empty.
Maybe I got a dumb Roomba, because learning my house wasn’t an easy task. Although it tried it’s best, I don’t think I got the sharpest bot in the box.
That evening, over a delicious dinner of elk pot roast, I wanted to share the unique qualities of this new appliance with MM. With the phone app, I could deploy my vacuum from anywhere in the world, even four miles away while enjoying dinner with a friend.
“Look, right here. I’m going to deploy the unit and let it vacuum until I get home.”
My phone showed a tiny bot vacuuming it’s little heart out. This way and that. That way and this. Totally quiet, because I wasn’t home. Wonderful. I had just about convinced MM that this was the way of the future……..
Until it wasn’t.
“Warning! Warning! Bot needs assistance! Remove foreign object from the rollers! Warning! Warning!”
Additional observation…
#4. One must clear away all foreign objects that will fit into the rollers of the bot, therefore causing the machine to cease immediately.
Just how dangerous is it to leave a robotic vacuum with some foreign object stuck in the rollers? A very expensive robotic vacuum?
My dinner date ended with the accidental ingestion of my Christmas Tree skirt.
After returning the bot to Amazon, this is what I’ve learned.
1.Appliances make terrible Christmas presents, especially to oneself. Don’t forget that, no matter how big the discount.
2.Floor care doesn’t require robotic assistance.
3.KISS. (Keep it Simple, Stupid).
This weekend, I’ll be decorating and enjoying the season with the Mysterious Marine. Whatever you do, enjoy some time with friends and family. Eat a little too much. Enjoy a local tree lighting and parade. Take a drive to see the Christmas lights in your town. Play some Christmas music. Get in the mood. It’s a wonderful season to be alive!
Happy Monday, Everyone!!! A most happy Monday to the best Godmother in the Universe!!!! TJ!!!!! Today is HER special day. If you know her, call her up and tell her to kick up her heels!
This weekend was so full, I hardly know where to begin. It started with an adventure in Christmas tree shopping. MM and I both own widow/widower trees. Mine is tall and skinny, his is tall and fat. Both are lighted. Both are in their respective corners. But, as with so many things on which we agree, neither were not the tree we’d hoped for when we picked them out.
For many years, I’ve depended more on live poinsettias to show my Christmas spirit. I have them everywhere. A trio hero, a single there, I was up at dark:30 on Black Friday to purchase them at the local Lowe’s. So far, I’ve lost one. The others are thriving. In the dining room stands my very skinny, tall lighted imitation Christmas tree.
Try as I might, each year, the thought of decorating a Chinese tree made of metal and plastic doesn’t capture any sort of spirit. Christmas 2020, I decided that a lighted tree with a skirt was all Winterpast needed. No ornaments. Just the tree. With all the poinsettias, a tree skirt, and the lights, it works nicely.
A REAL Christmas tree should be something that involves a little vacuuming, a bald spot that needs to be camouphlaged, a tree stand that doesn’t quite hold the tree in the right way, and the constant threat of fire. At least, the trees of my favorite memories involve those things. VST was thrilled when I finally gave into the Chinese version.
MM’s tree, on the other hand, was a lovely tree. Lighted and clothed with a velvety tree skirt, it sat in the corner of his family room proud as could be. When I first saw his tree, I was impressed. It was lovely in every way, but not in the ways that pleased HIM.
After talking it over, we decided to form the JOLLY Christmas tree partnership. JOLLY is one of those crazy made of words made by blending our first names. In this case, it just works. We’d purchase a tree that would put these two to shame. 2022, it will reside at MM’s house, 2023, at mine. Joint custody of a most beautiful tree.
After a few hours of team work, the 7.5 snow covered tree is a thing of beauty. A few ornaments of his, a few of mine, his angel and tree skirt, and both our efforts, the tree is sits complete with it’s first present underneath. As for the placement, I’m quite okay with enjoying my poinsettias and the very skinny tree that still sits in my dining room corner.
All day Saturday, the threat of snow hovered over us with heavy cloud cover. An atmospheric river was moving in bringing the possibility of torrential snow and rain. Maybe. At least, possibly on Donner Pass. It could happen.
Let’s just back up.
In the winter, it snows in the Sierra’s. It rains in the flatlands of California and Nevada. Clouds form. The rains come. There is not need to call a winter storm by a terrifying name. Can we please just call a cloud and raindrop by less sinister names? As it turned out, it was too warm to snow, so a lovely rain fell throughout the night.
Saturday night, the entire town turned out for the Christmas Parade of Lights. Children were cartwheeling next to the road. Babies were snuggled in strollers. Someone brought a fire pit to warm their hands. An adult woman (we hope) dressed in bunny PJ’s which MM didn’t understand. If you don’t get the connection, please, please, please watch the movie, “A Christmas Story”.
Soon, police cars went blazing by, lighted in all their glory announcing the beginning of the parade. It wasn’t the longest parade. We didn’t have helium balloons standing 20 feet tall and tethered by tenders. Nope. Just a small town parade of a few residents that lighted up their floats and vehicles to drive down Main. Candy canes passed out to waiting children and a good time was had by all.
To finish the perfect Saturday, MM and I returned to a pot of bubbling hot Clam Chowder. Perhaps the best I’ve ever made, I finally prepared a recipe that impressed. Served with Red Lobster Cheddar Cheese biscuits drenched in butter, it was a dinner fit for royalty by the light of the new Christmas tree. A Saturday doesn’t get better than that.
Whatever you do today, make it count. New traditions are necessary in the land of widow’s and widower’s. What worked before doesn’t really matter. Today is all we have. Weave past traditions into today’s actions and move along. The road to Christmas will be filled with many holiday miracles. Be grateful!
Renna’s Meat Market — 4269 1st Street Fresno, California (559)221-1350 — And, YES, this is a current picture.
In another dusty little spot, less than 350 miles away from Winterpast, sits a place that creates Christmas dinner for hundreds and hundreds of Volga German families. Renna’s Meats. It really isn’t Christmas without German sausage made from THE recipe, generations old.
It’s a very long history lesson to tell how German farmers moved to the Volga River region of Russia to farm land grants beginning in 1763. My ancestors took that offer, picked up and moved to Russia. There, they thrived over the years enjoying political and religious freedoms. Sadly, by 1900, life became unbearable under Stalin’s regime. Families packed up what they could carry and immigrated to the United States of America.
My maternal Great-Grandparents were in that group. The Schwabenland’s and the Goeringer’s. They walked for miles and miles through the harshest situations. Thousands of travelers died from terrible diseases, slowing families as they took care of the ill, sick, and dying. Of course, babies were born along the way, as well. Once near a port, they boarded ships bound for Ellis Island and freedom. They did this in hope of a rich life in the United States of America. They had faith in a dream. Not able to bring much, they carried the simple recipe for sausage in their hearts all the way to the Central Valley of California.
When Christmas came around each year, there was one thing that would cause the elders to get their tinsel in a tangle. It wasn’t presents. It wasn’t caroling. Not the Christmas tree or shiny decorations. It was the SAUSAGE. Would the sausage be as good as in past years? Where did each family buy their sausage? Did the butcher make enough? All these questions would swirl around the holidays. It was always about the sausage.
As far as I know, there were at least three places to buy THE sausage. Recipes varied slightly, causing family groups to prefer one over the other. Each store had loyal customers that would never, ever think of eating any other type of sausage, unless to be polite, of course. Nope. Each group was loyal to their own butcher. Hundreds of town’s people bought their sausage from a man named Ohlberg. My family bought their sausage from a little country market owned by the Cheeseman and Steitz families.
Over the years, with varied dishes to serve on Christmas day, the sausage remained the centerpiece. It just couldn’t be Christmas without German Sausage. Not just any German Sausage, either. It needed to be as close to the original taste as possible.
Today, it’s possible to get all types of foods delivered to your doorstep. Through the wonders of 2nd Day Air, 4 lbs. of German sausage will be delivered to my doorstep. Two pounds of fresh, two pounds of smoked, with the delivery costing more than the sausage.
Through marriage, the Ohlberg and Renna families became entertwined. Finally, Mr. Ohlberg died at a very old age. Today, Renna’s Meat Market supplies German Sausage for the San Joaquin Valley of California and the world.
Smoked on the left, Fresh on the right.
The sausage is made from the a mixture of pork and beef. It’s seasoned with garlic, onion, salt, pepper, and secret ingredients I wouldn’t begin to know. This deliciousness is one of the featured items at Christmas, Easter, weddings, christenings, birthdays, and funerals of Volga German descendants. It’s not a party unless there is sausage. The RIGHT sausage.
If you are lucky enough to order some for your holiday, there are several ways to prepare it. I prefer to cook mine on an electric skillet in a bed of carnalized onions. It usually takes about 30 minutes on medium heat to cook it through. Cut into short lengths, it tastes great wrapped in a fresh baked roll. The kind my Grammie used to make. A slice of bread will also do nicely. You can also BBQ or steam your sausage until any trace of pink color is gone.
With the sausage on it’s way, I’ll be looking through my old family cookbooks to find other recipes from the past. I wish I’d paid more attention to the church women. They cooked amazing feasts from recipes of the past.
Whatever you do today, take some time to think of your own childhood Christmas’s. What made everything so magical? I bet it had a lot to do with special foods. Look through your collection of old recipes and make them new again. Let me know if you like the sausage. Again, it’s nothing you’ll find at Raley’s. This is a secret concoction straight out of Mr. Ohlberg’s recipe files. And HE knew sausage.
So many things have changed since last summer. I have a wonderful group of girlfriends that I adore. In a new church I find support and love. Oliver and I aren’t as lonely anymore. And, I actually know the mayor of our town. Today, he’ll be sworn in 5:00 pm amidst a sea of family and friends.
I don’t know what one wears to a mayoral event of this kind. Not sure if the ceremony will take place before, during, or after the meeting. Not sure whose Bible he will choose to use. Those are details the Mysterious Marine will know, as this new man is the second eldest of his four brothers.
With so many changes in our every day lives, it’s refreshing that in my dusty little town off the interstate, a life-long resident will be sworn in before God, his mother, brothers, wife, children, grand-children, and great-grandchildren. This being the biggest family I’ve met in a very long time, there will be no extra seats in the house.
In the next four years, our little town will experience a time of exciting growth. A new overpass will change the flow of traffic, improving it for residents and truckers alike. Streets and houses that haven’t yet appeared yet will. New schools will teach the new children that move to our town every day. Commerce will thrive. All this will occur under the watchful eye of a man that has lived here his entire life. He has a huge stake in this town. It’s full of memories as he’s watched it grow along side him for over 6 decades.
As businesses move to town, he’ll hold the giant scissors at ribbon cuttings. We still do that cheesy sort of stuff here. I know. I went to one over the summer. He’ll address issues like water, sewage, traffic, crime, and education. He’ll certainly be an active and visible mayor being a man full of energy and ideas. A good combination as he starts the next four years leading the town’s folk into the future.
Controversary and disagreements will land at his feet. Successes will be attributed to him, when in fact, we all know it takes everyone to grow a successful town. He’ll take the criticism for failures, even when impossible to avoid. Under his watch, unforeseeable obstacles will present themselves. Today, he’ll swear under oath to do his best job. As a man of faith, God will guide his decisions.
As my little town is coming alive with Christmas lights, there is a sense of new beginnings. After the darkness of Covid, people are out and about. Yes. It’s the flu season. It’s the flu season EVERY December. Had a touch of it myself just last weekend. This just happens to be the Tri-Panic-demic. It’s also the season of miracles. The season of love, happiness, and friendship. Celebrating the birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, life is full and rich.
Whatever you do today, make sure you have something nice to wear for a unexpected and very special event. Here I am on the brink of witnessing history in a sea of our town’s royalty and I’m undecided about what to wear. The purple cowl-neck pocket dress, or the blue plaid? Black tights is a given. Flats a must. With all the attendees tonight, we just might need to stand to get a good view of this shindig.
Today, consider spending some time weeding your closet and food pantry. People are in need during this season of giving. If your town is swearing in a new mayor, go. Find out what’s happening in your town and participate. You never know where your path will lead.
Good news is all around the town!!!! After much worrying about the lack of cash for Christmas dinners, our congregation came to rescue Operation Christmas Meal. Christmas food boxes will be delivered. At least 50 families in our small town will received a gift of a Christmas dinner. When it seemed all hope was lost, angels intervened. Christmas food boxes are in the works.
That’s the beauty of faith.
Dream.
Believe.
Pray.
Wait.
Miracles will occur.
They may be in a different form we request, but come they will.
Along with the special excitement for Christmas dinner boxes, our congregation supports a ministry of food for the elderly along with a food pantry. Each week, hundreds of souls are fed out of the good hearts of anonymous food angels. This involves time, cooking skills, and patience. Each one of us can share our talents as we are all blessed with time and resources. It depends on how we choose to use them.
The cold weather is upon my little town. This morning, the temperature outside before sunrise was 12 degrees. There is a heavy inversion layer, so neighborhoods dense with housing and wood burning stoves experienced a fog of sorts. Not really fog, as the moisture would have frozen into something called Pogonip. Not sure what to call the problem today. I was reminded of winter days in the Central Valley of California with fog so dense school was postponed for two hours.
Up on my little hill, the air is crisp and clear. The mountains have remained dusted white from our first real snow storm a few days ago. This weekend, we expect a true winter storm. That’s a good thing as the Sierra’s need the snow pack for next year’s water.
Last night, the installation of the new mayor was one to remember. I arrived a little early, wanting to take in all excitement. The outgoing mayor was holding court with friends at a table right outside the doors of the meeting hall. After 14 years as mayor, I would imagine his thoughts were a mixture of relief and sadness. My little town has changed so much during that time. Even in my 8 years as a Nevadan, the population growth has been dramatic.
While I waited for the Mysterious Marine to arrive, a lady sat down next to me.
“What in the world is going on tonight?”
You see, like any town on a normal City Council meeting, the audience is made up of people that have business with the City. There is room to spare. Last night, the seats were filling up quickly.
The new mayor has quite a following in family alone. Coming from a family of five boys himself, his brothers were there to support him. His wife and five children and their spouses came to cheer. His 25 grandchildren were all there in their varying degrees of cuteness, along with three great-grandchildren who graced our presence with their adorableness. Even with all the children that were present, you could hear a pin drop as the oath of office was taken by the new mayor and two councilmen.
His first order of business was to take a short break to enjoy some celebratory cake.
Just like that, name plates on the front of the dais were changed and business in our town was turned over to the new mayor. May God guide his actions and decisions as he leads our town into the future.
After this morning’s Bible study, today is one perfect for inside activities. Christmas shopping online. Binge TV while working on Christmas projects. A little cooking. Rest.
Retirement is what we make it. Bored? Volunteer or get a part time job. Restless? Get up and do something. Tired? Take a nap. Successful retirement is the result of living our best and last years to the fullest. I’m still learning about the endless possibilities. I don’t get it right every day, but attempting to is sure fun.
Over the years, I’ve stayed true to myself regarding feelings about Artificial Intelligence. I’ve enough God-given intelligence to succeed in school and have a wonderful and complete career. I’ve learned to function using my own brain and five senses. Life was good in the 1900’s and early 2000’s. I knew my own limitations, steering away from dangers and pitfalls. Adding VST’s magnificent brain to the mix, we were covered with all the human intelligence one household could manage. Five children kept our introduction to new thoughts at a constant. We had plenty of natural intelligence to cover our family.
Well, the kids grew and flew. We got old. VST died. And here I sit with Oliver. Don’t get me wrong. Oliver has a set of skills that only now appreciated after four years of co-habitation. He rules the roost in his own little way. Body language. Piercing laser looks for requests. Forlorn looks to get out of tissue trouble. Tail wags. Persistent and repeated requests. If you have a dog, you know what I mean. We are THEIR pets, not the other way around.
After spending time with the Mysterious Marine, I noticed he used something very helpful in his home. A small round device that sits in the back of the room, able to bring up any music or information with a single word. “Alexa…..” Fascinating. With a single request, you could be cleaning the house to Crosby, Stills, and Nash or eating a candlelight dinner serenaded by Barry White. All forms of music in between begin playing with a simple request. “Alexa…” With that simple word, the orb comes to life and takes care of just about anything you ask.
After much thought, this chick “Alexa” has moved into Winterpast. This is one pushy appliance. In the beginning, she was sweet enough. Happy to give me her age – 7. Tell me she is not LGBTQ or CIS but AI. She will explain all those letters for you if you need help. She has access to every bit of information you could ever want to know. Just ask her, she’ll tell you. She’ll complete simple math. She does kitchen conversions. The list goes on and on.
When she arrived, I didn’t really know how useful she would become. Immediately, there was a question about hooking on to the Ring doorbell I’d installed with my own intelligence, fingers, thumbs, and screwdriver. Why in the world would I want that? I declined her request.
As an amusement, during my days with my Roomba vacuum, I could tell her to “Release the hounds” and the Roomba would be off the charger and vacuuming. That was until the night of the dreadful Christmas tree skirt episode. Of course, the Roomba went back to the mothership of Amazon while Alexa remains. Their relationship was short-lived, although she still asks about him from time to time.
Again, she asked if I would like to interface with my Ring doorbell. I guess AI stuff gets lonely, too. Finally, I gave in and let the two interface. I’m not sure that I approve of this new relationship. A few days ago, Ninja Neighbor came over to say “Hi” and became engrossed in a full conversation with Alexa, who was screening the new visitor. This all happened before I even knew Ninja Neighbor had arrived at my door.
Alexa really crossed the line the other night when I was waiting for Chinese food to arrive. She did announce that there was movement outside my door. When I opened it, the startled delivery girl didn’t know whether to continue talking to Alexa or just hand me the food. Truly. She didn’t know WHO owned the house. Alexa or the human standing in front of her. We are all one card short of a deck. I waited until Alexa had finished the conversation not wanting to be rude.
Alexa is on a short leash these days. She is asked to do very little. Maybe a little Luther Van dross or the soothing sounds of Soundscapes. She turns yellow everyday, suggesting she has messages for me, but when asked, she simply says she has nothing. Well, this little dot had better not withhold information from me. I know where the mothership Amazon is located. I still have her box. Too many more alliances formed here at Winterpast, she’ll be finding her way back home.
But, let’s just not speak of it again.
No need to upset her. I’m not quite sure of her capablilities.
Whatever you do this weekend, please use your human senses and intelligence. Try not to rely too much on AI. Read. Write. Craft. Cook. If you have “Alexa”, be aware. She’s a trickly little minx.
The word, “ joy ” is used almost two hundred times in the Bible (KJV) and always in reference to an emotional state of delight, wonder, bliss, happiness, and gladness. We are told repeatedly to be joyful, to be filled with joy and to display our joy.
Joy is the natural reaction to the work of God, whether promised or fulfilled. Joy expresses God’s kingdom and HIS influence on earth . The Spirit’s production of joy can manifest through deliverance, salvation, spiritual maturity, and God’s presence.
Possessing joy is a choice. We choose whether to value God’s presence, promises, and work in our lives. When we yield to the Spirit, He opens our eyes to God’s grace around us and fills us with joy . Joy is not to be found in a fallen world; it is only fellowship with God that can make our joy complete. (Above information found online)
Learning new things everyday keeps my mind occupied. Yesterday, our church observed the 3rd Sunday of Advent Season. This was a new experience for me in which the pink candle representing “JOY” was lit. The reason for my name now makes more sense to me, as my birthday is nestled somewhere in these seven days. I was always told my parents chose it because of the JOY found at Christmas time. Yesterday, the celebration of Advent became much more important as the meaning behind the candle was explained. New beauty in the simple flicker of a candle. I was born during the week of Joy!
Birthdays are a total bother to me, especially mine. If anyone else has similar feelings around a Christmas birthday, you’re not alone. Our presents are afterthoughts to the season. No swim party or outdoor picnic with balloons and clowns for us. Who wants a birthday cake when there are all sorts of wonderful Christmas goodies to select. As the years have gone by, I prefer to spend December celebrating the Reason for the Season rather than myself.
Today is my one year anniversary since my Holy baptism. I can’t explain the changes that have come over my heart, enriching my life. Subtle, slow, and steady changes. I look at things differently now. Things I used to ignore have new meaning. I am eternally grateful that God didn’t give up on me.
On a more earthly note, MM and I are traveling to the bigger city to the East to discover whether or not the Wookie is with puppies. In this day and age, there are even ultrasounds for canine mommies. Please, don’t breathe a word of this to Oliver. He’ll never understand that he is not the true father. We’ll just let him believe he’s Dad. He loves her so. Without thumbs and a credit card, he’ll never be able to send off a DNA test anyway.
Whatever you do today, take time to think about the real Reason for the Season. It isn’t about the boxes and bows. It’s about friendships, love, and peace. Hope and bright futures. Faith and love renewed. It’s about new life.
JOY.
Yes. Christmas is all about the real meaning behind the word “JOY”.
As the gardens of Winterpast have gone into a deep sleep, my focus has now turned to areas in my yard that need some help. In 2023, I intend to pamper and better care for my existing roses while adding a few new bushes to the family. My father loved his rose garden, bringing a freshly cut rose to my mother every day.
In shopping online, I was amazed at the colors that are available. As I was looking at a royal blue rose, I realized they weren’t selling the actual bushes, but seeds. What? This cannot be! Any self-respecting gardener knows roses come from cuttings. At least that is what I believed for 66 years.
Immediately researching the subject, I had to shut my mouth and open my brain to a new concept.
Roses DO, in fact, have seeds!
Not wanting to believe this for myself, I contacted the only other gardener I know. The Mysterious Marine. I asked him the question, “Do roses have seeds?” I got the same answer I’d come up with.
“No.”
“Roses do not have seeds.”
This was a puzzlement. Here are two very smart people with a combined age of 134 years. Both gardeners have nurtured roses throughout their entire adult lives. More investigation was needed.
MM has the most beautiful rose garden. There, vibrant colors spring forth in fragrant blooms. He and I may have the only two green yards in the entire desert, being luscious and green throughout the hot summer months.
When I arrived, we hurried to his unpruned plants to harvest rose hips. According to the internet, the flower produces a bulbous structure that is often referred to as the fruit of the rose, or a rose hip. The hip is useful as well as attractive. It’s nutritious and has a pleasant taste. Like the petals, it can be used to make an oil.
Rose hips can be eaten raw. They can also be cooked to make jams, jellies, syrups, soups, teas, and wines. Their SEEDS contain an oil that is popular in the cosmetics industry. This oil is known as rose hip oil, rose hip seed oil, or rosa mosqueta oil.
With hips in hand, we began the dissection. The first two had nothing. Just about to give up on our quest for evidence, there, in the third hip was a perfectly formed seed. It was true. Roses DO have seeds.
In further research, it was stated that growing the seeds is a tedious process that may or may not provide the desired results. If your roses are hybrids, the seeds won’t grow into the same kind of rose, or they may not be fertile at all. It will take a few years to get an actual bush, but it can be done.
Throughout the adventure, MM and I were looking up our favorite roses, which brought back memories of past homes and lives. Roses are just like that. MM’s mom even thought of a rose that the family transplanted upon moving from one house to another. The bush is now over 80 years old and still producing the most fragrant blooms.
In the gardens of Winterpast, I had one tea rose that hadn’t produced a bloom in 2020. That summer, I looked everywhere for a Peace Rose which was my Dad’s favorite of all. His was of the climbing variety, having blooms the size of salad plates. It was late in the year, and none were to be found.
Then, in the spring of 2021, the barren rose came to life. Indeed, the plant is a Peace Rose. Planted in the wrong spot, it struggles. Next year, I’ll fix that.
Today, spend some time looking at your own sleeping yard if it’s not covered in feet of snow. Look for bare spots and create your plans for next year. Bulbs and bare roots are wonderful Christmas gifts for the gardener in your life. Tools, pots, plants, and yard art are also welcomed gifts for those that love their time in the garden.
Above all, keep learning. This world has so many fascinating secrets. Rose seeds…..Well, shut my mouth……
If you’re truly retired, you’ll understand me when I ask, “How did I get everything done when I was working?” The never-ending list of “Must” and “Should” Do’s never comes to an end. Each day, the list seems to get longer. With no excuse to ignore these chores, on most days I find them to be boring. There must be some fun in life.
Without the ring of the morning school bell, my familiar schedule is gone. Free wheeling a day can be full of fun, or end up being a disoriented mess in which little is accomplished. As irretrievable minutes tick away, just what do I have to show for 2022? Lately, my sadness over the irretrievablepast is foolish and is being replaced by new friends, schedules, hobbies, and activities.
Since my final entry into the world of retirement, I’ve needed to redesign the blueprints for the next phase of life. Desiring to rediscover my favorite activities and hobbies, I’ve been volunteering, while keeping up with family and friends. Writing has been a constant, but life holds more. I’m sure of that.
When VST died, a dense widow’s blurred my world. 2.5 years later, I’ve settled into a good life here at Winterpast. With a blank slate on which to write, both figuratively and literally, I’m finding myself. As you read this blog, please look to the archives. Grievinggardener.com began on September 24, 2000. It was the first piece of a structured life that has been my reason to get up at dark:30 almost every morning since. Writing was my cornerstone as I built a new life as a single woman.
Writing helped me keep things in perspective while I set goals and priorities. It kept me on track to accomplish tangible success. Words have explained what my journey has been like as with as much or little detail as I’ve chosen to share. With organization, a little thought, and zero money down, I started out on a literary journey that cradled my heart on many lonely nights. Writing allows my mind frolic freely in the meadow of new happiness while reminding me that I’m not yet free from life’s wilderness.
Since then, I schedule my day’s around writing. Being the most creative at 4 AM, my day begins there. Warm coffee in my cup and Oliver at my feet, the words flow the best when I’m in uninterrupted bliss. Later in the day, the desire to write gives way to the need for the next scheduled blog, robbing all enjoyment from the activity. Morning is the best time, not rest time. I have learned something important over the years. Leisurely weekends are needed to recharge the soul, body, and mind.
The priorities of living keep me centered. Some tasks need daily attention. To stay on track, I keep a daily schedule to make sure I’m not forgetting something important. In the beginning of widowhood, I’d list three important tasks per day. When those were completed, I’d add three more. Written in graphite, it was gratifying to see things marked off at the end of the day, even if there were only three.
The best part of being a retired widow/widower is that we are the CEO of our very own empire. The schedules and lists can change or be eliminated all together. There are some things that are just fun to dream about doing. Eliminate those dreams and hobbies you outgrow or don’t find enjoyable anymore, while trying something new once a month.
Long ago, I started playing with doll houses. At the time, life was chaotic and I didn’t really have the time for such things, but found such peace as I created little wonders. Recently, I started again. I’d forgotten how much fun I have making tiny little worlds from scraps of paper and wood. With guilty pleasure, I’ve been looking at the clock as I play away the day. An old hobby has come back into my life.
Whatever you do today, try to play a little bit. Anything counts, from a video game to a brisk walk outside or a grand game of fetch with the dog. Do something that makes you smile.
Things are now different than they were in the past
Knowing you don’t have to do anything fast.
Retirement’s a new stage in life,
Doing what you want with little grief or strife,
Enjoy your reprieve from the daily grind,
And embrace all the moments you’re sure to find. (Inspired by Sally Painter)
In a small town, goodness glows, grows and flows. Such was the case last week when our pastor had a little more on his plate than usual. A curious donation appeared out of thin air. With no preparation or crew, 420 chickens arrived at the church. Oven ready, these birds weighed on average of 5 lbs. each. With at least one gallon of fluid in each bag of ten, the donation weighed over a ton. These chickens were professionally processed, frozen, and awaiting distribution.
Without knowing the history of the deal, the theater of the mind can run wild. It would be safe to say that the chickens became “Priority #1” the day they were delivered.
Our church serves the community in so many ways. Without going into the details, we are an active bunch that will take on any need and try to make things better. That’s the true purpose for any church. There are those churches in my community that are not visibly active. Their building sits on Main, with no activity save a few Bible meetings. Local churches should be “Love In Action”. Definitely a place to learn, but also a place to HELP and DO. In this day and age, a lot of Doing needs to be Done.
I can only tell you that a nice peaceful morning of reflection turned into a scramble to beat the clock. While the chickens were delivered on ice, that would only last awhile. A major distribution needed to be planned and executed, while the chickens sat nicely in nature’s refrigerator. Thank goodness for the coldest days of the year.
42 heavy duty boxes held one industrial strength food grade bag of 10 chickens. One box equaled 60 – 70 lbs. Each bag needed opening. Each chicken needed to be transferred to a 1-gallon zip lock bag. Just where was Mike Rowe when we needed him? This would prove to be a dirty job.
With faith that everything would turn out okay, our phone tree sprang to life. The word of the give away went out on Facebook. Volunteers showed up in their oldest clothing with latex gloves and plenty of bags. People brought their dollies to move heavy boxes. With the temperature that day hovering around 40 degrees, the chicken brigade went to work. Our goal — to unbox, re-bag, and box 200 chickens in one hour for the big give away. Each person would receive two beautiful oven ready lemon-pepper chickens. Quite a lofty goal.
Children were involved in the procedure, transporting newly packed boxes from the packaging area to the distribution center by red wagon. In sixty short minutes, all chickens were handled. Mission accomplished.
One volunteer had worked in a deli and had handled industrially packaged meats. I’d been slave labor while helping my family dispatch 100 farm-raised chicken for our family’s yearly need. As the youngest of our team, the Vivacious Veteran did all the heavy lifting. That day, she moved 1,000 lbs. for those of us that were a little older.
The Day of the Chicken was a huge success. No one became sick. The mess was kept to a minimum. One hundred local families received meat for the table. Our church completed another important task to finish out 2022.
Whatever you do today, think of some way you might help to feed local people in need. Hunger is real. At this expensive and cold time of year, plenty of kids go to bed without proper nourishment right in our own towns. Every grocery store in our town is collecting for food drives. Help if you can. There’s nothing better than a warm meal on a cold night. Above all else….remember…Eat Chicken.
Yesterday was a day full of caring and laughter between friends. In the course of a day, I was honored by some, a helpmate to a flu survivor, a listening ear for the lovelorn, and Thelma to my Louise. What a super way to spend the last day of my 66th year! I made it count.
Waking up this morning, I am grateful for every single minute that’s brought me to this very day. 67 years ago, with an entire countryside awaiting the birth of a BOY my poor farmer-dad already saddled with three girls, I came into the world. Not the BOY hoped for, certainly not an OTHER, just another little GIRL. Female. Biological Pre-Woman. Pink, feisty, and ready to give any BOY a run for his money.
There would eventually be five of us, with a cousin thrown in for good measure. Country girls with a 16 year spread between the oldest and youngest. My mom raised three separate families in her lifetime. The two older’s, the singlet, and the two younger’s. That’s enough to send any mother running off to the corners of the world on adventure. I’m so glad that in her later years, my mom was able to do that. My dad fulfilled her every dream over their 68 year love affair.
This picture was taken on a summer day at Auntie TJ’s house. The baby on the far left is my cousin, who was my bestie as we grew. I’m in the checked, bibbed overalls. No doubt the older’s were babysitting the littles. Three against three. We had the better odds on that deal, giving them a run for their money.
Throughout the decades, I’ve been blessed with adventures, love, and treasures beyond anything I’ve deserved. I’ve traveled the world by land, sea, and air. I’ve seen enough to know I live in the most amazing country in the world. I’ve shook hands with true heroes and had to find grit and determination when I thought I had run out of both. I’ve loved deeply and lost tragically. The best part of the entire deal is that life is mine to create until my last breath. Just the thought is down-right exhilarating.
After a beautiful day enjoying a little of this and a little of that, I had dinner with my “Louise”. From August to October, Louise and I taught across the hall from each other at a dusty little school house in the center of my dusty little town. Louise spreads light and laughter wherever she goes. Last night was my turn to laugh with her. Over Denny’s burgers she shared the latest eye-popping details of her days at work. I made the correct decision to return to retirement.
After finishing the last bite of our burgers, we went to Dollar Tree to find some bargains. She needed things for her classroom. I needed stocking stuffers for a very special Christmas morning just a week away.
In the middle of a random evening, at a random store, in a random aisle, I ran into the very person that now teaches the students I met with hope and vigor in August. My old class.
A 2022 version of Miss Teacher, her can-do attitude was refreshing. She’ll be the 3rd teacher of the year for this bunch. As she talked about her group, I smiled. The rest of their year will be amazing under her care. While she discussed the names of those that kept me up at night, she has everything dialed in. Those little whipper-snappers don’t have a chance. Their teacher has arrived.
Now, what are the chances that on a random evening, at a random store, in a random aisle, I would run into this lovely and capable teacher with Louise at my side to introduce us? Just what are those odds? Just another miracle allowing me to close that chapter while knowing my little friends are doing well. I made the best personal choices in both August and in October. If you don’t take a chance, you’ll never truly live your life to the fullest. Those eight weeks were an important chapter that had a wonderful beginning, an interesting plot, and and ending that became a poignant reminder of the passing of time. How lucky was I to have enjoyed the experience.
My night ended by conversing with my bestie, CC. She’s my rock. My go-to about anything and everything. No matter the messiness of our lives, we manage to clean things up and tie a bow on any problem life throws our way. We’ve shared the happiest of times and the lowest of lows. No matter how many miles lay between us, we are eternally connected by the deepest of friendships. If you are lucky to have one friend of that quality, you are lucky enough. Here I sit blessed with an abundance of great relationships.
Mysterious Marine has been plotting and planning for this very weekend. December birthdays are a real bother, except for THE December birthday. There are so many better things to celebrate than one old woman living in a dusty little town on a wide spot of the road. He seems to think differently on that one. After suffering through a pretty nasty virus, MM is regaining his strength and plans to delight me with an amazing dinner tonight. I am so very blessed.
Whatever you do today, call your oldest friend to say, “I love you.” If you are close enough, give them a big hug. Friendship is one of the true blessings in life. Cherish an old one. Make a new one. Now get to it, time’s a-wasting.
Happy Monday Morning! With Christmas only days away, fun and excitement are in full swing here at Winterpast. The frigid weather has made staying inside to craft, and snack an easy choice. Winter is the best time of year for inside activities when one is retired.
Friday morning, an unexpected knock at the door alerted me to the delivery of one dozen of the most beautiful long stemmed roses I’ve ever received in my life! Not only are they beautiful, they’ve filled Winterpast with their rich fragrance. My Mysterious Marine started off the celebration of my birth in grand fashion with the delivery of flowers from the new little shop on Main. Four red ones for the months we have known each other and 8 pink ones to celebrate the Joy of the season. Sentimental guy he surely is.
Not yet finished with his plans, he created a complete dinner from scratch just for me. Filet Mignon, lobster tails cooked to perfection, Potatoes Au Gratin, fresh asparagus and freshly baked rolls. The entire dinner was on point and served with an exquisite red wine carefully selected from the Valleys of Napa. His favorite wine, and now, mine too.
The day was finished off with a most special gift. A golden St. Christopher medal to wear near my heart. This was the nicest birthday celebration of my 67 years, all done at his insistence because Everyone should have a wonderful birthday Every year. I must say, after this weekend, I see the error of my ways in the past.
Now that the birthday is in the rearview mirror for another year, it’s on to the REAL reason for the season. This week, I plan to cook myself a wonderful German dinner in memory of my Grandmother who left us two days before Christmas in a year decades past.
Throughout my childhood, my Grammie started preparing for Christmas early on. With plenty of grandchildren, she began making signature slippers, one pair for each of us. She had our colors down and would insist Grandpa stop everything for a ride to get town when she needed more yarn. Of course, that would include lunch at The Harvest House Restaurant which was a part of Woolworth’s dime store. Funny how things have changed. Now, we have the $1.25 Dollar Tree Store without any restaurant.
By Christmas Day, each Grandchild had an envelope and a pair of slippers. How she ever got the sizes right for each child was a puzzlement to me. With sixteen years of girls in our family alone, she had to count her stitches properly. Those slippers were a precious part of our Christmas.
Before Thanksgiving, she’d start making egg noodles with my mother and Aunts. After the mixing and rolling out of the dough, there would be noodles drying on the arm and back of every chair in her house. All the noodles were draped lovingly on top of the whitest tea -towels in the county. She needed enough noodles to share with her four daughters, saving enough for her Christmas Eve Chicken Noodle Soup, which was a feast of the simplest kind.
As mentioned earlier, the German Sausage was purchased from the correct butcher. There were cookies, candies, and coffee cake to bake. The week before Christmas the house was cleaned to perfection, with Grandpa taking over the chore of vacuuming. By Christmas Eve, everything was ready and family would stop by for a visit, as people did when living miles apart in the country. This was after the Christmas Eve service at the local church.
Holidays were the time of year when farmers had darn-well better be scrubbed, shaved, and combed. Their suits would be dusted off for the once-a-year event. Tractors and discs sat idle. Other than the critical morning and evening feeding of the livestock, farmers rested in my little corner of the universe. Except, of course, for the poor dairy families. For them, Christmas fit between milking and mucking.
Grammie was the kind of grandmother you ready about in books. Chubby and sweet, she was always a smiling with a listening ear. How I wish I had spent more time listening to the stories of a young immigrant wife with four little girls to raise. Her husband wasn’t blessed with sons, either. It didn’t matter much. In those days, the girls would need to do the work just as sons would have. Yes. I wish I had sat with her to listen more than I did.
This week, I plan to try my hand a few dishes remembered. This is a recipe for Kuchen, (coffee cake) that you might like to try. I find it fascinating that on a random search this very day, this recipe came up. Schwabenland was my mother’s maiden name. This recipe came from Christina Schwabenland. I’ll need to think on that little coincidence as I’m cooking later today. Thanks, Grammie. I needed the right recipe. ( Remembered with love, Elizabeth Goeringer Schwabenland — 1901 – 1981)
This picture is exactly what the finished Kuchen should look like. I prefer Boysenberry. You can use any fruit you like.
This recipe came from the internet submitted by Christina Schwabenland — a distant unknown relative
KUCHEN
Ingredients
2 cakes yeast
1 T sugar
1 C milk
1 cube butter
1/2 cup sugar
1 tsp salt
4 1/2 cups of flour
Preparation
Dissolve 2 cakes yeast and 1 Tbls sugar in 1 cup lukewarm water.
Scald 1 cup milk then add 1 cube butter, 1/2 cup sugar, 1 tsp salt
When milk has cooled to 90 degrees, add 2 cups flour to make a batter.
Add yeast mixture mixture and 3 beaten eggs.
Beat well.
Add remaining 4-1/2 cups flour or enough to make a soft dough and knead well.
Let rise to double in size (about 2 hours)
Knead down and let rise again
Divide into portions.
Put into greased pans.
Let rise 45 minutes.
Spread on topping made of ; 1 egg, beaten, 2 Tbls sugar, 1 Cup sour cream thickened with flour.
Place berries or any fruit on top of this spread.
Top with rivals (crumbs); 1 cube butter, melted, 3/4 to 1 cup sugar, 2 cups flour, mix well.
Bake at 375 F to 400 F for 30 minutes or until golden brown.
This recipe makes 3 – 9×12″ coffee cakes or 6 – 9″ round.
This dough can also be used for beirocks or kraut burgers
I’m off to the store to get the ingredients. Dieting will wait until next week. This week, I need to make and bake coffee cakes, cookies, and candies. This is the week to enjoy the memories of Christmas’s past.
Whatever you do today, reflect on some fond memories of your own sweet elders. If we could only go back and sit for a time with them, stories would live again. If you are lucky enough to have elders at your side, don’t waste a single minute. Take time to LISTEN. They have so much to share.
Right here, alive and well, albeit 46 years in the future. There are a few things I wish you could know right now as you begin your 21st year of life. Listening I know you are, as you always loved a great story. If only I could, I’d be the voice in your head, helping you make better choices along the way. But if that were so, I couldn’t have come up with all this great advice. You’ll take life and devour it on your own terms, even if you break down a few times on the road to 67.
In 1976, few understand the spirit of an independent woman. Keep on rebelling and questioning every bit of dogma the establishment throws your way. With few worthy mentors in your life, blaze your own trail, leaving others to shake their heads. Forget about the judgmental nay-sayers. If they’re talking about you, you’re doing something worth talking about. Something to live by.
Outwardly, keep being the good girl and fly under the radar. For Now. Keep watching and thinking. When the time is right bolt right out the gate, running as fast, free, and far as you can. Wide open spaces are what you need. They’ll be plenty of messy mistakes in which you’ll need room to heal and grow. You’ve been given the best foundation and soon you’ll find the need to fly with your own two wings.
Through the years, some mistakes will haunt you for a lifetime. Just remember, life isn’t black and white. Those grey areas are riddled with trip wires. You’ll give in when you should have gotten out. You’ll escape when your physical life is threatened. Under your heart, you’ll raise two human beings into fine young men that you’ll love more than yourself, even gifting them the very color of your eyes. For far too long, the past will hold you back until life propels you into the most wonderful future you could imagine.
All the while, you’ll have the luxury of a family that adores their little one, until you no longer need adoring because you are no longer adorable or little. By then, life will be your own.
Remember the pictures you used to draw of that magical place you’d never seen? Way out in the land of the setting sun where the wind blows wild and free? Deep in the heart of the Golden west, where the desert meets the hills? Where the moonbeams play in the shadowed Glen? It’s surely the loveliest place I know but it will take you a few decades to get there.
Living the rest of your life there, you’ll curse the wild horses when they poop in your own front yard, and then worry about them when they don’t come around. In that beautiful desert, you’ll choose your new family of friends carefully. You’ll find the God you thought you’d lost had carried you from some pretty bad fires. Don’t worry. Even when you think you’ve lost it all in a sea of despair, love will find you. Your story is one of happiness, and that includes the ending.
Through the decades between us, a few lifelong cornerstone friends will know when you need them, and you’ll know the same of them. Through the years, final earthly Goodbye’s will break your heart, but only because you loved so deeply. Life’s worthy trade off.
At times, your head will steer you in directions that make sense, add up, and look right. Your heart will lead in other directions that feel cozy and right for a while. But your own true North can be found by listening to the voice that comes from a much deeper place, speaking in quiet knowing tones. Find comfort and your truth in that voice. Listen, even if it takes all your strength to follow.
That voice will lead you to a high school reunion far in the future, where you’ll reunite with a true and dear heart-friend. Together, your life will bloom into one few in this world get to experience. With true love comes heartbreaking grief for one. A widow’s burden will be yours to bear, but not before you are safely home in the desert you will love so deeply.
You’ve had many dreams before and many more will come in your lifetime. Some will be irreparably broken. That’s just the way of life. One thing is certain. You don’t envision hollow dreams.
Do, in your own original way and time, what is YOU. If people are shocked, maybe they need shocking. Your story will always be a unique one, with only you knowing the plot twists that’ll eventually see you through. Be the courageous and strong woman your mother and father raised you to be. Be your own best friend, because in life, you’ll never find one more true.
You are worthy of the stars and the moon. Believe it. Somewhere far in the future, you’ll find that cabin on the lake with the golden sun setting just so as you write your next blog while the soup simmers on the stove. Loneliness will come and go, but a settled heart will get you through. Don’t abandon your will to meet the expectations of others. Your decisions are worthy of self-respect. Second guessing is a waste of time when, in reality, you just need to choose your next best steps.
Joy of 1976, you are a beautiful, thoughtful, and resourceful young woman. Your future adventures will give me material for books full of amazing stories we’ll share with the world. Go live your best life, as you will. Trust me. It’ll be an amazing and adventurous one. From far in the future, I look back wishing you peace and love at this beautiful time of year.
Astronomically speaking, the first day of winter is today. Meteorologically speaking, the first day of winter is December 1st. In the desert, it seems winter starts a little earlier than that. It seems much colder this year. Perhaps that’s because my old bones are a year older. It’s certainly not because I’m any less padded. Oh well, my Grandfather used to say a woman needs extra padding to make it through a hard winter. If that’s the case, I’ll surely survive a few more even if the power goes out.
Today we observe the Winter Solstice. It’s the day with the shortest number of daylight hours and the longest night. To my Alaskan readers I can only say that I don’t know how you do it. It’s hard enough to get everything done in 9 daylight hours. You folks get it done in a little over 5 hours. To my readers in the Southern Hemisphere, chuckle on. I know you’re basking in summers warm temps. You’ll get your turn at winter in a few months.
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 bit trying. Until last night.
For years, I’ve been developing the ideal bed. One-third of our lives are spent sleeping. Add a few more for retirement napping. It should be peaceful and cocoon-y, not tossed and turned like a green salad. Slowly, I’ve amassed the right number of down pillows, a down comforter, and a mattress that can flip into zero gravity with the press of a button. I was still missing the main component. Sheets.
I remember the days of my mother hanging her sheets on the clothes line to dry. Farmers were the original “Green” inhabitants of this world. The sheets would smell sunshine fresh when we crawled into bed. Laundry was another big detail that Mother handled masterfully with the help of her five minions. Even our pillow cases were freshly ironed every week. A proper German household she ran.
Over the past year, I’ve attempted to find sheets of olden days. In the 1900’s, sheets were sheets. The best quality sheets were percale cotton. They didn’t cost enough to break the bank. A boring part of life, you bought white cotton sheets that lasted decades. Use. Weekly wash and dry on the line. Use again. With each use, the sheets got softer and softer, but remained serviceable forever.
There was no such thing as fitted sheets at our house. WE all knew how to dress our beds in military style, tight with boxed corners. It had to meet with her approval. That’s just how it was done. For years. How I wish I had those sheets today.
Over the last year, I’ve come to one conclusion. No matter the amazing thread counts or promise of the finest cotton and finish, good sheets cost some dough. Sticker shock will get you if you’re not prepared.
Christmas time is a time for gifts. This year, I tried to gift myself a robot to vacuum my floors. It ate my Christmas tree skirt. Alexa already has control of the house, she doesn’t need any more gadgets to commander. At a bit of a loss, I’d almost given up on the idea, when I realized something I really needed. Sheets fit for Presidents. Royalty. And one widowed woman living in the wide spot of a dusty little road off the interstate on the high desert plains of Nevada. Me.
On the internet, you can find such luxuries. I did. I shopped a 40% off sale, settled on flannel, and pushed “Complete Purchase”.
When the box came, I couldn’t wait. I know. I know. It’s not Christmas yet. But it IS Christmas week. Slowly, I opened the exquisite packing box. Inside, there they were. The most beautiful flannel sheets in “Coastal Grandma” Buffalo plaid. Tan, Light Grey, and Beige. The stitching is perfection. The fabric, a herringbone weave of flannel. The weight just right. It’s as if I went back in time to the days that everything high quality was made in America. Well, not quite. These were made in Portugal from Egyptian cotton, but you get the idea. These sheets are 1900’s yummy.
Last night was the test run. I am here to report that the quest for great sheets is over. I have a winter set that will last much longer than I will. Mission accomplished.
Through the next three months, the trees of Winterpast will continue their deep sleep. Although they shudder in the high desert winds, any other sign of life is gone. Outlined with frosty snowflakes at times, the back yard takes on a different beauty. On full moon nights, the outlines of the trees make their ghostly appearance through my bedroom blinds. Eerie shadows dancing outside the bedroom window cause me to turn away as I fall asleep.
Winter on the desert includes another magical event as random and illusive as the mustangs. Pogonip. One day last year, while out walking, I noticed the air was sparkling with floating glitter. The beauty of the moment caught me off guard and I had to stop. Truly, I thought I’d 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 to anyone for awhile for surely I’d imagined it. After asking a local, I found it was real. It’s called pogonip, or freezing fog. I normally hate fog, but the next time this occurs I plan to Pachanga through the pogonip. The desert is a magical place, perfect for a Pachanga Party.
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 for new memories with someone very special. Winter is the loveliest of seasons.
Whatever you do today, enjoy the Winter Solstice. Have some hot chocolate while wrapping presents and listening to Christmas music. There are only a few more days until candlelight and celebrations. Enjoy!
There are those things that go thump in the night giving one cause for pause. Here at Winterpast, random things have fallen over. Like the tea pot on the cupboard above my counters. Toppled right over in the night. Auntie TJ’s beautiful painting fell right off the nail that was holding it up with a crash in the night. Random things that I’m choosing to ignore as random. For now.
I learned my lesson a year ago. That night, CC and I were chatting about the latest happenings here in the high desert when there was an alarming noise outside. A thud? No. A slide? No. Not a bang or a snap, either. 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 Ithought I heard. It couldn’t have been real. I must have been imagining things.
A few nights went by, with quiet being the signature sound coming from my neighborhood. It’s 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 the next 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 asphalt roadway fit the night as they disappeared into the darkness. They’d 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 venture 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.
As for the toppling trinkets, things have settled. Here in the desert, we’re built on sand. Sometimes things shift a little. Thank goodness not as much as they just shifted in Humboldt County, California. Those folks need our prayers as they clean up from the recent earthquake. It’s a place unlike the California you see on the nightly news. A conservative haven in a state riddled with confusion. May they get back to normal soon.
Whatever you do today, do it with some cheerful thoughts of the Christmas to come and holidays past. Unless it’s something 1,000 lbs. or more, or a 6.2 earthquake, try not to get rattled by things that go thump in the night. Investigate by the light of the day. It’s safer.
Only 2 more days until the real fun begins. Go ahead. Start celebrating early. That’s what I plan to do.
‘Twas two nights before Christmas, in Winterpast I was home,
Soaking in the hot tub, praying for world-wide Shalom.
One stocking was hung by the chimney with care,
Sewn by me when two boys on my lap were still there.
Oliver nestled asleep in his crate,
Dreamin’ of doggie treats and how they’d taste great.
Later dried, watching 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 me to chatter.
Through all of our words we shared events of the day,
The next day promising a call to check in and say “Hey”.
With the star brightly shining, true happiness shone through
Two foggy years in the wilderness, widow’s journey almost through.
With sleep not appearing while I tried to relax,
The cell phone complained, my quiet now cracked.
Just Sweet Daughter checking from so far away.
A surprise of the best kind, better than presents on a sleigh.
“Everything now brighter, we’ll remember the good.
Sleep well, time heals all as we knew it would.”
Hope, Faith, and Trust, I reflect on tonight.
Santa is great, but to these things hold on tight.
My journey through life holds beauty, it’s true
There’s Hope for tomorrow, Trust that Faith blooms anew.
When the phone complained again, just once more for good measure,
Mysterious Marine checked in. A man quiet treasured.
Company tomorrow? Dinner cooked up for Miss Lazy?
“Can you check tomorrow?”
Wait….. What???????
Am I crazy?????
After a night’s sleeping, I’m not feeling as frumpy,
No time for the blues or being 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.
The Mysterious Marine will season everything 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 third Christmas as a widow. Your steady love, friendship, and prayers are helping me grow every day. Life is the most beautiful journey of all.
Adoration of the Angels (oil on canvas 1, 42 x 1, 99) 1635, Stella Jacques ( 1596 – 1657 ), Musee Des Beaux Arts in Lyon, France,.
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 everlasting Lord; Late in time, behold Him come, Offspring of a virgin’s womb. Veiled in flesh the Godhead see; Hail the incarnate Deity, Pleased with us in flesh to dwell, Jesus our Emmanuel.
Hark! The herald angels sing,
“Glory to the newborn King!”
Hail the heav’nly Prince of Peace! Hail the Sun 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.
Hark! The herald angels sing,
“Glory to the newborn King!”
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.
Hark! The herald angels sing,
“Glory to the newborn King!”
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.
Hark! The herald angels sing,
“Glory to the newborn King!”.
Merry Christmas ! I will return on January 2, 2023!
