Category: 2022

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.

I’ll know by Friday. My principal said so.

More tomorrow.

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.

Today is so beautiful. Enjoy every minute.

More tomorrow.

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.

More tomorrow.

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.

Have a wonderful Saturday!

More tomorrow.

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.

More tomorrow.

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.

More tomorrow.

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.

More tomorrow.

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.

1. 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.
2. 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.
3. 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.

More tomorrow.

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.

Small town life. It doesn’t get better than this!

More tomorrow.

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??

Love you more,

Mrs. H