Category: 2022

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.

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.

More tomorrow.

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.

More tomorrow.

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.

More tomorrow.

Never did I ever, until I did.

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.

Have a lovely weekend. I’ll be back on Monday.

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”.

More tomorrow.

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……

More tomorrow.

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 irretrievable past 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)}

More tomorrow.

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.

More tomorrow.

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.

I’ll be back Monday.

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 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

1. Dissolve 2 cakes yeast and 1 Tbls sugar in 1 cup lukewarm water.
2. Scald 1 cup milk then add 1 cube butter, 1/2 cup sugar, 1 tsp salt
3. When milk has cooled to 90 degrees, add 2 cups flour to make a batter.
4. Add yeast mixture mixture and 3 beaten eggs.
5. Beat well.
6. Add remaining 4-1/2 cups flour or enough to make a soft dough and knead well.
7. Let rise to double in size (about 2 hours)
8. Knead down and let rise again
9. Divide into portions.
10. Put into greased pans.
11. Let rise 45 minutes.
12. Spread on topping made of ; 1 egg, beaten, 2 Tbls sugar, 1 Cup sour cream thickened with flour.
13. Place berries or any fruit on top of this spread.
14. Top with rivals (crumbs); 1 cube butter, melted, 3/4 to 1 cup sugar, 2 cups flour, mix well.
15. Bake at 375 F to 400 F for 30 minutes or until golden brown.
16. This recipe makes 3 – 9×12″ coffee cakes or 6 – 9″ round.
17. 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.

More tomorrow.