Category: 2022

Still on vacation, today I’m writing to you from an unfamiliar setting of a ski lodge. I would love to say, “Never have I ever”, but the truth is, I have. Skiing didn’t go well for me the two times I tried it. Not just kind of “Not Well” but a miserable fail. I’ll admit, I do ski lodge well, just having downed a delicious cup of hot chocolate. Not homemade, but still really good.

Watching skiers ride up the open lifts with five people across, I’m not envious in the least. From past experience, it is quite possible to drop both ski poles and a glove while being suspended 100 feet above the snow. Yes. I found this out in my 23rd year. It is also possible to be talked into traveling heavenward on some ski lift, that drops you off in a sheet of ice, where it is possible to make five skiers fall in a heap. They turn the lift off for that, even though it hits many in the head before they can make that happen.

After those major lessons, I know it’s possible to fall about 53 and 1/2 times when trying to get down a mountain that is for advanced skiers only, until finally taking off the skis to walk down. Finally, it’s possible for one lone ski to zip through ski school, causing many people to become quite agitated as they yell “Ski”.

In my 66 years, I’ve learned a few things. I do ski lodge very well while having no desire to actually ski. Ace, on the other hand, skis with the best of them. 45/45 is his best. A 45 degrees slope at 45 MPH. Having witnessed this with my own eyes, this is true. What he wants with this Danish Dumpling is beyond me, but, he smitten he is. His athletic abilities are a fascination to me.

As I sit here, I find that unskilled skiers clumping around in ski boots on wooden floors are very annoying to a writer. However, I’m in their world. Everyone is so thin and tanned, it makes my hidden little seat in the corner and out of the way seem secure. Not being thin or tanned at the moment, I prefer being invisible at my own little table. Skiers are in a hurry. Everyone races around to get back to the five person chair lifts that goes to the top of the mountain. Like ants, I watch them traversing the hills, gracefully and in full control.

In a small way, I wish I could learn to do something even 1/10 so graceful, but that isn’t to be. Graceful is not a word that describes any part of me. Smart? Sometimes. Intelligent? A little. A writer? Absolutely. But, able to put one foot in front of the other and walk a straight line? No. Fergettabout sliding down ice and snow on two boards.

Ace, on the other hand, is able to jump small moguls with a single bound. Learning to ski at the appropriate age of five years old, it’s second nature for him to spend time on the slopes. He has skied resorts I’ve only seen in movies.

Coming prepared with my laptop, I planned to write while looking out at the breathtaking view. However, there’s a new rule in the lodge along with insane rules everywhere else in this crazy world. So sick of idiot rules, I cringed when I was told, “Absolutely, Without Discussion, and Final in Every Way……..NO LAPTOPS!!!!” Now, in this laid back, “Hey Dude” environment, what the heck? What IS the problem. There were four of us in a restaurant big enough hold 150. I’m out of the way. Quiet. Drinking $.25 hot chocolate for which I paid $3.25 at THEIR snack bar. My keyboard is quiet. I’m on MY hotspot. So, what’s the problem with my activity? The two employees that protested most likely failed their writing classes in high school. Jealous.

I got up to move to the Lounge at 10 AM when it opened, thinking the vibe might be a little more relaxed there. Helga of Baskerville informed me of the “NO LAPTOP” policy before I even got my two feet into the place. What the Heck??? Mattered not. Places where 10 people are drinking beer at 10 AM isn’t good energy for me, “DUDE”. I went back to reclaim my territory in the restaurant.

With blaring music from an antiquated sound system, I wish that I was in the comfort of Winterpast with sweet little Oliver at my feet. This place with it’s athletes and winter warriors isn’t my cup of hot chocolate. At least, for 2022, I can add it to my list of adventurous outings and plan to sit in the hotel hot tub later today. I’m glad Ace is having a wonderful time doing what he loves the most. Glad I got to experience a little of it with him.

Whatever you do today, try to stay upright. Ice and snow are slippery to negotiate. Keep that in mind if you venture out. Remember the sun screen and go have a great day!!

More tomorrow.

_Anonymous

If you see a tall fellow ahead of the crowd,

A leader of music, marching fearless and proud,

And you know of a tale whose merely telling aloud

Would cause his proud head to in anguish be bowed,

It’s a pretty good plan to forget it.

If you know of a skeleton hidden away

In a closet, and guarded and kept from the day

In the dark; whose showing, whose sudden display

Would cause grief and sorrow and lifelong dismay,

It’s a pretty good plan to forget it.

If you know of a spot in the life of a friend

(We all have spots concealed, world without end)

Whose touching his heartstrings would play or rend

‘Till the shame of its showing no grieving could mend,

It’s a pretty good plan to forget it.

If you know of a thing that will darken the joy

Of a man or a woman, a girl or a boy,

That will wipe out a smile or the least way annoy

A fellow, or cause any gladness to cloy,

It’s a pretty good plan to forget it.

Be kind today. Look for the good in people. In this crazy world, it’s hidden sometimes, but there is good to be found. The world produces an abundance of bad every day. Choose happiness.

More tomorrow.

In only a few short months, I’ll no longer be the mom of a deployed Master Sargent of the United States Air Force. For the last 25 years, I’ve been a military mom. There are no hidden benefits to being a military mom. No discounts or awards. No parades honoring us. When our children are deployed, there are not too many groups that remember us as we silently count the days until our kids come home. Blue Star Mothers of America offers support to each Mom while they worry in collective silence.

No one wants to become a member of American Gold Star Mothers. These mom’s have given the ultimate sacrifice with the loss of a child in the service. No one wants to get an invitation to that group. Their Mission statement shows direction while requiring fortitude. Finding strength in the fellowship of other Gold Star Mothers,  they strive to keep the memory of our sons and daughters alive by working to help veterans, those currently serving in the military, their families and our communities. No one asks for an invitation to that group.

My oldest son, Master Sargent J (MSJ), has been in the United States Air Force the longest. Now in the Air National Guard, he’s looking forward to retirement in a few short months.

I so remember the day VST and I drove him to a hotel near Sacramento, California to begin his journey towards boot camp in Texas and then beyond. A clunky high school graduate, he was half man, half child, skipping off on an adventure called life. VST and I cried our way home that day, not believing that the boy we both raised was going off to find his own way.

Years and years of training and dedication led him on a great career path. He patiently accepted every order treating it as the opportunity it was. His wife and children paid the price of hours, days, and weeks away from him during his service. Everything was winding down, with monthly soldiering taking time away from his family. Creating a successful business and raising three children, his hands were already full when he got orders for deployment to the Middle East at 42 years of age. 6 months in the desert.

When deployment orders come, young families put everything to the side. Plans to expand a business, vacation, get a new car, or do something new to the house are on hold. Everything comes to a stand still while making arrangements for the absence. My son’s deployment this time was especially difficult during the pandemic.

Mom’s are usually the last to get the news.

“Hey, Mom. Going to the desert. But, don’t worry. It’s a safe base. Safe. Safe. Really, Really Safe.”

That safe, really, really safe base was in harm’s way a few weeks ago. Calls stopped. Messages were short.

“I’m okay, Mom. I love you, Mom. Don’t worry, Mom. ”

Safe.

Safe.

Really, Really Safe.

Repeat those thoughts.

That’s what a military mom must do, over and over again. Don’t worry. Know you are loved. Know they are trained to survive and conquer. And pray. A lot.

Today, I’m sending off another care package. This one’s for Valentine’s Day. Hard to figure out what to send to a desert quite unlike my own addressed to a grown man of 42 who moved away at 18. Of course, what would a Gardener send? A tomato kit. What would a retired teacher send? Conversation Hearts. Lots of other little goodies filled the Flat Rate Shipping Box from USPS. There is a military discount at the post office not limited to mothers.

I filled the empty spaces in the box with prayers and love. Filled the box with good wishes and lots of wonderful memories. My son and those deployed with him deserve the prayers of a grateful nation. Without our soldiers around the world, things would surely not be as safe as they are today.

Look online for a ways you can support a soldier or his family. Troops are sent to places long distances from their homes and moms. If there is a base near you, contact them to see what programs are in place. If not, consider writing to a soldier that is deployed. Just because we are not at war, (at the present time), don’t forget that men and women are giving time out of their lives so we can be safe at home.

Be grateful for all the branches of our military and don’t forget to send prayers. It’s a scary time for our world right now for Mom’s everywhere.

More tomorrow.

Another weekend of sunshine here in the high desert of Northwestern Nevada. Bright blue skies have confused even the birds. A new nest has appeared on the back porch behind the garden Buddha that sits on a high shelf. With his little smiling face, he is laughing at the notion that this is winter. I, myself, am relieved the weather’s not worse while also wishing (just a little) it was.

I must say I did enjoy tackling the snow storm back in December. Hoping to get a little more winter driving practice of the snowy kind, I keep checking the forecasts for the next two weeks, but, nothing is coming. Days and days of nice weather are forecast. No winds. No hail. No snow.

The local lake, which dried to a little puddle last summer, is again filling. The melt from the December storm is making its way down the Eastern Sierra’s to the lake. Each time I drive by on my way to Walmart of the East, it’s shores have expanded. With any luck at all, it’ll be back to normal, providing a place for us desert folk to camp, fish, and water ski.

Longing to enjoy a little more of the winter season, I remember the days of teaching 3rd grade. After a few snow days, Valentine’s Day was notice that the year would quickly be over. In a flurry of test preparation, testing, and recovery from the test, there was one long celebration of Valentine Presidents Breaking for Spring and Memorializing the year. Just that fast, all the holidays were gone like the wintery snow and summer vacation appeared. I’m glad retirement doesn’t speed along that fast.

With social media, politics, and Covid, we all need the simplicity of a snowflake to side track us for a bit. Today, the news reported a law change that will only require a high school diploma to be a substitute in our Nevada schools. So very sad those are the skills lawmakers think necessary to substitute a class of children. In this crazy age of senselessness, the children are the ones that are being short changed every day. Kids and their teachers need a few more snow days to gather thoughts about school these days. It’s not what it was in the 1900’s.

Looking out on the back yard, there are so many projects that are awaiting real springtime. Although the sky is bright blue, the air is cold and crisp. The mornings find Oliver’s stainless water bowl frozen solid. It’s cold enough to snow, it just hasn’t.

Ace, feeling sorry for me as I whined about the cold temperatures during Sunday worship services, bought me the most beautiful full length goose-down winter coat. A pretty navy color with a fur-lined hood, it hangs by the front door ready for real winter to show up. It looks a little silly to head out the door prepared for a snow storm when the temperatures have been soaring to the 50’s in the sunshine. My new coat will need to wait a little longer to get every-day use.

Feeling out of shape, I could do some jumping jacks which resemble upright snow angels while requiring more energy. There is absolutely nothing prohibiting me from resuming a walking schedule at this point. Pondering the subject of winter activities, a better idea comes to mind. I’ll get a head start on my summer tan with afternoon soaks in the hot tub while awaiting the next storm. Bright desert sunshine equals lots of essential Vitamin D and beautiful skin. Win-Win!!

Thank goodness the Winter Olympics will be televised next week. Ignoring the obvious political discourse and propaganda associated with the games, I’m going to enjoy watching athletes achieve their dreams in a winter wonderland with the sound turned off. I’ll even sit through a few rounds of curling. I sure hope China has some snow to show us on television as we watch those downhill racers give it their all. Go USA.

If you are already sick of your snow, I apologize. Spring is just a few weeks away for us all. Everyone has a favorite time of year. Winter has never been mine, but a little snow would remind me of the season we are really experiencing right now. January couldn’t even call herself normal this year. Crazy is the new normal. I guess that fits the world these days.

More tomorrow.

In this the crazy world of today, the Art of Gentleness has been lost. In my Daily Devotional Journal, I found a nice acrostic poem on the subject.

G — Gracious and good

E — Engaging, willing to listen

N — Nice to others, regardless of who they are

T — Taking the time to move at another’s pace

L — Loving

E — Endearing by act of kindness and goodwill

An interesting fact popped up on a few days ago on the Internet. Ah, what could we ever do without the internet, right? It’s been 52 years since 1970. Now, I would guess a lot of my readers could remember that like yesterday. I know I can. It was the year that I met VST and we became friends. That spring, I was a freshman in high school, he a sophomore. Heck, I could probably tell you what dresses hung in my closet as girls weren’t allowed to wear pants to school. It was so simple in those days. There were boys. There were girls. No confusion on that.

There were 52 years between 1918 and 1970. People (again, men and women) took pride in acting like a Gentleman or a Lady in 1918. People were civil to one another. Sunday was a day to rest and visit your church, whatever denomination that was. It was a day to enjoy visits with family and friends. I wasn’t there, but my grandparents shared stories. Life wasn’t all a bowl of cherries for them, either, being immigrants from the Volga area of Russia. They faced prejudice like others in our great country. They were too busy building a life to sit and worry about it.

In 1918, meals were cooked at home and every mom of that era would be considered a fantastic cook today. If her kids were living, she did alright in the kitchen. People raised their own food or at least knew bacon came from a pig and milk came from a cow. Not too many years after that, my dad’s family would take the family cow with them on camping trips because she needed to be milked and the family needed to drink the milk. She was an important part of their family and treated as well as any other cow in the neighborhood.

Back in 1918, people knew the neighbors for miles around. They knew who possessed what skills when they were needed. They attended each other’s funerals when people had just three days bury their dead. They celebrated new life in the community when a baby was born. They helped each other raise the barns on new farms, and raise the roof at weddings. Most people knew how to dance and loved the opportunity to do so.

In 52 years, the 1970 arrived.

In the early 1970’s, my family got our first nice television. Big and boxy, it was housed in a very large cabinet made of solid wood. You could still get things like that in the ’70’s. There were hours in which there was nothing to watch on television because the TV stations, (three in our town), went to sleep. Every morning at 6 AM, they woke up to the raising of our flag and the National Anthem.

News was just that. News. And not news from other parts of the country. News from our own town that pertained to us. Walter Cronkite was respected, whether he should have been or not. He was everyone’s friendly Uncle that had a calming voice as he delivered the nightly news. Everyone shut the trap and listened at our house. No extra yapping until the news was over. Maybe that’s where the troubles began.

In the 70’s, I remember buying my first tape recorder for $100.00. I had saved awhile, needing it for college. It took 6 “C” cell batteries and recorded words on tapes. My parents and I sat at the kitchen table trying to figure out the push buttons and how the thing worked. It was an amazing machine, almost the size of a small shoe box.

“But why can’t you just listen and take notes? $100.00?? So much money.”

I hardly heard them, while thinking about taping an entire lecture from Mr. Deacon in Biology. How much more time I would have to check out the guys in class! I used that tape recorder throughout my four years in college.

Fifty-two years later, today everyone has the phone. If you misspeak on a topic, there are plenty of people to fact check your information. You can find support for any position or belief on the internet. Need a recipe? Don’t worry about calling a neighbor. Just Google it. Need to find out opinions on the quality of a business in town? Google it. Plenty of strangers will lift up or tear down a business’s reputation with words on a screen. Five Stars to the best.

In the age of technology, garage doors stay closed. People hide from the virus. Connections are lost. Our society has lost something very special. Respect for others. Gentleness. Kindness. Sincerity. Tolerance. Work Ethic. God.

In the 70’s, I remember my Grammie and Grandpa S shaking their heads about society then. It must have been the end of the world coming, because the evil ways were shocking. No one in 1918 would have ever behaved like they did in 1970. Thank goodness they didn’t need to live in 2022. It would have blown their minds, for sure. Heck, it blows mine at this point.

Not all is lost. In a dusty little wide spot along the road in the high desert of Northwestern Nevada, I know a place. People still hug when you walk into a little church on Main Street. Neighbors wave to each other and stop to talk on their daily walks. Friends meet at the local Walmart. Weekends hold car shows and rodeo events. People fly the American flag and pray for our great country. Police and firemen are our heroes. Families keep their history alive and remind each other to be kind and gentle.

I know it exists. I live there.

More tomorrow.

_{by Admiral Chester Nimitz}

I asked God for strength, that I might achieve,

I was made weak, that I might learn humbly to obey.

I asked for health, that I might do great things,

I was given infirmity, that I might do better things.

I asked for riches, that I might be happy,

I was given poverty, that I might be wise.

I asked for power, that I might have the praise of men,

I was given weakness, that I might feel the need for God.

I asked for all things, that I might enjoy life,

I was given life, that I might enjoy all things.

I got nothing that I asked for,

But everything that I had hoped for.

Almost despite myself, my unspoken prayers were answered.

I am, among all men, most richly blessed!

Have the best day ever!!!

More tomorrow.

Yesterday, February 1st already, I made a point to stop by our gorgeous new Senior Center. Built by the community with the best intentions, each day, a safe place is provided for Senior Citizens to come together. Sometimes it seems the people running the place have never met a real Senior Citizen in their life.

Real Senior Citizens are not dead fish that are happy to sit in the corner and string beads or weave baskets. Don’t think you can put us in the corner and set a plant on our heads. We have the same worries and life concerns we’ve had our entire lives. Compound those daily worries and concerns with changes in eyesight, hearing, mobility, or general health. Many Seniors work twice as hard to keep up with conversations around them because of hearing loss. Take the crispness out of our sight, or the sureness out of our step and life becomes a little more challenging in the later years. We may not all have the best health or the most money, but, we certainly have TIME.

Next to the front door of the Senior Center a monthly calendar listing activities and meals is offered. Someone should let the Director know Senior Citizens still do have good appetites. The few times I’ve tried their meals I’ve gone away hungry. As my Dad would have said,
“Not enough to keep a bird alive.” Truly so, in this case. The variety is interesting and with a cost of $2.00, one can’t complain too much. Comfort foods like Beef Pot Pie or Chicken Noodle Casserole are included in February’s entree’s. Nothing sounds enticing enough for me to mark on my calendar. A few of them would definitely keep me away, like “Flounder in Cilantro Sauce”. Who chooses these recipes? Maybe the same folks that designed the building.

The Senior Center used to be in a house. I’ve had more than a few women tell me they found the cutest clothing at the Thrift Store there. If the new crew would plan such a place, I’d have a load of things to donate. No plans were made to continue that at the new facility.

Whoever designed the building really missed the mark. With extremely high ceilings, the cavernous room reminds me of a high school gymnasium. On the times I’ve been there when music was playing, the echo could make ME deaf. Just what do those with hearing aides do to adjust to that? The tables are okay, but the chairs are hard plastic and extremely uncomfortable. When I’ve visited, there are but a handful of Seniors hanging out. Sad, because the Golden Years can be a really lonely time in life. A comforting and lovely place is a necessity.

Holiday meals have been interesting. On March 1, there’ll be a Mardi Gras Dinner. Cajun Gumbo, Chicken and Sausage Jambalaya, King Cake, and Virgin Hurricanes. What? Shirley Temple’s next??? Sounding very spicy, another idea bites the dust. Done with the monthly menu, I moved on to the monthly activity portion of the flyer.

I will say, there was one activity that did sound interesting, but it’s offered only once a month. Commodities. I’ve marked it on my calendar and plan to attend that one. Line Dancing, Resistance Exercise, and Chair Yoga will get a try. Penny Bingo might be a place to meet some new friends. A Computer, Smart Phone, and Tablet Class is something that anyone could use. You don’t know what you don’t know and you may not even know you should know it. Ya know???

On our town’s Face Book page, I did find it interesting that a church in town is teaching “Grandma’s Cooking”. They limited the class to 20 and it filled up immediately. Ladies will be teaching cooking skills from the 1900’s such as canning and candy making. Now, that sounds like a Win/Win. The elders of the church can dust off their antique skills and share them with the youngers. That is the kind of Service to Community through which Senior Citizen’s thrive. Being relevant and appreciated will enrich anyone’s life and give a reason for getting out of bed in the morning.

There is one more activity that I plan to attend, front and center. It’s one in which I might be brave enough to add a few suggestions.

“Meet with the Manager — 12:30 PM — 2nd Wednesday of the month”

I plan to be there listening to what the Senior’s in my community desire. I, for one, would love a literature class, or an interesting book club. I’d love a writing class for memoirs or a math class. A Sudoku group. A chess club. Even a jigsaw puzzle room. Something to keep the brain working, while encouraging new friendships. Yes. I plan to be front and center at that little meeting on the 2nd Wednesday of the month.

If you find your days of retirement boring my Auntie TJ would have something to say about that. Boredom, in our opinion, is the sign of a lazy mind. So, get moving. Look online. Find out what your town has to offer. If it offers nothing, which is unlikely, then find out how to make some noise and fix the situation. It takes a person willing to change things for things to change. That just might be you.

Have a great today.

More tomorrow.

On such a beautiful day, yesterday I went on a road trip. There’s a place I’ve wanted to visit for sometime. I took a little drive out to the Palomino Wild Horse and Burro Center operated by BLM.

No.

Not THAT BLM.

The one and only, original BLM.

The Bureau of Land Management of the United States government.

The wild mustangs of Nevada are always in the news, forever in the way. Trying their best to avoid people, they have a hard time doing so as people move further and further into the wilds. Everyone has opinions about the horses. Some people LOVE them. Some people HATE them. Some people feel SORRY for them. In the middle, the horses are caught in a trap of the worst kind.

I’m the first to admit there is absolutely nothing more wonderful than seeing a foal, only hours old. They are beyond precious, but also fierce. Within hours, they must be up and ready to follow the heard. Without complaint, they get up and run after the lead mare. Somedays, I can barely make it to the mail box, while they are constantly on the move.

When VST and I first moved to Nevada, we were told about the mustangs.

“Where can we see them?” We asked this innocently, assuming we’d need to hide behind bushes on the highest hill top overlooking a secret meadow that only locals knew.

The person we asked didn’t answer because the horses are everywhere. We just needed to be patient and wait a bit. After a few months, we knew where they were during different times of the year. Many times, our Virginia City herd was either in our front yard or back yard. It mattered not. While they were there, it was THEIR yard.

One day, hearing strange noises, I went out on our deck, later to become known as the Mustang Observation Deck. 15 feet below, in the middle “A” Street, fought two beautiful stallions. On their hind legs, they batted each other with razor-sharp hooves, while trying to bite viciously. Hoof-shaped scars from past fights told me these two were out for blood. It was a real life episode of Wild Kingdom right at my feet complete with snorting, squealing, and squalling. I earned an appreciation for the brutal power of these “ponies” that afternoon.

Here in Nevada, many people have been badly injured by colliding with black horses on a moonless night. Slowly, I’ve been introduced into the nightmare of Mustang Management and it’s a terrible problem. Both horses and people suffer without too many workable solutions to a delicate situation.

The horses aren’t native, but feral. Over the years, unwanted domestic horses have been released to the high desert. They usually don’t do so well, being domestic and all. These have bred with the mustangs. A native man pointed out that pure mustangs (a smaller horse with a larger head and distinctive almond eyes) aren’t seen that often. It matters not, as these are still wild animals that weight 1,000 – 1500 pounds.

Typically, the horses are moving from one place to another, traveling miles every day. You can see your favorite herd next to the road and, an hour later, they’ve vanished. I’ve witnessed galloping mustangs a handful of times in the 8 years I’ve lived in Nevada. Normally, they stand or walk, but, they’re always on the move.

This winter, the push to round up the herds has been more intense than usual. We’re coming off a terrible drought, and there isn’t much left to eat. Yet, more foals are being born every day.

The mustang round-ups aren’t done by spur-booted cowboys in Stetson’s. With helicopters, pens, and trailers, horses are chased and collected. Some aren’t so lucky, getting badly injured. The females are chemically sterilized. A small portion of the healthiest horses are released. The others are trucked to holding areas. Many of those areas, such as the one I visited yesterday, resemble cattle feed lots.

Make no mistake. These horses aren’t released to the wild again. Their necks are tattooed with their new number, and they’re now taken care of by you and me through our tax dollars. They are marked property of the US Government.

You didn’t know you own a horse or two, did you? Well, we all do. Over 100,000 horses cost us $115,000,000+ per year. Domestic horses can live 25 -30 years. I was told by a person who knows things that these horses don’t suffer for years, as an unspeakable fate awaits the un-adopted.

All that is truly not a nice thing to ponder before falling to sleep, but I find this a bit worse.

These are WILD ANIMALS. They aren’t a kitten or puppy. They weren’t birthed in a barn by a 4-H family. These are huge, wild animals. There are thousands of them offered for adoption. But, by whom will they be saved and under whose terms? Until they have a home, they’ll be kept in a feed lot situation because there isn’t another solution. To keep WILD ANIMALS captive is the most cruel thing a human can do. Even zoo animals have minimum standards for space and cover from the weather. Their emotional well being is considered.

With all that dismal news, I will report that the horses I saw were calm and collected. There was plenty of food. They looked relaxed as they stood around like lawn ornaments. The corrals we dotted with fresh hay. Of the hundreds of horses I saw there, all looked physically healthy. Nobody was limping or starved. I sensed the captives were collectively plotting a curse on mankind.

The center was as clean as it could be considering the number of horses locked up there. To no fault of the facility, the odor of the place was awful. You can’t expect anything different when you have so many horses in so many corrals, with a smell exactly like a feed lot full of cattle. With plenty of room to move around, the only thing missing was an open gate. Nope. Those horses are in a terrible spot for the rest of their natural lives.

The next time you have a moment, pray for some bureaucrat to come up with a logical solution to this very big problem. If you have room, consider adopting a few of these horses and burros for yourselves. Know, you have one hour to make your selection from hundreds of choices. Bring your oldest trailer, as I hear they get quite upset and kick a lot on the way home. Be sure that you have the next 25 to 30 years cleared off your calendar to give them all the love and care they need. Some situations are extremely wicked in the Wild, Wild West in which I live.

More tomorrow.

Oy Vey. I’m so very blessed to be living here in the comfort of my home, Winterpast. As careful as I can be, I tenderly open and close my cabinets while knowing they aren’t the best. I had the best. In 2015/2016, I designed a beautiful kitchen just for VST and I. Lovely in every way, I chose all the bells and whistles while VST beamed at my glee. I was such a lucky woman in those precious days.

VST was like a boy with new a new set of Lego’s. He anxiously awaited the delivery date, and slowly put the kitchen together. Truly, it was like a jigsaw puzzle. Although we had professional installers, every evening VST sat fixing little details that weren’t to his liking. When it was done, it was a thing of beauty. No, it wasn’t white. Who ever dreamed up a white kitchen, anyway??? Ever had tomato sauce boil over???? A husband with grubby fingers? A real life? Mine was maple. With soft close cabinetry. I miss my kitchen, but also know, that ship sailed. I’m now the owner of run of the mill, stock Oak cabinets that will still be here when I sell the house.

Ace and I had a conversation one day about houses. There is a magnificent mansion on the hill above me. At least 5,000 square feet built in 2004, it’s multiple stories and very out of place. It looms over our development like the house in Psycho. If someone lived there it wouldn’t be so eerie. It’s void of life most days of the year. Just a small light shines from the lower floor. Nothing else. One small light.

AS we sat chatting about the house, I shared the opinion that a house needs a family or it’ll deteriorate. Things do break. With no one there to fix them, broken things can cause other complications. Pretty soon, you have a house that’s falling down. The Dunmovin House in Virginia City had that problem when we first moved in. Being empty for so long, faucets were stuck and toilets were leaking. A house needs constant attention and love.

So, on my last little vacation to the Biggest Little City just West of here, disaster struck while I was gone. The problem was discovered not long after my return. Of all things that could have broken, my silverware drawer runner gave way and snapped. Go figure. Just like that. A broken drawer left me with a problem to fix.

I should have paid closer attention to VST during our cabinet adventures. To him this would’ve been such a minor little problem, he is surely laughing up in the heavens. I bet the kitchen there have has soft close cabinetry. I wish he’d talk to me in my dreams tonight and give me instructions on how to fix this broken runner. As that isn’t happening, I made my way to Lowe’s this morning to see what replacements parts they might sell. Depending on the skills of Mr. Handy Lowe’s Associate, I asked whether or not they had a matching piece to the one I had in my hand.

“Oh, yes, we sell those in packages of two. They go on each side of the drawer.”

You know your boat is sunk when you run into Gilligan.

“Yes, Sir, only one side is broken. This is the support that goes against the cabinet wall. The drawer side is okay. The plastic connection piece in the back snapped.”

“But they sell them in pairs, so you can’t buy just one.”

“Yes, sir. I know that. But the space on the store shelf for the size I need is empty. Could you check to see if you have any more in stock?”

“In the package of two, right?”

In the end, my patience held, and he decided that I really needed a plastic piece in the back of the cabinet that had snapped. The one I hadn’t removed to take with me. That one. So, he sold me two replacements, because, as you know by now, they only sell them in pairs.

While I was there, I also needed two garage door openers of the new kind. The ones that open two doors, not just one.

On the package, the words were comforting. They went something like this.

“Universal Garage Door Opener. Simple. A moron can do this. Even a widow.”

Returning home, you could already connect the dots to the end of the story. The plastic piece is in no way the same as the one I should have taken to show him. Besides, it will just break again because it is flimsy plastic and the silverware drawer is extremely heavy.

The garage door openers will work with the two units I have with one small problem. While on top of a 10 foot ladder, I need to disassemble the cover of the unit, press the Yellow “Pair” button, and stand on one foot while singing “How Dry I Am”. Truly. The instructions are just that Chinese to me.

Tomorrow. On my To Do List.

#1. Hire a handyman.

#2. Pray for a good one.

Lord have mercy on this poor widow woman. Big girl panties and all, this is real life on the high desert of Northwestern Nevada. Nevada means home. Suck it up, Buttercup. Be thankful everything else is working today.

More tomorrow.

For the last two days, I’ve been sucked into the world of Olympians, even though I promised myself I wouldn’t. It’s been so much fun to watch our USA teams and individuals do their best on the ice and snow. Closing my ears to all the Chinese propaganda, at the heart of it all, our fellow citizens are representing us.

This morning, I found that one of the skiers lives and trains in the Sierra’s near here. How fun to cheer her on. It reminds me of my experience at the ski lodge last week. I wonder if she ever skied the small local ski resort that I visited. I’m sure she’ll get a heroes welcome when she comes back home.

During the opening ceremony, I was reminded that it isn’t the 1900’s anymore. I remember the Olympic Opening Ceremonies of old, when the team would do their best to behave in a respectable manner. Tight little waves. Smiles. Walking together in a group. Shy. Ready to compete. The days have certainly changed, with nothing off the table. Chants. Tongues out to the camera. Hand gestures of one kind or another. Some jackets open, some closed. Different behavior for different times, it seems respect is shown in different ways these days, or just forgotten all together.

The technology on the field was mind boggling. I want to look up more information about how they did the things they did. It was certainly impressive to watch on television, although a bit sappy at times.

The lack of an audience during the events has left the cameras to capture all kinds of weird sounds. During the woman’s hockey game, one of our women athletes was badly injured. Her cries were clearly audible as her team watched the medics remove her from the rink. The music for the skaters wasn’t balanced well in an auditorium that was empty except for the team members. So sad that all the work done in preparation for a worldwide event was ruined by the virus. Rather fitting that it happened while showcasing the country responsible for this nightmare.

I’ll do better.

Team USA.

Team USA.

Team USA.

Watching the downhill racers, I was astonished at the angle of the slopes they tackled. I was also amazed that it doesn’t appear that China has all that much snow. At least not during competitions that I was watching. It’s the same here on the Eastern side of the Sierra Nevada’s. La Nina is at work, keeping the storms away. I hope it snows at least once more before Spring arrives on Sunday, March 20.

Which brings me to the temperatures here in the high desert of Northwestern Nevada. Two days ago, Oliver’s outside water bowl was frozen solid. 3″ of ice. I tossed the ice onto the cement where it broke into two 8″ chunks. The ice never even began to melt for the entire day. By evening, all the shards of ice and the two big pieces were just as they were at 7 AM. It’s still that way this morning. I could sweep up the entire mess and never see a drop of water. It actually looks like glass laying there.

Yesterday, it was time to check my Spa for pH, Chlorine, and foam. With all the Olympic excitement, I haven’t been out to soak since Monday. To my dismay, the temperature of the spa was at 81 degrees. Normally, it’s at 104, dropping to 102 when in use during the winter temperatures. No. No. No. Not this, too. The spa can’t go south on me.

I’m not sure why the temperature dropped so low, except that it might have been because of what happened the other night. With feet freezing on the cement, I raced inside and forgot to close the cover. It’s true. Everything seemed okay when I discovered it the next day. Sad, but true.

Fiddling with this and that, I got the temperature reset and hoped for the best. By 9 PM last night, it was 100 degrees. Let’s just hope it’s bubbly hot this morning. A broken spa is more serious than a kitchen drawer on any day of the week, and repairs would require a specialist.

Although it’s really cold here, the sun shines all day long. The skies are the bluest with no clouds to speak of. The roads are all dry so there’s no problem with ice. Actually, we’ve had the perfect winter, if you don’t like snow. I’ll keep hoping we get a few more storms.

I truly wish I could skate, ski, snowboard, or in any other way slide down a mountain of snow. Even more fun would be skiing, snowboarding, and periodically shooting. The only way that I can see that happening is perhaps cuddled up in a really cool sleigh pulled by big strong horses or perhaps a dog sled ride. Even a snow mobile excursion, as long as I didn’t need to drive the thing. Yes, all those things would be so much fun and doable for this Senior Citizen. Skiing, skating, and snowboarding are only for my dreams.

Today is a day for Crock Pot Stew, as I haven’t made any for decades. When the propaganda from NBC or the Chinese gets too thick, I’ll turn off the TV sound and turn up some music. Saturday is a great day to eradicate dust bunnies, which seem to multiply like crazy here at Winterpast.

Whatever you do, have a wonderful day. Remember that Valentine’s Day is just around the corner. Plan something wonderful to celebrate the day with people you love.

More tomorrow.