Category: 2022

Sundays have become really special days for me. Looking forward to seeing my church family, I arrive early to enjoy visiting friends. With the rest of my life before me, new friendships take time to sprout and grow. Attending Bible Study is a chance to let these friendships bloom in a healthy environment.

Finding my little church was something I couldn’t have predicted before it happened. VST and I had faith. As Christians, we relied on God’s grace and mercy to carry us through a great life. Experiencing normal ups and downs, we always planned to join a church just as soon as life settled down. We never took that step together. I wish we would’ve. It’s one of the very few regrets I have about our life together.

April 8th, 2021, T and K (VST’s twins) had come to observe their Dad’s one year Heaven-ersary. We were looking for some ammunition at the local hardware store, which had a limited supply. An employee suggested we check out a new gun store in town. Hidden just around the corner, as is everything in a small town, we went. It was there I met Pastor C, the owner of a legal and federally-licensed backyard gun store AND the preacher of Baptist on Main.

Gun stores in the Wild Wild West are something to behold. You never know where you will find them or what they merchandise they might sell. I’ve even held in my hand a REAL flame thrower. It was tough to set that one down. Just about every kind of gun is available in Nevada. In fact, it’s an “open carry” state. The first few times I saw a .45, visible in a holster, I was a little shocked.

If our recent murder victim would have had a gun in her car she might not have been the girl shot in the head and buried in the desert. The bad guys always have their own weapons. Consider the New York City shooting yesterday. Guns are BANNED in New York. EXCEPT for the active shooter. You can’t fight a bullet with a brief case. Again, the bad guys ALWAYS have guns. Their bad guys. Laws don’t matter to them.

So, on April 8th, I was lucky enough to meet Pastor C while making a purchase. He invited me to Baptist on Main and I decided to give it a try. Best decision ever. An unusual place of love, respect, consideration, and worship. Everyone knows everyone, if not by name, by smiles and handshakes.

At Bible Study yesterday, we held a birthday celebration for a lovely friend. A widow alone, like me, she moved here to live with family while getting treatment for an illness. The chocolate cupcake with extra icing and sprinkles reminded me to teaching days when the random birthday would come along. A classroom of 3rd Graders know how to celebrate.

Friday, I’ll attend a different kind of gathering at the Northern Nevada Veterans Cemetery on the outskirts of town. At 11:00, a veteran I never met will be laid to rest. The brother of church friends, Tom and Katherine, in honor of him I plan to attend. In a church, every aspect of life is front and center. Celebrations and grief, all while reflecting on and holding tight our faith. For me, it’s a great comfort.

On Easter Sunday, church friends are coming to Winterpast for a pot luck. It’ll be my first gathering since VST’s memorial. I have no idea how many people will drop by, but they are each to bring something yummy to eat. I know Samantha is bringing her homemade rolls. Charlotte is bringing a ham. I’m making a turkey breast and salad. Now, if the weather will just cooperate.

Hosting lunch for the church choir, you can only imagine the list of things that need doing. I’ll be back Monday with lots to share. Please enjoy your Easter week. Springtime is a lovely time of year to get outside. It’s the best time of the year for new beginnings.

Until then, enjoy a lovely Easter!!!

A brilliant Easter was enjoyed by all at Baptist and Main. Wondering where 1/2 of our Bible Study students were yesterday, someone made an odd statement.

“Well, it IS Easter.”

Exactly. EASTER!!! Wouldn’t the sanctuary be overflowing? As Pastor said quietly, it was a day for CEO’s to attend (Christmas and Easter Only). If you’ve never attended a little country church, give it a try. At times it is most entertaining.

Anyway, the crowds did come and fill the church with not a seat left to spare. In the Christian faith, Easter symbolizes new beginnings. Appropriately, there were two baptisms along with a fine message. Excited children raced to the classrooms when it was time for Children’s Bible Study, right after the time we sing praises. The service and message couldn’t have been nicer.

My friend, Willow, was having a pretty rough day. It was her first holiday without her husband, who passed away on 2/2/22. Although ill, no one was expecting him to get Covid and die a few days later. Still in deep shock, she is lost. Watching her takes me back to Easter 2020 when I was the widow who hadn’t expected things to go so badly. I was the woman in shock that thought everything was FINE, FINE, FINE. I was the widow in the fog.

Watching her now, I realize just how much my life has healed over time. I also see that decades will need to pass before memories don’t haunt me on a lonely nights here at Winterpast. A different type of memory now, they’re often the type that I would love to share with someone that could remember a certain time or day. The feeling of baking sun when raisins had to be boxed and shipped because rain was on the way. The excitement a family of seven crowded into a Volkswagen Van going to Santa Cruz for the weekend to see The Monkey’s play a free concert at the beach. Weekends at the Delta enjoying the ocean breezes on the deck of Club 19. Memories stored and waiting, all bright and shiny like they happened just yesterday.

Willow is having trouble remembering the day and time with everything so new and overwhelming. Tasks she never thought of doing continue to need attention. A woman that never asked for help with anything needs help with everything. Swimming in the deep end without a life preserver, she’s treading water as fast as she can. Doing really well, she just needs to get to the place where she believes in herself. That takes time.

Sneaking out a little early, I raced back to Winterpast. Decked out in Easter-Pink, the tables were set for twenty. A guess, as it was an open call to a morning worship service of 90 people. “Come on Over if you have no where else to go. Joy’s house is open.” During the service, I quietly envisioned all 90 people and their kids coming to clog the streets and my plumbing for a free lunch.

Fresh ham, turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, green salad, macaroni salad, and fresh rolls, with freshly made Carrot Cake for dessert. There was a lot of food, but for 90? We could always order some pizza, if needed.

Slowly, all SEVEN guests arrived. None of them had been to Winterpast. It was fun to see what people asked questions about. The pictures of my grandparents. Our wedding pictures. A bauble here. A gewgaw (now, THERE’s a great word) there. Things taken for granted because I see them every day, and yet each one holding a really great story. Everyone’s homes are like that.

The difference in a widow’s home is that you could pick up a bent nail sitting quietly on a shelf, and it could be the most precious thing she owns. It could be from the very day her sweet husband was installing solid oak hardwood floors just for her. Looking up to see her paint smudged face, the need to kiss her overwhelming, a stray nail was bent. Like I mentioned. The things most precious to a widow are sometimes entirely worthless to the rest of the world.

The seven of us sat in a room waiting for 20 guests. We enjoyed the food, all eating way too much. This little country church has helped me find my way. These wonderful new friends brought different sounds to Winterpast. Sounds she has missed since her family of long ago met for Easter inside these same walls. Winterpast and I have some parties to throw. We need to get our game on.

That was my Easter. A usual church day with unusually happy people. Friendly new faces I hope to see again somewhere in this dusty little wide spot in the road that I call home.

Have a wonderful Monday.

More tomorrow.

_{Lyrics Written by JoyOladokun}

Sometimes your life feels like a broken rollercoaster
A thousand useless moving parts
Sometimes you spend your nights
Too scared of getting closer
Hiding out in the back seat of your car

You tell yourself it’s raining
The clouds are in your head
You tell yourself it’s better
To jump before you fall again
Before you lose it all again

Look up!
Do you see the sunlight?
Look up!
There’s flowers in your hair
Hold on!
‘Cause somebody loves you
You know trouble’s always gonna be there
Don’t let it bring you to your knees
Look up!

Mondays aren’t always bright
Some days, you lose the fight
But life can be beautiful if you let it be
Tomorrow keeps taunting you
With all kinds of mystery
It’s a blank page for your poetry
If you let it be

So don’t tell yourself it’s raining
The clouds are in your head
You tell yourself it’s better
To jump before you fall again
Before you lose it all again

Look up!
Do you see the sunlight?
Look up!
There’s flowers in your hair
Hold on!
‘Cause somebody loves you
You know trouble’s always gonna be there
Don’t let it bring you to your knees, yeah
Look up!

Look up!
Hold on!
Look up!
Sometimes your life feels like a broken rollercoaster
A thousand useless moving parts

Look up!
Do you see the sunlight?
Look up!
There’s flowers in your hair
Hold on!
‘Cause somebody loves you
You know trouble’s always gonna be there
Don’t let it bring you to your knees, yeah
Look up!
Trouble’s always gonna be there
Look up!
Don’t let it bring you to your knees, yeah

Look up!

For those of you that don’t know, Winterpast is the name of my home. Not ever thinking about naming a house, in April 2020, I named two of them. My old home is named The DunMovin’ House. It sits on A Street in Virginia City, Nevada. If you visit there, look her up. She’s a beauty.

My new house is in a tiny town at a dusty little wide spot in the road. I knew I loved her when I first found her on Realtor.com. Her name is Winterpast. She didn’t have that name before I moved here. Now, it’s displayed by the front door. Forevermore. Winterpast.

As a new widow, heartbroken and lost, I’d teleported into the next phase of life. Physically moving only seventeen days after VST’s death, I was in a deep shock-y fog. No routines were established yet because everything needed attention right then and there. There was so much to do that on most nights I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

During the move, I found a series of books I’d been meaning to read. When VST was alive, I never had time. We were too busy building, remodeling, or RVing to even begin a have a moment to read. But, the need for distraction was real, so I began. The series is about a town named Mitford. The author Jan Karon.

One night, deep into the story, the author spent a chapter introducing an old woman and her memories of love lost. Her one true love, an architect, had built a mansion in her honor. She would have moved in after their marriage, but her father wouldn’t allow it. Her lost love secretly carved the name Winterpast on a hidden beam, in memory of the woman he lost and loved still. He had told her about it in a yellowed letter he’d written to her so long ago. On her dying bed, the woman asked the priest to go to the home and see if the word was indeed carved on a beam in the attic. All those years she had wondered while she spent her life alone. The home had been sold to strangers when completed.

Indeed, chiseled onto the beam was the word “Winterpast”, hidden for decades.

The author then went on with the next chapter without explaining the reason for the name. Scrambling to get my bible, I read the verses in Song of Solomon — 2:11-17. I knew. It was if the angels had whispered the name in my ear. I’d just moved into my very own Winterpast. Plain and simple.

Winter has past me for a little while. Spring is here. “The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.” Now, in some versions of the Bible, the Turtle Dove’s voice is heard in the land. In my Bible, it is the voice of the turtle. It makes me smile every time I read it while thinking of little singing turtles enjoying life.

Get out and enjoy the spring time; it’s here such a short time. Lot’s to do here in the gardens of Winterpast.

A Song for Winterpast

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic ’til I’m gathered safely in
Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove
Dance me to the end of love

Oh, let me see your beauty when all the neighbors have gone home
Pretty roses growing after the day’s work is done
Show me slowly spring’s beauty with your sweet allure
Dance me to the end of love

Dance me to the autumn now, dance me on and on
Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long
We’re both of us beneath a desert sky, above us twinkling stars
Dance me to the end of love

Dance me to the apricots who are ask a ripened orange
Dance me through the curtains to the gardens that need work
Raise a tent of breezes now, until all the tilling is done
Dance me to the end of love

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic till I’m gathered safely in
Touch me with your natural beauty, sent from God above.
Dance me to the end of love.

_{“Dance Me to the End of Love” –Originally written by Leonard Cohen, changes written by me, inspired by Winterpast.}

More tomorrow.

Everyone finds their own truths along the road of widowhood. Truths I’ve discovered over the last two years hold me up like a giant walker these days. Walkers work best on a well laid path. It’s better to veer to the right than to get left. Putting one foot in front of the other, we all move forward into this beautiful world.

Yesterday, after shopping at the Walmart to the East, I took the main road back home. Many city folk have never experienced Big Sky and might be a bit scared of the open spaces. In every direction, nothing but miles of high desert plains, sage, cheat grass, and distant mountains. Not even a horse or burrow along the way, it seemed like my little town was close enough to touch. Signage told me otherwise.

18 miles from home.

Truly, it looked like I could park the car and walk. But, it took 18 minutes to drive there. A two day walk, I’d need to camp overnight if I were on foot. Sometimes, things aren’t what they seem as we look onward in life. Tasks that seem easy become complicated and take more time than we think. Chores that should be quick and painless often are just the opposite.

The other day I was questioned about the hope, faith, and love I’ve experienced with my church family. I had to stop and think for a moment. Some friendships do end up being mirages. Surely they seem to be the greatest thing in the world when shiny and new. Sometimes relationships are part of the scaffolding to help get us through until one or the other moves on. Beautiful moments in time. Other relationships weather all kinds of storms, making up the foundation of a beautiful life. It’s those that are truly golden.

As the weeks have turned into a year, the closer I get to my church family, the stronger my friendships are growing . A soft place to fall, the lives of a congregation come together to showcase every aspect of life. Babies and Grandparents are born. Children accept Christ. Young lovers marry. Funerals are held to celebrate the lives of those that continue on their journey without us. A picture complete with the richness and complexity of life. A lot can be learned by observations. Baptist on Main is a mysterious little place of love and worship. A blink of the eye and one might drive right by, never experiencing the beauty inside.

A life lesson learned early on is to be grateful for the smallest things. Every minute there is something wonderful to behold, in the the midst of something terrible. As a child, when a killing frost hit the vines, my dad immediately focused on next year’s great crop, while five little girls were comforted by his optimism. Nature doesn’t always listen to a farmer’s prayer. VST and I learned that the hard way while tending to our own vineyard.

Positivity is easier when the television is turned to the “OFF” position. Mine stays that way most days. For the last two years, I avoided most of the fear mongering about Covid-19. Funny. I had it once. The worst thing about it was that I had to stay away from any human contact for 10 days. Didn’t die. Didn’t even wish I could. Sniffles, sneezing, and a little pity party for one. How much mental turmoil does the media cause in the name of information? Oy vey. Off. Mine stays off.

Constantly, a grateful heart is the best way to contentment and happiness. Of all the personal traits I’ve learned in my 66 years, optimism has helped me through the darkest of times. Little miracles unfold every second of every day. A thankful heart is a comfort. When you think there is absolutely nothing to be thankful for, why not start with this. Our homes aren’t being bombed to smithereens. Our loved ones aren’t being shot in the street by Russian’s. It’s a beautiful spring day. Start there and more things will come if you just look around.

So much of life is governed by fear these days. Take the shot or die. Stock up or starve. Shortages are coming. Famine is near. Hand wringing at it’s best. Yet, somehow, we live to eat another day. Somehow, the supply chain crisis is repairing itself. Things are returning to a new normal. Another thing for which to give thanks.

Be thankful that you have a day to live, be it pleasant or not. At the end of the day, take inventory of things that made it good or bad. Tomorrow is a fresh slate. Change the things you can, accept the things you can’t. Try and figure out the differences, all while giving thanks for the opportunity to try again.

Today is all we have. Tend to your grateful heart. Today is full of possibilities. It’s up to you.

More tomorrow.

Somedays you just don’t know what can be happening right under your nose. Just next door in an unassuming house built with exactly the same floorplan as Winterpast. Not a big place, but not a tiny house either. Three bedrooms, two baths. Kitchen. Dining room. Three car garage. A normal looking home with extraordinary new occupants.

The original occupants didn’t move out. Others moved IN. Three in total. Needing constant care, they’re a handful. From what I’ve been told, caring for them is like trying to nail Jello to a tree. Busy and demanding charges, their care is the ultimate focus. They shall want for nothing per the letter of the law. It’s all spelled out in reams and reams of court documents.

The new neighbors don’t drive. Being challenged in height and weight, they are at the mercy of a staff of people hired to watch over them. The three are a flight risk, so for now, no one has really been allowed to meet them. Just getting settled from the loss of their original caretaker, their world is as messy as a litter box. I hope things settle down for them. I’d love to meet them, as I’m always up for new friendships.

A variety of professionals have been stopping by to check on their new surroundings. With clipboards and clickity-clackety high heels, I’ve seen them over the fence. Making notes of available light and the condition of the new home, the focus is entirely on comfort and care. And yet, no one can really know what the three are thinking, as (I’ve been told from a reliable source) they don’t speak English. Everyone wants the best for them, but some want the best for nefarious reasons. Money does that to people when there is a loss. The jackals come out spewing alligator tears. There’s enough money available to cover a lifetime of care. Thank goodness for the team of professionals and their watchful eyes. They will choose the best environment for happiness and contentment.

Not that these three breathe or eat any differently than others. Their story began with birth into poverty and abandonment. Through adoption, they landed in the lap of luxury, with every need and want attended to by a loving caretaker. Sadly, death stole him away and they now wait for a new home with a new family. Thank goodness they have each other.

I’m not sure if the new neighbors will stay long, or if they’ll even be allowed to remain together. Psychologists and social workers are responsible for those decisions, while state, federal, and estate judges will decide their final fate. Money can provide watchful eyes to make sure the innocent are well cared for. Yes. Money can provide the best of everything.

Take care to watch your surroundings. You just never know who lives in the quiet little house next to yours. They could be sleeping just feet away from your own pillow, separated only by a fence line. Grimalkin or moggy, pedigree unknown. I may need to provide some tutoring to these non-English speaking wards of the court. Going to dust off my old text books now.

More tomorrow.

Recovering from grief can leave one feeling somewhat like a deflated basketball, blown tire, or flat soda. This week, I’ve had trouble bouncing, rolling, or even being a little sparkly. Sometimes, a little fresh air or an injection of fizz are required to get moving again. Widowhood has been that way for me. Something about seeing a black slab of granite inscribed with VST’s Birth and Death dates was a slap in the face. Wonderful memories are all that are left behind after everything is said and done. Standing at his headstone on top of Cemetery Hill in Virginia City, life screamed that at me though the chill of the Zephyr Winds.

When frozen in grief, forward movement can seem downright impossible. Just when I started to believe the wilderness of widowhood was clearing, I found myself again in the thickness of the forest. One year? Two Years? It seems the paths are the very same month after month. Time has healed so much, while opening other, more subtle wounds. No one prepared me for that cruel fact of life.

Which way now?

Choose a path NOW.

Although the same choices have existed for the past 2 years, the fog kept the vast number of possibilities hidden. The horizon expands with each new day, leaving me “Decision Weary”.

Turn here.

Volunteer there.

Move this way.

Travel that way.

Help this new widow.

Lean into the oldest of friends.

All the while, choices and directions have painfully personal outcomes. Widows and widowers understand this. Life is now surrounded by a loneliness wished on no one. Surrounded by overwhelming and complete solitude in the darkness of night, faith comforts me.

During traumatic times, self care and self love are vital. Listen to your personal needs and take address them. Sometimes, it could include a swift kick into gear if you find yourself sitting in one spot too long. Get moving. It doesn’t need to be very fast or far but in a forward motion each day.

If you find life is different than you desire, it’s time to change things up. Choose a new hairstyle or trade in your favorite “mom jeans” for a pair of cute leggings. Do things in a different order and life will begin to brighten as it becomes your own.

The spring weather here has been like my moods. Hot one minute and freezing cold the next. I compare the change in the weather to the next chapter of life. Some days, you’re cruising through life at 70 degrees. Other days, you’re burned to a crisp in the desert sun. The long days of winter’s chill are conquered with cups of hot cocoa by a roaring fire, while the snow falls just outside your door. Yes. Life is continual string of seasons, one right after the other.

Spring 2022 has brought on a new crop of weeds to Winterpast. I’ll leave you to enjoy the best day you’ve had all year. Make it so by doing something Saturday-ish. But, first and foremost, take care of yourself.

More tomorrow.

Face it, carpet cleaning is never an adventure. Not fun or glamourous. The only great thing about it is finishing the job and enjoying the beauty of a clean rug.

Yesterday, while getting ready to attend another funeral, my neighbor asked to borrow my nifty and new carpet cleaner. My machine is bright and shiny, having been used less than ten times. It still has tags hanging on it. There IS a small problem with the design.

When I chose this model, it was love at first sight. The box displayed a woman and her lovey-dovey Golden Retriever sitting in a room with brand new carpeting. Now, if this machine could handle the hair of a golden retriever, it would surely take care of Oliver’s tiny little hairs. Coming equipped with a bag of attachments that I knew I’d never need, my choice was made. It would be the Bissell Super Deluxe Hair No More Model for the carpets of Winterpast.

After using the machine for the first time, I was in love. Through each canister of hot and soapy solution, the most awful looking stuff was sucked up and captured for proper disposal. It was easy to use, unlike those monsters I used to rent during college days. Remember?? The big red ones rented at the grocery store that you needed a hunky boyfriend to lift into the trunk of the car? I never understood what could make those so huge and heavy. My new model was sleek and efficient.

My dreams of looking just like the happy woman and her dog displayed on the box were quickly dashed. There was a major design flaw that quickly ruined the moment. There was no way to open the suction area to clean out the wet gunky hair and lint. This stuff was clogging the entire machine, even after vacuuming twice. Soggy, thick masses of hair, lint, and dirt. Like a small marine pet stuck in the uptake slot. 12″ of clog that, if allowed to dry, would render my new machine useless.

Assumed there would be a way to take the plastic pieces apart and rinse away the gunk, my quest began. Unfortunately, this part of the device was not to come apart. Any cracks or openings would have ruined the suction.

This is where the fun began.

It would have made for great TV Viewing. I squirted water down the top. When filled to the brim, it showered me in the face (remember, gunk water—Ewwww). Then, I tried rinsing from the bottom. I held the cleaner on it’s side, no movement. It seemed the gunk was growing. There was no movement and the clogs stayed in place, visible through the clear plastic.

As the cleaner and I danced in the kitchen, the carpet dried, while my kitchen was another story. Water and debris were everywhere, while the nasty clogs remained. Finally, I found a tool that did the job. A bamboo skewer. Just the right thickness, the first one went right in, making contact with the debris.

Until.

Snap.

Crackle.

Broken in two and becoming part of the stubborn clog. Determined to win, I persisted and finally, After an hour and several more skewers, the machine was finally cleaned and ready to be put away. Since then, carpet cleaning is a choice that comes requiring the extra hour needed to clean the machine. I was okay with that arrangement.

Yesterday, I got a call from the sweet neighbor with the mysterious adoptees. It seems THE AGENCY is coming to check on the welfare of the newest neighbors. Wanting the house to look just right, she asked if I had a machine and if she could borrow it.

Well, of course. This could be the chance I’d been waiting for to meet the non-English speaking strangers. All three which, (truth not gossip), are juveniles. A win/win. She came to get the carpet cleaner, as she explained the littles were napping and needed no disturbances.

Late in the day, I received the call.

“Joy. Thank you so much for the carpet cleaner. I want to return it in the condition it was when I borrowed it. Do you have the tool?”

Now, I was at a loss. A tool? For? What necessary tool had I missed? A bag of bright shiny tools hung in the hallway closet, awaiting the day I might use them. Not an attachment kind of gal, I’d never opened the bag.

“I just watched You Tube on how to remove the gross stuff stuck in the machine. You should have a tool. Do you?”

Visions of hours by the sink came to mind. Flying gunk. Shooting water. A tool could have prevented this? Racing to the little bag of extras, I started removing everything looking for something that resembled a “tool”. There were hoses, extensions, brushes, and more. When I was pretty sure nothing was left, out popped a very thin, flat, long piece of grey plastic with a hook on one end.

THE TOOL.

The carpet cleaner is shiny and clean now. Who knew????? A TOOL.

Oy Vey.

This week, I will be going on a short vacation. It’s obvious I need a change of scenery when the best I can write about is a “Gunk Tool”. Hopefully, sand and waves will be included in my little excursion. I’ll settle for some humidity and lush green surroundings.

Have a wonderful week. I’ll be back with more adventures next Monday.

Hi there, faithful readers! It’s nice to be back with you. Last week, I spent a few lovely days in California. The weather there is so different, making me appreciate desert life all the more. Dry cold days don’t seem as severe on the desert. Yes, the wind howls, but it’s a dry wind. The chill is present but without humidity. A 60 degree day on the Northwestern desert plains of Nevada feel much warmer than a 60 degree day in Northern California. With the unsettled weather everything was damp making it still to cold for shorts and a t-shirt.

Everything reaches for the sky in California. Bright fields of green, sprinkled with fresh California Poppies. A glorious sight to behold. As a young girl growing up in the Central Valley of California, there were days when both the Coastal range and the Sierra Nevada were visible from our ranch. When the mountains called to us, we would take a drive just to look at all the wildflowers blooming in the high country. Such fragile beauty, all boasting sweet little names I have long since forgotten. Each week, spring blooms once again at a higher elevation, until the last of the wildflowers die and fall is near. So go the seasons of the Sierra’s.

Last week, Donner Pass was clear of snow. Just two weeks before, T and K were stuck in Truckee for three hours in an early spring blizzard. Interstate 80 isn’t forgiving. When you decide to cross the Sierra’s, it’s important to carry water, blankets, and snacks, because you just never know. The Sierra’s aren’t a place one should try out an unknown short-cut or new GPS route. Just ask the Donner Party. We should all show great respect for those that lost their lives in the winter of 1846-47.

The little town I visited is one of the oldest in California. Even though the population is much smaller than my little town, the amenities were dazzling. It’s been awhile since I’ve stayed in a town enjoying every kind of store one would like to visit. Here at home, I have the luxury of my hometown Walmart or the Walmart’s to the East or West.

Restaurants were found on every corner. Too bad the prices were so outrageous. Eating at home is something I’m really loving now. Cooking for one is becoming a new hobby. Last week, I made fresh French Onion Soup that cooked all day long. My town has six casinos, four Mexican restaurants, two diners, and several fast food establishments. It’s poor planning for a town that is now pushing 25,000. With the housing market booming, there will be many changes in the next five years. Hard to know whether they will fit one old lady and her little dog. Only time will tell.

Walking through the produce section of a California grocery store, I remember eating fruit off the trees at the ranch. What I would give for a REAL peach or nectarine (not the cardboard variety you find for sale today). Here in the desert I haven’t found many road side fruit stands. Produce for our Farmer’s Markets are trucked in from California often leaving it bruised and tired after the extra days on the road. Nothing compares to California fruits and vegetables when purchased next to the field in which they were grown. Absolutely nothing.

Why, some people actually go through quite a process to get their hands on freshly grown ear corn from California State University, Fresno. One such Goddess involved several service industries and even law enforcement to have a box of fresh corn delivered 150 miles to her door. You know, Goddesses have all the luck. Especially those that drive the Highway 1 topless with tresses flowing (of course, topless refers to the status of the convertible — I think).

Eating at home is something I’m really loving now. Cooking for one is becoming a new hobby. Last week, I made fresh French Onion Soup that cooked all day long. Out of “Mastering the Art of French Cooking”, it simmered all day long on very low heat. I didn’t know some yellow onions and broth could make something that tasted so heavenly. No need to waste money on restaurants when I can cook great things in the kitchen here at Winterpast.

Oliver had a wonderful time at Puppy Camp. His little friend, Clara, popped in for a few days of Doggie Day Care. Upon his return, I can finally recognize a well-trained, almost-5-year-old, gentleman dog. He has much more interest in sleeping at my feet, wherever that may be. Snoozing more, he chews on things less. Finally. It’s been harrowing raising such an intelligent little guy.

Once back home, it was time to get out the hoe, rake, hose, and weed spray. I need to get busy before the weeds win. A little of me misses the green hills of California. Just a wee bit. But, more of me loves the quiet desert rainfall that came last night after a day of high winds. It’s time to explore Nevada to discover all the secrets she holds. I can always pop back over the hill for a little visit the next time I need a city fix.

Get out there and enjoy the first week of May. It’s a glorious time to do something new!

More tomorrow.

Yelling aloud and louder,

Tilling the gardens one bright day

The sound grew faint and fainter

Until it had slipped away.

My words were gone forever

They were never coming back

The wind absorbed my mournful cry

And wouldn’t give it back.

I shouted words in anger

DID MY HUSBAND NEED TO DIE?

Life’s cruelty cut me deeply

Wounded, I was left to cry.

Others said I was strong enough

To tackle the world alone.

I told myself that silly lie,

From morning until dawn.

Until one day I came to see

That certainly wasn’t true.

I could do nothing by myself

Without God to see me through.

Sweet memories that day did give

Such things to think about

When there are things I just can’t do,

When troubles give me doubt,

Remember, I must, I’m not alone,

Not when I walk or run,

For somedays there are tracks from two

Somedays just tracks of one.

God carries me through the valleys,

He guides me through the hills,

He watches as I sleep,

Protecting me when I’m still.

Fewer days of rants and raving

More days of smiles prevail

God’s words, and truths, and comfort

Guide me through every travail.

Every widow, listen here,

Through the darkest days of all,

Listen carefully to your heart

For God’s mysterious call.

J. Hurt 5/3/2022 — _{(Inspired by “Word Echoes” — C.A. Lufburrow)}

*****Somedays, we all just need to Let Go and Let God.

More tomorrow.