Category: 2023

by Jack Kornfield:

The present moment is the doorway to true calm…

It is the only place you can love or awaken—the eternal present. You cannot know the future. But here and now you can create a life of dignity and compassion, a day at a time. You can plant beautiful seeds and learn to tend them with love and courage amidst the unfolding mystery. Somerset Maugham once explained, “There are three rules for writing the great English novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.” He wrote marvelous novels, the only way we can, a page at a time.

Being alive is finding ourselves in the midst of this great and mysterious paradox. There are ten thousand joys and sorrows in every life, and at one time or another we will be touched by all of them. We will all experience birth and death, success and loss, love and heartbreak, joy and despair. And in every moment of your life there are millions of humans just like you all over the world who are being confronted by situations just like yours, some that are joyful and some that are overwhelming where they are struggling to somehow learn how to survive them. What matters is the spirit you bring to each day. As George Washington Carver said, “How far you go in life depends on your being tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving, and tolerant of the weak and the strong … because some day in life you will have been all of these.”

Becoming aware and mindful is not some magical tool where you will only experience pleasant moments. Instead, loving awareness will illuminate and hold everything—the success and delight and the pain and suffering. Even being overwhelmed by challenging emotions is a natural part of the journey. If you judge yourself against some impossible ideal of how you think you “should” be feeling and acting as you struggle, you’ll only add to your suffering.

Instead, listen to your thoughts with mindful awareness. You will see the evanescent nature of feelings and thoughts, that they are fleeting, all impermanent. And then you can begin to realize that just because you have a feeling or thought doesn’t mean you have to believe it—much less act on it—and certainly not get caught up in a whole stream of them. You can release the mind of some of its more dangerous patterns. Observing the mind with mindfulness brings liberation.

After you learn to see what’s in your mind and learn to release or disidentify with the unhealthy patterns, you will discover a deeper level of liberation. My teacher Sri Nisargadatta explained it like this: “The mind creates the abyss and the heart crosses it.” When you rest in the present moment with mindfulness, you open to a loving presence which is timeless and beyond the understanding of thought. It’s by returning to the awareness beyond thoughts that you experience true healing. When your mind and heart open, you realize who you are, the timeless, limitless awareness behind all thought.

Jack Kornfield — January 22, 2020

Happy 2023!!

Thank you, Jack Kornfield for these beautiful words. You inspire me to practice mindfulness and treasure the beauty found in the simplest thing. The present moment.

As I heal from the stomach flu, I wanted to share something beautiful with my readers. I’ll return tomorrow to dish on the highlights of my holiday experiences.

Faith. Family. Food. Festivities.

Christmas and New Year’s 2022 in the desert were spectacular! I hope yours were , as well.

Going back to bed to sleep this off.

More tomorrow.

Happy New Year! After fighting my way to the end of 2022 through a tough virus, I’m back to celebrate 2023 with y’all! Holiday celebrations were over the top here on the high desert. Enjoying faith, family, furry friends, and food, everything was at it should be. Plainly, my holidays were magical for the first time in a very, very long time.

My Mysterious Marine is the pet of a dog we’ll call Wookie. I wrote that correctly. He doesn’t not HAVE a pet, he IS the pet, as am I with Oliver. Wookie is quite a character, for sure, smiling purposely when she is happy. The internet states that 93% of dog owners THINK their dogs can smile. In reality, only 3% of the dog world can truly smile. Even less smile at the right time. Wookie smiles when her heart is singing. She smiles when her favorite girlfriend comes to the door. (That’s me.) If you laugh, she smiles more brightly. Oliver and I are smitten with Wookie. Now, she is about to increase the canine population by 6 or 7. Wookie is heavy with “Wooklings”. Oliver hasn’t quite caught on yet, but in just a few short days, he’ll understand completely. He’s going to be the honorary “Dad”.

Wookie has a complete staff of two loyal, thumb-laden minions that will cater to her every need. She’ll have her very own birthing suite and two doggie-doulas at the ready. Excitement is building. Stay tuned for future announcements.

With the holidays officially over, and Valentine’s Day just around the corner, boxes packed with the red and green of Christmas are ready to return to the barn. There’s a slight cause for delay.

Snow.

Last night, as I slept soundly while still recovering from the Death Flu of 2022, snow fell quietly on the desert floor. This morning, I awoke to 3″ of white covering everything in sight. I do love the distinct seasons here on the desert. Living in the Central Valley of California, there were two seasons. Hot and Fog. Of course, you could drive three to four hours in any direction and find a little variety, but in much of California, you don’t experience snow. Ever. Of course, the trade off is surfing and the Tournament of Roses Parade, so isn’t all that bad a deal.

Sadly, I’m not prepared for the latest storm. The snow shovels sit safe and dry in the garden shed. The garden shed is at the back of the yard, (approximately 5,249.5 feet away from my desk chair), needing snow shoveling to approach and enter. Hmmm. Winter preparedness. A good blog for another day. Wish I’d put plans into action a little earlier. With perseverance, the snow will be shoveled before it turns into ice. At least, that’s the plan.

I have learned a few things about snow since becoming a Nevadan in 2014.

Windshield wipers can freeze to your window under a blanket of snow.

Your Jeep doors can freeze shut.

You should remove snow off the roof of your Jeep before moving down the road. Shifting roof snow is a bit shocking when coming to a stop.

A garage is an exceptional luxury in any snowstorm.

Whatever you do today, think a little about storm preparedness. For whatever reasons, the news tells us our storms are a bit intense these days. Could it be, that maybe we’ve become a little softer than our grandparents of the 1900’s? Have a plan. Have a go bag ready with a medications, documents, and other essentials. Disasters occur when we least expect them. Be ready. At the very least, put the darn snow shovel in the attached garage.

Putting on snow boots now.

More tomorrow.

What a beautiful morning to be alive! Here on the high desert, the word is covered in white. VST always laughed when I would ask him to stop and listen to the snow fall. We were new to Virginia City where the snow falls in feet, not inches. He would always be quick to correct me, never understanding my point. Sometimes silence is the loudest sound of all. It was okay. Sometimes people are tone-deaf to the sound of snowfall.

In my humble opinion, the sound of falling snow is the most lovely sound of all. Regular noises are cushioned and become a little more muted. It seems life slows down and it’s easy to focus on the smallest of details in those falling flakes. Exquisite art work from heaven, snowflakes are. Next time, listen carefully. Falling snow does have the sweetest sound.

So many beautiful things happened to finish out 2022, my year of miracles. In my life, I’ve not experienced such a beautiful year in a very long time. In 2022, I continued my awakening into a brand new woman. It was no coincidence that miracles overflowed during my first year after baptism. No coincidence, at all.

Christmas Eve started as a regular day. My Mysterious Marine and Wookie had been busy with errands and Christmas secrets. Each day the presents multiplied under the Jolly tree, beautiful in every way. But, it was the outside of his house where his talents shone. With 3,000 twinkling lights, his house was the most lovely on the block. Each string was hung with precision, making his presentation of lights one not to miss. I would imagine his house was visible from space. We just haven’t heard yet.

Plans were in place for a festive seafood extravaganza with family, followed by the annual Candlelight Ceremony at The Chapel. Everyone in MM’s entire family are amazing cooks, but this dinner was over the top. Lobster, Alaskan King Crab, Scallops, Jumbo Shrimp, and broiled French bread were on the menu. Each bite was mind-blowing, leaving us satisfied and ready to head to The Chapel at 6 pm.

Even in our mindfulness and haste, we entered the sanctuary as the music had already started. Although very few seats were available, two were open at the very front of the room, waiting for a couple like us.

The room was packed with regulars and visitors. Everyone had come to worship on the most holy of nights. It isn’t very often that Christmas falls on a Sunday. In fact, the next time that will happen is in 11 years. 2033. Hmmmmm. 2033. Two thousand years after the death of Jesus. Exactly 2000 years later. Coincidence?

Just like that, we were singing Christmas hymns of our past. I was transported back to a little German church in the middle of a sea of grapevines. A church built by relatives long ago gone to a better place. A bright blonde girl in a handmade dress with her severe straight bangs always cut way too short doing her best not to cause trouble in church. Fidgeting little feet in new black patent leathers were lost in the sea of sisters that made up her family. Farmers scrubbed, groomed were dressed in their once-a-year suits, singing nervously with the farmer families of the little church. Memories of Christmas in the 1900’s came flooding into my mind.

In the other front row seat, MM was having similar thoughts of days in our little desert town. The one in which he grew up into a man. Days when there were barely 2,000 residents who knew every last thing the oldest brother of five was doing before he did it. I can only imagine the cuteness overload of five brothers, 10 and under. I can only imagine the stress of taking those five boys to Christmas service. That oldest brother of five turned into the Marine, successful man, and now the gentleman holding my hand while tearing up to his own sweet memories of Christmas past.

This magical evening was one of the most beautiful of my life. 150 Christmas dinners were delivered by this magical group of people. A new crop of littles fidgeted as they waited for the service to end, so that Christmas could proceed. Everyone there to celebrate with Christmas love.

Towards the end of the service, the chapel was darkened while the pastor lit one candle from the alter. He came to the front row as he shared his flame with us. It was our job to light the candle of another. While I lit just a couple of other candles, MM was gone for a very long time. With 100 people at the service, it took a minute to share the light with everyone.

Finally, MM came back.

Leaning over, he quietly whispered, “I shared my light with so many.”

I smiled.

MM’s light is brilliant. He’s always ready to serve and protect, something a Marine never, ever forgets to do. It’s in their blood.

The beautiful memories of that night will remain in my heart. Almost like the sound of falling snow, it’s there for to hear. Some say there is no sound at all. But, once you hear it, your soul won’t forget.

Whatever you do today, go light someone’s candle. Do something unexpectedly kind. The smallest deeds count. Remember it’s the little things in the day that are truly magical. Keep celebrating! Our year is brand new and rich with possibilities.

More tomorrow.

Whew, the first week of the year has been a struggle. I’m glad to report that the Death Flu of last week is now officially over. After a week of rest and repair, celebration of the new year is in full swing. It’s Friday! Come on 2023. Give us all you’ve got!

Yesterday, I sat down to consider a fresh start for the new year. Considering my journey since 2020, I’ve experienced extreme adversity while watching it breed personal toughness, character, innovation, strength, creativity and success that I didn’t know possible. Through this, miracles flavor every situation with hope through faith. That has been the most beautiful revelation of all.

So long ago, my parents gave me the ultimate freedom to flee, fly, fall, and heal to fly again. Each time, my journeys took me higher and farther than I thought possible. For that, I can never thank them enough. My mistakes were mine, not theirs. That goes for success, as well. A great gift to give a young girl in the 1900’s.

During the winter of 1973, unaware of a grieving process, I lost the first true love of my life. His name was Derrick Ray Wilson. A Junior to my Senior, he was bright, strong, very handsome, and a jock in all sports. Our love was forbidden by four parents, but love we did until he died unexpectedly on a cold January night while fighting with his mother in the hallway of his childhood home. A raging argument turning to death in a matter of seconds.

That night, I was moments from seeing him perform at a wrestling match. Makeup. Tight Jeans. Pony tail. School Sweater. Almost ready to race out the door, the phone rang twice. Answering, my father’s voice didn’t give any indication that it wasn’t an ordinary business call. Hanging up, he whispered something to my mother. She told me to take two aspirin. They needed to tell me something important.

Derrick was dead.

That was the extent of the news. Critical information shared.

Derrick was dead.

No details needed. None known anyway.

No need to go to the wresting match.

Time for bed.

Off you go.

Farm life can be brutal. There isn’t a way to sugarcoat the facts when telling a little girl her favorite lamb died or the dog just got hit by a car. There aren’t proper instructions for sharing with your 17 year old daughter that her boyfriend dropped dead in the hallway of his childhood home while fighting with his mother. This was unchartered territory. They did the best they could, overwhelmed in a fog of disbelief themselves.

Over the months until graduation, I grieved constantly through fake smiles. I was really good at being really good and really bad at being real. Those were months of private hell I wouldn’t wish for any one. Thank goodness, no one ever noticed.

I went on to finish my Senior year, even playing the lead in the Junior-Senior play to adoring fans. It was a play about a pair of star crossed lovers finding and then losing each other in a concentration camp. I just played the raw and grief stricken lover I was in real life. On the outside everything was wonderful. On the inside, I walked in grief. But, of course, in those days, a child of 17 can’t grieve. Right?

Get up.

Patch the wing.

Take 2 aspirin.

Fly again.

Just like that.

Fly I did, right out of the coop and off for a summer in Switzerland. Not on the beaches of Lake Geneva, nor on the year round slopes of the Alps as a proper heiress would do.

I flew to a little restaurant in the town of Rufenacht outside Berne to the home of people that became a safe place to fall. There, I pulled weeds the garden, picked the produce for the freshly cooked meals, waited tables, and hung the laundry to dry in the attic to the tunes of the Sound of Music. That’s where I healed.

Alone.

In a foreign country.

Just me in the wilderness of grief.

Panic attacks would awaken me at night in my tiny, dark room in the 4th floor attic of a 400 year old house. In the night, I would scrapbook my days and journal private and painful thoughts. Even so many years ago, my writing healed me that summer. My words helped me grow stronger wings. In September, I became a brand new college coed, just months after devastating tragedy.

Fifty years later, I’m taking a little more time to heal through this round of grief. VST knew Derrick. It’s comforting to know that two great loves of my life played football for the same side. Somewhere up there in the heavens, they’re having a great time tossing the ball while waiting for me to arrive.

I’m not alone this time.

God has me covered. Great friends, new and old, watch over me while helping me through the rough spots.

I’m not in a foreign country.

This beautiful desert is my forever home in a country I love so much.

I’m my own best friend in this wilderness of grief. There are fewer foggy days, more meadows, and the views are beautiful.

LIFE is beautiful.

In the words of Taylor Swift, who gets so many things right —

I’m dancing on my own
I make the moves up as I go
And that’s what they don’t know
I keep cruising
Can’t stop. Won’t stop grooving
It’s like I got this music
In my mind
Saying, “It’s gonna be alright.” _{Taylor Swift — Shake it Off}

Whatever you do today, remember this. It’s Friday!!! Whatever struggles you are facing are at the end of their week. Do something you love doing this weekend. Try laughing at bit. It’s great medicine.

Back on Monday.

“Five Feet High And Rising” — _{Johnny Cash}

My mama always taught me that good things come from adversity if we put our faith in the Lord.
We couldn’t see much good in the flood waters when they
were causing us to have to leave home,
But when the water went down, we found that it had washed a load of rich black bottom dirt across our land. The following year we had the best cotton crop we’d ever had.

I remember hearing:

How high’s the water, Mama?
Two feet high and risin’
How high’s the water, Papa?
She said it’s two feet high and risin’

We can make it to the road in a homemade boat
That’s the only thing we got left that’ll float
It’s already over all the wheat and the oats,
Two feet high and risin’

How high’s the water, Mama?
Three feet high and risin’
How high’s the water, Papa?
She said it’s three feet high and risin’

Well, the hives are gone,
I’ve lost my bees
The chickens are sleepin’
In the willow trees
Cow’s in water up past her knees,
Three feet high and risin’

How high’s the water, Mama?
Four feet high and risin’
How high’s the water, Papa?
She said it’s four feet high and risin’

Hey, come look through the window pane,
The bus is comin’, gonna take us to the train
Looks like we’ll be blessed with a little more rain,
4 feet high and risin’

How high’s the water, Mama?
Five feet high and risin’
How high’s the water, Papa?
She said it’s five feet high and risin’

Well, the rails are washed out north of town
We gotta head for higher ground
We can’t come back till the water comes down,
Five feet high and risin’

Well, it’s five feet high and risin’.

*********************

Good morning!

The waters here in the high desert are about to rise as the atmospheric river advances upon us. If things aren’t dramatic these days, they don’t sell. I long for the days when everyone was excited about a good old fashioned rain storm. Growing up in the Central Valley of California, precipitation was a welcome event. Only in California could farmers feed the world from an actual desert. Like everything else in California, the lush green fields were only made possible by man-made irrigation systems. Not natural rain.

Rain was rain. It rained at times. Sometimes alot. It didn’t need the name of a Cyclone Bomb or Atmospheric River. It was going to be a week of rain. You might get leaks. Check your roof. Carry an umbrella. Don’t drive through any more than one inch of water. If a street is flooded, choose another. Get over it. It’s just rain. Drama sells, so choose really scary new names for a natural event.

The irrigation systems depended on snowmelt from the high Sierra’s. When a drought came along, everyone nervously waited for rain. After the irrigation systems were abandoned, farmers moved on and the fertile west side of the Central Valley again returned to the desert it always was.

Water. It’s always about the water. For 17 years, I helped irrigate our vineyard. During each growing season, from March to August, our water valves delivered water to 16,000 Thompson Seedless vines (now 100+ years old). These old girls depended on us to get them every drop we could. In exchange, they’d produce a crop of grapes the flavor of which you’ve never tasted in your life.

Scheduling which farmer got water at what time was intricate and down to the minute. Water flowed 24/7. Throughout the month, every drop had a farmer’s name on it, all based on the number of acres one owned. It was precise and to the minute. You’d better not open the valve one minute before your time began or an angry neighbor would come knocking. There were those sneaky farmers that left their valves open the tiniest bit to steal what they could. We knew who they were. Everyone did. The system worked if everyone was respectful and accurate. Water wars are a real thing in the farming world.

From the 1st-4th of each month, my battle with gopher holes and the hot summer sun raged on. During a summer, a straw hat could splinter to pieces from daily temperatures of over 105. At dawn of an early morning, with temperatures already pushing 80 degrees, the peaceful walk down the avenue was a time to listen to the birds and watch for coyotes on the hunt while checking on the progress of the water coming down the rows. Through the year, the water flowed from the highest mountains of the Sierra Nevada’s, down into the valley, through an intricate irrigation system of valves and offshoots, while filling the underground aquifers of California. Summer rain was unheard of and yet we lived in a desert oasis.

In a different state today, we all sit on pins and needles, awaiting the atmospheric river that should be dropping snow, not rain. The Sierra Nevada mountain range provides water for the states of California and Nevada. The snow pack delivers that in a calm and peaceful way throughout the year. It’s melting as we speak. So far the snow pack is at 2x the normal for this time of year. There’s a lot to melt. The desert isn’t quick to absorb rainfall.

My little town was flooded once in recent history. It, too, is a farming oasis with an irrigation system. That year, the canal failed. Just ask Miss Firecracker. She lived through it with her best friends, The Floridians. Hundreds of houses were under water. People were evacuated with helicopters to higher ground. The Mysterious Marine remembers and can speak about the damage, as well.

The Truckee River flows right through several neighboring towns. It’s pretty full right now, and the heaviest rains haven’t hit just yet. With the reservoirs full, we wait.

How high’s the water, MM?

Two feet high and risin’.

As we wait on the rain, the Wookie is as round as a watermelon. We are about to be flooded with a crop of Wook-lets. This week promises to be one of suspense as we await the rising tides and new life.

Whatever you do today, pray for California and Nevada. If you aren’t being tried by inclement weather, celebrate. If you are, remain prepared. You might not face rising water, but shortages also occur due to closed roadways and interrupted deliveries. Don’t forget to stock necessary medicines and pet food. As always, be prepared.

More tomorrow.

Well, the countdown to Wook-lets continues with the young mother uncomfortably restless. It’s quite amazing to watcher her expand by the hour, while we can now not only feel but see her babies exercising just under her skin. Nature will soon repeat itself the way it has for centuries, with Wooklets entering the world in a normal way. Leaving the Wookie to rest comfortably at home, the Mysterious Marine and I had other things to handle yesterday.

The harsh environment in which we live is very rough on our vehicles. There are a few automotive options that are pretty important around here, even more so as you get closer to the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range. Four Wheel Drive is one of them and one of us experienced a malfunction requiring the replacement of transmission parts.

The promises some businesses will make to someone to make a sale are fascinating. The parts will be delivered in a matter of hours. The work will be done at record speed, getting you on your way. Their spoken desire to get you on the road is all it takes. After all, in the 1900’s, men stood on their word. Great businesses were that because they delivered what they promised. Unfortunately, 18 days after purchase a service that was promised in seven, promises made weren’t kept. Some businesses will wonder why they’re failing when they do. Lucky for this business, a truck only loses it’s transfer case once during a normal lifetime. This business is a fail. There will be no repeat business.

After leaving the vehicle at the shop with no real date of completion, given, we were pretty disheartened, disappointed, and hangry (hungry + angry = hangry). MM and I decided a little breakfast would perk us up, choosing a local eatery in business since 1966. Located on the main drag of a little town just to the East, cars lined up in front of the restaurant, a diner that would fit right in any stylized movie about the Mid-West.

Immediately, a waitress with a very large septum piercing and orange hair came to take our order. It wasn’t complicated. She had her order pad and we knew what we wanted. Coffee and two breakfasts. According to the menu both came with biscuits and gravy. Sounded good after the disappointments of the morning.

The coffee was delivered and then we waited. We talked. We waited. We looked at our phones. Did I mention we waited? We did. A very long time.

Finally, a different waitress came bearing plates holding food we didn’t order. Burned bacon. Chicken tenders over eggs. Just a weird order that didn’t resemble what we had envisioned for breakfast.

“This isn’t ours.”

“Yes it is,” she answered.

Quite sure we didn’t order deep fried chicken tenders for breakfast, they realized they wrote down the WRONG name of the breakfast ordered.

I ate. MM waited. Then, MM ate. I waited.

Finally , we were ready for the bill, which was incorrect. The 2nd waitress told us she would fix it. I was hoping it would be fixed to $0.00. But, No. One biscuit and gravy was removed. End of story. We paid and left, agreeing never to return again. Now two businesses in this small town to the East of us were no longer on our recommended list.

10 AM, and the day was just getting started.

MM ordered a cover for his hot tub in September 2022. After paying for the specially ordered cover in advance, he hadn’t received word from the company since. Yesterday was the day he’d check on that. With no answer when he called, he left his phone number and waited for a call-back, which did finally come.

“Your Name?”

“Oh yes. Well, here is your order. It’s scheduled for delivery in June.”

June.

Not January.

Not on the way.

Five months from now in June. 2023.

Shaking his head, MM asked for and will be receiving a refund in 10-14 business days.

Somedays, life is better retired while enjoying winter snowstorms from the picture widow of a warm home. The world makes no sense anymore. It’s sad that business practices of the 1900’s making life more pleasant are definitely gone. Those of us that remember how things used to be aren’t all that old. The 1900’s weren’t all that long ago. Heck, we even had phones, television, and the gas engine. Somedays, I wish for the old days.

Whatever you do today, practice patience, but only to a point. I, for one, am tired of accepting poor products, rude customer service, or no service at all. Vote with your dollar. If we all try that, maybe things will improve. If all else fails, have a cup of hot chocolate and enjoy the day.

More tomorrow.

A thankful attitude is a great place from which to grow happiness. Learn to dance in the rain, even if you created the storm. Every day, we all have the most beautiful blessings for which to be thankful. Some days it just takes a little adjustment of focus. It’s a personal choice.

Grateful people are thankful for everything in their life, even on the worst days. It’s observable. There is one true fact of life. Some days are going to be as bad as it gets for each of us. Those of us that are widowed have seen the blackest day in their life come and go. With gratitude, happiness will come again.

Just yesterday, I had the most wonderful experience for which I’m grateful. I was invited to a neighbor’s house. Honest to goodness neighbors living just up the hill from Winterpast! I was invited for tea before Christmas, but viruses delayed our plans. I’m so grateful those bugs are long gone.

Yesterday was the kind of day perfect for a cozy visit with tea and snacks. The kind of day in which you wonder if it will snow, rain, hail or be sunny. In the high desert, just wait a few minutes and you might experience all three. I’m so grateful to live in a place in which the seasons and weather surprise us on a regular basis. Winds so strong it’s hard to walk to the mail box. Sun so hot it could fry an egg on the sidewalk. Big sky so blue, it takes your breath away. The white-est puffy clouds, or formidable storm clouds.

This new friend is lovely in every way. A wife and mom, she’s planting her roots deep into the desert soil. She enjoys landscaping with the amazing view of the mountains as her backdrop. She loves the mustangs as much as I do. She’s smart. I think a little sassy. She’s an executive. I’ve not met many of those, but am finding my new executive besties are very interesting women. She’s a strong woman of faith.

As we sat sipping tea while enjoying great conversation, it was apparent that she’s a grateful soul. With a heart that’s full and content, her life reflects love and happiness. And, just like that, I met someone new and fun! Life is too short to sit around and moan about the state of the city, country, or world. There will always be hatred, scorn, and sadness. Soul-suckers all those things. Much healthier to focus on tea with a hint of lemon while looking out the window at God’s country.

“Cultivating an attitude can help you focus on the positive aspects of your life instead of the negative ones—making you happier, more productive, and successful. Gratitude also strengthens relationships by making people feel appreciated and supported. In addition, grateful people tend to be more helpful than those that aren’t.” _{Jelena Kabl’c}

There are just a few tips to achieve this mindset.

PRACTICE DAILY. Choose three things a day in which to be grateful for. Start a journal. Just three things a day. Of course, you can write down more if you choose. You’ll be surprised how quickly you fill up the pages, without ever repeating the same thing twice.

CHOOSE CONSCIOUSLY! Life is one big smorgasbord of choices. Choose carefully. Be patient with yourself. Rest when necessary. Don’t forget to eat. Play a little. But, make conscious choices. Every minute counts and the day’s a-wastin’.

BE. Allow yourself to BE grateful. Choose happiness, if only for a few minutes a day. Focus on positivity. Immerse your mind in music you love, or a book with a positive message. For goodness sakes, as VST would remind us all, FAKE IT ‘TIL YOU MAKE IT! Smiling can feel weird at first, but do it anyway. For no reason. Just smile. People will want to know your secret!

SHOW YOUR LIGHT! As a widow, people tend to give us the right to be miserable as long as we choose. Don’t accept that safe little place to hunker down. Before long, it can become a way of life. Grieving is a necessary part of life, but it was never met to replace you life. At some point, the time comes to pick up and continue along our personal journies. It comes at time different for each person, and not before. Don’t stick around in that wilderness of grief longer than you really need to.

Once you practice, succeed, and show others your light, you are on the road to happiness. Share your best memories with others, because your beloved lives through them. The more gratitude you have, the more positivity will shine through your life. With those two things in place, happiness will tag along. Not simple. Not easy. Not instant. But, definitely something doable. It’s all about the attitude.

Whatever you do today, hug someone you love. Send a text, asking about their day. Give appreciation to those that help you every day. Tell someone you love them. Go forth and have a wonderful day. It’s the only one we have!

More tomorrow.

Due to a midnight delivery from the stork, I am a bit tired. 28 pink and precious paws came into the world last night. Wookie is the perfect mom. All pups and their pets (MM and me) are doing well.

Complete story tomorrow.

Sometimes the best laid plans just turn out a little differently than the script we prepare in our heads. Such was the case on Wednesday night. Before I begin, the Wook-lets have arrived in all their glory. Seven round little bellies swell as they nurse happily next to Wookie. In a flash, they’ll be up and running, so these first few days are a time to marvel at their perfection while they lay together in a little pile.

Wookie wasn’t herself on Wednesday. A dog of intense energy, she was lethargic. She would pick up her ball, lay it on the coffee table and stare at it. If the ball was thrown, she would just look at it and then lay down. Her tail was hanging. The sparkle in her eye wasn’t there. The saddest thing of all was that Wookie stopped smiling. She lost her attitude of gratitude and was down and out. Even cottage cheese and freshly baked chicken weren’t enough to excite her taste buds. Wookie was one sad dog with a very full belly of puppies. Feeling them kick was easy. Heck, you could watch her belly move.

A very wise and wonderful woman told MM that Wookie would deliver on Wednesday. All well and good, except that Wookie’s due date was Sunday. A healthy delivery that early didn’t seem possible. We were prepared for a Sunday surprise, even though Wookie wasn’t looking like she’d wait that long. This wise and wonderful woman never doubted the day of the birth. She just KNEW.

I’d been hanging out at MM’s house watching the latest news Wednesday. Priscilla Presley (RIP) was still alive doing whatever she did during her normal day. Biden’s documents were still sitting in his locked garage behind the Corvette. Thursday news stories hadn’t happened yet, while the threats of flooding were still very real. Late in the afternoon, Wookie was moping around when I decided I needed to return home to Oliver.

Ollie has been moping himself. He knows when I leave I am going to have fun somewhere. These days, he sits at the back door waiting for a ride to see his beloved Wookie. Having no thumbs and very short legs, he needs me to drive him there. Unfortunately, he won’t be see Wookie for the next eight weeks. Please don’t tell him that. He’d be crushed.

Male dogs aren’t to be trusted with the tiniest of little puppies. In Oliver’s case, I’ve seen him kill a baby bird and a toad. Violent and vicious, he ate them both in front of me. With Oliver safely watching over Winterpast and the Wook-lets on the other side of town, there is no chance of an unthinkable accident. Oliver will need to visit her in his dreams for a couple months.

Winterpast has been delightfully clean the past few weeks. Christmas is put away. Wednesday’s laundry was folded and put away, and I settled in for a quiet night with Ollie. Dreaming peacefully, I’d been asleep for a few hours when the phone woke me. The time was 11:50 PM and I was greeted by an awake and alert MM on the other end of the line.

“One puppy is here.”

“No.”

“Wait!”

“The second pup is here.”

“Come.”

“Quick.”

Just like that the race was on. Ollie, who is a very sound sleeper, was confused. What was his beloved Mom-Oh doing??? It made no sense! Where did the night go? He rolled with the action, figuring an early breakfast would be great. In minutes, I was on the road to MM’s mansion on the east side of town.

There, in the middle of MM’s beautiful comforter, I found four little Wook-let’s peeping and squeaking with Wookie soon to deliver three more. Who wants to deliver puppies in a prepared whelping bed when there is a very expensive, comfortable, and luxurious mattress on which to give birth? Wookie chose her own spot to deliver. In two hours, the show was over she now has a family of seven healthy babies of her own.

Thank goodness she knows me well and thinks I’m pretty special. She welcomed me to the big event. After all, I’m Oliver’s mom. Wookie is the best dog mom I’ve ever met. Every squeak grabbed her full attention, with lots of vigorous licking and nuzzling, she had this under control. She was happy to be with her full pack, sharing the moment equally with MM and me.

Now, hours of observations begin. I’m on call to Wookie-sit at a moment’s notice. The babies are thriving. A beautiful bunch of black and white, with hints of brown to come. They squeak. They hiccup. They snuggle. All this activity under the watchful eye of Wookie.

If there was one thing I needed once more in my life, it was the scent and sound of a litter of newborn puppies. Puppy breath is a magical thing. It can melt the heart of anyone that is lucky enough to get a whiff. Wookie knows exactly what she is doing with her lucky group of Wook-lets.

Whatever you choose to do this weekend, don’t forget to love on your pet. If you need a puppy fix, try Explore.org. Once there, choose “DogBless” and you’ll have a variety of puppies to watch. My favorite is Service Dog Project, or SDP. Canine Warriors is also a good group. At any rate, Explore.Org is a great internet site on which you will find something wonderful to watch. If you are lucky enough to have access to a real litter of puppies, go see them. Cuddle them and don’t forget to get a whiff of the puppy breath. It’ll cure what ails you.

Have a great weekend. More on Monday.