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“HoHoHo” on hold, the time has come for a holiday pause. Settling in to married life, I’m finding my to-do list has grown by leaps and bounds, and the time I have left for blogging is limited.
September 24, 2020 found me a very lonely and sad widow writing private and very real thoughts down for the first time in my life. I think back to those early days when I squealed with delight at each new reader. I would spend hours looking up IP addresses to uncover the countries in which my readers lived. I stopped at 80. Each month since then, my readership has increased until today, I’m nearing 850,000 reads.
But, as the morning comes, I no longer awake at 4 AM with little Oliver ready to go to work with me. It’s called life and it’s happening to HHH and I right now. Somedays, it’s fun to sleep in. Sharing retirement is much more fun than going it alone.
By the time the afternoon comes around, I’m finding that my thoughts are racing 100 miles per hour about all the loose ends that need tying up. There are many things to attend to when changing the pace of life. I haven’t found the best writing schedule for creating my best blogs, all the while settling into married life.
Along with those reasons, I must say that I’m looking forward to enjoying my 2nd Christmas with HHH. Tonight, we are attending a small town Christmas tree lighting and dinner out with friends. Saturday night, were staying in town to watch the lighted parade to cheer the friends we know that are in the parade. Our dance card is filling up, without even mentioning that a certain blogger has a December birthday thrown in for good measure.
Christmas time is a great time to catch up on Bible Study, try new recipes, read, and enjoy the Christmas lights HHH put up just yesterday.
During my time off, I plan to work on a brand new blog focusing on the trials and tribulations of navigating the first year of marriage as senior citizens. I must say, I don’t remember the first days of marriage in my 30’s being this much fun. It’s been delightful and I want to share the details on a new blog. Creating that also takes some time and thought to get it right.
For all these reasons, I will be silent until Tuesday, January 2nd, when I will spill the tea about all the details.
I hope each and every one of you have a wonderful holiday season. Whatever you do, try to find something to enjoy each and every day of December. It’s a beautiful time of year to be alive. Thank you all for being such faithful readers.
On November 30th, Stay Home Because You’re Well Day gives us an excuse to stay in for the day. We all need a break, and it’s nice to take it when healthy to enjoy it. This idea goes hand in hand with practicing LAZY, so I’m wondering if Auntie TJ had something to do with the creation of this National Day.
Remembering back to my days of employment, I do remember taking such days on the first rainy day of fall. Only planning for a one day absence, I would wait patiently while watching the weather forecast. On that first drippy day, I’d call in sick and enjoy a random day of raindrops and solitude. Lovely in every way.
It always fascinates me that people use fake illnesses for all kinds of excuses. Instead of owning the reason for declining an invitation or duty, some hide behind imaginary Covid. It’s not a healthy idea to create a phantom illness because sometimes excuses manifest into something real. This National “Stay Home Because You’re Well Day” is a marvelous idea.
After I’d been teaching for some time, our school district instituted “No-Tell” Days. We were given three per year to use in any way we chose. When using such a day, you would report your absence without a reason. Such a delightful idea. Employees need these days for their mental health.
I also remember enjoying “Mom-Days” with my kids when they were little. Sometimes a Mom/Son day is exactly what’s needed to rejoice and rejuvenate. I know my kids always enjoyed the time spent time together as much as I did.
Being home on a “Well” day is an opportunity to accomplish tasks. But, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with taking the day to practice “LAZY” either. Healthy life choices come in many forms, with burn-out not being one of them. Self-care in a busy life is critical.
If you decide to observe the National Day of Healthy Rest, try enjoying any of the following things.
*Spend time with your pets.
*Read.
*Walk.
*Binge on your favorite program.
*Plant your winter bulbs.
*Put up Christmas lights.
*Write Christmas cards.
*Go to lunch with friends.
*Try a new recipe for dinner.
*Nap.
*Plan a vacation.
*Scrap-book.
*Finish your fall cleaning and organization.
*Just do nothing at all.
Whatever you decide to do today, make it your and yours alone. Tomorrow will arrive soon enough. Take a deep breath and enjoy “National Stay Home Because You’re Well Day”. Peace be with you.
My new Social Security card arrived on Saturday. If you’ve recently had the need to change your name, you understand the importance of that first step. It was necessary to wait one month before applying for the card with my new name. This gave time for our marriage license to register with the county. And so, here we are at the end of November facing weeks of the tedious job of changing my name.
Of course, this is a privilege and something I’m very lucky to do. Every time HHH refers to me as his wife to someone else, it makes my heart swell. I’m still learning to say that I am Mrs. HHH, even after weeks of marriage. After almost 40 years of being Mrs. Hurt, both personally and professionally, changing gears is mind bending.
To get the Social Security with the new name, I had to wait for a certified copy of our marriage license to come via snail mail. Once that arrived, I sent it off with my passport. They assured me all original documents would be returned. I have yet to see that happen.
This creates problems when ordering a new passport. Eventually, everything will be in the same name. Mrs. HHH.
So, in the midst of unpacking HHH, Christmas, and keeping up with twice as much laundry, meals, and cleaning, I started thinking about just what advice my Auntie TJ would give. Of course, the best advice she’s ever given, (and she gives the best), was to always remember to practice LAZY. Just practice it, because for us farm girl types, it takes some work to internalize it.
Growing up, LAZY was something you never wanted to be accused of being. Nope. LAZY was a terrible trait when growing up in the 1900’s. There was always so much work to accomplish on the farm, that anyone caught being LAZY would certainly have hell to pay. Just wasn’t done. If you couldn’t find things to keep yourself busy, Mother would help you out and assign more chores. Period.
So, for Auntie TJ and I, practice is a must. As a new wife, I’m still figuring our whether HHH appreciates LAZY or not. He’s wheels never stop spinning, but that might be situational. There is a lot to do around here.
Practicing LAZY starts with an intentional pause in your normal chores. Nothing will collapse if you stop for 2 hours. If you’re lucky, try for 4. At the very least, start with 1. During that time, choose quiet and mindful thoughts of how nice it feels to sit and breathe. In and out. If you’re bold, try staying in your pajamas from morning until night. Take a nap in the middle of the day. Stretch the hours as you luxuriate in your own space.
I used to be great at practicing LAZY. Almost sloth-like, I could stay in jammies for days doing things I loved doing while watching the snow fall. A peace came over me as I took time to do the things I love. I’m going to do that again soon, after the name is changed on ever single contact I have.
For the time being, HHH and I will be scurrying around to prepare for an upcoming small town tree lighting, lighted parade, birthday celebration and family dinner. In a flash, it’ll be our first Christmas Eve here at Winterpast. I really want to enjoy every moment leading up to that. I’m going to do it by slowing down.
Whatever you do today, take time to stop. Just for a bit. Read a book. Take a walk. Sit in the sunshine. Take a drive. Do something you love. It’ll be great for what ails you.
Oh, what a beautiful Thanksgiving! Still honeymooning, HHH and I had the best time scurrying town getting all the fixings for our first holiday dinner at Winterpast. With a twenty pound turkey for a party of five, we’ve plenty of frozen turkey for future winter dinners. From the fresh cranberry sauce to the homemade pies, no one went away hungry.
Thanksgiving Eve, we worked the entire day to empty out the last of HHH’s belongings from his house. After five weeks of moving, neither of us ever want to experience that again. The yard is mowed and weeded and all trash has been hauled away as it awaits new occupants.
Now, the building formally known as the “RV barn” and forever more known as the “Man Cave” is filled to the brim. What a super place for five brothers to root for their favorite teams while my new sister-in-laws and I can enjoy coffee time inside the warm and toasty comforts of Winterpast.
Along with all the things my new husband brought along, the Man Cave will also home to a portable outdoor kitchen we’ll enjoy next summer. At the speed at which time is passing, it’ll seem like minutes before we’re cheering for the winner of the greased pig contest at our hometown Independence Day celebrations.
Of course, it wouldn’t be Thanksgiving weekend without some Black Friday fun. As it turned out, there was a deal on a new television that couldn’t be missed, as well as a deeply discounted Shark vacuum. Having just joined Walmart Plus, we ordered both things on Thanksgiving Day. To our surprise, they were delivered before 10 AM the next day. One of the stranger deliveries we’ve experienced, both things were delivered by people in their own private cars. Life is strange these days with nothing as it used to be. Even deliveries.
After doing more Black Friday shopping at places you wouldn’t think of, like a furniture store and travel outlet, we came home to package the remaining turkey and simmer the left over carcass into a lovely broth for use at a later time. Our kitchen talisman observed the entire procedure and approved. All the while, football played in the background.
HHH comes from a family of five boys, all stellar athletes that still hold high school and college records, all being distinguished members of the High School “Hall of Fame”. How my new Mother-In-Law keeps their teams straight is beyond me, but she does.
Now, I came from a house of five young ladies. We didn’t ever watch football or sports, for that matter. Our television, once we had one, was parked on programs like “My Friend, Flicka” or “Flipper”. Our movie choices involved musicals or romantic comedies with Doris Day or Rock Hudson. Not football.
I’m the first to admit that I don’t know very much about the rules of the game. It doesn’t hold my attention any more than my programs fascinate HHH. I needed to find a way to make it a little more interesting. After hearing about a unique method for choosing a winning football team a few years back, I’ve made it my own. It’s simple. Just root for the team with an animal as their mascot, such as the Miami Dolphins or the Chicago Bears.
If two animals play, choose your favorite. If no animal is in the game, pick the team with the best uniforms. So far, I think I’m doing okay. HHH finds the whole thing cringeworthy, which makes the whole idea even more delicious. I will say that choosing a random team each game does make it a bit more fun. My preferred team is the Baltimore Ravens, represented by my favorite bird.
With many days left to enjoy the holiday, it’s time to get on with projects at hand. Today will involve a trip to the Nevada Department of Motor Vehicles to handle name and address changes and all issues related to cars. Then, it’ll be on to take a photo for a new passport, because, a girl just never knows when it might be necessary to have one at the ready. Changing names and addresses are equally frustrating at times. It’s nice that we can share the pain.
Whatever you do today, get some fresh air and sunshine. Think about the reason for the season and get caught up with friends. Heck, break out the pen and send some Christmas cards. Hohoho, let it snow!!!!
Family has been coming and going this week. Some of our desert peeps are in Kentucky, while Arizonan’s have dropped in for a surprise visit. And so it goes around the holidays. Families doing their best to get together for a few days of great memories.
This will be our first Thanksgiving as a married couple here at Winterpast. Ollie and Wookie will be hanging out under the table hoping to score some handouts along the way. HHH is a master chef and has been planning our meal for a week or more. I plan to be his sous-chef, already having set the dining room for a party of five.
There is something admirable about a man that needs to cook a 20 lb. turkey for five to insure lots of left-overs. We’ll be up tomorrow morning at dark:30 to stuff our bird while waiting to watch the Thanksgiving Day Parade. With careful planning, there’ll be plenty of time left to enjoy the day.
On this eve, Thanksgiving 2023, having HHH in my life is the biggest blessing of all. I’m thankful for the love of family and friends that surround us all year long. I’m really thankful to be able to enjoy a Mother’s love once more in my life. The beauty of the desert that surrounds us makes me glad to be alive.
Whatever you plan to do for the holidays, please spend time with those you love. Start a list of all the blessings in your life. Once you get started, the list will practically write itself.
I plan to eat too much turkey, sleep in, and enjoy some Christmas movies. I’ll be back on Monday with more stories from my little town that sits proudly on a dusty wide spot off the interstate on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada.
One very short but interesting stop along the road from Twin Falls to West Yellowstone involved some inscriptions from long ago. Driving along, we’d notice signs mentioning Massacre Rocks State Park and Register Rock.
Located along the Snake River west of American Falls, Massacre Rocks State Park features a famous configuration of boulders along the south bank of the Snake, known alternatively as “Massacre Rocks”, “Gate of Death,” or “Devil’s Gate.”
A famous spot along the Oregon Trail and California Trail during the mid 19th century, emigrants gave this name to the narrow passage of the trail through the rocks, from the fear of possible ambush by Native Americans. According to diaries of emigrants, settlers in five wagons clashed with Shoshone just east of the rocks on August 9th and 10th, 1862. Eleven emigrants and 20 Shoshone died in the fight, which involved four wagon trains.
The remains of an extinct volcano, the rocks were often used as a campsite for wagon trains along the trail. Many emigrants carved their names and dates on the rock face, now protected by a shelter. The actual passage through the rocks is now Interstate 86 along the south edge of the park.
Look closely at the picture above. H. Chestnut signed the rock on August 20, 1862, just days after wagons fought with the Shoshone. How many children sat and read by these rocks, resting their feet after running alongside the wagon trains all day. Of all the things we saw on our honeymoon, this is one that still haunts me.
Troubled by conflicting accounts, I found actual diary accounts to read for myself, after so many have rewritten the facts. History is most interesting when one can find first hand accounts of events that took lives. There are those that believe any talk of massacres were just tales of the wild, wild west. Of course, the Native Americans were the most peaceful of peaceful. The settlers had nothing better to do than kill as they traveled through. Read some actual journals where truth is written on both sides.
Here’s a suggestion. First, go out into the desert on a moonless night, at least 20 miles from the nearest town. Then, only protected by a thin blanket, sit on the ground and listen to everything from breezes to coyote howls. After having listened to stories of attacks all day long and near the point of exhaustion, wait for the attacks to come to your wagon train. Staying alive took courage, stealth, and quick reflexes of people from both sides.
Just this week, there was a televised statement from a Native American man that no indigenous people ever scalped anyone. All-rightly then. Gotta love historical accounts of 1862 rewritten in 2023.
How could there be an actual count of men, women, and children killed in the action from either side? I’m sure both sides embellished stories that never happened, while those accounts too horrendous to tell died with those at the scenes.
In the diary of Henry M Judson 1862, he mentions, Jas Crawford, J Adams, John Walker, A. J. Cassidy and many more were wounded. I’d much prefer to read their journaled accounts to thoughts of historians writing today. As a writer, I’m thankful to Mr. Judson and other settlers for taking the time to write down their personal accounts of their journey.
Massacre Rocks — present day
Windmills???? In such a sacred place???? I hope H. Chestnut and T.J. Wilcox understand. I also hope they understand the need to hide their “Register Rock” behind chain link fencing to prevent defacing. Our world is certainly a mixed up place.
Register Rock, IdahoSnake River near Massacre Rock
As Thanksgiving draws closer, remember your own ancestors and the bravery it took to survive and thrive in our beautiful country. The sacrifices they made to start new lives in the west were breathtaking. Bloodshed and illnesses be damned, the pioneers of 1862 had set their goals. Taking time to carve their names in rocks, they’re still remembered 161 years later by two honeymooners.
Although still considered the wild west by some, I wouldn’t trade my life on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada for anything. Hope you feel the same about your home town!
After the weeks of careful planning, our wedding day came and went without a hiccup. Our guests are still talking about the best wedding that happened on that beautiful October evening. It was truly an event to remember.
Early on, we had a few ideas for a blissful honeymoon. Some had suggested it might be silly to take one but that though never crossed our mind. Of course, we’d enjoy a honeymoon. Deciding on the destination took a bit of time. Many honeymooners choose the largest towns in Nevada. Those certainly weren’t a fit. We’d planned a trip to Maui, but, Maui burned, no longer an option. We’d considered the coast, but those plans didn’t come together like the rest of the wedding.
One evening, I mentioned my favorite place in the world. WYOMING. Our plans quickly came together. Although sharing a bit of Yellowstone with Montana and Idaho, 96% of the park lies in Wyoming. Yellowstone National Park in October would be the backdrop for beautiful memories as a brand new man and wife.
After searching online, we chose a little cabin in West Yellowstone. Not too far from the grocery store and restaurants, this little home would be the perfect place to begin our new lives together. We’d drive there, taking time to stop whenever we’d like, just like HHH had promised me we would as we danced to our song one night while we were making dinner.
We’ll follow the rainbow Wherever the four winds blow And there’ll be a new day Coming our way …Keith Urban
Our little town is 550 miles away from West Yellowstone. We’d need to stay the first night in Twin Falls, Idaho. This was a bonus, as I’d only driven through Twin Falls once, never stopping to see the falls.
After taking Sunday to enjoy breakfast with our kids, worship with our church family, and open presents at Winterpast, we were ready to hit the road on a bright and sunny Monday. The weather was perfect as we drove east on the interstate.
Before we left, I took some water based paint and wrote “Just Married” in big letters on the back of our luxurious ride. It’d be fun to see who would make comments along the way. Little did we know, it would spark some of the highlights of our trip.
After driving for a few hours, we decided to have breakfast at Sid’s in Winnemucca. If you are ever traveling through, do stop. They have the friendliest staff and the best food we’d eaten in a very long time. My white “BRIDE” fanny pack didn’t go unnoticed, as many shot smiles our way. It’s weird to blast along at full throttle for weeks and then STOP to live in the present.
Did you ever take a walk through the forest? Stop and dream a while among the trees? Well you can look up through the leaves right straight to heaven You can almost hear the voice of God In each any every breeze
You got to stop and smell the roses You’ve got to count your many blessings everyday You’re gonna find your way to heaven is a rough and rocky road If you don’t stop and smell the roses along the way …… Mac Davis
Back in the car, we talked and sang familiar songs all the way to Idaho. On the way, we entered into big-sky plains, still green from the rainy year. The conversations were easy as they always are between us. There were no cross moments, no tensions about the raging war, no mentions of new shootings. Just miles and miles of peaceful driving.
Traveling through the high desert, we saw miles and miles of nothing. Not an antelope or deer, although there were overpasses built just for their migrations. No highway patrol to ruin our moods. Just wide open roads on the way to Yellowstone.
Overpass for deer migration…….. Note the footprints on the walls. These save lives, both human and animal.
We had lots of time to talk about plans for HHH’s big move to Winterpast, which is occurring as I write this blog. Moving, contacting businesses, and changing one’s name are three things that add to the stress of the moment. Top that with preparing a house for a lease, and you could see there are many stressful things that could have distracted us from our fun. Didn’t happen.
That night, settling into the “Best Western Plus”, we sat in our comfy clothes while watching the World Series.
Watch a little, talk a little, watch a little, watch a little, Snack, Snack, snack, talk a lot, watch a little more.
That is how HHH and I spend our days together. With sports playing in the background, there’s always something interesting to question, share, or laugh about. Thank goodness for the pause feature on YouTubeTv and a patient husband that uses it often.
Well, that sums up the first day of the honeymoon. Romantically perfect for us in every way.
Whatever you do today, think about planning a road trip. You don’t need to travel far to discover beauty in the surrounding area and also in your travel partner. Be part of the great migration, even if it’s just for a day.
Since August 28th, 2022, when I first met this wonderful fisherman who is now known as my Hubba-Hubba-Husband, I’ve been given a precious blessing from God. Having spent many hours in deep conversations about his plans for me, I would often ask God for a strong Christian man to enter my life. He blessed me with HHH.
When we first met, we shared many interesting conversations. One of the more serious ones involved our mirrored desires to honor God before all else. Through widowhood, the single life, and dating, God guided us to that very moment when I walked down the aisle into my new life as a Christian wife.
Our minister had asked what song we’d chosen for the processional. There were so many on the list. Of course, we could’ve gone traditional with “Here Comes the Bride”, but that didn’t see right.
“Bless the Broken Road” by Rascal Flats was a contemporary front runner. Its lyrics spoke of the hard times through widowhood both HHH and I had experienced before finding true love.
“That every long lost dream led me to where you are Others who broke my heart, they were like Northern stars Pointing me on my way into your loving arms This much I know is true That God blessed the broken road that led me straight to you
I think about the years I spent just passing through I’d like to have the time I lost and give it back to you But you just smile and take my hand You’ve been there, you understand It’s all part of a grander plan that is coming true” Rascal Flats
We’d already decided on that song, until another made us both cry. It’d be the perfect song to play as I walked down the long aisle towards the man with the bluest eyes and the smile of home. The song was The Prayer, The English Version song by Mikalene Ipson and Eric Dodge. Although their were other versions by more famous people, this version fit the time and place.
The Prayer
I pray you’ll be our eyes and watch us where we go. And help us to be wise in times when we don’t know.
Let this be our prayer when we lose our way. Lead us to a place, guide us with your grace to a place where we’ll be safe.
I pray we’ll find your light and hold it in our hearts. When stars go out each night, Remind us where you are.
Let this be our prayer when shadows fill our days. Lead us to a place, guide us with your grace.
Give us faith so we’ll be safe.
A world where pain and sorrow will be ended. And every heart that’s broken will be mended. And we’ll remember we are all God’s children reaching out to touch you while reaching to the sky.
We ask that life be kind. Please watch us from above. We hope each soul will find another soul to love. Just like every child needs to find a place, guide us with your grace. Give us faith so we’ll be safe. Mikalene Ipson/Eric Dodge
With no time left for last minute changes, the time had come. CC burst through the door.
“It’s time.”
It was time to exit my hiding spot and look once more to the late afternoon Nevada sunshine, nearly finished for the day. The overflow room was filled to the brim with smiling friends and family that were excited to finally see me.
Just me. 67 years old. Wrinkled. Hair, some would say is way, too long for a lady of my age. Standing behind the most beautiful bouquet of flowers I’d have picked myself if they’d been blooming at Winterpast. The retired teacher type who loves gardening, hoodies, jeans, hot coffee, and tall UGG’s. The desert gal who spent the last year falling in love with HHH, who just happens to be in the top 1% of great guys!. Now the Spanx-i-fied bride, feeling the prettiest I’d felt in many, many years, both inside and out. Just me.
Our song was playing. HHH, The Mayor and the Pastor were in place. CC was already floating down the aisle in front of me, and then, it was my turn.
I tried to make it all the way to the aisle without doing anything outrageous, but then, there SHE was.
MISS FIRECRACKER!!
MY MISS FIRECRACKER!!! I have talked about her so often that HHH knew her without an introduction for SHE is the SPICY ONE that no one can miss. Her smile fills the room. I knew she would be there, but seeing her was the best surprise ever!! There was nothing else to do but stop and give her a hug on my way down to HHH.
Family and friends were there, waiting, as the song finished and it was time to get married.
HHH and I wrote our own vows. His made me swell with pride and then it was my turn. The crowd found it humorous that with all my intense planning, I managed to forget my glasses at home and had to borrow his. I think it won’t be the last time he’ll help me out when I’m without.
We promised all the traditional things Bride’s and Groom’s do. We did decide to leave out the part where someone might think it appropriate to object. No objections or rude comments would ruin OUR magical day. Besides, no one would be so rude as to attend a wedding that they weren’t celebrating! At least not anyone with manners.
At that moment, there was no one else in that crowded chapel except HHH and me. With one very sweet kiss, it was done. As Man and Wife, we exited the chapel to “You are the Sunshine of My Life” by Stevie Wonder.
We were both surprised that the husband and wife don’t sign the marriage certificate. Only the witnesses do, so The Mayor and CC handled that for us.
Married, there was nothing to do but head to our reception, and about all that, I’ve already written. We enjoyed cake, threw the bouquet, tossed the garter, and enjoyed every second until the party ended. Memories that will warm our hearts for as long as we live.
Whatever you do today, remember your own wedding day and the sweet memories that unfolded. There are only a few days in life as precious as the one in which you marry the very person that you cannot spent another day without. HHH and I are so blessed to have found one another in this, the last and best chapter of our lives!
Have a wonderful weekend. I’ll be back Monday to fill you in on our honeymoon travels.
When I opened the door to the little playhouse in which I would hide, there was something for which I wasn’t prepared. THE MUSIC. Our Pre-wedding playlist was playing through a little speaker as well as inside the church. All of a sudden, the songs we’d chosen as soothing “Pre-Wedding” tunes were playing one last time. The thing was, they weren’t so soothing at that moment. This would be one of the last times I’d listen to them.
Tears welling up, so many thoughts raced through my head. 1988 and the last time I’d been a bride. Four long, hot summers traveling on my journey as a widow. 2023 and the very last time I’d EVER be a bride again. So many memories, hopes, and dreams all tied into those six little songs that would play for 20 minutes 45 seconds before the “Down the Aisle” song would play.
Squinting to look out of a lace-covered window, I could see key people in my life as they arrived. There were so many people, I doubted that those inside would even pay attention to the music, which made me a little sad. Each song held special memories. Left up to him, HHH may have chosen a differently, but he agreed to the final selections.
All alone in this little house, there were minutes to calm myself as a few stray visitors who were in the know came to offer support. Of course, CC was nervous as a cat running back and forth to check with Da Girl who had come from so far away to help me with my hair and calm my nerves. My two life-sisters, chosen from the minute we said “Hello”, came to support and love me.
You’re probably curious about the music. You might even want to listen to some of the songs yourself. Here are the songs that made the cut.
The Thorn Birds — Henry Mancini
If you are a woman of the 80’s, you probably remember a “mini-series” on television. Many of my friends need only to hear the title “The Thorn Birds” and drift away to a sheep ranch in Drogheda, Australia. The theme song is one of my favorite musical selections, regardless of the fact the movie, in today’s politically correct world, seems a little creepy.
Better Together –Luke Combs — Well, I had to put one GUY song for HHH
A 40 HP Johnson On a flat bottom metal boat Coke cans and BB guns Barbed wire and old fence posts 8-point bucks in autumn And freshly cut corn fields One arm out the window And one hand on the wheel
Your license in my wallet When we go out downtown Your lipstick stained every coffee cup That I got in this house The way you say I love you, too Is like rain on an old tin roof And your hand fits right into mine Like a needle in a groove
Would just sound better together And probably always will Like a cup of coffee and a sunrise Sunday drives and time to kill What’s the point of this old guitar If it ain’t got no strings Or pouring your heart into a song That you ain’t gonna sing It’s a match made up in heaven Like good ole boys and beer And me, as long as you’re right here
3. Can You Feel the Love Tonight — Elton John
There’s a calm surrender to the rush of day When the heat of a rolling wind can be turned away An enchanted moment, and it sees me through It’s enough for this restless warrior just to be with you
There’s a time for everyone if they only learn That the twisting kaleidoscope moves us all in turn There’s a rhyme and reason to the wild outdoors When the heart of this star-crossed voyager beats in time with yours
Can you feel the love tonight? It is where we are It’s enough for this wide-eyed wanderer That we’ve got this far
Can you feel the love tonight? How it’s laid to rest? Oh, it’s enough to make kings and vagabonds Believe the very best
5. You are the Sunshine of my life — Stevie Wonder
“You Are The Sunshine Of My Life”
I feel like this is the beginning, Though I’ve loved you for a million years, And if I thought our love was ending, I’d find myself drowning in my own tears
You must have known that I was lonely, Because you came to my rescue, And I know that this must be heaven, How could so much love be inside of you?
You are the sunshine of my life, yeah, That’s why I’ll always stay around, You are the apple of my eye, Forever you’ll stay in my heart
6. Chapel of Love — The old version, which is the ONLY version
Fall is here, the sky is blue, whoa Birds all sing as if they knew Today’s the day we’ll say “I do” And we’ll never be lonely anymore
Bells will ring, the sun will shine, whoa I’ll be his and he’ll be mine We’ll love until the end of time And we’ll never be lonely anymore
Because we’re goin’ to the chapel And we’re gonna get married Goin’ to the chapel And we’re gonna get married Gee, I really love you And we’re gonna get married Goin’ to the chapel of love
7. A Thousand Years–Christina Perry
Heart beats fast Colors and promises How to be brave? How can I love when I’m afraid to fall? But watching you stand alone All of my doubts Suddenly go away somehow
Time stands still Beauty in all she is I will be brave I will not let anything take away What’s standing in front of me Every breath Every hour has come to this
I have died every day waiting for you Darling, don’t be afraid I have loved you for a thousand years I’ll love you for a thousand more
And all along I believed I would find you Time has brought your heart to me I have loved you for a thousand years I’ll love you for a thousand more
While I stayed hidden in the little playhouse, CC helped seat guests while The Mayor helped calm HHH and his nerves. Finally, everyone took their seats, while waiting for me. All the while, I fought back tears listening to beautiful music in the little playhouse, alone with my thoughts.
It would be moments now. Just moments until CC burst through the door.
Over the past month, we’ve enjoyed receiving pictures from our wedding guests. Every once in awhile, we’ll be surprised with another batch of digital memories. Some people couldn’t wait to share on Facebook. Others sent them privately, for our eyes only. I must say, some were excellent and others cringeworthy. But, all of them reflected the day one moment at a time.
The funny thing about photographs is that they point out one’s worst faults. I never realized how easily I could be identified as a teacher. Oh my. I should practice listening more. So many pictures showed me in the midst of another story. But they also show every human emotion there is. Tenderness, happiness, shock, awe, and the silliest dance moves.
One thing is for certain. Our guests all had a great time at the reception. The food looked wonderful, although I only managed to have one piece of turkey on a delicious roll. The cake looked divine, although the only piece I enjoyed was the one that HHH fed me so careful not to get a drop on my dress. By the end of the reception, there was nothing left, so I guess the food and cake were a hit.
Thinking about pictures in general, so much is lost through them these days. Attention to the present moment is lost when taking selfies. Attention to all the little details that one could absorb through other senses is lost as one reinspects the pictures taken moments before. Other than the professional photographer, I was happy to enjoy guests that weren’t stuck to their phones, but engaging with each other.
The next worst thing is that digital pictures might as well not exist. How many times does one look at a particular day 3.5 years ago to examine the 35 selfies taken that day? Probably never. Change a phone and forget to take the pics? Well, too bad. Years of enters and interactions, gone. I hate cell phone pics. If I can’t remember a special day in my brain, it’s probably not worth remembering.
The afternoon of our wedding, all the kids and families arrived. Shined up, one grandson wanted to know if there would be any other captive children at this shindig. Actually, there were going to be many kids. That seemed to cheer him up.
Then, my dear friend, the flower lady, arrived with the most breathtaking bouquet I could have imagined. I swear she listened to my every desire as I told her what I would like.
“I want my bouquet to look like I walked through a fall garden and created it that morning. Nothing structured. Just natural beauty. “
She created a bouquet proportionate to my body, while complimenting the color of my dress. Embracing the essence of fall, I couldn’t have asked for anything more perfect.
CC’s corsage was one that she wore on her wrist. Intricate and lovely, it had many different flowers that nestled against one another in a tight pattern. Although I never explained CC’s dress to the flower lady, she absolutely nailed the colors in her dress, too.
As soon as the photographer arrived, we moved into the gardens of Winterpast. That day, the Nevada sky didn’t disappoint. With the lighting at the perfect angle, the last of the fall blooms gave us some color with which to work.
He began his magic by spending time photographing me from every angle possible. The victories and losses over sixty-seven years show when you are being photographed in harsh sunlight. Just one big mass of squints and wrinkles on one very happy woman. The only saving-grace is that while they might not be the best pictures I’ve taken throughout my life, they are much better than the ones we’ll take on our 20th anniversary. For that, I can be sure.
We took pictures of the different family groups. Even the rings got their own photo session. And then, there was one last picture of all of us together.
As the minutes evaporated, it was soon time to make our way to the church. I’d almost forgotten to reserve a parking place for the bride. Gosh, if that space hadn’t been reserved, I might’ve needed to park at the Tee-Pee Bar and Grill on Main Street and walked.
Someone questioned whether I was driving myself to the wedding. Well, who else would’ve done that? My car needed to be there to take us to the reception. Just like the rest of the wedding, if HHH and I wouldn’t have taken charge and run with it, the wedding wouldn’t have happened. Weddings are a little different when you are the one planning AND paying.
So, off I set with my bouquet balanced in a vase full of water between my bridal knees. Nothing could go wrong with that, right? Luckily the short drive was uneventful. As I pulled in front of the church, the word was sent out that the BRIDE had arrived. HHH was escorted away, while I could safely run to my safe spot. Those minutes were precious. The last minutes I’d ever be single again.
My safe space at the church happened to be the children’s classroom, which was nothing more than a very small utility shed. There, with the music piped in, I’d wait until it was my turn. Through a cloudy window, I could hear HHH greeting guests. Thank goodness, he’d arrived on time.
Was he just a nervous as I was, sitting alone in that little playhouse? I suppose he was. But then, that’s recorded in another set of photographs of that special day. You’ll just need to come back tomorrow to learn what happened next.
Throughout the planning of the wedding, it seemed the stars were aligned for the perfect outcome. Needing a venue, we found the golf course clubhouse could be rented for $75 an hour, (including staff). Searching for flowers, we only needed to call our dear friend at the flower shop. Photographer? A professional walked into our life agreeing to do the job. Friends and family? They were ready to celebrate.
Every detail had been considered and planned except for my hair.
Up or down?
My salon experiences ended in 2020 when all the hairdressers shut down because of Covid. With no opportunity to whack off the locks, they grew. After four summers, my hair is longer than it’s been in decades. Long, straight as a board, and a beautifully appropriate color for my age. Grey with God-given highlights.
Just yesterday, someone commented about how lucky I must’ve been the 70’s. So true. My hair was Cher or Marcia Brady straight. It’s really the only way that I can wear it with any success, as it is truly course, thick, and straight. All the more to experiment with.
On most days, you’ll find me with the mess tied on top of my head in a pony tail or bun. There are many reasons for this, the main one being the Zephyr winds blowing across the high desert plains of northwestern Nevada . They can blow at a moments notice, making it impossible to see very well with a mop of hair flying in the eyes. The next best reason is that it’s just easier to tie it up.
It would probably be a great time to wear it short again, but at this time in life, I really, really like it long. It matters not what the masses think. I like it the way it is, long and straight. Besides, in the winter, it is super warm. No kidding.
So, when my dearest friend (who’s happened to cut my hair throughout our 40 year friendship) came prepared to style my hair for the wedding, she curled the entire mass. I’m told it looked beautiful. I can tell you one thing for sure. It was voluminous.
As my dearest friends worked over me in the bathroom, curling and teasing, I know one thing was certain. The women surrounding me were the ones I love the most in this world. They were there supporting me on my most special day. Rather like an Autumn version of “Steel Magnolias”.
They were also supporting me four summers prior when a different kind of celebration was held at Winterpast. VST’s celebration of life. The same women came to the rescue to help me through that week. Thank goodness the reason for their presence was filled with sheer happiness on my special October day.
Of course, it’d been necessary to slither into some Spanx. For goodness sakes, whoever dreamt up that contraption had some evil intentions. No matter the position in which you start, by time you are into the Spanx, you have done some interesting contortions and gyrations. No one was allowed to watch that show, but for those of you that remember the day I got stuck in a wet, long-sleeved swimsuit, the situation was similar. I started out dry but worked up a little sweat until I was tucked into the thing.
With something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue, the time came to slip on my beautiful royal blue wedding dress. The prettiest dress ever, it was chosen because it was HHH’s favorite color. Completing the look, sparkling navy flats that ended up being the most comfortable part of the ensemble.
Everyone ooh–ed and ahhhh-ed as they do for every bride. On that very afternoon, with loved ones surrounded me, at that moment I felt they just might be telling the truth.
That morning, I never developed nervous jitters or doubted my decision. I continued to think about that very long aisle and the wonderful man that would be waiting at the end of it for me.
I must say that this last month has been the happiest, busiest, and most carefree month I’ve had in decades. Maybe ever. Married life has been everything I hoped for. I couldn’t have married anyone more deserving of the precious title “My Husband”. I love you, HHH!
That Saturday, some weeks past now, was a day about which I’ll remember the smallest details for years to come. It all started with an 8 AM appointment at our little church to prepare for our alter appointment at 5 PM. The rings were complete. The marriage license awaited signatures after the ceremony.
Planning a wedding is a strange affair. The couple has paid $$$ to vendors who promise to provide a service at the proper time and date. Not a little change, but serious money. There is nothing to do but trust that those in the business of weddings are trustworthy people. With everything paid in full, time would tell if we spent our wedding dollars well.
CC and I ran to the church after sharing a little breakfast. At least, I think I fed the poor girl. As it turned out, the elders of the church had worked the night before to move everything into place for the wedding. There were eighty chairs in the sanctuary, with another 20 in the fellowship hall connected by sliding glass doors.
Guests sitting in the fellowship hall would need to watch everything on the big screen TV. Wow, I never thought my wedding would become the “event of the decade” with overflow viewing on an extra screen. Our sanctuary is very, very small.
As we worked to put flowers on the ends of almost half the rows, reserving them for family, golden morning sun poured through the cross above the alter. The morning light is amazing in this little church. Initially, I’d wanted to marry at 8 AM because of that very fact, but HHH and I decided our guests might have trouble getting there in time.
HHH informed me long before the big day that we couldn’t see each other before the ceremony. That was the only point on which he wouldn’t compromise. Bad luck is real and long-lasting. He’d hang out across town with his daughter as she created our wedding cake.
During the weeks before the big day, we had invited our church family. The buzz about the wedding was exciting, with everyone giving us a cheerful “Yes”. Covid would take out a few important guests, like Angel of the Aluminum Cloud, who was greatly missed,.
The rose bouquets at the end of each row turned out beautiful! A stem of three dusty peach silk roses wrapped with sparkly ribbon. Amazon…. $59.00 for six. Walmart…. $25.00 for eight. They blended perfectly with the fresh garden flowers in my bouquet.
With everything set for the big event just hours away, at 9 we checked on the flowers and then returned to Winterpast. My son and his children had plans to explore in the desert. They’d be looking for antique bottles at the old dump just outside of town. What they ended up finding was gruesome and interesting all at the same time.
A very, very dead mustang was returning to dust in the desert. Mostly mummified and very flat, it wasn’t something city boys would find every day. Wild horses and people have a hard time co-existing. Cars and horses are a deadly mix for one or the other, and sometimes, both.
One of the more interesting things occurring as the mail arrived was a solar eclipse called “The Ring of Fire”. How amazing that on our wedding day the heavens produced a burning ring in the sky! It wasn’t planned that way.
I’d heard about this early enough to purchase “NASA approved solar eclipse glasses” from Amazon. Amazon is great for everything from weddings to eclipses! I’d ordered enough to share.
That morning, as the neighbors were all outside getting their mail, I remembered the glasses. Running next door, I handed them to neighbors that would later be wedding guests. Looking like nerds, we all stood in the middle of the street and watched the sky in wonder. It took longer than I expected. Even the mail lady received her own pair of glasses with which to enjoy the event.
By then, I could no longer ignore the clock. My Bestie’s had arrived for makeup and hair and it was time to morph into the bride. On that very day when the sky produced an amazing “Ring of Fire”, I’d become Mrs. HHH.
Over the previous year, while making the best memories two sexagenarians could’ve, we’d fallen in love. In a few short hours, HHH and I would share our personal vows. Every heart-felt prayer we’d sent was now to be answered at 5PM, when we’d meet, front and center, at the end of a very long aisle.
The move continues and as with every move, it seems the boxes are multiplying in the privacy of the garage. It seemed so perfect in the beginning when the first boxes were opened. Of course, those held perishables or beloved possessions that fit perfectly. We are well passed that point. Now, shelf and drawer space are up for negotiation.
I’m in the enviable position of having lived here at Winterpast for four years. Having pared down from a larger house in Virginia City, I’ve spent four summers deciding which things would stay and which would go. Again, initial purging is a piece of cake. College texts. Ill-fitting clothes. Belongings from a late spouse. All those things were obvious, yet maybe not easy choices. I was approaching what I felt were the special things that would make the cut when I’m moved to an old folk’s home.
But no. Not even close.
Why does anyone own a 10 year old electronic foot bath with electronic foot scrubbers that has never been taken out of the box? Or 10 sets of towels in a varying state of decay? Extra bed sheets and linens for guest that never come?
Now, the stash of toilet paper is non-negotiable. Winterpast has a delightful garage area for storing up for winter. There is big savings in buying ahead for things you will use, like extra dishwasher detergent, garbage bags, and 90 extra rolls of toilet paper. Not just because “you just never know”. We did all know in the early spring of 2020, didn’t we? If things get really bad, my two-ply Kirkland brand TP might be worth something we need in the bartering world. Because, really, in this day and age, you just never know.
At Winterpast, Never.
Wall space is especially sacred due to the fact that Winterpast is window rich. Every wall in every room has at least one. This provides needed light for plants, but is very troublesome when blending pictures.
Yesterday, we officially went from owning three bedrooms of furniture to two, the desired amount. HHH had found the most wonderful queen bed at a yard sale. Solid-oak, this four poster bed was beautifully crafted and without a scratch. HHH created a guest room down to new doilies under the lamps. New quilt and shams. The works. But, there was no room at this inn for two guest rooms. We rarely have one guest, let alone two at the same time. And, this chick-a-dee needs a place to write and craft.
In true gentleman form, HHH sacrificed his gorgeous guest set in order to keep his gorgeous king-sized set and leave my studio untouched. His granddaughter was the lucky recipient of a wonderful and very needed bedroom set from grandpa! How lovely is that?
Today, we are rearranging our storage and then tackling the yard art, shed, and garage. We’re a day away from one very empty house. At that time, cleaning and repairs will begin with a vengeance. Our deadline for renting the house is December 1st, and we’re right on track. Maybe even a little ahead of schedule.
Another relative is purchasing HHH’s extra car, leaving us with three. Our two closets are now nestled into one. You get the idea. Things are blending. At the end of each day, we share dinner and laughs while watching something on the television. Last night, it was Thursday night football and leftover Chinese. All the while, Wookie and Oliver nestle together by the fire while loving each other as brother and sister. Our little family of four is completely happy and happily complete.
Whatever you do today, think about the day you might need to downsize. Do you really need 10 crystal bowls and dinner service for 12? Probably not. If you haven’t looked at something for ten years, it could really go. Consider those in your family that might enjoy these possessions for a time. Hand Me Down’s are always better when they come with a family story. It’s fall. Time for cleaning.
Just days before the wedding, we were so blessed to have visitors that came to celebrate. Not just any visitors, but HAPPY visitors that had nothing buy smiles about our impending wedding, just days away. Even better, the visitors included my oldest son and his family from Michigan, and my best friend in the world and matron of Honor, CC.
Looking back, nerves were rampant on that Thursday night when everyone arrived. With HHH’s help, we decided on a favorite meal of BBQed hamburgers, ranch-style beans and chips.
That night, we served eleven hungry travelers, while catching up on all the news. There’s nothing better than hugging a grown son and daughter-in-law while enjoying the antics of three busy grandchildren. CC’s watched my kids grow up since 1979, when we were all babies. A long and wonderful friendship between two women has flourished as we’ve shared everything life has thrown their way.
After serving dinner, HHH left early to catch the end of Thursday night football. The Michigan group left to settle into their hotel, while CC and I were left to visit and plan for Friday’s activities.
All this happened within the walls of Winterpast. Thinking back to my first days of widowhood, it was Winterpast that kept me focused. April blooms were waking when I picked up the key and closed the door behind me. My own secret garden. A place to fall face first in a luscious lawn and cry. A place to mourn and heal. Now, a place to welcome my new groom and life as a wife. Winterpast has been with me through it all.
A house holds love and loss from the past, as well. When I look around at her walls and doors, it’s obvious that during her 20 years, she’s been respected and loved. It takes a lot of work to keep a 20 year old home looking like new, and like her present occupants, she’s now entering her prime.
With a whirlwind of activities the next day, I can truly say that I don’t remember much. There were details about the flowers and food to check. More guests arrived. Another bestie arrived with her husband from Central California. California guests arrived to check into their rooms in the biggest little city to the West. My son and grandchildren went treasure hunting in the desert.
All the while, my rock, Miss CC, kept me focused and grounded. When the nerves started to rattle me a bit, I’d just remember the reason for the entire event. My HHH would be standing at the end of a very long aisle waiting for me. That thought alone was enough to settle any new-bride jitters.
Friday evening, Chef KFC provided dinner for our hungry crew of 15. Sadly, KFC isn’t what it used to be. Arriving cold, we really could have done better ourselves. 1/4 cup of cold slaw cost $3. Stale biscuits. Fake butter. In what world is that okay? The chicken was hours old, wet, and greasy. And yet, no one noticed that our $100 chicken dinner was less than delicious. At least the, empty containers showed everyone ate.
That night was the last time I kissed HHH goodnight as his “girlfriend”. The next time I’d see him was at the church where the music would play as I walked down the aisle into my new life. Everything would change in 24 hours, as everything has a habit of doing.
During my short and fabulous engagement, I remember some people emphatically insisting they’d never marry. There were days in widowhood that I said the very same thing. Getting married is like moving in some ways. You start out with all your possessions in orderly boxes. When you get to your destination, things you held dear have no purpose. It’s necessary to rearrange a lot to make everything work. In the end, the new looks nothing like the old. Marriage is the same, except you’re the box and the contents include emotions and habits. In our case, it’s chaotic, but working well!
Those fiends of mine that have chosen a solitary path are happy and content. It takes strength, courage, commitment, and beauty to embrace life and continue on and widowhood, whether newly married or happily single. Choosing Happiness along the way is am important key to contentment.
HHH and I are enjoying our new life as a married couple. In a few days, we’ll celebrate our first month together. It’s hard to believe that so much has changed in just a few short weeks. Next month, I’ll legally change my name, which will take hours of patience while waiting in long lines at Social Security and DMV. Plenty of time to reflect on the many blessings I received when this wonderful man answered the first question of many.
Whatever you do today, enjoy this season. Try a new recipe. Binge on a new television series. Watch some old movies. Plan a pajama day. Do all these things while remembering the blessings that you find in your life ever single day. They’re all around you. Just look for them.
Update! After a crazy day in which my lighting issues are finally fixed, I’m need to draw from the past this morning.
I smile when I read this post written some time ago. At that time, I’d look up each IP number to identify locations of my readers. I stopped when I hit 80 countries finally believing that I AM read in many distant place. As of today, my number of reads is 812,875 and growing. From wherever you read, please know I send you love, peace, and hope for healing.
Writin’ my life to save my soul on a desert’s Nevada road,
A friendly stranger came around to share apple pie ala mode.
If you’re goin’ to stick around for awhile and keep me satisfied,
You can sit and listen while I write all about my sad old life.
He asked me if I had been alone long, in my house on dust and sand
And I replied I ‘d lots of friends, “I’m read everywhere across this land.”
I’m read everywhere, man.
I’m read everywhere, man.
Wrote in the desert’s bare, man.
Of troubles I’ve had my share, man.
I’ve cried in the mountain air, man,
Of troubles I’ve had my share man.
I’m read everywhere.
I’m read in
Belgium, Australia, Brazil, Czech Republic, Bangladesh, Canada, China, Indonesia, Bosnia, Egypt, Germany, Lithuania, Denmark, India, Ireland, Saudi Arabia, Finland, Hungary , Malaysia, Netherlands, United Kingdom, Virgin Islands, and France. Fans, they’re readin’.
This new friend now listened, quiet, while country names raced off my lips.
Bushy eyebrows raised a tiny bit, while on me he quite transfixed.
With grief this gard’ner told my tale, death’s horror never rang truer.
He listened awhile, at him I gazed; his eyes, bluer and bluer.
I’m read everywhere, man,
I’m read everywhere, man,
I’ve cried in the mountain air, man.
Of troubles I’ve had my share, man.
I’m read everywhere.
I’m read in
France, Greece, Japan, Jordan, Hong Kong, Korea, Mauritius, Moldova, Morocco, North Macedonia, Pakistan, Peru, Philippines, Poland, Portugal, Russia, Romania, Serbia, Singapore, South Africa, Sri Lanka, Sweden, Taiwan, Turkey, Ukraine, United States, Uruguay, Vietnam. Everywhere, and there, the fan’s, they’re readin’.
I’m read everywhere, man. I’m read everywhere.
He started reading, he now hooked. I, on display, an open book.
Two months pass, friendship grows each day, two hearts liking each other’s ways,
The stories real with Winter past, new tales to write are coming fast.
For all my friends around the world, You mean so much to this old girl.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart to the 6900 readers that have taken time to support me in my writing. Your sweet comments have made me realize I AM a writer. This has made my life long dream come alive!!! If I have missed your country, please send me a comment and let me know.
I send my love to you and all your beautiful countries. Joy
A special tip of my gardener’s hat to Johnny Cash who inspired this piece.
It’s been over three weeks since Hubba-Hubba-Hubby and I exchanged vows. Already, his list of “Honey-Do’s” is overflowing. Along with the move, he is working around the clock to fix all the things that haven’t been working right for some time.
Included but not limited to the list are non-working dimmer switches, a broken medicine cabinet, a dripping faucet, and a vent on the green house that won’t hold. Of course, there are minor little things, like a request to shift the bedroom furniture. So many things that, as an older woman, I wasn’t able to handle on my own. Here is HHH to the rescue. He barely has time for football these days. Thank goodness for the “pause” feature on the remote.
After having such high hopes for Alexa and her ability to help, she is quickly being dumped by the wayside. Two’s company and three’s a crowd. It seems that once Alexa loses her ability to connect to dimmer switches, the fun is over. My Alexa plugs no longer respond. My dimmable lights are now on their brightest setting. All in all, Alexa isn’t helpful, and at some point, she’s downright obnoxious.
When HHH finally took the last of the furniture out of his house, his Alexa threw a tantrum and started glowing red. No kidding. She was none to happy to be abandoned in an empty house. Well, we’ll see how she likes being sent to the Man Cave that HHH is planning in the RV Barn. Lucky her that she’ll have a roof over her head. And so it goes with artificial intelligence. The conventional way of controlling life is so much better.
With everything else that’s been going on, we’ve also been working on our “Thank You” cards. In a normal world, that job would fall to the nesting bride, but not here at Winterpast. HHH has been ready with pen in hand to do his part, thanking everyone that helped us celebrate our wedding day! We received the most beautiful gifts. From an outdoor Flamingo light to the most beautiful crystal platter, we’ve been sending a few “Thank You” cards each day.
As at any wedding, we did receive one gift without its card. We have no way of knowing who gifted us the gorgeous crystal platter covered in roses. So fitting for us, this platter is covered with our favorite flower! If it was from you, please let us know. We LOVE it!!!!
Over the weekend, we got a call from my God Mother, Miss TJ. She just wanted to tell us “Thank You” for the card HHH spent time writing. Never had she ever received a “Thank You” card in which the groom had written a message along with the bride. Well, we just roll that way. It was fun to fill her in on the wedding and our amazing vacation through the wild west complete with bison, bear, and elk.
Writing “Thank You” cards gave me a chance to acknowledge some beautiful women in Ashton, Idaho that made a memory on our trip. I’d taken time to write “Just Married” on our new luxury car much to HHH’s initial dismay. Once we got on the road, he realized how much fun it could be. Seriously. If you just want to have a little excitement in life, write “Just Married” on your window and go for a drive. You’ll meet people that want nothing more than to wish you well.
The women in Ashton were the co-owners of “The Frostop” on Highway 20. If you ever happen by there, you MUST stop and try their food. Amazing ladies have fun coming out to customers to take orders and deliver food right to the car door. Yes. They were both crying when we told them our story and showed them our rings. They needed a “Thank You” for brightening our day.
With all the “Thank You” cards done, our next wedding task will be to sort through pictures, keeping the best ones for an album. Remembering back to our special day, I’ve never attended a wedding more unique, inviting, and full of love. In reviewing the pictures, it made us feel good to see all the smiles as we made memories of our first evening as husband and wife. It just doesn’t get better than that.
Whatever you do today, if you’ve just received gifts for any reason, don’t forget that it’s proper to send an “Thank You”. It’s rude to receive a gift and forget to thank the giver and it’s never too late.
Monday, August 28, 2022 is a day I’ll never forget. Although not my first adventure in dating as a senior citizen, it would turn out to be the sweetest and most definitely the last time I’d meet someone new. On this day, I noticed the cutest profile on an internet dating site. Twinkling eyes, fit and trim, there was something special about his smile. Most of his profile pictures were of outdoor adventures involving fish.
Now, there’s a dark secret I’ve never blogged about until now. I. HATE. FISH. Hate the smell. The texture. Even the thought of their bodies gasping as they’re pulled from the depths. Every second year, I might decide to try fish, but it never goes well with always the same result.
I. HATE. FISH.
But, here was this adorable fisherman holding an odd fish I couldn’t identify. Along with the fishing pictures, there was another that caught my eye. Although not fish-related, this same man was standing, arm-in-arm, with two young people. I could only assume at that point these must be the grandchildren that put him up to the idea of internet dating.
Returning time and again to this man’s profile, there was just something telling me to reach out. And so, I did.
I sent a smile.
Nothing.
I sent a “Thumb’s Up”.
Nothing.
I sent a heart emoji.
Still nothing.
Hmmmm.
This man just might be too wild for me.
I’d never seen him around town, so it was doubtful we had friends in common. I doubt any of my Bible Study friends would be interested in helping me identify this cutie-patootie. I was on my own on this quest.
Finally, with nothing left to lose, I’d send him a question about the mysterious fish in the picture. Fishing pictures are often deceiving. Hold a fish closer to the camera and it can look “whale-like”. Stand further away, it can have the appearance of a large minnow. There was no other choice. I had a burning question that needed answering.
It did take a short time for him to answer. Any true fisherman can be reeled-in with questions regarding his most prized catch. He tried his best to resist answering and with good reason.
My profile pictures were not those taken when I was 30 and truly beautiful. They weren’t of me at the beach in a string bikini or even of my outrageous summer tan of 2022. In one I was wearing my black and white teacher dress while holding my new set of Craftsman Tools. The others were without makeup and in my serious, horn-rimmed reading glasses. All featured my smile, but not all were the most flattering. In fact, I wouldn’t have responded to these pictures, except for the fact that they reflected someone real.
But, my Hubba-Hubba-Husband took a chance on that Monday in August of 2022. Tired and not really in the mood to try another relationship, as he healed from a long journey through widowerhood, he decided that my question needed the proper answer. It all started there.
For that reason alone, I just might need to learn how to fish under his careful eye. I might need to take a bite of freshly caught trout eaten under a star-lit sky on our first camping trip together. I might need to try Macadamia-encrusted Mahi Mahi on the beach in Hawaii. Or some other type of fish as we cruise the waters off the coast of Mexico.
Of course, my question WAS irresistible. Why wouldn’t it be? Words are LIFE. It required an honest and in-depth answer that led to hours of conversation and a first date during which he cooked a gourmet meal (including fresh fish) for me at his beautiful home. Two strangers that weren’t strange at all, but just very tired of being lonely while being alone.
The days, weeks, and months unfolded until, on August 28 2023, he asked the burning question that came deep from his heart. Of course, now you know my answer to that one. YES, for that day and to the end of our forever. YES.
But, what question could I possibly have asked that would’ve been so intriguing? Beguiling? Irresistible? There was only one possibility. Please don’t judge. It was the best one I could come up with.
“So….
Just how big is your fish?”
The rest unfolded into our adorably sweet love story, the details of which you need to stay tuned to learn.
Whatever you do today, don’t judge widowed people on their journey to start the next chapter in life. At 64, it took courage, independence and guts to make it through four lonely summers as one solitary woman. Why would an courage, independent, and gutsy 67 year old woman marry? She finally met the right guy. I assure you, waiting for HHH made every twist and turn in the road worth it!
Another day of moving is done with not much left except a little bit of this and a little bit of that. In each room at HHH’s beautiful home, there are those items that haven’t made the cut. Now, decisions need to be made about whether things are wants or needs. This is occurring at Winterpast, as well. It seems that the more I clean and purge the more things appear that need cleaning and purging.
Yesterday, our pantry became the focal point. As a bachelorette, I didn’t focus on being prepared for nightly dinners. Breakfast might’ve been a bowl of cereal. If needed, I’d run to the Tee Pee Bar and Grill for a quick burger at lunch and call it good. As long as the pantry was stocked with plenty of chips and dip, I was perfectly happy. Of course, I always kept chicken noodle soup on hand for the occasional cold.
With a tiny pantry for two, the need for more room became obvious. HHH has nifty wire shelves that he attached to the inside of his door, immediately increasing storage space. The first problem is that my pantry door is glass, not wood. The second hiccup is that my shelves need to be 24″ wide and the hardware store only sells the 18″ variety. Amazon always comes to the rescue when you need them.
The second problem is that I have a glass pantry door. Everything on the shelves and the shelves themselves would look pretty tacky through the glass. With a little more thought, my cupboard door is transparent no more. A covering of thick paper did the trick, almost looking like it was meant to be that way. Problem solved, the shelving will go up today!
Hubba-Hubba-Hubby has changed me over the last year. One thing I came to admire early in our relationship was that HHH would always have dinner planned. Usually a great dinner, freshly cooked or grilled, and always balanced. As a life-long athlete, his meals are always nutritious and delicious. Slowly, I’m beginning to love cooking as much as watching the world series and football.
After a full day of moving, when asked about last night’s plans for dinner, the answer was simple. Filet Mignon, grilled mushrooms, home-grown baked potatoes, fresh broccoli, and ice-cream sundaes for dessert. It just doesn’t get better than that.
Tonight, you’ll find me roasting Cornish game hens, stuffed with onions and celery and slathered with a rub of lemon-pepper, basil, poultry seasoning, and olive oil. With that, we’ll enjoy those hens with mushroom rice (from scratch, not a box) and a fresh garden salad. The cuisine is now excellent here at Winterpast.
HHH makes everything a special adventure. Want to plant some bulbs? By the time you turn the first shovel of dirt, HHH will have you so excited, you can’t help but want to plant 15 more. He’s got a unique and positive way of looking at every day life. There isn’t anything that can’t be fixed or rearranged to make things better. I love him deeply for his endearing quality of positivity.
As we settle into our married life, HHH continues to support and encourage my writing. Even though writing requires long stretches in which I need to remain focused in thought, he remains patient and quiet until the computer clicks off. I find writing while he’s watching the morning news is just about the most calming feeling in the world. I guess that’s one of the reasons we’re such a great match.
This weekend, we have two strong Navy seamen to come help us move the last of the heavy furniture. At Saturday’s end, we’ll finally have a couch and love seat in our very own living room. We’ll also have two guest rooms set up for drop in company. Then, it will be time to fine tune, hang pictures, and unpack for the holidays. Life is just one big stack of boxes these days.
Through all of this, Wookie and Oliver have been pretty darn good. They love being together all the time and don’t have so many frenzied moments of zoomies as they greet each other. They are still guilty of fence barking, which remains a focus of their training at this point. Both are pretty darn mouthy, but sincerely trying to do better.
Whatever you do this weekend, try to get outside for a bit. Autumn is such a lovely time of year. So, put on a jacket and go for a walk. As for us, we’ll continue handling the dregs of moving. Don’t forget to turn your clocks back tomorrow night! It’s only the best day of the year! An extra hour of sleep!
I’ll be back Monday to share stories of the wedding and more! Happy Friday!!!!!
Everything can be going along fine. Just fine. Even breath-takingly fine! And then, with the ingenuity of Ghanaian’s (those from Ghana), that sense of safety and “fine-ness” can be shaken to its core. If you’ve never been hacked, count yourself as a very lucky person. If you’ve never been rolled by a Ghanaian, count yourself even luckier. Here’s my cautionary tale of woe.
I’m an Airbnb gal. I’ve used this service many times before, always finding the cutest little places to stay with the kindest of hosts. From my limited experiences, the pictures have been exactly what I’ve received upon arrival. I’ve found things sparkling clean and the hosts ready with helpful hints about surrounding activities and things to see.
On our honeymoon, we were lucky enough to rent a tiny little cabin in West Yellowstone. A gem of a find, it’d been recently renovated. Everything was squeaky clean, which is hard to accomplish when one owns a cabin. I know, having owned my own for a short time.
Our host, Michelle, carefully laid out the rules and regulations, along with sending best wishes for our honeymoon. There was everything a young-ish newly married couple would need. We made morning breakfasts in a teeny tiny little kitchen complete with a toaster, pots and pans, and silverware. You get the idea. Airbnb’s can be much better than a hotel room for two honeymooners.
Since then, I’ve already booked a house for Valentine’s Day, and was looking for another fun place to visit in the next few weeks when disaster hit. by Ghanaian hackers, I was booked at a resort. Not just any resort, but a resort with a PARTIAL down-payment of $599.00 for November 5th-10th for a place that offered a boathouse complete with ski boat. It was Cabin #2 of 5. I was given the address and complete instructions on how to get THERE.
One little problem.
THERE just happened to be in GHANA.
The hackers were in the process of booking massages when I discovered the “Non-refundable” charges. There I was, chatting away with some guy in Ghana about the most delightful times to enjoy spa treatments for me and my friends. To say my eyes were hemorrhaging was an understatement. With a immediate call to my bank to cancel the credit card, and a ringy-dingy to Airbnb, the hackers were stopped in their tracks.
Or so I thought.
About an hour later, I received a call seemingly from Oklahoma. It was the hacker, who assured me he wasn’t a terrible person, but only helping me because all my information is now on the dark web. Really. Isn’t that just a wedding present beyond belief????? I slammed it in his ear. Most likely he is sitting in some tree in Ghana trying to find some scared little woman to scam. Not me, Buster Brown.
Blocked his number right back to Ghana.
Oy.
Vey.
After canceling my card and ordering a new one, changing all the accounts that charges that card, and having a heart-to-heart with Airbnb, I then found my email was also hacked. All this involved a day of frustration while repairing the hack . Thank goodness I’ve got the most loving new groom to hold my hand and tell me everything would be fixed. And, it is.
I’ve no information on how these people got into my account. I cannot understand how evil people get away with so much theft and corruption at the hands of the innocent. I have learned some valuable lessons and have some suggestions.
If at all possible, use a credit card with a very low limit with which to book trips or shop on Amazon. Be sure to use ever single security tool your site offers. If they want you to change your password once a month, do it. Check your bank account on a daily basis, making sure all charges are yours. The very minute that there is a problem, start taking down names, numbers, and notes. Document everything, and in the end, everything will be fixed.
A big thanks to my bank and Airbnb. So many times, these huge companies are demonized. They handled the crooks and will be investigating further. The associates that helped me were kind and detail oriented.
On top of the on-going move, I must admit I’m a bit frazzled at the moment. I had a perfectly clean studio awaiting a gorgeous oak bedroom set. Now, I have a clean kitchen and dining room, with all the overflow moved into the studio. Moving does put me in mind of sliding puzzles I played with as a child. Things move this way and that until finally, everything has a place or is discarded. Heaven only knows how bad it would be without my Lovely Lobster Talisman.
Whatever you do today, don’t let the fear of hacking keep you from dreaming about a little trip somewhere. Airbnb is such a fun way to visit new places. Even after this horrendous little nightmare, I can’t wait until our first Valentine’s Day as husband and wife. I’m already planning and it will be wonderful. And no, Ghana isn’t on the list.
It all started out with the perfect plan. Yesterday was to be the first quiet day we would’ve enjoy in weeks. Just a simple day of retirement starring the two newlyweds. The plan was quite an easy one. We’d practice being lazy. Stay in jammies all day. Watch a movie or two. Prepare for Halloween. That would be our goal, even though Winterpast is in total disarray with boxes stacked to the rafters. We’d ignore the mess for one day.
Closing our eyes to immediate sleep, we opened them a bit later than usual. The clock showed 5:15 AM when I got my first cuppa and went to our desk to write. Early risers, both, we’re also very quiet morning people. With the news playing softly in the background, I blogged. Writing comes as naturally now as when I used to write with my only company being Oliver as he snored at my feet. The day’s plans were unfolding perfectly.
Around 8AM, I made us a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs. After that, I refilled our cookie jar with Tollhouse Chocolate Chip cookies made with semi-sweet and milk chocolate chips from scratch. A still lazy HHH inquired about the delicious aroma wafting in the kitchen.
Then, the fun began. With our brand-new freezer at the proper temperature of 6F, we decided to move all our frozen foods to their new home. I cannot tell you what fun we had organizing our combined frozens on the proper shelves. It was during this time I realized we both have meat hoarding tendencies. It’s delightful to open the door to see a vast array of available food ready for our nightly dinners.
A bit of Autumn advice. It’s a great time of year to go through your pantry. Inspect the expiration dates on each item and discard the old, while keeping a replacement list. The oldest thing we found had expired in 2016. Some things never expire, no matter the date. Dried beans, rice, or pasta to list a few. But, other things should go. Be on the look out for dented cans or bottles of liquid that have collected sediment in the bottom. Food poisoning isn’t a way we want to start wedded bliss.
With much sorting and purging, our kitchen is coming together. A new set of Ninja Never-Stick pots and pans that arrived, requiring unpacking and storage space. By then, the day was half over.
No jammies.
No movies.
No cuddling on the couch.
Just a suggestion that it would be nice to bring another load of belongings to Winterpast. With both of us agreeing it was totally necessary, off we went across town. Sixteen boxes and a load of clothes later, we decided that a pizza created by Chef “Papa Murphy” would be delicious followed by and ice cream desert created by Chef Steve.
With all the boxes needing unloading, we finished as we were greeted by Wookie and Oliver who both wondered just WHEN we might be thinking about giving them their dinner. Dogs are the best when it comes to helping us humans remember to stop and eat.
All in all, our quiet day of relaxation didn’t unfold the way we’d imagined. And yet, the best days are often spontaneous. The kids got a great brushing from Dad-Oh, while Mom-Oh went to work organizing late into the night. With continued work, Winterpast will again be orderly, just in time for our first Thanksgiving as a married couple.
As for moving, it’s exhausting and rewarding all at the same time. I had forgotten how much fun it is to be married to someone you like more than anyone else in the world. No matter what mundane tasks of life arise, if you’re with your bestie, it can’t help but be a great time.
By the way, Halloween was a bust in our neighborhood. We had only three littles that were brave enough to ring the bell. YES, we did buy candy especially for the event, and YES, we did leave the light on. The cold temperatures must have kept them away.
Whatever you do today, be thankful that you aren’t in the middle of a move. If you are moving, take a day off and don’t work through it like we did. Getting married and moving are two of life’s greatest stressors. Self-care, Pizza, and an ice cream sundae are essential to get through.
****** Today is the first day of “National Write A Novel Month”, more fondly referred to as NaNoWriMo. Here’s the plan. You write 1500 words a day for the month and you have a novel. There are no other rules than to write. Please look up their website for more information. I’m starting today. Happy writing.
If only moving was effortless! The Mrs. in the pic doesn’t seem to have a sore back or tired arms like we do.
Our move is in full swing with my Hubba-Hubba-Husband doing the heavy lifting while leaving the unpacking to me. Unpacking can be fun if the things you are unpacking weren’t just packed up the day before. In this case, the boxes unpacked yesterday held the content of one kitchen which is being moved to another.
Under the watchful eye of the most adorable little kitchen talisman made from a true Maine Lobster claw, no fragile items have been broken. Ten kitchen boxes have been unpacked, with the contents run through the dishwasher and placed in new cupboards. I’m pretty lucky to be acquiring new gadgets whose purpose HHH will demonstrate.
HHH is our Master Chef. Each morning, he peruses recipes on Facebook to find the right one for our dinner. He thinks nothing of dropping everything to run to Walmart for one missing item. He SINGS in the kitchen, yes he does! With a dreamy voice, he gets lost as he dances in the delicious aromas he creates. Am I Dreaming????? This is the best. EVER!!!!
Every Master Chef needs lots of pantry and freezer storage. With a purging of some wonderful cabinets, our garage storage is ready for the winter. The new upright freezer arrived yesterday, complete with the internal temperature on the door. For those garden parties for 40, the freezer can be turned into a giant refrigerator. Never have I ever seen a convertible freezer/refrigerator and now, we own one chilled to 6 degrees per the chef’s orders.
Of course, living alone for so long, I never never a second refrigerator or freezer in the garage. As far as I’m concerned, this honeymooner will enjoy every single snow, hoping for the one that renders us housebound. We’ll be prepared.
We’ve transported the 2023 potato crop to Winterpast. From HHH’s garden, we harvested 30 pounds of Russets, Yukon Gold, and Baby Reds. Growing potatoes was a garden highlight, for sure. If you haven’t attempted this, you must. The plants themselves are beautiful, but harvesting is even better. You just never know what lays just below the surface. These potatoes taste like no others.
From another mover across town, HHH scored on a stash of canning jars. All sizes. Next year, we’ll be gardening with purpose as we grow our own food. It doesn’t get better than that. The old apricot, Granny Smith apple, plum, and pear trees, and blue berry bushhad better sleep well. We’ll be depending on them next year.
There are some things that will stay behind. HHH’s favorite peach and nectarine trees. His grape vines. The cutest yard and garden areas. All will be left for the new renters enjoyment. And just like that, we are a married couple of two with our very own rental over which to fret.
Wookie and Oliver are a bit perplexed by the events of the last few weeks. We are home for a short time, leave, and then return with boxes. It’s all been very strange for them since Mom-Oh and Dad began walking around with beautiful new wedding rings. This move can’t go on forever, and then things will settle down.
Today is the second Halloween we’ll treat the kids to candy. Last year, we were across town at HHH’s house. It’s always fun to see the costumed littles as they brave the long walk to the front door. This year, the temperatures are really low with a current temp of 28F. Once the sun sets, it’s downright cold. We’ll see how many littles come to Winterpast. The porch light will be on for the first time since April 2020.
As we combine two homes, there are so many things that we no longer need. Currently, we have four bedroom sets and only three rooms in which to place them. We have two dining room sets with only one dining room. And so it goes with every room in the house. As things have happened so many times in the last year, another happy accident occurred.
After no inquiries on a perfectly good queen size bed, frame, dresser, chair, and bedding, HHH called the thrift store to come retrieve everything. We’d no sooner made the decision and placed the call and we received a call from The Mayor.
A family member signed necessary paperwork to lease an apartment yesterday. As it turns out, they’re just starting out in life and need everything. Quick as a cricket, we set them up in fine style. One bedroom, a love seat, AND a dining room table. They had strong bodies, a truck, and trailer with which move the items. A great combination resulting in room for our new guest bedroom room set! Win-Win!
As the World Series continue, it’s a lovely time to chase dust bunnies and then cuddle in with HHH. I can say that married life has been adorably sweet and comfy. It’s wonderful to laugh and talk with my best friend. I’d forgotten how much I’d missed companionship while talking about life late into the night.
With the new changes to my blog site AND all the other activities, I’m turning in early these days. Fall is such a lovely time of year to be a new bride in love.
What amazing things have happened in the days in which I’ve been absent. The most life altering change is that I’ve married a most wonderful man, perfect for me in the most imperfect ways. To consider myself blessed is an understatement. Happiness has come to live at Winterpast in stacks of boxes and new belongings.
While being in the middle of the organized chaos of a move, life has been a whirlwind including the World Series, packing tape, and two dogs that have taken up fence barking with the neighbor’s dogs. No more the quiet and mundane life of the past, things are ripping around here like the King Tides of the central coast.
I promise I’ll get to the details leading up to the big event, however, I want to start with a quiet little story about the rings. During the honeymoon, the story about our wedding rings brought a tear to the eye of one or two. Perfect for the first day back at the keyboard.
When my Hubba-Hubba-Hubby (now HHH, formally known as My Mysterious Marine and Fabulous Fiancé) first proposed, we were a little stumped. If you’ve just happened to look for wedding rings, you know. If not, trust me, it’s a daunting task. Diamonds or another precious stone? Gold, titanium, or something else? Tattooed rings? The list is endless.
Both HHH and I enjoyed long and beautiful marriages to high school sweeties before cancer and COPD changed all that. Those relationships made us into two people that fell in love over the last year. Two heavenly angels now watch over us and might’ve even had a lot to do with us ending up together. We’d like to believe that they’re dancing a jig in heaven celebrating that we’ve found earthly companions with whom to continue our journey.
After becoming a widow and widower, there were many times we thought about what should be done with the rings that remained. Sell them? Gift them to family? Make them into something else? Nothing seemed right for either of us so they sat in jewelry boxes at two different houses in the same town.
After thinking about the situation, we decided the rings were a symbol of the wonderful lives we shared with former spouses. They were also a statement about the people we’d become during those relationships. What better materials from which to create rings that will be with us until we die?
And so, the plan came together.
HHH just happened to know a guy that just happened to be an amazing jeweler who just happened to be married to a jewelry design genius. Together, like old friends, the four of us sat together at their little shop and visited while a design was drawn on paper with pencil. From there, the wax prototypes were created for our approval. In a month, the real rings were ready to be picked up. I will tell you, they are blindingly spectacular.
By using our past, we created a present that we’ll enjoy long into the future. The love embedded in the gold was there long before I ever said my vows to the most handsome guy standing at the end of a very long aisle.
In the first days of our married life, we’ve found it delightful to ride around in a luxury car with painted windows. “Just Married”. “J Loves B 4-ever”. “He asked and she said “Yes””. With those few words written in white paint, the waves, honks, and well wishes have warmed our hearts. We have made more than a few people tear up as they’ve listened to our love story while sharing their own.
In the next weeks, the plan is coming together. Grievinggardener.com will remain to help those just entering the nightmare of widowhood. From the sadness, loneliness, and grief, good things can again grow. Just as the devastation remaining after a forest fire, with rains, sunshine, and the passing of time, new life comes. So it is with the journey of widowhood.
In the next months, look for a new blog that will chronicle life as a 67 year old bride. It isn’t for the weak or timid, I can assure you of that.
Whatever you do today, reflect on the first days of your own married life while remembering the beauty and fragile nature of a new marriage. That’s where HHH and now I stand as we enjoy things like Thursday Night Football and the World Series. Our Winter has past. There is so much to celebrate. I’ll tell you more tomorrow.
Working on fall cleaning late last night, I found my own space has changed so much in the last four Autumns. I spend much less time watching movies in “Zero Gravity”, floating in the weightlessness of self pity. Nope. No more of that. This woman has things to do and places to go. I’ve chosen a purposeful course of action with my eyes focused forward instead of looking down.
There is now an empty dresser in my room in which my new husband will place his belongings. There is an empty side of the closet that will hold his clothes. Every part of Winterpast is different now. That frightened young widow of 17 days who stood next to the empty pantry shuddering in sobs is healed.
During those years of self discovery, there was something that only a widow or widower understands. I was A-L-0-N-E. Before baptism and spiritual rebirth, I was in an even darker place of loneliness. For widows everywhere, my heart breaks for you. Although I only know my grief experience, I know I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. No matter how its described, its thousands of times worse and then some.
In the beginning, VST was everywhere here at Winterpast. On every wall and counter, there were pictures anchoring me to 32 years of marriage. So blessed when I met him at our class reunion, I can honestly say, we saved each other. No matter the ups and downs of married life, we were safe together. And then, the only together left was photos and old cards.
Over time, everything has changed. Winterpast is a reflection of the woman I’ve become. Although still alone, I’ve filled the void making friends with myself. That took a little doing, as I realized there were things about myself I didn’t much care for. Things I was angry about. Things I needed to change. So, with God’s help, I did.
When I remembered who I was, things changed. For the better. I stopped accepting poor treatment from others. I learned to try new things while realizing simple truths like “I hate mayonnaise now and forever more.” Somethings will never change and I learned that’s okay, too.
A little over one year ago, a wonderful guy came into my life. He lives just six miles away in a grey and white house that helped him heal. He’d lost his high school sweetheart AND his beloved dog of 16 years. He was A-L-O-N-E, as only a widow or widower can understand. He spent the same four autumns purposely changing. He painted. He gardened. He softened his heart to the Lord. He prayed. And, he found me.
Everything has changed just as everything always does. When the nights are the loneliest and the days so dark you wonder where the sun went, just keep going. Make one little, tiny change. And then another. Pretty soon, you’ll be on the road to better. Don’t miss that turn towards “Happy”. Sometimes, it’s lost behind the trees, but trust me on this, it’s there.
For the next bit of time, I’ll be a laughing, crying, doubting, embracing, quivering, shivering, bitching, forgiving, loving, sleepless, nightmare-plagued, cranky, coffee-guzzling, detail-oriented bride. One minute I’ll be singing songs from The Sound of Music, and the next minute, I’m sure I won’t have a voice at all.
By THE DAY, I’ll have ordered every possible evening dress in THE certain desired color, only to have returned them all, except one. THE DRESS. I’ll have spent time with the people in this world that I love the most. And then, I’ll walk down a very short aisle that will seem like a million miles. I’ll only make it to the end because there will stand a man with the most beautiful blue eyes waiting to take my hand. And there, the first chapter of our life’s story together will begin.
I’ll be back on October 30th. By then, I’ll have a new last name and be enjoying the honeymoon year of our new marriage. Shortly after, there’ll be some changes. I can no longer be writing as the Grieving Gardener, as I’ll certainly be Glowing and Grinning. My Mysterious Marine and Fabulous Fiancé (MMFF) will have a new name, already selected. Come back on the 30th to find out all the news! Just embrace it. Everything Changes!
Well, the last of the major details are ironed out and plans for the big day are on hold until it arrives. Ceremonial protocols are in place. Biblical scripture has been chosen. Seating charts are in place. Flowers ordered. Menu planned. All the hard work is done. If so, why do I feel there are some important details forgotten? Because I’m the bride and we’re supposed to feel that way (or so I’ve been told).
Yesterday, it became REALLY REAL. While talking to the pastor in God’s house, the ceremonial details of The Big Day became finalized. There are still details to work out with the timing for the photos. It’s always hard to wait at the reception for the couple to arrive. I hate that part. But, it’ll be necessary to take some photos after the ceremony.
My Mysterious Marine / Fabulous Fiancé has only made one request. He doesn’t want to see me on the day of the wedding until I walk down the aisle. Easy enough. Our church has a little playhouse in which to hide. Complete with little tiny chairs, the hens will squeeze in a few minutes before the service begins. I’ll be listening for the correct place in the music and then, down the aisle I’ll glide.
Yesterday, the pastor if we’d like to record the service. At first, we both gave a confident “NO”. But, video is something you can choose to never watch again. However, if you don’t have the video, you don’t have a choice later on. There are also some important people that won’t be there. For them, we changed our minds and agreed. We did request that he ask people to turn off their phones and pay attention to the service. No extra pictures in the church.
Our beloved friends and family members are being so supportive. They’ll begin arriving the Thursday before the big day, and then party will begin. Until then, there are yards to mow and cobwebs to sweep in preparation for their visits. I’ve cleaned the guest room and bathroom many times over, wanting a 5-star review from my guests.
As the last of my houseplants die, I’ve been buying replacements. The African Violets should be in bloom when our big day arrives. Autumn is here turning Winterpast into a mural of reds, yellows, golds, and browns from leaves that are now falling. What a show the roses have given us this year! Thanks to MMFF, the yard has 8 new rose bushes, 1 apple tree, two Japanese Maples, and three hosta’s during the summer of 2023.
Next week, it’s again time to turn off the water for the year. It’s quite the routine, opening a valve here and shutting one off over there. The watering system of Winterpast is intricate and extensive, keeping the 1/2 acre of gardens watered twice a day. It’ll be nice to take a break from the demands of constant repairs and upkeep of the aged system, a chore about which MMFF never complains.
Today, my attention we be focused on shopping for the honeymoon. It’s time for new jeans and hoodies. We’ll need them as we start out on our new life together. Thankfully, our vacation won’t involve airplanes because in this crazy world, it might take us a week to arrive at our destination. We’re depending on a more traditional and luxurious form of transportation to whisk us away on our honeymoon.
Whatever you do today, enjoy the fall season. Check out the Halloween decorations that are appearing everywhere. If you live close to the Goddess of the Central Coast, you’ll already know that you can find a beautiful array of scarecrows in residence for the month of October. If you’re not, start a tradition of your own and put a few up in your neighborhood. Enjoy that morning cuppa and relax!!! It’s fall!
I pray you’ll be our eyes, and watch us where we go And help us to be wise in times when we don’t know Let this be our prayer, when we lose our way Lead us to the place, guide us with your grace To a place where we’ll be safe
I pray we ‘Il find your light, and hold it in our hearts When stars go out each night, Remind us where you are Let this be our prayer, when shadows fill our day Help us find a place, guide us with your grace Give us faith so we’ll be safe
A world where pain and sorrow will be ended And every heart that’s broken will he mended And we’ll remember we are all God’s children Reaching out to touch you Reaching to the sky
We ask that life be kind, and watch us from above We hope each soul will find another soul to love Let this be our prayer, just like every child
Who needs to find a place, guide us with your grace Give us faith so we’ll be safe Needs to find a place, guide us with your grace Give us faith so we’ll be safe Written by David Foster
Last night was full of music and laughter as we created the play list for a reception. I couldn’t help but reflect on how times have changed. Once, not that long ago, one needed to hire a disc jockey to play real records. Now, two sexagenarians can sit on the couch and listen to any genre of music while selecting their favorite tunes.
The wedding party and I will be entering our little church to the English version of “The Prayer”. I just found this song yesterday, and by the end, I was crying. Last night, I played it for my Mysterious Marine and Fabulous Fiancé. By the end of the song, he, too, was crying. So, it’s a winner. The whole church will be sniffling.
So far, we’ve selected everything from Motown to Sinatra, with a movie tune thrown in for good measure. With our reception being five hours and our current list three hours, we need 20 more songs to complete the list.
If you decide to make your own Alexa-compatible playlist, you need to install the Amazon Music app on your phone or iPad. Then, you simply request the songs you like and create your own list. You can make it public or private, and then ask your Alexa to play the songs in order, or randomly. As simple as that.
We had several songs that we both chose. There were a few that were new to one or the other of us. But, for the most part, MMFF’s selections mirrored mine and mine his. Just another area in which we are so similar.
Today, we are meeting with our Pastor to go over the details. I’m hoping we don’t need a rehearsal, but perhaps we do. I’m thinking it’s pretty easy to walk through a door and down an aisle. In reality, it will probably be the longest 45′ walk of my life. Thank goodness there will be bright blue eyes waiting at the end, and warm hands to grab mine that will be shaking. Everything else will fall into place.
We are writing our own original vows. No surprise there. MMFF has limited the word count to 100. That will be tough for a writer. Actually 100 word manuscripts are tough for anyone. Try it if you don’t believe me. To have an impactful message in 100 words is almost impossible on the first try. I will honor his request, but am hoping he’ll grant me a higher word count.
Today will be my day to work in the yard and garden, while escaping wedding madness for a bit. I’m still replacing house plants after the terrible tragedy of death last week. A few more have passed on. The Ficus benjamina is dropping its leaves after such a hard lesson learned.
Whatever you do today, keep listening to music. Go back to your high school days. If you have an Alexa, ask her to play 50’s, 60’s, or 70’s music. Back then, people actually played the instruments and sang songs that they wrote themselves. Incredible artists help raise us into the unique individuals we are today.
As the days get closer to the wedding, I’m really enjoying the life of the bride! As my “To-Do” list gets shorter another important detail pops into my head. And so it goes around here.
I’m finding that the more that MM and I share our news, the more fun this engagement becomes. It doesn’t matter who. Friend or stranger. The news of two sexagenarians marrying makes people smile.
Saturday, found us traveling to a nearby valley to attend the wedding of a young relative. The couple was of the appropriate age. In their 20’s, it was only fitting that they had six bridesmaids, six groomsmen, a junior bridesmaid, and one darling flower girl.
The weatherman had been threatening rain for two weeks. On that very morning, bright blue sky broke through heavy clouds, giving them the weather that every bride would love. I’m pretty sure their pictures will be fabulous, as the light had that perfect fall quality that I hope to see at my own wedding. The only droplets falling when they married at 2 PM were the bride’s tears.
The Mayor, (soon to be my brother-in-law), did a great job with the ceremony. As this was HIS oldest grandchild, it was hard for him to get through some of the words himself. Especially when the cutest bride was speaking her vows through tears of her own.
After the ceremony and a wait for pictures, the party moved into a barn. Not a moment too soon, as the rain started.
It’s hard to compare weddings, especially when the bride and groom are at such different seasons of life. The wedding of a couple with their entire life ahead of them is different than that of a couple that is in the Autumn of their lives. Each union has its own unique qualities.
This week, it’s time to buckle down and get the last details ironed out. We’ll be meeting with our pastor to talk about the marriage ceremony. There are vows to be written and music to be selected for the church. The venue, food, cake, and music have been selected, but now need fine-tuning. When thinking of the normal cost of weddings these days, I’m proud to say we’ve kept under budget.
A new friend who just happens to be a professional is going do the photography. Not only does he do an occasional wedding from time to time, he is THE photographer for the huge rodeo in the biggest little city to the west, along with their air races. If this man is shooting rodeo competition from inside the ring, he’ll be able to get some great shots of our family as they celebrate our day!
As all couples do, we’ll be off on a beautiful honeymoon to parts kept secret for now. I’ll be taking at least a week off to enjoy my new married life. But, that’s a little while from now.
Off on an adventure!
Through all of this, I guess I’ve been glowing. It’s been a long time since I’ve glowed about anything. People smile and tell me happiness looks good on me. Let me tell you all, it feels great.
When I think back through my experiences since January of 2020, I thank God that MM was waiting for me at this fork in the road. Sweet MM with his enchanting smile and sparkling blue eyes. There is no doubt in our minds that God planned the next part of our journey just for us.
Whatever you do today, listen to some of your favorite tunes. Music lightens the load and can brighten your spirit. If you have a chance to attend a wedding, do it while wearing a smile. Remember, happiness is something wonderful to share with others.
Down to the last of the details, my head is swimming with so many little bits of nonsense. Just what is the perfect shade of rose to compliment my dress (which isn’t white, by the way). Which shoes will let me dance until my legs are about to fall off? Who will join my reception crew? I can see how a bride turns into a crazy, detail driven BRIDEZILLA and I can’t let that happen to me.
Can’t allow this.
Yesterday, I visited the venue. The doors to “our” room were closed, but the reception coordinator was there to take payment and give advice. There is one small detail that has me worried. At the very minute I put one satin slipper on the aisle towards MM, we get the keys to the reception hall. At least the tablecloths will be on all the tables. Other than that, in a very short time, the room will be transformed into our reception hall. I’m still looking for willing friends and family that’ll miss a few minutes of the big moment in order to help us with the hall.
We knew this little detail when we booked the venue. Another group has the room rented until 4:00. Somehow, in jeans and t-shirts on a sunny day in August, it didn’t seem like a big deal. Now, I’m beginning to recognize our flawed thinking. We are decorating minimalists and know our guests will make the wedding, not centerpieces. The delivery of the food and cake are a bit worrisome , but I know the reception crew we choose will make it happen.
Yum. Already have plans to keep cold food cold and hot food hot.
With the hall paid for, I was off to order the food. Meats, cheeses, fresh rolls, and three types of salads are on the menu. With chocolate and cake, the food should be delicious and no guest should leave hungry. The very young woman who helped me with my order was adorable. Likewise, she thought it adorable that someone so old would be getting married. Lovely child. Just lovely. All I need is a food angel to pick up the trays and get them to the reception on time.
The last detail on yesterday’s agenda was a trip to the local flower angel. She’s my sister in Christ and will make sure that everything is perfect on the big day. She’s even letting us borrow a couple arrangements for the wedding. My bouquet will look as if was picked from an English garden that morning. That’s a skill to be able to create that look when one lives in the desert. Hanging out with the flowers was my favorite task of the day.
Not exact colors, but you get the idea.
The jeweler touched base with us yesterday. Custom rings will be finished in a week. I can’t wait to see the final product. How amazing it’s been to watch a handful of gold and diamonds turn into something entirely different! Our pasts behind us, we’ll pledge vows and then step into the bright new world together. The jeweler has assured me he will make rings garden friendly. Good thing, because I don’t plan to take mine off very often. Diamonds and cashmere. Doesn’t every girl garden that way?
Tomorrow we’re attending our first family wedding as an engaged couple. The bride registered for a mop system. You heard that right. An “O-Cedar Rinse Clean Mop with 3 Heads”. I have that very system and love it so much. This bride is delightfully practical. Now, I can’t say for sure, but, a mop just might be in her future. If you don’t have one, check it out. It’s worthy adding to a bridal registry.
There are many more details still to cover. From music to a guest book, these things are starting to disturb my normal bedtime routine. Last night, I finally finished assembling 100 adorable favors, each taking several steps to complete. Another project completed.
Whatever you do today, think back to your own wedding preparations and day. Think of all the work you did, or didn’t do because you were smart and eloped. Then, say a little prayer for this Desert Bride who will be in full freak-out mode for the next few weeks. All prayers and good vibes are certainly appreciated.
With Monday stuffed with out-of-town appointments, I’ll be back on Tuesday. Until then, keep calm and carry on.
Wedding coordination continues as the excitement builds every day. These tasks more suited for youngsters, but MM and I are holding our own. Every aspect of THE big day has been visited and planned. Some parts have almost completed themselves, which is a good feeling. Details seem to have been preplanned with us being the last to know.
MM’s sweet mom was fretting about a wedding present. With two full homes, we have most things you would consider giving a young couple starting their lives together. We’ve got two kitchens, twice the wall decorations, and furniture to give away. She was really struggling over finding the proper gift so she asked what we would like.
The perfect gift just popped into my brain. Winterpast doesn’t have a proper apple tree. Now, we do have apricot, plum, and pear. There ARE two apple trees of Chinese origin. Let me tell you, the Chinese were trying to overthrow our country by introducing us to this variety. The fruit isn’t good for cooking. For that matter, it’s not good for eating being prone to worms and rot. A cardboard tasting version with very little apple flavor. A worthless variety, every summer I need to clean up after the abundant crop these two trees produce.
And then, we have the Crab Apple, which is almost as bad as the Chinese Apples. Worthless.
Yes. A Granny Smith apple tree would be about the best gift any person on this planet could give us. Sure, we need a peach and a nectarine, but a Granny Smith tree would give us pies and applesauce for the rest of our days together.
When I mentioned that this would be a gift we’d both love and cherish, she just gave me a look. It’s not every day a new bride would celebrate the thought of a new tree for her garden. But then, I’m not your average, everyday new bride. These days, I’m a Glowing, Grinning, Gardener.
After deciding on the gift of a tree, MM and I jumped in the pickup and visited a REAL nursery. The kind of place that charges the correct price for the quality of plants they sell. Not a big box store that sells off brands that are prone to early death. There, in the tree section, sat the last two Granny’s. All the other types of fruit trees were in groups that would create small orchards. In the Granny section, there were just two left, and one would soon be ours.
After carefully looking over the trees, we selected the better of the two. A young employee delivered it to the pickup as we talked along the way. Enjoying his second year of work at the nursery, he was lucky enough to have another job and loved them both. Even the employees were of high quality at that place.
When we arrived home, MM again worked his magic, properly planting the Granny next to the little bridge in the back yard. There, we’ll enjoy many seasons with her.
MM’s mom did ask that we buy a big one so we can enjoy its apples together. All being in the Autumn of our lives, I understood her words all too well. Plant apple trees while you still can. Make pies while you can still serve them to your family. Applesauce works well when you have fewer teeth than you started your life with. Nothing finishes a great dinner better than a fabulous piece of pie.
Our first wedding present was a huge success. Gardeners love nothing more than gifts for the garden. Winterpast is our favorite place, holding memories of family, friends, and us. Welcome home, Granny. Enjoy this most beautiful season of life with us!
Whatever you do today, consider visiting to a REAL nursery or farm. It might involve driving a few miles if you live in a city, but try. A winery? An apple orchard? A pumpkin patch? Take a day and experience a little Autumn fun. Don’t forget to take a sweatshirt or coat. Enjoy a crisp fresh apple along the road . It’s Autumn!!
Well, things didn’t go so well for the first inhabitants of the greenhouse. In fact, the 12-hour visit to the lush and very humid oasis resulted in the death of five seasoned plants. Total destruction, with no chance for recovery.
Two days ago, with Autumn breezes churning the air, I took all my houseplants out to the greenhouse for a little rejuvenation. Rest and relaxation. A change of scenery. My thoughts were that I could do fall cleaning in preparation for the wedding while the plants enjoyed some sunshine.
Everything was fine in the beginning. With many trips from one house to the other, the plants seemed to be loving it when they were all in place. Using the nearest hose, I gave them all a good shot of Miracle Grow as I watered the pea-gravel floor again. After they were all settled I shut the door and went back inside. It was late afternoon, with the greenhouse receiving three more hours of full sun.
I never gave the plants another thought until yesterday around 11. I thought the sun was high enough in the sky to create some humidity creating water droplets on the walls and leaves. Expecting happy plants on a day with cool mid-day temps, I opened the door to be overcome with horror and disbelief.
The inside temperature in the greenhouse was 100+. Even with gallons of water applied to the floor, there was zero humidity.
The plants were either in a state of true stress OR worse. D-E-A-D. I think I could’ve suffered a major sunburn myself. Springing to action, I removed those plants that hadn’t yet burned.
The pathos plants that’ve lived with me for over 10 years were burned to death. Their lifeless little leaves were now blackened. MM had just commented on how well they were doing in rooms with very little light. Well, no more.
RIP, my pretty Pathos.
The Dracaena’s all died, frying where I’d placed them. Each pot was so hot, it was hard to carry them to the trash were they received last rights.
Farewell, Dracaenas
Surprisingly, the Ficus bejamina tree, which I thought would’ve been the most fragile, survived.
Long live the Fiesty Ficus
The Sanseveria were on their way out, but luckily, I arrived in time. Another hour, and there would’ve been more reportable deaths.
Nothing can kill the Sanseveria, not even me.
Thank goodness, the new African Violets didn’t make the trip. Even I know they are just too fragile to survive such a change. There would’ve been nine deaths to report. As it is, they are growing well with new blooms to open soon.
Bloom On, Little Ones
Fifteen healthy plants went on vacation. Only ten came home. They are resting, still traumatized by their trip to the other house.
Today is a new day, with plans to order the greenhouse shade cloth. Before guests arrive at Winterpast, replacement plants will grace my windowsills.
“Oh, what lovely plants you have! What a green thumb! I wish my plants would grow this well! What’s your secret? The greenhouse?”
Welllll……..
Actually……..
Yes.
That, and a really good nursery at which to buy replacements. Let’s keep that one our little secret. Okay?
Whatever you do today, if it involves the unknown, start small while checking for unknown results. If you move a plant to a new location, check on it every few hours for the first few days. You might save yourself some grief. Happy Gardening!!!
Okay, okay, this is a DREAM version of my greenhouse by next year.
At Last! My house plants have some respite from dry desert conditions. Yesterday, they all moved into their new digs until the wedding! Nothing like some humidity to spruce them up a bit. It’s time I give an update on the greenhouse.
Greenhouses are the desired possession of the suburban home owner in these parts. They do come with drawbacks, many discovered over the summer.
Unless you live in constant 70 degree weather, (in which case you don’t need a greenhouse), there is some down time. In fact, there are times of the year they are unusable without extreme effort. Even then, questionable. Under the intense desert sun, my greenhouse is just too hot. Think of burning weeds with a magnifying glass. Similar heat in the greenhouse. Next summer’s goal is to find a way to ventilate. Perhaps I need to remove a couple side panels? A drape of shade cloth? Something can and will be done, but I haven’t found the answer yet.
Greenhouses must be watered. A Lot. Meaning, the ground in the greenhouse, not just the plants inside. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I didn’t expect the amount of water it would take to saturate the ground, providing consistent humidity. It will take some time to season the soil under the pea gravel floor to provide the necessary humidity. The water bill will reflect the luxury of my new hobby, no doubt.
Heat will be necessary in the winter. The smaller part of the investment was a thermostat for heating and cooling. The larger expense will go to the electrician that will need to run power to the little house. And so, the project will take on a life of its own.
This….
The positive points of owning a greenhouse are obvious. It’s a tropical paradise in the middle of the desert. When I need a little humidity and extra oxygen from all the growth, I can step into my little oasis. 10′ x 14′ of lush greenery and soothing humidity. My ferns and geraniums will overwinter there, being safe from the winter storms and snow. Our prize strawberry plant will find a safe spot and continue to bloom and produce a little longer than normal. As soon as the heater is installed, that is.
So far, I have two potting benches on which to play. Today, I’m going to get some needed accessories, such as a garbage can to store my potting soil and mulch. Pots and tools will find their place. Slowly, it will turn into a playhouse of wonder and a most loved spot here at Winterpast.
If you are thinking of a greenhouse of your own, be sure to get the biggest one you can afford. This size is big enough for two people to work without stepping on one another. Choose the appropriate material for the “floor”. (Pea gravel is working well.) Carefully consider the foundation. Having a concrete foundation on which to anchor the greenhouse made a big difference here in the high desert wind.
Speaking of the Zephyr winds….
Our first wind damage occurred last week. One of the roof vents and panels ripped away from the greenhouse. Poof. Ripped off. The fix will take some careful design work and MM is on it. These aluminum structures are not for the winds of the high desert plains. Although mine is in a protected area of the gardens, it’s still vulnerable. Other than that one panel, the rest of the structure survived.
It’s ability to withstand snow pack remains to be seen. It will be a chore to remove the snow from the roof each day. The good thing is that we don’t get much here on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada.
Or this?
With Autumn officially here, the trees have started dropping their leaves and the next phase of work begins. Fall clean-up. I hope the roses will continue blooming a little longer for wedding photos in the back yard. In just a few weeks, life will change here at Winterpast. For such blessings I am so grateful.
Whatever you do today, think about poking around outside. If you don’t have a garden, think about raising a plant. Terrariums are a wonderful hobby. Tiny little greenhouses that you micromanage from your kitchen table. Plants clean the air and add something to a home. Give it a try.
Blessings surround Winterpast. Ollie and the Wookie are having the time of their lives racing through the first leaves of fall. I’ve put the first bit of water in the greenhouse, which is just now cool enough to use. There are roses to trim and trees to feed. MM and I continue to plan our upcoming nuptials. But, a sense of loss looms large.
A dear friend has now been a widow for seven long days. I met her while VST was still alive. In fact, it was she who introduced us to the magic of Winterpast. Her expertise as a realtor helped me through my first week of widowhood while I was selling one home and moving into another. We both lost our husbands suddenly in violent and tragic ways. I know exactly how I felt when it happened to me. I haven’t a clue of what she is experiencing right now, but I’m pretty sure it’s hell.
This weekend, I decided to put together some gifts for her because at this time, words are clumsy. There’s no advice. No magic wand that can given her a short cut. Time WILL make things better, but the question is “How much?”. In her case, their love will last until the 12th of never, and that’s a long, long time.
Remembering back to April 2020, there were some things that kept me moving forward. They weren’t given to me through the advice of a counselor. All the grief specialists were hiding behind their locked doors, fearing the virus. They were little things I dreamed up that worked.
My first comfort, then and forever more, has been God. Plain and simple. God. I began studying the Bible. The most fascinating book on the planet. Real miracles changed my life after I was baptized December 12, 2021.
There were earthly rituals and items that helped, as well.
This very friend, now in anguish and shock gave me a special gift when I was a new widow. A garden angel that would light the night. For four years, this solar angel has glowed throughout the night, reminding me that real angels surround my life and keep me safe.
Another friend had given me a solar rainbow-maker for my window. Just when I’d least expect it, little rainbows would appear throughout the house. Little promises that life won’t remain dark and daunting.
For twelve long months, released balloons on 8th day of the month at 10:30 AM. You’d find me on the back lawn crying as I watched balloons ascend towards the heavens. Each month, there’d be one more added to the bunch. Making my fingers release the string became easier with time. 111 balloons released over 365 days carried a lot of grief heavenward.
I bought very soft, comfy pajamas in which to quarantine and hermitize. In some ways, Covid came at the perfect time for me. There didn’t need to be an excuse to stay home and avoid others. It was provided by the government. In those early days, I spent time unpacking and organizing, two chores that showed obvious results. About the only two things I could control as I started on my journey as one.
I chose a focus word a month. Single words described my life with VST. Friendship. Love. Adventure. Each time I became overwhelmed, the word of the month would remind me of countless memories, all precious and cherished. After remembering all the reasons I chose the word, I’d feel better and could continue on.
Each month, I bought one Christmas gift that represented the monthly word. On Christmas Eve, 2020, VST and I shared a private party. I’d written a letter to myself each month which reflected a life headed on a healthy journey.
Writing is life. Remember that. I journaled. Even if I had nothing to report on but the weather, I journaled. The time I got up. The time I went to bed. Everything in between. It’s all there. Some of it is cringeworthy. Other bits hilarious. There are a few books wrapped up in those journals that are neatly tucked away, unlike Grievinggardener.com, which also helped.
Yesterday, I filled a bag for my friend with items to help her begin her journey. Included was the little garden angel. She has a new job watching over her rightful owner. I put a ribbon on the rainbow maker, because everyone needs a promise of hope during their darkest days. A soft comfy nightgown will warm her on the crisp fall nights. A journal and pretty pen will help her put her thoughts on paper. And finally, a canister of helium and a box of tissues.
The sadness I feel for her is deep. Sometimes, it’s necessary to do something because nothing else that can be done. Right?
Whatever you do today, contact one widow and brighten her day. Tell her a new joke. Find out the latest news on her end. Spend time listening to her. Let her know you love her. Widowhood isn’t for the faint of heart. It takes courage, fortitude, resilience, and a community of best friends.
In the last week, two close friends have experienced the unexpected and tragic loss of a close family member. This is a tale of two families that chose differently. One family prepared a trust while the other meant to, but never got around to it. Both losses were immediate and final.
Planning for the future can involve things like engagements, rings, and honeymoons. It should also involve a trip to the attorney to make sure all legal aspects of one’s life are in order. I’m taking my turn at adulting today to visit my new best friend, Mr. Lawyer Man. I’d scheduled this appointment two weeks ago, before I received the tear-filled phone calls from my friends. Not totally unprotected, my own family trust was created on January 7, 2008 and revised in Nevada shortly before VST died in 2020. Thankfully, we both agreed it was important.
As for my friends……
A California farmer was the soul caregiver for his medically fragile wife and son until he died last week without a will or trust. The estate is now locked, from the credit cards to the safe. Without a trust, the state will take over and plan for the family, while their current needs continue. Funds to help care for the son and wife are available, however, they aren’t accessible right now. This process is quite lengthy, leaving a burden for the extended family.
There could be answers in the locked safe, however, no one can remember the combination. Even that small bit of information could be vital. While adulting, tell someone, somewhere, the location of your important documents and how to retrieve them.
The second family lost their beloved husband, father, and grandfather after he kissed his wife goodbye and left on his drive to work on Tuesday. Rear-ended in a horrific accident that made the news, he died at the scene. At an age most men retire and golf, he preferred to continue with his career. He was one of the finest men I’ve ever met, adored by all that knew him. In the blink of an eye, he was gone.
A professional man, he prepared for those he loved. His family now grieves their loss without locked bank accounts.
My understanding is this. A trust is like a virtual box in which you place your valuables, holding instructions that will be followed when you die. It protects your assets for distribution to those you chose to include. I am not an attorney, just a very protected widow who planned while I was still the very loved wife of VST.
Decision making regarding ones own death is never comfortable or fun. Just remember, it’s the adult thing to do and this is one of those times adulting isn’t fun.
While planning your trust, there are other legal issues to consider. Create a medical directive, Power of Attorney, and other essential documents. A lawyer will give you advice on the documents you need.
There are online sites that generate these documents for free. If you choose to use them be sure to complete the final step and have them notarized. Without that step, the documents aren’t valid and you return to the group in probate. A terrible thing for any family to experience at a time of grief.
As for my two dear friends, I hope their heavenward journeys were on the wings of angels. For them, the suffering and earthly work is over. For the surviving family members, I send prayers and love.
For those of us here on earth, it’s time to get prepared for life’s one certainty. We’re all headed down the same road, not knowing the time or day. Leave a paper trail of legal wishes for the family you love so much because it will make all the difference in the world when the time comes.
Whatever you do this weekend, have some fun! Tomorrow is the first day of fall. Get out and kick up some leaves. Enjoy some hot apple cider on a crisp morning. Just be grateful to be alive. Summer 2023 is behind us!!! We made it!!!!
Since God chose you to be the holy people he loves, you must clothe yourselves with tenderhearted mercy, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience. Make allowance for each other’s faults, and forgive anyone who offends you. Remember, the Lord forgave you, so you must forgive others. Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds us all together in perfect harmony. Colossians 3: 12-14
In these crazy days, that’s a tall order. With scammers, hackers, and cheats around us, those souls trying to do the right thing are often victims. But, not always.
Last Saturday, a UPS delivery woman rang my doorbell. She wore her scowl like armor as she shoved a package towards me. Who knows the reason she was upset. She WAS a UPS driver. I can’t imagine her days jumping in and out of a hot truck to deliver heavy packages while avoiding the hazards of the job. In the case of one poor soul Monday, a rattlesnake that put her in the ICU. Dogs are not always friendly, either.
This woman didn’t have time for a smile. No chit chat. No wave goodbye. Just the delivery, Ma’am. Nothing but the delivery. And a package for an entitled “Karen” at that. UGHHHH.
Until…..
She looked at me.
All of a sudden she broke into a brilliant smile. This actually transformed her into the beautiful young woman she was! Her eyes sparkled. She was actually grinning. For goodness sakes, there seemed to be an immediate glow!
The morning had already been filled with dead cell phone battery craziness and an unplanned trip to Walmart. I’d answered the door in haste and forgotten something silly. I was wearing my golden “BRIDE” tiara while making apple pies for the party that night. Alexa was playing our wedding play. I think “Happy” by Pharrell was on. She probably heard me singing off key when she rang the bell.
“Are YOU getting MARRIED?????” she asked, as if we’d been besties forever.
Then it was my turn to put a smile on my flour-dusted face!
“Oh MY! I forgot the tiara. YES, I AM!!!” I replied, as my hand immediately went up to grab the tiara.
We were both giggling by this point.
“CONGRATUATIONS! This is the best news of my day!”
The young woman sprinted to her truck, turning to wave once more before she drove away. She was still smiling.
She changed my morning, too. It’s okay to be silly while baking apple pie. A woman shouldn’t be shy about wearing a “Bride” tiara when she is one! No matter the age, being the bride is an exciting time in life.
If I’d grabbed the package and slammed the door, she would have continued on her grumpy way. This tiny exchange was enough that it made its place in my wedding journal.
Our upcoming nuptials seem to have that affect on the people around us. It IS delightful that two sexagenarians (one six months from becoming a septuagenarian) have found something that people look for their entire life. LOVE. How wonderful that we are the ones that can spread some happy news. We both paid it forward in our separate journeys through the wilderness of widowhood. We’re drinking in every single smile from family and friends. It’s our turn to Be Happy.
Whatever you do today, reach out to a person that’s having a rotten day. All it takes is a smile. Think about someone gruff and offer them a little tenderhearted mercy, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience. You might be surprised how nice they look sporting a smile.
Well? Sometimes you need to come up with a creative fix. Hat’s off to the mom that figured out a round-about way to fix a problem with technology. Screenshotting still has me a bit baffled. I’ll remember this hack.
Last weekend, MM and I had another type of techno-failure. Much to our horror, MM’s very expensive iPhone was unable to charge from the cord. No small problem, as our phones have our lives on them. Along with communications with the outside world, most people have phone numbers, addresses, photos, calendars, and even banking. I wish my eyes were young enough to do banking on my phone. I’m lucky enough to still be able to text.
Well, this dying cell phone gave us both a fright. With a house full of guests arriving at 5 PM, we’d need to jump in the car and make a 40 minute trip to the biggest little city to the west. Then, we’d hope to get an appointment with a specialist to diagnose the problem. All the while the battery life was dwindling.
10%.
9%.
8% .
With every plug and brick we tried, there was no improvement.
7%.
Just when we though things couldn’t be more dire, MM had a marvelous thought. With the phone at 2% remaining battery life, he remembered that the new luxury car in the garage could charge the phone without a cord. This feature only works with iPhones, but that was exactly the phone needing charging.
Racing to the garage, we started the car and gently laid the phone on the charging station. With that, we both returned to the house to wait for a few minutes. Ten minutes later, the phone was charging. Disaster averted. Thank goodness. With the approaching nuptials and honeymoon at hand, a new cell phone isn’t exactly in October’s budget.
After diagnosing a fix for the phone, the next move was to purchase a pad charger. Of course, the obvious source for this device would be Walmart. For $40, the problem was solved. While we were paying for the device, the associate was kind to let us know this problem happens quite frequently.
Some days I long for the olden years when phones were wired into the wall. Not even with removable cords. Wired in. I remember sneaking late night calls with my boyfriend at my father’s desk. The phone cord was just long enough for me to lay on carpet and talk. Of course, all calls were monitored and timed unless they were made after the very tired farmer and his wife were asleep. Such sweet innocence.
As a young mom of the 90’s, I rocked a 50′ phone cord which allowed me to do housework while catching up on the latest with my bestie. CC and I accomplished many domestic tasks at the ends of those extension phone cords. Didn’t seem to slow us down one bit.
Who would have thought that battery life would become an issue? That photo albums and scrapbooking would become a thing of the past? That a phone would display the 10-day weather forecast or announce messages from people that really don’t like to talk anymore? I almost wish a cell phone wasn’t so necessary for daily life in 2023.
MM’s phone is fully charged since Saturday. It was a wake up call that a techno-fail could cause us to derail at any point. Just another thing that can happen here on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada.
Whatever you do today, think about the age of your phone. If it’s been a few years, you might want to start saving for a new one. Some of them cost more than my first car. Remember to keep your phone clean, shiny, and on a charging schedule. Things just work better that way.
The very things we think will never happen to us sometimes do. The following situation has been affecting me for the last three days. I guess I’ve been lucky to enjoy shopping online for all these years without incident. After this experience, I’ll change my routine a bit.
Like everyone, Amazon has lulled me into becoming an internet shopper over the years. I first learned of Amazon back in 1996 when, as a teacher, it was the best place to find and buy books. In the beginning, they started selling books. As a newbie, I attended a librarian’s conference. It was there the word “Amazon” was the buzz among educators. No more trips to Barnes and Noble. Amazon would deliver books right to your door. Imagine that!
Through the years, I’ve often joked that you could probably get a live pony delivered by Amazon. I certainly have ordered weird things like a rototiller and snow blower. Slowly, Amazon has become my go to place for spa chemicals, garden tools, and party dresses. That was, until last week.
Seven days ago, I started receiving weird text notices on my phone. They were notices involving a two-step authentication in order to proceed with my purchase. The funny thing was, there were no purchases on the days I received these notices. I simply blocked the sender and didn’t give it another thought.
Now, every bride-to-be understands the necessity of Amazon Prime. At the moment, I’m receiving deliveries of cutlery, tablecloths, and clothing. Each day, I only need to think of something I need for the wedding and I’m off to place another order. Online shopping saves time and gas. It also helps to assure that the needed items will arrive. The mind of a bride is often a little foggy.
With the notices dismissed, I didn’t give it another thought until Sunday. Needing to order something, I attempted to sign into my account. Low and behold, my password had been changed. No problem. They would send a two-step verification notice to my e-mail. Except that, the emails never came. I was locked out of my own account. Frozen from my purchase history. Estranged from a return for which I hadn’t yet received a refund.
If anyone else lived here at Winterpast with me, they would’ve been suspect. Heck, Oliver might have been questioned, but he’s been at puppy camp for a little respite from the bride. Some devious soul had hacked my account and changed the password. I’m just fortunate it hadn’t happened since 1996.
And so began the phone calls with Amazon associates that live in far away countries while all named John, Mike, Dave, or Sue. Each one would assure me that they’d fix me right up as soon as they sent me an email. No emails ever arrived. Through four different people, each reading the same script, no emails ever came. Although I received other emails successfully, there are none from Amazon. Not in the inbox. Not in the Spam. Not in the Trash. And so, there was nothing that could be done, they told me. Sorry. No can do.
My association with Amazon is effectively over. The hackers won.
The dear associates trying to help me need a new script. Over and over they read the same instructions. The directives that didn’t work on Call #1, #2, #3, and #4. Doing the same thing over and over while getting the same results is a cesspool of frustration. I’m appalled that a company as large as Amazon doesn’t have a fix for the hacker that got me. Let me assure you. They do not.
“I’m Sorry Meez Joy. Nothing can be done.”
Their advice to me? Contact my email provider. It must be THEIR problem.
OY.
VEY.
Maybe I should just chill and watch a movie on Amazon Prime?
One small problem with that idea.
“Please sign into your account. We will send you a verification code via email.”
Not happening any time soon.
The best advice I have to share is this. Do not leave your credit card on file anywhere online. Just do not. It takes very little time to type in a credit card number each time you order something. Although it’s very convenient, it’s not safe. For that matter, really consider whether or not you need an account. Shop as a guest. At my current level of frustration, I’ll be looking for other options. Perhaps Walmart and Costco Online.
In the mean time, I reported fraud on my credit card and requested a new number. It’ll be necessary to contact everyone that charges me on a monthly basis. Unnecessary work that shouldn’t happen, except that it does when one lives in the world in which we do.
Living in remote places is difficult at times. With only one Walmart within 30 miles, my shopping will now be severely limited. Great for the budget. Not so great when trying to plan last minute details for a wedding.
That’s the news for today. Stay aware. Vigilant. Alert. At the first sign of any strange messages or e-mails, investigate to make sure they aren’t from crafty hackers. Don’t open anything that looks suspicious.
Whatever you do today, make a plan to check on your financial accounts at least once a week. Most banks have user friendly services in which you can take a look and make sure all charges are yours. Alert the bank immediately if you have any fraudulent activities. Just use the number on the back of your credit card. Better safe than sorry.
What a beautiful Weekend! Although I need a few weekdays to rest and recover, I will say that it’s been some time since I’ve enjoyed such fun. Thinking back to the events of Saturday and Sunday fills me with amazement and wonder. For the blessing of friends and neighbors I am so grateful.
The weekend did start differently than MM and I had planned. The invitations arrived a day late, making Friday night crunch time to address them. My Mysterious Marine, and soon to be husband, arrived with his names and addresses at the ready. I was prepared with my trusty address book. Together, we addressed, stuffed, stamped, and licked each one. Someone asked if MM watched TV while I did the addressing. Nope. He was there every step of the way, even when ingesting the retched envelope glue. A Ride or Die friend. That’s my MM.
Saturday, we’d planned a little dinner party with neighbors to announce our engagement. Just a few guests. Seventeen to be exact. MM had been over most of the day beautifying the gardens here at Winterpast. We set up tables and chairs for 18 as the first leaves of the season were falling.
For our menu, we chose Rustic Country BBQ. We started with Chips and dips, crackers and cheese. For the main course, we served BBQ Chicken with Sweet Baby Ray’s sauce, baked beans, green salad, and homemade Mac N’ Cheese. There were two homemade apple pies for desert. The food must have been good, because most of it was gone by the end of the night.
Laughter floated on the evening air. Just a bunch of neighbors from houses on the block getting to know one another better. I learned the following.
1. We have a bowling champion and master quilter living just a few doors away.
2. My new neighbor across the street has the most precious smile.
3.Everyone loves a good glass of wine and conversation.
4.My margarita maker is still the hit of any party.
5. Ninja Neighbor and her tribe are a blessing to the entire street.
I learned about neighborhood parties from my Auntie TJ. She started this whole thing years ago with a Christmas party. Just an open house that started at 5, because 5 is the most elegant hour to start a party. The same magic occurred at her house, whether at Christmas or 4th of July. She knew how to draw the neighbors in and slowly, a family was formed. Even today, when I visit her small coastal town, I still need to visit the neighbors, because they’re my friends too. Heck, I even met a real, honest to goodness Goddess of the Central Coast along the way.
Saturday night, the Dolls of the Desert Plains and their men-folk were delightful. We’re already thinking about our next party, to be held in December. We’ll still be honeymooning. A perfect time to celebrate new beginnings.
Of course, we had wedding invitations for everyone with hugs all around as this was neighborhood NEWS. I couldn’t have been more proud of MM. While BBQ-ing, he visited with everyone, being the perfect host and fiancé.
Sunday was a day for worship at our little church. Twenty more invitations were delivered followed by more hugs and squeals of delight. In a few days time, a little desert church sitting on a wide spot along the interstate will be the place to be. SRO. Standing Room Only.
There, at the end of the aisle, my Mysterious Marine will be waiting just for me. As long as he’s there, everything will be alright. Somewhere along the way, I must’ve done something good.
As we plan to squeeze out the last bit of summer fun this weekend, I share a rare picture of the gardens of Winterpast and Wookie with you. If you look closely, you’ll see the greenhouse towards the top, just left of center. Blessed with this oasis, gardening is something that is a pleasure, without demanding too many days of back-breaking labor. At least for me. MM might tell you a different tale.
This year, MM has planted three hostas, seven roses, and two Japanese Maple trees. To accomplish this, he used his own trusty pick ax to make holes in the desert soil. Any Mysterious Marine that owns a pick ax is a good guy! Then, he went on to pour a concrete foundation and, with the help of his trusty “go-for” girl, build our 10′ x 14′ greenhouse.
The Greenhouse at Winterpast.
This summer, the back yard has come to life. This is, in part, due to the wonderful plant supplement called “SuperThrive”. If you garden and haven’t found this product, do some research and buy some. It’s not cheap, it’s used sparingly. On an average yard, 4 oz. will last a season or more. It’s worth it’s weight in gold. Unlike “Miracle Grow”, which works on leaf production, “Super Thrive” works to stimulate root growth. The two together produce amazing results.
Earlier in the year, we went on a garden tour in the land of Top Gun, just to the east. A woman had the most beautiful hydrangea. Not the usual one found at Grandma’s house on the coast, but a very different plant thriving in the hot desert sun. I fell in love with it and purchased my own at the local nursery.
After bringing this delicate beauty home, I did a very stupid thing. Replanted, I set the new plant in full sun as the directions said to do. However, full sun in the desert isn’t the best idea when you have just repotted something. This gorgeous plant lost almost every leaf, even with lots of water and Miracle Grow. She was stressed to the max.
MM assured me no worry was necessary. After all, there is always the magic of “Super Thrive”. I lacked faith the magic would work. He proved me wrong. The plant, moved to the shade of the back patio, is thriving. With thick green foliage, she’s a happy plant that will winter in the greenhouse.
Twinkling lights grace all the trees in the yard. Up-lighting illuminates my “banyan” apricot tree. The Christmas present of outdoor lighting that MM lovingly installed in early spring, provide a soft glow to the perimeter of Winterpast as the days shorten, turning into cool desert evenings. The best kind of evening for a block party.
With hand written invitations already delivered, 20 neighbors are coming over tomorrow night to enjoy BBQ chicken, Mac N Cheese, fruit, green salad, and signature homemade apple pie. And the great news of upcoming nuptuals. It’ll be fun to spend the evening visiting with friends from our block.
Lighting can make all the difference.
In the background, the wedding favors are in the final phase of completion. Little stickers are secured on the bottom of 300 Hershey’s kisses. Plates, cups, and cutlery for the wedding sit waiting for the big day. THE dress is selected. Shoes are purchased. Thirty favorite songs are now part of my first-ever personal play list. Invitations should arrive today to be sent out ASAP. During this past week, progress has been made, eliminating the need for bridal nightmares.
With a life full of friends and family here on the desert, happiness brings with it laughter and a peace that surpasses all understanding. Memories of a wonderful past life are as beautiful as the blooms of Winterpast. The present is rich and overflowing with fulfilling activities. The future, just like the rose, will unfold under God’s watchful eye. It’s just the way life is.
Whatever you do today, make it count. If you are a person of faith, read some in your Bible. If you already do that, don’t just read it, study it. Such a rich tapestry of life and all the lessons it holds. If your eyesight isn’t the best, listen to the words. Biblegateway.com is a wonderful website offering most languages and versions of the Bible online. Check it out!!
All my attention has been towards music in these past days. Music that will be the backdrop at the best reception of the years. Ours. If you’re a vicenarian or tricenarian, musical choices are fresh and obvious. Just turn on the radio and choose the songs you know and love. Us sexagenarians have extra decades full of musical choices. Old songs carry us back to simpler times.
I grew up in a house full of music. My parents loved music and made sure that we were exposed to it. My father played the trombone in high school. His instrument stayed in the closet until they sold the ranch, a brass object of mystery. My mother played the piano beautifully. The oldest sister escaped and became a twirling majorette. The next played the accordian, the middle one chose the clarinet. And then, there was me.
I learned a little of this and a little of that. Is started with percussion and piano. As I grew, being too cool for the marching band, I stuck with choir, using the instrument God gave me. I played the guitar for a few years, learning enough chords to accompany many popular ballads of the 70’s. Yes, music has always been a part of my life.
Having hours to fill, MM and I came to a quick agreement. Each one of us will pick 25 of our favorite songs. They will be added to a computerized play list, one of his, one of mine, until we have 50. At 3 – 4 minutes a song, that will cover it. Sounds easy, right? Take the challenge, yourself. You’ll find lots of instructions online. Keep trying until you get it.
My list takes me back to a time when my sisters were in high school and I was 5 years old. Having older siblings, I gained a broader appreciation for musical selections outside my own age group. Sam Cooke and Etta James will make a special appearance. But, Jason Mraz also made the mix.
The DJ we chose will be a brand new nephew of mine. This young guy will control the room and get the party started. If you can’t smile in his presence, you might not be in a mood for a wedding reception. At least, not ours. He’ll be the perfect DJ to guide a wonderful night.
Just for fun!!!!
One requested dance to happen sometime during the night will be La Conga. Other than that, it will be dancing as usual. No German Polkas. No chicken dance. No electric slide. Just a lot of people on the dance having a great time.
Whatever you do today, enjoy some music. It can lift you right out of a terrible day. Turn on the radio and dance a bit. It will get your blood flowing. Just ask Alexa for your favorites. She will help you find some tunes.
There are hundreds of decisions to be made when planning a traditional wedding. Ceremony. Vows. Flowers. Music. Food. Cake. And most important of all, THE DRESS.
Oy.
Vey.
One of the most stressful things for me on any day is the hunt for THE right dress for THE day, quickly approaching. There is a a weird comfort that we are not yet in our wedding month. But, that isn’t reality. The reality is, I need something stunning to wear as I walk down the aisle towards my awaiting groom. Men have it so easy. A suit and tie. Good to go. I must find this form fitting stunner in 28 days or less. The heat is on.
It’s not like I haven’t been trying. Amazon is a great place to buy all kinds of things. Anything you can think of can be delivered to your door. Heck, I even bought my snow blower and lawn mower using the site. The two potting tables sitting in the new greenhouse came from Amazon. Heck, the greenhouse was ordered online. They have anything and everything but the perfect dress.
There has been the need to involve the bank fraud department when I didn’t receive my refund for a July return. There have been dresses that were designed for an XL child. All tawdry and overpriced. Yet, the need for a dress overrides the obvious fact that it’s very hard to find clothing that’s perfect when shopping online. Almost a miracle if you find something.
I did receive the perfect dress, in the perfect size and shade of blue. It was lovely in every way. From Amazon, I held my breath to see how it would fit. Indeed, it fit perfectly. Just one little problem. It had been treated with something around the neck, and was now purple in those areas. A perfectly wonderful defective dress.
Returned.
I’ve visited a tony Bridal salon. It didn’t go well either. Ball gowns, mermaid designs, fit and flare, and just plain “out-there” designs. That was my experience as I looked at traditional gowns. There is nothing traditional about me. I’m a gardening, 67 year old grandmother of 12 that does best in a tee-shirt, shorts, and flat shoes. I don’t wear jewelry or pearls. I’m not a 21 year old bride walking down the aisle while flashing a veiled blush at her new groom.
White is out. Cream is right there with it. No greys or muted colors. And for goodness sakes, it goes without saying “NOOOOOO VEIL”. This sexagenarian does need some color in her dress.
Although the exact color will remain a secret, I was in search of MM’s favorite. I wish I could say that I found a dress in that color. It’s hard to find. So, I went with a color that enhances my natural beauty.
Yesterday, I met with my future Step-Daughter-in-Law-and-Love. Taking off work, she met with me for support as the hunt continued. We looked at all kinds of formal attire. From pant suits (I’m not Bea Arthur from the Golden Girls, although we were both retired teachers), to skirts, to dresses in every color of the rainbow.
I asked for two things. Sleeves and length. The need for long sleeves should be explanatory to anyone with arm wings. I cannot expose the wings to be documented in the eternity of wedding photos. Not. Going. To. Happen. With Size 11’s in flats, the longer the dress the better. Yes. Length. No pants. Sleeves.
And the circus began.
I finally found one dress that would do. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t horrible. It just didn’t feel exactly right. But, with nothing else that was close, it was the front runner.
Until………
I decided to do one more walk-about the store to make sure there was nothing I might have missed.
There, hiding between many other dresses, I found it.
Color — Check
Arms — Check
Length — Check
Fit and Finish — Check
Everyone agreed. It was THE ONE.
A heart-felt thanks to the sweetest of friends for taking time from her busy day to come and help. Not only did we find success with the dress but we also decided on the cake, which she’ll be designing and creating for her dad and me. She’s an amazing woman!
With one big worry off my mind, I was about to leave the store when I remembered that I do need a pair of flats. In 10 minutes, I found, tried on, and purchased the cutest shoes. If you wear a weird size like 11 Narrow, you know, this NEVER, EVER happens on any day in any universe. But it did. Yesterday. In the biggest little city to the west of me.
Color. It’s all about the color!
Whatever you do today, go through your wardrobe and see what you are missing. Do a little shopping. Find something new that makes you feel as special as an October bride. It doesn’t need to be sparkly or expensive. Just crisp and new. Everyone needs a new look once in awhile on their journey towards home.
This is a very view of the classroom in which I learned about respect for self, others, and country. Although this photo was taken a few years before my time, the elementary school I attended impressed upon my classmates and I the importance of self discipline. We learned to attend to the lessons at hand and then, learned about the wonders of the world. My teachers could grab the attention of the most squirrelly child, and they did. One way or the other.
Moving forward to 9/11/2023, it’s much more difficult to reproduce this picture. From my recent classroom experience, there’d be breakfast wrappers and juice boxes on the tables. There’d be plenty of nonsense blaring from the loudspeaker in the room. I would’ve just finished passing out breakfasts, taken attendance, wiped spills, opened juice boxes, all while teaching the emotional-social lesson for the day. No time for skippidity-dippity kiddos rushing in for their morning hug and report on the birth of six kitten during the night. Just the rigors of mandated programs and procedures.
I’m sure it’s even more intense this year than last. God bless the teachers and students as they search to find meaningful experiences in the classrooms of today. In my very small town, a handful of teachers made sure that happened on September 11, 2023.
How and why is it that the history of September 11 is not the first thing kids learn about every year????? Just how???? Without a teacher that knows the importance, it’s become just another day. The fifth day of the 2023-24 school year.
Our town will NEVER forget 9/11. Each year, there is an amazing program at the firehouse with the biggest American flag hanging from a boom truck. All the firemen attend in their dress uniforms. The firehouse is scrubbed and shiny, as you would expect a firehouse to be.
My fabulous fiancé who will remain MM for now, and I took our spot in the front row a few minutes before the program began. In the crowd, there were plenty of people I’ve met over the four summers I’ve been a desert gal. Town folk that I now consider friends.
Ninja neighbor started things off by singing the National Anthem. Along with being prettier than Carrie Underwood (and I am not kidding on that one), she jumped right up and belted out the most beautiful song. A cappello. Never drifted off key. I got the feeling that if she wanted too, she could have even been more powerful with her gorgeous voice. A local super-star!!! Who knew?
There were poems and thoughts about the day. My soon-to-be-Brother-in Law-and-Love, The Mayor, gave a rousing speech. And then, we were all hit by a powerhouse of a man.
Major General Ondra L. Berry — Maj. Gen. Ondra L. Berry is the adjutant general of the state of Nevada, the highest ranking officer in the Nevada Guard. He works as the chief advisor to Nevada Gov. Joe Lombardo on all matters affecting the 4,400 soldiers, airmen and civilians in the Nevada Guard.
Major General L. Berry
There were all kinds of people in the audience, but there was a special group of dignitaries that sat outside on the asphalt. Criss-cross-applesauce, butts on the ground. Sixty youngsters. I’m guessing 5th or 6th grade. In a school district of almost 9,000 kids, 60 were treated to the speech of a lifetime. Rising to the occasion, they sat at attention when the Major General began to speak.
He talked to all of us about love of country and what it means to be a first responder. Bravery. Honor. Courage. Faith. Self-respect. Love of Country. Pride. Dreams. REMEMBERING. Being Battle Born. Battle Trained. Battle Ready. Being Proud Nevadans.
Those children, along with the rest of us, drank in his every word. I have no doubt that if one of those kids misbehaved, he would have stepped in to chat. They knew that. It didn’t matter because he commanded the attention of the entire room in the best way possible. He praised the courage and wisdom of the teachers that had made THIS lesson, one of life’s important ones.
As he spoke, he physically turned his body and attention to the children. The speech about the adult topics of patriotism and service to others was delivered to these children. He made eye contact with them as he delivered the message. Never, ever, ever forget.
By the way, he needed no microphone. This man controlled the room, not with volume, but with content.
His speech should have been mandatory viewing for every sing student in our huge school district. The entire event should have been zoomed into every classroom across our high desert plains. But, it wasn’t. Just 60 very lucky kids and their teachers, sitting criss-cross-applesauce for an hour.
Amazing Grace was performed by kilt-wearing pipers.
A 21 gun salute boomed as spent shells hit the ground.
The 5-5-5 bells tolled for the fallen firefighters.
Long before telephones and radios, fire departments used the telegraph to communicate. When the handle was pulled on the once-familiar red fire alarm boxes found on nearly every street corner of America, a special code was transmitted to every fire station. When a firefighter died in the line of duty, the fire alarm office would tap out a special signal. That signal was five measured dashes, then a pause, then five measured dashes, another pause…then five more dashes. This became universally known as the Tolling of the Bell and was broadcast over all telegraph fire alarm circuits. This signal was a sign of honor and respect for all firefighters who had made the ultimate sacrifice and has become a time-honored tradition.
I’m so proud to live in a patriotic town. I’m glad personally know the Sheriff that keeps us safe from harm. How lucky to have a brother that is steering the direction of our town. Blessed am I to have a Fire Chief that is a man among men. I chose well a town that values the ideals of our country as I do.
What a meaningful day of remembrance!
Whatever you do today, think in terms of kindness. Give others the benefit of the doubt and focus on the good that is all around us. Negative thoughts only eat away at a happy heart. Turn your own thoughts towards something happy. It’s good for the soul.
Twenty-two years ago, there were things I hadn’t experienced yet. At 45, I hadn’t yet celebrated the first birthday of my 1 month old grandchild. I hadn’t harvested the 12th crop of raisins from our Thompson Seedless vineyard. I hadn’t finished my 5th year of teaching 3rd Grade in Room 20. I hadn’t experienced an all-out attack on the country I love so much. I was just a young teacher driving across the countryside to work another day.
I’d just become an empty nester with two sons serving in the United States Air Force. One would just be leaving the gates of an East Coast base for reassignment to a west coast base. The other son was translating information from bad guys while eavesdropping high above the clouds over England. My sons were grown men on their own. My full attention focused on 20 high-energy 8-year-old’s who loved their teacher, Mrs. Hurt.
Although I was a seasoned traveler, I’d never traveled to New York. It never appealed to someone like me. A concrete jungle is too confining. This country girl needed wide open spaces, often feeling claustrophobic by the miles and miles of perfectly groomed vineyards. New York might as well have been the wilds of Tanzania or Zimbabwe. To this very day, I’ve never visited and have no desire to change that.
The morning of 9/11/2001, I was “Any American Teacher”. Papers in – Papers out. Corrected assignments in the roller cart in the trunk of my car. Black line master’s for the new assignments ready to copy. Just one last thing to do. Kiss VST goodbye for the day and head out to get my XL Diet Coke at the 76 station. Same routine every day. Rain or shine. Bloom or harvest. Just another normal day.
I loved my morning soda stop. The owner of the store happened to be of Middle-Eastern descent. Never gave it much thought. Thought about it a lot in the days to follow.
“Hey, Meez Hurt! Ready to teach today?” He’d always have a nice greeting for me. I’d just grab the soda, run.
On this morning, he was watching his TV screen.
“What’s up? Hot news?”
I saw the initial smoke from the sky-scrapers. Didn’t look too exciting. Something in New York. But, wasn’t there ALWAYS something in New York? The news said a small plane had hit the World Trade Center. Ahh, how sad for the families involved. I wished him well and went on my way.
Along the way, the radio filled me in on how the world had just changed in an instant. Arriving at school, I wasn’t the same Mrs. Hurt that’d just left the safety of the ranch. In an instant, I was the mom of two Airmen. I was the daughter of parents that had just flown across the Atlantic while returning from a golden anniversary trip to Europe. I was the grandmother of a little baby that would live his entire life in a world changed in horrific ways.
20 kids would enter Room 20 at 7:45 am. 20 kids would need answers and 7.5 hours of love and care from one traumatized teacher that just needed a minute to scream, “WHY????”
9/11/2001.
The teachers all wore dark glasses to hide our shock and tears that day. We took turns cramming around the secretary’s desk to watch the coverage, while making sure the kids outside had yard duty teachers to watch over them. We tried to carry on as we would on any regular school day. That’s what you do when you’re in charge of littles. No matter what, count heads and keep going.
Children figure things out. One child knew. Then another. Then another. Finally, with little eyes focused on one very scared teacher, we sat on the carpet in a big circle and talked about what had just happened. They asked questions. I told them I really didn’t know, because teachers certainly don’t know everything on a day like that. They cried a little bit. So did I. And then, we brainstormed.
One child had a brilliant idea. Could they write letters and draw pictures for the nurses and doctors in New York? What about the firemen? And policeman? Could they watercolor?
“Mrs. Hurt, we don’t know how to write a letter! Can you help us? “
“How do you spell doctor?”
“Where is New York City?”
“Are the bad people coming here?”
So many lessons were covered that day. The geography of the United States of America. Art. Kindness. Love. Support. Penmanship. Spelling. Grammar. As a family 3rd Graders, we were a class on a mission. Together, we clawed our way through the first day of a new way of life. The blue-sky, happy-go-luckiness of before was gone forever more.
Years, later, in 2014, I went to my last 9/11 remembrance at PELCO in Clovis, California. PELCO was one of the companies supplying surveillance cameras in the World Trade Center. Throughout the horrific order, the employees had maintained a special relationship with their friends in New York and held a yearly service that was something to experience. A block of land in the California parking lot had been deeded to New York. A piece of beam from the World Trade Center rests in a small museum there. Family born of blood.
After the ceremony, I was getting ready to leave when someone tapped me on the shoulder. As I turned, two young adults stood before me. I couldn’t place them at first.
“Mrs. Hurt. It’s you!”
“Hi there! I am so sorry. It’s been a morning and a few years have passed. You’re going to need to help me out.”
As quick as anything, the young woman shared a memory and code that only a member of Room 20 would know. And then, she smiled. It’s always in the smile. Just like that, my heart remembered her. My little student from long ago. My Allegra.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hurt. You were there for us. You kept us safe that day.” 13 years later, it was she that comforted her teacher. We both cried as we held each other tight. Just like that, we tumbled back in time to the horrible day we tried to make things better with crayons, paint, and a lesson in letter writing.
So much lost and so much found on September 11.
Whatever you do today, REMEMBER. Sit for a moment. THINK. Find one thing you could make better today and ACT. Each 9/11, I give one gift to a place it will do the most good. Say Hello to someone that looks down. Help a neighbor that needs it. Call a lonely friend. Do something really good, on a day that, long ago, was really bad. Please, just REMEMBER. Never, ever, ever forget. But then, how could anyone forget what we lost that day?
A quick note. If you have not heard of Gander, Newfoundland and the miracle that occurred there on 9/11 learn about it. TODAY. There is a wonderful play online. Come From Away. Read the back story about the 30+ jumbo jets that had to land in on an airstrip, emptying all their passengers into a town of 6,000+. Learn about it and the love shared by strangers. It will change you in a good way.
Another step closer to OUR day. There are so many things on my “To Do” list, I had to make one dedicated to bridal activities. Having much more energy in my younger years, I need to find the proper pace. One task at a time. One day at a time. Yesterday we knocked two important chores out of the park inviting exhaustion.
In a few short weeks, we’ll meet with family and friends in a tiny little out-of-the way chapel to exchange vows. But for now, we’re an engaged couple needing to make a major decision on rings. Not just any rings. Custom rings with bling. Rings that can handle a beautiful night out as well as a shovel and mulch. Rings that will be notice to everyone we meet that I am his wife and he is my husband.
MM knows more people and services than I thought possible. In our village or the surrounding towns, he knows where to go and who to see. When the subject of rings came up, he immediately knew of THE guy. Friends since high school, this sweet man remembered the high school track record that MM still holds to this day. While this man competed in Track and Field events different than those MM did, he knew the legend that walked into his store yesterday afternoon.
His beautiful wife of 32 years set out to work. Picking our brains while sitting together like four old friends, they presented us with the perfect design that will be handcrafted just for us from four rings that hold memories of two precious lifetimes. Our old wedding rings.
Without our late spouses, we wouldn’t be the people we are today. VST and Sunflower have teamed up to help us along the way. I love hearing stories about her. I probably tell too many stories about VST. It seemed like the perfect way to bring them into our lives in a special way. Four rings never removed for a combined total of 50 years. Now, that’s some seasoned gold and diamonds that will forever sparkle and shine!
Stunning creation. That’s all I can say. Our rings will be absolute masterpieces. And, custom. No other rings in world will be like ours. With not a day to spare, we’ll meet them for a final fitting and approval in two weeks. The rings will be complete by our wedding day.
Rings — Check.
Like some kind of royalty, I get deliveries of wedding dresses on a daily basis. Thank Goodness for Amazon!!! I think you could have a small pony delivered from Amazon if you needed one. This service has saved countless trips to the store. Everything ordered has arrived within 1-2 days. Not quite right? Drop it off at the UPS Store for an immediate refund. With time short, this shopping option has been heaven sent.
It’s time to set up a Hen Party here at Winterpast to get final opinions from my home-town Ride-Or-Dies. Mimosa’s and the fashion show to help me pick the most important dress I will own. I’ll need to put out more chairs for the viewing gallery.
I will say that at my age, white isn’t a good color for many reasons. I plan to be wearing a color that suits me. The dress will be an evening gown with sparkles. Right now, that’s all I’m divulging.
Dress– 1/2 checked.
MM is busy selecting his “Jerry Garcia” tie. The poor groom gets little to be excited about. It is the bride’s show. I can’t wait to see what he picks to go with his black suit and fedora. They’ll be one sharp dressed man waiting for me at the alter.
Groom’s Attire – Check
Today is a day to celebrate with Virginia City girlfriends over lunch. I can tell you that the outpouring of love and support for MM and I has been more than I could have ever imagined. In this my 10th fall as a Nevadan, my roots are healthy, strong, and desert bound.
*Bridal Hoopla – Check
When VST and I first found loveliness in the home now named Winterpast, we’d found home. There wasn’t a question for either of us. Cancer already had him in a death grip, but no one had told us that yet. The place would be perfect.
On the way home that first day, VST asked me a very strange question.
“Will you be happy there, Darlin’?”
At the time, I was not happy with that question, telling him so. Wouldn’t WE be happy there? Just WHEN hadn’t I been happy with our life together? And so on.
As things turned out, I moved out of VC into Winterpast on the 17th day as a new widow.
VST, as you enjoy heaven’s life, you already know the answer to your question about my happiness.
Yes, VST. I am happy here.
Winterpast is everything it has needed to be and more. This dusty little town is my dusty little town. The high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada hold my heart. Thanks for helping me find the perfect place to heal and grow into this phase in my life. Thanks for being my Northern Star. You’ve guided me well. Rest In Peace.
Whatever you do today, choose a project and start a daily march toward it. Develop something in the garden. Repaint something. Re-arrange your living space into something new. In my case, I just happen to be planning a wedding. I hope you’re enjoying the ride!
Some days, I just shake my head and smile at the obvious. Blessing abound in this beautiful world. I don’t believe life is made of random accidents. Day by day, we’re presented with certain circumstances, dealing with them as we see fit. Some seem like delightfully happy accidents that open a new world. In my life, divine intervention occurs on a daily basis. This desert gal is no accidental tourist.
Consider my story.
One broken widow grieved in Virginia City. One sorrowful widower in grieving in a small town to the east. Both grieving deeply for the long time loves they lost, while working steps to heal their hearts. Two Grieving Gardeners.
Now on her own, she moved to his town alone. He began redecorating his home and life. She found complaint with one very stubborn little grieving dog. He lost his canine companion of 16 years and started over with a crazy puppy who liked to hop. She nearly lost her mind caring for the place that would help her winter pass. He fished. She wrote. The both gardened while God watched over them as days turned into years.
With long days filled with with loneliness, they both longed for the 4th chapter of their lives. They had raised themselves, and kids. They had made a living and a life. It was time to live again. Happiness was a choice they both made every day, even in the stranglehold of loneliness. Separately, they took a chance and ventured onto the world of online dating. And there, with only six miles between the two, they met.
Her first texted question was about the actual size of the fish he was holding in one of his internet pictures. His first texted answer was an actual answer about the size and species of fish and location caught. Text. Text. Text. Dinner. And just like that, a friendship bloomed.
Those short sentences make it seem so simple and the last year has been just that. Fresh, clear, simple, and obvious. No drama. No secrets. No devious motives. A friendship between two “60-Something’s” that became much, much more. Two dogs that jump and twirl at the mention of the other’s name. All beginning with a simple question about a fish.
Over the last year, my life’s mural has gained color and form. The gardens of Winterpast have benefited from the care of two gardeners instead of just one lonely lady watering her plants with tears. Our potato crops are bountiful. The tomato worms don’t stand a chance. We’ve erected a complete greenhouse. I’m learning to enjoy a little golf or football, and eagerly await the next season of “Wicked Tuna”. I’m remembering how to cook good food while serving it to a man that really enjoys a tasty meal.
When selecting my life’s puzzle pieces, I want no harm to come to others. Many times, I spend more time thinking about the resulting fall out then what’s really best for me. As the survivor of a farming family, in the past everything came before self. The animals. The crop. The creditors. At the very end of the list was “Self”. When I found myself alone, I had to learn that I am the only person that matters right now. That’s still an adjustment.
When piecing together a good and happy life, one needs to use brain power and discernment. Our brains were turned on at birth. Throughout life, we’ve made billions of decisions. So many people forget to use lists of logical pros and cons to make the right choice. If your brain is in a fog, like mine these days, borrow one. We are surrounded by so many every day. At least one will be functioning properly, we would hope. Ask friends. Ask professionals. Ask. But, then, look at all the possibilities and complete your very own puzzle.
Staring at the blank page before you, open up the window and let the sun illuminate the words you could not find.
Reach for something in the distance so close you can almost taste it.
Release your inhibitions.
Feel the rain on your skin because no one else can feel it for you. Only you can let it in.
No one else.
No one else can speak the words on your lips.
Drench yourself in words unspoken.
Live your life with arms wide open.
Today is where your book begins. Natasha Bedingfield — Unwritten
Every decision has a proper season. If you’re finding road blocks at every turn while choosing a path, maybe that decision isn’t for you. I have always wanted to volunteer in a remote location for six months. Just drop out of life and go. It might have been a groovy idea when people still used the word groovy, but today, that ship has sailed. I learned that all too well when I accepted the teaching position last year. For everything there is a time and season. A graceful woman knows all about proper timing. A faith-filled woman stops to listen for guidance from a higher place.
Throughout life, I choose to believe that something WONDERFUL is about to happen. Miracles are everywhere. Think back to the widow and widower. Miracles traveled through the nothingness of the internet and the blue light of a computer screen, to connect two great people. Two mending hearts found strength while holding hands and watching The Chosen. Two Christians found a new church family in a dusty little wide spot in the road off the interstate on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. If the last year isn’t one heck of hundreds of amazing little miracles, then I just don’t know.
Whatever you do today, try looking at random things as beautiful miracles. Start really looking at the changes in your yard from dawn until dusk. Arise before dawn and listen to the world as it wakes. Choose the puzzle pieces of your life wisely. It’s all up to you. Make the picture of your life your own. No one else can paint it for you.
This wedding stuff is for the young. Each day there are hundreds — maybe even thousands — of decisions that are waiting to be made. With only 1 month and 8 days until the big day, the heat is on. And these decisions aren’t all that straightforward when one is a 67.75 year old bride. Things have changed a bit since January, 1988.
All the while, MM is right there in the trenches with me, enjoying every moment of fun. I didn’t know God made men that are wired to be helpful with wedding decisions. He is busy choosing songs for the DJ and collecting addresses and phone numbers for his relatives. He has an opinion on every aspect of our upcoming day. If there ever was a groom that is 100% dialed in to the process, it’s MM. Thankfully, it seems we have the same vision. Our focus is all about our commitment and not so much the hoopla or physical party.
Yesterday, the volume, complexity or potential impact of the decisions waiting left me so physically and mentally drained that last night I simply transported myself into a movie until I fell asleep. I’m looking into the abyss of decision fatigue. Thank goodness I recognize it from my travails as a widow. The stressor now identified, I’m going to prevent it from derailing all hopes of sheer bridal bliss. I’m not jumping off the cliff into the world of the……BRIDEZILLA!!!!!!! Not happening.
According to registered psychotherapist Natacha Duke, MA, RP, decision fatigue is a phenomenon (as opposed to a diagnosable medical condition) where the more decisions a person makes over the course of a day, the more physically, mentally and emotionally depleted they become. A person experiencing decision fatigue struggles with executive functioning. This can have a wide range of consequences, including impaired judgment.
Just so you know, this isn’t something this clever writer made up. It really exists.
Yesterday was car maintenance day. In the normal world, this would involve sitting in an uncomfortable mechanics lair. But, when you purchase luxury, it comes with some benefits. Like an Uber driver at your fingertips to drop you at the mall or appointment. A barista to prepare your favorite coffee and fresh donut. Comfy chairs and a spectacular view of the mountains. The list is long at the luxury service department.
It turns out my beautiful car has a few glitches that couldn’t be fixed in one day. So, what does this fantastic dealership do? Send me on my way in another beautiful new luxury car with less miles than mine!
Oy.
Vey.
Cars these days are full of many different tricks and tips. My car is like driving a giant iPad. This car was full of different technology. Only 4,235 miles of shiny new. Probably worth twice what I paid for mine. These things cause decision fatigue. Do I chance the freeway or take empty side streets on the way home? Is this the navigation system or just the back up camera? 37 miles is a long way to encounter possible dings and dents. Luckily, she’s in the garage, safe and sound.
Yesterday also held a stressful trip into the world of finance. So many decisions to be made before October 14th. Thank goodness I have a trustworthy advisor that hasn’t steered me in the wrong direction yet.
All these are not life or death decisions, but they add up. We make hundreds of decisions every day that impact others. Getting married is one of life’s biggest stressors. Having perfectionist tendencies while being faced with the uncertainty of life is a recipe for stress. And, we all know, stress is a killer. Thank goodness this wedding is a short-lived experience. In Mid-October, the seas will calm as our new life together begins.
In 2020, decision fatigue attacked me as a new widow. I fought procrastination or decision avoidance. Some days, I refused to adult and stayed in jammies all day. And then there was the Widow’s Fog. Well, I assure you, Bride Fog isn’t much different. Hiring a bridal planner might not be such a bad idea.
I do remember my Auntie reminding me that nothing lasts forever. Father Time and Mother Nature made sure of that. And there is plenty of time to enjoy normal life as an old lady.
What might continue for awhile is the mani/pedi schedule I’m beginning next week. Now I find out that MM rather likes manicured fingers and toes. Okay, I can roll with that! There’ll be at least one massage for this bride during the next six weeks. I plan to schedule some protective measures involving self-care, while taking time to enjoy this very magical time in life. It is truly a lot of happy fun!
Guys need down time, too. MM will be enjoying the beginning of the NFL season. I would hope he’ll take some time from invitation addressing to enjoy a round of golf with his bros. We’ll throw in a little laziness from time to time while delegating tasks to others. There are plenty of people we can trust to handle some of the minor details.
Whatever you are planning to do today, try not to become overwhelmed. Schedule some down time every day in which you take time to breathe. Unplug and focus on the silence. Find your happy spot and take time to be grateful. The world will keep spinning even if you stop twirling about for a bit.
Twirling into my own state of butter, I’ll be back tomorrow with updates.
What a journey it’s been! Loneliness that no one else can even begin to understand. Learning to live again as a young widow takes guts and determination. It means taking chances and making tough decisions. While putting one foot in front on the other, I’m at the end of my 4th summer as a widow and sailing along pretty well on my own now.
In April, 2020, I was in blackout mode, having lost VST, my husband of 32 years, to a sudden cancer of nine weeks. For 24 hours a day/7 days a week for 63 days, I watched him wither away. As a horrified wife, I stood by, helpless, as the once brilliant man lost every bodily function until his breathing ceased. Demons circled our home like buzzards as I chased them away with prayer. Alone, I gave hospice care to the person I loved the most in this crazy world. My VST.
My story isn’t especially unique. My tears are just as salty as the next. I’m just a writing woman that lost someone she loved. Along the way, I’ve found words to put my grief into writing. Pain sucked write through my Germanic fingers, released to the universe. For me, it’s been a healthy outlet.
Widowhood is the darkest experience. In the beginning, I was lost without direction and being lost is a horrible place to be. It’s even worse when you have only one friend in a town of 23,000. Pretty black when it becomes necessary for her to move away. Terrifying to fly solo. Me, alone. No close family. No friends. Quarantined in Covid’s grip. Just Oliver and me, sheltered by the lovely gardens of Winterpast.
I made it through my 1st’s, 2nd’s and then 3rd’s while learning so much about God’s grace. I’ve learned about relationships. I’ve witnessed personal miracles through the months after my baptism on December 12, 2021. I gained some street smarts along the way, learning that everyone isn’t always who they claim to be. A hard lesson for someone that values honesty, optimism, transparency, and positivity. Most importantly, I’ve finally become the woman I’m meant to be and I like her. A lot.
On this crisp September day, almost four years from the beginning post on this blog, I have a new story to share. It’s the sweetest. Some will say a peek to far into personal issues. But, that’s what the truth of life is all about.
On August 28, 2022, I met a rare man. In this blog, I refer to him as the Mysterious Marine. As the days have unfolded, he has shared his own tearful experiences as a widower, having cared for his beloved wife for seven years during her battle with COPD. During the last year, I’ve spent at least a portion of every single day talking, walking, cooking, eating, or watching a variety of sports with this guy. He is my very best friend. In my eyes, he’s a “Top Two Percenter” of men.
This man is a master gardener. He can fix anything that needs fixing, even a broken heart. He’s decorated his home to reflect his own tastes. After sending his high school sweetheart off to heaven, he collected himself and started on his own journey of self discovery. From 2020, we healed as we sat just six miles apart in this a dusty, wide spot on the road off the interstate on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. Two grieving gardeners taking like one step at a time.
Monday, August 28th, we celebrated 1-year as a dating couple, a milestone for any new twosome. Reading through the last months of my personal journal, I smile at posts about life as a happy woman. Still a widow, but also a gardener with grief healing. What a lovely year it’s been. Through each holiday, this man has made life special. Little celebrations. New family. Special traditions. Woven through all those things, love.
Finding just the right card is tough, but when you’re a writer, there’s an internal need to add a letter. And so, in preparation for a special dinner date, I wrote. At the bottom of my letter to MM, I transcribed the verses from Song of Solomon 2: 10-12. Our winter’s have passed. Our garden is blossoming with love and happiness. The birds are singing. The turtles are singing (I found this version of the verse is found in one of my bibles. Missing the word “dove”, I rather like the vision of singing turtles.)
On the evening of August 28th, we exchanged our cards. He read the letter I wrote to him, while commenting that I always write so much. Well, I’m a writer. Go figure.
His card was beautiful. His written thoughts were heartfelt and penned in perfect handwriting. But, it was the front of the card that took my breath away.
Song of Solomon 2: 16. (The first sentence only.)
The end of my chapter was there, printed on the card he chose for me.
Without endless hours of Bible study or long, drawn out discussions about Winterpast and her name, without any earthly guidance, we both ended up in the same chapter in the Bible. Some things in life are so obvious they slap you right in the face. In life, there are no coincidences. Miracles are real and abundant.
And so…………..
He asked the one question that still needed asking.
Through tears, I gave my answer.
I said “Yes”.
Autumn is my very favorite time of year and this autumn will be even more beautiful. In front of friends and family, in our own little church, in a dusty little town on a wide spot on the interstate on the high plains of Northwestern Nevada, we will exchange vows and start off on a new path together.
Now you know.
After hundreds of blogs, thousands of words, and many, many private tears, the blog will tell of new adventures about two gardeners who grieve once in awhile about two people they loved and lost. Two 60-somethings that found a new chance at love and grabbed it. Stick around. The adventure is just beginning.
Whatever you do today, know that although you grieve, you will heal. Through your healing, your new life will be something wonderful in ways you might not expect. It is always darkest before any dawn, but the brilliance of the sunrise promises a new day. When you think of me, think of happiness and light. God has amazing things planned. I can’t wait to see what adventures are waiting just around the bend!
As we move on towards Autumn, I’m taking a well-deserved vacation to parts unknown. I’ll be back on September 5th. Until then, enjoy the archives and don’t forget to journal, and enjoy life!
During the last week, things have been changing around here. The nights are a little longer and the mornings are crisp and fresh. The shadows are getting longer while fall sneaks up on us. How delightful! Autumn is my favorite time of year her on the high plains of the deserts of Northwestern Nevada.
Spending time with Louise yesterday was informative, as always. As she chattered away about her classroom, I realized I’m very thankful for retirement. Each August, millions of teachers around the world beautify their classrooms for the first day of school. They spend millions of their very own hard-earned money to make an educational nest for their new students.
New teachers enter the building. Old teachers are missed for a moment. Then, alliances are formed and the new year begins again. It’s all consuming. Talk to a fired-up elementary teacher and you’ll find yourself conversing with a whirlwind of ideas and energy. I loved every minute of it, but these days, retirement is a much better fit for me. Being just a few months older than me, Louise feels her time is near, as well. And so it goes.
Most of the children in the towns around Winterpast are already “cheeks in the seats”. Kids have their own school rituals handed down from mom and dad. Those who come from parents who loved school, love school. Those whose parents struggled have a different perspective on the situation. There are friends missed over the summer and then, those with issues.
And so it begins again.
It’s always fun to shop with Louise, as she is petite and adorable, always finding the cutest outfits that fit like a glove. When shopping with others, I’ve found it’s much more fun to watch them find the perfect purchase than to visit the dressing room while looking for something for myself. I’d much rather pull 1,000 weeds than spend a day shopping. Truly.
After an afternoon at the mall, I found a plant. That was the extent of it. An adorable little plant.
Along with school plans, we discussed this weekend’s annual Cantaloupe Festival. Although they won’t repeat the Greased Pig competition of 4th of July, there’ll still be something for everyone. Angel of the Aluminum Cloud shared that her daughter showed guinea pigs in 4-H years ago. Now, that is the cutest mental image possible.
You just must love the guinea. The best kind of pig, ever.
Spirit wear is on the racks at Walmart. We are the Vaquero’s. Not sure of the history of the name, but MM and all his brothers wore the orange and black for the Vaquero’s way back in the 1900’s. MM’s track records still stand to this day. Nobody faster than that boy. So, I picked out my 2023 spirit wear hoodie. Knowing the group I run with now, we’ll be attending high school functions with The Mayor, coaches, school board member, teacher, and past athletic director of the high school. I must be wearing the correct spirit wear.
That’s another weird thing my Mysterious Marine and I have in common. Even though our high schools were in located different states, black and orange were the colors for both schools. My high school mascot was the Grizzly and remains so to this day. Even though it’s true there are only so many possible color combinations, it is odd that we both graduated in orange and black.
Today, I need to inspect the gardens of Winterpast for hurricane damage. As we had no strong winds or torrential rains in our area, I don’t expect to find any. I plan to sit and watch the horses for a bit, as they are all down from the mountains after the storm. Hundreds and hundreds in big groups. Sand Ornaments so numerous that one was hit by a car and killed yesterday. Wild horses and people in cars. A tough combination.
Whatever you do today, if possible, drive by your old school. Take a walk through the school section at your local Walmart to see what the kids of today are putting in their back packs. Call a high school friend and chat for awhile. Sing your old alma mater. Love it or hate it, school is a huge part of our lives.
Today is a day for “goin’ to town”. Now, if you live “in town” you don’t need to go there. You’re already there. For those of us that live life in a wide spot off an interstate, town is a necessary destination at times.
Yesterday, as we were “goin’ to town”, we searched for an illusive Farmer’s Market. Never have I ever. Very strange procedures, indeed. One visits the “Farmer’s Market” ahead of time to fill out an order. Then, one must return to the same spot on Tuesday to retrieve the goods the farmer has selected and boxed for you. In my world, that dog don’t hunt. Sorry. I can pick out my own veggies at the local Raley’s.
Yesterday also included dining at a beautiful restaurant, dark and swanky. Nothing of the sort in the little town I call home. No restaurants with cloth napkins and employees wearing fresh black uniform serve to the residents of my town. But then, that’s why people like us “Go to Town” to experience the finer side of life.
Today, I’m making two trips to town. Again, it’s that time of the month. Oliver is off packing for puppy camp at this writing. In case you are new to Grievinggardener.com , Oliver is a 5 year old. Like all 5 year old’s, he is rambunctious and head strong. Oliver is a cream, piebald, standard-sized wirehaired dachshund with a liver nose and green eyes.
Falcor — A pretty close resemblance to Oliver
As his Mom-Oh, let me assure you there are times he needs to be with his own kind, to swim, play, and bring down the house. His friends at camp really can’t start the party until he arrives which will be at 8:00 am on the dot this very morning.
Then, after a 90 mile round trip trek across the desert, I’ll be picking up Louise (to my Thelma) and we’ll be off for a day of shopping thirty miles to the west. When you live in a small town, it’s easy to ignore fashion norms. One doesn’t need a nice outfit when helping to assemble a greenhouse, mow the lawn, or spray the weeds. Nope. Just a comfortable pair of shorts and an old t-shirt.
Well, next week, I’ll be taking off a couple days to visit a fancier place. When vacationing, it’s nice to have something new to wear for dinners out on the town. Today, I’m hoping Louise can steer me towards the latest and greatest in fashion. She’s wired like that. Thank goodness, because I think I missed those lessons as a young girl.
As for other news, there are plenty of Burner’s who are bugging out of their own towns and coming to a desert new mine. Burning Man is the cultural event of the summer. Certainly not a place I would ever feel comfortable, it’s interesting to observe those that make a yearly pilgrimage to the desert, come rain or shine. They are some strange dudes. Peaceful. Off in their own world. I hope their experience is everything they want and need.
Have Fun, Burners!
30 miles to the east, there’ll be a different kind of celebration. The yearly Cantaloupe Festival. Now, that’s something straight out of my past. Every year, a little valley town named Firebaugh held the Cantaloupe Festival. People came from miles around to enjoy a harvest celebration in a tiny town of 200 people. This weekend, there’ll be 4-H exhibits, country music, food vendors, and an evening dance. Just a small celebration in the kind of town I love the most. A small one.
A Country Festival is more for me.
Whatever you do, pick a neighboring spot and “go to town” yourself. Take a drive and visit a new place. Have some lunch and shop for a new look as you visit with a bestie. Visit a farmer’s market or a harvest festival. It’ll brighten your day and you just might find that “goin” to town” is a fun thing to do.
These days, life here on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada is great. I begin every day telling myself that very thing, repeating it often. I practice smiling a lot and try to avoid triggering things like unnecessary dosses of the news. I focus on positive plans, like my date with MM to the upcoming Cantaloupe Festival, or watching the weird Burners as they roll through town.
I don’t talk about the loss of VST in April of 2020 all that often anymore. Most days, I’m a gardener that grieves, not a griever that gardens. New friends don’t know my story, and I really like it that way. Revealing it to newbies opens the wound all over again. I’ve been traveling this road for more than 1200 days now, and some days still, putting one foot in front of the other is the best I can do.
In the beginning of this journey, I convinced myself that I should write a book about my personal experiences. As the years have gone on, I now see the arrogance of that thought. My story isn’t any different than the innumerable heartbreaks suffered from time’s beginning. Looking back, I told myself a thousand little lies just to get from one day to the next, always assuring myself that grief had vanished out the back door. But, a little grief hides in every memory, waiting for an ambush. You just never know when.
Writing the days away has given me new fulfillment in my life. I’ve become one of the bravest women I know. Not by choice, but by fire. Sure. I’ve coped. Poorly at times. Marvelously at others. Life has been a rollercoaster in which I’ve held on for dear life while concealing screams of terror under the laughter of exhilaration. Even after all the days since the biggest loss of my life, more healing is still needed.
The days, weeks, months, and years have aged me considerably. The outer wrinkles are quite obvious. Other’s are hidden deep inside my heart. Grief puts on the years.
I remember my silent celebration when reaching the two year milestone. I’d read that it’s very common for widowed spouses to develop serious illnesses during the first two years after their loss. It was also two years since I’d retired. Double whammy. I did live through those two anniversaries, a little wiser, but definitely older.
I’ve always been great at writing about the gardens of Winterpast or the latest hurricane in the desert. What I’m not so great at sharing is that widowhood is the most wicked thing I’ve ever gone through in my entire life.
Don’t take that the wrong way.
I don’t want pity.
What I do want is to be remembered.
Some days, I’m truly invisible. Like a gecko on a leaf. There in plain sight but totally camouflaged. Living in a new town, there aren’t old friends around to let me know they still remember VST. Old farmers to share a story about the year we almost lost our entire crop to rain. High school buddies remembering the athlete extraordinaire, VST. Moving to a new town erased those chance meetings with old friends. Out of sight. Out of mind. Countless things have ended. After all these years, ashes are ashes and dust is dust.
As my fourth widowed summer is coming to a close, I’ve learned a few important things.
I cherish new connections with neighbors. Winterpast is smack dab in the middle of great people. Ninja Neighbor, Miss Rose, Little Man, Great Grandparents. People in this neighborhood leave their garage doors up and wave with big smiles. Only strangers until the first “Hello.”
I’m so lucky my dear friends listen when I need to talk. They are also great at talking when I need to listen. They accept that I spend more time than I may realize remembering a wonderful life spent with VST. They notice when grief is knocking at the back door. They are there to celebrate new life with me as I heal and to give me space to grieve alone when needed.
I’m so thankful MM is always ready to share a meal or just hold my hand. I’m blessed when the Angel of the Aluminum Cloud asks me to join her on a morning trip west, or when Louise (to my Thelma) offers to go shopping with me for the 28th. All my beautiful friends are fully alive and present, anchoring me in the here and now. They are true blessings in my life.
Whatever you do today, try to think past the “I’m fine” statement. As a widow, there are many times we’re the exact opposite of “fine”. That’s called “NORMAL”. Healing takes time. No one ever mentions that the TIME it takes continues forever.
What a crazy world, this planet Earth!!! Maui is devastated by fire. The desert plains are devastated by flooding. In the midst of it all, California has a magnitude 5.1 earthquake. Of course, only in SoCal would an amusement park stay open or an NFL football game carry on as usual. There is no explaining California.
Here in Northwestern Nevada, the meteorologists have been in a non-stop tizzy since Friday.
“Hurricane’s coming, Hurricane’s coming. Hunker down and stay home.”
In my huge county, sandbags were distributed at 13 stations. Sand and bags. Bring your own shovel. All weekend, we were reminded THE storm was coming. A hurricane affecting California, Nevada, Utah, Idaho, and even Montana. Heck, it might make it to the Atlantic.
Reporting here from the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada, just east of the Biggest Little City in the West, I’ll give you the latest report. As the hurricane swooped down upon us, it rained last night.
Hurricane-force gales weren’t to be heard in the night.
It simply rained as it does from time to time in the summer.
No thunder and lightning.
No tornados.
No hail.
No snow.
Just a normal, quiet rain. As of this writing, Winterpast has received .34″ of rain in the last 24 hours. Although that’s a respectable amount, it’s not torrential. Our friends in Las Vegas or Death Valley would have a different tale to tell, but those places are at least six hours south of Winterpast.
Like everything else these days, the news-makers get themselves churned into butter as they chase their tails about every potential catastrophe. Spin the story until you have everyone’s full attention.
I’m so tired of disasters. I’m so tired of the news. Exhausted, really.
Today, I plan to stay inside and enjoy some old movies. I may even make a bowl of popcorn and stay in my jammies all day. If the hurricane sweeps Oliver and I off our hill, I may not be able to write tomorrow. At this time, that seems very unlikely.
Whatever you do today, turn off the news. Silence all political talk. Think about having a friend over for coffee, or begin a little fall cleaning. Keep your mind on things you do control in this crazy world of the uncontrollable.
Remember, Keep Calm and Carry Your Umbrella as you Move Along. Silence is golden.
The breaking day was shimmering with the buzz of nature going about its business. Breathing in, I felt awakened by the delicate bite of the early spring air. Breathing out, I felt my warm breath rise like a morning prayer. There was nothing special going on, only gently bubbling stillness and beauty all around. A moment of peace. I felt grateful to be present and noticing.
What does it mean to be grateful? Thankfully, it doesn’t mean convincing yourself of some bogus notion that everything’s fine and dandy. Living your life with gratitude means choosing to focus your time and attention on what you appreciate. The goal is not to block out difficulties, but to approach those difficulties from a different perspective. Appreciation softens us. It soothes our turbulent minds by connecting us with the wonderfully ordinary things, great and small, that we might otherwise take for granted.
Go ahead and take gratitude for a spin right now. Think of anything at all in your life that you can feel thankful for: that driver who yielded when you realized you were in the wrong lane, the fact that the sun rose this morning, any quality in yourself that you admire. When you’re thankful, how does your body respond? Is there a sense of lightness? Tingling? Warmth? In what way does expressing gratitude change your outlook? Might there be a connection between gratitude and happiness?
Gratitude can help us see that not everything is terrible—not all the time, anyway. Practicing gratitude can keep our hearts open to the tenderness in our daily experiences. There are so many things to be grateful for. Take trees, for example. Trees freely provide fruit and shelter and even offer themselves as climbing gyms for the young, the old, and what-the-heck-are-you-thinking-get-down-from-there Nana! The wild kingdoms of plants and animals are exuberant, colorful, and extravagant. We are surrounded by abundance and yet mindlessly whirl into automatic pilot, losing sight of life’s nourishing wonders.
The same is true of people. Have you ever picked up someone else’s socks, or stayed late at the office to help out, or held a door open for a stranger, or let someone else have the remote? When no one bothers to thank you, how does it feel? And who do you fail to thank? Remember: Offering our appreciation to one another is a powerful way to strengthen and even repair emotional bonds. Try it. It’s free.
Offering our appreciation to one another is a powerful way to strengthen and even repair emotional bonds.
As we cultivate greater appreciation for what is around us, we can include being thankful for what’s inside of us. We can delight in and feel grateful for our own unique talents and strengths. Perhaps you have a knack for making people laugh, or for being an astute listener. Or maybe you can thank yourself for just getting out of bed and making it through the day. We can be grateful that we have a heart, a mind, and the wisdom to know how to live with kindness and compassion.
Here are some simple gratitude tips that you can try starting right now:
Say “thank you!” Who doesn’t want to be appreciated for their efforts? Saying thanks can be a gift, and one that feels pretty good, too!
Remember what you appreciate most. When you’re feeling low, take a moment and write down some things that spark gratitude in you, like: • The pleasure of the spring sun • A stirring piece of music or art • A delicious or nutritious meal • A child’s laughter, a stranger’s sweet smile, a shared moment of joy
Pay attention to your emotions. Describe in as much detail as possible how your body feels when you express gratitude. Which emotions accompany these bubbly feelings? What kind of thoughts do you notice? When you begin to turn more frequently toward the things you appreciate, the world increasingly opens to reveal that there is always some small thing for which you can be grateful.
This article appeared in the April 2018 issue of Mindful magazine.
Preparing for a tropical storm and Burning Man here in the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. I’ll be back Monday with my own stories from an exciting weekend! Until then, if you just can’t get enough, go back September 24, 2020. There you’ll find a young-ish widow in the first year of widowhood. Happy reading!
I’m so blessed. I’m so blessed. I’m so blessed. Repeated 1,000 times over, it wouldn’t be enough to confirm how, on this very day in August, I AM SO BLESSED. I’m a 67 years old woman in great health with time to do as I please. I’m loved by family and friends every minute of my day. For this moment on this day I’m choosing happiness. Not borrowing troubles from tomorrow, for today, I’m so blessed.
After blogging yesterday, I made a list of a few things I needed from Walmart. The Tuesday night dinner with the neighbors convinced me the gardens of Winterpast need more hummingbird feeders. I tried this a few weeks ago and the ants won. Crawling up a tiny pole and then down the wire suspending my feeder, they back-stroked in the syrupy food. I was done with the entire mess. But, the neighbor’s hummingbirds, zipping this way and that, put on a real show. I’ll try again.
I need to be a little fancy for a special date with MM on the 28th of August. In order to accomplish that, I needed makeup more suitable for 2023. With my list in hand, off I drove towards the Walmart to the East.
What.
A.
Disappointment.
Having abandoned the Walmart in my little town over a year ago when our sweet Naomi vanished in the darkness of the parking lot, I’ve been happy to drive 35 minutes to the closest country store. It’s always been clean and well stocked. Well, that ship has sailed. Not sure what is going on with stores around here, but, they are making it impossible to find everything on a shopping list. Eggs are the only thing cheaper in price. And they are still double what they used to be.
Bacon has been hit or miss. Because of California’s plan to ruin every industry, hog ranchers are quitting. Farmer John has gone out of business. If you don’t believe me, just go to the store to find a package of bacon. I dare you. Here in Nevada, it’s slim picking’s. Sausage is still available, but only until they sell the last of it. And, so it goes.
So after hunting and pecking around the store, I’d found most things on my list. There was a little old lady who was struggling to get in line for the only human checker in the store. I had beat her there, but immediately felt horrible. She was having a hard time walking while fighting with the cart. I moved out of the way, putting her one cart closer to check out and we started to visit.
Adorable in every way, she had to let me know she had just sold her lawn mower, because it was just too much anymore. She talked of her love for her neighbors. How blessed she was to be alive on such a pretty day. She was a military wife, having followed her husband all over the world.
Independent.
Smart.
Kind.
God-fearing.
I learned she was all those things as we waited.
Sometimes the smallest act of kindness are the most appreciated. When someone gives up their place in line, starts an uplifting conversation, or says “Thank You”, we feel respected and valued. Often these little gifts of courtesy and compassion have a larger impact than anything anyone can give us.
When we give these same gifts to others, we have no idea how we’re impacting someone’s day. Little niceties add up and remind each of us, both the giver and receiver, of the simple beauty of kindness.
She was 20 years my senior. Her back was killing her, but she never revealed that through words. She was full of praise about the beauty of the day. As we stood in line waiting for the customers in front of us, she was becoming weaker. Finally it was her turn.
The checker was near exhaustion herself. Really, Walmart?????????? Is it beyond your ability to open more than lane for assisted checkout? The associate was a young woman of 43 with her own health issues, but she stepped up to help this woman. She went to the manicure station and borrowed a chair in which the woman could sit while her groceries were scanned. She placed every bag into the woman’s cart, speaking kindly to her the entire way. When it was time to pay, the associate took her card and ran it through the machine, saving agonizing steps for the lady. It was moving and quiet kindness I was lucky enough to watch.
By the time the octogenarian toddled off on her way, the checker now had at least nine people waiting in line. We’d all been waiting quiet awhile, yet, none of us were agitated or impatient. Maybe some of the guests DID observe the kindness that I did.
A higher kindness is indeed unfailing and always present in everything HE does. Even if we can’t see or understand what HE’s doing, HE is there. HIS ways aren’t our ways. We can still know that HIS kindness remains a key ingredient. My friend at Walmart would wholeheartedly agree.
Whatever you do today, let your attitude of kindness reflect the kindness HE has showed to you. Kindness costs nothing. What’s a few extra minutes in line? Who knows? In those few minutes you might be a witness to what HE would’ve done. It’s a thought.
In 2020, I found my forever home here at Winterpast. Every morning, I’m so grateful to have had the luck to find such a wonderful town in which to live. I’m a true desert gal. Under the bluest skies dotted with the puffiest white clouds, there is peace here. Even when summer storms come to visit, the complaint of the thunder adds a little excitement. The winds whip up the trees. All those things cocoon Winterpast and the homes around me.
To some, my neighborhood would be considered pretty boring. There are no late night arguments to keep us up. No trampoline jumpers. No barking dogs (other than Oliver). A natural quiet that blankets this neighborhood. With good reason.
Many of the neighbors are still original owners. Winterpast was built in 2004. At this time, this was a little more expensive than some of the other neighborhoods, and so a little older group moved in. Many were just beginning the golden years of retirement. At this writing, I’m surrounded on three sides by octogenarians. Some are in great health while others are holding their own. None of them are partying night owls. That’s a good thing.
Save this activity for Las Vegas, Ladies.
So, when the house across the street finally went up for sale, I was a little worried. Just WHO would buy the house?
Would it be a young family prepare their daughter’s first nursery?
A family with five kids that have failed to launch?
Or a very nice single gentleman and his mother?
Only time would tell, as one buyer after another stopped to look at the home for sale on our nice, quiet street.
In the end, the very nice gentleman and mom moved in. With life being pretty busy these days, we’d see each other in passing. Wave when we visited our mail boxes. Talk from the middle of the street.
One day, in passing, Miss Rose (his mom) was outside and we started to talk. She just retired. Things in her life are changing. She and her son are rearranging. We spoke of a little of this and a little of that. Nothing too earth shattering until she brought up my home town in the Central Valley of California. It just so happened she grew up there. 14 years older than me, she would have gone to school with my two sisters.
When I told her where I went to school, she shook her head in disbelief. Her ex-husband went there, with my two sisters, cousins, and neighbors. Why, he was a sophomore when my Grandfather and father were on the school board.
Central Union High School — Central Valley of California — 1960
Oy Vey.
In the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada, how does it turn out that “almost family” moves across the street? Life is amazing sometimes. There are NO accidents. There are plenty of miracles. We just need to wake up and see them.
Last night, MM and I accepted the sweetest dinner invitation from the new neighbors across the street. Just a lovely last minute “Would you come for dinner?” The best kind. How nice is that?
Ninja Neighbor and her husband, the Sweet-Family-of-Three-Plus-2.5, and MM and I all enjoyed a wonderful evening under summer storm clouds. The weather was perfect for an outdoor picnic. A lovely evening was enjoyed by all.
During that time, my fellow alumnus and I marveled at how strange life is. Of all the people that could move across the street from one another, it would be two that have a valley connection.
To say the evening was magical doesn’t even begin to cover it. Arriving at 5:30. MM and I never stopped talking and laughing until we left at 9 PM. We are gathering our very own military unit, as we have another Marine on the street. Welcome to the neighborhood! We’ve been waiting for you to get here!
I have a feeling the street may liven up a little in the upcoming weeks. Over the summer, four houses sold. Four new families have quietly taken their places on the block. MM and I will host the next neighborhood get together, inviting everyone on the block so that no one can complain about happy noise. MM and I love a good party, good food, and good friends. Nothing better than that.
New neighbors are like presents under the Christmas tree. Each family brings something new and shiny to share with the community. Everyone has unique talents and tales. Winterpast continues to bless me with surprises.
Whatever you do today, watch for new neighbors. If you have a little something out of the garden, share some. If you make a batch of cookies, take a few over. Make small talk. You just might find out you’re 2nd cousins from the same town. Life is funny like that.
At some point, its just time. Time to look at possessions in a new light and get busy lightening the load. The day before trash day is a great choice. You can fill up empty cans and set them by the road with little time to change your mind. Yesterday was a day for that activity.
Old teachers often like to keep a few things because, “You just never know…” Just a year ago, I was in a euphoric state of mind as I returned to the classroom.
Teaching then……….
A little more than a year ago, I’d returned to college to complete a needed course. I’d fought with the State of Nevada to reinstate my teaching license after I finished the course. I’d spent more money than I like to remember buying things for an empty classroom. Happily, I returned to teach for one more year. My year lasted weeks.
I learned so many valuable lessons in eight short weeks. I learned that some owls are wise and some are otherwise. Some schools are places of love and light while others are a breeding ground of dark despair. Who needs teachers when you have artificial intelligence?
The classroom of today……
You can’t always get what you want, but more importantly, “You cain’t get nowhere on yesterday’s train.” (Misspelling intended.) Truer words were never spoken.
After blogging yesterday, the gardens of Winterpast needed some attention. The apricots are finally gone, but plums took their place. After the flower beds were tidied up, the lawn needed mowing. Well, after the beds and lawn looked great, the patio needed sweeping. And so it went for a few hours on a most beautiful morning on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada.
After the back yard was company-ready, I rolled all the trash cans to the front yard in preparation for trash day. It’s a puzzlement to me. Here I sit, a party of one. Every week, I have four heavy trash cans for pick up. The limit is seven. No sorting or any of that nonsense. Fill ’em and set them out. Tuesday morning, everything disappears for another week. That’s how we roll here in Nevada.
One woman with a 1/2 acre = 4 trash cans per week.
This week, the cans weren’t empty, but they weren’t full either. It was then I realized the day had come to get rid of the last of the teacher materials I’ve hoarded. In some aspects of my life, my future is unknown. However, of these things, I am quite sure. I will NEVER teach in a classroom again. I will NEVER teach General Math, Algebra 1 and 2, Geometry, or anything mathematical ever again. Never. Never. Never. Ever.
The three boxes of outdated materials are now gone. Over the years, I’ve asked plenty of people if they were interested in math materials. The answer was always “No”. People that use these things have hoarded their own favorites. These materials needed to go.
Just as hundreds of VST’s Psychology books met their fate, the books of a former math teacher have left the building.
Oh, there were other things that hit the cans. An automatic bread maker from 1990. Two splintery chicken wire compost bins inherited when I moved here. A variety of things no longer needed or wanted. And so, it goes.
By 8 AM, I’ll have 4 clean cans and the purging can begin again. This time, things from the ranch. Tractor parts. Industrial spray rig parts. Old gloves. Broken tools. A can of dirt from a far off farm loved so much that I had to bring a little to the Nevada desert.
When VST died, everything had a memory. Even an old stapler brought a flood of tears. But as the years have gone by, theses anchors to the past have lost their hold. They’ve become obsolete items that can no longer tether me to a rich and wonderful past that’s been gone a very long time. It’s time to let go of burdensome things . The good stuff is safe in my heart.
Whatever you do today, spend 30 minutes going through items from your past. Look at the things you find and think about a person would cherish them. If no one that comes to mind, it’s probably time to let go. Use the 10% rule. Out of 10 things, choose one to lose. And then, keep going. Whatever will you do with the new space you find?
Good Morning, Monday Readers! I enjoyed a lovely weekend here on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. The weather here has been perfect. Cool enough in the morning to be crisp and then hot enough in the afternoon to remind us all summer isn’t done with us just yet.
The project for the weekend revolved around air movement in the greenhouse. I purchased some very cute solar fans before the foundation was even poured. Cute little dollhouse fans measuring 6″ square, two run by a 20W solar panel. It seemed the perfect fit, until MM installed them under the hot desert sun.
Back to the drawing board.
Ventilation is critical in any green house. They reduce the air temperature inside and move fresh air into the greenhouse. They also help regulate the relative humidity inside the greenhouse. Humidity above 80% invites fungal growths. And no one needs to battle fungus.
I’ve now learned that a greenhouse like mine (10’x14’x6′) needs a fan that puts our 3600 cubic feet per minute in the summer. The air needs to change 1 time per minute according to a greenhouse guru online. That’s quite a bit of movement for a small space.
The idea of solar power is a magical thought. Heck, the energy of the sun helps plants to grow, right? So why can’t we run everything efficiently with solar? Sadly, technology doesn’t match our lofty ideas. I’d need a huge solar panel to run the fan I need to cool the greenhouse. It seems that I’ll be using a very long extension cord and a nice big industrial fan we used on the ranch. I’m too excited about this greenhouse to give up the summer months.
NOT.
The next projects will include building pretty benches on which to set beautiful pots. Pea gravel needs to be hauled in for the flooring. I’m going to have a lovely potting bench, a stainless sink with running water, and motion lighting, just in case I feel like gardening in the evening. By the time MM and I get this thing finished, there won’t be a more lovely greenhouse in the land. It’ll just take a minute to get everything going in the right direction.
As I create a little oasis here in the desert, my thoughts remain with the people of Maui. Keep them in your prayers. If you happen to have an extra prayer, send it to them. Their nightmare won’t be over in our lifetimes. Something special is gone forever. It only took 30 minutes to destroy their way of life.
Whatever you do today, think about growing something. Anything. Plants clean our air and help the planet, so get busy. There are still plenty of growing days until winter!
The last few days have taken the wind right out of my sails. Strange that an event an ocean away could have such an effect on one old desert gal. Of course, it’s my heart that accepts the sorrow as my own. Once, very long ago, I was a Maui Babe. A rat pack of four women celebrating a 50th birthday of the youngest of us.
I never moved up the rank to be a Maui Goddess like my dear friend, the Goddess of the Central Coast. Nope. I’ve been happy to be a Maui Babe all these years. One of four in our royal court.
So many of the places now reduced to ash held special memories for me. It was at “Burger’s in Paradise” that we discovered the birthday girl had a special guy in her life. A wonderful man that would befriend us all from that day forward. I formed a spiritual connection with the Old Banyan, covering a city block. If she could’ve only shared her stories with me, I’d tell you now. I couldn’t get enough of the clean air and trade winds. We made the best memories cherished to this day.
VST and I visited Maui on other occasions and made memories of our own. Standing at the very site of Lindbergh’s grave was almost as amazing as the drive to get there. Lindbergh’s grave is marked with a simple granite slab laid upon lava stones in the yard behind the church. The epitaph is a quote from the Bible: ‘If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea.’ . Psalms 139:9
The beginning of the Psalm is as follows:
You have searched me, LORD, and you know me.
You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.
Before a word is on my tongue you, LORD, know it completely.
You hem me in behind and before, and you lay your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain.
Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. (Psalms 139:1-10 -NIV)
Remembered is the wonderful dinner enjoyed at Mama’s Fish Hut, or the hilarious day VST humored me, agreeing to take a hula class. Memories that connect my heart to a devastated little island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
I’ve learned one important lesson at this early stage of this tragedy. When vacationing, I’ll give careful consideration to Disaster Preparedness in the area. It’s easy to get lulled into a belief that tragedy can’t possibly occur in paradise. It does. It just did.
When vacationing, have a plan. Many people left their documents in hotel rooms to which they couldn’t return. Hard to get a flight out without a driver’s license and credit card. People were separated from important medications. Not too hard to carry a couple doses of medication if it’s truly essential. Have a plan. If you separate from travel companions, choose a “meet up” spot and time. Tell people where you’re going and when you’ll return. You just never know……
This weekend, I plan to spend time in my garden and focus on all things Winterpast. As always, she is here to comfort me through grief. Her demands are simple. Water my gardens. Fertilize my roots. Take time to rest in the shade of my trees. Set down your burden for a little while and get to work. Autumn is just around the corner.
Two words should never find themselves in the same sentence.
Maui.
Fire.
Hawaii has always been my safe space. So many nights, the memories of time spent with VST have lulled me to sound sleep. It was our happy place for 32 years. When things got overwhelming we’d pack our bags and go. It was our second home. A place to reconnect and dream about the future. We considered ourselves visiting locals.
Each person leaves Hawaii with a unique mural etched on their heart. A little bit of paradise tucked in the suitcase. Once you’ve fallen in love with the trade winds, moonlit beaches, and nature’s music tumbling on the waves, you’re just never the same.
Today, pray for our island Brothers and Sisters on Maui. Today, I grieve for them. Something wonderful is gone.
So much loss.
Unthinkable.
Israel “Iz” Kaʻanoʻi Kamakawiwoʻole
Hold sweet memories close today. Take some time to remember one of the most beautiful places in the world.
De-Cluttering and hot August days are meant for each other. For the last few years, I’ve held on to boxes of memory filled cell phones and lap tops. Although electronic devices aren’t usually considered sentimental items, looking at them takes me back through my years with VST, as we upgraded our electronics.
Although we weren’t obsessed with having the latest and greatest, every year there was something that needed updating. There was just one small problem. VST wouldn’t get rid of the old. He was just like that. Everything was secreted in his office because, as he would remind me, “You just never know……”
Well, as I sit here in August, 2023, I do know one thing. I’ve had to learn a bunch to retrieve old memories off these devices.
Oh, how I long for the days of Costco Photos. I’d drop off rolls of 35 mm film and then wait a few days until the photographs were ready. I’d always order two sets, because of course, “You just never know….” Although in those day with time being a precious commodity, I scrapbooked every school year from 1996 – 2010. The first copy of each picture would go into the scrapbook while the second one would go home with a child. Those photographs were precious.
Last week, as I collected up the phones, laptops, and desktops, I felt overwhelmed. How would I ever learn how to retrieve the information off the devices? No longer was I going to hold onto this junk. The problem was that it wasn’t junk as long as it held old memories.
And so I began to learn.
The first thing about retrieving information is that you can’t really do anything wrong. If you do, shut the machine down and then try again. If you get dangerously close to deleting things, the device will ask several times if that is your intention. That should give anyone attempting to do this a little piece of mind.
You need the proper cords for the proper devices. So far, I’ve found all the right cords. This, in itself, is a miracle considering I had phones from 2007.
Look to You Tube for advice. There videos explaining steps for retrieving data from every type of device. Take notes and get started.
As I went through phone after phone, I realized how much our society is losing by capturing pictures using this method. How many people forget the thousands of images they’ve taken on this day or that? For me, if it’s not printed, it didn’t happen.
Going through the phones was emotionally draining. When I work with old photos and mementos, I’m transported back to the Land-of-Long-Ago. Going through that portal takes a lot of mental energy, but, it’s also healing. Everything in due time. At this point, I’m down to two tablets, two phones, and a laptop. The video tapes wait for another day.
When all the important documents and photos have been retrieved, return the device back to the factory setting. Then the fun part begins. Retrieval of the hard drive or SIM card. Again, turn to YouTube to find out how to disassemble your desktop, laptop, or phone. With a small screwdriver, a dining room table, and patience, you’ll be done in no time.
An important note. Remove the SIM cards from old phones when you are finished. These little chips hold all your personal information. Once those are removed, reset the phone to factory settings. Throw the SIM card away. For computers and lap tops, the hard drives should be removed before you discard the device. This is rather like working a puzzle to get to the prize.
Then comes the fun part.
DOING THE HILLARY.
The Bigger the Better!Don’t forget eye protection when destroying those hard drives.
Take the biggest hammer you own and smash the hard drive with all your might. Strike it over and over until it is really bent. This is great for relieving your self of any angry thoughts. It’s also much cheaper than visiting a rage room. Remember, be sure to wear eye-protection.
Once the computer is in pieces, bag it up and put it in the garbage. Unless you live in California, of course. There, you keep that stuff forever.
Reclaiming data and place it in one central place feels wonderful. The thought of losing those connections to the past kept me clinging to those devices for almost 20 years. For, in the real world, kids grow up and move away. Blonde hair turns grey. Cancer comes knocking. The unexpected happens.
Oy Vey.
I just never knew………
Whatever you do today, look for old devices and their cords. Charge them up and reclaim your memories.
Just seeing this picture takes me back to the mid-1900’s when life was so much simpler. As a farm girl in the vineyards of Central California, I had no access to high fashion, let alone a strapless swimsuit, high heels, and sunglasses. Even in a house of five daughters with a mother that sewed all our clothes, there were no issues of Vogue magazine scattered about. When I got my first Barbie, the game was on.
Barbie was like another sister. We’d go outside and I’d take her on farm adventures. When Ken came into the picture, he was just her accessory. Barbie was the main focus. She could do anything I could do, but have not doubt, I showed her, not the other way around. Barbie became Farm Girl Barbie and she loved it.
Throughout the years, Auntie TJ spoiled me with handmade high fashion created just for Barbie. Even her very own handcrafted wedding dress more beautiful than anything sold in the store. Pretty soon, Barbie’s wardrobe was larger than mine. And not long after that, I outgrew here and she lay forgotten on a shelf. But, Barbie was never discarded, being my all time favorite doll. I still have her and her wardrobe.
So, when Barbie came out in movie form I was a bit interested until it became polarized. This part of society loved it. That part of society hated it. Sexualized opinions. Politicized opinions. All over a doll. A silly doll. From the things I read, I decided I’d never see the movie.
Until yesterday.
It had been a quiet morning. MM was busy with his own day and Oliver was sleeping away the morning. Even the mustangs were bored.
I was looking through comments about the movie and it struck me. Since when had I morphed into a lazy woman that would accept the opinions of others as mine. This was BARBIE for goodness sakes. I had to go and see for myself.
So, this old, grey, conservative woman got in the car and drove 45 miles to the east. I’d not figured the time correctly, and barely made the beginning of the movie. You really shouldn’t miss the first two minutes if you decide to go. Interesting.
In my very humble opinion, this movie wasn’t a normal kid’s film. The plot was often confusing. There were very few scenes that involved real places. The children in the theater weren’t laughing. It was very pink and Barbie. And yet, for some reason, I couldn’t walk out. There were no overtly sexualized scenes. I never noticed gender issues, but then, I’m not of the generation that would.
Throughout the movie, I kept wondering how much longer it would go on. Although clever in a few spots, there were not great acting, dancing, or singing. Just a lot of pink. That was until THE monologue I hope I never forget.
The following words were written by the actress, America Ferrera, for HER character to say to a distraught Barbie. Playing a young Hispanic mom, she referred to things that every woman on the planet has been through, (even a young farm girl from Central California).
You be the judge.
Barbie (Margo Robbie) and Gloria (America Ferrera)
America Ferrera’s Powerful Monologue in Barbie (Spoken to a distraught Barbie who didn’t feel pretty anymore)
It is literally impossible to be a woman. You are so beautiful, and so smart, and it kills me that you don’t think you’re good enough. Like, we have to always be extraordinary, but somehow we’re always doing it wrong.
You have to be thin, but not too thin. And you can never say you want to be thin. You have to say you want to be healthy, but also you have to be thin. You have to have money, but you can’t ask for money because that’s crass. You have to be a boss, but you can’t be mean. You have to lead, but you can’t squash other people’s ideas. You’re supposed to love being a mother, but don’t talk about your kids all the damn time. You have to be a career woman but also always be looking out for other people.
You have to answer for men’s bad behavior, which is insane, but if you point that out, you’re accused of complaining. You’re supposed to stay pretty for men, but not so pretty that you tempt them too much or that you threaten other women because you’re supposed to be a part of the sisterhood.
But always stand out and always be grateful. But never forget that the system is rigged. So find a way to acknowledge that but also always be grateful.
You have to never get old, never be rude, never show off, never be selfish, never fall down, never fail, never show fear, never get out of line. It’s too hard! It’s too contradictory and nobody gives you a medal or says thank you! And it turns out in fact that not only are you doing everything wrong, but also everything is your fault.
I’m just so tired of watching myself and every single other woman tie herself into knots so that people will like us. And if all of that is also true for a doll just representing women, then I don’t even know. (Barbie Movie)
America Ferrera, You Go, Girl. And yes, so many times in this crazy world…...I don’t even know.
Whatever you do today, step out of your comfort zone to question the opinions you hold dear. Do something out of the ordinary. Try something new. You just never know what pearls of wisdom you just might stumble upon.
High Desert Plains of Nevada: The LC Sheriff’s Office has reported the death of Troy Driver, who was awaiting trial for the murder of Naomi Irion. Driver died as a result of self-inflicted asphyxiation while held without bail in a maximum-security jail cell with no contact with other inmates. Deputies conducting a routine hourly cell check found him unresponsive on Sunday, August 6 at approximately 6.15 pm.
Despite immediate life-saving measures, including CPR by jail personnel and medical assistance from YM Fire Department, Driver could not be revived. Subsequently, an outside agency, the Nevada State Police Division of Investigations, has been called upon to conduct a thorough investigation into the circumstances surrounding his death. Further details concerning the investigation and the events leading to his death have not been released at this time.
Troy Driver, 43, “was in custody on multiple charges for the murder of Naomi Irion,” a press release announced.
The following is a very thorough and factual video on what happened. Take some time and listen to the details of the case. Listen to her brave Mom and take heed of her advice.
Naomi was just a girl. She was exploring a fresh new life and on her way to success. After moving from South Africa to live with her brother, she was independent. Working at a great job, she was already being considered for advancement.
Naomi loved rainbows. She loved The Beach Boys. She was just a girl living in a small town on her way to a job she loved. This monster stole that innocence from her. He stole peace from our tiny little town. She is missed.
Be light and love! When you see a rainbow, remember Our Naomi.
With so many crazy things happening these days, the thought of “What If….” visits me often. Just what if I needed to grab Oliver and get out of dodge? Would I be ready? What if all town services stopped? Could I survive for two weeks on what I have on hand? Something to consider in these days of uncertainty. Whether sheltering in place or hitting the road, being ready is a good idea.
After an emergency, you may need to survive on your own for several days. Being prepared means having your own food, water and other supplies to last for several days. A disaster supplies kit is a collection of basic items your household may need in the event of an emergency.
Make sure your emergency kit is stocked with the items on the checklist below. Visit Ready.gov to download a printable version to take with you to the store. Once you take a look at the basic items, consider what unique needs your family might have, such as supplies for pets or seniors.
Basic Disaster Supplies KitTo assemble your kit, store items in airtight plastic bags and put your entire disaster supplies kit in one or two easy-to-carry containers such as plastic bins or a duffel bag.
A basic emergency supply kit could include the following recommended items:
Water (one gallon per person per day for several days, for drinking and sanitation)
Food (at least a several-day supply of non-perishable food)– Don’t forget a little chocolate.
Battery-powered or hand crank radio and a NOAA Weather Radio with tone alert
Since Spring of 2020, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) has recommended people include additional items in their kits to help prevent the spread of coronavirus or other viruses and the flu.
Masks (for everyone ages 2 and above), soap, hand sanitizer, disinfecting wipes to disinfect surfaces
Prescription medications. About half of all Americans take a prescription medicine every day. An emergency can make it difficult for them to refill their prescription or to find an open pharmacy. Organize and protect your prescriptions, over-the-counter drugs, and vitamins to prepare for an emergency.
Non-prescription medications such as pain relievers, anti-diarrhea medication, antacids or laxatives
Prescription eyeglasses and contact lens solution
Infant formula, bottles, diapers, wipes and diaper rash cream
Pet food and extra water for your pet
Cash or traveler’s checks
Important family documents such as copies of insurance policies, identification and bank account records saved electronically or in a waterproof, portable container
Sleeping bag or warm blanket for each person
Complete change of clothing appropriate for your climate and sturdy shoes
Fire extinguisher
Matches in a waterproof container
Feminine supplies and personal hygiene items
Mess kits, paper cups, plates, paper towels and plastic utensils
Paper and pencil for journaling the event
Books, games, puzzles or other activities for children
After assembling your kit remember to maintain it so it’s ready when needed:
Store boxed food in tightly closed plastic or metal containers.
Replace expired items as needed.
Re-think your needs every year and update your kit as your family’s needs change.
Kit Storage Locations
Since you do not know where you will be when an emergency occurs, prepare supplies for home, work and cars.
Home: Keep this kit in a designated place and have it ready in case you have to leave your home quickly. Make sure all family members know where the kit is kept.
Work: Be prepared to shelter at work for at least 24 hours. Your work kit should include food, water and other necessities like medicines, as well as comfortable walking shoes, stored in a “grab and go” case.
Car: In case you are stranded, keep a kit of emergency supplies in your car.
(Ready.gov)
Stay Prepared. Things could get Ruff.
While thinking about this, take time to copy everything you normally carry in your wallet. In the event that your wallet was lost or stolen, you’ll have a handy record of license number, credit card numbers, and Bank contact numbers.
Whatever you do today, think about being prepared for the worst while being so very thankful for the best.
I have always been a writer. From a very young age, words gave meaning to a world I didn’t understand very well. Expectations for a “Good Farm Girl” included being “seen but not heard”. Any of you older than a minute will understand what I mean. Any words from a child had no meaning at all. Go outside and play. Period.
Going outside didn’t hold Hollywood images of Mayberry, RFD. For me, outside was a wild place with danger just outside the acceptable boundaries of our ranch. Believe me when I tell you there was enough danger inside those boundaries for any child. It was there my nose was badly bitten by a really friendly dog. It was there steel crushed my 3-year-old-toe, squishing it to 1/2 shoe size larger than the other. It was there animals were ushered in as adorable babies and turned into dinner just weeks later.
My outdoor life also included wonder and happiness. There was always food to be found hanging from big beautiful trees or sprouting in the garden. If were quiet enough, I could spy a coyote or new nest of birds. I learned the calls of birds and what they looked like circling in updrafts. I would watch in fascination the murmurations of the starlings making their own version of moving art.
This isn’t rare in Central California. You just need to be lucky enough to see it.
Through the harvests of my childhood while journeying into teen years of confusion and loss, I longed to journal, but had no safe place in which to write. A writer needs a place in which their written thoughts are undisturbed by other. A shy girl couldn’t reveal her heart safely in a house that afforded no personal space.
In those days, even bath time was a family affair. In a house of 7, baths were shared by the children. This wasn’t like Little House in the Prairie. Built in the 1950’s, we had running water and all the modern conveniences. The “girl’s bathroom” was even covered in pink tile and porcelain. We just relied on a modern pump to bring up well water from the ground, delivering it to shiny faucets in the house.
The bath schedule went like this. The oldest would have some alone time and privacy. As the water cooled, more was added for the Princess of Everything. Then, the oldest in line would lounge around a bit. The third girl always whined and got her alone time, carefully timed to to “Get In, Wash Up, Rinse Off, Get Out.” And finally, the two littles would be washed together before the tub was emptied until the next day.
Nope. Not even bath time was private. And so, journaling waited.
There were times when journaling would have helped me through. College struggles. A young bride living in Tiraspol, Moldavia, USSR at 21. A very young mom trying to navigate a life of violence. A single mom with two little boys. A new wife and Step Mom. A professional woman. Three decades a wife. A grieving widow.
It wasn’t until I moved to the safety of Winterpast that I finally found my writing space. Journals in which I could write down my own days, even if the words just reflected the weather and the time of day I got out of bed. Journals in which I write to show I was alive that day. I did something that mattered and was worth noting. And so, since 2020, I’ve kept journals.
In the beginning, I wrote much more about feelings. Reading them now, I cringe at the silly thoughts that spent time in my head. Reading back to the first time I met someone for a cup of coffee make me smile. Cried the whole way to the restaurant and the whole way back, all the while twirling my wedding ring and missing VST with all my heart. Such a mess, all written on tear stained pages, day after day.
Words are a powerful way to document healing and growth. Looking back at the lost widow of 2020, I hardly recognize myself. All those missteps had to be. Just like a toddler learning to walk, I had to go the path I chose. I had to learn how to watch for my own dangers and boundaries, just as I’d done when sent “Outside to Play” on the ranch. I’m totally blessed I was raised as a feral child. It’s served me well through the years.
There are six or seven old journals now, sitting quietly in their resting place awaiting their fate. The problem with journals is what to do with them? Keep them for reflection? (Cringe-worthy in my case). Keep them for possible publication? Absolutely scandalous, although an interesting thought. For now, I’ll let them lay silently in the dark. Seems the best answer.
If you’re starting a new chapter in life, as a widow or widower always is, try writing down your daily activities. Each day, be sure to add three things for which you’re thankful. You’ll probably be shocked at how your tone changes over time as you heal. Jot down the number of hours you sleep during the day. Or the number of hours you can’t sleep during the night. As you reflect in a few months, those numbers will change, affirmations that life is getting better.
Write as if no one is watching, because no one should be. If you live with others, make it perfectly clear that these are private thoughts. Written on private pages, they’re off limits to all unless you invite them to take a peak once in awhile. Make firm boundaries and then, write.
OFF LIMITS
If you already have stacks of journals and can’t decide their fate, here are some suggestions.
If full of entries that will do you no good, or a reminder of a sad or bad part of your life, have a bonfire/journal burning party. Who wants all that negativity stored so closely? Do away with it forever.
If full of memories that make you happy, creating smiles and laughter each time you glance through it, keep it!
If a combo of trash and a few goodies, modify your plan. ? Tear out and keep the good pages and toss the rest.
Do this once every year or two, and you’ll find yourself laughing, crying, or disgusted that you’ve wasted so much of your life avoiding the pen and page. As one of my favorite students once told me, “Writing IS Life.” I’m waiting for her first book. She’s busy with high school at the moment.
As for those that have a partner that journals, one boundary must never, ever be crossed. Never, ever, ever peak without permission. Journals are sacred, safe spaces that hold personal truths. That doesn’t make everything uttered truth for the world to discuss. Just truth for the writer as they heal through the horrors of grief while discovering their new life.
For now, I’m not sure of the fate of my journals. The current one is a scrap book of used tickets, programs, and memento’s from the best year any woman could hope for. Memories of giving Halloween Candy to a huge chicken, watching a lighted Christmas parade down Main Street, welcoming a new year, a 1st Valentine’s Day together at the beach, and a Mother’s Day BBQ for 40. Words that question. Random thoughts. Happiness. Worries. Everything swirling together on the rich pages of a journal of growth just mine.
As a former teacher of writing, I’ll share with you what I always told my students.
Neatness doesn’t matter. Make it suit you.
Spelling and grammar don’t matter. If YOU can read the story you’ve written, then Mission Accomplished. You can fix spelling and grammar later.
Just tell your story. Tell your side. Tell it loud and proud. Just tell it.
Date your writing. Always.
Instrumental music can help the words get out of your fingers. A 3rd grade student of mine added that one to this list. (Not music with lyrics–because those words mess with YOUR words.)
Never write on loose sheets of paper. Journal in a journal of some kind. I would suggest buying one you really like.
Nothing is off limits. Words cannot come off the page to cause mayhem.
Find YOUR time and place, and then get to know yourself.
Whatever you do today, try journaling for at least a week. You just might find it fixes what ails you.
I was married to a wonderful guy for 32 years. A high school friend, we reunited at our high school reunion 14 years later. He proposed in eleven short days. We were married shortly after that. His name, I’ll share one time after 700+ posts.
Terry Lee Hurt.
For these past years, I’ve kept his name as my own little secret. It was the last thing I had that was his and his alone. The last part of him that was still mine. He was a force of nature all on his own, right next to the wind, the rain, and the sun. He flamed out, never wanting to rust away in the corner.
I share this, because not everyone has gone back to read my entire blog, beginning in September, 2020. Covid had sucked the life out of everything around us. But it wasn’t Covid that took him. Cancer finished Terry off in nine weeks from start to finish.
Someone once mentioned that losing him in the way I did was rather like losing a loved one in a car wreck. No time to think or prepare for the worst time in life. No time to alert family and friends. No long, tear-filled goodbye’s. Just here. Then, gone. The gone happened 17 days before I moved into Winterpast. The home we chose together on a cold January day almost 3.5 years ago.
A French Man lost his spouse the same year MM and I lost ours. 2020. So many deaths occurred that year that had absolutely nothing to do with Covid. Silently, we all lost our loved ones after handling their hospice care. We stood in the shadows of grief without benefit of support groups or even a proper funeral. Everything was closed. We were left to our own devices during those darkest of days.
French Man is living through his fourth summer as a widower. Turtle-shelled in his grief, he let life go on without him. Time passed, while his wife’s cremains sat waiting for the proper time for release. While he’s been tethered to yesterday, the possibility of today lives just 1/2 mile away at my bestie’s CC’s house. A bright new future hindered by ashes of the past.
The subject of cremains is a little taboo. No one tells you about their weight. No one mentions that each urn has a specific and unique way to be opened. No instruction pamphlet tells a person how to properly release ashes. And then, there is the most difficult decision on where to release them. Because of these things and million other reasons, Terry sat on the shelf until last year.
It takes absolute courage to walk to the garage to get the screw driver needed to release four of the tiniest little screws holding on the top of the urn. Fortitude to open the lid. Bravery to open the bag, preparing the contents for release. Gutsiness to drive up the mountain on unpaved roads to a place filled with rocks and tumbleweeds. The love of a devoted spouse to finally let them go in the wind. I didn’t know all that until last year on that windiest of days here in the desert. I found strength I didn’t think I possessed.
French Man’s wife is still confined to her box. Today, he’ll take his turn with a final Goodbye on a quiet stretch of Pacific Coast Beach. Love has nudged him towards today’s release of the past. He’s finally looking forward to moving towards happiness. Today, he’s found his strength.
RIP Anne
Everyone finds their own strength, time and place, eventually. If your situation is similar to French Man’s, know you can always take the next step, releasing ties that bind. I can’t explain how my life changed that day when Zephyr Winds of the high deserts of Northwestern Nevada carried my love away. From the loneliest mountaintop, the wails of a grieving widow were carried away with him. Like the removal of a festering sliver, releasing Terry allowed me to fully embrace my new life.
We are BOTH finally free.
Whatever you do today, think about what’s holding you to the past. Consider what your loved one would say if they could give you one last pep talk. Terry would tell me to live my best life. “The day’s a-wasting, Darlin’. Burn out, don’t rust out. You can’t get no where on yesterday’s train.”
I can only imagine the above picture was taken from some gutter in the deep south or perhaps on a tropical island in Hawaii. Here in the desert, we have a different kind of problem. Sand and dirt blowing in from here and there do a fine job clogging gutters.
Gutters are an important feature of any home.
No matter how gently rain falls onto your roof, the water builds up as it runs off and creates a powerful surge that, if not diverted, can hammer the ground next to your foundation—and water and foundations do not mix. Pounding water along the foundation line erodes the soil and can seep down along the foundation, increasing the risk of basement leaks and structural instability.
Gutters that safely manage storm water do more than simply protect your house. They also preserve your yard and your neighborhood. Without fully functioning gutters and downspouts to control runoff in a safe manner, rainwater could cut pathways through your yard as well as your neighbor’s, creating ditches, pooling in low-lying areas, and even killing lawns, flowers, and other vegetation. In my area, water over sand causes severe erosion problems. Storm water needs to be controlled.
Last winter was brutal here on the high desert plains. Inches of heavy snow, quickly melted. Water dripped through cracked gutter joints causing a skating rink of thick ice below in two different places here at Winterpast. Slipping on ice is one of my major fears, and this ice was located by the two doors leading to the back yard.
Summertime is the perfect time to take care of maintenance. Along with cracked joints and seams, my gutters hadn’t been draining properly. Clogged with debris of summers past, the gutters would get attention in the summer present.
Over the past year, I’ve looked for companies specializing in gutter repair. Sadly, in my area there are zero. Not a handy man one would like to spend hours on a ladder cleaning, mending, and realigning gutters. I could understand. Doesn’t sound very fun.
As a retired-farmer-now-little-old-widow-woman, ladders are not on my “I-Can-Do-It” list anymore. With poor balance, aging skin and bones, and Size 11 feet, a tumble into the hospital is a given. It’s hard enough remaining upright when on the ground.
I’m really trying to avoid this. Not sure which of these I’d be. Probably the one in pink.
My search for this elusive repair company had gone on long enough. I’d need to bite the bullet and get an estimate from “Leaf Guys”. In my area, they’re the only company that will clean, repair, and realign gutters. The catch is, they sell a pricey filter on top of your gutters when everything inside is squeaky clean.
The estimate was sure to be financially painful, but their advertisement made a few important promises.
#1. FREE Estimate. (What’s the saying? Nothing’s for FREE?)
#2. Lifetime Transferable Guarantee.
#3. Guaranteed work backed by a local company.
Yesterday, at the time promised, a professional man came to Winterpast to do some inspecting. It turns out that my gutters have many problems, verified by pictures. Pictures don’t lie.
A deep layer of dirt, silt, and sand lay cemented to the bottoms of the 100+ feet of gutters surrounding my house. Oy Vey. Not a leaf in there. Just sediment deposited over the last 20 years. That’s one of the problems. Along with the cracks, they’re clogged, so they overflow.
The product presentation and estimate were informative and interesting. In the end, after throwing in a 30% discount, I agreed to receive gutter cleaning, repair, and filter installation on Thursday.
Winterpast will go from this–
This is not a good idea in any climate!!!
To this.
Nice and Sanitary Stainless steel filter
Later in the day, when carefully examining the gutters from the far side of the property, their age was apparent. After 20 years, some parts are bent up, some bent down. It’s the perfect time for a tune-up. Not an expense I was planning for this summer, but maintenance that needs to be done before 100+ feet of gutters need replacing. Someday, I won’t need to worry about home maintenance. For now, it’s “Suck It Up, Buttercup”.
Whatever you do today, If you’re the home owner, take a look at the gutters. Stand back from your house and really look at them. Is the fascia board behind them looking stained or crumbly? Do they drain? Are they securely attached to the house? Find someone to climb up there and look inside. Are they full of debris? If so, August is the perfect month to address this problem. This winter, you’ll be glad you did.
Happy Monday morning to everyone from here at Winterpast. What a productive weekend! MM and I finished assembling the greenhouse and is it ever a beauty!!!
Last weekend, The Mayor and my Mysterious Marine (MM) came together in brotherly fashion, forming and laying the best foundation a girl could ask for. The perfect width and depth, it turns out it was measured correctly. After an application of construction grade Gorilla Glue between the frame and foundation on Saturday, we let the project cure for 24 hours.
During that time, MM and I enjoyed an afternoon of play. We took turns rolling the dice as we played a variation of the board game, Monopoly. This version was named after our town. Considering that we know the Mayor pretty well, it was fun to land on a space that granted lunch with him. Each space on the board was named after something we know, like “In-Town Park”, “Main Street”, or La Fiesta Mexican Restaurant”.
Play a board game on a Saturday afternoon is something I haven’t done for years. MM was a formidable opponent. I’m sure he deployed strategies learned over the years as the oldest brother in a house of five boys. It mattered not. It was great fun, and he won. With shared laughter and happiness, we both came out winners.
Sunday was construction day. Beginning at 6:30, we began our first project as a team. I’m totally amazed at how well we worked together, finishing our project in just over six hours. There were a couple tough spots in which this piece or that one didn’t quite go as we wanted. MM knew which bolt to loosen or tighten, and the project was completed without a single broken panel. A 10′ x 14′ greenhouse is something to behold. It’s the perfect size for us, having plenty of floor space for two gardeners.
I’m so thankful that Veikous Greenhouses (purchased through Lowe’s) has their kits dialed in. If not, things could have gone differently. Every piece was labeled with a number that coincided with detailed instructions. Easy to follow. Great results.
Beginning while the structure was still shaded, the front and back walls were soon standing. Then, the sides went up. Finally it was time for the roof.
By 1:00 PM, we were done. The temperature? Hovering around 100.
Never having constructed a Greenhouse before, there’ve been a few surprises along the way. Like the fact that all joints need Silicone caulking. When complete, the Silicone will cost 1/3 of the total price of the greenhouse.
Solar power is so handy for little items. Many of the back-yard garden lights are powered by solar. The fans in the greenhouse will be powered by solar, keeping the temperature more manageable. To avoid the need for wiring, I’ll use solar lighting in the greenhouse, too, for the nights that I work a little past sundown.
Another fun item I just found is a solar fountain pump. I’ve always loved little garden fountains, but hate the cords and need for additional outlets.
Amazon –Under $15Winterpast’s Rolling Spice Garden now provides a place for solar powered fountain.
MM and I are already dreaming of all the annuals we’re going to start from seeds next year. With the price of plants at Lowe’s, this structure will pay for itself in no time.
As for today, I’m turning my attention to gutter repairs. A company is coming to give me an estimate a little later this morning. They specialize in gutter filters to keep your gutters leaf and clog free. If you buy their product, they will include gutter repairs. I find it interesting that there aren’t more gutter-repair companies in our area. This seems to be the only one. I have a feeling, when I hear the price, it will encourage me to practice my ladder skills and figure out how to repair them myself. Such is the life of the homeowner.
Whatever you do today, take a walk around your house and see what improvements you can fit in before Autumn is upon us. Only 54 more days remain until the Autumnal Equinox on September 23rd. Take care that your animals and plants have plenty of fresh, cool, water, and while you’re at it, stay hydrated yourself!
A military chaplain once created a “Worry Table” based upon the problems men and women brought him throughout his years of service. He found their worries fit into the following categories:
Worries about things that never happened — 40%
Worries about past, unchangeable decisions — 30%
Worries about illness that never happened — 12 %
Worries about adult children and friends (who were able to take care of themselves) –10%
Worries about real problems — 8%
According to his chart, 92% of all our worries are about things we can’t control — things that are better left alone to solve themselves. The truth is , anxiety multiplies when these worries are our focus.
For people of faith, we sometimes forget He is big enough and caring enough. He can help with our problems, giving us the desires of our hearts, while keeping our loved ones from harm. God is that awesome.
Once we remember his character, we can easily see how we worry for nothing most of the time. God is more than big enough and cares more than enough to help us, bless us, and protect us. Give your worries to Him and He will replace them with His peace. That’s what faith is all about.
(Inspired by God’s Little Devotional Journal for Women –Honor Books– 2000.)
Time and patience heal so many things. In 1977, I spent some time working for a veterinarian. He had an interesting way of looking at illness and pets. According to this seasoned professional, 90% of illnesses in pets will resolve themselves with little or no human intervention. Of the remaining 10%, 75% of those will improve with intervention and 25% may be too ill or injured to survive.
So many times, frantic pet owners would call deep in worry, when, with patience and time, the animal would heal on its own. It’s the 10% of “What If’s” that nail us every time, either with our pets, or our own lives. Remember, if in doubt, alleviate your worries and call the vet.
Everyone wants a quick fix through the hard times. A magical elixir that will make everything better in minutes. An easy answer to the pain caused by our grief. There are just some worries that have no immediate answer. The journey through the wilderness of widowhood is a brutal one. There is no way to cheat time when you’re struggling through. When the sunshine breaks through for a little while, put down your load and rest. Take time to breathe. With patience, it’s one foot in front of the other. With perseverance you’ll make it to the other side in time.
Whatever you do this weekend, take time to unplug and enjoy some quiet moments. Remember, you’ve suffered a great many catastrophes in life and most of them never ended up happening. Try five minutes without worry. It’ll do your heart and soul some good! Tonight, Give It To God and Go To Sleep.
Living amidst the desert orchard of Winterpast, there’s been plenty of time to observe the other residents in the garden. Hummingbirds are quite happy that I’ve finally remembered to fill and hang their feeder. Brilliant yellow butterflies are resting awhile since the planting of the Butterfly bush in the spring. The birds have a lot to say about the place, singing their happy tunes. Even the wind chimes ding-a-ling-a-dong with the wind And then, there are the fruit trees.
This year, the yield has been abundant and of the highest quality. Totally organic, my apricots have no fungus or worms. Just bright, orange, offering the sweetest flavor in their firm flesh. All this beauty appearing in a few short months since the late snows of 2023.
The early apricot is quite the show-off. Coming on strong, this tree produced the largest apricots I’ve ever eaten. Like small peaches, really. An early variety, she made it through the crazy spring of snow and rain, holding tightly to her blooms. Turning them into fruit, she held onto each cot until it was all too much. In three days, she had nothing left on her branches. They all fell at once.
Just as her fruit fell, the fruit on the wise old apricot tree began to ripen. As this happened, her limbs began to sag. Her shape has been groomed over 20 years to produce a tree resembling the Hawaiian Banyan. She is now a smaller version of this magnificent banyan.
Sunset at the park in Lake Catherine behind a large banyan tree in Palm Beach.
Her limbs are way too long to support much weight. As the summer days have past, I worried that she would snap a limb or two, changing her look. Having left my heart in Hawaii so many years ago, she is a little reminder of such a place waiting for my return.
The tree itself hosts so much life. She’s helped me with heavy thoughts during grief-filled days of healing . Her branches lift my eyes upward towards the brightest high desert sky. She brings birds and their happy songs to cheer me. And, she has given me beautiful fruit which holds the magic of this most beautiful season. Summer.
Her seasonal routine was a little different than her friend across the yard. Her fruit was smaller and more plentiful. Ripening at a more reasonable pace, I’ve enjoyed her fruit for two full weeks. Every day, I hope for the last apricot to fall on the paths around her. Her branches hold hundreds more and the harvest continues.
Life is very much like the seasonal journey of this tree. Love blooms in springtime splendor. During the spring snows and rains, some blooms become fruit, while others don’t make it through. All the while, the tree lives on. Through the summer, the crop ripens until the tree can hold it no longer. Released from the heavy burden, the tree enjoys the rest of the season, until fall.
Autumn leaves take their time dancing in the wind. Changing colors, they turn into things they’d only dreamed they’d one day become. October winds whisk them away to new places. The cycle is done and the tree can rest in peace until the next year, when the beautiful dance begins again.
Through it all, there are bound to be broken limbs. Disappointments. Spoiled fruit. Pests. Disease.
What kind of tree would you be if you could choose?
A fruit tree? An ever-green? A banyan on some sunny tropical beach?
This poem was given to me by my bestie, CC. It sums up the kind of tree I’d love to be.
Whatever you do today, remember, you’re the tree, not the fruit. Always know your branches are strong and capable, even in the strongest Zephyr winds the desert sends your way. You can carry your burden without breaking. The load will soon drop. Be ready. You have many more beautiful summer days to enjoy.
An old woman found herself dying of cancer. Her heartbroken husband came to sit by her bedside, deep in his own grief. Having shared a lifetime of beautiful days together, it seemed impossible that he would continue his life’s journey without her. Although he desired to be strong for her sake, he found he was unable to control his emotions and began to cry.
Focusing on the tears streaming down his face, she gently said to him, “Now honey, please don’t take on so. While I’ve been sick, I’ve had lots of time to think and know one sure thing. A moment of happiness is a miraculous gift, and we’ve shared a lot of happiness. Focus on those beautiful memories and find your smile when you do.”
Happiness doesn’t come wrapped in brightly colored packages as a gift given to us by others. Happiness comes when we uncover the gifts that lie within us and begin to use them to please and bless others. We each possess our own unique gifts. It’s our life’s work to discover what they are and put them to good use.
Happiness comes when we least expect it. It might lighten an ordinary morning while weeding the garden with a friend, or come on a common evening as dusk ushers in the night. It’s life way of smiling at us.
Happiness flows from within. It’s found in the moments of life we label as “quality” rather than “quantity”. It rises up in life’s greatest tragedies when we choose to smile at what we know to be good and lasting, rather than to cry at what temporarily hurt us. As the pain of loss changes over the years, tears morph into smiles as we share happy stories about those we love and carry close in our hearts.
Happiness also comes as we find ways to help others.
In the words of one very smart man,
George Bernard Shaw – portrait of the Irish dramatist, critic and Nobel Prize winner typing at his desk. Whitehall Theatre Programme – ‘The Doctor’s Dilemma’ Written in 1906. 26 July 1856 – 2 November 1950. (Photo by Culture Club/Getty Images)
“This is the true joy in life, being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one. Be a force of nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances, complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.
I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the whole community and as long as I live, it is my privilege to do for it what I can.
I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work, the more I live.
I rejoice in life for its own sake. Life is no brief candle to me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I’ve got hold of for the moment and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations.”
― George Bernard Shaw
For heaven’s sake, don’t choose to be a feverish, selfish little cold of ailments and grievances. Be the splendid torch. Choose happiness.
The only person who can truly make you happy is yourself. You simply need to decide.
Whatever you do today, remember, the heart is the happiest when it beats for others. Choose happiness, one day at a time.
The heat is on here at Winterpast. Summer 2023 is proving to be a warm one, even after such a lovely beginning. Once it warmed up, it’s been desert hot.
Heat makes people do strange things. Listening to the news this morning, it was reported that contact burns are a problem now in Phoenix. Contact foot burns from hot pavement. MM and I were reminiscing about our respective desert childhoods in Nevada and California. When running barefoot outside, one would pick spots of shade and dash from one to the next. No problem. Our feet were like leather by the end of the summer. We suffered no burns. We were outside from dawn to dusk. Never any contact burns for us.
It might not have been the best idea to pour a greenhouse foundation on such a hot weekend, but the great thing is, it’s finished. Watching The Mayor and my MM get lumber, measure twice, cut once, assemble forms, and pour concrete over a two day period was amazing. The resulting foundation is curing at the moment. Then, assembly can begin.
There were great things discovered along the way. Water is easy accessible. This means a misting system, sink, faucets, and perhaps even some drip and emitters will be added to the plans. Pretty exciting to find the water line runs right under the new structure.
The greenhouse will be bolted to the foundation, added strength and stability. As it’s becoming a reality, the excitement is building. Just what will we grow there? How will it fit into our gardening plans? Not sure yet, but one thing is certain. We will have fun tinkering with it, making it part of the Secret Gardens of Winterpast. The more plants we add, the more its personality is taking shape.
As the men were working, I decided to start mapping the gardens, notating the location of water lines and emitters. To say this yard is complicated is an understatement. Buried drip lines snake this way and that, always seeming to appear right under the tip of the shovel. Covering 1/2 acre, there are 9 drip stations serviced by two different control boxes. It’s time I map out the property. For me and for any future residents.
As I was mapping flower beds, I found a good use for the phone app, “Picture This”.
“Picture This” — Plant Id Application for i-Phone or Android
With just the click on your phone, any plant is identified, along with requirements for growth. It will even tell you if the plant has meanings. I found that the crab apple tree in my yard signifies love, marriage, and fertility. Some plants are featured in their own poetry. If you find a plant you like, take a picture and send it to your library. Then, when shopping for new plants, you’ll know what to look for at the nursery.
I plan to map the entire yard with valuable information. It was fun remembering the names of the new rose bushes planted in 2023. “Happy Go Lucky” and her twin sister are yellow roses from WEEKS nursery. They haven’t stopped blooming for a second. The “Grand Dame” is taking her own sweet time. “Mr. Lincoln” is working on putting down roots before giving us many blooms. Some roses are taking longer than others to settle in.
Playing in the yard is one of the most rewarding things a grieving gardener can do. Making sure everyone has plenty of water and food. Placing plants in a spot with the correct amount of shade or sun. Worrying about insect and fungal attacks. In the garden, there is always something to keep the hands and mind busy. If you spend enough time and energy, the outcome is breathtaking.
Whatever you do today, consider a small place that would benefit from plants and begin. Map out a little big of heaven for yourself. You can always ask neighbors what grows well for them. Do a drive about your neighborhood and sneak a few pictures with your new phone app. You just might meet a new friend.
Hand crafted with Love and Though here on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada! Thank you so much Angel of the Aluminum Cloud — Love you!
Small town life is found throughout our great country. People who choose to live in downtown New York City just couldn’t ever understand. Not anymore than I can understand how they can stand to live in Downtown-Big-City, Any State, USA. I almost get hives just thinking about the traffic, grumpiness, and fast pace of life in large cities.
Give me a Nevada style “Night-in-the-Country” any day of the week. Stars so bright it seems you can reach out and touch them. Nights so dark it’s hard to see your own hands, let alone anything else. Mustangs and their foals right along side the roads named after desert plants. There is nothing like small-town living.
Just this morning, with heavy wind warnings up for my area, I noticed the mustangs are down from the hills. With the heat, their water and food sources are drying up. They can always count on small-towner’s to help them out. I would imagine the battle with the horses will be intense this year.
These days, with such polarization in our country, small town people are being attacked for being good, kind, decent, honorable people who love country music. Weird. What happened to the Live-and-Let-Live, laid back feelings of the mid 1900’s? It would be lovely to return to the ways of those days and try it awhile. Yes. There were social problems back then, too. My memory just tends to drift towards the kinder parts of those times.
Last week, the Angel of the Aluminum Cloud and I enjoyed Tuesday Frolics. Such a day we enjoy when traveling to the biggest little city to the west. There’s never a lack of conversation. Sometimes spiritual. Sometimes philosophical. Sometimes, historical. Sometimes social. Always rich and interesting.
On that particular Tuesday, she arrived right on time. Springing out of her car, she announced that she had a little something for me. Opening her trunk, she produced the beautiful wall hanging and handed it to me! Absolutely the finest craftsmanship, she’d even remembered a hanging wire on the back.
The galloping mustang is a true wonder of nature to behold. I noticed a REAL lasso, a shout out to my love of Wyoming. Only the best place in the entire world, and her home for many years. A hint of barbed wire keeps things organized. Rusted barbed wire. My favorite condition of metals is rusted. Unless the metal is galvanized, which I love just as much.
I was so touched when I found out she had made this gorgeous piece just for me. She has access to a “junk” pile, although, nothing in this piece even began to resemble the junk piles I knew from the ranch. They looked more like this.
A little bit of this. A large piece of that. Scraps from projects throughout the years. All kept because, “You just never know……..” A ranch wife’s worst nightmare. The junk pile that just keeps growing and growing in hopes of a future purpose.
Anyway, Angel of the Aluminum cloud started explaining her art project. She KNEW I love the mustangs and had found the equine anchor piece, aged to perfection. The piece of lasso was, indeed, something they had from life in Wyoming. The barbed wire was added for a nod to Wyoming, as well. All mounted on fresh boards.
This was all amazing enough. But, being blonde, (even though the hair is grey, my roots will be forever blonde), I didn’t focus on the most amazing part. The street on which you’ll find Winterpast and me is named after one of the items in this art piece. Truly personal, well thought out, and heart warming!
That is small town kindness, thoughtfulness, and ingenuity. Things from the “Some Day” pile used to create something of beauty that will be appreciated for years to come. A handmade gift from one dear friend to another.
Whatever you do today, stop thoughts that might take you to a place of judgment or distaste. Just stop. Think of this instead. Live and Let Live. Unless its someone that threatens your very existence, just try tolerance. I going to take my own advice and try it too. Maybe New York City IS a wonderful place to live. I hope city dwellers everywhere have a wonderful day. As for me, I’m off to walk with the mustangs in the desert for a bit.
The internet is such an amazing place. There are so many great things to be seen, in the midst of the crazy world. A few years ago, I stumbled upon one such amazing park. There, a young man was playing his ukulele while other children played in the background.
Past time for a haircut like the other boys. His pants rolled at the bottom because he hadn’t yet grown into them. One little boy. One little ukulele with FOUR strings. Only 4. He was playing his very own composition on this little instrument, usually sold as a toy. The first time I saw this, I knew I would never forget his name.
Feng-E
As boys do, he grew a bit and went on to compete in a televised talent show. At just ten years old, he rocked the stage. Showcasing three different songs, he’d earned a golden shower of confetti, but he wasn’t done growing.
Feng-E — Three songs — 10 year old happiness with dippy dancers and background music. The guitar in the 3rd piece is almost bigger than him
Through the years, I’ve watched him evolve as an artist. He started with a simple ukulele and quickly advanced to the amplified version. He also plays six and 12 string guitars beautifully. All while being in some sort of musical trance. Totally focused and in control of his instrument while delivering every time.
He’s been asked to duet with grey-haired professionals who marvel at his natural talent. A true child prodigy, he never missed a beat when playing with Tommy Emmanuel in the following duet.
Not really being a fan of hard rock, I enjoy listening to his softer pieces. Sometimes it seems like the camera can’t even record all his finger movements. His concentration and awareness of the old musician is amazing at such a young age.
On this Friday morning, look for something wonderful to watch on the internet. Ignore bad news about heinous crimes. Use this wonderful tool to enliven your spirit. Listen to some great music, taking time to focus on the notes and the way they are delivered. Remember, Artificial Intelligence, (AI — Remember, that’s two letters according to our AI czar), will never, ever replace human creativity and talent unless we forget to applaud talented child prodigies. Go forth and prosper, young Feng-E.
Farm girls are no strangers to harvests. Some years are heavy with disappointment, and some years are bountiful. This year, with the perfect weather, the entire region is experiencing huge fruit crops. The plums are ripening next, followed by peaches and nectarines.
I’m dealing with the second harvest of the year. The first tree dropped the entire crop in less than four days. My “Banyan apricot” is takin her sweet time, giving me a couple buckets a day. Just enough to keep my attention on using as many as I can. Truly, there is only so much one old woman can harvest alone.
Reviewing the past four seasons, there are been two harvests and two years without any crop at all. The barren years were hit with frosts and snow during bloom. The uncertainty of desert fruit makes a bumper harvest all the more precious.
The Mysterious Marine has his own harvest of garden vegetables. The potatoes are plotting, not yet revealing what’s hidden just beneath the surface. The garlic and onions are almost ready for harvest. The purple bell peppers are taking their own sweet time, while the cherry tomatoes have almost outpaced their biggest garden pest. Me.
With all this produce, it’s hard to keep ahead of recipes to use these things. Especially the apricots. I’ve used the following methods, and the tree is still loaded.
Apricot Pie – 1
Apricot Jam — 28 jars.
Canned apricots — 16 pints
Dried Apricots — 5 dehydrator trays.
Apricot Leather — to be attempted this weekend.
Apricot Galette with Cream Cheese and Pisatachios– new recipe for tomorrow night
Apricot Jam over Turkey Roast — Winner-Winner Turkey Dinner
I’m losing the fight. Last night, I raked up and disposed of pounds of fallen apricots, full of ants and bugs. I’ll battle on today.
Offering the excess fruit for the picking, I’ve called the Mormon church. Neighbors. Church Sisters. Finally, Ninja Neighbor and her friend, Grasshopper, came over last night to take a few off my hands. I met young Grasshopper almost two years ago at a neighborhood garage sale. To say he is impressive doesn’t even cover it.
“I can help you with whatever chores you have!” he said last night, beaming through clear eyes and a wide smile. I’m not sure of his age, but his heart is so pure.
“Are you saving up for something special?”
“Yes. I want to buy a dress for my mom.”
Okie-Dokie, then, I need to find some jobs for this guy. He’s the real deal. Ninja Neighbor keeps him pretty busy. Just yesterday, he helped her thin her apple tree (Hmmmmm. My apple tree is as loaded as the apricot tree.) He sliced apricots for her dehydrator. He tends her garden. Yes. I need to think on this and become a client. Quickly. He’ll soon be booked up!
As Ninja Neighbor, Grasshopper, and I picked apricots, I thought about the blessing of great neighbors. People of faith. Solid neighbors that are there, day or night. Fence neighbors that always have time to visit. Neighbors who will come to get some fruit during a bountiful year. Ride or die, neighbors.
We decided that a September block party is something we all need to welcome the new neighbors to our hood. There are many moving in. A BBQ will be a great way to meet the new folks. Ninja Neighbor, young Grasshopper, and I are going to think of this and make it happen. Welcome Home, 2023!
In this face paced world, it’s easy to hit the garage door button, drive in, and hit it again. Keep the curtains shut tight and live in your own little world. At times, the life of the hermit is necessary. But, there’s so much life missed by staying behind the front door. Get out for a walk and see what’s going on just down the street and around the corner.
Here’s the challenge. In the next week, meet one neighbor with whom you haven’t spoken. Just one. Even if it’s just a “Hello” and quick compliment about their yard. Make one contact. You just might meet a young man who needs work because he’s buying his mom a new dress.
Fieldtrips are always fun, even for adults. Yesterday was the perfect time to beat the heat and head 30 miles to the west to see something wonderful. Art museums are a great place to get lost in thoughts. Even though there were small displays in a very large building, Angel of the Aluminum Cloud and I walked away with lots to think about.
The clever sculpture of the mustang in the picture above was made of desert wood found in the surrounding hills where they live. Thinking about the fight that continues about the future of the mustangs, it seemed fitting the image was made of something quite dead. Although the statue had form, you could see through it to the other side. Almost like they were vanishing, which they are. Their days on the plains of Northwestern Nevada are limited. Horses and high density housing don’t mix. Sadly, the horses will lose every time.
“Someday When We’re Dreaming” — Fabric Art Display by Rachel Hayes -Nevada Museum of Art
Entering the museum, these colorful quilts, made of light and transparent strips of cloth, took the eye upward through the four floors of the museum. This was, itself, an art exhibit by a very talented seamstress. A perfect exhibit for summer days on the high desert plains. The exhibit gave life to an otherwise cold and sterile environment.
We had chosen this field trip after I recently learned of a fascinating combat troop of World War II. Known as the US Army’s 23rd Headquarters Special Troops, or Ghost Army, they used deception to fool Adolf Hitler’s forces.
According to Museum information:
“Ghost Army: The Combat Con Artists of World War II relates the unique story of more than 1,100 men who deceived, sketched, and painted across Europe to manipulate Hitler’s armies during World War II.
Activated on January 20, 1944, the 23rd Headquarters Special Troops, known as the “Ghost Army,” was the first mobile, multimedia, tactical deception unit in US Army history. Consisting of an authorized strength of 82 officers and 1,023 men under the command of Army veteran Colonel Harry L. Reeder, this unique and top-secret unit was capable of simulating two whole divisions—approximately 30,000 men—and used visual, sonic, and radio deception to fool German forces during World War II’s final year.
The unit consisted of a carefully selected group of artists, engineers, professional soldiers, and draftees, including famed artists such as fashion designer Bill Blass, painter Ellsworth Kelly, and photographer Art Kane. The unit waged war with inflatable tanks and vehicles, fake radio traffic, sound effects, and even phony generals, using imagination and illusion to trick the enemy while saving thousands of lives along the way. Armed with nothing heavier than .50 caliber machine guns, the 23rd took part in 22 large-scale deceptions in Europe from Normandy to the Rhine River, the bulk of the unit arriving in England in May 1944, shortly before D-Day. The 23rd, along with the 3133rd Signal Service Company in Italy, helped liberate Europe from the grip of Nazi tyranny.
Produced by the National World War II Museum in New Orleans, this exhibition brings together archival photography, historical artifacts, uniforms, sketches, and life-sized recreations of inflatable military equipment used during combat.”
This mission was kept Top Secret for decades just in case it was ever needed again.
A passerby saw these men lifting a tank — “How could this be?” Reply? “Those Americans are quite strong.”
When I first read about this, it brought a huge smile to my face. Consider this. Bill Blass starting his career designing high fashion while sitting in fox holes fooling the Germans! The life size planes, tanks, and artillery were made of rubber. Only one full size tank made it out and is on display in at the World War II Museum in New Orleans. Everything else was burned when the missions were completed.
This group of a very few soldiers fooled the enemy with sounds recorded on wire. Regular recording tape hadn’t been invented yet. In a lab, different sounds were combined to make tracks of river crossings, tank movements, vehicle caravans, and soldiers moving along on their way. They were blasted throughout the night, giving the other side something to think about. Yikes. 30,000 Americans were moving in. It worked time and time again.
There are several great documentaries on this wonderful group. Search “The History Channel” and you can find out more.
Of course, as is the case in any museum, some rooms held me for longer than others. The original watercolors and pencil drawings of the Ghost Army Soldiers were so raw, you could almost hear bombs exploding in the background. Other’s, like the minimalist work of Ellsworth Kelly just made me shake my head, wishing I’d thought of it first.
Ellsworth KellyEllsworth Kelly — He lived to the ripe old age of 92.
These brave artists, although never in direct combat, saved thousands of American lives with their talents. The art they left behind remains a silent testament to wartime. Lovely in the saddest of ways.
I’ll remain our day for a long time to come. Museums provides personal experiences for each visitor. Artificial Intelligence will never be able to replace a museum experience. The actual uniforms adorned with medals behind the protection of glass cases are REAL. REAL wins every single time. I hope future generations protect our precious artifacts of times long ago.
Whatever you do today, think about visiting a museum in your area. See if there are new exhibits that might be of interest. Plan to stay awhile. Do lunch. Take a friend. If you’re lucky, your adventure might let you visit another time and place long ago. Priceless.
That magical summer was stored on a shelf. Spring rains, zephyr winds, and the clickety-clack of random mustangs passing by. Back porch evenings enjoying the quiet. The soft touch of a shoulder’s brushing while watching TV. A frosty bowl of Vanilla Bean Ice Cream. A sweet goodnight kiss.
Richness beyond five pounds of sugar are preserved in those jars. Happy summer molecules hold memories of new roses and strolls through gardens. Their time is marked forever. The date memorialized in Sharpie on “BALL” gold. A luxury that can’t be bought.
Winter dinner guests will note the rich hue, similar to the orangish red of July’s dusky sunset sky. Resembling the intensity of a summer’s child resisting sleep.
The tongues of that December’s dinner-party will be enlivened by summer’s harvest, glowing like fireflies in a jar. The hues of that lovely summer are now saved for winter’s cold, by an old lady, canning in the kitchen. Summer’s magic, settled on a shelf. Joy’s Apricot Jam 2023.
jhurt2023
Now, let’s get down to the truth about canning. It isn’t fun. It isn’t romantic. It’s hot, sticky, and a total mess. There you have it. My real feelings on canning.
Yesterday was a busy day. Before the sun was up, it was time to pick two buckets of apricots. Now, that doesn’t seem like a lot. In reality, these weren’t five-gallon buckets. Just buckets my Grandmother would have loved. She was always looking for a new bucket because my Grandfather would swipe the one she’d just bought. During the Mid Century 1900’s, buying a bucket was a big thing. Not a bucket from Japan, either. Made in America. And make it a nice. Grammie always had to have a NICE bucket.
Well, Grammie, I get that now. I have my favorites. These were now full of apricots and old instincts kicked in. Pit and cut the fruit. Boil the jars, lids, and rings. Measure the sugar and lemon juice. For six, tiny jars of jam. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat……………
Yesterday, I canned 28 jars of jam. The day before, 11.
Fruit left on the tree?
That’s only one spot in a huge limb.
My tree a mature, 20 year old apricot tree. It’s as loaded as I’ve ever seen. Rich, beautiful fruit that hasn’t been sprayed or touched in any way, except by the hand of God. A bountiful crop.
Now, what to do with this glorious fruit.
I’ve asked at church for takers. Crickets.
I’ve made one pie. 1/2 is still on the counter.
I’ve run out of jars and plan to buy more today to can halved-apricots for winter.
I’ll try my hand at drying some. Perhaps some Fruit leather?
If we enter another depression, I’m sure the products can be used for bartering.
One thing is for certain, by Sunday the apricot harvest will be over.
Make hay while the sun shines. Keep Calm and Can On.
Today, The Angle of the Aluminum Cloud and I are going West to enjoy some time together in the biggest little city we know. She’s the only REAL, TRUE, and HONEST fighter jet mechanic I know (Aluminum Cloud — fighter jet). A girl’s day to get caught up and compare notes on our apricot harvests.
Whatever you do, if asked if you need some fruits or vegetables, be kind and say, “YES!” with gusto. Take a few minutes and listen to my favorite story about excess produce. The end is priceless.
There is no Lake Wobegon, so Garrison Keillor has created one for us. Enjoy!
What a weekend!! Saturday, my MM and I have lived through the hottest temps of the year, so far. We’d both been watching the news about predicted weekend temperatures. For once the meteorologists guessed too low. The highest temperature since last Friday has been 112. We were expected 106-107. At any rate, it is very, very hot. (But it’s a DRY heat. LOL)
A few weeks ago, we visited a garden center new to us. Ninja Neighbor had raved about the owners, and, yes indeed-ee, she was correct. This crew loves their product and their customers.
That weekend, they were having a “Buy-Three-Get-One-Free” rose sale. If you’re into roses, you know that’s a great sale. I never thought I’d spend so much for one rose bush, let alone, buy three to get a fourth free. “WEEKS ROSES”. Ask your nursery to carry that brand. They are hardy, transplantable, and beautiful. Besides. They have cute names. Who wouldn’t love a rose bush named “Happy Go Lucky”. Winterpast is now home to two of those yellow hybrid tea rose bushes.
As MM and I chatted away at the register, my attention was drawn to a small sign.
“Garden Tour — July 15th — $25/per person —
Well, never had I ever. Neither had MM. We were guests #4 and #5. The associate at the register told us to return the morning of the 15th to get a map. There’d be prizes and refreshments at each home.
Saturday, we were early to the nursery to grab our map and off we went. Navigating through MM’s phone because my navigation system is persnickety, we visited six very different homes and gardens. My, oh my, oh my.
Using MM’s app, “Picture This”, (plant identification app — if you garden it’s a must), we saved many plants to his library for later purchase. We got ideas for raised beds. One gardener had planted a log that was adorable. There was one home that had seven bee hives, something we want to develop here at Winterpast. There were miniature donkeys and chickens along the way. At each home, snacks and ice cold lemonade were served. The gardeners were so kind and helpful, we hardly noticed the heat at all.
Of course, there were two mansions on the tour. Lovely in every way. One was river front, while the other was built in the middle of lush alfalfa fields because the owner just loved the color purple. Her husband obliged.
Stop #4 was a working, organic flower farm run by a woman and her daughter. Rows of straw flowers in yellow, white, and purple were ready to pick. We did step into a greenhouse to check out the summer temperature inside. With the ventilation she’s provided, it was pleasant.
The last stop was a visit with an 80 year old gentleman farmer, showcasing his mature yard of 30 years, complete with a beautiful waterfall and stream. Funny. One stop was nurturing the bees. At his house, the chemical of choice was the broad spectrum “Seven”, which kills over 500 insects, including bees. The tour had something for everyone, from the organic gardener to those that would prefer a sterile garden environment.
Chuck’s Yard — Magnificent Waterfall!!!!!
Happily, we returned to the garden center, as we had been told there’d be a surprise.
Homemade lunch was served riverside, on the lawn under the shade of trees by the owner of the nursery. Tomato Pie and fresh fruit with a Lemon Cloud topping. What a perfect ending to a perfect morning. If you haven’t tried Tomato Pie, try the recipe below.
2 cups (8 ounces/225 g) grated cheese (combination of sharp cheddar and Monterey Jack, or Gruyere or Mozzarella)
1/2 cup mayonnaise
1 teaspoon Frank’s Hot Sauce or Tabasco, or to taste
Freshly ground black pepper
Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C).Place the oven rack in the center of the oven.
Pre-bake the crust. If you are using a store-bought pie shell, follow the directions.
Salt and drain the sliced tomatoes, while pre-baking the crust.
Layer pre-baked pie shell with onions, tomatoes, basil. Spread the chopped onion over the bottom of your pre-baked pie crust shell. Squeeze as much moisture as you can out of the sliced tomatoes, using paper towels. Spread the drained sliced tomatoes over the onions. Sprinkle the sliced basil over the tomatoes.
Make cheese mixture, spread over tomatoes. In a medium bowl, mix together the grated cheese, mayonnaise, Tabasco, a sprinkling of freshly ground black pepper. Spread the cheese mixture over the tomatoes.
Place in the oven and bake at 350°F (175°C) until browned and bubbly, 25 to 45 minutes.
We were surprised with two $25 gift certificates, which were used to buy two more plants. All in all, the morning couldn’t have been better.
Candy Apple Hydrangea — Hydrangea paniculata
Never would I have believed this would survive in the desert until I saw one thriving in full sun. This plant is hardier than it looks.
Crocosmia ‘Diabilito — MM and I both had to take a second look at this plant. Had to have it.
With the temperatures hovering at 112 by late afternoon, the two plants will be living in kitchen until things cool off a bit. Funny. I’d love nothing more than turn my home into a jungle. MM’s house is already jungle-like. We share the love of gardening, which is lovely all on its own.
Today, Oliver and I are off on a western trek across the desert to the “Mop Shop”, where he’ll be getting his summer hair cut. Then, it’ll be back to Winterpast to deal with the 2023 Apricot crop.
Whatever you do today, research fun little events near your town. Farmer’s Markets? Garden Centers? Senior Center tours? When you start looking for fun, you’ll find every little town has something. Sometimes, its something grand, just waiting for you.
A writer’s best friend is often coffee. Writing in the dark of early morning, it’s surely mine. As darkness turns to shadows and then full sun, I sit clickity-clacking away while Oliver sleeps on his bed. He knows. We got to work every summer morning at 4:30 AM. There’s time for rest later in the day when the temperatures soar past the century mark.
Coffee is such a strange drink. I started drinking it my Freshman year in college. Over the last 50 years, there have been times when I’ve consumed a pot a day, and other times when I’ve gone a year without any. At present, the pot starts boiling each morning while I’m still half asleep.
There is a story about a young widow that I’d like to share on this beautiful Friday morning. It’s good to take a look at how we handle adversity, whether it’s something minor, or a biggee such as widow-hood. Think about it.
The Story of the Carrot, the Egg and the Coffee Bean
A young widow went to her mother to explain about the struggles of her new life as a widow. She didn’t know how she was going to make it and wanted to give up. She was tired struggling each day. It seemed as one problem was solved, a new one arose.
Her mother took her to the kitchen. She filled three pots with water and placed each on a high fire soon the pots came to boil. In the first she placed carrots.
In the second she placed two eggs.
In the last, she placed ground coffee beans. She let them sit and boil; without saying a word.
In about twenty minutes she turned off the burners. She fished the carrots out and placed them in a bowl. Next, she pulled the eggs out and placed them on a plate. Finally, she filled two cups with the steaming java. Returning to the kitchen table, she placed the three things in front of her daughter.
“Tell me what you see,” were her words to the troubled young woman.
“Carrots, eggs, and coffee,” the daughter replied, punctuated with a significant eye-roll. With a knowing smile, she then asked her daughter to examine and describe the carrots. She did so, noting they were soft and mushy.
The mom then asked the daughter to take an egg and break it, pull off the shell, and share her observations about the hard-boiled egg. She did, telling her mom although the egg looked the same on the outside, the inside was now fully hardened.
Finally, the mother asked the daughter to sip the coffee. The daughter relaxed and released a smile as she tasted its rich aroma. They sat together for awhile, two women looking out upon the garden while enjoying the morning joe.
“So what’s your point, Mom?” The young widow had relaxed a bit, wanting to get to the bottom of this strange experiment. She needed her mother’s wisdom at this time in her life. Her mom didn’t disappoint.
Each object faced the same adversity: boiling water. Each reacted differently.
The carrot went in strong, hard, and unrelenting. However, after being subjected to the boiling water, it softened and became weak. If boiled long enough, it would’ve become mush.
The egg had started out as something fragile. Its thin outer shell had protected the liquid interior. After sitting in the boiling water for a time, its inside became hardened.
But those coffee beans found a unique way around the situation. Before they were boiled, they were hard and bitter. Not many people munch on a cup of coffee beans in the morning. After boiling, it was the beans that had changed the water.
“Which are you?” she asked her daughter. “Adversity knocked on your door and came right in. How are you going to respond? Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean? You’re smart. You’re strong. You’re beautiful. Even though life is hard right now, it’s also as beautiful as the garden outside this window. Be brave. Be bold. Be yourself. But, always strive to be the coffee.”
I got to thinking about this analogy that the mother used and I had to ask myself.
Am I like the carrot that starts strong, but with adversity, wilts to a soft and mushy pulp?
Am I like the egg that starts with a malleable heart that hardens with the heat? When faced with a difficult trial – do I become hard boiled? Does my outer shell look the same, while on the inside a hard bitterness has taken control??
Or am I like the coffee bean, actually changing the hot water, the very circumstance that brought the pain in the first place. With hot water, the bean gives the best of itself to create something totally wonderful while simmering in boiling water.
When the hour is darkest and trials are at their greatest, how to handle adversity?
Be the coffee. Try your best to be the coffee.
On this beautiful Friday leading up to a fantastic weekend, remember to be the Coffee. May you have enough happiness to make you sweet, enough trials to make you strong, enough sorrow to keep you human, and enough hope to make you happy. The happiest of people don’t necessarily have the best of everything—they just make the best of everything that comes along their way. Be the coffee and carry on.
During the last week, I’ve been trying to deploy all the tips I spend time writing about. Grievinggardener.com went down last Friday. I’d been working on some writing, saved it, and decided to log on to the site like a normal reader. I just wanted to see what y’all see. To my horror, y’all were seeing nothing at all. All 780+ posts were missing. Only the titles appeared.
Blogging since September 24, 2020, I thought of all the words that were gone forever. I’ve always intended to print a hard copy of my work. Then, I’ve had the false sense of security that the days of printed work are long past. My words are safe in “the cloud”. For a time, there was no access at all.
I also enjoy seeing how many people read each day. Which blogs are the most popular? How many readers have I had since I started? (677,896). In which countries do my readers live? (Over 80, at this point.) Everything was zero-ed out.
For days, I enjoyed international travel time to Indian, Pakistan, and Malaysia. Taiwan and the Philippines. Who knows, maybe Beijing. Through the many countries to which I traveled by phone, no one could seem to identify that there was any problem.
“No, Miss Joy, all is fine. All working. No problem. Ask your technical advisor. They be back on Monday.”
Well, that didn’t work out too well, as I am my own technical trouble shooter. Probably how the problem started in the first place. It took many calls, and then, “POOF”, like magic, things started working again on Tuesday night.
With no blog on Monday and Tuesday, the alarm was sounded. If I were having a medical emergency, I know of four wonderful friends that would each send a posse of help. Please, never stop checking! Living alone is a precarious place to be. I so remember lying on the living room carpet just days before Christmas 2020. I’d managed to trip over Oliver’s dog bed, spraining my ankle in the process. With my “Help I Can’t Get Up” necklace hanging on my lamp in the bedroom, I was stuck for a bit and left to ponder my next move.
Miss Firecracker, The Goddess of the Central Coast, CC, and Angel of the Aluminum Cloud all checked in to make sure I wasn’t buried under the apricot crop. Please, never stop checking. Long days of heat and fruit picking ladders can be a bad combination.
Living alone can be a lonely existence. Those of us who do, know.
Don’t forget to keep hope alive.
H.O.P.E.
HOLD.
ON.
PAIN.
ENDS.
Accepting life “As It Is” has become the norm here at Winterpast. The “As It Is” part is includes excitement, fun, and love of friends and family. For this moment in time, I’m the most blessed woman in the world. I live on a street with real neighbors who sit in the front yard when they want to visit. Oliver has turned the corner into a real good dog. My Mysterious Marine is convincing me that I CAN cook some pretty good meals. God lives in my soul, making sure I’m safe and healthy. It just doesn’t get better than this very moment.
Hope and acceptance involve hard work. It’s difficult when you just want to pull the covers over your head and hide. It’s an uncomfortable, out-of-your-comfort-zone, in-your-face challenge that starts the very day you become the one that still has to move forward alone. The one who still has a Forever.
Whatever you do today, try something just a little different. Cook a new recipe. Even a new radio station can give you a different perspective. Focus on the positive. Forget the negative. Life is a beautiful journey. Don’t waste it.
The desert is a wonderful example of life not being as it first seems. To the traveler, it is a barren and forlorn place of loneliness void of meaningful life. If circumstances had been different, I never would’ve had the chance to understand the magnificence of this amazing place. Unforgiving, for sure, but also full of life and hope even on the hottest summer days.
Summer 2023 has been mild in comparison to the three others I’ve survived. The very minute the sun slips behind western mountains, breezes cool things down a bit. Before the next sunrise, the temperature drops to more comfortable level. Until now, some nights have almost been sweater weather.
I’ve found widowhood and loneliness to be a lot like the desert. At the worst of times, grief is as unrelenting as the midday sun. Just like the desert, relief is hard to find unless you learn how to survive. Even the hottest of days holds a sunset, when one can take a deep breath of relief. So is the journey through the wilderness of widowhood. Ups and downs. Good and Bad. Turmoil and Peace.
One year ago, sitting at my kitchen table, I’d just finished my morning Bible study. Loneliness had me by the throat as I sobbed. Where in the world I’d meet some new friends? Covid quarantine was over. I was a widow of over two years in a town that I still didn’t know very well. I had neighbors who were in different stages of life than I was. Many were shut-ins confined to the privacy of their own homes. Bird songs amid the gardens can only amuse one for so long. Through my tears, I prayed that God would provide new friends.
My day held earthly plans full of errands and chores. Through a very strange route, Jesus had other ideas. HE took the wheel of my Jeep and drove me straight to an answer.
The gardens of Winterpast, my lifeline, adding a few new plants would certainly make me feel a little better. On the way to the garden center, I remembered a little church just across the tracks across from Main Street. What if they had something to offer? I decided to follow the persistent little lightbulb going off in my head and stop by.
After parking and following the signs to the office, I entered. There, 14 women sat around a table, welcoming me with their smiles.
“Why, Hello! You’re just in time! Have some fresh pie! Here’s our study materials. What’s your name? Tell us your story.”
The time? 9:58 AM.
The starting time for the weekly Bible study group? 10:00 AM. God gave me two extra minutes to settle in.
Sitting in front of each lady was a sheet of paper holding one definition in very large font.
Friend \frend\ noun
Someone who gives you freedom to be yourself;
One of the nicest things you can have;
The best thing you can be.
Miracles often appear when we’re too sad to recognize them for what they are. That day unfolded into the miracle I needed at that very moment in time. Friendships formed then and continue to this day.
If you’re trying to kick the loneliness of widowhood, the only thing you can do is put one foot in front of the other. “Fake it until you make it”, as VST used to say. Get out and nose around a bit.
Whatever you do today, do something positive in the present moment, putting aside the negatives of yesterday and the worries of tomorrow. Life is a beautiful, wonderful journey. You Gotta BE! Sing it!! You Gotta Be!!
The heat. Oh, the drama surrounding the heat. How will we ever bear it? Yesterday, TV’s weather-children were wringing their little hands as they told of the hottest day ever recorded on the planet. Now, how they figure out the planet temperature is a puzzlement to me. Only interested in the temperature of my little desert town, yesterday it managed to top out at 93.
Last year, the high was 93. It’s summer and the mercury rises. Of course, I’m a product of the Central Valley of California where the temperatures can be above 100 from May until November. At that time, the tule fog rolls in bringing misery all its own.
93 in the desert is nothing to complain about, especially when waking up to a beautiful 71. It’s important not to forget to hydrate and use sunscreen. Then, there’s nothing to do but wait until Friday, 22nd September 2023 at 11:51pm when we get to enjoy another autumn. At this writing, that’s only 77 days, 18 hours, and 37 minutes away.
With the afternoons a little warm to enjoy the gardens of Winterpast, I decided the closet had grown into a project. How does this happen? Repeatedly. It’s time to purge. A few short months later, it’s in a bigger disarray. Mine is a walk-in-closet for one. This would have been a problem had the two people that bought Winterpast actually lived to move in together. Sadly, it was just me and this closet has major issues.
Sorting through my shoes, I had to laugh. Black Suede heels of varying heights for those unexpected dinner dates. (Black Suede and desert dust are not the best combo.) Sketcher “Da-Lites” for gardening. Sketcher’s “Go-Walks” for little hikes. Leather sandals. Sensible flats. Winter snow boots. Summer flip-flops. I really don’t like buying shoes, but when the size you need is 10.5 Narrow, you buy when you find something that fits, usually black or brown to go with everything.
Well, I was putting shoes back in their boxes when I came across a brand new box. Nestled inside lay brown suede hiking boots. A forgotten purchase, still sporting tags. Smiling, I remembered the reason they wait.
The Spanish Pilgrimage of Camino de SantiagoSantiago de Compostela — Spain
Santiago de Compostela. The cathedral sitting at the end of a very long walk.
To have bragging rights to this trail, one must walk at least 70 miles of it. People take this walk for all sorts of personal reasons. They carry those reasons in their hearts as they walk through the Spanish countryside. Pilgrims have been taking this walk for more than a thousand years.
Two dear friends hiked it over 10 days, during which they found food and lodging along the way. Planning with a tour company, they didn’t carry anything but a small pack for water and snacks. Their luggage was waiting for them each day at the next stop.
This is quite high on my personal bucket list. Something I want to prove to myself. Something I want to DO in memory of VST. Of all the places we traveled over 32 years, we never made it to Europe. I’ll easily carry his memory in my heart as I put one boot in front of the other until I stand in front of this magnificent cathedral in Spain at the end of the journey.
If I’ve got you thinking, you can research this very pilgrimage on line. There are plenty of great documentaries about the journey. Travel companies that can help you plan to the last detail. According to my friends, the first day was the worst. 13 miles on Day One. After that? A piece of cake. They took 10 days. It could take as long as 20.
Of course, a seasoned old bird shouldn’t undergo this alone. MM is interested in joining me while carrying his own angel passenger. Although both VST and MM’s passenger are on the other side of heaven, they’ll come along. It’s for them, we’re planning to walk. Well, their memory and to honor the last days of my 6th decade in the summer of 2025. Now you understand the hiking boot situation going on in my closet.
The very first thing to remember is that you need to wear comfortable shoes. You may need a couple pair to make the complete journey. Pretty sure one pair of Merrill hiking boots will do 70 miles. The first mile of preparation began yesterday, as I strolled around my neighborhood sporting very stiff hiking boots. Quite different from the squishy Sketchers I’m used to.
I don’t know what I’ll learn about myself along the Camino. Not sure what kind of amazing miracles will be experienced. What kind of new foods we’ll eat along the way. How the stars shining in the Spanish night sky will watch over us as we sleep in cot filled hostiles full of other pilgrims. I just know I need to get in shape, because each day is one closer to our journey.
Hiking boots are a good thing to own. Even better when they get broken in. There are so many places to hike in our own back yard, here in Northwestern Nevada. Finding these boots hidden in my own closet made me remember that 67.5 years is not elderly. It’s just getting tuned up for adventure.
Whatever you do, remember this quote. As a retired teacher, it’s one I’ve never forgotten and remembered quite often. As for me, I’m off for my second day of training. I have a 70 mile trail to walk. Need to be ready.
Oh, I have days I lose the fight Try my best but just don’t get it right Where I talk a talk that I don’t walk And miss the moments right before my eyes
Somebody with a hurt that I could have helped Somebody with a hand that I could have held When I just can’t see past myself Lord, help me be
A little more like mercy, A little more like grace A little more like kindness, goodness, love, and faith A little more like patience, a little more like peace A little more like Jesus, a little less like me
Yeah, there’s no denying I have changed ‘Cause I’ve been saved from who I used to be But even at my best, I must confess I still need help to see the way You see
Somebody alone and lonely just needing a loyal friend Somebody with a tear I could have dried When I just can’t see others in need Lord, help me be
A little more like mercy, a little more like grace A little more like kindness, goodness, love, and faith A little more like patience, a little more like peace A little more like Jesus, a little less like me
Oh, I wanna feed the beggar on the street Learn to be Your hands and feet Freely give what I receive Lord, help me be I wanna put You first above all else Love my neighbor as myself In the moments no one sees Lord, help me be
A little more like mercy, a little more like grace A little more like kindness, goodness, love, and faith A little more like patience, a little more like peace A little more like Jesus, oh, a little less like me A little more of living everything I preach A little more like Jesus, a little less like me Oh, a little less like me
Written by Zach Williams – with a few changes by me
Such beautiful words we sang in church last Sunday. Usually listening to Acoustic Chill Radio on Alexa, I hadn’t heard this song before. In my state of unusually happy days, the words grounded me. There is so much suffering in this world. Horrible, awful situations that are seasoned with evil and baked in struggles. As much as Winterpast provides one, I can’t live in a bubble and not use the gifts God has blessed me with for good.
A year ago, I started donating to three organizations. I’ll leave them nameless, because there are hundreds from which to choose. Their monthly amounts were so small, I haven’t missed them at all. But, my money with the money of thousands of others is building houses for war widows or helping parents with their sick kids. It’s helping Veteran’s get their lives back together.
Growing into the woman I was meant to be, I’ve been thinking about the next thing I have in abundance. Time. When retired, we have lots to share. Volunteers make the world a better place. I’m just figuring out where I might do the most good. Because that’s what it’s all about. Choosing the good and helping to create it.
Along with —
Mercy.
Grace.
Kindness.
Goodness.
Love.
Faith.
Patience.
Peace.
Trying to live everything I preach.
Whatever you do today, think of those words and what part they play in your life. As widow’s and widower’s, we need every one of them. They are gifts we need to give ourselves first, as we grieve the loss of our loved ones. With healing, you may find your heart has a little extra to spread around.
“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.” Galatians 5: 22-23KJV
Well, as promised, I’m reporting back over what was a most splendidly outrageous Independence Day Celebration along a dusty little wide spot in the road on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. Make no mistake about it. Nevadan’s aren’t interested in some ridiculous drone show or replacing the 4th for any other day in any other month. Nope. Not happening here. We desert folk like us some old fashioned Independence Day fun!
Yesterday started early, with a pancake breakfast at the Masonic Hall here in town. In the 100+ year old lodge, the men made biscuits, gravy, pancakes, eggs, bacon, and sausage. Grandparents got breakfasts for their littles while parents kept watch on jittery kids who just wanted to know when the parade would start. This was a place for locals to enjoy each other’s company.
Just outside, main street was clogged along the parade route with thousands. People began arriving the night before and camped along the route. MM overnighted his truck at the perfect spot so we wouldn’t be disappointed in the morning. From Alt 87 to the Round-A-Bout ( about two miles?) there wasn’t a parking spot to be found. Pop-Up tents shaded the more prepared of the visitors. The out-of-towner’s parked a mile away and walked in. The town was expecting 10,000 attendees yesterday. It seemed there were that many, or more.
In a last minute decision, Miss B, MM’s octogenarian mom, and her friend decided to join us. With MM’s brother and sister-in-law bringing their chairs, we made quite a lovely family as we waited for the Mayor to pass us by. In case you’re a new reader, the town’s Mayor just happens to be MM’s brother.
Now, it’s not every day while watching a parade that you can make it STOP to get a great picture with The Mayor. We did just that. Three brothers enjoying a great 4th!
The floats were old fashioned and lovely. The girls of the State Champion Softball League were all smiles as they threw candy to the children lining Main Street. There were church floats and car clubs. The only thing missing was a few men on horseback and the high school marching band. While watching all 60 entries march through a blocked-off Main street, everyone behaved. It was hot. Desert hot. Yet, there were no complaints. From the month old baby being passed from relative to relative, to our beloved Miss B, there were smiles all around. Patriotic in the most lovely way.
After the parade, it was off to Out of Town Park, not to be confused with In Town Park. Those are their true names, not something I made up, which is another thing I adore about my town. Under the shade of gigantic cottonwood trees, MM and I found a cool spot to sit and people watch. Again, it was very, very hot, but there were no grumps in the bunch. Just a happy day for happy people.
There was plenty to eat and drink, and of course, the Republican and Democrat booths. One was heavily visited, while the other sat empty in the corner of the venue. A DJ played a great mix of music, while a breeze helped cool things off to the low 90’s in the shade.
At 5PM, the most entertaining part of the day began. The Greased-Pig Contest, run by MM’s Nephew, a son of the Mayor. Between five brothers, their children, and grandchildren, the family has won more than 20 pigs over the year. MM, himself, took home the bacon on several occasions.
This year, the stars were some Hungarian Mangalitsa pigs. Big ones.
Hungarian Mangalitsa Pig — PIG not SHEEP
Have you ever?
Again, PIG, not SHEEP
The competition was fierce. First, it was the Fire Department against the Sheriff’s Office. Four men on each team faced a Hungarian Mangalitsa on the softball diamond. With the men one hand to the fence, the hesitant domesticated omnivorous even-toed ungulate was released on the field by four coverall-ed pig handlers.
“On Your Mark. Get Set. Go!”
And it was on! In the end, the Sheriff officer were quicker. They won and will keep the pig for themselves.
After that, it was boys against boys, girls against girls. No confusion there. Divided by age, 8 separate challenges were run. The adults needed to tackle and hold 90 lb. pigs. The younger kids chased piglets. No people or animals were harmed in the activity. The winner decided whether to take the pig home or trade it back for $75. Not a bad payday for under two minutes of effort.
Now, in case you were wondering, PETA didn’t show up and protest. If they would’ve tried, it wouldn’t have gone well for them. There were no injuries, not even a skinned knee. The pigs happily returned to their trailer to enjoy an afternoon snack, as peaceful as you please. I know, I found shade by the trailer and watched them a bit. Such fun on an All-American 4th of July.
Well, the day ended with the longest display of fireworks in Nevada. At least that’s what I’ve been told.
Sitting in the desert, surrounded by sage brush and tumbleweeds, with Venus shining over head, MM and I watched the desert sky change from an orange sunset to a deep blue-black night. Sitting with him, while listening the soft sounds of families waiting with us for the show to begin, my heart was full of so many feelings.
I’m so blessed with our friendship, almost one year old. I’m so lucky to have found a wonderful family with which to spend time. My heart is truly happy for the first time in a very, very long time. A moment of peace in life that I cherish as time ticks away. Life is truly beautiful as I enjoy “right now”.
I’m so very grateful to live in one of the most beautiful places in the world. My land, now. After nine years, I’m as Nevadan as they come. A desert gal. I don’t long for the vineyard tendrils of my long ago life, or the misty air of a Pacific beach. A beautiful desert evening in the most wonderful country in the world will do me just fine.
Whatever you do today, think about the richness of our American way of life. Not the new stories people are trying to make into historical reality, but the real history of our country and what it took to build it. Pioneers had no privilege when they settled the west. Until you have seen the west, you cannot begin to imagine the hardships they endured. It’s summer. Maybe it’s time for a road trip. The West will change you, I promise.
Today, the local news is buzz about the upcoming holiday! Finally, a day to celebrate our country without the threat of deadly viral outbreaks. Hard to believe that it was only three years ago that fireworks were canceled due to Covid. Now, how it could have been harmful to be out in the fresh air on a pleasant evening to watch fireworks is still a puzzlement to me. Happily, those sad days are behind us, for now anyway.
Of course, there are a million reasons the powers that be want to outlaw real fireworks altogether. Fire Danger. Explosive danger. Danger. Danger. Danger. So sick of girly-boys running the show when it comes to 4th of July. Get with it and blow up some beautiful fireworks. Big ones.
Our little town is humming with excitement about the upcoming activities. A town just to the East of us is starting off the holiday weekend with a Bronc and Bull Bash Saturday night at the local rodeo area. Nothing more American than cowboys trying their hand at keeping their seat on a wild animal for 8 seconds. One of my favorite things to do.
Having been raised as a farm girl, I can tell you one thing for sure. The bulls and broncs enjoy this as much as the cowboys and cowgirls do. Until you stand next to an animal of that weight and size while observing them for a bit, it’s hard to understand. These animals are tough. Their skin is thicker than the leather our purses and shoes are made from. They are ornery. Along with that, they’re the prize livestock owned by a very proud farmer. They get the best feed and veterinary care.
From the bull or bronc’s point of view, the 8 seconds is a mere irritation and interruption of time at the food trough. When watching some of the more famous bulls, I’ve come to the conclusion they look forward a change in their routine. After a ride, you don’t find them huddled in the corner in a mass of nerves. They always have the look that says, “You want a piece of this? Who’s next?”
After that fun evening, the countdown will begin towards the 4th!
The day will begin with an early morning pancake breakfast at 7, followed by the parade at 10.
Our church and the Mothers of Preschool-ers (MOPS) group are preparing a float for the parade.
Now, our local parade isn’t a little one. It stretches through the entire town, while thousands of county residents line the streets on either side. Our county boundaries surround over 2,000 sq. miles of high desert plains and mountains of which 2300 sq. miles are covered with water. A large percentage of the locals will show up on Tuesday to enjoy the day! MM is planning to secure us a spot with his truck. With a big umbrella in place, we plan to have front row seats as we watch all the entries stroll by. I’m sure there’ll be a long line of red, white, and blue following the lead of the town’s Sheriff’s car, and ending with another Sheriff’s car bringing up the rear.
No parade is complete without a push-me-pull-you car. Our town has a newer version of this very concept.
Clowns from the Shriner’s, local business, churches groups, and service organizations will all make their way along the route. Horses will plop along and the poop scoopers will follow behind. Of course, no real parade would be complete without hundreds of pounds of candy to be thrown out to the kids. It’ll all happen on the 4th.
In the afternoon, there’ll be horseshoe throwing contest, a chili-cookoff, lots of food, vendors with the freshest treats, and a greased pig contest. MM’s family won this event for years and years, so he tells me. Many a year, he went home with the pig, himself. Although he won’t be entered, I would guess a few of his great nieces and nephews will participate. We’ll be there to cheer them on.
At dusk, the fireworks will light up the night sky. The county claims this very show is the largest and longest in all of Nevada. I wouldn’t doubt it. We plan to be there from the beginning of the celebration until the very end.
After the sparkling finale, there’ll be dancing until midnight. If there isn’t something that sounds enticing, I didn’t explain things correctly. This is going to be a wonderful celebration.
Somewhere in the middle, there’ll be time to visit with family and friends. Of course, we’ll eat way too much. Even with hats, dark glasses and sunscreen, the desert will surely be hot, the way the 4th of July is supposed to be.
Whatever you are doing this 4th of July, remember the reason for the holiday. Our country, with all it’s positives and negatives is still the best place in the world to live. I lived in Russia during the Cold War. I’ve seen extreme pollution in Europe and Mexico. I’ve crisscrossed 50,000 miles of this great land of States United. I would never choose another place on this great planet to live. We are blessed to call this wonderful land home. If you don’t believe me, travel abroad and do stay there awhile. When you come running back home, we’ll talk.
With so many things to ready, I’ll be pretty busy for the next few days. There’ll be brand new stories to share on Wednesday, July 5th. Have a beautiful holiday.
Spring temperatures are still hanging around even though it is almost the end of June. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. In the desert, it’s not often you can work in the yard all day without breaking a sweat. This has been an unusual year. Just this morning, my outside temperature was 59 degrees. Delightful.
Summer is the time to focus on sprinklers and a proper watering schedule. With MM’s help, we’ve got this handled. I’m happy to report that both Oliver and Wookie have outgrown their taste for drip emitters. With an abundant apricot crop hanging on the trees, they’re waiting for the first one to drop.
This time of year comes with a warning to pet owners. Apricot pits are considered toxic to dogs. After reading about this I found they would need to eat 10 of them to get in trouble. I would assume they would need to be chewed up, as well. Cyanide poisoning can occur. If you have apricot, cherry, or peach trees and pets, please watch their behavior.
According to the internet–
If your dog ingests cyanide, symptoms can begin as early as 15 minutes afterwards or may not begin for a few hours. Symptoms can include:
Watery eyes
Vomiting
Drooling
Right red mucus membranes
Convulsions which can lead to death
Aggression
Bloody stools
Spasms of different limbs
Weakness
Urinary incontinence
Seizures
Abnormal breathing
Diarrhea
If these symptoms occur, get to the vet, immeidiately.
Now, that being said, animals are pretty smart. Oliver doesn’t eat the pits. Maybe this is because his throat is too small. He spits them out in nice little piles. He loves apricots and there are always a few on the ground. Of course, Oliver eats plastic solar lights and rocks, too. He’s not a normal dog. But then, we’ve established that.
With July 1st arriving on a Saturday, it’s the perfect time for some real gardening. Trim up limbs that are in the way. Remember any young trees and make sure they’re getting enough water.
Healthy root base
The picture above shows the healthy base of a tree. The major roots should be apparent and spread away from the tree. If your tree is surrounded by plastic or garden cloth, trim it away from the base of the tree and mulch as pictured above.
If your plastic or garden cloth looks like this (as mine did), your tree isn’t very happy about it. It might try to commit suicide with girdling roots. Let your roots breathe. This also creates the perfect environment for destructive beetles and fungus.
As your roses are blooming, be sure to trim away the dead blossoms. If you don’t deadhead your rose, it will put energy into producing hips – these are rose seed pods. Deadheading means that the rose is instead encouraged to put energy into growing more flowers, keeping your rose in bloom and looking fantastic. Dead blooms can also be unsightly to look at, ruining the effect of the whole plant in flower.
Try to keep ahead of all the weeds. I’m enjoying the benefits of an early spring application of Preen, a pre-emergent. Use this only where you won’t be planting seeds. Sprinkle in the granules and then water. It doesn’t work for every variety, but it certainly does work for many. If you missed your opportunity, clean up the area and then apply.
As you enjoying your garden, no matter how large or small, look for those plants that aren’t thriving. It might be that a rose isn’t getting enough full sun, or that the Hosta’s are getting too much. Maybe your plant is getting overwatered or isn’t receiving enough. Check the underside of the leaf for insects or fungus. Slowly, you’ll get to know your yard.
If you aren’t sure what kind of plant you have, download the free app called “Picture This” on your smart phone. By simply taking a picture on the app, your plant will be identified, along with growing information. After watching MM use this app, we have yet to find an incorrect identification. Pretty amazing. Extremely helpful when gardening or purchasing new plants.
Some plants are not meant to grow in the environment they were sold. Our Lowe’s sells hydrangea and hibiscus bushes. Really?????????
Hibiscus — Great in Hawaii–Not great for our Desert Climate.
Summer is the time for harvesting. With a bumper crop of fruit, MM and I are considering our options. We plan to can, freeze, and dehydrate a good portion of our crop. Family and friends can come pick some. Then, we might try selling our excess produce at the local farmer’s market. Next year, that may be a new source of income. The greenhouse will be fully functional by then.
Remember, it’s a great time to plan for next year. With the cost of everything going up, it’s nice to budget for major yard expenses. After three years as the head gardener here at Winterpast, I’m just now replacing missing plants. It’s been an expensive and time consuming endeavor to clean up, repair, remove dead trees, and trim the healthy ones. By planning a garden budget, it will continue to look better and better.
All these things involve lots of research. If you get stumped on a certain problem, don’t forget your local garden center. When driving around, look for plants that are thriving in your own climate. This year, you can’t drive a block without seeing another beautiful rose bush in full bloom. With the beautiful weather and daily rainstorms, it’s been their year, for sure.
Whatever you do today, enjoy nature’s beauty. Open the curtains and look up at the sky once in awhile. Enjoying a crisp summer morning is one of life’s little pleasures. Get out there. Your yard is waiting on you.
The sun is ready to rise this morning on my little piece of heaven here in the desert. Although the picture above isn’t my reality, it’s how I feel in the summer here in the Great Big Empty. My water bill is so high you would think I’m supporting a spread like that. On Google Earth, my house supports one of the few green spaces left. Xeriscaping is popular here. Such is life on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada.
Xeriscaping (Zera’-scaping) is the process of landscaping, or gardening, that reduces or eliminates the need for irrigation. It is promoted in regions that do not have accessible, plentiful, or reliable supplies of fresh water and has gained acceptance in other regions as access to irrigation water has become limited, though it is not limited to such climates.
In my opinion, Xeriscaping is loved by non-gardening types. Here in my town, it’s taken to a new level. Entire lots are xeriscaped. With rocks. Zero plants. It does nothing for me. I need soft green lawn and my banyan apricot tree for shade.
After living on a farm for most of my life, in 2007, VST and I moved to a mountaintop in the foothills of California just below Yosemite. The gate to the National park was a 30 minute ride through majestic pine trees. Of course, Yosemite Valley was another hour’s drive. After the greenest of springtime’s complete with California poppies, there were summers full of waterfalls and autumns full of golden grasses and bronze oak leaves. There were four seasons, but they blended into one another in a non-stop symphony.
Gardening there wasn’t necessary, as the foothills provide the plants. A natural setting for oak trees, with pines just a little higher up the road. The deer would eat everything green, so there was no point in even trying a garden. It wouldn’t survive the wildlife.
Around here, most people have no troubles with destructive wildlife. Living on the fringe of civilization, as I do, we host the mustangs. For now, my gardening party is in the back yard. Until there is some sort of barrier to prevent the horses from munching in the flower beds, it’ll stay that way. Unplanned xeriscaping for now.
Here in the desert, when one season turns into the next, it’s definitely a new song. There are four distinct seasons, each with its beauty and difficulties. We’re just now coming off of the most mild spring in many, many years, and the gardens of Winterpast are singing right now. It’ll be interesting to see what tune they sing on Saturday when temps will reach 100.
This was the spring all my trees and plants needed. There are things blooming in the yard that I never knew I had. Yellow day lilies are going crazy! Thanks goes to my MM for working his magic on everything green and blooming. With heavy doses of Miracle Grow and Super Thrive, along with temperatures that haven’t yet reached 85, Winterpast is a true desert oasis, watered twice a day.
Gardening provides the opportunity to work through grief. Planting a garden is believing in tomorrow. From the tiniest seeds, miracles sprout. It is magical to watch.
This year, even yards that don’t receive the loving care they need are beautiful. It’s been the Spring of the Roses. They’re everywhere in every color. If people have rose bushes, they’re blooming like they never have before. Roses are the one sure plant that thrives in this desert environment. Give them enough water and watch out. They’ll take over.
MM has his own thing going at the bachelor pad just to the East. Harvesting strawberries every evening for ice cream sundaes, he is the one with the real green thumb. In his garden, the zucchini are ready to pick. Russet potatoes were harvested over the weekend. (Fresh produce is something just this side of heaven). His tomato vines are covered with cherry tomatoes. He’s got a great crop of garlic and onions. Three varieties of grapes cover his fence. All these are watched over by trumpet vines. I haven’t even begun to mention his flowering plants.
Between the two of us, our water bills are as much as a mortgage. We try to justify the amount we spend to keep our two patches of green alive. Here’s the deal. We don’t gamble, except when deciding whether it’s too early to plant our crops in the spring. We don’t drink, except for ice cold water while weeding on a warm day. We don’t travel much, unless you count the many trips to the garden center for supplies. No need for therapy, as gardening under the bright blue Nevada sky provides all we need. Water and plants are our vice. On that, we are in lock step.
Not all is sunshine and lollipops. This week, the aphids are after the new roses. It’s time for a dose of some insecticidal soap. The apricots are as big as I’ve ever seen in my life. When the crop hits, it’ll be time for canning, dehydrating, and sharing. Oliver will have plenty to keep him busy. The pits of apricots are dangerous for dogs. He somehow figured that out. He spits them out in tidy little groups of six or seven. Funny how he already knew.
After the apricots, my plums will ripen. MM’s nectarines and peaches will be ripe for the picking. We’re considering getting a table at the Farmer’s Market to sell our excess. We’ll have plenty.
The pieces for the new greenhouse are awaiting assembly in the RV barn. There’s a foundation to pour first. Things have been busy around here. How was there ever time for an outside job? The gardens are a full time job all on their own.
Whatever you decide to do today, go outside and water something. Choose your favorite plant and really take time to nurture it to see what happens. Gardening is such a healing hobby. If you’ve never tried it, start small. Lowe’s offers a money back guarantee on plants that die, even if it wasn’t their fault. You’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain. Give it a try.
Owning a home is one of life’s sweet privileges. Over years of patience and loving care, the mortgage becomes smaller. Our home comforts us in time of loss and grief in a place filled with memories of happy times with loved ones. But, make no mistake, ticking time bombs await us like hidden land mines. Our appliances and plumbing. And so begins the tale of two dishwashers.
The dishwasher of Winterpast is an amazing machine. Installed new in 2020, it has settings of all kinds. It even has a setting for washing baby bottles of which I have no need. Gleaming stainless steel, both inside and out, it worked fine until two months ago when it stopped. Just like that. It hummed but refused to do anything else.
As a widow, the worst feeling occurs when something big breaks. Roofing, electrical, and plumbing are things I know nothing about. Along with the lack of knowledge, I’m limited in my strength and the ability to be on ladders. Each day that nothing goes wrong with the roof, plumbing, or electricity, I’m grateful. As a widow or widower, we are often left alone to figure these things out. As a widow, we are at the mercy of repairmen who know we might not know.
Widows and widowers everywhere. Before you call any repairman, google some information. YouTube is full of helpful videos for small fixes. At the very least, learn some terminology so that when the repairman tells you your flubbermagee has exploded into the thingamajigger breaking the twixbiscuit, you will know if HE knows what he’s talking about. And so my story continues.
Over the last ten months, I’ve been blessed with my Mysterious Marine’s knowledge about most household problems. Up until he died, VST was “the guy”. When you’re lucky enough to know “the guy”, you don’t need to CALL “the guy”. Calling “the guy” is costly and, on some occasions, creates more trouble than you had in the first place.
I’m pretty happy with my home warranty at this point in life. An insurance policy, it covers every appliance in the house, and a few outside. After an annual fee, if something breaks, there’s a $125 service fee. Period. If your appliance is no longer repairable, you get a new one. Over the years, home warranties have replaced my garage door opener and fixed many air conditioning compressors. Pretty good thing to have at this vulnerable stage of life.
In May, my dishwasher stopped working so I called the warranty company. Within a few days, a repairman was in the kitchen letting me know that the mother-board in my three year old GE dishwasher was fried. Toast. Not repairable. He’d need to order parts and return at a later date.
I forgot how nice it is to prepare a meal, wash the dishes, and have a clean kitchen afterwards. Totally clean and ready for the next meal. No dishes waiting to be washed in the stainless box. In the beginning of this ordeal, I didn’t mind washing the dishes at all. It reminded me of simpler times. But, that was in early May. It’s now late June. The bloom is off that rose. There’s nothing romantic or simple about washing dishes after cooking a meal.
Throughout May and June, I made weekly calls to the warranty company, each time being reminded about problems with the supply chain. I was surprised they didn’t blame Covid. Two parts were in, one was coming. Soon, they promised. And so, the ritual of dishwashing continued.
Finally, the day arrived. Yesterday, the nicest repairman arrived with three parts to make my dishwasher whole again. But, there’d been leaks. Now, the floor has warped because of those leaks. Two problems for the price of one. BUT, the dishwasher is working. A win!!!!!
I was so excited, I invited my MM over to enjoy Taco’s. I’d cook, and then put all the dishes in the dishwasher for the first time in almost two months!!! We’d celebrate!!! And we did just that. A lovely evening it was!
My MM awakes each morning at 5 PM to enjoy peace and quiet in his bachelor pad. A simple routine shared by humans everywhere. Enjoying that first cup of steaming coffee we all love to enjoy in the safety of our own home. A time to slowly wake to the day. A favorite time of day, UNLESS…………….
“Joy. You won’t believe this. Something leaked last night. Water is everywhere. I think it was the dishwasher.”
When one thing’s fixed, the next breaks. Such is the life of the homeowner. Double that if you’re dating someone that also owns a home. Groundhog Day of the dishwashers.
Whatever you do today, if nothing is broken in your house, dance a bit!!! If anything in your house is leaking water, prioritize and get it fixed. Leaking water is one of the most damaging things we can have in our homes. Small leaks lead to BIG problems.
As for me, I’m off to help my MM sop up his kitchen. Being “the guy”, he’ll have this fixed in no time.
From Disney’s Pixar Movie UP. A good one. (It may take a minute to load after clicking on this space)
Whatever you do today, try something totally different. Think about all the tomorrows you have left and plan a little adventure all your own. You just never know what you might find, right around the bend.
First things first, this is NOT an accurate picture of me. I have no piercings and don’t wear earrings.
I do, however, love polka dots in the summer time. With the Summer Solstice 2023 passing yesterday, I need to find my collection. Summer will arrive someday. When it does, we’ll go from our costal-like spring to desert bake. All in one day, most likely. For now, we’re still in the mid-70’s this week.
I need to get some things off my chest about Oliver. Sneaky little brat. After reading yesterday’s blog, I must agree. Every story has two sides. Let me tell you a little about mine.
Oliver came to me through God. There is no other explanation. VST and I looked and looked for months for the right dog. A few days before Christmas 2018, I found this little picture of Oliver on the internet. What a porky little DORK!! All his brothers and sisters had been snatched up, leaving him to hang out alone.
How much trouble could one little dog be? Really. He was 12 lbs. when we met him on Christmas Day in the parkin lot of a huge casino. With snow everywhere, I couldn’t even watch him walk. From the breeder’s arms to mine, into the truck, and home. On our long drive up the mountain sat one very scared being, trembling at the thought of the unknown.
I settled down by the time we arrived home.
Oliver grew up on the side of Mt. Davidson in Virginia City, Nevada. He looks a lot like the character, Falcor on the movie, Never Ending Story.
You be the judge–Pretty close resemblance.
After 4.5 years together, I know some things about him and he knows some things about me. I have learned to accept his shortcomings, which are more than just his 4″ legs. On most days, we get along pretty good. But, no mistake. Oliver is a difficult dog. Sneaky. Stubborn. Persistent. Cunning. Adorable. Loveable.
It’s the adorable and loveable parts that keep him here at Winterpast. There are days when I wonder why I torture myself with this untrainable hound. Many days……… Through his puppyhood, it was MOST days.
Early on, I came up with the 3/4 plan. 3/4 of the time, I’m on call as HIS pet. I’ll do whatever he needs to remain happy. I’ll attempt to train him, while becoming more trained myself. I’ll be patient and loving. I’ll do my best to be a good dog mom. One week a month, Oliver must go have some fun at puppy camp for his mental health and mine.
Extreme? There IS something extreme about this. Life with Oliver 3/4 of the month.
Oliver comes when he wants. He might sit, but it’s hard to tell because he is so close to the ground. He pees outside, but only because he likes too, usually on the patio. He barks whenever he feels the need. He loves stealing things only to hide under the dining room table, where he’s quite safe. He has learned to beg effectively and incessantly for anything he wants. He attempts to counter surf, but so far, can only jump about four feet in the air from a standing position. Oliver is ON much more than he is OFF. It can be exhausting.
Sunday, as he told you, he disappeared. So many things run through one’s mind when their dog runs away.
WHY???
Was the dog food not tasty?
Not enough treats?
More ear scratches needed?
Or, is there just no brain matter in that little skull. Just the will to follow a scent.
With Oliver, the last thought is probably close to the truth.
In those 90 minutes, I did think about life without Oliver.
Peaceful.
Non-stressful.
Freedom to go without planning for him.
No hidden poop to step in.
No responsibility for another life.
As the minutes ticked away, my inner voice was becoming louder with one dreadful thought.
NO MORE OLIVER.
Oliver is draped with my phone number. He has his Rabies tags with his vet’s number. His collar is stitched with his name and phone number in bright yellow letters. Another tag hangs around his neck giving all necessary information. If someone found him on a day he went exploring, they’d call. They might be sucked into his cuteness for a moment, but, make no mistake, within 24 hours, they’d pay ME the reward to take him back.
By minute 89, while creating a “Missing Dog” post, my heart was breaking at the reality of his absence. Oliver is really a good match for me. He might not be as stupid as he is creative, giving me something to worry about. He certainly has stepped up to the plate when it comes to being a Grieving Gardener’s partner. He lost VST, too.
When Oliver was found in the garage by his new best friend, MM, there was a celebration. He zoomed around with Wookie and immediately begged for a Greenie. He went outside to water the flowers and came in for a bite of dinner. Finally, he came, and for a very long time, snuggled next to me on the couch. Two old friends that need each other. Two best friends that have a complicated relationship.
Since being locked in the garage, Oliver has turned over a new leaf. Just a few weeks from his 5th birthday, he is taking life a little slower these days. Not as many immature antics. He still goes crazy when Wookie is around, but only to show off a little. Then, it’s back to the new Oliver. The one that really likes his naps.
As for me, each day I’m more appreciative of this little roommate of mine. I need to help him out a bit. After all, life without thumbs is a beast. I’m his ride to visit Wookie because he’s way to short to drive himself. I know how he likes his breakfast and dinner.
That sums up my side of the story. All’s well that ends well. As Joni would say, “You don’t know what you’ve lost ’til it’s gone.”
Whatever you do, do something extra for your pet. Five minutes extra with the ball. A few extra pats for being good. A extra snuggle now and then. If they could only talk, eh?
I’m Oliver. I’ve heard there are lots of stories about me floating around the web. To set the story straight, I thought I’d wake up for a little while and let you know the truth about what goes on around here. I’m a 4 1/2 year old standard cream piebald wirehaired dachshund. If I let myself go, I can look like this.
Except that I have a liver-colored nose AND green eyes. I can get a lot by begging with my eyes. Have you heard about my MM? Well, he’s really a softy. I’ve trained him to give me treats after meals when I’m around. My girlfriend, Wookie, and I have that dialed in.
My favorite things include my frequent trips to puppy camp. Mom-Oh and I are so excited when it’s my time to go. Melissa, my friend there, always has great activities. I get to swim. Sometimes we even take pictures and I pose really cute. A couple of weeks ago, there was huge summer storm and Corine let me play in the rain. I always have fun at puppy camp.
Harvest Festival — 2022 — I get invited to all the parties. Puppy Camp Christmas Party — 2022 — I’m a party animal!
Life around Winterpast is pretty cool. I let Mom-Oh think she makes the rules, but we both know I have her trained really well. She never forgets to prepare my food twice a day. When I stand at the pantry door, I get a Greenie. I have bones hidden all over the house. I try to keep them hidden because Mom-Oh trips on stuff. I want you all to know I really try hard to be good.
Sometimes, there are smells and sounds that are so interesting, I need to follow them. When the garage is open, I can’t help it. I just love running across the street to visit the neighbor’s house. This upsets Mom-Oh, but, a dog’s got to do what a dog’s got to do. There might be badgers over there. Or TOADS. I LOVE toads.
Father’s Day, we were hanging out with my MM and Wookie. It was a great day. Wookie and I were “behaving”, whatever that means. Late in the afternoon, Mom-Oh had to go out for a minute and my MM was making dinner. I was more interested in the kitchen than the front door and stuck with my MM. Like glue. Like a shadow. He’s the best guy in the whole world. Wookie and I both know that. I guess Mom-Oh thinks he’s okay, too.
Anyway, there was chicken involved. I love me some chicken. My MM took a package and left the kitchen so I followed him. I mean, who wouldn’t.
C-H-I-C-K-E-N.
A few minutes later, Mom-Oh came back.
Now, I couldn’t hear everything, but let me tell you something. Mom-Oh was talking some smack about me. Yes she was. She might have even said some bad words. Something like, “How could he?” “He’s in trouble” She even said I was “ungrateful”. Yikes.
Mom-Oh and my MM started calling my name all upset-like. Well, I was right there waiting like a good dog. I heard them clapping and my MM was even whistling. I like it when he does that. It means, “Come quick, I have something to eat.” I waited like a good dog. My treat would taste so good.
After the front door closed, their voices got really, really far away. There were other voices, too. Like a lot of other voices. Kind of a party. Everyone was calling my name in funny kinds of ways. Wow. People are sure stupid. I was right there waiting for them and getting ready for some kind of treat. There was nothing else to do but take a nap until they came back. And, finally, they did.
Mom-Oh was telling on me to T and K. She was tuned up now. Something about me being the last dog. Well, let me tell you, I hope I am. Mom-Oh and I are a pair. Wookie is a great friend, but we can’t get carried away with any other dogs. Wookie and I have it pretty good the way it is.
Well, it was over an hour now. Even though Mom-Oh was sure mad, I could tell her heart was breaking. I know her pretty well, since we’ve been together 4 1/2 years now. We’ve been through some stuff together. I was getting worried, too. It was dark and I was ready to play with Wookie. Where was she? I wouldn’t bark because we’ve been working on “NO BARKING”. So, I waited quietly in the dark.
All of a sudden, the door by which I sat opened and it was my MM!!! My hero!!!!! I ran out of the garage so darn fast.
WOOKIE!!!
MOM-OH!!!
Where have you all been? I just followed my MM into the garage to put the extra chicken in the freezer. I thought he’d give me a treat for being a good dog. But, instead, I got trapped in there.
Well, Mom-Oh was pretty happy. She hugged me a bunch. She kissed me, too, on the top of my head. My MM gave me another treat!! Wookie and I did zoomies to make everyone laugh. Everyone was extra happy to have me back. I don’t get it. I was just waiting by the door the entire time.
I heard poor MM tell Mom-Oh he walked six blocks. I wonder what’s there? I might have to find out the next time we visit him. The neighbors all know what I look like now. I heard Mom-Oh and my MM tell them. It’s nice to be loved.
So, whatever you do today, remember two things. You can get a Greenie if you look really, really cute and sit nice. It’s all in the eye contact. And, if you follow someone for chicken, make sure you don’t get locked in the garage. It just makes everyone happier that way.
Thanks for reading.
Signing out,
Sir Oliver of Ashworth Hall of the High Desert Plains of Northwestern Nevada
The cutest wire formed into words hangs over my kitchen table. I put it there so each and every day I can remember my best friend, CC. She’s the one that gave it to me as a housewarming present three years ago. Two words. “CHOOSE HAPPINESS!” That’s something everyone in the world needs to do right now. Just sit down and be truly grateful for the blessings in our lives. Face it. No matter the trials we face, we all have an abundance of things for which be thankful.
You can’t buy a jar of “Happy” through Amazon. The biggest jackpot at the local casino won’t do it. Even living in the best house on the best street in the most wonderful desert town won’t do it. It sprouts from within. Very quietly at first.
Happiness strikes a chord in our heart when we find THE ONE THING we are supposed to do with our lives and do it. I’m finally healed enough to go on with my journey. MY ONE THING used to be teaching. It was my passion. A fire that never went out, but instead, was dwarfed by the flames of grief, sadness, and loneliness that’ve consumed me over the past two years. The time is now to search for new gifts and talents.
No one can leave a box of happiness on your doorstep. It doesn’t appear with prideful demands or expectations. It just happens.
There’s no measure to tell you when you’ve found enough. Like painting, a small stroke turns into a smear and pretty soon, everyone who sees you knows you’ve been painting the hallway. You might not even see it at first. Internal happiness oozes out like that and friends begin to notice a change.
“This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap; the being a force of Nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.” George Bernard Shaw
Now, isn’t that is just the best quote ever? “Feverish Selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy?” I just love that.
I intend to be thoroughly worn-out before I’m thrown into the scrap heap.
I refuse to waste another moment as a “feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making me happy”.
I choose to be a force of nature.
What affirmations! The only person who can turn on the happy is me. It’s a choice.
A year ago, I had the most wonderful lunch with three couples and a mom and daughter. Each individual couple carried heavy burdens. One couple would enjoy their mother on this earth only a few more days. One couple shared only three legs between the two of them. Everyone had scars from Covid. I was the “Plus 1/2” that no one wants to be. Each one of us had reason to dominate the table with tales of woe. But we didn’t choose to do that.
Instead, there we sat after church, brand new friends enjoying each other’s company. For two hours, we laughed, enjoyed our meal, and got to know one another. Even the teen daughter, who had ever right to be very unhappy due to the 50 year age difference between us, added humor to the lunch, enjoying little conversations with everyone at the table.
The man that had the best attitude of all had just had his leg amputated a few months before. With an infectious attitude of kindness and gratitude, he had us all laughing with his amazing stories during this most special lunch. It was an afternoon I will remember.
So, make a choice today. As VST would always say, “Fake it ’til you make it.” We all have our “somethings” that are unpleasant and painful. If we truly take inventory, we’ll see that the basket that holds our “beautifuls” overflows into a colorful puddle that can look a lot like happiness.
Some Saturdays are perfect for a picnic. The breezes keep the flies away, while beautiful clouds float across the bluest Nevada sky. Saturday was just that kind of day. Rather like it was special ordered, just like the wool puffs that were served to the brave. But, I’ll get to that in a minute.
Although this photo shows a handful of people, let me assure you, this event was sold out. 1500 attendees gathered to show there support for a young presidential hopeful. Not that he might have been everyone’s first choice, but, he certainly is an interesting guy. Young, handsome, a good dad and husband, and one heck of a governor. This guy has a bright future ahead of him. 1500 of us wanted to hear more from him.
Although the event officially started at 10 AM, MM and I left our town at 7. World travelers come from all over the globe to see the beauty we sometimes take for granted. Driving west through the high desert plains, we passed herds of wild mustangs towards the Sierra’s. The Eastern Sierra Nevada mountains are my happy place. Different in every way from the Western slope, the highest peaks are still covered with deep snow after this crazy winter. The runoff from this year alone could fill our reservoir three times and still flood the surrounding land. The Sierra’s haven’t looked like this for awhile. Switzerland-ish.
In the picture above, the tallest peaks surround Lake Tahoe and Heavenly Valley Ski resort, and others. This event was held at a historical cattle ranch that can be rented for such shin-digs. I was disappointed there weren’t more farm animals in attendance. Probably scared off by what happened to the lambs.
Wool Puffs.
“Wool Puffs” is a phrase I coined and you can’t have it. Normally, they’d be called Rocky Mountain Oysters. On Saturday, they were called “Lamb Fries”. The technical term is “testicles”. Yes. A side dish made from the the south end of male lambs, battered and deep-fried. Usually found in pairs. Crunchy batter with a center the consistency of liver. Not much taste. There is nothing about this that tastes like chicken, just so you know.
I didn’t stand in line to get my serving of one testicle. That’s all they were giving out. Even at one per attendee, it took 750 little lambs to feed 1500 guests.
Of course, MM DID stand in line and was quick to come back with two. Who could resist his smile? Not the gal serving up 1 wool puff per person. Bless her little heart.
Well, there was nothing to do but give it a try. Resembling a piece of fried zucchini, I insisted on taking only 1/2 a puff, leaving the rest for my Mysterious Marine who seemed to enjoy them.
I can now say that I’ve eaten a wool puff.
The event was sold out. Sunday’s Newsweek article claimed there were a handful of people there. They also claimed it was put on by the Veteran’s of Foreign Wars. After reading that article, I was more disgusted than ever at journalism these days. I doubt the article’s author was even there. Just stole some pictures off the internet and called it good. Probably writing from his basement with his mask securely in place.
Anyone that was there experienced a sense of the love of God and country. They saw Nevadan’s in their casual dress, eating green salad, fries, Chorizo, lamb stew and Sheepherder’s bread in a picnic setting. They’d have suffered through the hour long wait to get freshly scooped ice cream in one of four flavors. They couldn’t have helped tapping their toe to the music of The Jakota Wass Band.
His lyrics sum up country living here on the high desert plains of Nevada. Watching the energy of this band added to the festivities.
Whatever you do today, don’t believe everything you see on television or read online. Get out. See things for yourself. Make your own opinions out of real experiences. Stretch a little and listen to all the candidates. Watch their actions and make decisions from what you see them do. Our country is an amazing place we need to cherish and protect. It’s not too late.
** A special Happy Birthday to Miss Firecracker!! I hope your day sparkles!!!!! Celebrate YOU!!!! I love you.
Even when living the best life, sometimes a girl just needs to get out of town. Booked at a newly renovated version of the room pictured above, I’ve spent the past 24 hours enjoying the most beautiful views from the 9th floor. I’ve munched on my favorite meal of prime rib dip, and then enjoyed room service last night while watching TV on a 65″ flat screen.
While here, I bubbled in front of wall to ceiling windows to the world outside. I found that a shower can have three shower heads, two of which are flush with the wall and shoot out at the person standing there. I’ve play I’ve also discovered that a marbled shower wouldn’t be complete with a steam feature, separate from the shower heads. I played with the automatic drapes and slept under the stars of this the Biggest Little City just to the west of me.
All in all, I feel like I’ve been the star of my own movie for the last 24 hours. Just me enjoying a grown up adventure all my own.
This weekend, MM and I are going to a Lamb Fry. I’m not eating, as the main course is Deep Fried Prairie Oysters.
Think about it.
Nope. No can do.
Unless it’s salad or beans, I’m not touching it. The picnic is a political function in which we’re going to see the first major speech of a major Presidential candidate. I hope to get some pictures and look forward to meeting people that make decisions for our state and country. All this will be held at the eastern base of the Sierra Nevada’s on a historical ranch. Check out the news this weekend. We just might be on television. I’ll be the one in red, white, and blue.
Whatever you do this weekend, star in your own little movie. Do something wild and crazy. It might even be as simple as enjoying a backyard picnic on a spring day. Write the script and then go for it. Do something you love and love doing it.
I’ll be back on Monday to fill you in on the weekend. I can tell you right now. It won’t involve eating wool puffs.
Even in a dusty little town at a wide spot in the road by the interstate in Northwestern Nevada, they use this machine. Pretty interesting as it drove right past Winterpast while laying new pavemen
Attempting to remain positive, I’m focusing on the good these days. There is good in every single situation, even when it means being locked up to wait for paving and meat. Yesterday was full of good and bad. Life is like that.
Now, the good that remains great is that I’m retired. No matter how bad the days get, they are always brightened by the fact that each moment of the day is mine to plan and enjoy. It took some time to accept that I’m on the young side of old now. My days of getting up at 4:30 and racing out the door are just a memory. I still get up at dark:30, but the racing about occurs later in the day.
Monday, I received a quiet note tucked under my mat. The message from Mr. John Smith was brief. “Please Stay Home on Wednesday, June 14th. Paving. Thank you.”
The road work in my little town has been unbelievable. Every pot hole and crack is being filled and replaced. Old roads are now repaired, adding to the great ride of my new car. Now more bouncing down the dusty road. We’re styling now. My neighborhood has needed road work for some time. Paving is in full swing.
Planning for Asphalt Lockdown, my focus was on relaxation and fun. I’d craft and watch a few more episodes of Clarkson’s Farm. It’s an English program about a gentleman farmer that decides to do the farming himself. 2,000 acres and a Lamborghini tractor. Didn’t know they made such things, as we always went with the green. John Deere all the way.
Along with the farming show, I’d throw in a good murder mystery and craft. I’m working on a miniature Chinese shop that folds away to look like a book on the shelf. Truly, one of the cutest projects I’ve ever seen, it’s one of those things that takes extreme patience while working on fine motor skills. I’d have lunch and dinner in. It would be a grand day, and for the most part, it was.
Last weekend, when visiting with the Mayor, the subject of beef came up. On the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada, beef rules. Good beef. The kind that melts in your mouth. The Mayor had recently enjoyed that kind of steak and shared information about the farm. The rancher lived in a border town, too far away to drive, but I should really try some of his meat. Meat could be ordered online.
In this crazy world, thank goodness for the internet. Finding the cattleman’s website, I drooled over the fancy cuts of meat, settling on a brisket, a tomahawk steak, 2 filets, and 3 burgers. Pricey, they’d arrive by the evening of the third day. I’ve ordered meat before and never had a problem. Sunday evening, I pressed the “Purchase This Order” to begin the wait.
My order was filled on Monday and UPS tracking was available. It’d arrive on paving day between 3 and 5 PM. Perfect timing, as the paving would be complete. This was a delivery I’d be home to collect. Yummy. Yummy. Yummy.
To warn you, I’m about to get a little ranty.
With an alert from Alexa at 6:03 PM, I found a stained and soggy box on my doorstep. The UPS driver was RUNNING back to her truck and I was left with the goods. A bloodied box labeled with the ranchers name. This wasn’t going to be a pleasant experience.
Upon opening the dripping box, I discovered four bags of meat, one of which hadn’t sealed correctly. These meats weren’t properly drained, each piece of meat swimming in a bloody liquid. With an empty dry-ice bag, the meat was room temperature. My brisket, once lovely, was spouting large black spots. The four packages of meat were draped with environmentally friendly, biodegradable and very “GREEN” packing (resembling quilt batting), that was now soggy and bloody, as well. Room temperature, all.
My very expensive attempt to support a local rancher was now another problem to be handled with a letter requesting a full refund. How has our world turned upside down so quickly? Even a small town rancher trying to grow a business gets vital part of his business terribly wrong. Everyone knows, you have one chance at a first impression. You’d better get it right. This was a colossal fail.
I might add this. The shipping on the meat was pricey. Now, my kitchen needed disinfecting and I have the new problem of a bio-hazard disposal. My garbage day isn’t until next Tuesday. Nice. Nice. Nice.
Before bed, I decided to check my e-mails. At 9PM, the rancher wrote: “Oh my goodness, Joy. I’m so sorry. Your refund has been issued.” I checked. The refund was complete. That fast.
Ranchers have long hours. Raising cattle isn’t an easy job. I could only imagine a very disheartened cowboy reading my email and weeping. His response was immediate and so appreciated. It was just an unfortunate series of events that went wrong, ending up with a bloody box in my kitchen.
From now on, the only meat I’m buying is from the sanitary coolers at the grocery store or Costco. We might not have the biggest selection, but it’s chilled to the proper temperature.
My night ended with the peaceful sound of rain on the beautiful newly paved street outside. With daily rain, I feel like I’m living in Switzerland. Everything is desert lush and green. There are even desert wildflowers blooming here. We’re miles away from the current plague of the Mormon crickets to the East (as bad as any Hitchcock movie). Just the quiet of the night, serenaded by a passing train as I fell asleep.
Whatever you do today, think long and hard before you order meat from an unknown rancher. As well-meaning as they might be, mishandled meat can cause serious illness. If you happen to run into a rancher, thank them. Raising cattle is tough these days. Even tougher when an order goes wrong.
Last weekend, we celebrated an educational milestone for one exceptional graduate. A daughter, granddaughter, little sister, and friend. Completing 12 years of school is something worth partying about!
Before I get started on that story, I can’t help thinking about June 1973 and another young graduate. Me. While looking for Hallmark cards and graduation gifts, I remembered receiving my own Living Bible, written in language that I could better understand at the age of 17. In my own Orange graduation cape and black mortar board, I completed the first chapter of a lifelong love of learning and was ready to go on to the next.
That summer, I would fly off to spend the summer in Switzerland after having tragically lost my first true love to a heart attack only months before. In two months, I would gain 30 pounds, while eating my way through grief in the Alps. I don’t remember one person mentioning the word grief or pointing out the stages of the journey I’d go through during that first year. After all, I was a farm kid and farm kids get over things. Just pack the bags and off you go. After all, it was just puppy love anyway. Save your tears for the pillow and get on with life.
In comparison to my own graduation with honors, Miss Johnny Jump-Up learned through Covid during her high school years. Strong, resilient, self-assured, ready to meet the world, positive, and beautiful. It’ll be fun to watch her bloom during her college years. She’s a planner and already has her path mapped out. Watching her put the finishing touches on her beautiful party, I observed a much more mature this young woman is than I was at 18.
For her party, everyone came for near and far. Her aunts and uncles were there with bells on! The Mayor and his wife left a Mayor’s retreat in Ely, Nevada to attend the graduation in Northern California. Driving over 10 hours, it wouldn’t have been a party without them. Of course, they’ve loved her from the moment she came into this world. And, that is the true meaning of family. They would all do anything just to see her smile.
Wookie had a blast, returning to her California home. She never stopped running the entire time. Sitting by the pool and listening to stories about the antics of five brothers growing up in rural Nevada was so fun. Ping-pong-ed memories bounced back and forth, one tale bringing to light three more.
There were a few hot games of Corn Hole. After all, is a party really a party without??? As the beautiful California spring day turned into a comfortable spring evening, guests spent time catching up with old friends while getting to know new ones.
It’s a rare family that makes everyone at the party feel welcome and loved. That’s how I feel every time we’re all together. Whether Mother’s Day at my house, the Highschool Hall of Fame event last fall, or a graduation celebration in California. There are always plenty of hugs and smiles to go around. The respect and love they have for each other has been maturing over a lifetime. Honesty and communication keep the group tight. I wonder if they know how rare it is to find this in today’s world?
Our hosts (MM’s son and his beautiful wife) were amazing. With several guests spending the night, they never missed a beat. In the morning, we were treated to oven-baked bacon and farm fresh eggs from their very own chickens and ducks. Even the livestock were hospitable.
Over a plate of the best bacon I’ve ever eaten in my life, there were more stories and laughter exchanged as I realized, I’m part of their family, too. Everyone there made me feel so comfortable and wanted. I’m one lucky woman.
Weaving through the high Sierra Nevada mountains to return home, the conversation was easy under the brightest blue sky. With all the rains, the pine trees were healthy as they reached for the heavens. Taking the slow and windy road home was the perfect ending to a most wonderful celebration.
Whatever you do today, reach out to someone you know that’s graduated. Send them a card letting them know you applaud their accomplishments. Starting out as a tiny, little 5-year-old Kindergartener and years later arriving at the finish line of high school as a capable, young adult is a milestone to remember. Always has been, always will be.
from God’s Little Devotional Journal for Women –Honor Books, Tulsa Oklahoma, pg. 173
Is or was your spouse your best friend?
How privileged you are if the answer is yes. Perhaps an even more important question to ask is this: Are you are were you a good friend to your spouse? In being a good friend, you often gain a best friend!
A true friend will let you empty your heart when it feels overloaded by stress, concern, or worry.
Sir Francis Bacon once wrote: “We know diseases of stoppings and suffocations are the most dangerous in the body; and it is not much otherwise in the mind: you may take sarza to open the liver, steel to open the spleen, flower of sulphur for the lungs, castoreum for the brain; but no receipt openeth the heart but a true friend, to whom you may impart griefs, joys, fears, hopes, suspicions, counsels, and whatesoever lieth upon the heart to oppress it, in a kind of civil shrift or confusion.”
Listening ears are one of the best gifts you can give to your spouse or children. Such ears are invariably connected to a kind and patient heart.
Make friends with the four C’s:
Compassion
Caring
Consideration
Comfort
These four traits will never grow old or out of fashion.
A friend is one who comes in when the whole world has gone out.
Remember, to have a friend you must be a friend. Whatever you do today, take some time to listen to another who needs to talk a bit. It can make all the difference in the world.
As you shed tears that they’re gone Remember to smile because they’ve lived
While closing your eyes to pray they’ll come back Open your eyes and see all they’ve left
Of course, your heart’s empty because you can’t hold them close But your heart also remembers the love you shared
For a time, you’ll turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday With time, you’ll be happy for tomorrow BECAUSE OF yesterday
You can remember only that they’re gone Or you can cherish precious memories, helping them to live on
When grief is new, you’ll cry, close your mind, and turn your back And then, one fine day you’ll do what they would want:
Smile.
Open your eyes.
Love.
And then….
Go On.
Grief. Up and down. Like being tossed around in the highest seas. More lonely than a desert highway. But, like boats on the ocean or a car in the desert, we’re just passing through our grief. Don’t stay there too long, for all the world’s mysteries and tomorrows are too precious to waste. Keep going, in spite of the grief. It WILL get better.
More tomorrow.
Based onoriginal poem “He is Gone” by David Harkins
Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened.
Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.
Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident?
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner.
All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before. How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet agai
Whatever you do this weekend, fill it with wonder. Look at the activities in your town and pick one. You might be surprised how many things are happening during these last days of spring. I’ll be traveling over Donner Pass to enjoy a family graduation.
This takes a minute to load — Keb Mo — Listen to him awhile.
Life is beautiful. We walk through life with all kinds of people that help us through the tough times. Moms, Dads, Sisters, Brothers, Aunts, Uncles, Friends, and even Strangers. Send this love song to the person that helps you through your days.
Life IS beautiful. Life IS wonderous. Those stars ARE shining just for us.
Road work! My little town is on fire with Road Work. It started on one of the main connecting streets in town right in front of the school. They put the finishing touches on the new street on the last day of school. It’s now come to my quiet little neighborhood. We should all be careful what we wish for. Wishes can turn into noisy projects.
Saturday last, a note was left on my door. In part, it advised that this would be the week for Road Work in my little neighborhood. There could be times that I couldn’t leave Winterpast for up to four hours. They would let me know. If I had a valid reason to leave on one of the five days listed, I was advised to call John Smith. It gave his number, the lucky man.
Well, I DID have a reason to leave yesterday. My annual eye appointment. Not such an easy thing to change, but it was moved to September. Sunday, I went to the grocery store and finished stocking up on perishables. I’d be happy to comply with their wishes. After all, I’m retired. Besides, Wookie is here for Doggie Camp. I don’t want to miss out on the fun!
Well, Monday came and I worked outside in the garden without leaving once. Not a sign of the road work. Tuesday came and went as rumbling excavators got closer. In the afternoon, I saw a truck at the corner of my street, while Winterpast rattled during the road work. I would assume that today is the day for my street, but I’m certainly not going to be one of those old ladies bothering Mr. John Smith.
“John, I have Bunco at 3. Where will the girls park?”
“John, can I still walk in the afternoon?”
“John, my dogs are afraid of loud noises, please stop.”
I’m sure John’s phone is ringing off the hook with calls from my Octogenarian neighbors. Around here, we don’t get more noise than the birds bring on the wind. A thunderstorm rattles us. No car or truck noises. Nothing. Just beautiful peace and quiet. Until this week.
In the harsh environment of the high plains desert, the roads take a beating, along with everything else around here. Buildings look ten years older than they are. Roofs are often patched due to random spring hail storms. The wind helps sandblast anything in its way. With the snow in the winter and 110 degree afternoons in the summer, the roads are pot-holed, some resembling swiss cheese. Upkeep is a constant problem.
Mr. Mayor, who just happens to be the Mysterious Marine’s brother, battles fiercely to fund necessary repairs. For the first three years I lived here, nothing was repaired. Our old mayor had fifty reasons at the ready why our roads were not repaired or replaced.
“Why, Miss Joy, that would take $1 million dollars a mile to fix those roads. Our little old town doesn’t have THAT kind of money, Honey.”
Well, HE isn’t here anymore. There’s a NEW mayor in town. One that speaks weekly with the Nevada Governor, Joe Lombardo or shares a cup of coffee with Elon Musk now and then. That’s OUR major. He’s getting things done. (TESLA is just up the road. Elon is in town more than one would think.)
One thing about inviting change, is that sometimes, the change can be painful to those in the middle of it. As I mentioned, one of the best things about our little town is my neighborhood of peace and quiet. I can actually identify birds in my yard by their little songs. No Jake breaks rattling. No traffic noise. Nothing. Just the sound of the wind as it races off the mountains and across the desert.
While visiting with Ninja Neighbor, she shared something worrisome. There’s a new exit being planned for the interstate. A new industrial park. A new stream of activity that will be pouring into my little world, right on the other side of VST’s mountain. Right through BLM land (The ORIGINAL and ONLY BLM — BUREAU OF LAND MANAGEMENT). This highway would travel right behind Winterpast. Right through the horses we love. Right through the quiet of the desert, shattering any quiet we might have enjoyed.
Could be great for property values. True enough.
Might really be great for the growth of our town. Growth is wonderful, right?
Maybe it’d bring a couple new schools and another grocery store out our way. We sure need those!
Listening to the racket from a little bit of street repair, I could think of a hundred reasons it won’t be so good for a very, very long time. I’m old. I don’t have a whole lot of time left to find out if it’s good or not. That will be proven long after I’m gone.
Today, I’m going to be glad that the repairs are just in my neighborhood. So lovely to drive on newly paved streets, it’ll be great to have a center line. We don’t have that now. One has to be careful to stay on their own side of the road.
Change.
It’s inevitable, but sometimes a little uncomfortable. Still searching for a cabin by a meadow where the wild bees swarm. It’s just past the rainbow where the soft breezes blow. Just a little place that glows with candlelight every evening. Until I find it, Winterpast will do just fine, even if it’s a little noisy right now.
Whatever you do today, find a little time to enjoy some quiet. Silence is healing. Find the kind of quiet in which you can almost hear your own heart beat. That’s hard to find these days. When you find that kind of quiet, listen to your own thoughts. Now, THAT doesn’t change.
Wookie and Oliver are a pair. Not only are they color coordinated, their personalities are a great match. Their combined energy allows them to run, roll around on the lawn, dig, bark, and run some more. They play themselves into a ball of teeth and fur over and over again. Then, they sleep.
I, on the other hand, am fairly shredded by this extended sleep over. This has been an experiment in how fun it is to have two dogs. It’s different and it definitely benefits the dogs.
Wookie is a Diva. She has her own bed, but prefers the center of mine. She uses her soulful brown eyes to make sure that she gets at least one bite of every one of my meals. She uses her diversionary tactics to blindside Oliver. Her sense of humor is hilarious, especially when she laughs at her own jokes.
Oliver is a guy. He loves to eat, chew on his bone, and sleep. I can see that he’s aging (just not fast enough). The youngster is stronger and faster than he is, as he approaches five years old. Hard to believe he was that adorable little pup thrust into my arms on Christmas morning in the parking lot of a major casino just west of here.
The breeder had assured me, after very long talks, that Oliver was just the dog I needed. And, he was heavily discounted. His entire litter had been sold. He was the one nobody wanted. Only 4.5 months old, he’d gotten car sick on the way to me. Still a little damp, he snuggled right under my heart and there he’s stayed.
Oliver is the most difficult dog I’ve ever raised. Growing up on a farm, from my earliest memories, I was around all kinds of animals. I became one of them. From the goose that bit me, to the sheep we raised for 4-H, there were always animals at the farm. Not pets. No. Friends for bit until they became dinner.
Fritz was my first dachshund. This red Weiner came into our lives when I was about six. We grew up together. I, the tomboy, and he, the ten pound watch dog. He never lived in the house because NO dogs were allowed. Nope. He just hung out on the farm doing whatever he wanted, rather like I did as a child. He never got any shots or health checks. He ate Purina Dog Chow with the real farm dog. He slept on a burlap sack by the back door. I never learned how he came to live among the vines with us. He just showed up one day.
Dachshunds are funny little dogs. They want what they want when they want it. They’re headstrong and feisty. Bred to hunt badgers, they can be persistent and brave. Oliver is all those things, but there is one problem. I’ve finally accepted that on an intelligence level of 1 -10, he’s a 2. He wouldn’t drown in the rain looking up in the clouds, but he might not realize it’s drier in the house.
He could be experiencing early dementia. He retains nothing. For five years, every day is new to him. Every lesson is a challenge, over, and over, and over.
“Oliver, wait.”
“Oliver, no bark.”
“Oliver, no jump.”
“No chew, Oliver.”
“Oliver, Oliver, Oliver.”
Oy.
Vey.
Now, Wookie has the brains. She is an Aussie Doodle. That’s an Australian Shepherd/Poodle mixture. She is so intelligent it’s scary. She’s a quick learner, wanting to please. She is more of a leader than a follower. She knows her name and the commands, “Come”, “Sit”, and “Down”. She’s housebroken, (99.9% of the time). She’s almost done chewing things up. She has a heart of gold and you can easily hurt her feelings, as she just wants to please with a smile. All in all, she is one smart dog, which spotlights Oliver’s mental limitations.
Today, a new device is arriving. It’s a small, battery operated box that emits an unpleasant doggie sound when the button is pushed. Barking at the fence? Push the button. The dog will stop. Call the dog to your side. Praise.
Well, that’s how it works for a normal dog. Wookie will do just great. She knows her name and comes when called. She’s so alert, this device will help her stop barking at the fence.
Oliver thinks his name has been changed to Wookie, too.
“Oliver!” No response.
“Oliver! Come!” Looks the other way.
“Wookie!” The lightbulb sparks and he comes.
That is life during this crazy sleep over experience.
Last evening was Monday at the Movies. We watched John Wayne and Jimmie Stewart in “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence.” Wookie and Oliver weren’t impressed and fell right to sleep.
Tonight, we’ll try “Milo and Otis”. That might grab their attention. Wookie will love it, as she prefers action movies full of animals. Yes. She watches TV. She smiles at appropriate times. She understands this older doggie BFF is challenged and tries to help him out. Two dogs isn’t such a bad idea if one of the two wasn’t Oliver.
Whatever you do today, spend some time with your pet. Learn something new about them. Spoil them a little with an unexpected treat or activity. Realize that not all dogs are Rin-Tin-Tin smart. Some just live off their cuteness. Our pets absorb our loneliness and return the purest love in return. God got it right when he made pets, even if some are more challenged than others.
Nothing to do with this contraption of the 1800’s.All about this.
Oy Vey.
Tragedy doesn’t know the day of the week. Bad things can happen at any moment and yesterday turned out to be quite the moment. My beautiful junk tree is committing suicide quietly in the back yard right under my watchful eye.
And so, the story begins.
Winterpast is lush this year. For new readers, “Winterpast” is the name of my home which sits on 1/2 acre of land groomed to Martha Stewart – English Garden status. Well, not quite yet, but every inch IS landscaped. There are paths, roses and 23 trees. Truthfully, there are 25 trees, but, I kept quiet about two of them.
With all the spring rain, everything is thriving. The fruit trees have never looked so great. Loaded with hundreds of plums and apricots, they are looking great. All the trees, except for one of them. Sitting center stage along the back fence, I care for a 25′ Russian Olive. I’ve learned that some states have outlawed this tree, considering it an invasive species. Okay, fine for them. My tree invaded this space about 16 years ago and is now too big to ignore.
I love this tree this tree, as it grows right in the middle of the high plains of Northwestern Nevada. It’s managed to thrive through desert heat and brutal winters. Until 2023. The neighbor hates my tree, having told me so many times. Secretly, it makes me love my tree that much more.
My Russian Olive tree –Winter-2020 — First year as a widowThe same tree, minutes before the previous picture, at sunrise. That morning, I needed the message she sent me. Everything will be alright! You were right, my sweet tree. Everything IS alright.
The tree has been failing while the others were thriving. Yesterday was the day something had to be done. Now, if you think going to the emergency vet is expensive, just try a tree doctor on a Sunday afternoon. Or, just get out the chain saw. It would be cheaper.
I’m connected to my neighborhood through an online program called Nextdoor. I’m just learning about the program, and put out an SOS for my failing tree. Right away a suggested name popped up with many other comments that told me he was the guy I needed, so I called to leave a message.
He called right back. On a very late Sunday afternoon. He would be right over.
I learned so many things in a short period of time, my mind was on overload.
Within five minutes of being on the property, he discovered many problems. The tree was strangling itself with its own roots. This wasn’t helped by the rock and black plastic keeping the noxious weeds under control. As he ripped open the plastic to expose beautiful, big roots, I could almost feel the tree take a deep breath. The plastic around the trees would need to go. ASAP. Another tree was also suffering, just not as bad.
The second problem had to do with all the beetles that were living under the plastic around the roots. Opportunistic freeloaders were living in the tree and killing it.
The last problem was the big one. Girdling Roots. The roots weren’t going out to look for water, they were circling the tree. This had been going on a very long time, as the problem roots had made indentations on the bark. As he dug away the dirt around the roots, amazingly huge anchors were explosed. All of a sudden, this tree looked like a real tree. The roots were as amazing as the 25 feet above the ground.
With his trusty ax, he lovingly pruned the roots, chopping off the bad ones.
He pointed out many things about the other trees in my yard. The cherry trees have the softest wood and are under attack of the beetles. Every tree in my yard needs spray. The Russian Olive is so sick, she needs injections and a trim. My apricot tree is the most lovely one he’s ever seen.
What’s a non-smoking, non-vacationing, non-gambling gardening gal to do? The grounds of Winterpast saved me on many days over the last three years. Gardening is my passion and Winterpast my true love. The trees will not die under my watch. Not without a fight.
We made a deal as the sun was setting over the desert mountains. He’ll be back as soon as possible to treat all the trees, except the two that are hiding on the side of the house. For the next few days, I’ll be removing some black plastic to expose the roots.
The roses have had so much pampering, they need to take a back seat for a minute. My Russian Olive needs me.
As he was leaving, we turned around to look at her. I felt that she was already sighing in relief while waving a little “Thank You”. It will take a few months for her to recover from this.
A poem comes to mind that CC gave me when I started teaching. It seems appropriate here.
DEEP ROOTS
“When I die,”
She said,
“I’m coming back
as a tree
with
deep
roots
And
I’ll wave
my leaves at
the children
every morning
on their way to
school
and
whisper
tree songs at night in
their dreams.
Trees with deep roots know
about the things
children need.”
B. Andreas — 1993
Yes, trees know a lot about what widows need, as well.
Whatever you do today, check on your trees. Really look at them and make sure they are thriving. Do some reading and learn about them. Make sure they haven’t decided to commit suicide right in front of you like my sweet Russian Olive. While you’re at it, spend some time in the garden. It’s good for what ails you.
Written by The Rev. Dr. D. Scott Stoner — April 7, 2017
It’s the little things in life that make me happy, and one of those little things, believe it or not, is a memorable acronym. A good acronym contains an inspiring message and does so in a format that is easy to remember. Case in point is the acronym T.H.I.N.K. Originally created as a communication guideline for online social media behavior, the five questions asked within this acronym are, in my opinion, a helpful guide for all forms of communication, in all aspects of our lives.
T is for the question, “Is it True?” The first test for anything we may wish to communicate is whether we know for certain that what we are about to say is true. If we are not 100% certain that something is accurate or true then we shouldn’t be saying it, and therefore we don’t even need to put our communication through the filter of the next four questions.
H is for the question, “Is it Helpful?” This question asks us to reflect on our intention for what we are communicating. Will it move the conversation along in a way that is productive? Just because saying something sarcastic, for instance, might make us feel superior for a moment, it will most likely not be helpful to the relationship.
I is for the question, “Is it Inspiring?” Since communication involves a relationship, this question asks if what we have to say will enhance and build up our relationship with the person with whom we are communicating. “Speak only if it improves upon the silence,” a quote from Mahatma Gandhi comes to mind in this context
N is for the question, “Is it Necessary?” Is it necessary to point out every small mistake someone makes? Is it necessary to “pile on” criticism toward someone when they are already feeling bad? Is it necessary to be sure you get the credit for a good idea? Will what you are about to say enhance the current conversation? If not, don’t say it.
K is for the question, “Is it Kind?” The world can be a very unkind place, filled with words that are intended to bully and hurt others. We all benefit when we look for opportunities to speak and express kindness to each other.
All of this does not mean that we should avoid difficult conversations. It simply means that before we begin a potentially challenging conversation we pause and think about our true intentions, and then work to communicate in ways that are intended to expand and enrich our relationship with the other. It is wise to remember that all of our conversations, big or little, impact our relationships, for better or for worse.
I invite you to make an intentional effort to keep the T.H.I.N.K. acronym in mind as you communicate with others over the next few days. See if it makes a difference, not just in what you say, but also in how you say it. If you find that what you want to say does not pass the filter test of the five questions above, you might want to think twice before you say it, for the sake of your relationships.
##
Yes. The world could use a few more T.H.I.N.K.-ers.
Whatever you plan to do this weekend, remember that character is who you are in the dark. This is a possible point to ponder if your power goes out in a thunderstorm after dark. Enjoy these last few days of spring. In an instant, it will be desert-hot here on the high plains of northwestern Nevada. I plan to make the most of the mild temps and afternoon rainstorms. Spring is certainly a beautiful time of year!
Last night the heaven’s opened up and it poured buckets of beautiful spring rain. By late afternoon, it’d become quite blustery. It’d been the perfect day to cook a pot of spaghetti sauce for the freezer and stay inside.
Around 7 pm, the afternoon monsoon hit. Lightning, thunder, and then, no power. I know this because my “Help-I’ve-Fallen-And-I-Can’t-Get-Up” machine was blaring to the world “No Power. No Power. No Power.” This machine and I co-exist. I haven’t fallen and if I did, I’m pretty sure I could get up. But, out of a lonely widow’s fear, I pay for the service. Just in case, because you never know.
I probably should wear the pendant with the emergency button. I think that IS the important part of the plan. It hangs right by the side of the bed on my lamp, ready for emergencies. Like I say, I could probably slither to the nightstand with my injuries.
For the first two years of service, when an outage occurred, it alerted all the people on my list. CC and the kids. Slowly, one by one, they’d call me.
“Um, are you okay? Just checking.”
I’m so blessed to have family and friends that love me but I really don’t want to bother them with power outages. Last fall I called the company to change the setting.
“Would you please not call my contacts when the power goes out?” I asked a “child” associate on the other end of the line?
“Ohhhhh. We can’t do THAT! Your children will be upset if we change the settings for YOUR machine.”
Well, hold the phone, Bucko.
First of all, my “children” are adults that don’t like to be referred to as “the kids”, as they haven’t been for decades now.
I bought the machine.
I maintain the machine.
I chose the settings.
I’m UNCHOOSING the one that says “Call my family if the power goes out.”
With a bit of an argument, I prevailed. During last night’s outage of three hours, not one of my contacts was disturbed.
Why is it that when the power goes out, no matter the time, there are 24 things you want to do that require power? How many times can one turn a light switch in a five minute period with no result? I my case, quite a few. In different rooms, even.
With my windows shaking from the thunder, MM asked if Oliver and I would like to visit his house. Safety in numbers. It’d been a long day for us both and it would’ve been nice to see Wookie and her pet, my Mysterious Marine. I changed clothes, brushed my hair, grabbed Ollie, and headed to the garage.
Quite dark in a garage during an outage. Rather creepy.
I was about to put Oliver in the car, trying not to fall, because with the power outage, my unit wouldn’t alert anyone. It was then, I realized a little problem with the plan.
Garage door openers don’t work well when the power is out. Before you mention the emergency pull switch, I’d already thought of that. Below that switch sits my beautiful, shiny, brand-spanking-new luxury car. Nothing would happen to it when pulling the rope to unlatch the door and allow it to be opened. That’s true enough.
It was the woman pulling the rope that could break things that were working just fine. A pulled back muscle wouldn’t help in this situation. The garage doors are super heavy which is why there is a garage door opening in the first place.
In the black of night, Oliver and I returned to the comfort of home. It was an early night.
The outdoor noises are louder during a power outage. One thing I did notice was the moo-ing of a frantic cow. The farmer never came to the rescue and the mooing of one cow continued well into the night. She was still complaining when I woke up this morning.
With the nightly rain, which has persisted for over a week now, the gardens of Winterpast have never looked greener. I just planted a bougainvillea. Three leathery hosta’s will enjoy the shade under the bird houses. The geraniums are blooming like crazy. With the peony’s almost finished for the year, the roses will take over with blooms the size of saucers. It’s the year of flowers here on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. The desert is ready for a super-bloom event.
Whatever you do today, try to avoid golfing in the rain. According to MM, it’s most unpleasant, especially when golfing with coaches that must play through to the last hole. Haven’t heard from that boy this morning, but he madder than a wet hen last night.
Memorial Day Weekend, 2023 was one I’ll never forget. My little town, nestled right alongside the interstate on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada is home to around 10,000 fallen heroes. Our beloved veterans. With heroes from as far back as the Civil War, our National Cemetery is one beauty. I know. I’ve spent some time there over the past few days.
Saturday, the cemetery needed help. A flag was provided for every grave, but human angels were needed to place them. Placement would begin at 8:30 in the morning. It was hoped that the flags would be in place by Monday. It’s one of two times a year the graves get fancied up.
With the spring weather being about as perfect as weather get, MM and I headed out early to beat the afternoon sun. We decided we’d get there around 8, just to get a jump on the activity. When one places flags, it’s wise to bring a screwdriver to make an insertion hole in the grass. We had that covered.
When we arrived, there were already many flags in the ground. By 9:30, all the flags were placed. Thousands of graves were adorned with the stars and stripes. Waving in the desert breeze, the view was breathtaking. Sadly, this cemetery is one that will continue to grow as we lose more vets every day.
While placing each flag, we read the name, branch of service and dates of birth and death. There were a couple soldiers that were over 100. Wives were buried with their men. The names of the wars were listed on the headstones, as well. The names of the men and women were varied, all unknown to us. Their years of service gave pause for thought. Years away from family and friends while dodging bullets without a complaint. They went to serve, coming home to a grateful nation.
After finishing our part, MM and I felt great. It was the smallest of things we could do to remember the fallen. We’d be back on Monday for the ceremony at 11 am.
Monday’s ceremony brings thousands of people from everywhere. Some parked as much as a quarter of a mile to honor the fallen. People of all ages and walks of life were there at 11:00 for the service.
A special group of men started off the ceremony. A group of veterans. They had walked a little farther than 1/4 mile. They had walked 50 miles from the state capital carrying thousands of dog tags of the fallen men and women that rest in the cemetery. As I was listening to their story, I thought of some days that I barely walk to the mail box and back to the house. 50 miles! An incredible act of love. They started on Saturday and camped two nights along the way. There were thunderstorms both nights. They didn’t give up, arriving at just the right time.
There was a fly over by some veterans, a 21 gun salute, and lots of military brass. There were special words for the Gold Star families who paid the ultimate price during a time of war. The Vietnam Vets arrived on their motorcycles, rumbling along to the back side of the cemetery.
Of course, the colors were presented at the beginning, and the songs for all branches of the military were played softly by a brass quartet. The Mayor, (who happens to be MM’s little brother) led us in the flag salute. The governor of our state had some beautiful thoughts to share. People were encouraged to stay and get to know their neighbors. A nice touch to a beautiful ceremony.
Just when I thought things couldn’t be better, I found out they could.
Yesterday, the task of removing the flags was at hand. Anyone who could help was asked to return at 8 am, Tuesday morning, to remove flags for use next year. With nothing better to do, I was there on a beautiful, blue sky desert morning. The breeze was perfect. For an hour, I had a section of soldiers all to myself.
I spent time thinking about my own sons that gave over 50 years of their lives serving with the United States Air Force. I thought about mothers throughout the United States that served with their sons and daughters as they waited for letters from foreign places. Some parents got back soldiers that weren’t quite the same and never would be again. Such a high price that a quiet group of mom’s paid, right along side their children.
I’d picked up about 250 flags when the strangest thing happened. Like so many times in life, the smallest miracles are missed if you’re not paying attention. I met a wonderful angel woman who was working at the same task. As it turns out, our husband’s both died form liver cancer. One small difference. Her one year heaven-ersary is June 5th. Listening to her story brought memories of cancer. Memories of loss. Memories of what it was like looking forward to that first milestone. One year without. Hoping after that first year, grief would suddenly complete the cycle.
Long story short, I made an angel friend among the heroes today. Meeting her put a bow on Memorial Day 2023 . We both agreed we’re looking forward to December 16th, when we’ll put out Wreaths. Please think about donating to Wreaths Across America. Look them up. It’s a nice thing to do.
Whatever you do today, thank a veteran. Even though Memorial Day has passed, thank one anyway. They gave up a lot to keep our country free. If they were asked, they’d tell you they’d do it again. That’s just the way they roll. Keep your eyes open for Miracle Friends. They’re only strangers until you say “Hello”.
Amazing things happened over the weekend! Heartbreak over the “broken” computer turned into triumph! The computer LIVES! Somedays are just a mixture of good and rotten. My Friday was such a day.
I love getting up in the morning to blog. Purposefully, I rise at 4:30, make coffee, feed Ollie, and sit down at the computer. I usually check to make sure the world isn’t on fire, check the banking to make sure I haven’t been hacked, and then get on with the blog. I’ve been blogging since September 24, 2000. You can look on this website and go back to my very first day as a “real” writer and read through the trials and tribulations of my journey through widowhood.
It takes a little bit o fine tuning to get this schedule to work. On most days, I do turn out the lights pretty early. Without the problems of insomnia or restless leg syndrome, I fall right to sleep. The flip side is that if I oversleep until 5:30, I do feel as if half my day is gone. Silly, I know.
Friday started as any other day, except for the first terrible event. When I turned on my computer, it had a mind of its own.
5fu5fu5fu5fu5fu5fu5fu5fu5fu5fu5fu5fu5fu5fu5fu5fu5fu5fu5fu5fu5fu, and so on.
Whatever I tried resulted in 5fu.
I unplugged, waited 20 seconds and replugged.
5fu.
I tried to move the mouse.
5fu.
I unplugged the keyboard AND mouse.
5fu.
Finally, I had no choice but to contact my sweet son, T. He’s been in the computer business since he was a boy. Working for a group of doctor’s, his expertise keeps all the medical scanning equipment up and running. MRI’s, CT Scanners, and other medical equipment that I haven’t even heard of are all hooked online these days. Decades ago, when computers were new, he started his career. He’s tops at what he does. Lives and the doctors that save them depend on him.
Another part of his work involves dealing with frantic employees that can’t get their $%#%$#% computer to do what they want. He hears it all, day in and day out. He reads between the lines and makes things better. I would guess most of the problems he deals with are not even caused by what the employee thinks they are. He has an analytical brain perfectly suited for problem solving.
I never text the kids early in the morning. They have their own kids and lives to get going. But, last Friday, I needed computer help. It wasn’t my health emergency, but rather my computer’s. That’s more critical in my book.
When I saw his text that said “Oh No”, after we had tried ten different procedures, my heart sank. With a three year old dishwasher awaiting a motherboard, it seemed my 2.5 year old Dell All-In-One desktop (dearly loved) would be going to the bone yard. For another $800+, I’d need a new computer. It was just that simple.
Sadly, I used my i-Pad to order another. Thank goodness for Amazon.
All day, this was wearing me down. How could a computer be so new and just break? I had not spilled coffee on the thing. I hadn’t had any sort of power surge. Were things these days built to last two years and fry? My appliance repairman has his own experiential evidence to prove that theory. There had to be one last thing I could try to fix this.
And then, the lightbulb in my brain brightened.
You-Tube.
With that thought, my trusty i-Pad and I and went to work. Entering the model number, I asked for a fix. In seconds, I was watching a video on how to fix all kinds of computer issues. I could add more space or replace the fan. I could remove the hard drive and replace it with a bigger one.
The first step involved popping off the back cover. Just like the technician on the video told me, it would sound terrible. Like I was cracking the entire thing. Assured that it wouldn’t break, I just needed to start at a corner and lift.
I WAS a little scared to to this alone. Not to fear, my Mysterious Marine came to the rescue. After planting two trees and two rose bushes, he wasn’t done helping a damsel in distress. Nope. All he needed was a few screwdrivers and it was on it.
With the cover off, the computer was exactly as shown in the video. With the removal of four screws and a small cover, the tiny battery was exposed. A common flat battery that we’ve all seen many times over. The video suggested that to reset the computer, the battery needed to be removed for 20 seconds and then replaced.
Carefully, we did this while marveling at the beauty of the motherboard. Then, Snap-Crackle-Pop and the computer was back together.
When plugged in, it worked. Just! Like! New!
No need to spend hundreds on a replacement. Amazon will be getting a big return and I’m back in business. All it took was a look-see on You Tube.
As a widow, unexpected breaks can be devastating. From a broken air conditioning unit to a failing irrigation system, life as a widowed home owner is often frustrating and overwhelming. But, You-Tube holds answers for so many fixes. From programing a garage door opener to repairing a computer. With a brand, model number, and brief description of the problem, you too, can fix your clogged sink, leaky toilet, or even a computer that likes to type 5fu over and over.
With that, I hope your Memorial Day was grand. Short of replacing a roof or digging through layers of roots, there isn’t much an old widow woman can’t do. There are those things for which we aren’t strong enough. That’s true enough. But, with a little research, we can diagnose what’s wrong and understand the proper fix. That way, when someone arrives to do the job, we KNOW what needs to be done.
Whatever you do today, think of a small project that bugs you and find the fix on You Tube. You’ll be amazed at the different things you can learn to do yourself. It’s empowering and pretty darn exciting. Of course, a special thanks to my Mysterious Marine. Gardening AND Computer repairs. Pretty darn cool!
Not much more needs to be said. I am typing this on a very tiny screen that is not sustainable.
My desktop is sick so I must give my computer guru a call. T can fix anything. I hope he can help.
Please take some time to remember the heroes that’ve served our country, while keeping us safe and free. My two sons donated over 40 years of their two lives to do just that. Thank you, my sweet boys.
I’ll be back Tuesday with updates. Who knows? I might be typing on a new computer by then.
I love my appliances. When I moved to Winterpast three years ago, the appliances were new. Bright, shiny stainless, all. Stove, frig, microwave, dishwasher and garbage disposal, washer and dryer. Everything brand new to avoid troubles. When I moved into Winterpast, heaven knows I had enough troubles, having lost VST just 17 days before.
For the past three years, every morning, after a small breakfast, I rinse the dishes, placing them in the dishwasher. Unless I have company, it takes two days to fill, at which time I run a load. I’m one old widow woman. Not a family of four, cooking three meals a day.
When I selected my dishwasher, I was in for some training. Here’s the deal. If you want the quietest dishwasher, it has no food grinder. That’s why they are so quiet. Get it? If you want the most energy efficient one, it has no heating element. That’s why less energy is used.
Now, I really didn’t want a metal box that sprays water and calls it good. That would be the quietest and most energy efficient. I had to scratch my head on that one. My dishwasher is a upper mid-priced Chinese produced General Electric model that has both heat and a food grinder. It’s still pretty quiet.
Last week, it became really quiet when the pump stopped working. It just hummed, while excess water pooled in the bottom of the unit. Not good. Only three years old and already broken while there is only one old widow woman using it. Of course this happened right before the party for 40 people. Of course.
So, for the last two weeks, I’ve been washing my few dishes by hand. Last Friday, I finally called the Home Warranty Company. Now, I know Home Warranty Companies SAY they will cover Air Conditioning units. Trust me. In my area, in the hottest part of summer, they may say the will cover everything, but no AC company deals with them. I ended up getting ripped off with no service. The new AC was $10,500 replacement price. That’s a heart stopper. I was hoping it would be different for dishwashers.
When I went online to set up a service call for the dishwasher, I was told the NEW service fee was $125. My contracted fee was $75. There are so many ways to rip off the widow. After many calls, the service fee was finally reduced to ZERO. Best advice? Don’t mess with the widow. After the call, I’ll be deciding if I stay with the warranty company or not.
As a widow, there are so many things that are beyond my knowledge and ability. Top of the list is air and heating. But dishwasher repairs are right up there. The company I used did have a nice feature in which I could troubleshoot a few things to make sure I really had a problem that needed fixing. Indeed, I do.
As it turns out, my 3 year old GE dishwasher has two fried mother-boards. Parts will be ordered. Once installed, it should work just fine. Gone are the days that appliances worked for a decade plus. General Electric products are produced in China now, along with most other affordable products. How sad.
A very informative technician told me that he does this all day long. It appears it might even be by design. Planned failures built into the units. He can literally plan an entire day in a new housing unit going from house to house to replace fried mother boards. The scary thing is that it isn’t just the dishwashers that are going out, and not just General Electric either. Unless you are lucky enough to have bought German, it will probably happen to you, too.
Gone are the days that a young couple got their first Kenmore set lasting them 20 years. If you get three years without a problem, you are pretty darn lucky.
Whatever you do today, appreciate working appliances. In this crazy world, it’s something to cheer about. Considering the information shared by my repairman, Elijah, a home warranty is a really good thing to have. New, failing appliances keep his repair company in business. If you have experienced appliances, try your best to have them fixed. You won’t be very happy with the new versions.
For now, it’s dishpan hands for me. Calgon, take me away!
Life is interesting these days. It amazes me the kinds of things one can order online. Of course, there are the normal, everyday items. Clothing. Accessories. Even food. And then, there are exotics. Things that I would have never believed would be delivered to the front door of a person’s home. Things like a 8 X 8 screen dome.
With all the trouble I’ve been having with mosquito bites, I might think about getting one of these delivered to put over my bed. At any rate, let me start at the beginning, which involved one very large greenhouse. That’s where the SNAFU began.
A green house full of flowers and plants! What a dream!!
Having wanted a greenhouse for a very long time, I decided I’d waited long enough. If not now, when? The smell of fresh herbs. A place for my houseplants to vacation. Although I do have a pickup to retrieve such an item from the hardware store, the hardware store only ships these items. And so the SNAFU-able events started to unravel.
At first it seemed that the greenhouse was on its way and would even arrive early. In less than a week, I’d be helping to pour a foundation for this garden wonder and in two weeks, I’d have plants thriving inside. All that wasn’t to be.
It got as far as Sacramento when another freak storm hit the area leaving Donner Pass impassable. With nothing better to do, the company shipped the greenhouse from Sacramento to Los Angeles, where it lounged for two days before starting the journey back to Sacramento. It finally made its way over Donner Pass to my door, days after it was supposed to arrive.
With the excitement of the greenhouse, friends and family wanted to help! We had a brother that offered to help pour the foundation on the day it was supposed to arrive. Then, there was my bestie, CC, who was so thoughtful. She sent a book on greenhouse gardening tips along with some cute wooden plant markers that we could use to help us remember what seeds were growing. Each item came in a separate package including a nice little note.
A few days later, another package arrived. “Wow! CC is really getting into this greenhouse garden event! ” thought I. The evening the package arrived, I called to thank her for her sweet gift. I hadn’t considered a misting system, but what a brilliant idea. On a timer, this would help on those hot summer days!
Well, the SNAFU had set in. You see, she ordered the misting system for herself, but had forgot to change the shipping address on Amazon. CC and I live 7 hours apart. This wouldn’t be a little something I could drop off while we enjoyed a cup of tea.
After our call, a wonderful idea popped into my head. I’d just buy a system for her and have it delivered through Amazon. How easy would that be? I now wanted the mister for the greenhouse and she’d get a laugh when one arrived at her house. Except, I was out SNAFU’d. She’d already ordered another for her house. Now, she would have two.
But, the biggest SNAFU was yet to come. CC had ordered the above mentioned 8×8 screened dome for her house and …..you guessed already….it was coming to my house. She did mention that although she thinks of me as a sister, this was her item, needed and wanted at her own home.
I came home Monday to find the dome home safely delivered to my house. With a few calls and pick-up appointment, we finally got all our orders straightened out. UPS came to retrieve the item yesterday. Hopefully CC has another delivered to her house just as quickly.
Life in 2023 is fast and crazy. One had better pay attention to the fine print while ordering gifts delivered here or there. Amazon will definitely deliver any package to the exact address you select. With the push of a button, your own dome home will fly off to another state. If only our orders could tell their tales.
Whatever you do today, be careful when ordering on the internet. Make sure your passwords are at least 24 random letters, numbers, and characters. Keep your passwords hidden and try to avoid operator errors that can create unneeded SNAFU’s. It can happen to the best of us.
Ahh, the wide open spaces. How wonderful to put the new car on cruise control and jet through the high desert plains without a care in the world. Yesterday could have been like this, but it didn’t turn out that way. My beautiful day ended up more like this.
Okay, okay. maybe not quite that bad, but bad enough. A 30 minute drive took three hours. That’s a lot of time to sit and wait for traffic to keep moving.
The start of the day had been wonderful. After a meeting with my financial guru, I’d planned a shopping day with two girlfriends. I’ve known them the longest of any of my friends, having met in 2014 in Virginia City, Nevada. Tried and true blue girlfriends, these two. They were my support when I lost VST and have remained so.
Sitting over lunch in a beautiful restaurant in the Biggest Little City to the West, we had a lot on news to cover. Tree removal. Greenhouse delivery. My Mysterious Marine. Their sweet husbands, who were besties to VST. New fashions. Our lunch disappeared, and we talked on, just as a lunch with old friends should be.
After lunch, it was on to the mall. Mazelike, it’s easy to get lost there. I don’t visit malls all that often, using Amazon to do most of the shopping around here. It was fun to see and touch the clothing. It seems this year, natural fibers are in. Thank goodness holes over the shoulders are yesterday’s news. I never understood that trend. Or bell sleeves that could drape through a dinner plate. I didn’t see one ruffle yesterday. Hallelujah!! Praise the Lord.
This year, I think I’d better snatch up quite a bit, because next year, it might be mini-skirts and polyester on the racks.
The girls and I had a wonderful time, ending at the SEE’s candy store to end our day. We all purchased some candy and then head home. I was elated at the great day in the city. It’s been some time since I would just jump in the car and go. My GPS gave me perfect instructions to get on the freeway and I was headed home, back to the land of the mosquitos and green hills.
Yes. Mosquitos. I’ve been nailed several times in the last few days. Sadly, troublesome bite is just below my eye, which has puffed a little. I’ve also decided that dogs rolling around in the grass and weeds and then coming in for a pet is allergy inducing stuff. The last two days have been a bit itchy.
Desert + Rain + Sunshine = Noxious Weeds. The up side is that any property that isn’t mine is nice and green. The bad thing is that my property has way too many weeds, all which need pulling or spraying. It’s going to be that kind of year.
So, as I was driving along the interstate, three highway patrols raced by me with sirens blazing. I didn’t think too much of it, as these things happen when you live in a big city. What I didn’t know was that a poor soul going WEST rolled his brand new truck into the EAST bound lands, tying up BOTH directions of the interstate. By time I knew, gridlock made it impossible to get off the freeway. Besides, it would have made a 30 minute trip a 2 hour trip. As it turned out, that would’ve been the quicker choice.
How the poor soul survived is beyond me. His beautiful truck lay to the side of the road, trapezoidal prism in shape.
Hours later, I returned to Winterpast.
Whatever you do today, consider lunch and shopping with friends. The stores are full of brand new summer fashions. Shoppers are out having a great time! It’s nice to touch and feel merchandise on the shelf, rather than guess at what will arrive at the door in brown wrapping. Time for this world to get back to normal.
For me, the day holds more weeding. I better get going before the temps get too high. Summer is on the way.
From time to time, all of us are lucky enough to get swept up in a magical moment in which time stands still. Whether it’s with someone you’ve known most of your adult life or someone you are just getting know. Those moments can hold plenty of “Ahh – Ha’s” and are certainly times to be remembered and cherished.
Such was the experience I had on Saturday night. As an old woman, I lost my Mother and my Mom over two decades ago. One at the hand of another, the other to the ravages of cancer. I changed after those losses. One left me wondering how in the heck a “skilled” surgeon could so easily take the life of another. The other left me with a gaping hole in my heart that has taken years to heal. One biological. One, my mother-in-love.
It’s been quite some time since I’ve had the benefit of visiting with a wise Mom. One who birthed five children, raised them to productive adulthood, while managing to remain true to herself. Saturday night, I had the rare treat of spending some quality time with MM and his amazing mom, Miss B. I realized, after our evening spent talking about our respective losses of our spouses, how much I have missed interacting with a mom figure.
Miss B had decided to stay a couple nights with her eldest son, my Mysterious Marine. Now, Miss B and I have something in common right out of the gate. We both happen to think MM is an amazing guy. Of course, she has known him so much longer than I.
Our time together started by enjoying homemade Red Lobster Stuffed Mushrooms with crab.
Saute chopped mushroom stems,celery, onion and pepper in butter for 2 minutes.
Transfer to a plate and cool in refrigerator.
Combine sauteed vegetables and all other ingredients (except cheese slices) and mix well.
Place mushroom caps in a sprayed or buttered baking pan stem side up.
Spoon 1 tsp stuffing into each mushroom cap.
Cover with a piece of sliced cheese.
Bake for 12-15 minutes until cheese is lightly brown.
Well, it’s impossible to start off on a bad foot with these mushrooms. MM had gone to the grocery store to hand select twelve of the most beautiful mushrooms in the store. Following the instructions to the letter, the mushrooms were delicious. We enjoyed them while folks at the Preakness were enjoying their traditional crab cakes. Very fitting.
Of course, I bet my traditional $1000.00 of imaginary bucks on the long shot, who did not win. There’s good reason why I never really bet on horse races or gamble much on anything, for that matter. I’m not very good at choosing a winner. The horse I bet on WAS very pretty.
As the evening progressed, MM created a fantastic dinner of Colossal Shrimp Scampi and angel hair pasta. Steamed Broccoli completed the dinner. For desert, we shared fresh Lemon Blueberry Pound Cake, our new favorite.
As the evening unfolded, I learned of a family member with a pet monkey who loved to play with MM’s hair as a child. I learned that family is all important to this mother and son. And, I learned that some Grieving Gardeners have more in common than we originally knew. Whether widow, or widower, the loss of a spouse is devastating. The only way through the maze of grief is to talk it out. Wait it out. Pray it out. All while continuing to put one foot in front of the other. Keep on, keeping on.
Throughout the evening, as a spring thunderstorm set in, we continued to share the our own inspirational stories. As we talked, we shared thoughts like, “But how did they get through? I could have never done that. I wouldn’t have had the strength.”
Through three very different tragedies, we faced challenges in different ways. We all found courage and resilience to fight the battles we were given in the year of 2020. We all lost the loves of our lives. Yet, here we are, building new bridges across a sea of grief while holding on to beautiful new friendships we’ve made.
The evening ended way too soon. Wookie and Oliver were waiting at my house. Wookie begged and begged for a girl sleepover, so it was only fair that as the sun disappeared behind the mountains to the west, I returned home to the dogs.
This weekend, I learned that we’re all much stronger than we think. Don’t forget all the battles you’ve won while fighting your uphill battles with widowhood or widower-hood. Everyday, you prove to the world you are stronger than anyone would’ve ever thought. There isn’t anything that you can’t handle when put to the test.
Whatever you do today, think of mentors in your life that are examples of strength and resilience. As you spend time with them, remind them of their heroic deeds under the worst of circumstances. We all need to hear that once in awhile as we find our way through the wilderness of grief. You and I did good things in the midst of a sea of sadness and loss. We’d do it again in a heartbeat. Don’t forget that for a minute.
And the God of peace will be with you. Philippians 4: 6-9
Whatever you do, spend today looking for good. If there isn’t much happiness, try to create some. Your smile is a good place to start. Turn that frown upside down and get with it. Life is to beautiful to waste.
I’m so much happier when I have no electronic contact with the outside world. Life is beautiful at Winterpast, the garden of happiness. All day, I can tend to the needs of potted plants while pulling stray weeds under the big blue sky on the northwestern plains of the Nevada Desert. But, just like a moth to a flame, when I drive, I turn on the news. Yesterday’s main topic was troublesome.
Of course, humorous at times, too. Like envisioning THE Prince and Princess being chased to within an inch of their lives over a two hour period in New York City. Now, I’ve never been to NYC, but from what I’ve seen, that would be a little impossible with all the traffic. Maybe 30 seconds? A minute? But then, I’m not royalty. Maybe the entire town was on lockdown so those two could move about with their car chase.
If you haven’t watched the episode on Southpark about their “Privacy Tour”, you can catch some clips on “You Tube”. So funny I had to watch a few of them. Yes. We all want our privacy. Some just want it a little more than others.
Well, after the nonsense about the American royals, the news became more personal. The focus was on computer passwords. The ones we all use every day. In the very beginning, I was at a loss for thinking of new and fun passwords. Over the years, I’ve gotten better.
Now, it seems, the hackers have gotten better, too. A password of eight characters was the norm for 2018 standards. That’s what many companies recommend. Now, with Artificial Intelligence becoming so much smarter, it is recommended that our passwords are 12 random characters long, with plenty of symbols included. Don’t forget upper and lower case letters, numbers, and while you’re at it, throw in a picture of the family dog.
So, yesterday, I decided that I would comply for the bank. I would select a very new, random and personal code. But what would it be?
Being a writer, my brain can be quite creative. Two nights ago, I was enjoying a night at a most beautiful hotel just 46 miles from my doorstep. I was lucky enough to have a room on the 19th floor, which happened to be at the very top. I’ve stayed there many times, but on this occasion, I was lucky enough to be in a suite looking at the second tower across the way.
I had just turned off the lights and looked out once more to see the night view, when I was shocked. Across the way, at another tower (just a few floors shorter), were hundreds of birds reflecting in the lights. Dive bombing, this way and that. Reflected in the lights, they looked huge. They were swarming everywhere. I will tell you, it was unsettling. 10 PM atop a huge hotel, the place was under siege from birds.
Were they owls? Condors? Great Bustards? Trumpeter Swans? Pelicans? Were they hired by the hotel? I went to sleep wondering about random possibilities.
In the morning, still troubled, I Googled to find out what would cause the birds to behave in this way. There was the answer. Bugs and lights. These were seagulls and pigeons, not exotic at all. It’s a nightly occurrence. I’ve just never been on the top floor to witness it.
So getting back to the passwords (I promise it will all tie in soon). It seems that the hackers can now hack any plain jane password of 8 or less characters as if it’s not even there. We should be using 12 random characters. Are you kidding me???? I don’t know about you, but I need to have something to affix these passwords to my brain. What would I do now?
I’ve overused Oliver’s name in many forms. I’ve even used Winterpast once long ago. My name and address are way to obvious. As I sat trying to think of a new password, it came to me.
#SglsEtgBgs52023$.
It had everything. Uppercase. Lower case. It held a memory and the month and year. It even reminded me that a one night vacation can be a little pricey. Perfect.
I discarded my old password entered the new one, careful to write the new one down in my “Sh*t I Can’t Remember” book (Purchased from Amazon and quite useful. Look it up. I use mine several times a day. It’s a lifesaver. Sorry for the name.)
This morning, when I went to enter the new password, it was a disaster. With just way too many variables, I was quickly locked out of my website. At 4:30 in the morning, waiting for my WordPress site to unlock after an unsuccessful password attempts isn’t pleasant.
Don’t even doubt for a minute that everything is now changed back to passwords I know and love. Somedays, I can barely remember to blog. 12 characters, upper and lower case, mixed with $, #, and *** isn’t going to happen here.
The news.
It can take a perfectly peaceful day and invite new worries to our already full brains. I need to take my own advice and unplug. Put on some great music and focus on the beauty of spring. Hackers gonna hack and worrying won’t change that.
Whatever you do today, think of this. Although we all need to have passwords, just try to remember to change yours once in awhile. If you do change it, please write it down. Do check out the notebook on Amazon. Keep organized and carry on.
The blossoms are everywhere here on the high plains of the deserts of Northwestern Nevada. Where there’s water, there’s life. Believe me when I tell you we’ve had more than our share of water this year. Just Sunday, in the middle of the Mother’s Day party here at Winterpast, the heaven’s let loose again. Everything here is green, including the barren hills. Not quite Switzerland-esque, but not desert brown either.
The day after our party was a lovely time to enjoy a party for one. After putting up ten tables and forty chairs, three garbage cans, and a few dishes, Winterpast is ready to host another party. Yesterday was my day to do nothing but enjoy the clean house and weed free yard. It’ll remain that way a short time before I’ll need to do it all again.
In May, it’s customary for Zephyr winds to come up from no where bringing thunderstorms with them. After attending our many graduation ceremonies throughout the years, my mother would refer to “Graduation Weather” in May and June. The kind that would rip a mortarboard right off a Valedictorian’s beehive hairdo. (That will make my younger readers scratch their heads wondering what I’m talking about. Check out hairstyles of the mid 1900’s).
One thing is for sure. The heat will follow these winds. Even though summer won’t officially begin until June 21, high temps are on the way. By Friday the mercury should hover around 90, and that will feel cool compared to the summer afternoons to follow.
Around town, the mustang foals are popping up. Pretty amazing little creatures, they are ready to roam just a few hours after birth. They are as shy as they are cute, staying near their mom’s side. With a birth control program, along with the frequent round-ups, it’s lucky to see a foal these days.
Feeling like a spring dessert in the desert, I tried a new recipe for Lemon Blueberry Pound Cake. Of course, there is the word pound in the name. Just do a few more hours of weeding in the garden and fergetaboutit. Loaded with blueberries and bright flavor, this cake is absolutely delicious and easy to make, as well. I used fresh blueberries and lemon. I think it would also be delicious with raspberries.
Lemon Blueberry Pound Cake
By Jennifer Segal
Loaded with blueberries and bright flavor, this lemon blueberry pound cake makes a wonderful brunch (or anytime) cake.
Servings: One 9×5-inch loaf cake (8 to 10 servings)
INGREDIENTS
FOR THE CAKE
½ cup milk
1 tablespoon grated lemon zest, packed (see note)
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2 cups + 1 teaspoon all-purpose flour, spooned into measuring cup and leveled-off with a knife
¼ teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon salt
1 cup blueberries (if using frozen blueberries, do not defrost)
1 stick (½ cup) unsalted butter, softened
1¼ cups granulated sugar
2 large eggs
FOR THE GLAZE
¾ cup confectioners’ sugar
¼ teaspoon lemon zest, packed
1½ tablespoons fresh lemon juice
INSTRUCTIONS
Preheat the oven to 350°F and set an oven rack in the middle position. Spray a 9×5-inch metal loaf pan with nonstick cooking spray. Line the bottom of the pan with parchment paper, then spray the pan again.
In a small bowl, whisk together the milk, lemon zest, and lemon juice. Let sit for at least 10 minutes while you proceed with the recipe. (It will curdle; that’s okay.)
In a medium bowl, whisk together the 2 cups flour, baking soda, and salt. In a small bowl, toss the blueberries with the remaining teaspoon of flour. Set both aside.
In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment (or beaters), cream the butter and sugar on medium speed until light and fluffy, 2 to 3 minutes. Scrape down the sides of the bowl, then beat in the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Scrape down the sides of the bowl again. With the mixer on low speed, beat in a third of the flour mixture, then half of the milk mixture. Beat in another third of the flour mixture, then the remaining milk mixture, followed by the remaining flour mixture, scraping the bowl as necessary. Add the flour-dusted blueberries to the batter and, using a spatula, fold until evenly combined.
Transfer the batter into the prepared pan and smooth the top.
Bake for 50 to 60 minutes, until the cake is golden brown and a tester comes out clean. Let the cake cool in the pan for about 10 minutes, then turn out onto a rack to cool completely.
When the cake is cool, transfer it to a serving platter.
Make the glaze: In a small bowl, mix together the confectioners’ sugar, lemon zest, and lemon juice. Add more confectioners’ sugar or lemon juice as necessary to make a thick but pourable glaze (it should be a little thicker than you’d think, about the consistency of molasses or honey). Spoon the glaze over the top of the cake, letting it drip down the sides. Let the glaze set for 10 to 15 minutes before serving. Slice with a serrated knife. The cake will keep on the countertop for up to 3 days; store in a covered container or wrap in plastic wrap.
Freezer-Friendly Instructions: The cake can be frozen (without the glaze) for up to 3 months. After it is completely cooled, double-wrap it securely with aluminum foil or plastic freezer wrap, or place it in heavy-duty freezer bag. Thaw overnight on the countertop before serving. (Add the glaze after the cake is thawed.)
Note: You’ll need 2 large lemons for the entire recipe. Be sure to zest them before you juice them.
Whatever you do today, enjoy the beauty of spring. Get out in the fresh air. Take a walk. Smell the blooms. Watch for the first of many farmer’s markets. Eat some fruit. Be grateful to be alive. The world is such a beautiful place!
I belong here in the high desert plains of northwestern Nevada. I belong on my side of the mountain among the mustangs and sage. I belong here with the hundreds of new friends I have made over the past three years. I definitely belong in the garden of friends and family that’s quietly grown and bloomed in this, the spring of my life Quiet simply, I belong here. Home means Nevada.
The snow and rain have finally stopped for just a little while. Thank goodness. Although it rained during the party yesterday, Mother’s Day morning shaped up to be a beautiful day. With the food prepared, a clean house, and groomed gardens here at Winterpast, it was as good as this seasoned old croon could do.
The 2023 bumper crops of apricots, plums, cherries, and blueberries continued ripening. Iris, tulips, daffodils and peonies were on the verge of blooming. The spring days have joined together like pearls, not in any hurry for the summer heat to arrive. The high’s have remained around 70-ish, which is just about perfect when you add beautiful spring breezes.
As the 30 guests began to arrive, I had thoughts of the last time I held a large gathering here at Winterpast. It was for a much more somber and serious event. The memorial for VST, held on July 15th, 2020, in the middle of Covid. People were heartbroken to call with regrets, but at the time, Covid remained a mystery. 40 very brave souls came to celebrate VST’s life without masks or gloves. It was not only a beautiful celebration, but it was so wonderful to see family and friends through tears and laughter. It had been quite some time since I had really gotten to enjoy the faces of others. No one wore masks that day and no one got Covid.
Yesterday’s atmosphere is so different. It was Mother’s Day, and the guest of honor was MM’s mom! The rest of the guests were his immediate family. 30 in all, guests ranged in age from a one year old to two octogenarians. I’m not used to throwing such an easy party. I furnished the venue, plates, napkins, cutlery, and soft drinks. Everything else was provided by MM and his family.
I will say that after a week of continuous cleaning and yardwork, it either made me that much stronger, or moved me closer to “The Home”. One-half acre of weeding is a lot. I sure wish I’d known about the pre-emergent spray last winter when it was the appropriate time to apply it. This summer will be a bit rough, but next winter, I’ll be on the list for spraying.
The corn hole game, which MM insisted on, was set up in the driveway. Approved by the American Cornhole Association, it provided a place to play after lunch. The littles were fascinated by the fountain, getting their little hands in the dirt and then practicing hand washing in the fountain. I’m getting old, because it was about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
At one point, one of the littles in her spring dress took my hand to take me across the “bridge” to see someone. With her little “Cindy-Lou-Who” haircut, she just decided she and I needed to take a walk. Enchanting.
The brisket was wonderful. It cooked for 16 hours rested for two. Melt in your mouth goodness. The first guest arrived at 1:45 and the last left at 7:30. A great time was enjoyed by everyone. I won’t be the last family blowout we enjoy here at Winterpast.
After Mother’s Day is over, there are many projects to tackle. The biggest and most exciting is the assembly of an honest to goodness greenhouse for the garden. I’m excited to send my houseplants there for some R&R. They could all use a spa date with humidity and extra tender loving care.
Yesterday was a wonderful day for us Mom types to remember all the love and joy our children have given us over the years. Life would be very different without the people that lived under our hearts for a time. No matter the distance, the bonds between Mom’s and kiddos are the most special in this world.
Whatever you do today, take some time to enjoy Spring. For me, the clean-up awaits. There are tables to fold up and chairs to place back in the garden. There’s that fountain to rinse, and birds to watch. What memories we made yesterday. I hope you have some mighty fine ones yourself.
Thank you, Mom, for putting a lifetime of your own dreams on hold while raising your five daughters to become lovely women. Thank you for being a beautiful example of womanhood to us all. Enjoy Heaven! You earned your wings on earth!
Too all the mothers of the world, have a beautiful weekend. Take a few minutes to put your feet up and think of the happy times you’ve shared with your children. There is nothing as precious as a Mom’s love.
Have a wonderful weekend. I’ll be back on Monday with details about Mother’s Day 2023!!!!
At least for today, time is on my side. In four more days I’ll be will be hosting a Mother’s Day celebration for 40 guests. Just a little get together for lunch. Nothing big. Just a beef brisket prepared by MM on the new barbeque. Guests are to bringing the side dishes while we’re planning to have the best Mother’s Day ever!
Let me tell you this. No matter how much you think everything around the house look great, there are always ten more things to do. Up until this morning, there have been days full of pulling weeds and cleaning up the RV barn. Tables are in position, there’ve been numerous trips to the store for tablecloths and cutlery. Even the house plants got their semi-annual spa day complete with a shower and Miracle-Grow treatment.
By the way, the 40 people include immediate family only. One sweet Mom. Five great sons and their wives. Kids. Grandkids. Great Grandkids. And me. I came from a huge farm family like this, so it doesn’t seem strange at all.
The great thing about MM’s family is that they’ll add the FUN to the day! There’ll be littles running around Winterpast. How great will that be? We’re preparing games and activities for them. The adults always have lots to talk about, with the brothers keeping everyone in laughter with their stories and brotherly bantering. Time will fly by all too quickly and by next week, the quiet of the neighborhood will return. Mother’s Day 2023 will be one of the best in the history of Mother’s Days.
I will say that there have been a few shocks on my shopping trips. Since when did soda cost $4.99 a six-pack? I think we’ll offer cucumber water and herbal tea. A trip to the grocery store equals my first house payment back in 1977.
For the next few days, Winterpast will continue to get a good scrubbing. I’ll alert the neighbors if I happen to see them out. We just might be a little loud in the afternoon. Could be problematic if people are napping. They’ll probably want to close the windows. Or, better yet, just come over and get in line. There’ll be plenty.
Mother’s Day will be all the sweeter because MM’s mom, Miss B, will be over with friends. It wouldn’t be a party without her. MM is blessed. She’s the coolest mom who raised her 5 boys to grow up to be friends as adults. Men who have made great lives living with integrity, they are all unique. Time FIVE. That speaks volumes to her motherly qualities.
She called on Tuesday to find out what she should bring. Just like that, I’m one of the gang. One of the many miracles that has happened over the last year. When I moved in to Winterpast three years ago, I knew Miss Firecracker and her husband, Bailey’s and Cream. Covid was still raging so we didn’t get to visit in person. Time wasn’t on our side then, and Bailey’s and Cream died that summer without ever getting to come over for a cup of coffee. And then, there were just Miss Firecracker and Me. Two widows.
Miss Firecracker moved West, leaving the Sierra Nevada’s between us.
And then, there was just me.
Over the months, my garden of friends has blossomed to the best group of girlfriends sprouting all over town. It’s a given that when I go shopping in town, I’ll meet at least one person I know well. Now, with the addition of a huge family to share, my dusty little town at the wide spot off the interstate is my true home.
My children will be celebrating with their own families. From Michigan to Nebraska, from California to Mexico, they’ve scattered with the wind to places they call home. Kids do that once they aren’t kids anymore. I guess VST and I were the first to blow away on a Zephyr Wind to Nevada. We always were the feral parents.
Whatever you do today, it’s not to late to honor your mother or special woman in your life with recognition of some kind. A call. A card. Some flowers. A gift. The mothers of this earth are very special people. Make their day a day to remember. Time is on our side, Yes It Is.
This poem was shared by my friend, Carlene, who is going through some rough stuff right now. She’s actually a great human example of this poem, having done some fantastic things with her life while still remaining “Carlene”. She is one of a kind, living her best life in her mid-80’s. If you’re reading, Carlene, don’t let the turkeys get you down.
Treating triumph and disaster the same important in life. In reality, the highest highs and the lowest lows have a lot in common. We all need to hold on holding on long after there is nothing left in us. And we need to remember sage wisdom from another poet, “Somedays we’re the windshield, and some days we’re the bug.” Hmmmm. Describes “cancer” and “widowhood” for me.
I’m sure this poem isn’t “WOKE” enough for the youngers of the day. Perhaps, for them, it’s time for them to quiet the noise in their brains a little bit. Learn to “Suck it up, Buttercups”, and be quiet for a time Perhaps if they did, they could listen to wisdom from their elders. I wish more people were courageous enough to embody this poem. Our world needs Bold Greatness right now.
Turning the noise off at Winterpast is something from which I find inner peace. Just hitting the off button on the television, or telling “Alexa” to go visit friends in England, (or wherever the heck she’s from), lets the real sounds of nature come through. Birds. Wind. The howl of a coyote. The nay of a mustang. The sound of a distant train whistle.
There is so much noise in the world today, it’s hard to catch our breath and just “Be” for a bit. Commune with your soul while being your own best friend. Now, that’s a game-changer.
Whatever you do today, try silence for 15 minutes. This includes silencing the clickity-clack of the computer keyboard. Just 15 minutes of nothing. Try sitting outside while you try this. Listen to “nothing” and see what you can hear. You might be surprised how loud “silence” can be. While you’re at it, listen to your heart. It has plenty to say.
Benedictus by Karl Jenkins –(Please click on space above. A video takes a little time to load.)
I found this piece quite by accident, never having known a thing about Karl Jenkins. I found out in a cruel way, not unlike the bullying that goes on with children across our country and the world.
Okay. I’ll fess up. I’m a royal junky. My favorite royals to watch are William and Kate’s children. Not having access to littles in my family anymore, it’s always fun to watch these three children. Hard to believe that they will grow up to be real Princes and a true Princess. Someday, one will be king. But, for now, they are cute kiddos.
Saturday, MM and I watched with the world as Charles became the king he waited his entire life to become. I couldn’t help think of lovely Diana and the Queen she would have been. The present “Queen”, as she has now become, has quite the past to overcome. I hope their love story is as real as the tabloids would like us to believe. It didn’t have the best start.
Harry reminded us all that even when royal, a family is a family. He breezed in for the main ceremony and then rushed back across the pond to his own life. How awkward for him, even though, the worst of it came from his own poisonous pen. My mother always said, “Be careful of the words you write. They may come back to haunt you.” But then, Harry doesn’t have his mom to argue reason. Just an entitled American actress wife that never fit in.
Yes. Grief made itself known in the absense of Charles mom, Queen Elizabeth,and his Dad, Prince Phillip. Without her death, the entire process couldn’t continue. And so life goes on.
At one point, Charles was clutching his little golden orb, almost like a child with a new ball. I read about the orb. Commissioned in the 1660s for King Charles II, the Sovereign’s Orb is presented during the coronation ceremony to, according to the Tower of London, remind the monarch “their power is derived from God.” Who knows how much that orb is worth, but he was clutching it with both hands. Fitting that it’s hollow inside. Probably a lot like the life of a King-In-Waiting. Hollow.
Through all the hype about Katy Perry not being able to find her seat, to the Who’s Who on the party list, there was one little lost story. There was a gentleman at the coronation who looked a bit out of place. His hair wasn’t combed just right. His mustache hadn’t been trimmed in awhile. Ahhh, the worlds of Twitter and Social Media were ablaze. Just who was this imposter in disguise???? It became a thing.
This gentleman is even wearing a medal.
This poor guy was just sitting in his seat, an invited guest like everyone else. Thanks to plenty of cameras producing video and still shots, a on-line guessing game began. Was it Elvis, come back from the dead? Who was this man in a disguise?
Sometimes the world is just too cruel. This man, who was a distinguished and invited guest was no other than the Welch composer of the beautiful song, Benedictus. Karl Jenkins. I’d never heard of his music, so immediately found the song, listened, and was in awe. Such a brilliant composer was treated so badly by those around the world that want to judge and ridicule someone that rocked a look all his own. They should all send their apologies to such a man.
And, by the way, he was wearing a medal of some sort. Must make him a pretty important guy. He rocks his locks.
In my lifetime, there’s a good chance that I’ll never see another coronation. It seems longevity is a family trait of the royals. I would imagine that today, things will start to return to normal. The kids will go back to school. Everyone will send their finery to the museum for safe keeping. The jewels and that orb will again be safely under lock and key. Life will return to whatever it looks like in their family.
It’s important that we all remember one thing. We come into the world and leave it in the same way, each of us. No matter that we might hold the “Golden Orb” for a few seconds of our lives, it’s a sure thing those moments are fleeting. We would all be wise to hold onto to things that are solid, not just studded with precious jewels while actually being hollow and empty inside.
Whatever you do today, enjoy your privacy. Enjoy the fact that you aren’t someone glittering for a moment while being splashed across social media. Rock your own unique look. Above everything else, remember to be kind. It’s the only way to fly.
This Grieving Gardener must admit that although the days pass, the healing process continues. It’s hard to believe that it’s been over three years since VST left us. Over 1,000 days, I’ve gotten up out of bed and handled business of one kind or another. Life truly does go on for each of us, with a grief that is as unique as our love.
During the first months as a widow, my intention was to write a book about personal experiences as a new widow. This blog was meant to be a warm up while helping me through the first year. Three years later, the blog continues while I consider the possibilities of becoming a REAL writer.
Last year, I decided it was quite an arrogant notion that I’d have anything of value to say about being a widow. Grief is so very personal. How brazen of me to think my situation was unique or in some way more unusual than that of any other spouse. Was there any benefit to sharing my experience with others?
Lately, I’m rethinking that one. Once in a blue moon, someone will approach me and tell me that a certain blog really touched them, helping them get through a hard spot. For me, that’s worth more than anything that could come from being a REAL writer. In fact, that confirms that I am a REAL writer with stories to share, whether they be about my life or my very real grief.
Reading about grief has helped me through sad times. After losing my first few students at the Children’s Hospital in which I worked from 2010 – 1015, I found a very helpful service. Through Chapelofthelight.com, I clicked on Daily Email Affirmations. After signing up, a daily email will arrive to comfort and help you through one year of grief. In my case, I’ve been signed up since 2011, still enjoying the daily emails which help me through each day.
With grief, it’s important that we find people with whom we can share memories. Through those memories, we honor our loved ones. While sharing memories, we are there for each other in a way some might not understand. Listening to the memories of someone experiencing grief is a true act of patience, kindness, respect, and love. Just the act of simply listening.
Don’t forget to celebrate the happy anniversaries as well as the sad ones. During the first year of widowhood, a vivid memory of the daily activities made 365 days before would appear. Because VST died so suddenly, 43 weeks were happy ones full of RVing and traveling the country. It was only the last nine weeks that were pretty tough to remember clearly. Those weeks in which we battled liver cancer and lost.
Find local resources that can help. For a time, grief support groups were on hold due to the pandemic. Now that life is returning to normal for us all, I’d like to unpack some sadness that was put away during such a rough time in life. There is nothing worse than losing a loved one.
This morning, while studying Psalm 49, I was reminded that a shroud has no pockets. When we leave this earth, we will take nothing with us. No greenhouse. No new car. No beautiful home with an exotic name. Nothing. We’ll just go. Until then, it’s important that we take care of our soul, grieving when we need to, while letting those that love us help us along the way. It’s the relationships that will help us heal.
As written in Grief Connections Daily Affirmation day #184, “Although countless people have experienced grief before you, each person’s response to grief is different. Your path of grief may be uniquely your own, but you owe it to those around you to share your experiences. See yourself as an educator, a teacher; a guide.” I would add, a friend.
So, whatever you do today, don’t remain shut in and closed off. Open up and share a great story about the person you miss so much. You are the only one who can tell the story and get it right! Enjoy the memories. We are truly blessed to have loved so deeply.
I’m going to work outside in the beautiful spring breezes and clear my head.
Whatever you do over the next few days, remember that sometimes the hardest thing to do is nothing at all. Relaxation is an art form. Being lazy takes practice. It’s good for what ails us all. So, have at it. Relax.
Sometimes dreams do come true. I’ve longed for a greenhouse of my own for a very long time. With the help of one very Mysterious and Marvelous Marine, the reality will begin sometime tomorrow, when one greenhouse arrives on my doorstep. It’s hard to envision the dimensions. In my mind, it will go on for days with sections for every kind of plant I want to grow. In reality, space will be tight. Especially when the benches are installed.
When you live in a severe climate, the garden growing season isn’t always long enough. Thinking back to days in California, how I took those warm February days for granted. With the help of hot caps over the tiniest tomato plants, the veggies would take off. The first frosts of the year might not come until December and crops grew all year.
But, I’m in the unpredictable desert now. As I write, the outside temperature is 37 F and rain is pouring down. Shoot, a little dip in the temps and we’ll have more snow. This doesn’t make for the garden that I remember as a girl. For the next 10 days, the weather here will be on the cool side. Then, with the flip of a switch, it will be over 100.
I’m not sure how the heat in the summer will affect the plants inside. It may be too hot for anything to grow for awhile. It’ll be a learning experience throughout this first year.
The greenhouse will need its very own name. You’re all welcome to send me emails with your suggestions. My MMM will be running the construction crew of 2, (His brother and me), while supervising the job. First, the concrete foundation will need to be poured. After curing for a week, the greenhouse will be bolted down. With the Zephyr winds around here, it wouldn’t be good to find my greenhouse two houses away.
The little structure will need water and power. The power may include solar lighting. I need to investigate what will work best out there. The sickly little house plants will go to spend a few weeks in paradise where they will be pampered with humidity and Miracle Grow. Every inch of the greenhouse will be occupied. When I need a touch of the islands or a little humidity in my lungs, I’ll only need to walk a few feet through the desert. This little house in the back will be a game changer.
As for the gardens here at Winterpast, the color of the season is green. There are plants appearing that I didn’t even know I had. The Iris’s and Peony’s are growing by the day. The bulbs I planted in the fall are struggling to grow with the cool weather. A few have bloomed, but the others are taking their sweet time.
Rosa Mr. LincolnPeace RoseTahitian Sunset
Mr. Lincoln, Peace, and Tahitian Sunset roses are finally starting to perk up. Arriving with totally bare roots from a very nice Rose company, they have struggled to leaf out. This cool weather is just what is needed to help them get established. Spring here in the desert is certainly unpredictable.
Today will be a great day to stay indoors and tackle the studio closet. I’ve been finding such treasures from the past. VST’s scripts from our days as thespians at the Golden Chain Theater in Oakhurst California. Old family pictures provide a window into my own days with family back at the ranch. Rather like a magical portal, the tiniest details of what life was like as a young mom, wife, and farming teacher come back in memories. Those sweet days were the best.
Whatever you do today, enjoy springtime. It’s a time for renewing faith in the beautiful life we enjoy here on earth. Turn off the TV and open the windows. Listen to the bird’s songs on the breeze. In the blink of an eye, it’ll be summer!
Funny how a store can bring back a lifetime of memories. I got my first membership in the late 1900’s. One of the very first Costco’s opened in the heart of the Central Valley. My father was their biggest fan. He’d call from time to make sure the mastiff’s had enough kibble. He just wanted a reason to visit Costco again. I understand that more now, being retired myself.
Throughout Winterpast, so much of what I own came from Costco. Furniture. Kitchen utensils. Dishes. Glassware. Medications. Heck, even the toilet paper around here. Costco was my main source of survival and entertainment. I’ve bought carpet and blinds from their custom departments. I’ve bought new cars from their automotive department. About the only thing I haven’t experienced with them is travel, usually booking my own adventures.
While teaching and ranching, it was a store in which you could replenish the paper towels and bring home a ready-to-eat chicken dinner. VST could always find tools he was looking for and, of course, there were the unexpected items that flew into the basket while one or the other of us wasn’t looking, causing laughter at checkout. There was never a sour face when walking the aisles of Costco way back then.
These days, I usually shop Costco Online. Yes. Every single item is at least $2 more, BUT, the true savings is that I’m not in the store finding things I didn’t know I even needed. If you haven’t tried their online services, you might want to. In my experience, it saves time and money.
Yesterday was a day to fill my freezer, which I’ve been working on emptying for some time. I went to purchase steaks, ground beef, and chicken. Well, if you’ve been to Costco, you probably guessed I left the store with a lot more that just meat.
Driving west, into the first little town 36 miles away, I traveled through heavy road construction. Nevada Department of Transportation is retrofitting two overpass bridges that carry thousands of cars and trucks past our little town, 24/7. I live some distance from the interstate, but there isn’t a time of day that I don’t hear the traffic rumbling by. Some nights it’s louder than others.
Sunday morning at around 1:30 AM, things were really loud. A wrong way driver slammed into an oncoming semi driven by a husband and wife team. Well, the outcome was totally obvious. One dead wrong-way driver. One big rig team shaken up, but okay. As I drove by the scarred road at the site of the accident, it gave me chills. It’s impossible to go the wrong way on the interstate, unless you choose to do so with some sort of crazy death wish.
After a quiet 36 mile drive, I arrived to the usual parking lot craziness outside Costco. There we were. The early-bird Boomers, all waiting for the doors to open. It’s the beginning of the gardening season here and plants of all kinds were shelved and waiting for excited customers. Strawberries, hydrangeas, and lavender. Funny. Two of the three wouldn’t have a chance in the desert without lots of extra loving care. Unless, of course, one has a greenhouse.
Online shopping isn’t just for Costco. It works at Lowe’s, too.
On Thursday, I take ownership of one 10′ x 14′ greenhouse. Ready to assemble. I’ll tell you more about that tomorrow.
Whatever you do today, it’s a great time of year to inventory the contents of your freezer. Toss things that have been in there too long. Plan some meals to use up the things you have on hand. Out with the old, in with the new. Forget the snows of last week. It’s spring!! Barbeque weather!
Change is never easy, or in the case of our dusty little wide spot in the road off the instate, or quick. No. Change can take years. Sometimes, change can be a wrecking ball to a quiet little way of life. As people salivate for the new business coming to town, three old businesses are struggling.
On our community website, the talk is all about the location of the latest restaurant and when construction will begin. There will be more construction that will cause significant traffic constipation around our little streets. In the end, we will be a step closer to looking like every other little town in the United States.
Our hardware store, pharmacy, and grocery store are all national companies. You need to drive a little further east to find the Mom and Pop establishments that are becoming fewer each year.
In a town of 20,000+, there’s an imbalance of restaurant choices. We have three “coffee shops” pandering to those of us that enjoy comfort through food. There were four Mexican restaurants until one of them burned down on Saturday. (Not to the ground, but certainly, through the attic). It’ll be awhile under they are up and running again. And then, there are the Chinese restaurants.
Covid hit our restaurants in the worst ways possible. First, they were all closed down for months. Through the closure, it seems that people decided work wasn’t all that much fun. With Tesla’s giga-factory providing transportation to and from work, restaurant work has become a last resort as a source of income. Our restaurants are struggling to find help, resulting in long wait times for customers.
How my town ended up with three Chinese restaurants is a mystery. Of course, there are many mysteries in my little town. Like, how did an artichoke made entirely of bottlecaps or a pile of rocks known as “The Turtle” end up in “Next-to-Main-Street Park”? Can a gravel piece of land with some weird structures really be classified as a park, anyway? “Out-Of-Town Park” and “In-Town Park” are real parks with grass, swings, and ball diamonds. “In-Town-Park” even has a skate park feature. “Out-of-Town Park” is home to the rodeo arena. But a pile of rocks known as “The Turtle”? Strange.
China Chef Restaurant China Buffet Dragon City Restaurant
Our three Chinese-American restaurants all have their own faithful customers. In a town the size of ours, we should be lucky to have one. Now, Panda Express is moving in. That will be the fourth. We sure could’ve used a “Chick Filet” or even the “Sonic Burger” that has been rumored to be coming for the three years I’ve lived here. But, no. Another Chinese-American restaurant.
The other night, MM and I were driving back home from a wonderful night visiting with family around the fire pit. Having the opportunity to enjoy brothers is a new experience for me, having grown up in a house full of five girls and zero boys. These brothers share true love for each other, enjoying time spent together. What a blessing to spend time with such a beautiful family.
On the way home, driving down Farm District Road, the night sky twinkled above. That stretch of road isn’t lined with street lights, but majestic cottonwood trees that have been there for over a century. The new housing developments line the street on both sides. MM couldn’t help but comment on the change since he was a boy in the mid-1900’s. The town isn’t the same, being urbanized one new house at a time. City folks are moving East, along with Panda Express.
I hope the local restaurants are taking note while paying their employees a good wage. Patrons need to tip generously. Panda Express isn’t the only new business coming to town. Changes are just around the corner. We need to enjoy our little town today, because tomorrow, things will be different. That’s guaranteed.
Whatever you do today, eat local. Find a family run restaurant and go enjoy a great dinner. Get to know the owners on a first name basis. Leave a generous tip. Community restaurants give our towns personality and flair. We need to be sure they know how much we appreciate their great food.
I read of a man who stood to speak at the funeral of a friend. He referred to the dates on the tombstone from the beginning to the end.
He noted first came the date of the birth and spoke the following date with tears. But he said what mattered most of all was the dash between the years.
For that dash represents all the time that they spent life on Earth. And now only those who loved them know what that little line is worth.
For it matters not how much we own, the cars, the house, the cash. What matters is how we live and love, and how we spend our dash.
So, think about this long and hard. Are there things you’d like to change? For you never know how much time is left that can still be rearranged.
If we could just slow down enough to consider what’s true and real, and always try to understand the way other people feel.
Be less quick to anger and show appreciation more, and love the people in our lives like we’ve never loved before.
If we treat each other with respect and more often wear a smile, remembering that this special dash might only last a little while.
So, when your eulogy is being read with your life’s actions to rehash, would you be proud of the things they say about how you spent your dash?
This weekend, try not to dash around too much. Take time to breathe deeply and enjoy the spring air. Think about the dash in which you are living right this very moment. Are you making it count? Are you loving the life you’re living and living the life you’re loving? If not, it’s time to make a change! It’s all up to you!
IPSWICH, MA – JANUARY 25: Carlene White, 76, is the founder and President of The Service Dog Project, a unique farm in Ipswich that breeds, raises and trains Great Danes to be service dogs for people with stability and balance issues. (Photo by Dina Rudick/The Boston Globe via Getty Images)
Six years ago, while teaching 5th grade at a little country school to the west of here, my life was quite different. VST was quite healthy and alive. I was teaching 27 kids about reading, math, and writing in cursive. Elementary school was still a normal and fun environment in which to teach. It was our third year of life in Virginia City, Nevada and the year I “met” Carlene White.
I intend to meet her in person one day. Just take my rental car and drive right on over to Ipswich to a place she’s named Crazy Acres. I may decide to stay awhile and volunteer there. With over 50 Great Danes, chickens, guinea hens, cows, goats, and donkeys, she’s always got jobs for those that decide to drop in.
Carlene is a study in “Doing Good” when you don’t know what else to do. When she was in her early 70’s, she decided to raise Great Danes as service dogs for people with mobility issues. Not just any Great Danes. Not embarrassingly thin and scrawny Great Danes. Much of her breeding stock is from Europe. She breeds sound and stable Great Danes that, when done with her training, will do anything asked of them. Anything.
You can meet her for yourself. Her non-profit is “Service Dog Project”(Servicedogproject.org). You can also watch her farm through a live feed at Explore.org. At this time, a brand new litter of 12 is thriving under the minute to minute care of volunteers.
Carlene isn’t well these days. She’s had to slow down and hand the reins over to another and is battling through the final days of her life. Don’t feel to bad, because this woman is assessing her skills and abilities to best utilize her talents. Along with a daily blog, she has decided it will be her job to bring happiness to 100 people a week.
Now, you might ask just how someone makes 100 people a day happy???? Carlene came up with a brilliant idea.
At Crazy Acres, her Service Dog Pups (150 pound pups) need exposure to the outside world. They need road trips where they can meet and greet lots of new people. People that look scary riding on wheels and walking with sticks. People that haven’t smiled in a very long time. Old, wrinkly people that sometimes smell a little funny. People that need assistance with living.
Carlene could choose to sit right down and die tomorrow. She could stay in her robe all day while sitting by the window to cry. On her blog, she could host a pity party for herself and anyone that wants to join her. But, no. Not Carlene.
She get up every morning, (and some days that’s a struggle at 85), gets her driver and her three best friends (who happen to be Great Danes) and the puppy (Pasta is his name), and off they go. Carlene is visiting as many assisted living centers in her area as she can each week. They wait for her to get there. She and her crew bring life, laughs, and hundreds of pounds of dogs complete with kisses. The best kind of medicine there is.
Having read and watched Carlene for so many years now, it still amazes me that she runs the place on chicken poop. Each month, she sells “chicken bricks”. For $10, you can buy a square with a number. One Sunday a month, her chickens are televised as they are tenderly placed on a huge checker board with 2,000 numbers. The first numbered square that gets dirtied wins bragging rights for the month. Carlene funds her ranch with the $20,000 a month this raises. She’s never had a month in which she didn’t sell out the bricks.
Through Carlene, I’ve learned so much about the feeding and training of dogs. Her dogs eat kibble donated by Purina and delivered by semi-trucks every so often.
Her dogs are also famous. You can look it up for yourself. The most famous pair is Bella and George.
Bella is a young woman now, but she was a girl who was losing the ability to walk when she found Crazy Acres and Carlene. Bella volunteered. (Bella, who was losing her ability to walk. VOLUNTEERED. At the Ranch.) She really wanted a dog and Carlene agreed that she would benefit from one. But, there was a little problem.
In Carlene’s program, the dog chooses the person it will help. No dog would choose Bella. No dog even liked Bella. They would avoid her. Day after day. No dog for Bella. Until one day, George looked around and decided if no one else would do it, he would. Bella has been walking ever since with the help of George. (Bella and George — Facebook).
Then, there was Scott Aubin, an Air Force Veteran, who showed up at Carlene’s after a failed suicide attempt. Carlene fixed him up with his service dog. Read his book, Knot Today. If you’re interested, there are plenty of You-Tube videos about his story.
Carlene continues to work in the golden hours of her life. She doesn’t waste a lot of time feeling sorry for herself. She just gets up and does good in the world. We would all benefit from doing a little of that ourselves. If we could all make five people smile today, the world would truly be brighter.
Whatever today brings, remember to be Smiler #1. Say “Hello” to someone that needs a friendly word. Call a “shut-in”. Be kind to the tired Walmart associate. Listen to an elder’s stories. Be in the moment. The world needs some happiness today.
Some days its hard to know what has happened to our world. Life is turned upside down and the dogs are definitely running the show. At least, it was like that at my house until I got the upper handle on Ollie’s inside behavior. Since I returned to top dog status, his behavior has gotten much more acceptable. He has his bed and there are boundaries in this the house that is mine, not his. At least I like to believe that at least once a day.
Many years ago, while living in the Central Valley of California, I used a kennel when VST and I would travel to Hawaii. Not for the farm dogs, but for the little piece of lint named Freckles. He was just too small to leave alone.
In the early 2000’s, Elaine’s Animal Hotel was one of the first to have a lobby and registration desk, just like a human hotel. With soft music and muted colors in the lobby, it felt as if you were checking into a plush resort for humans.
“And will Freckles being enjoying water play with his new friends?”
Of course, daily water play was another $5. Each additional activity added $5 to the bill. Massages were an additional $10. Freckles enjoyed the standard stay. $20 a day at that time. Food wasn’t included at that price. Wanting to the do the best for my furry friend, that was the choice of kennels.
Oliver enjoys great living conditions when he goes to puppy camp. There is free swimming, lots of play time, and sometimes photos on Facebook. There are always holiday dinners and lots of ear scratches. Oliver’s vet is just next door to the kennel, which makes using them the logical choice.
After Ollie’s last puppy camp adventure, in which he found a new girlfriend, the camp director came up with stunning new.
“Joy, Ollie visits us regularly. If you could send us your dates through December it would be a great idea. Thanksgiving is already booked.”
This is only April. Thanksgiving is booked? Sir Oliver of Ashworth Hall is on a waiting list?????? For puppy camp?????? That’s how things are these days in the world of dog services.
Wookie has been waiting patiently for her haircut since the wook-lets left her for their Fur-ever homes. All are happily adopted, one even having been personally delivered by a granddaughter to the East Coast at the new owner’s expense. I couldn’t make this up if I tried.
Anyway, shaggy Wookie has a heavy woolen coat that needs to be removed. MM waited two months for the appointment. Eight weeks! The night before he received a phone call that the groomer has gone on vacation and will call when she returns. Just like that. Poof. Mop shop appointment? Cancelled.
There are three groomers in our little town. One receives rave reviews, being the shop of choice. All three shops are full. No more customers accepted at this time. It seems Wookie is out of luck as her hair grows day by day.
Long gone are the days when a human vacation popped up and you could get a last minute appointment at the kennel. Oliver has his vacations scheduled through January 2, 2004. It’s easy to cancel a reservation. You can’t make one when there are no vacancies.
Of course, there is the option of hiring someone to watch Oliver at home. Considering the fact that twice he’s run out the door to bark at the neighbor without looking back even once, that option isn’t safe for him.
There is the option of buying a set of trimmers and beautifying Wookie ourselves. That might be the way we need to go. She is in need, indeed.
She could go from this…..
To this. MM, I think we could do this.
If you are considering a new career, you might consider pet services. Doggie Day Care. Puppy Camp. Grooming. Life is going to the dogs. Long gone are the days of the farm dog that took care of its own needs while protecting his family. The farm dogs of the ranch were legendary. Mastiffs. No fluff and buff needed for those guys. Forty lbs. of kibble a week and they were good to go.
Whatever you do today, consider your activities for the next six months. If you are a dog owner planning time away, book your kennel stay early. There just might not be a room at the Inn if you don’t.
Winterpast is my home. I must admit, never did I have any interest in naming a home before I moved here. As a brand new widow, the name “Winterpast” embodied the life that I hoped would come to me. I had to hold onto faith that at some point, grief would become bearable while my winter would slowly pass. Widowhood is more bleak and barren than the most miserable winter on record without any change of seasons for awhile. Just barren winter. VST and I went from the Autumn of our lives to the winter of mine in very few days.
The name “Winterpast” can be found in a little book by Jan Karon called “At Home in Mitford”. Such a sweet read, it was one that caught my attention in my second month of Widowhood all alone in my new little town. Covid lockdowns were still in place. The inspiration comes from the Song of Solomon, Chapter 2: “The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth. The season of singing has come. The cooing of doves is heard in our land.”
My own Bible has a misprint in which the singing of turtles can be heard throughout the land. Personally, I love the singing turtle idea. I think the printer forgot the word “doves” after, which is also nice. (But not as nice as singing turtles, in my humble opinion.)
Yes. It’s true. My winter, both figuratively and literally, has passed for now. Spring is here and the gardens of Winterpast need to sparkle at night.
I was surprised to find our little Grocery Outlet was a well stocked with affordable solar garden lighting.
Ground solar discs – $6.99/2
These little discs are now inserted into planters to shine on some smaller plants. They would also be great along a path way, The spike in the back holds them in place.
Solar lights for the trees–$9.99 for 10 bulbs.
These little solar lights are the size of an old fashioned light bulb. Caution — The solar doesn’t work well when one little dog manages to find a way to chew through the wires. Whatever am I to do with this little brat? At any rate, these are hanging in the trees here at Winterpast. The control boxes are now zip-tied to the branches. Oh Oliver, when will you ever grow up???
Spotlight on the Apricot tree, otherwise known as my Desert Banyan, due to her amazing size.
These were the most expensive of my lighting project ($6.99 – 19.00 each), but they also create the most drama. The apricot tree is sporting a soft glow after dark these days. I used three lights on her. The rest of the big trees are also lit.
Twinkle stakes — $11.99 each.
Every yard needs a little twinkle. The LED lights are woven with copper wire so you can arrange them any way you like. Again, they are solar powered.
A Christmas present from MM. — 200 feet of beautiful.
These lights are controlled by Alexa. They are dimmable, and turned on with a simple request. “Alexa, turn on back lights.” Voila! They turn on. Ask her and she’ll turn them off before bed. An Alexa friendly outdoor plug is required, which can be found for purchase on Amazon or at any hardware store.
As the summer goes on, I plan to add more soft lighting to the gardens. It hasn’t gone without notice by the neighbors. Ninja Neighbor sent a text right away to let me know the gardens look magical. Yes. Winterpast does. Just like something from a romantic movie.
The credit for starting this little project goes to my Mysterious Marine. Without his thoughtful gift, I might not have ever gotten around to hanging garden lights. Now, it’s my job to fill in with all sorts of cool lighting.
Whatever you do today, think about lighting and how it affects your moods. The garden lighting has added a new dimension to the back yard. Go out back and think on it awhile.
The desert is finally in bloom. With all the winter snow and rain, the plants here at Winterpast are sprouting even though they haven’t done well in the past. Saturday, MM and I went to each tree to identify them with the use of an phone app. The phone becomes a more important part of life each day, doesn’t it?.
The app, “Picture This”, works this way. You open the app and point your phone’s camera toward the plant. It takes a photo and tells you all about the plant. I learned the type of apple and cherry trees I have. I own a Chinese plum. The messiest tree in the backyard is the Crab Apple tree. Pretty for one week, nasty for the rest of the summer and fall. I also learned that I have berries that are blue, but they aren’t called Blue Berries.
By using this application, you can find necessary information to help your plant thrive. Last year, I didn’t pay much attention to the back yard. Other than keeping it weed free, pruned and mowed, life at Winterpast went on without a lot of real gardening. This year will be different.
MM is the REAL gardener. He knows stuff that, (I’m embarrassed to say), I never learned after a lifetime growing up on a farm AND farming for 17 years. MM is a Master Gardener. Watching him plant is a thing of beauty. Lovingly, he unpots his seedlings, carefully inspecting them for signs of bound roots. He digs his holes carefully and places his plants ever so gently into his garden boxes. Generous with the feed and water, MM’s garden boxes are thriving. Garlic, onions, peas, tomatoes, cucumbers, flowers, and more.
Now, here at Winterpast, if the plants make it through the days of neglect before planting, they get plopped in the quickly dug holes, sprinkled, and are left to figure things out. I need to do better.
My biggest problem has been the intricate sprinker box.
Really??????? This is really, really, really my box. When calculating all the possible settings, I came up with 1,972,423 possible combinations. Well, okay. You got me. I’m not that good at math, but just look at all those switches and dials!
Although my box is very similar to the one pictured, mine has a C cycles. Then, it has 12 stations. It needs to run twice a day, but not on Station 3 and 4, because the front lawn was removed long ago. There are directional questions like this…… Just why is the North Flowerbed labeled NORTH when it sits to the WEST of the driveway? All these things were already labeled when I acquired Winterpast. All these things are major puzzlements.
Add one little dog that loves to eat emitters, and you might now understand, there is a time to sprinkle and a time to throw up one’s hands and leave the system for another day.
Troubleshooting your system is a perfect task to tackle this week. Although MM might disagree, my method seems to have kept the plants alive for three years now.
Turn your system to manual and start with Station #1. Go for a walk about and find the running water. Check each emitter for clogs or animal damage. Check the amount of water that is coming out of the line. Does the plant look wilted or is it drowing? Adjust accordingly.
While checking the plants, check for leaks along the line.
Continue with the remaining stations.
Lawn sprinkler heads can become clogged after a long, quiet winter. If they are not spraying nicely, go to You Tube and watch a few videos on unclogging sprinkler heads. With a vice grip, a needle-nose plyer, and patience, I was victorious. Some heads have filters and some don’t. Adjust the sprinklers to make sure the entire lawn is getting water.
Don’t forget to weed and feed.
Now, for the last bit of advice. If you haven’t been to the garden center to make your first purchases of the year, be aware. At our Lowe’s, the average sized garden plants are $10 and up. Some are as much as $25 a piece. A nice size potted arrangement was over $60. This is for normal flowering plants. My geraniums? $10 each. Spices? $4 for $12. These are small little plants that used to be $1.59. No more is gardening an inexpensive hobby. Our world is such a different place these days.
Whatever you do today, plant something. Seeds are great, too. Just remember to follow the directions on the package. There is nothing better than fresh cherry tomatoes on a hot summer day. The garden……to avoid the shrink, go there to think.
Lately I’ve been asked to accompany a variety of friends to the Biggest Little City to the West for medical appointments. When asked, I’m happy to oblige. Heaven only knows when it’ll be my turn to seek medical help. It’s wasn’t my turn today, so I was free to help.
This, my dearest best friend is someone so special to me, my heart would break if the outcome of any of these tests were anything but perfect. Although a little more mature than me, this person is the picture of health, energy, and a positive heart. For any problem, this person knows a perfect solution can surely be found. This person is positivity cloaked in human form. A real optimist and a most wonderful friend.
I wasn’t able to tell if these tests were a worry to my friend, but they certainly have been worrying me. For those of you that are new readers, let me fill you in. I lost my husband, VST, in April, 2020 to a rare cancer called Cholangiocarcinoma. In regular English, this is a cancer that attacks the bile ducts. It’s quick, violent, and deadly. VST’s battle lasted only 9 weeks. He was fine until he was dead, with very little in between.
The first test the doctor ordered for VST was an echo-cardiogram to rule out heart disease when fluid began to accumulate in his belly. If only it would have been caused by a treatable disease. For VST, it wasn’t.
When my friend told me of the two tests, a lung CT and an ultrasound right down the road from another hospital that I know all too well, it did give me cause for pause. As a new patient, these tests were ordered to establish baseline results. “Nothing to worry about,” said my friend. My mind had long since left the barn on that one. I’ve been worried ever since I found out about yesterday’s scans.
The waiting room was pristine and pleasant. The television show was about a young veterinarian working in the Yukon. She was busy treating coyotes and musk oxen. I was full of worry.
Not wanting to sit with anyone while my friend went in for the scans, I chose a seat-for-one next to a charging station. I would close my eyes and pray quietly, hoping no one would want to strike up a conversation about their own illnesses and ailments.
Taking a seat in the corner, I looked to the side only to be shocked at what I saw. There, all alone, lay one tiny pamphlet. On the cover of the pamphlet was the word, “Joy”. My name. Under that, the words read “How to Find Happiness in Everyday Living.” My friend had already gone back for testing. There was no one to show or tell. I picked up the booklet and began to read.
It had already been earmarked for me. The booklet fell open to page 12.
“Give God Your Worries”
Plain.
And.
Simple.
“Give God Your Worries.”
Just like that, I felt better. Lighter. Happier. Amazed that such a small little miracle had been waiting there, just for me. A reminder. We need to Let Go and Let God when life gets to be a little too overwhelming.
I’ll share the final paragraph of the earmarked chapter. As if written to me and placed for me to find yesterday morning, I hope that it helps you remember something. At our loneliest times, when it seems we are all alone, we most certainly are not.
“So, don’t be anxious. Don’t fret so much. Don’t struggle so hard. Do the very best you can about everything; then, having done your best, don’t nervously do it over again. Leave the results to the Lord. He is all wise, all knowing, and all powerful. And, he loves you very much.”(Guideposts Outreach — From the Writings of Norman Vincent Peale)
Miracles. They are everywhere. Little bits of truth for us to discover, even in a place as dark as a waiting room in a major hospital in the Biggest Little City just to the west of a dusty little wide spot in the road off the interstate on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. The place I love and call Home.
While having a wonderful weekend, keep watching for miracles. I promise. They are everywhere!
Since February, I’ve been getting acquainted with my new used car. How a car can be considered “USED” when it only has 13 miles is a puzzlement. But, that’s exactly the way it was sold to me. A “USED” luxury car with 13 miles on the odometer. Because of its status, it came with a 6-year-unlimited-mileage-warranty. Something I’ve never heard of, but something that definitely fits my situation perfectly.
Let’s see. In six years, I will be well into my 70th year. I, too, will be enjoying unlimited miles of scenic tours from sea to shining sea. My average speed by that time will be 35 mph. This mature woman and her brand new car are a match made in heaven. Until then, I’ve been learning the power and speed of this new car. Just yesterday I found it necessary to pass an overloaded semi on a long stretch of desert roads. Just for a moment, I felt what 102 mph feels like. In this car equipped with its turbo engine, driving feels more like flying over the ground.
The first 5,000 miles have taken me from the Pacific beach to the Sierra Nevada’s. From the Gateway to Yosemite to the high desert plains I call home. It’s carried me to the shore of the most beautiful lake I know. It’s kept me safe in snow storms and warm during one of the coldest winters on record.
My new car has features even Barbie hasn’t dreamt up. It took awhile, but I now know that with the swipe of my foot under the rear of the car, the back hatch opens automatically. Hands-free. Once I’m home, t will bother me with texts if I forgot to lock up. It will also not allow me to lock the car if the keys are inside. It finds directions to places I don’t even know exist. And, like my Jeep, it has gauges for pitch and roll, as well as a compass just in case I ever decide to go off-roading.
When I first saw her right outside the show room on that snowy day at the end of February, the salesman told me I wouldn’t be disappointed in performance or service. So far, he’s been correct. That morning, I had to wait to see her for the first time. She was being filmed for the weekly television ad for the dealership, being so special. I wonder what the advertisement would have said? It never had a chance to run.
“Step right up and buy this amazing used car. 13 miles on the odometer. This is a one-of-a-kind!”
When she was done filming, they drove her down and the rest is history. I still remember being in a daze while getting my picture taken next to a car with a bright red bow on the top. I didn’t get to keep the bow, but it was fun to take possession of a car with a bow.
I did have something to celebrate at that time. Grievinggardener had just passed 500,000 reads. Quite something for a little old lady that gets up at 4:30 every morning to put out a blog meant to help fellow Grievers get through the day.
I plan to name her very soon. Her name will be “PAGES” and she’ll quite possibly by my last car. There are somethings in life that we can’t deny. The passing of time is one of them. Until tomorrow comes, I plan to drive her down my roads of today.
K and T, (my kids that aren’t kids anymore) came to visit before Easter. They were relieved to see that my average speed at that time was 34 mph. Ha Ha Ha. Silly kids. I need to ask the dealership to disconnect that feature next week. Otherwise, it might be a keyless journey of “Off to the Home” for me.
With the weather still unpredictable and very cold, I’m stuck at my desk while planning my next road trip. Summer 2023. MM, Me, and PAGES. Let the adventure begin. No worries. We have unlimited miles.
Easter week was small-town adorable around here. There were egg hunts at Out-Of-Town-Park, and even a high school rodeo. One thing is for sure, this is the first time in many years that things seem normal. No masks. Tons of people out and about during the weekend. In general, us desert folk are ready for some fun.
These days, it seems as every car in town is rolling down main to clog up our teeny tiny little one lane round-about. There was barely space for a stop sign next to the rail overpass before they decided to utilize the new concept. Yielding to others. There are plenty of tire tracks on the inside curb, softened to accommodate the big rigs, some with three trailers instead of two. Such is life in our small, simple town.
The day before Easter, MM and I decided to explore. If we were planning to attend Sunrise service, we should know how to get there. “Turn at the first dirt road off Reservation Road,” isn’t the most detailed directions. The GPS in my new car would miss that one, and besides, my new car wouldn’t do well without pavement.
On a perfectly windy and blustery day, off we went in MM’s faithful truck. It’s seen all and knows all the ways of the desert, as does he. Being a resident since the mid-1900’s, he already knows the cool, out-of-sight places up the hill and around the bend. He knew right where we were going.
Well, it IS a bit of a drive.
You need to go over the raging river.
By Papa’s Ranch House.
Turn right at the one stop sign going through town.
Go by the school.
Just a couple minutes past the school, veer off to the left onto the dirt road.
Travel five miles over washboard roads. (According to Wikipedia, Washboarding creates an uncomfortable ride for the occupants. I can confirm this.)
Past the skinny desert cows with their spring calves. (Don’t ever get to close to these mamas.)
Just park at the corral and walk up the hill to the three crosses and you are there.
Now repeat at 5:30 in the morning in desert darkness.
It was wise that we decided to do this during the day. The washboarded dirt road was still an uncomfortable ride, but we knew it wouldn’t last forever.
The service was absolutely beautiful, under a beautiful desert sky. As the sun came up, the message was one of beauty, faith, hope, wonder, and life everlasting.
Whatever you decide to do today, you might want to plan an adventure just outside your own little town. Remember, dirt roads wash out. Never travel farther than you can travel back. Watch out for steep grades and mad mama cows. Be sure to get some pictures. You might need to give directions someday.
Today is National Velociraptor Day. April 18th. A day to celebrate this guy. A long extinct dinosaur that was relatively small, measuring only about six feet long or a touch over with that long tail, and weighing around 30 to 40 pounds. Just about the same as large size turkey. It wouldn’t have been able to look you in the eye unless it jumped up, and would have been about 1.6 feet. From the little I know about them, they ran in packs. After all, it’s always better to hunt with friends.
Just look at the illustrator’s ideas about what they might’ve looked like. Claws bigger than 16 penny nails and curved for better tearing. Jagged, pointy teeth with which to devour prey. Great vision, perfect sense of smell, and intense ability to hear. All the better with which to eat up its victims to the last bite.
Somedays, I would’ve preferred meeting up with a velociraptor rather than the cancer that stole away VST. Just as deadly, it stalked my husband for years, long before we knew it was just around the bend. It stripped him of his muscles and mind, leaving only the bones and a soul that left this earth far too soon.
This cancer left me hiding in a wilderness of grief I never expected. With faith, strength, courage, and patience, I made it through to the other side.
I could’ve fought off a velociraptor with a powerful gun. We could’ve sheltered in place until the herd of them went to find other victims. Heck, we might’ve even cooked one up to make a pretty good meal. I bet they would’ve tasted a lot like chicken.
As far as cancers go, Cholangiocarcinoma is one of the worst. Probably more comparable to a T-Rex than a silly Velociraptor.
Today, April 18th, is National Velociraptor Day. I doubt you’ll run into one. They’ve been gone from this earth for years and years. Not sure why it’s necessary to have a National Velociraptor Day. Whatever you do today, celebrate if you are not battling cancer. Hold your loved ones close.
You know that gratitude journal you’ve been meaning to start?
Entry #1 — Great Health!
Now, celebrate that!!!!!
More tomorrow
PS —
Winterpast just 5 minutes ago —
Goodbye, 2023 Apricots and plums. When will this end????
After a wonderful vacation, I’m back to fill you in on the latest happenings in my tiny little town. It’s definitely springtime in the desert, although the temperature was a chilly 43 degrees Fahrenheit this morning. Although the afternoons are quite sunny and comfortable, it’s still nippy before dawn. The winds have been fierce and will continue to be today. The high Sierra’s are expecting snow again tonight. It’s still winter there.
Last week, the temperatures rose into the high 80’s, intensifying worries of flooding. With much of the pasture land under water and reservoirs full, it’ll be interesting to see where the spring run off will go. One thing is for certain, flood waters are rising.
Here at Winterpast, the apricot, plum, and apple trees are beginning to bloom. The blueberry bush is budding. The bulbs are awakening. The lawn is greening up. Spring is here! Sadly, a random frost wiped out the apricots and they will again be ornamental this year. Such is the way of the weather in the desert.
I’m happy to say the horses haven’t been around to visit. They usually return to the high country to avoid people when the weather starts to improve. At 4500 ft. elevation, some would say I already live in high country, but there are many hidden peaks and valleys around here that are much higher.
So far this year, I’ve only seen one foal. With the horse management teams working the herds, many of the mares are now sterilized. Of course, there are the continual round-ups in which the mustangs are captured and moved to holding pens which have a very strange resemblance to cattle feed lots. There are many pretty fairy tales about their relocation. The sad reality is that there are just too many. If this tears at your heart, come adopt one for $125. Bring a rope and a beat up trailer. Just remember, they are 1,000+ lbs. of wild.
As is often the case in the desert, our spring will be a short one this year. In just a couple weeks, it may seem more like summer. That’s life in the desert.
If you love your garden like I do, you’ve probably started dealing with the weeds. The other day, I was out weeding when the first neighbors of the day walked by.
“So much work, those weeks are, eh?”
“Sure are.”
“We pay to have them sprayed once a year. Saves time and our backs.”
Wait, WHAT????? After they shared the cost, I returned to the more affordable removal method of choice. Old fashioned weeding.
About ten minutes later, Ninja Neighbor came out to walk her dogs.
“Hey there, are you going to spray this year? I’m getting my yard done today.”
I’m currently rethinking the weed abatement program here on the grounds of Winterpast.
As the birds are selecting the proper placement of the first nests of the season, the yard calls to me and I must go.
Whatever you do today, don’t let the weeds get ahead of you. Don’t go crazy with the soil sterilant. Use it only where you want things sterilized for the entire year. Check for emerging bulbs and the first flowers of spring. In the morning chill, there’s always spring cleaning that waits inside. Sunshine is sure to put a smile on your face!
It’s been 3 years since VST lost his battle with Cancer. Some days it seems like 3 decades ago, while others days it seems like yesterday. During the next few days, I plan to take time to celebrate VST with family and friends as we approach April 8th. After Easter, I plan to enjoy some much needed time to reflect and work on great garden plans for Winterpast 2023!
Please enjoy these precious days before Easter Sunday. VST loved this time of year, while taking care of the fragile new growth in the vineyard. He celebrated his very first Easter in Heaven just days after leaving his beautiful home on Earth.
Whatever you do in the next days of spring 2023, make them count. Create something beautiful! A plant? A place for nesting birds? A new friendship? Reflect in this season of renewal.
Looking back at events of the past year, I want to honor Ronnie and Beverly Barker on this Ronnie’s one year heaven-ersary. RV’ers are strong, resilient people. Ron and Bev were no different than VST and I as we set out to see the country. One big difference between us is that Ronnie and Beverly Barker disappeared in their RV.
Poof.
Gone
They were driving along the lonliest highway in the US one minute, even stopping at a local gas station to fill up. The next, they’d vanished.
The following is a story that has haunted me since it began last spring. Today it’s one year since Ronnie died. Although I don’t know Aunt Bev, her strength is a testament to the faith she shared with her husband.
Yes, Aunt Bev. I now carry a Bible under the front seat of my car, too. Thanks for that special tip.
It took nine days for local authorities to find them. Crazy weather prevented an early search by air. Once it began, they were discovered in a few hours. Along with the weather, legal road blocks cost Ronnie his life. Ronnie died because of Nevada’s legal road blocks on Days 1-8.
Nevada Law Enforcement — #LISTENTOTHEFAMILY — NOW.
The following speaks of the strength and courage of Ronnie and Beverly Barker. It speaks to their faith in God Almighty. It speaks of so many things bigger than us, you just need to read it and find the message waiting for you. The statement was given just days after Beverly and her Ronnie were found.
Written by Ronnie and Beverly Barker’s relatives Travis Peters, Lynn Bledsoe, Chris and Jennifer Whaley. Told by Beverly Barker, survivor.
UPDATE 9:22 EDT 4/6/22
If anyone would like to see my full interview it will be on at 10:00pm Indiana time / 7pm Nevada time. Just open Facebook and go to the WTHR-TV homepage and our Facebook live segment will begin. I’m not used to being on that side of the lens.
UPDATE 8:02pm EDT 4/6/22
I don’t even know how to tell everyone the story… I will try to tell the best I can. About 6:15pm, we received a group video call from Jennifer. Like you all, we were waiting anxiously to hear how Bev is doing and get some details about what happened. Jennifer appeared on the phone and waited for everyone to appear…. she was sitting in the driver’s seat of a car so we assumed she was headed to the hotel after visiting with Bev. There was a gasp of astonishment when Jennifer simply panned the phone over and there was Beverly sitting in the passenger seat of the rental car. You guys cannot imagine the rush of emotion that shot thru us all….
We anticipated Jennifer was going to tell us what happened, but instead we were given the story directly from Beverly.
Through an intermittent cell signal, and the voice of someone that had just spent 9 days on the side of the mountain we heard the details. I will attempt to re-tell this but I will never get it 100% correct but I will try.
Beverly stated that the GPS was to blame for getting them into the pickle they found themselves in. The “highway” switch was not turned on in the GPS settings so I suppose it found the shortest route to their destination and that’s the way they went. I’m unclear of where they were heading on that Sunday evening, that’s a detail I missed when talking with her.
In any event they started down the road, following directions. There never was a fear that they were doing anything wrong. Bev recalls they they saw other cars, I believe she even mentioned another motorhome was seen. The directions had them making turns and they knew they were going up a mountain but I don’t think they ever had a fear that they were doing anything wrong. Bev said that the RV was doing just fine on the road other than the fact that they had to slow down because the trailer dolly that was bouncing around if they went too fast. Eventually the motorhome became stuck in the gravel and sand that was their roadbed. In my mind I pictured them stuck in the mud, but I think it was more of the sand.
They were going nowhere that Sunday night so they figured that they would just sleep in the RV and just hop in the Kia Soul in the morning and just continue up and over the mountain and get help to free their RV.
Without thinking about it, they just got in the car the next morning (Monday) and drove away from the RV. Thought wasn’t given to getting some water or blankets… They were ok, they just needed to go get some help to get the RV. Bev said they continued and came across numerous intersections and they took a wrong turn and eventually found themselves stuck again.
The next part of this story isn’t about the struggle to survive, because yes, that was happening. No, the rest of this story can only be described as a religious experience. I cannot provide a day-by-day account, but I will give you some details only because Beverly gave me permission to tell you all.
They remained with the stranded Kia, roughly 2 miles from where they left the RV. They had no idea how far they had went or how to begin to get back to the rig, especially in the shape they were in physically. They stayed with their vehicle and Ronnie would tap out SOS signals on the horn every 10 minutes. Ronnie taught Bev the pattern and she would do the same throughout the 9 day ordeal.
It was cold at night. Bev said the temps dropped to roughly 27. She never mentioned hunger as an issue, but thirst was their enemy. I’m unsure of when things got to the point that Bev had to begin taking care of my uncle as the dehydration began to pull the life from him.
Bev mentioned finding the strength to walk a long way to get snow that remained along a ridge. She used her walker for balance and she had bags that she would fill with snow before returning to uncle Ronnie. She mentioned using N95 masks that they had in the car to hold the snow. My uncle Ronnie was dying, and there was nothing they could do but honk that horn and try to melt snow for drink.
Bev mentioned the beauty of the area they were stranded in. She recalled how gorgeous the blue skies were and how many aircraft they would see crisscrossing the skies. I THINK she mentioned hearing or seeing someone that was looking for them but the cell signal made it hard to understand her at times. She spoke of the nights and how beautiful the stars were as they cuddled in the backseat of the Kia Soul.
My uncle was having difficulty breathing so Bev would have to position herself in ways that allowed Ronnie’s lungs to get air. She joked about one time she put her leg across his body and he told her it felt good because of the warmth she was providing him.
My uncle began to see Ananias from the Bible and he would talk to Ronnie. Ronnie asked Bev to read to him from the bible and she would do so as they passed the hours and days in the car.
Ronnie blamed himself for getting them into the situation but I do not think that there was any blame for him to shoulder. Eventually peace came upon the both of them and Ronnie Barker passed away at 3:12pm on Monday April 4. Beverly said that she snapped a photo so that she would remember the time of his passing.
She left her husband in the back seat and moved to the front of the car and resumed the only thing she could do….honk the horn….S O S….. She became frightened that the battery had died at some point after Ronnie passed. She went to honk and nothing happened. She waited a few hours and though to try again and luckily it started to honk again.
She remained with Ronnie and the next day (yesterday) unbenounced to her, rescuers located the RV. They were able to see the tire tracks and began following, although they were having a difficult time keeping the tracks as the desert would swallow them occasionally. Finally, after 9 days on Red Mountain, a rescuer heard that S-O-S coming from the Kia and Aunt Bev was finally safe.
Bev didn’t go into details of how she felt when she saw her rescuers. She said that they asked her what she needed and she instantly said “Water!” They asked if she needed food and amazingly after 9 days with nothing to eat she told them that she really wasn’t hungry.
She never mentioned weeping for her loss, I’m not sure she had the water to even form tears at that moment. She didn’t mention fighting anything that was happening around them. It was like they were ok with how it could end.
My friends…….that is everything she told me that I can recall. I was due to record an interview with my evening reporter Scott Swan so I think I staggered from my edit bay and he was the first person I saw so I told him I had just talked to Bev. We were already supposed to record an interview, so with Beverly’s blessing I talked to Scott and told him what I just told you all.
I will post that interview later this evening for you to hear. I still have questions…. where were they trying to get to? When did the gas run out? Bev mentioned that it had 3/4 of a tank when they started down the mountain. Did they ever come close to rescue? Did they see any search aircraft? Minor details that really don’t matter at this point.
The story has been told to me, and me to you….A miracle took place on Red Mountain. There’s no physical way that Bev would have been able to make it to get snow time after time without the Lord carrying her up to that ridge. The story Bev told, while heartbreaking, was uplifting as well. There was way more talk about how they were at peace with the fate that was closing in on them. There were more words of love and kindness to each other than pain and suffering. It truly was a religious experience.
I often tell people that my favorite church is when I’m alone in the woods or out on a creek or lake. It’s real…and there’s nothing fake about my church. Ron and Bev spent 9 days in my favorite church and in a way I’m very jealous of the spot that the Lord chose to bring Uncle Ronnie home.
We told Bev of all the prayers that you all were sending out. We told her of people from England and Australia that reached out to us. All of those dropped what they were doing and went looking for them in that Nevada high desert. She thanks all of you from the bottom of her heart. Thank you all….
The following words are the “official” statement we are now releasing to members of the media. We thank them all for their coverage of this harrowing story, and we ask that they continue to follow us as we try to get things changed so that no family has to struggle for the help we were seeking. Ronnie Barker passed away on Monday 4/4. Beverly was rescued roughly 21 hours later. Had proper steps been taken from the moment they were reported as missing, my Uncle would be alive today. Your inability to deal with this situation cost my uncle his life. I hope that haunts you for the rest of yours.
PLEASE, Law Enforcement — #LISTENTOTHEFAMILY.
You can hear Beverly tell her own story. Google her name. It’s a beautiful interview. A true testament to the faith she shared with her husband.
Whatever you do today, don’t just follow your GPS without looking out the window. Know a little about your destination before you head out the door. Don’t drive an RV up an unpaved, gravel road. But most importantly, keep a Bible handy under the front seat.
Created by the loving hands of Miss B’s Granddaughter
All I can say for sure is this. When I turn 85, there better be a party.
I’m still a bit groggy from the wonderful party last night at the Cow Hand’s Café. Not knowing how in the heck we kept it quiet, it was a huge shock to the guest of honor, Miss B, my Mysterious Marine’s mom. With all the twists and turns in her journey during the last year, she celebrates her day today, but we kicked off the festivities last night. In the past year, she’s suffered broken bones, moved out of her house to rehab, emptied and nearly sold her home, and then decided to get well enough to move back in to begin again. To watch her heal and return to her life has been nothing short of a string of miracles all worthy of a big party for her 85th. The next chapter of her beautiful life.
The Mysterious Marine comes from a family of five boys. There are actually a couple step brothers I’ve yet to meet, but Miss B started with this core group of five, with MM being the oldest. The baby is about ten years younger and still hard at work as a coach. These five men are a wonderful example of what brotherhood should be. Having grown up in this town, their family is legendary at the High School and community, as is she. After all, Son #2 is our town Mayor. Miss B, you did a great job!
The birthday talk starting weeks ago. With a visit at her home coming to an end, Miss B made one final declaration that night.
“I’m turning 85 on April 3rd and there’d better be a party. A good one.”
Now, I don’t know about you, but when a person almost 20 years my senior says, “There’d better be…” I know there better be. Period. No time to pussy foot around with “Maybe’s” or “We’ll See”-s. Time to put the date on the calendar and run with it, which is exactly what was done. In secret. Sometimes a little hearing loss is a blessing.
After weeks of hushed phone calls and a final flurry of activity, the party started last night when she walked into the room. There were balloons hugging the ceiling. Thirty members of this wonderful family came together to celebrate their Mom, Grandma, and dear friend. The room overflowed with “Remember when”-s of love and respect. The restaurant had to put on extra staff just for us. And yes, her son, The Mayor, was in attendance to make it a perfect night for Miss B.
I’ve never seen a birthday party come together so quickly. MM’s daughter brought the fixings for a cake to his house at 3:30 pm. Whipping cream. Two large 18″x18″ sheet cakes of a special secret family recipe. Fruit. Floors. Decorations. By 5:00, she had created the most beautiful garden cake I’ve ever seen, complete with the freshest flowers on top. Just like that, without breaking into tears once!
As we sat in the kitchen laughing our heads off, it was as if I’ve known her my entire life, not just seven short months. Easy. MM’s family is beautiful and easy to love. I’m slowly learning who belongs to who. The Mayor and his wife have 5 kids, 25 grands and 3 or 4 Great-Grands, so my work is cut out for me. I could sit and talk at length with any one of the people at the party last night, from the adorable teens to the oldest woman in the room. The brothers have four of the cutest wives ever. Such a great crowd. The amazing thing is that they all like each other. A Lot!!!
After dinner, we ate cake while presents were opened. The turtle was quickly named Bartholomew by a grandson, which caused lots more laughter. Miss B loved every single second of the biggest, bad-est birthday party in the history of Cow Hand’s Cafe. Somehow, this crowd kept the entire thing a big secret which is saying a lot.
As the for restaurant staff, this crowd gave them a run for their money. There were at least five or six staff waiting on people at all times. Whatever we wanted we had in seconds. It has now become my favorite place to eat. In this day and age, there aren’t many places in which you can get that kind of service. Especially places right off the interstate in a dusty little town at a wide spot in the road on the desert plains of Northwestern Nevada.
Bartholomew’s the name. Don’t forget it.
Well, with the fresh snowfall, it’s time to try out the new snow blower. This should be the last storm of the season, but this year, it’s hard to tell. Next week, the temperatures are expected to climb into the 80’s. And such is life in the high desert.
Whatever you do today, have a little laugh about something. It could just be a cute piece of ceramic that suddenly gets a name like Bartholomew. Remember the reason for this season. Renewal and Rebirth! Have yourself a wonderful day!
Seriously. If my mind hasn’t been stretched to the limit trying to learn about the workings of my new car, up pops one more thing I should’ve known long ago. Just one of life’s little hacks about which I wasn’t taught by my very efficient and knowledgeable mother. Wondering when this first appeared, it’s something everyone who owns a kitchen should know.
Take out your aluminum foil box and look closely. First of all, with such a magical tip as the one I’m about to share, why oh why wouldn’t it have been addressed on the box? So many tips are listed on my box of foil. Tips for “Easy Cleanup when Painting”, “Floral Arrangements”, or “Gift Giving”. You can use this foil to line, grill, or freeze. It’s the “Non-Stick” solution to life. There are “Stay Closed Tabs” on the box. 50 Square feet, converts to 16.6 Yards X 12 Inches, that converts to 4.64 Square Meters. (Just who decides what information will appear on the box? Who?) But, no where on my box is the real tip of the day revealed.
Of course, I found this hack while reading through a list of tricks not to be missed on the internet. Isn’t everything found on the internet?
Without making you wait another minute, I’ll now tell you what we have all been missing our entire lives. On the end of the boxes of foil, and other wraps as well, there are two, almost invisible, tabs. Almost circular, they are meant to be pushed inward to hold the roll in place. Just like that, no more crazy rolls of wrap that come out of the box, causing lots of crumbled problems and waste. Just two little tabs and, POOF, years of frustration could’ve been avoided.
This tip was probably missed in 4-H Girl’s Cooking class, while flicking flour at Betty, Sandra, and Linda. This is a truly helpful hack. A week after finding this online, the local news was broadcasting a story about the little tabs on the ends of foil boxes. Not a secret anymore, I wonder if this was something discovered at the International Space Station? My high school Home Economics Teacher, Mrs. Freda Montgomery, wouldn’t have withheld such critical information from her happy little home-makers. She just wouldn’t have left this out.
With a sigh, this is truly all I have to share for today. I hope you enjoy poking the tabs on all your wraps inward and then trying the boxes. Such an idea hidden on the ends of the foil box.
As for Oliver and I, we are finishing up a week in which he is learning that he is the DOG and I’m the HUMAN and WINTERPAST’S QUEEN OF EVERYTHING. After making some extremely bad choices last week, he’s spent the week experiencing Dog Training 101. Actually, many tips from Caesar Milan, The Dog Whisperer, have turned him into a respectable canine house mate.
There’ll be no more furniture hopping. No more sleeping in the bed. He’ll show respect for personal boundaries of all humans. And the biggest……NO Biting, Guarding, or Growling. That’s the end of that side of Sir Oliver. All in all, the tips from Caesar have been working. Disrespecting the hand that feeds the dog is never a good idea. Oliver is thinking over that idea, while I’m trying to a remain calm, cool, and assertive pack leader.
This weekend, the desert weather may be a little warmer. It’s time for working in the yard. Yesterday, curious as to why my bulbs hadn’t come up yet, MM started to investigate. To my embarrassment, I hadn’t planted bulbs planted in the first two planters we checked. After plant them in September I just forgot where. When we finally found the right pots, there they were nestled at the proper depth in the soil, far behind his blooming bulbs, but green and healthy. After a hard winter, there are many things that need cleaning and fixing. What a glorious season to spend time under desert big skies on the vast plains in Northwestern Nevada.
Whatever you do this weekend, be thankful for the wonderful life you have! Start a gratitude journal. There are always things for which to be thankful even in the midst of pain and grief. Hold onto those things and calmly carry on. Have the best weekend you can! Easter is almost here!
I’ll be back Monday for a few days before my Spring Break!!! Stay tuned.
Is anybody happier because you passed their way? Does anyone remember that you spoke to them today?
The day is almost over, and its toiling time is through, Is there anyone that will utter a kind word about you?
Can you say tonight in parting, with the day that’s slipping fast, that you helped a single person of the many that you passed?
Is a single heart rejoicing over what you did or said? Does the one whose hopes were fading now with courage look ahead?
Did you win the day or lose it? Was it well or sorely spent? Did you leave a trail of kindness, or a scar of discontent?
Remember, in this crazy world, kindness cost no pennies from our purse. Help a neighbor. Wave at the mailman. Go out for a walk and smile at a passing neighbor. Call a friend that’s having a hard time. It will make your day, and theirs, too.
Sometimes quiet solitude is just what the doctor ordered. No way in, no way out. This winter has presented this situation to many here in the mountains of the Wild Wild West. This winter, Mammoth Mountain has received almost 70′ of snow. Some roofs are collapsing under the continuous weight of the snow.
Mammoth is a town close to heaven. With an elevation of 7,881, oxygen is in short supply up there. At the base of the mountain, the elevation is closer to 9,000′. It is THE ski resort for the rich, famous, and expert skiers. Not too many bunny slopes here.
Mammoth isn’t the only place with snow troubles. My besties, CC, was snowed out of her house in the foothills of the San Joaquin Valley in sunny and warm California for 10 days. At 3,000 feet elevation, 8’feet of snow fell during that time. She’s still digging out and assessing the damage. Since then, the rains haven’t let up. There’s been at least one evacuation for flooding.
Mammoth Mountain — Hard core skiiersSnow removal companies go old school.Notice the chimney—-Slip and fall much?Summer skiing should be great!
Here on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada, we’re blessed that we aren’t buried in feet of the white stuff. But, our day will come with the melt…..
In the meanwhile, we await another winter storm. And so it continues.
“A band of steady snow extends from Mono County across west central Nevada near and east of US-95 early this morning. Snow has accumulated on some roadways, including I-80 near and east of Lovelock, US-50 near and east of Fallon, and portions of USA Parkway. Even where roads are just wet, near freezing temperatures may bring icy patches by commute time. Be prepared for slick roads and slower travel this morning.
Significant travel concerns continue over Mono County (poor Mammoth Mountain) from heavy snowfall overnight. Snow and pellet showers will develop this afternoon which may produce brief minor accumulations in lower elevations and a few inches of additional snowfall possible in the Sierra, along with a 15% chance for a rumble of thunder.
While it will be harder to see long-lasting roadway accumulation during the day given the late March sun angle, periodic travel difficulties in the Sierra should be expected. For tonight, some high resolution simulations are indicating bands of snowfall setting up in parts of western Nevada, with the potential locations varying across Washoe, Douglas, Lyon, and western Mineral counties. If these snow bands form and persist, they would produce isolated snow amounts from a dusting up to a few inches tonight, with slick and icy conditions continuing into the Thursday morning commute.” Today’s weather alert for my area.
So while I’m technically not snowed in or snowed out, I won’t be zooming around in the new car today. It’s almost April. Easter. The birds are waiting to start their families. Winter has overstayed her welcome. The bulbs are not even thinking about coming up. This year, it’s quite possible that we’ll get no spring. Extreme snow to extreme heat after the snowiest winter of the decade, all while we wait for The Great Floods of the Summer of 2023.
Whatever you do today, enjoy springtime in your area. If you are snowed in, try to avoid the news. Read. Craft. Cook. Learn something new. Anything but the news. Spring is a time to refresh and renew.
Elmer and Esther — Golden Anniversary at the ranch — 2001
Thank goodness days are far and few between that I wallow in a pity party over widowhood. I wouldn’t advise any new widow or widower to follow the path I took. Looking back, I wonder how I every made it through. Over the last three years, the one thing I’ ‘ve never wondered about is “Why Me?” Our futures are all unknown and the “Why’s” aren’t ours to choose.
If anyone had reason to question “Why Me?” it was probably my mother. Born 102 years ago tomorrow, she was the oldest of four daughters. Born to first generation immigrants from Russia, her German parents and grandparents ran a tight ship. From what I’ve been told about her life, the only thing they didn’t run short of was the work. She was raised in the same sea of vines as me. The main difference was, she never found a way out.
In 2007, she was feeling her age. After finding “Dr. Perfect” in the run down little coastal town in which she’d finally settled with my dad, it was decided that she needed an carotid endarterectomy.
According to the Mayo Clinic,
“A carotid endarterectomy is a procedure to treat carotid artery disease. This disease occurs when fatty, waxy deposits build up in one of the carotid arteries. The carotid arteries are blood vessels located on each side of your neck (carotid arteries). This buildup of plaque (atherosclerosis) may restrict blood flow to your brain. Removing plaque causing the narrowing in the artery can improve blood flow in your carotid artery and reduce your risk of stroke.
In carotid endarterectomy, you receive a local or general anesthetic. Your surgeon makes an incision along the front of your neck, opens your carotid artery and removes the plaques that are clogging your artery. Then, your surgeon repairs the artery with stitches or a patch made with a vein or artificial material (patch graft).”
Stroke.
At 86, that was my mother’s chief worry. Although her arteries were somewhat clogged, the “Physician” convinced her that she would feel right as rain after this procedure. He convinced her to have the surgery on March 30, one day after her 86th birthday.
She walked 3/4 mile to the hospital with my dad. They were avid walkers, walking at least one mile every day.
She jumped up on the hospital bed and gave us all assignments for the day. After all, her surgery would only be two hours. Just two short little hours we’d meet up and we’d all walk back home. Or so she was assured by the “Doctor”.
It was a Friday. We all completed the assigned tasks while mom waited for her 10:30 surgery which was delayed until 2:30. On a Friday afternoon. In a dilapidated town. Finally, off she went, the God fearing woman she’d always been.
At 10:30 pm, we were finally informed that there had been a “little incident”. It wasn’t such a walk in the park, as my mother had been assured. The “Surgeon” had crimped the artery, leaving the left side of her brain without blood and effectively killing it. He was “very sorry”. She wouldn’t be waking up. No walk home. No laughter about our assignments. A “Physician Induced” stroke. The very thing she was trying to avoid by having the surgery.
Thirty days later, after the hospital complaining that she really wasn’t “Actively Dying”, she did actually die. She never regained consciousness during those 30 days, but because of the hospital “incident” , her DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) was ignored. The very papers her husband of 67 years had rushed back home to retrieve before they would perform the surgery.
My mother would’ve never said “Why Me?” She was brave and bold. I would guess that “Doctor Fancy Pants” needed to learn some lessons that only my mother could teach him. He never came to see her during those 30 days in the hospital. I know because our family never left her side. There was someone with her 24/7 listening to the obnoxious noises of the machines that kept her alive. We were told he traveled to Hawaii the morning after he killed her. A planned trip, you know. I’m sure he never once questioned “Why Me?” because it wasn’t him. Just an old lady that didn’t make it. Just something that happened.
Between three sisters and our heartbroken dad, never once did we question “Why?”
Farming taught us all so many things. There are some things that you can make right. A broken pipe? Stuff it with oranges and duct tape it. A tractor with a broken front axle? Stick a 2/4 in the joint and drive home on 3 tires. Wet raisins? Dry them out. A backed up septic tank? Caustic Lime.
But, a lamb that dies in the night leaving the mother with mastitis? Rain on your entire crop of raisins? A loved one that gets cancer? Somethings are not ours to know the “Why’s”, or even begin to understand them. It’s best to work towards acceptance.
When I tell this story, people ask the obvious.
“Did your Dad sue?”
No.
Dad lead our little pack through the nightmare, reminding us that money would not bring HER back. It wouldn’t make anything better. Robbed of HIS lifemate, he lead by example. There would be no law suit. No horrible hospital scenes. No threats or ugliness. We would sit by her side until she was gone. And so, we did just that.
Losing VST seemed that unjust and unfair. Nine weeks isn’t even an entire season. I Just 63 days, we went from buying a house in a dusty little town off the interstate on the high plains of Northwestern Nevada to going to sleep alone as a new widow on a Wednesday night in Virginia City. Even then, “Why Me?” wasn’t the question.
For me, the real question will always remain, “Why Not Me?”
No matter how bleak the situation became, and those days were as dark as they get, there was always something hopeful in the horizon. I hope that my kids learned something from watching the struggles and victories I’ve made. Even though my dance hasn’t always been the most graceful, it was REAL and MINE to dance.
Here’s the deal. Sometimes, the absolute absence of reason must be accepted. Cancer, a rogue doctor and other terrible, unthinkable things don’t happen to everyone but can, in fact, happen to anyone at any time.
Why my mother? Why VST? Why my students? Why do bad things happen to undeserving people? They just do. All part of life, leaving grief as a constant companion, shadowing us while towing the the excess baggage.
These experiences are opportunities to grow in faith, hope, and love. Beauty is present in the saddest of times. Working towards the acceptance of “What Is”, the miracle of “What Was” and the excitement of “What Will Be” can be more fully appreciated.
As VST would surely remind me, “You can’t get nowhere on yesterday’s train”.
Happy 102nd, Mom. Enjoy heaven!!
Whatever you do today, try to replace questions about the past with focus on the “Right Now”. Spring is a beautiful time of year. Go out and enjoy the day!
This, the envisioned garden areaThis is reality at Winterpast.“Oh No, Wookie, She’s writing about US!!!! Again.”
Well, there must be times the Dog Whisperer shakes his head in disbelief. at a loss for what to do to solve a troublesome situation. This weekend, there were a few times I would’ve liked to put Oliver in the new car and taken a drive to Caesar Milan’s fabled Dog Psychology Center which, according to the advertisement, is nestled in in 45 acres of beautiful rolling hills in Santa Clarita, California. Heck. I just need help with one standard cream, pie-balled, wire haired dachshund named Oliver. Somehow, I don’t think he accepts walk-ins.
As spring is trying her best to warm things up, Oliver and Wookie have been spending more time roaming the grounds of Winterpast. Now, they are quite a twosome. Although you wouldn’t guess it, they weigh almost the same. Oliver is solid as a rock. A standard sized dachshund, he weighs over 25 lbs, while his legs remain around 7″. He is built for dispatching badgers, which leads him to a deep love of digging and going under things. Like fences.
Wookie, on the other hand, has very, very long legs. She is quite good at counter surfing on her hind legs. If there is something good on the counter, I have no doubt she can jump right up there like the most nimble cat. Between the two of them, they make their presence known.
The difference lies in the fact that MM and Wookie have different television habits. Wookie has been watching Caesar Milan for her two short years. She even goes to the television and stands on her hind legs to get a better view. The show comes on after Oliver is already asleep.
Just last Saturday, MM and I were inside watching an exciting baseball game. Outside, the most annoying dogs were barking up a storm. Those horrible owners were letting the barkers work up all the dogs in the neighborhood.
How rude.
How inattentive.
But, I’m sure you guessed by now, it was Oliver and Wookie at the corner of the fence. They’d almost broken through with the help of little Sylvia, next door. All the while, the three were barking like crazy. The party ended and our two delinquents were called inside.
This year, MM and I are going to share our gardens. He will grow things that need a little afternoon shade, while I’ll grow things that need full sun from morning until night. We’ve bought the Miracle Grow soil. The days are warming. There is just one thing we need.
A fence to protect our plants.
After visiting the hardware store, I realize that a fence isn’t going to be cheap or easy. I’ve gone from thinking about white powder coating to simple galvanized chain link, with a nice gate. Just something that will keep our two lively friends out. Just like kids, the minute they are uninvited to the party, that will be the one place into which they must burrow. I can hardly wait for their antics.
Calm.
Cool.
Assertive.
Those are the words Caesar throws out so easily.
Hard to find Calm, cool, assertion when the dog has just ripped apart 3 lovely peonys that were just starting to sprout. Last fall, I planted over 40 bulbs in four different pots. Not one has come up. I do believe there is a reason for that. It involves Oliver.
Yes.
We need Caesar.
If you see him, please let him know.
In the mean time, whatever you do today, cut your dog some slack. It must be frustrating to have no thumbs. Even more frustrating when their owner doesn’t understand how much fun it is to bark and dig. They won’t be puppies forever. After all, Oliver is almost 5. Puppyhood should be over soon.
Sir Oliver of Ashworth Hall — 8/6/2018 — Sooooo innocent………. NOT.
Today is International Day for Achievers! It’s about time that successful people in the world get some recognition. It’s refreshing to actually have a day to celebrate those who aim their arrows and hit their targets, reaching for goals and dreams.
Achievements can include a problem you’ve solved, a mountain you’ve climbed, or just an improvement on your outlook allowing you to find peace with life as it is. They can involve reaching a single goal or redirecting your life in more positive ways. Achievements usually are the result of changing your path while continuing to climb your mountain.
Being human, everyone has their own personal idea of success. Rupert Murdoch’s ideas are much different than Mother Teresa’s were. In the eyes of some, success involves owning a big house or a fancy car. In the eyes of others, it involves a life rich with family and friends. Personal achievements are reached every day in all aspects of life.
Being very fortunate in my life, I wonder if outsiders realize the cost. So many events and outings missed because the farm needed constant care. With 24 hours in a day, activities needed to be streamlined or omitted all together. People used to ask VST how he could possible do everything in a day’s time. Simple. There was no choice. He had a family to support and 17,000 vines that counted on him. There were endless courses to complete to finish his doctorate. Parents that needed tender loving care. Achievers fit everything in their day by prioritizing. It’s just what they do.
Widow’s and widower’s have a right to celebrate International Day for Achiever because it’s a huge achievement to grow through this experience. It’s no walk in the park to lose a loved one and continue to put one foot in front of the other. We need to celebrate each day after such a loss, honoring the loved one that went before. No doubt about it. Surviving is a huge achievement!
Today is also National Cocktail Day, which is a bit appropriate as it IS Friday. Cheers!
Whether you are planning to celebrate your achievements or just celebrate your favorite cocktail, make your celebration purposeful and fun.
Whatever you do this weekend, Remember this!
Cheers to the Achiever’s in the world! Make some wonderful memories this weekend!
Letting the sun illuminate the words I couldn’t find.
Reaching for something in the distance
So close I can almost taste it
Releasing my inhibitions
Feeling the rain on my skin
No one else can feel it for me
Only I can let it in
No one else
Can speak the words on my lips
While I’m drenching myself in words unspoken
Living my life with arms wide open
Today is where my book begins
The rest is still unwritten
I break traditions
Sometimes my tries
Are outside the lines
We’ve been conditioned to not make mistakes
But I can’t live that way
Staring at the blank page before me
I open up the cloudy window
Letting the sun illuminate the words I could not find
Reaching for something in the distance
So close I can almost taste it
No one else can write it for me
Only I can let it begin
No one else
Can speak the words on my lips
Drenching myself in words unspoken
Living my life with arms wide open
Today is where my book begins Song by Natasha Bedingfield
Whatever you do today, add a page to your own story. Don’t let anyone else write it for you. Today is where your book begins. Write it big and juicy!!! Live, laugh, love.
September 24, 2020, I began blogging without a clear goal. Yes, there were murky thoughts of completing a book. But that was all in “SOMEDAY” status. Each morning, I’d look up stats for my blog and remember squealing when ten readers appeared during the preceding 24 hours. There was only one constant. I wrote, every day, inching along with the encouragement provided by those first few readers.
Slowly, my readership increased, I remember the excitement I felt when I reached 50 readers. It was an amazing feeling. But, it didn’t meet a set goal. An un-aimed arrow always hits its target, they say. My arrow sailed gracefully through thin air hitting nothing.
After a few months, while watching my numbers continue to grow, I set a few goals and upon reaching them, said a little “Ya-Hooooo”. I continued writing.
In the last 24 hours, I’ve had 1,401 reads. My total number of readers is now over 534,000. Not shattering in the world of the internet, by any means. My past readers come from more than 80 countries and all 50 states. It’s time to set some real goals, so I know when to plant my flags. Slowly, I’ve climbed one mountain top after another.
When journeying through life, goals help us move along, rather like a tow strap. I can’t imagine not having daily, weekly, monthly, and annual goals, monitoring them for needed adjustments. It’s just the way I keep rolling forward.
Thinking about the future, I wonder when I’ll embrace the fact that I’m a published author. The blog is one milestone along my journey. But, when I close my eyes at night, I don’t yet believe I’m a true writer. So, what will it be? The first day my book is advertised on Amazon? My first sale? My first book signing? When I write my first very first book available in hardback, e-book, and audio versions? Will it be on the high desert of Northwestern Nevada, or from some tropical beach far away? All goals I need to choose. Until I do, I won’t know where to plant my flags, and they’re getting pretty heavy to carry along.
During the past three years, goals have helped me get through some tough days in the wilderness of widowhood. During April, 2020, I journaled hourly accomplishments while struggling to breathe. There were so many things needing to be done as I readied Oliver and I for our big move. I’d make a list of three things. When they were completed, I’d list three more. Without tiny goals, I wouldn’t have had things ready for the moving truck.
Tiny accomplishments grew into bigger ones. Journal-ing along the way left a bread crumb trail of memories. What a long, strange trip it’s been. One that none of us could’ve predicted, packing punches delivered one after the other. Each time the knock down blow was delivered, I regrouped and stood tall again. Here I am on the brink of returning to some sort of normal. Bruised, but standing.
I have a big flag to run up the pole on April 8th, 2023. Three years will have past since I lost VST. During those years, the journey’s been treacherous. Some days, the winds, rain, and snow have been blinding. Sand storms have caused me to hunker down until they ceased. Each storm left me stronger and more determined to move forward. That’s the point right?
Don’t.
Get.
Stuck.
In.
The
Mud.
I find the approach to each heaven-ersary a little more harrowing than all the last. No one can warn a grieving gardener about that for it’s an experience all its own, individual and unique to each person. Grief doesn’t go away, the experience just becomes more complex. While living a new life, old ghosts pop up out of no where. An entire adult life of memories doesn’t just grieve away easily.
This year my flag is huge, and reads “An Appeal to Heaven“. In these crazy times, we can all hope for someone to show us the way, following our leaders. We can try things we’ve heard might be helpful during a crisis. We can wait for stimulus checks, and new laws to lead us in the direction of someone else’s choosing. But, when all else fails, and hopefully before that, An Appeal to Heaven will show the way.
Pick milestones along your journey and remember to plant your flags. You need them flying high as a celebration of your accomplishments, and a sign to others behind you that things are improving with time. Above all, carry on and keep going forward because, there’s no going back.
Throughout life, there are sayings that stick with a person. Each generation has a special selection of these, which leave the youngers scratching their heads at the meaning. Almost like a secret code to another world, these phrases bring a smile and knowing to those that understand. They leave those that don’t get it confused.
Once upon a time, VST and I farmed in the Central Valley of California. On our ranch, there were 109 rows of vintage grapevines. Planted before 1936, these grapes were a variety lost t0 the ages. Their flavor and texture were of another time. They were not for shipping, for their skins were far too fragile. They were Thompson Seedless grapes, green in color. Not the huge grapes you find in the store, which are tricked into becoming that huge size with hormones. These were normal sized grapes, which when dried in the sun, turned into delicious Sun-maid Raisins.
For seventeen years, VST and I cared for our vines the best we could. We worked two full time jobs to support our little farming hobby. Forty acres is a lot of land to care for. One fourth of a section of land. If you ever walked down a vineyard row, picking up discarded thick wood removed during pruning, you begin to know how long the rows are. Especially if it is a cold, foggy Central Valley morning, when your irrigation boots get stuck in mud.
There you have another phrase. Stuck In The Mud. Until you have been, you don’t know. A terrible predicament. A Stick-In-The-Mud prefers their life to remain that way. Stuck in the mud. Horrible situation.
On our farm, there were 109 rows, most of them, very long, continuous rows, stretching from one side of the ranch to the other. Whether irrigating or shoveling, one would start at row 109 and work back towards the house, which seemed ever so far away. Hours later, you might be at row ninety-five, depending on what you were doing. Fixing wires that supported the grapes. Shoveling in gopher holes or cutting off shoots growing at the base of the stumps. Cutting down weeds or tying up tendrils. There was always something that needed doing.
Our house sat in the middle of rows 1 – 30-something. A nice square space in which our house was along with a big red barn and out buildings. This divided those rows into two sections which were named The Short Rows.
Every one of us would look across the vineyard toward the house wishing we were already there. Plodding along in the cold wet, or extreme heat, we moved at a snail’s pace. There was time to think and ponder the problems of the world. Time to wish we could win the lottery and never need to pick up a shovel again. Startled we were when we might scare up a quail or coyote. Always, we moved toward the house and the short rows.
Now, in life, I’m, working the short rows. No matter how I wish the date would zoom past April 8th, I plod along. Each day a little bit closer. There are more opportunities to sit and rest, but, I’m not done yet. The winter has worn me down. Emotional blisters are healing, but the heavy weight of widowhood still makes them sting a bit from time to time. I’ve discovered I can carry more than I thought I could. Looking back, I’m proud that I made it this far, turning into a stronger and more competent woman.
The best thing about the short rows, is that you could find rest at the house. There was a bathroom right there. Grabbing a cold water, you could sit under the shade of the patio and take a break. The breeze seemed a little stronger there, promising the job at hand was almost finished.
In life, there will always be another pass to be made. Another daunting experience in which you return to Row 109 and start all over again. So glad VST and I could experience farming and life together. Someday, he’ll be waiting for me at Row 1. Bring the lemonade, VST. I’ll be tired.
This morning, the sun isn’t up yet. On this the first day of spring, a cold wet week is predicted. All this rain is getting a little old, I must admit. Today there are wind advisories for the nearby lake, with 2-3 foot waves expected. Today just might be the day I drive to picnic in a wind storm just to experience what 2-3′ waves on a desert lake.
With all the rain, pollen counts have been down. As soon as the rain stops, that’ll all change. I thought people moved to the high desert to avoid allergies. I guess not. The prominent culprits here are Mulberry. Ash, and Elm. With the addition of the high winds, sneezing will be on the rise. Without knowing if the cause is Covid or Influenza 1,2,3, or 4, other than driving to the lake in the truck, I plan to breathe fresh air in the back yard and plan.
More birds are moving into the gardens of Winterpast. There are little sparrows conversing with each other on the branches, while finches flit past, hurrying to nest in their little bird houses. The robins have been out every morning pecking through the grass, while two doves walked about on the patio, having made note that no cats live here.
The mustangs have been out and about, but few new foals haven’t dropped yet. There’s nothing cuter than a wild mustang foal. Nothing more hardy, either. They are up and traveling with the herd within a matter of hours after birth. These herds travel miles and miles each day, never stopping for very long. You can pass a herd while running an errand and they will be long gone when you return. The horses are thin after a hard winter. They’re waiting for the rains to stop just as much as we are.
Three years ago, life was very different for me. VST and I traveled to town with K and T for his liver biopsy. There was no thought of baby birds or springtime. VST slept on the way. The day’s procedure was the only way we’d know for sure what type of cancer he had. Without this information, we couldn’t be assigned an oncologist. With the beginning stages of Covid underway, only one person could join VST in the hospital. It would be me that would keep him company until his procedure.
The strength and love T and K brought with them every time they visited was tonic for VST. And, for me, too. He’d put on his best smiles just for them, Assuring them each time that he felt way too good to be really sick. He continued to tell us that until he no longer could speak. That was his story and he was sticking to it until the end.
Tahitian Sunset– Jackson and Perkins
Through all of this, VST had the strongest faith of anyone I’ve ever known. His belief in the healing power of God and the miracles of spring gave him his strength. He battled a cancer with an uncertain and scary outcome as if it was a February day in the vineyard. The dormant vineyard gave not a hint it would ever come alive again. Just as VST never gave up hope for the beautiful crop we knew we’d surely harvest in the fall, he also remained faithful that God wouldn’t give him more than he could handle. The results of his test ended the need for any other procedures. Stage 4 Cholangiocarcinoma.
Through the journey during our last weeks together, VST headed towards his new beginning. He never stopped celebrating life, even at his sickest. He never questioned his heavenly salvation or the hell that was his cancer. He simply lived every moment appreciating beauty in the smallest things. Even something as small as an ice cream cone. From that experience, I realize he could see his new life just around the corner. Bright and sunny, on the wings of angels, he’d ride into the glory of the heavens.
Winter is past. Spring is here. April. In this most beautiful month, something precious was stolen from me. In return, April always gives back so much in return. The hope for new life. April 9th, 2020 while being bankrupt in many respects, I began my own amazing new journey. Almost three years later, I’m standing in faith, much stronger, a little wiser, and resilient. With a deep faith in new beginnings, a third year starts. Life goes on, full of mysteries yet to unfold.
Peace Rose — Jackson and Perkins
Whatever you do today, enjoy THIS day, the first of a beautiful spring. Look for the smallest miracles. They surround us all. Look at the new life and rejoice! It’s spring!
As I look out to my garden I feel a sense of pride It really is a lovely room Except it is outside
Where lovely things mix and match And greenery fills the walls The sound of trickling water Coming from the gold fish pond
I love the sight of stones and rocks And driftwood and tree ferns too The sounds of all my chimes I know you would like it too
With pride I walk around my garden And savour each scent and smell Colours of yellow, red and gold Striped cushion on a bench
The bird bath has its own domain It’s placed beside a wooden arch Where all the birds come to bathe And drink when they are parched
Ladybirds can hide away Sometimes they come out to see What’s happening around them With caterpillars and the bees
There’s not much more that I can say Except if you have your own It won’t take long to build it up Seeds will bloom once they are sown.
by Marie Church
I’m starting my weekend early by tending my garden. Even though things are still asleep, it’s time they wake up. While MM’s bulbs are already green and ready to bloom, the bulbs of Winterpast have other ideas. Today is the day for lots of work in the garden.
Whatever you plan this weekend, make it grand. Here on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada, the town is talking about the Gala Spring Fling to be held this Saturday at The Old Barn. A good time it will be. Find something wonderful to doin your own town this weekend, and then do it. Make it wonderful.
Today is the first day resembling spring in months. The sky is a brilliant blue and the air is crisp and clean. I’ve seen that the doves are back, looking for places to build the first nests of spring. It’s time for me to move the patio furniture back out of the barn and into place. Soon, it’ll be time for early evening barbeques and parties under the stars. Spring is such a lovely time of year.
Now, don’t get me wrong. This afternoon, while coming back from the Biggest Little City to the West, the river raced along the interstate at the very point of overflowing. With these nice days, the snow is melting quickly. Floods ARE coming. It’s just a matter of when and where. With any luck at all, the flooding will be directed to the vast desert playas. Heaven knows there are miles and miles of empty desert that won’t by hurt by flooding, not one little bit.
Spring weather is the best kind when one lives on the high desert plains. The mornings are crisp as they warm into beautiful spring afternoons and then turn into chilly evenings. It’s all about being in the sunshine. The gardens of Winterpast are still shaded most of the day so none of the tulips, daffodils, peonys, or iris are emerging yet. There’s plenty of time for spring blossoms before the heat will chase me indoors on most afternoons.
In a few weeks, sweatshirts and jeans will be exchanged for shorts, tees, a hat, and brown knees. Oh how I need to get some sun on my skin. I’ve turned freakishly white over the winter months. I can’t wait to get my tan on while working on the new fencing and garden boxes. It seems there ‘s a second Grieving Gardener that is looking forward to helping me groom Winterpast into the glorious showcase she’s meant to be. Thank goodness for MM.
I’m looking forward to the smell of fresh cut grass and bouquets of roses. Fresh desert air and the songs of the birds are something of which I never tire. It’s wonderful to enjoy the here and now in the peace that Winterpast offers me.
Peonys — my favorite
As for this little blog, I have big plans. They may become everything I ever dreamed possible, or they could amount to nothing at all. With suggestions from here and there, I’ve decided to give the blog an update. As I’m growing as a writer and as a woman, the blog needs to reflect those changes. Be looking for some really cool things in the future!
Whatever you do today, you might want to look out on your patio and see what changes you can make. It’s the time and season for a spring cleanup and spring fling! “While gardening, you just might find yourself while losing yourself” (Alice Sebold). Keep your snippers sharpened and your roses pruned. Keep Calm and garden on!
Winter is melting in early spring here on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. March is such a strange time of year. Today, the temperatures should be in the 50’s, while the last of the storms passed last night. Winds over our little town were at least 39 mph.
Living on the desert, one must be prepared for the weather to change at a moments notice. The road was dry. In two hours, it was under water. By the end of the day, dry again. Winds whipped at 39 mph and then died down to nothing. There is never a dull moment around here.
As desert widow, I need to be tougher than I ever thought possible. Sometimes this can be difficult when the river of life is rushing by. When uncertainties gets me down, I remember the following thoughts inspired by “You Gotta Be” by Des’ree.
Listen as your day unfolds Challenge what the future holds Try and keep your head up to the sky Stormy skies may cause you tears Go ahead, release your fears
My, oh my, oh my.
Remember what your mother said Read the books your father read Try to solve the puzzles in your own sweet time Some may have more cash than you Others may take a different view
My, oh my, oh my.
Time asks no questions, it goes on without you Leaving you behind if you can’t stand the pace The world keeps on spinning Can’t stop it if you try to The best part is life’s mystery staring you right in the face
But Always Remember……..
You gotta be bad You gotta be bold You gotta be wiser
You gotta be hard You gotta be tough You gotta be stronger
You gotta be cool You gotta be calm You gotta stay together
All I know for sure is this…..
LOVE will save the day
Whatever you do today, find the strength to practice just a little more patience throughout your day. If the sun shines, go dance in it. If it’s raining, enjoy a cozy day inside. And, for you living in the Sierra Nevada’s, have faith. Spring is just days away, along with the thaw.
Would you know my name? If I saw you in heaven Would it be the same? If I saw you in heaven
I must be strong And carry on ‘Cause I know I don’t belong Here in heaven
Would you hold my hand? If I saw you in heaven Would you help me stand? If I saw you in heaven
I’ll find my way Through night and day ‘Cause I know I just can’t stay Here in heaven
Time can bring you down Time can bend your knees Time can break your heart Have you begging please
Begging please
Beyond the door There’s peace, I’m sure And I know there’ll be no more Tears in heaven
Eric Clapton
Naomi represented so many different things to each of us. Youth. Beauty. Innocence. Wonder as she found her own way in a new life.
Naomi was just an independent 18-year-old girl going to work on an early March morning. She was kidnapped and then murdered on the lonely high desert plains of Northwest Nevada.
She loved rainbows and The Beach Boys. She had big dreams that she was working towards.
Rest In Peace, Naomi. Enjoy heaven’s rainbows. We’ll think of you every time one appears here on earth.
Chicken Pot Pie has been a comfort food of mine for decades. It started long ago when I was a girl. On days when my mother was in town, shopping for an army of hungry girls and a farming husband, she would allow herself one little treat. She would stop at the Chicken Pie Shop located in a quiet little town just to the East of the Vineyards where we lived.
The shop was owned and run by Germans and the pies were out of this world. Homemade crust. Ooey-Gooey goodness waited under the perfectly browned crusts. The pies were placed in pink pastry boxes and tied with cotton string. She always bought 8. Just enough for a meal and Dad’s lunch the next day. Sometimes they were already cooked, sometimes they came waiting for the oven. They never disappointed. I bet the TJ and the Goddess of the Central Coast remember this place from long ago. Yummmm.
The shop was sold over the years. The magic was lost and the place finally closed up. Another gem of the past, gone forever.
Since we met, MM and I have been fascinated at the things we have in common. We both married old high school friends after reconnecting at our respective high school reunions. We both enjoyed long and happy marriages. We both took care of our spouses through some very tough illnesses, watching over them until they left us, both in 2020. We both garden. We are both owned by high maintenance dogs that happen to like each other. And, we both LOVE Chicken Pot Pies.
Last Saturday, Chicken Pot Pie was a natural choice for a cold, snowy day. This recipe, although not quite as good as the one I remember from childhood, is pretty good. It beats Marie Calendar Chicken Pot Pies (our favorite until this came along) all to heck.
You may want to invest in some single serving ramekins or disposable aluminum pie tins if you want individual servings. They freeze nicely. Enjoy
Almost the World’s Best Chicken Pot Pie
Ingredients
1 rotisserie chicken, skinned and deboned –
1 bag of frozen peas and carrots
1/2 cup sliced celery
1/2 cup butter
1/3 cup chopped onion
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon celery seed
1 3/4 cups chicken broth
2/3 cups Half and Half
2 (9 inch) unbaked pie crusts
Directions
Gather all ingredients.
Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F.
Debone the rotisserie chicken, discarding skin, fat, and bones. Cut the meat into bite-sized pieces.
Melt 2 Tbsp butter and saute the celery until soft. Then, add the peas, carrots, and prepared chicken and set aside.
While the chicken is cooking, melt 2 Tbsp butter in another saucepan over medium heat. Add onion and cook until soft and translucent, 5 to 7 minutes. Stir in flour, salt, pepper, and celery seed.
Slowly stir in chicken broth and cream. Add remaining butter. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer until thick, 5 to 10 minutes. Remove from heat and set aside.
Place the pie crust in a 9″ pie tin. You can also use a casserole dish of a similar size. It is not necessary to precook the pie crust. It will cook nicely.
Place chicken and vegetables in the bottom pie crust. Pour hot liquid mixture over top. Cover with top crust, seal the edges, and cut away any excess dough. Make several small slits in the top crust to allow steam to escape.
Bake in the preheated oven until pastry is golden brown and filling is bubbly, 30 to 40 minutes. (As this may bubble over, place a foil-covered cookie sheet underneath for easier cleanup.) Cool for 10 minutes before serving.
Important note !
Normally, my finished meals do not begin to resemble the photoshopped pictures. In this case, mine turned out more beautiful because I used a pretty casserole dish instead of an aluminum pie tin. I’d recommend that change.
Of course, by adding a dinner mate that also loves Chicken Pot Pie, your meal will be seasoned with happiness, great conversation, and laughter. This recipe made four large, satisfying servings, (and we LOVE Chicken Pot Pie).
Whatever you do today, remember this. Forget what anyone has told you in the past. You CAN cook. Follow any recipe and, with a little practice, you can get on that horse and ride.
Thank you to the “Allrecipes.com” for these delightful pictures and recipe. Without you, this wouldn’t have been possible.
Donner Lake, California. And, YES, Donner Lake is this beautiful.
What a week it’s been! In the absence of my daily blog, Miss Firecracker, The Goddess, and Sweet K contacted me to see if anything was wrong. Perhaps, you, my faithful readers are wondering the same. I apologize for my unannounced absence. Please forgive me. For those inquiring minds, let me assure you, everything is 100% RIGHT. On the Road Towards Happiness has been a journey of 400 miles spent with new friends and family, with a little puppy-poo on the side. Isn’t a full life life like that?
The last few days, MM and I have been having Wook-let Withdrawals. No little squeaks or squeals anywhere. Just quiet. Friday, the Wook-lets left us to begin their California adventure. In the morning, MM transferred seven fat little slugs to the car. They complained a little in their immature little way, but we hoped they would sleep during the ride under the watchful eye of Wookie.
Have you every taken a long trip with a baby????? Multiply that by seven.
“She stepped on me.”
“I’m hungry.”
“I need to PEEE—“
“Whoops.”
Nevermind. Sorry Gwam-ma”
“How much longer?”
Although the pups couldn’t speak, their actions told me all those things loud and clear. All the while, Wookie manicured her paws and watched the scenery. She is getting pretty tired of these littles.
A peaceful moment
In cycles of total pandemonium and then peaceful sleep, we made our way up the Eastern side of the Sierra Nevada’s and down the other. We made it to our destination without injury or too much complaining.
Once we arrived, a miracle occurred. These morning slugs were afternoon dogs. Just like that. One was scratching her neck, while another played bitey-face with her brother. The tiny one barked, catching her own attention. They found their footing and tried running a little. Seven wagging tails showed they were discovering true puppy fun. Wookie disappeared to run throughout the grounds while catching up with her West-ern Love. The pups would just need to take care of themselves for a little while.
In minutes, Wookie was under the pool fence to explore. She learned the location of the doggie door the nursery full of her littles. In short, she settled right in. The pups, on the other hand, weren’t really having it.
“I’m cold.” (They have the finest bedding and heating pad set to “Puppy Comfort”).
“Where’s Gwam-pa?”
“Maaaaa-Maaaa.”
No expense have been spared on these cuties. Brand new bedding and the finest sleeping arrangements. Only the best food. Three full time “human pets” to attend to their every need. No need to worry about these little complainers. The Wooklets are in good hands.
As for MM and me, we, too were given the finest accommodations. It was 24 hours spent getting to know new family while enjoying the fresh perspectives of kids and grandkids, all of which aren’t children anymore.
Throughout our visit, I’d have moments of reflection in which I reminded myself that these are the days of which memories are made. Beautiful days in which to learn about new family and friends that have come into my life through one Mysterious Marine. Gone are the days in which Miss Firecracker and I held each other together against the lonely winds of widowhood. Those were some tough ones for us both. We’re finding our happy now.
Grief is a funny thing. I’m sure it hasn’t left my side, but it feels different now. Not front and center, but a side-kick that whispers in my ear now and then.
Remember.
Remember.
Remember.
Listen up, Grief. In a thousand lifetimes, I could never ever forget the love I lost. He’s waiting in another place to greet me at a time unknown. For now, life is here. Right now. I don’t plan to waste a minute.
That being said, I’m embarking on another adventure at the end of the week. This one is mine. This one is true vacation in which I want to spend time sleeping in and being out and about. I wish you could all come along, but this will be a Valentine’s excursion for only two. For a week and some days, you can find my voice in the writing of past days if you choose. You can go all the way to the beginning of this story, September 24, 2020. The Me of those days has traveled a long long way through a treacherous wilderness I’d wish for no one. Just know, I’ve found the road of happiness. For how long? Life doesn’t last forever. Each day, I’ll enjoy every sweet smile and mile!
Whatever you do today, reflect on one beautiful memory of family and friends that have gone before. Sidestep the loss, and remember the beauty of that golden moment. Hear the laughter. Remember the words. Let them comfort you. They are from a time and place yours forever. Then, plan to make three new memories. Golden moments. Bottom line. Keep on moving forward. Our heavenly angels wish no less for us. That’s what true love is all about.
When it comes to vehicles of any kind, I could really care less. An auto is something to get you from HERE to THERE. It’s always nice if the windows roll up and down and the tires hold the proper amount of air, but beyond that, I just want something that works. Something that rolls down the road safely at the speed limit without causing death to me or anyone around me. I am sad to report my Barbie Jeep no longer fits that category. Her days in my garage are limited.
The mail last week held very sad news. I’m now an unwilling member of a class action suit settled against Jeep. My Jeep has a crash-causing defect. A faulty front end. This isn’t just a little tiny problem. The design can cause you to lose complete control of the Jeep. It’s happened to me three times. Each time, I could have used the Recovery System shown above. Each time I was lucky enough to bring the Jeep to a safe stop.
Now, just so you know. This class action settlement gives me an extended warranty up to 90,000 miles. But, only the original owner. And, in the case of death, the family can still sue Jeep. I kid you not. I read the settlement. Imagine my relief when I realized my kids can get rich off my roll-over death on the backroads of Nevada. How kind of them.
There are so many things a lady of the 1900’s shouldn’t need to know about. The inner workings of a 2017 Jeep are in that category. Unfortunately, when all this came to our attention when the Jeep was brand new, I was right there with VST. As we peered under the hood of different Jeep, we wondered how we weren’t killed. That one was a Jeep 2014 Jeep Cherokee. Also a victim of idiot engineering.
When it happened to that car, we were on a two lane mountain road headed to a fun time at the coast. We were towing the Jeep Cherokee behind our motorhome. Willy Nelson’s Roadhouse was on the radio. We were waiting to see who would see the ocean first when it happened. VST turned white. The tow car was swinging violent back and forth off the hitch. Not rolling, but bouncing and swaying. We had to stop in the road, as there was no turnout and very steep cliffs on either side.
If there would have been another car on the road, we would have all died. It was that violent. We were lucky it didn’t take the motorhome over the side. Once we stopped and started again, the car again worked perfectly. We sold that Jeep immediately. It was three years old. VST, in his John Deere Service Master internationally known and respected heart of hearts, believed with 100% certainty that it was IMPOSSIBLE for it to happen to a Wrangler. And yet, here I am with the same problem. I’m glad he isn’t here to experience this. He would’ve died of a stroke over this!
KJ Jones and Jason Gonderman – Authors and Photographers for MotorTrend have the following explanation.
“Death wobble. No other pair of words strikes fear into the heart of a diesel truck owner quite the way these do. It starts small: a simple shudder or vibration. But before you know it, you’re white knuckled, grasping the steering wheel tight, trying to settle the truck down before losing control.
While the causes and cures of death wobble are a highly debated topic, if your truck has it, there is no mistaking it. The first step in controlling death wobble is understanding exactly what it is. Death wobble is used to describe a series of sudden, often violent front suspension vibrations exhibited by solid front axle suspensions, and more infrequently, independent front suspensions. When death wobble occurs, you will feel a shaking in the steering wheel, which will increase or decrease with speed, and depending on severity, shaking throughout the cab. If you experience death wobble, let off the accelerator and allow the truck to slow down until the vibration stops, then immediately proceed to a safe place where the vehicle can be inspected before continuing on. Even just one death wobble incident can cause permanent—and dangerous—suspension or steering damage.”
They forgot to add one thing. A person can lose control of the vehicle, crash, and die. It’s the dying thing that really gets me. Not something I’m ready to do because of a Jeep.
The Barbie Jeep was recalled once for a fix-it part. VST was still alive and we went in for the repair right away. He was convinced the death wobble would never happen to a Jeep Wrangler. If so, this Barbie would’ve never agreed to buy another.
Soon after VST died, I’d gone on a mental health drive through the wide open spaces of Nevada to a magical place called Bridgeport. If you’ve ever been, you know. If you haven’t, you should go. The Eastern Sierra Nevada’s at their finest. On the way home, there was a bend in the road, along with a dip and a cattle guard. The trifecta of circumstances that caused the wobble. The fix to make it home is this. Slow down. Stop. Turn off the car. Turn on the car. Avoid every pot hole or imperfection in the road and drive straight to the delearship.
There, it was discovered by my professional Jeep mechanics that the “fix-it” part for the recall was installed backwards. There are just no more words on that subject. Read the past sentence over and over. Put on BACKWARDS. (From another dealership whose mechanics must be related to the engineers that designed this system.)
Oy.
Vey.
Living in the environment I do, I cannot drive a vehicle that goes into a death wobble for any reason. Becoming a member of a class action settlement was the final straw. My newish Jeep with only 45,715 miles has got to go. This week.
Car Max is ready to write the check. I just need to find a replacement and there is the hitch. What to buy?
Cars of today have so many options. Heated steering wheels. Air-conditioned seats. Cameras that watch out for traffic coming in any direction. Lane detection. Automatic cruise control. Enough already. I want a pretty car that drives well and passes the crash dummy tests.
As for the Jeep, I’m heartbroken that our time together is over. It’s the first car I ever really loved, except for the fact that it could be the death of us both. When she was running fine, she was running fine. I’ll miss the secret waves from other Jeep owners. I hope they don’t run into me when they get their own wobbles.
If you are a parent or grandparent of kids that are getting great deals on Jeep Wranglers, do your own research. If you own a 2018-2020 Jeep Wrangler or 2020 Jeep Gladiator, think long and hard about what your life is worth. Having experienced the death wobble at 50 mph, I can tell you, it was hard to control the vehicle. The worst thing is that after you pull to the side of the road and turn off the engine, when starting it up again, everything seems fine. Until the next time. Might be tomorrow. Might be next year. But, happen again it will.
Today, I’m deep in the cyber aisles of cars at Car Max. I’ve found a few possibilities. There’ll surely be a learning curve and a lot of unpleasant words. But, there’ll also be fun. Getting a new car is a big deal, even if the idea was forced on me by incompetent engineers at Jeep.
Look it up. Watch some videos. Death Wobble. You’ll understand. I don’t have a choice in this one.
Whatever you do today, spend a little time with your car. Are the tires properly inflated? Is there washer fluid in the reservoir? Is it time to change the oil? Do you know where the spare tire is located? Have you cleaned and vacuumed it lately? Spend a little love on something that keeps you safe and sound as you travel about. Have a wonderful day!
Two weeks old, and these little ones with their seven little noses and 28 little paws rule the roost. They are fat beyond description. So fat, in fact, their little legs cannot support their bodies yet. They slept through Day 10, forgetting to open their eyes, and are just getting started with that now. Through it all, Wookie is an outstanding mother, attending to their every need. Well, except for human socialization. MM and I are handing that. It’s a rotten chore, but someone needs to do it.
It isn’t often in life that one gets to interact with brand puppies. The adorable noises and intoxicating puppy breath make everything else fall away. There are only puppies to be held and cuddled.
Two of them now have names. Not a good thing when these puppies will be heading away to their lives where they’ll watch their human playmates grow up and have kids of their own. These little guys have a lifetime of work to do. But, two of them have names now. Bingo and Tiger. Growing up on a farm, I learned early on that its not wise to name the animals. Time with furry friends was limited and names complicated the “Goodbyes”, which were never Good. Well, the farm is history. Bingo and Tiger are named. For now.
Along with their physical growth, they are starting to yawn, which causes them to topple a little. They are also trying to use their little legs more. Their little pads are the pinkest of pinks dotted with black spots and their noses glisten. Tiger was licking my chin last night. There isn’t a clunker in the bunch.
The runt of the litter is a total brat, while she cries about this and complains about that. Just because she’s small, don’t fear that she’s missing any meals. She is the first to dive in and latch on. She’s the first and only one to have opened her eyes and found her voice. Her fur-ever home had better be top notch. If not, she’ll let everyone know. As the for Bingo, Tiger, and the others, they are sensibly mellow. Just like their mom, they are growing into amazing dogs. It’s all happening too quickly.
Yesterday was a day to do a little cooking. MM has been taking care of the issues with ice each day since the fall. The weather has warmed up a little and tomorrow it may even get to 50 degrees. Then, another round of storms will be upon us. Next week the lows are predicted to be around 12 degrees, maybe even colder. More snow and ice. More indoor projects.
Yesterday, Lasagna was on the menu. I’ve learned a few things from MM and his amazing cooking skills. Lasagna sauce should be simmered on the stove. Not left on its own in a crockpot in the corner, but simmered on the stove where one can routinely stir and add a little more love. Last night, delivered in exchange for ice melt and puppy cuddling time, I delivered fresh Lasagna, garlic bread, a green salad, and homemade ice cream with hot fudge sauce. It was the best Lasagna I’ve made in my entire life. It had to be worthy of puppy time. It did not disappoint.
As the days go by, my life is becoming a complete picture with so many different activities in the day. Comparing today to April, 2020, my life has changed into something totally new, full, and wonderful. Somedays, it takes my breath away. At times it can be a little overwhelming. This is what life is meant to be! Homemade Lasagna, puppies, and someone special to enjoy it with. It truly doesn’t get better than this.
I stitched this very tapestry and it hung on my nursery wall 43 years ago. Great advice.
Whatever you do today, look for the golden moments in your day. The ones you never want to forget and the ones you can never get back. Make a new friend or call an old one. Think of the happy memories you left behind and dream of some new ones that will be fun to make. Don’t shut the door on your own potential. If at all possible, make Fresh Lasagna and hug a puppy. It will cure what ails you.
Thank you, VST, for giving me the adventure of a lifetime.
Anniversaries are tough. Life holds brilliant memories made along the way. 35 years ago, January 23rd at 2:00 in the afternoon, VST and I were married. Surrounded by family and friends, we were two very young, hopeful, and loving people who pledged to love each other until the end of time. Sadly, our time together on this earth ended on April 8, 2020.
Today is one for quiet reflection about the wonderful years spent creating the life we chose, day by day.
Whatever you do today, take some time to reflect on loved ones that have gone on before. If you’re grieving, remember this. You are blessed enough to have loved deeply. That’s a precious blessing, indeed. One well worth the price of grief, in my opinion.
Morning Has Broken Morning has broken, Like the first morning, Blackbird has spoken Like the first bird;
Praise for the singing, Praise for the morning, Praise for them springing Fresh from the Word.
Sweet the rain’s new fall, Sunlit from heaven, Like the first dewfall On the first grass;
Praise for the sweetness, Of the wet garden, Sprung in completeness Where his feet pass.
Mine is the sunlight, Mine is the morning, Born of the one light Eden saw play; Praise with elation, Praise every morning, God’s re-creation Of the new day. by Eleanor Farjeon, later performed by Cat Stevens
Retirement comes with challenges. I know. I know. Active workers are thinking…..”Cry me a river, Lady.” Kind of like a certain prince and princess complaining over a castle that wasn’t big enough. Whatever will they do in a shack in Montecito?
Without planning, retirement becomes one long pajama party that doesn’t end. It’s just like a table of the best Christmas deserts on my Grandma’s table in 1969. Grammie would tell me “It’s Christmas! Eat as much as you like!” Eventually, the top button on the pants didn’t anymore. Christmas was gone, and there I was. I should’ve had a plan.
My first year as a widow, I kept a planner. I made sure it was a pretty one with the entire month shown in a two page spread, followed by pages that held three days each and places to write notes (2023 PlanAhead Monthly/Weekly/Planner — Amazon). I started making entries and kept it current. While in the deepest widow’s fog, I could look back and see what I’d accomplished, even if it was only these three things.
Get out of bed.
Eat three meals.
Don’t go to sleep before the sun is down.
In the beginning, those were not far from my perfect day. If only I could’ve gone that route. I physically moved into Winterpast seventeen days after VST died. Of course, my accomplishments were much more than three things a day. Today, can I tell you what they were? No. Recalling memories can be tough when you’re grieving. In my experience, I’m able to remember a little more each day about the spring of 2020.
That first year, my planner was an external drive to my brain. Everything went into the planner or it didn’t happen. Slowly, I was able to plan and complete six things. Then nine. And so on. I always wrote them down and crossed them off. Somedays, I was back to only three. And, somedays, I stayed in bed with the covers over my head all day long. It was all part of the ultimate goal of healing through grief.
Here’s the deal. It gets better. Whatever your current loss, things do heal with time. Maybe your heart is shattered, but it’ll slowly mend. The scars give us our character through our strength and resolve.
VST was a driven man. Looking back, I don’t recommend this to anyone. In the end, you have an empire to admire from heaven. I’ve never known anyone to squeeze so much into each and every 24 hour day. Obsessed with intent and drive, he planned and accomplished everything he dreamed. He lived a life full of dreams and accomplishments.
The Dunmovin’ House was his last big endeavor. 3,300 square feet built into the side of Mt. Davidson, Virginia City, Nevada. For both of us, it was love at first sight. She’d been repossessed from people that didn’t know how to keep a beautiful home. For five years, VST poured every waking day into making her a perfect show piece. While I love to work in miniature with my tiny little houses, he worked on a grand scale, laying real hardwood floors and redwood decks with broken knees and a paralyzed hand.
The final project was as beautiful as the first. With the last nail, we discovered his cancer and he was gone in 9 weeks. The house was finished when he died.
The kitchen that got away. Every oak board in the floor was hand-selected by me. (2014-2020)Dunmovin’ House — Virginia City, Nevada
Intention and execution made it all possible. Every day, we met over coffee to plan our daily goals.
“What’re our goals for today, Darlin’?” he’d ask over his eggs. There were always 20 things on the list that involved heavy lifting, measuring, saws, and hammers. He moved the rocks in the front yard more than once just because.
Goals made with a vision end up create something wonderful. Living alone, goals are pretty hard to create and very easy to ignore. I’m finding this as I approach the spring of my 3rd year as a widow. I have pure intentions when I write them down in my planner over coffee.
In my mind, I hear the question.
“What are our goals for today, Darlin’?”
For the rest of this month, I’m going to set three a day. If I can accomplish those, I’ll have 36 things done by the end of the month. I bet I can even do more once I get going.
The day’s a-wastin’.
January 19, 2023
Get out of bed.
Check.
Whoopsie.
Just kidding.
Besides, I’ve been up for two hours now.
Whatever you do today, do it with intent. Be sure to plan some play in your day. We all need to take time for the things we love to do. If you don’t have anything you love doing, then start investigating and find something. Get up and move in a new direction. You’ll be glad you did.
Just the number will never let me forget how many years it’s been since the unthinkable happened to us. One speeding freight train came straight for two very scared seniors. One was taken. One was left. Trains are a funny thing. You hear them in the night with their far off lamentations. Three or four blasts of the horn. Their sounds grow louder until all other sounds are drowned out by the rumbling cars. Just like that, they pass and the silence returns. After 32 years, that’s how I lost my VST.
That fast.
That deadly.
That gone.
It was in the Spring of 2020. Almost three years ago.
Not from Covid, but another monster altogether.
Cancer.
In the last 33 months, I’ve done everything the instruction book on grieving tells you to avoid. I signed legal documents. I sold the DunMovin’ House in VC. I bought Winterpast, located in a town where my only friends were Miss Firecracker and Baily’s and Cream. B & C died two months after I arrived. A four pack changed into a two pack in this dusty little town at a wide spot off the interstate in the middle of the high desert of Northwestern Nevada. Miss Firecracker moved on with her adventurous life and then, there was one.
Me.
Totally alone, I was forced to make peace with myself just to have someone to talk to. That took months of patience, forgiveness, love, and nurturing. I learned keep my own secrets. Only Oliver knows them all and he’s not talking, so don’t ask him.
During the last three years, throughout the ravages of Covid, I ate at every open restaurant I could find. I stayed in hotel rooms by a pristine lake. I went without a mask. I didn’t wash my hands very often. I never used hand sanitizer. I went outside as often as I could to breathe fresh clean air. My younger self would have scolded me for cussing too often and dating too soon. She was there, judging me worse than any stranger would have. But, on I went through my own wilderness not listening to her scared “Don’t Do It’s”.
I slept when I became the least bit tired and stayed up whenever I felt like it. For the first time in my entire life, I began to learn who I was meant to be. The real me, not the pretend woman who was really good at being the girl everyone wanted her to be. Instead, I released the fierce woman inside. The one quite capable of being herself.
Some parts of the last three years are so painful, I cannot yet write about them. Others are so funny they make me laugh with deep and rich abandon. I’ve embarrassed myself. I’ve also made myself proud when making tough decisions on which path to take. The easy path isn’t always the best when traveling through grief. Sometimes you need a machete to forge a new path through the brush while continuing on.
I’ve fallen three times, spraining my ankle days before my first Christmas alone. I’ve released more latex balloons into the heavens than environmentally proper, each one carrying my sorrow to the doorstep of heaven. I’ve cried. Panicked. Wailed with grief. Paced. Fretted. Bargained with God. Argued with God. Then peacefully, I’ve surrendered my life to HIM. I’ve purged the bad memories, and glorified the good. Through it all, I’ve kept moving forward, even if I needed to army crawl to do it.
I’ve broken many hearts, while protecting my own. I’ve become a good judge of character, choosing a worthy and Mysterious Marine with which to spend my precious time. I’ve found happiness in the presence of Wookie and the Wook-lets. I’m surrounded by the best girlfriends anyone on this planet could hope for. “Ride-Or-Die” friends of the best kind, each one of them.
These days, I’m okay with people and their contrary opinions. Until someone lives in your house, washes your whites, pulls your weeds, cleans your toilets, and puts up with one little headstrong dog 24/7, they can’t possibly understand your every motivation and action. I’ve learned to own my life and smile when there are those that disagree or judge. If they could only see the entire picture, maybe they’d judge less. I try to give that grace to new friends I’m meeting along the way.
In the last three years, I’ve learned that one little blog site has become a great place to talk about my traumas without burdening my besties. The keyboard has let me wander through the best adventures in healing without leaving the comforts of Winterpast. Grievinggardener has become a voice through which I’ve found my words, lost for so many years.
I’ve learned that Winterpast is not only my home, but my protector and comforter. Memories and love are woven into her walls. She’s the place that allows me to sleep without worry and dream as big as it gets. She’s my first real home, although I’ve houses more beautiful than any woman could wish for. Winterpast came equipped with some angels who text and stop by once in awhile. Real life people with forever ties to this oasis in the desert. The best family is made of those you choose. I’m glad VST and I chose Winterpast together before he left this world for his forever home.
The woman reflected in my mirror these days isn’t done growing. I still lose my way once in awhile. Often, I question if the old lady staring back is really me. Shades of my grandmother and mother peer back though our trademark baby-blues, wishing they could’ve lived the life I’m living now. I look at grainy black and white pictures while longing for the 1900’s. Somewhere in between the olden days and today is perfection. All of us experience it at one time or another. After all is said and done, happiness is true and timeless perfection.
There are those days, I’m sure I’ve totally disappointed everyone I love, but thankfully they continued loving me. Whiplash-inducing, one-eighties occur with less frequency. Life is on a good path now. I need the machete less and less. Until the next big jolt hits, I plan to enjoy winter and all the new family and friends that’ve come into my life. The miraculous blessings received over the last three years have helped me rebuild a new life from grief’s devastation. I wish that healing for every widow and widower traveling through their own journey. Life is there for you. Take as much time as you need while healing, but keep moving.
As for the old me, I miss the old me from time to time. But here’s the deal. That perfectly good girl was really bad at being real. It was utterly exhausting and life-sucking. I admire the woman that is growing right in front of my eyes. A little gray. A few pounds heavier than perfection. Some wrinkles and wear and tear. Plenty of imperfections. But, a fierce force willing to write her last chapter in ink, not graphite. You might not like her, but I do.
What would you do?
Whatever it is, live each day to the fullest with one foot in front of the other. Open each door to see what’s there. Shut the messy ones and keep on going. Even if it doesn’t seem like it, you’re doing that right now. Keep going. You’ll be amazed how far you’ve come when you look back.
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.
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.
By Henry Scott-Holland
