Category: 2023

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.

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?

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The three boxes of outdated materials are now gone.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?

More tomorrow.

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.

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.

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.

More tomorrow.

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.

More tomorrow.

• BY ELAINE SMOOKLER

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:

1. 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!
2. 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
3. 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!

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.

More tomorrow.

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.

Stay busy.

Stay Calm.

Carry On.

More tomorrow.

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.

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.

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.

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.

More tomorrow.

Autumn!!!! Fall!!! Harvest Time!!!!

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.

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.

More tomorrow.

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!

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!