Category: 2023

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we have come to our nation’s capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked “insufficient funds.” But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check — a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quick sands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God’s children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro’s legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.

We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.

As we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, “When will you be satisfied?” We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied, as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro’s basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating “For Whites Only”. We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.

I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.”

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with a new meaning, “My country, ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim’s pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring.”

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!

Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!

But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, “Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”

_{Dr. Martin Luther King August 28, 1963}

Whatever you do today, make it wonderful. Dream. Plan. Believe. Do.

More tomorrow.

2023.

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.

More tomorrow.

Oh, the wonder of the Wook-lets. There is nothing better than brand new puppies. Every day, we’re seeing significant changes. Just yesterday, the only boy gave his first bark while cuddled in my arms! I just know it was his FIRST! They are keeping Wookie on her toes with the necessary cleaning and feeding. Tonight, at 11:50 PM they’ll be one week old. This weekend, their eyes will open, while time marches on.

Wookie has become my bestie. When I arrive, her big smiles just melt my heart. Yesterday, I had gone into the nursery to see her babies. While sitting on the floor, she came and got in my lap to be cradled like a puppy herself. Although she is quite tall, she weighs almost the same as Oliver. They are built so differently. He’s dense and compact with an approach is never light and airy, but more like a Bassett Hound.. Thud-Thud-Thud-dy-Dud-Dud. That’s my Oliver.

These days, he’s quite confused. Things aren’t fair and right around Winterpast. First of all, the snow isn’t great for the low-rider he is. When your legs are so short, 3″ of snow is a problem. Then, Mom-Oh is a traitor. Going SOMEWHERE, she comes back smelling like SOMETHING resembling his girlfriend, Wookie. She’s all googly eyed about something called Wook-What-Evers. It’s all upsetting, when all he wants to do is play and his girlfriend is busy doing something else.

In his frustration, Oliver has reverted back to troublesome habits. He is now heavy into stealing. It matters not what he can find. A sock. A piece of mail. A hair clip. Just about anything. He has learned that from the recliner he can reach the end table. On the end table, he can find anything his Mom-Oh has accidentally left there.

His favorite hiding spot is under the dining room table. He absolutely delights in watching me go from side to side, while he slithers right underneath and out of reach, laughing in his little doggie brain the entire time. Yes. He’s in his own new state of puppyhood that reminds me of a very important fact. No matter how adorable the Wook-lets are, there is 7x the destruction just waiting to be unleashed on the unsuspecting owners of this new little crowd. Just how much damage will these little guys do in their first five years of life? I bet Oliver has them all beat.

Today is a great day for purging and cleaning. I’m using the 10% rule. While organizing and cleaning today, 10% will be donated to the thrift store. Things that haven’t been used in one year will fall under the 20% rule. The snowy days of January are a great time to release unused possessions to the universe. Save 9, discard 1. I’m sure my little four-legged helper will have a field day snatching things when my back is turned.

Oy Vey.

Whatever you choose to do today, hug your pet and then connect with someone going through a tough time. Unexpected texts and phone calls brighten everyone’s day. A visit to a shut-in is even better. You never know when it’s your voice and hug that save the day.

More tomorrow.

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.

1. Get out of bed.
2. Eat three meals.
3. 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.

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

1. 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.

More tomorrow.

Things are hopping in this my hometown, just a wide spot on a dusty road next to the interstate here in Northwestern Nevada. As I write those words, I realize how much I’ve become involved with latest news. It’s so cool to be friends with the 1st family, Mr. and Mrs. Mayor. Miss Sunflower runs the only independent florist in town. My Bible Study Besties cover the spirit of our town. Between politics, matters of the heart, and spirituality, there is a lot to be learned about the town I call home. Soon, I’ll be a 3rd year resident. Hard to believe.

Yesterday, our humble little group met at 10:00 for our weekly lesson. For a few more weeks, we’re studying Women and the Bible. The lessons are helping to make real people like Sarah, Ruth, Naomi, Mary Magdalene or Esther come alive. They were just gals like us, living during a time when women were not respected, valued, or equal. Some experienced miracles. For goodness sakes, Sarah got pregnant with her first child at 90. Now, that’s a scary thought.

A good Bible study led by a knowledgeable and capable instructor can be most interesting. Especially if the instructor humanizes the people on the pages creating a beautiful visual of the times. Through my studies, I’ve learned important facts about the chapters in the Bible. Several of the chapters in the New Testament were letters from Disciple Paul to congregations in various towns while he was imprisoned (Corinthians, Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, and Thessalonians). Paul was an amazing man all on his own, and I’d never have known about him unless I spent time in class.

Yesterday’s fun continued after class, when nine of us went out to lunch at the local Denny’s. How nice to make the first tire tracks in brand new snow to head out for a day with the girls! By the time noon rolled around, the snow had turned to a messy mixture of sand and slush. Thankfully, the storms are on pause for now and the roads will be dry.

Our tight-knit group of 20 don’t find interest in gossip for gossip’s sake. It’s not enlightening, entertaining, or helpful. We do love sharing information about our own lives that might need additional prayer and praise, celebrating the good and hugging tightly through the tough. These woman are the miracles that came into my life the day Jesus took the wheel and drove me to my first when I didn’t even know the group existed. God covers our friendships with his love and grace.

During lunch Miss Sunflower was all aglow about Valentine’s Day, which is in just 25 days! Valentine’s Day is one of my favorite holidays of the year. If you’re just the least bit romantic, you understand. Valentine’s Day is a time for us to release our inner cupid! I have my arrow ready!

For a florist, planning begins early for this very special day. Flowers need to be purchased and cleaned. Vases need to be ordered and arranged for efficiency. Multiple delivery drivers need to be contacted and ready to roll for days. Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day are the two biggies in a florists life. For the next three weeks, Miss Sunflower will get little sleep as she prepares.

During our lunch, it was delightful to be with women I haven’t seen for weeks because of this or that. Last week, I’d been up the night before delivering Wook-lets and needed to catch up on sleep. There was a virus one week and snow another. Yesterday was a time to get caught up on life and spend a little time gabbing and laughing with the girls. Two hours spent with the best women in town. I couldn’t be luckier.

Today, my list is ready and the chores are plentiful. It’s laundry day and so much more. Oliver is back in Puppy Training 101. I hope today holds many more praises than sneaky doggie pranks. He’s better start remembering HE is the PET, not me. At present he’s plotting in his dreams as he sleeps at my feet. I’m sure he has more planned behind those irresistible green eyes of his. His cuteness sees him through many of his antics.

This weekend holds time with the Wook-lets, who should open their eyes tomorrow. Seven little chunks are about to begin exploring the world of their nursery. I can’t wait to cuddle each one. Of course, being a farm girl you learn an important lesson early on. NEVER, EVER, EVER name the babies. Same here. In a few weeks, they will find fur-ever homes with their real families. I hope they remember how much love they received in the beginning.

Whatever you do today, consider a way to get out into the world. Talk a little with a complete stranger, even if it’s just a quick Hello. Smile for no reason at all, even if you need to fake it. Smiles are infectious and our world needs them right now. I’ll return on Monday to fill you in on the weekend, which will be full and exciting. Make yours the same.

More on Monday.

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}

More tomorrow.

There are some things that should never be ignored. Even if the high for the day is 10 degrees. Even if the snow is coming down so beautifully. Even if there are a million other little things to do in a cozy home, one should never, ever ignore a hot tub sitting under snow. I learned this lesson the hard way.

Oh, for the days when VST put on on his snow gear and took care of our property. I will admit, on some mornings, it was a bit irritating. At the break of dawn, he would be outside clearing the night snow from our steep drive or decks. He never missed a day, and we never had an incident.

“Don’cha know, Darlin’? We can’t leave this stuff or it will turn to ice!”

Just once in awhile, I would’ve loved to share a second cup of coffee with him as the night became day. Nope. And complain I didn’t. We never fell on icy, day old snow. Ever. Not on his watch.

Well, the first two years I lived here at Winterpast, there was the amount of snow you would expect for desert life. Very little. I was kind of disappointed, actually. Then, we came to this year. The year the storms didn’t stop and the snow kept falling. It’s been so cold, I didn’t really think about soaking in the hot tub.

The hot tub is on a side of the house that is easily ignored. It can’t be seen from a house window. Yes, Oliver could have told me he was having trouble staying upright on the ice. But, he was polite and quiet about the entire situation. I didn’t think about snow removal during ALL those storms. Snow is pretty when it’s undisturbed. It looks so natural. Besides, it’s been so cold outside, as it often is when there are inches of unmelted snow on the ground.

Along with not attending to the hot tub, I didn’t watch the gutters, which were already in need of repair before the storms ever started. Truly, a condo in Waikiki sounds pretty inviting right about now. The gutter heaters that VST installed in Virginia City were a great idea. Wish I’d thought of installing them here.

Well, yesterday was a day to get some things accomplished. On the list was Monday Hot Tub Servicing, which had been avoided for two weeks. Okay, maybe a little longer. On Mondays, I add chemicals and check the water level while making sure nothing looks out of order. It’s a short 10 minute job at the most. Unless, of course, there are 4″ of ice and snow on top of a frozen hot tub cover.

The snow looked so fluffy and light. Looks can be deceiving. This was all frozen, as snow does tend to do after a few days of sunshine. The top looked like fresh snow. The ice was hiding below.

“I told you so, Darlin’?” Husbands and their words of wisdom.

There isn’t a big area in which to slip and fall. To one side there is a hand rail for safety. It was ignored. You see, I was on a mission to get the top cleared so I could open it. I got my handy dust pan and started chipping away at the snowy ice, careful not to damage the cover. It wasn’t working very well, so I changed my position just a little bit.

I’d made a mental note of the dagger-like icicle hanging from the broken gutter above. As I already mentioned, I’d meant to fix the gutter last summer, but that involved a ladder which for me, ends in trouble. That bit of fun would need to wait. Yesterday, the frozen cover was my first priority.

In reality, how I ever thought I could’ve lifted this cover was the first problem. In its present condition, it weighs much more than I could lift on a good day. Let alone if there happened to be one little undetected patch of ice under my warm and fluffy smooth bottomed slipper.

It was then it happened.

Upright one minute.

Down the next.

Dang.

At the same time, Oliver was trying to see what I was doing when he started skating on the ice below the step. Oliver has no trouble with balance, having 4″ legs, but each one was going in an opposite direction as it struggled to get to me as I struggled to get to the back door, only inches away. All in all, not a pretty sight.

Most days, I’m pretty disgusted about my extra weight. Yesterday, it saved me from a broken hip. I now have a lovely bruise that will remain concealed. Thankfully it wasn’t worse.

I’ve finally learned my lesson and will plan accordingly.

My Mysterious Marine will be over today to spread ice melt and help me clear and open the hot tub cover. If I hadn’t been so independently stubborn, he would’ve helped before now. Another lesson learned. Accept help when offered. Especially if that help is offered by a really sweet and delightfully mysterious Marine, Duhhhhhhh…..

Soaking my bruised hip would feel pretty good at this point. I’ll do a visual on my gutters to make notes of where repairs are needed. In a couple months, I’ll look into gutter heaters and repairs. Not an expense I wanted incur, but then, necessary repairs often come at the worst times.

From now until spring, I’ll remember to wear ice claws when retrieving the mail or while doing any other outdoor activities.

Above all, I’ll be clearing snow when it falls. I get it VST. Thanks for all the shoveling you did to keep me safe. Hope there isn’t snow in heaven. You shoveled quite enough during your time here on earth.

Whatever you do, look for safety hazards around your house. Falling is no joke and those of us living alone worry about them. Look for those things that could trip you up and fix them. Above all, stay upright if at all possible. And remember, accept any and all help that is offered.

More tomorrow.

January is a great month to start something new. At the beginning of the month, I received a gigantic catalog in the mail. THE GREAT COURSES! The World’s Greatest Professors at Your Fingertips! Not being able to resist the title, I looked further into their fantastic sale for first time buyers. Well, they were practically giving away the first five courses at $30 each, so I ordered.

A small box arrived on Monday. Four courses were nestled inside with the DVD’s and manuals neatly packaged. I’d found four subjects that interested me. Writing. Drawing. The History and Archaeology of the Bible. And, (this will be a surprise to anyone that really knows me)……..The Everyday Gourmet.

Each course is divided into 24 lessons each 30 minutes long. You can order the courses on DVD’s or stream them. I chose the antiquated form of DVD’s.

With my gutters now exploding with big drippy icicles while hanging over a vast skating rink that used to be my patio, it seems the great outdoors will need to wait a bit. Yesterday, My Mysterious Marine came to the rescue with ice melt and plenty of sympathy. Being smart about everything handy-man-ish, I’m sure he saw more than he’s saying about the gutter situation. Icicles hanging from a gutter that is to take water away from your home is never a good sign. Even I know that.

It’s time for spring to arrive. Sadly, for us people living in snow country, that’s 56 days, 6 hours, and 49 minutes from this writing. For the Goddess of the Central Coast of California, my sweet Godmother, TJ, or Miss Firecracker, Spring is any time you look out the window. Most of California is like that.

I started watching the cooking lessons yesterday, while still recovering from my Battle on Ice. Chef Bill Briwa, C.E.C, C.H.E., had me at lesson one. Flavors, aroma, and taste. Maybe this is where I’ve gone wrong all along. I wanted to find out more from this Master Chef.

In his Chef like voice, he gave me my first assignment.

“For this exercise, you need will need melon, radicchio, lime, sugar, and salt for your mise en place. “ It was if this guy could look through the television and see. My cooking always involves a “mess in place”.

Well. After searching a bit, I did find the sugar and salt. I need to run to the store to get the lime and melon. Radicchio.? Hmm. Something that will certainly go bad after one bite. I wonder if the produce associate at the grocery store will just give me a leaf? Come to think of it, I don’t think they even sell this in Nevada. Probably outlawed. I’ll just get some iceberg lettuce and call it good.

Hence, this is where my cooking adventures always go sideways. Pretty sure you need to follow recipes. I’m not so good at that.

According to the chef, just add a little salt here, or a little squeeze of lime there, and the flavors will explode in wonderful deliciousness. Feeling really crazy? Add some Cayenne Pepper.

But.

What if you are allergic to lime. My taste buds are, unless we’re talking about margaritas. And Cayenne Pepper??????? Fergettabout that one.

Learning new things can be hard. Determined to try something new, my mind needed to stay receptive and open to new experiences. So, I was ready to learn about the five tastes he covered.

1. Sweetness. I can skip the sweetness challenge. My expanding waistline tells me I’m good on that one. Definitely not allergic to sweets.
2. Saltiness. I try to avoid adding extra salt to anything.
3. Sourness. According to the chef’s own words, this is a sign of under-ripeness or souring. It’s a warning to stop eating certain foods. I had trouble following his point on this.
4. Bitterness. Also confusing, as this is a sign the food might be poisonous. Yes. I will just scratch that radicchio off my grocery list. Poison is never good. Kale goes here.
5. Savory. “The flavor of protein that has begun to break down a little bit through enyme activity or through long cooking.” Hmmm. I need to think on that one. I think I have some very savory hamburger in my meat drawer that needs discarding, if this is the definition to follow.

Well, there you have it. It seems plain as the nose on my face. Sweetness wins. Fresh fruit, or perhaps homemade ice cream. Both winners.

I plan to try this entire tasting experiment just because the Chef was so nice to prepare a great lesson. Perhaps I will find that bitter radicchio is my favorite new food. Or that combining melon, radicchio, salt, and lime make a pleasant new flavor all together. At the very least, just saying the word Radicchio makes me feel like putting on a chef’s hat and cook something.

I can hardly wait to begin the other courses. Bible study is always interesting, but to add a visual to the places we’re studying will give the stories a vivid mental backdrop. I can always use hints to improve my writing. Drawing is something I’ve been wanting to learn. Now, there’s no excuse. Practice and techniques will make the pages come alive.

Whatever you do today, consider learning something new. There are so many ways to expand our brains in these dreary winter months. Lifelong learning. It just doesn’t get better than that.

More tomorrow.

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.

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.

More tomorrow.

The Wook-lets are on the move! All 28 eyes are open to some degree, and little dogs now stare back at us. Seven squirmy and opinionated little dogs moving this way and that. All of a sudden, they are learning to climb like little bulldozers. Busy in a basket, this bunch.

Yesterday, MM and I decided it was time to take them into the world to meet an important family member who lives a short distance away. My mother’s old craft basket had been perfectly sized for the last two weeks. My how things change in fourteen short days. Twenty pounds of squirming Wook-lets is something to see.

Of course, there was considerable yipping and yapping.

“She’s on my head.”

“Tiger, move over.”

“Ewww…. Bingo peed.”

Listening to their complaints, we drove the short distance while I held the basket on my lap. Wookie sat nicely in the back seat, as she always does. Being a true lady, she has the best manners. I wish she’d teach Oliver a thing or too.

We were visiting a place where life passes right outside the front door, while few residents even notice. No overhead music plays, but then, few would hear it anyway. The place is beautifully decorated, modern, and clean. At first glace, some might think it would be a lovely place to live out the golden years, until one tries to live there. A place to slip away while staying safe and warm. A Rest Home, as they used to be called in the 1900’s.

In the case of our beloved person, we’ll refer to it as a Rehabilitation Center. The intention was for a healing to occur and strength to return. Those things did happen and our beloved is coming home tomorrow. Her world is rainbows and lollipops as she gets ready to return home surrounded by friends and family that love her. We’re springing her from the joint and its all happening tomorrow!

MM and I had one shot at showing off the Wook-lets while sharing their magic. After signing in, the ten of us moved through the great room where three residents were sleeping by the fireplace. Turning left, walk straight ahead until you take another left at the end.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The door was locked.

A quick phone call produced an unanswered ring tone on the other side of the door.

It was then we realized what day it was.

Thursday.

Bingo at 1:00.

“Bingo, please stay in the basket.” (Our loved had named the first puppy Bingo, after her favorite activity.)

BINGO!!!!

Here we were with nothing better to do than carry around some Wook-lets in a basket, and SHE had a hot BINGO date at the Senior Center.

We did consider taking the puppies to the Center, but quickly decided it would cause such an uproar, that safety issues for everyone involved might arise. The little Wook-lets, now ready for their afternoon meal, continued to complain.

“I’m too hot. Yip.”

“I’m too cold. Yap.”

“She stepped on my tail. Yip. Yap.”

It was time to head back home. These cranky critters needed a nip and a nap.

As we were signing out, an associate at the desk noticed Wookie. How can you miss a dog that smiles???? She’s one of a kind. Well, like a magic act, the blanket on the basket was removed, revealing our little friends.

Yesterday was the first time I’ve witnessed puppy therapy at work. Four very stressed and tired employees all gathered around to stroke some puppy fluff and get their dose of puppy breath. Some powerful healing occurred in those few minutes as each employee cuddled their fragile little friend close to their heart. It wasn’t lost on me that each of these kind people held their Wook-let in the most gentle and sweet way. I now understand puppy therapy. It should occur at every business on the hour. Many problems would be solved while holding puppies.

After a few minutes, tails were counted, everyone was back in the basket, and we were on the roll. Rather fun. MM and I aren’t the ones convalescing from a fall. We’re relatively young in comparison, and able to do as we choose. We’re the ones taking care of household chores and shopping. Doing a little of this. Completing a little of that.

All the while, Miss It was out on the town enjoying a hot day of Bingo. So wonderful. I hope she won a bunch!

Whatever you do today, think of a way to brighten the day of an elder or their caregivers. Many places exist just like the one I described. Beautiful on the outside. Tucked just behind the Starbucks and quite out of sight. Find one. Meet the director. Visit the residents. You can brighten someone’s day even if you don’t have a puppy to share. Your smile will do it. Have a wonderful weekend.

I’ll be back on Monday with lots to share.