Category: 2024

As December days go by, we are patiently waiting for snow. As a warm weather transplant, the first snow of the year is always a special day. It just might be later today as it’s now falling on Donner Pass.

The very first year as a Virginia City homeowner, I hadn’t tired of winter snow. I was enjoying all the seasons, which were pronounced and definite. The Central Valley of California has two seasons — burning hot and fog. The skies are usually a dull grey, even on nice spring days. From late May until October, the mercury can hover in the 100’s and then the foggy season begins.

The fog isn’t just a light marine layer of fog, but dense Tule Fog. So dense that when driving in it, cars appear before you have time to hit the brakes. Every year, people die in the fog and feel like they are going to die in the heat.

This——

Or this——

Here on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada, the weather is pretty close to perfect for me. There are four distinct seasons. Spring can be sprinkled with late snow. Summer days are hot but the evenings cool down to a comfortable temperature great for gardening. The cottonwoods and aspens give a brilliant show in the fall. And then, there is winter.

Winter in the desert is nothing to fool with. Black ice can kill you if your taking a curve while hitting it. Almost invisible, it causes many to lose control of their cars. Then, there are multiple snow storms during the season. It’s one of those we’re awaiting. After all, what’s Christmas if its not white???

As for the gardens of Winterpast, I must admit, I haven’t been out to see what’s going on in a while. The rose bushes stand frozen in time. The last blooms fade in the Autumn sun as they were when the frost hit with a magical beauty all their own. Soon, it’ll be time to prune. HHH and I look forward to practicing skills learned this year while taking the Master Gardener course.

It’s time to assess projects for early spring. We need to refresh the decomposed granite walkways. Brickwork around the lawn and flower beds might be a consideration. We need a truckload of new rock to mulch our flowerbeds. (Yes, rock is considered a type of mulch in the desert — so strange this land where we live). Two trees may be removed. Any time one considers taking out a 20-year-old tree, there better be a good reason. Unfortunately, these are sick and not expected to recover. Hard decisions will need to be made.

This year Winterpast will get a facelift with some new paint. And then, the debate about fencing the front yard continues. When sharing the desert with wild mustangs, barriers are important. There’s no point in spending hundreds of dollars on new plants when wild horses show up in the night to eat them. The fencing debate continues.

A soft fresh covering of snow is the most beautiful look for Winterpast. Every day things take on a new and magical look. The inches of snow are measurable on the outdoor table. Last year, the biggest storm dropped 17″, all gone in a week. Snow in the desert is like that.

Wherever you are today, I hope you have clear blue Autumn skies. The winter solstice is just around the corner. Take some time to consider what changes you’d like to make in your yard next year. Fall is a great time to plan for a beautiful spring. It will be here before we know it.

On Christmas Eve, 1914, the Western Front of World War I was a place of desolation. Trenches stretched for miles, and the air was thick with cold and tension. Yet, as night fell, something extraordinary happened—a moment of humanity that has resonated through the ages. It was in this unlikely setting that the timeless carol “Silent Night” became a bridge between enemies, a song of peace that transcended the horrors of war

The Christmas Truce of 1914 stands as one of history’s most poignant examples of shared humanity. For months, soldiers from opposing sides had been locked in brutal combat. But as Christmas approached, whispers of a ceasefire began to spread. On that frosty night, the guns fell silent, and an unexpected calm took hold. From the trenches came an unfamiliar sound—singing.

“Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,” the German soldiers sang, their voices carrying through the frigid air. British soldiers, startled but moved, recognized the melody. It was “Silent Night,” a Christmas carol they recognized from home. Slowly, they joined in, their voices mingling across the no-man’s-land that had separated them. In that moment, music replaced the sound of artillery, and a profound stillness descended over the battlefield.

“Silent Night,” composed in 1818 by Franz Xaver Gruber with lyrics by Joseph Mohr, had already become a beloved Christmas hymn by the early 20th century. Its gentle melody and message of peace connected men from different cultures. That night on the front lines, it became a universal language. Soldiers who moments earlier had been shooting at each other now found themselves united in song, their voices rising in a fragile harmony against the backdrop of a fractured world.

The carol’s verses, speaking of a holy night and the hope of salvation, brought an almost sacred stillness to the battlefield. Men emerged cautiously from their trenches, meeting in the middle of no-man’s-land. They exchanged small gifts—chocolates, cigarettes, buttons—and even played impromptu games of football. For a brief moment, the war was forgotten, and what remained was a sense of shared humanity that defied the boundaries of conflic

It is almost impossible to grasp the emotional weight of that night. The contrast between the devastation of war and the quiet beauty of “Silent Night” must have been overwhelming. Imagine the stillness of that holy night, the way the carol’s melody might have stirred memories of home and loved ones. For the soldiers, it must have been a moment of aching clarity—a fleeting glimpse of what life could be without the ravages of war.

Reflecting on that night, we are reminded of the power of music to connect us, even in the saddest circumstances. “Silent Night,” a song born from modest beginnings in a small Austrian village, became a beacon of hope on a battlefield. It transcended language and ideology, speaking directly to the hearts of those who heard it. That night, it was not just a song—it was a prayer for peace, a yearning for the world to be whole again.

Today, as we sing “Silent Night” during the holiday season, it’s worth pausing to reflect on its legacy. The same melody that once brought peace to a battlefield still carries a message of hope and goodwill. It reminds us that, no matter our differences, we are all connected by our shared humanity. And perhaps, if we let its message linger in our hearts, it can inspire us to create our own moments of peace—moments that echo the spirit of that remarkable night in 1914.

December 16th is a date that sits perfectly on the edge of the Christmas season, where the festive spirit is undeniable, yet the full holiday rush hasn’t entirely taken hold. It’s a special day to celebrate a birthday—a day when the warm glow of the season adds an extra layer of magic. Or, in my case, a day where I politely dodge the pressure to party like it’s 1999.

As a December 16th baby, you’re naturally part of a season steeped in nostalgia, lights, and togetherness. The Christmas tree might already be up, twinkling in the corner. There’s likely a faint scent of pine in the air and the promise of hot cocoa or mulled wine later in the day. If snow graces the ground, it’s the cherry on top, turning the birthday backdrop into something straight out of a holiday card. But let’s be real: the birthday cake is already fighting for attention against gingerbread cookies, eggnog, and Aunt Martha’s inexplicably green holiday Jell-O.

Sneaking to the computer at dark-thirty this morning, how surprised I was to find HHH has other ideas about birthdays. Right next to the key-board, (where I spend hours each morning), he had placed the sweetest card and present, just for me. One of HHH’s great qualities is his ability to make every day special, but he went the extra mile to surprise me this morning!

After sharing time with HHH, I found a thoughtful card from a person I’ve known longer than anyone in this world. Miss Song Bird had sent a lovely birthday wish. With six months time between our ages, she already entered her last year as a sexagenarian. It will be strange to begin a new decade next year. I plan to suck the life out of the 60s while I still can.

As much as I appreciate the thoughtfulness of others, I’ve never been one to enjoy celebrating my birthday. Maybe it’s the timing, so close to Christmas that it feels more like a dress rehearsal for the big day than a moment just for me. Or maybe it’s the idea of being the center of attention that gives me flashbacks to every awkward childhood “Happy Birthday” song.

Whatever the reason, today I prefer to let the day pass quietly, finding joy in the little things rather than grand gestures. Later today, HHH and I will join others for our third Griefshare meeting. It’s hard to believe it was three weeks ago that we wondered who would join us on this journey. Last week, we were six. Hopefully, we’ll gain a few more people today. If you have a program in your area, check into it.

There’s a poetic connection between a December 16th birthday and the broader themes of the season. Winter often represents a time of reflection and renewal, a pause before the new year begins. It’s an opportunity to embrace the stillness, to appreciate simplicity, and to find beauty in the little things in life. Or, you know, to binge-watch holiday rom-coms with zero shame while eating an entire cheese platter meant for four.

So, if your December 16th birthday aligns with the holiday season, let it remind you of the joys that this time offers: the warmth of home, the kindness of loved ones, and the quiet moments that often hold the most meaning. Embrace the day—or don’t. Because whether you spend it wrapped in tinsel or wrapped in a blanket, it’s uniquely yours, and that’s worth celebrating (quietly, of course).

More tomorrow

As a child, I attended a small German church nestled in the middle of the bread basket of the world, Central California. Today, the stately structure still stands quietly amid a crumbling country town. Since the early 1900s, it’s been the center of every major family event of the Volga German Christians living in the area. My parents, aunts and uncles, and cousins were all married there. Babies were baptized. Families said “Goodbye” to loved ones.

The bell tower was always a curiosity, yet I never braved the narrow stairs to check it out. The early community knew what each pattern of dongs meant. One set of rings meant a wedding, another signaled that church was about to begin. This wasn’t a preprogrammed AI-generated announcement, but produced by the bell-ringer who was a very real person. Before the memorial service for my 92-year-old father, the bell rang 92 times, once for each year of his life.

Upon entering the church, I remember being greeted by the warmth of the space. The air smelled of old wood and candle wax mingled with the faintest hint of pine. Simple wooden pews lined the room, their surfaces worn smooth by decades of worshippers. Stained glass windows cast colorful patterns on the stone floor, their designs depicting nativity scenes that glowed softly in the fading sunlight. The room was silent, save for the faint rustle of wind outside and the quiet hum of something timeless lingering in the air.

Each Sunday, the service started with the first delicate notes of a familiar hymn. A small choir of voices rose in unison from a corner near the altar, their melody pure and hauntingly beautiful. When the Christmas season arrived, “O Come All Ye Faithful” filled the room, each verse swelling with a reverence that seemed to transcend time. I stood still, captivated by my mother’s beautiful voice. There was something wonderful about the way the hymn echoed in the room, wrapping itself around me like a warm embrace.

Singing old hymns today stirs memories from my childhood—Christmas Eves spent with my family, sitting together in the living room as the fire crackled in the hearth. Singing Christmas carols while my mom played the piano, the words connecting us to something far greater than ourselves. In our little chapel, that sense of unity and wonder was nurtured for years assuring that beautiful traditions would never fade away.

This church was built by Volga German immigrants decades earlier, a labor of love creating a new home in a foreign land. They brought hymns, customs, and faith, weaving them into the fabric of California’s cultural landscape. “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” was a hymn that crossed oceans and centuries, just as those early settlers had. My earliest memories are of the old Germans sitting in the front row while singing the song in their native tongue. Mysterious to a little one that could barely sing the song in English.

The last time I sat with my family, I quietly sang along. My voice was unsteady at first, but soon blended with others, carried by the same unseen force that filled the room. “O come, let us adore Him,” we sang as the words floated up to touch the heavens.

When the hymn ended, the silence returned, but the church was somehow thick with peace and the lingering echoes of something eternal. Sitting in one of the pews, I let the moment settle into my heart while time seemed to stand still.

As I left the church all those Christmas’ ago, I felt a quiet sense of joy, as though I’d been given a gift. The strains of “O Come, All Ye Faithful” stay with me, a reminder that some things—faith, music, tradition—can transcend time and place. Decades later, I still think of that little German chapel nestled in the vineyards of Central California and the hymn that connected me to a world both past and present. Every Christmas, when I hear those familiar notes, I’m transported back to that sacred space, where voices blended in perfect harmony.

Grief is like the wind: invisible, yet powerful. It touches every part of us, sweeping through our hearts and minds, while shaping our lives in ways we never expected. Like the wind, grief is something that can be difficult to understand, yet it’s deeply felt. It can feel wild and untamed, or soft and silent, but it moves through us in its own way, often when we least expect it.

Just as the wind doesn’t announce its arrival, grief often comes quietly, without warning. One moment, there’s a sense of normalcy, and the next, we find ourselves caught in a gust of emotion not anticipated. A gentle breeze, barely noticeable at first, it can become a storm leaving us reeling. Or it may arrive as a sudden gust, strong and fierce, knocking us off our feet and leaving us in a tearful heap.

But much like the wind, grief changes, ebbing and flowing. This shifting nature of grief makes it hard to navigate. There’s no clear timeline or guaranteed path to healing. It takes its own course, sweeping us through moments of clarity and confusion, strength and vulnerability. We don’t GET OVER grief, but move THROUGH it.

The wind also carries with it a sense of connection to something bigger than ourselves. When we feel the breeze against our skin, we are reminded that we are part of something vast—an endless sky, an open field, an expansive ocean. Similarly, grief reminds us of our connection to what we’ve lost and what we still hold dear. Just as the wind touches everything in its path, grief touches everything in our lives, sometimes leaving us with a sense of emptiness, other times helping us find strength we never knew we had.

And like the wind, grief doesn’t ask for permission. It doesn’t wait for the right moment, nor does it obey our wishes. Yet, with time, we learn to understand its rhythm. Sometimes we welcome its presence, knowing it’s part of the process. Other times, we may fight it, hoping that if we can control it, we can avoid the discomfort. No matter how we respond, the wind will continue to blow, and so will grief. It will shape us, change us, and in time, teach us to move with it, instead of against it.

There are days when the wind feels too strong, too overwhelming. The gusts of grief seem to be more than we can bear. But like the wind, grief will eventually pass. We may never forget what it has carried away, but with time, we find new ways to live with it. And just as the wind can calm and settle into a peaceful breeze, so too can our hearts find moments of stillness after the storm of grief.

It’s also important to remember that wind can be a source of renewal. After a storm has passed, the air is often clearer, the world quieter, as if everything has been reset. Grief, in its own way, has this power too. In the wake of loss, we may find new perspectives, deeper connections, and a stronger sense of what truly matters. Just as the wind can refresh the earth, grief can renew our spirits, helping us grow in ways we never anticipated.

So, as we stand in the winds of grief, we may find comfort in knowing that, like the wind, it will change. There will be days when it feels calm and still, and others when it picks up again. And through it all, we will continue to grow, adapt, and find peace in the quiet moments between the gusts. Grief, like the wind, is a natural part of life—a force that, though invisible, shapes us in ways that are both challenging and beautiful.

The holiday season is full of traditions, many woven into our childhood memories. One tradition that stands out, year after year, is the beloved classic A Charlie Brown Christmas. I watched this show every year as a kid and then shared it with my own children years later. This timeless special delivers warmth, joy, and a dose of holiday spirit to all who watch it.

When A Charlie Brown Christmas first aired on December 9, 1965, no one knew it would remain relevant for decades. There’s something magical about how it captures the essence of Christmas with such simplicity. The animation is charming while the story is refreshingly simple as Charlie Brown ponders the true meaning of Christmas. His frustrations with the commercialization of the holiday are relatable in a way that only he can express.

The absence of special effects or over-the-top holiday antics are part of its enduring charm. Instead, it leans into the quiet moments of Christmas. The warmth of family, the importance of community, and, the magic of a simple Christmas tree remain the focus here.

The music of Vince Guaraldi’s iconic jazz score is a key part of the experience. The soft melody is the perfect soundtrack to a cozy winter evening. This reminds me of simpler times when the holiday was about reflection AND celebration. The heart warming music allows me to settle into the spirit of Christmas.

The soundtrack holds another memory for me. While writing with my 3rd graders so long ago, the notes of Vince’s soundtrack would play softly in the background. One little girl reported that the music helped pull the words from her brain, through her pencil and fingers, and onto the paper. Oy. Vey. How I miss those days with my room full of brilliant writers.

In a world that often feels too busy and too loud, take a moment to pause and enjoy stillness while reflecting on the simple joys of the season. Charlie Brown, Snoopy, Linus, Lucy, and the rest of the Peanuts gang show us the beauty of finding meaning in even the smallest moments. As “Christmas Time Is Here” plays in the background and the focus turns to that sad little tree adorned with a single ornament, we’re reminded that even the most imperfect things can be transformed with a little love. That’s what Christmas is all about.

So, whether you’re watching it alone with a cup of hot cocoa or with family gathered around the TV, “A Charlie Brown Christmas” is more than just a holiday special. It’s a tradition, a source of nostalgia, and a heartfelt reminder of the values that truly make this season magical.

Oy. Vey.

It’s been such a lovely little holiday around our quiet town. That is until Wednesday when the peace and quiet came to a screeching halt. With only three school days left until winter break, our town suffered a terrible blow coming from one insane 19-year-old — a double stabbing of both parents resulting in the death of one.

Wednesday began as any other day. For weeks, HHH and I had planned a day in the biggest little city to the west of us. We’d planned to visit the mall, hunt for meat at a mega grocery store, visit our jeweler friend, and enjoy lunch at Jersey Mike’s. In the evening, we’d take Miss B around town to “OOOhhh” and “Ahhhh” at the beauty of the Christmas lights around town.

Plans are great until they don’t quite work out. The largest retail store in the mall was a huge disappointment. With merchandise rumpled and thrown around, even finding a man’s shirt became impossible. It was surprising how many associates crowded around the fragrance counter, all shoving small papers drenched in cologne in my direction. Not even one smelled $100 nice, most smelling of rubbing alcohol. No wonder there’s not much dating going on with Millenials.

At the other large store the furnace and the escalator taking people to the Men’s department on the 2nd floor were broken. The elevator made strange groaning sounds as we went up. It seemed to be on the verge of breaking, as well.

Once upstairs, the men’s department was in total disarray, just like the other store. One week before Christmas at 10:30 in the morning! It’d be great to visit a clean store selling un-rumpled merchandise. At this point, I’m sticking with Amazon. At least the merchandise received is usually folded.

The rest of the morning went well, until we returned to a massive traffic jam. The school had just announced that after the day’s “lock-down”, parents could retrieve their children. There’d be no busing due to the manhunt for the 19-year-old murderer who remained on the run.

All night, helicopters searched a large open area. Periodically the killer’s phone would ping, prompting more police, drones, and dogs. As the temperature dropped into the low 20’s, there was no sign of the 6’4″ murderer. Barefoot, in red sweatpants and a dark shirt, it seemed he’d disappeared into thin air. All night, the community sat on the edge. On the police scanner, over 5,000 listened intently for updates.

A few rumors I’ve heard…

When 6, he tried to smother a friend with a pillow at a sleepover.

In 3rd grade, his favorite movie was “The Shining”. He named his dog Red Rum (turn the letters around).

Violent for years, his parents weren’t able to find appropriate help for their mentally ill child. Now, after receiving lethal stab wounds (too numerous to count) their son was running to save his own life.

Grief comes from all kinds of loss. Today, I grieve for the innocence lost at 11:00 am on Wednesday, December 17. I pray for the police, dogs, and pilots who worked tirelessly to find the killer and safely arrest him, restoring some peace to our town.

Yesterday, the hunt ended a little after 2 pm. The killer, (warming himself in a woman’s coat), was found hiding in the rafters of a local barn. Cold and spent, he was whisked away to the hospital for observation. Hopefully, he’ll never see another day of freedom in his life, the price that must be paid for his heinous actions.

Please pray for us in our little desert town. We’re small town folks reeling from the actions of a mentally-ill monster. In 2024, no one is safe from the insanity of evil-doers. Not even my dusty little town on a wide spot next to the interstate on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada.

Mary, did you know that your baby boy
Would one day walk on water?
Mary, did you know that your baby boy
Would save our sons and daughters?
Did you know that your baby boy
Has come to make you new;
This Child that you delivered
Will soon deliver you?

Mary, did you know that your baby boy
Will give sight to a blind man?
Mary, did you know that your baby boy
Would calm a storm with His hand?
Did you know that your baby boy
Has walked where angels trod,
And when you kiss your little baby
You’ve kissed the face of God?

The blind will see, the deaf will hear,
The dead will live again,
The lame will leap, the dumb will speak
The praises of the Lamb!

Mary, did you know that your baby boy
Is Lord all creation?
Mary, did you know that your baby boy
Will one day rule the nations?
Did you know that your baby boy
Was Heaven’s perfect Lamb,
And the sleeping Child you’re holding
Is the great, the Great I AM?

Oh, Mary, Mary, did you know?

Christmas hymns evoke deep emotions while reminding us of the reason we celebrate this special holiday. This particular song has become a holiday classic, echoing through churches, homes, and car radio stations. Its haunting melody and thought-provoking lyrics not only center on the Christmas story. We’re also invited to remember the mystery of the birth of Jesus through the eyes of His mother, Mary.

What new parents can begin to foresee all the blessings and trials their newborn will experience? Mary and Joseph had been told THIS baby’s future by angels. Most of us look forward to our little one’s first step. None of us know what it would be like to have a child that can walk on water.

With its gentle and powerful delivery, “Mary, Did You Know?” doesn’t just tell the story of Christmas—it asks us to reflect on its deeper meaning. As the lyrics unfold, we’re reminded that Jesus grew up to perform miracles, heal the sick, and eventually lay down His life for humanity.

What makes “Mary, Did You Know?” so special is its universal message. Whether you’re singing along in church, reflecting on the song during the holiday season, or simply listening on a quiet evening, the song touches something deep within. It’s a reminder that Christmas isn’t just about gifts and festivities but about recognizing the significance of that holy night in Bethlehem, when God sent His Son into the world in the most humble way imaginable. As the years have passed, each rendition of the song provides a new opportunity to reflect on faith, hope, and the love that Mary felt for her son.

In an often busy and distracted season, “Mary, Did You Know?” brings us back to the heart of Christmas. Whatever you do today, take a minute to reflect on the awe and wonder Mary and Joseph must have felt in that stable while they cradled the child who would change the world. This song not only celebrates the birth of Jesus but invites us to marvel at the divine mystery of it all.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, in Winterpast at home,

Soaking in the hot tub, praying for world-wide Shalom.

Two stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

One for my husband, and one for me were there.

Oliver nestled asleep in his crate,

Wookie snoring on the bed, both dogs doing great.

Later dried, watching movies, our nest feelin’ right

We finally dozed off for restful sleep in the night

When my cell phone did rumble and ding with a clatter

From my Bestie, CC, checking on me with chatter.

Through words we shared events of the day,

Promising tomorrow a call to check in and say “Hey”.

With the stars brightly shining, true beauty shone through

The journey through grief no longer making us blue.

With sleep not appearing while we tried to relax,

The cell phone complained, our quiet now cracked.

A friend from afar, “Merry Christmas” to say

A surprise of the best kind, better than gifts on a sleigh.

“Everything now brighter, we’ll remember the good.

Sleep well, time’s healed all, as we prayed it would.”

Faith, Hope, and Love, we reflect on tonight.

Santa is great, but to these things hold on tight.

Our journey through life holds beauty, it’s true

There’s Hope for tomorrow, Love helps Faith blooms anew.

When HHh shook me to check just once more for good measure,

My husband and best friend, a man quite treasured.

Christmas tomorrow? Could he cook ham for Miss Lazy?

“Can we speak tomorrow?”

Wait….. What???????

Am I crazy?????

After a good night’s sleep, we’ll not feel so frumpy,

No time for the blues or being down in the dumpy.

Tomorrow we’ll smile and get Christmas just right

With Faith, Hope, and Love, our spirits will take flight.

Down with past sadness, self-pity, and blues.

Up with carols, treats, and friendships true.

Love to Auntie, Goddess, and Miss Firecracker, loved so

When troubled about life, to you I go.

Thanks Daughter, Alu Angel, and CC, too,

I truly love my Christmas angels, You!

Hearts smiling, we’ll enjoy a great dinner, bright.

My Mysterious Marine will season everything just right.

So Dash Away, Dash Away, Dash Away all.

Off to the grocery store, down to the mall.

Finish the wrapping with ribbons and bows,

With love for each other, happiness grows.

I send you this, My Christmas wish true,

Merry Christmas, Dear Friends, with love to you.

Thank you for finding interest in Grievinggardener while helping me get through this crazy journey called life. Your steady love, friendship, and prayers help me to grow every day. Life is the most beautiful journey of all.

Merry Christmas to you all.

As the festive season fills the air with joy, I wanted to take a moment to express my deepest gratitude to each one of you. Christmas is a time for reflection, for counting our blessings, and for celebrating the connections we’ve made. I am truly grateful for the incredible community of readers who have followed and supported my blog.

Your engagement, your kind words, and your shared enthusiasm have been the driving force behind everything I do here. It’s not just the views or the numbers that matter, but the conversations, the insights, and the moments of connection that we’ve shared throughout the year. Whether you’ve been with me from the beginning or you’ve just recently joined, your presence means the world to me.

My wish for all of you this holiday season is that you find joy, peace, and love in abundance. May your celebrations be filled with warmth and laughter, and may you take the time to reflect on the blessings in your own life, just as I am doing now. Here’s to more exciting adventures, stories, and shared moments in the coming year!

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

With all my gratitude,

Joy