Grieving Gardener

‘Twas two nights before Christmas, in Winterpast I was home,

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

One stocking was hung by the chimney with care,

Sewn by me when two boys on my lap were still there.

Oliver nestled asleep in his crate,

Dreamin’ of doggie treats and how they’d taste great.

Later dried, watching movies, my nest feelin’ just right

I’d just snoozed 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 to chatter.

Through all of our words we shared events of the day,

The next day promising a call to check in and say “Hey”.

With the star brightly shining, true happiness shone through

Two foggy years in the wilderness, widow’s journey almost through.

With sleep not appearing while I tried to relax,

The cell phone complained, my quiet now cracked.

Just Sweet Daughter checking from so far away.

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

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

Sleep well, time heals all as we knew it would.”

Hope, Faith, and Trust, I reflect on tonight.

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

My journey through life holds beauty, it’s true

There’s Hope for tomorrow, Trust that Faith blooms anew.

When the phone complained again, just once more for good measure,

Mysterious Marine checked in. A man quiet treasured.

Company tomorrow? Dinner cooked up for Miss Lazy?

“Can you check tomorrow?”

Wait….. What???????

Am I crazy?????

After a night’s sleeping, I’m not feeling as frumpy,

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

Today will be one to get Christmas just right

With Hope, Faith, and Love, my spirit takes flight.

Down with the sadness, self pity, and blues.

Up with carols, treats, and friendships true.

Thanks CC, Thanks Miss Firecracker, both of you know

When troubled about life, to you I go.

Thanks Daughter, TJ, and Cambria Goddess, too,

What would I do without my Christmas angels, You?????

Heart smiling, I’ll enjoy a great dinner tonight.

The 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 my writing while helping me get through my third Christmas as a widow. Your steady love, friendship, and prayers are helping me grow every day. Life is the most beautiful journey of all.

Merry Christmas to you all.

Joy

There are those things that go thump in the night giving one cause for pause. Here at Winterpast, random things have fallen over. Like the tea pot on the cupboard above my counters. Toppled right over in the night. Auntie TJ’s beautiful painting fell right off the nail that was holding it up with a crash in the night. Random things that I’m choosing to ignore as random. For now.

I learned my lesson a year ago. That night, CC and I were chatting about the latest happenings here in the high desert when there was an alarming noise outside. A thud? No. A slide? No. Not a bang or a snap, either. A dull noise made by something very, very big. Alarmed, I stopped the conversation and listened for a bit, finally writing off the event to something I thought I heard. It couldn’t have been real. I must have been imagining things.

A few nights went by, with quiet being the signature sound coming from my neighborhood. It’s so quiet, either in the day or night, that I can hear my heart beat in the silence. Rarely do I hear a stray voice or the sound of a hedge trimmer or hammer. Just silence. I’m often awakened in the night by the far away sounds of a lonely train zipping through town or Jake Brakes on the interstate. Once in awhile, a stray Top Gun jet might fly over on its way to home base, or a life flight helicopter racing someone to the hospital in the next town over. No barking dogs or bickering neighbors. Just peace and quiet.

Stray noises of the unusual kind do stand out, and sure enough, on the next very dark night there was something very large right outside my bedroom window. Moving about, it was enough of sound that I grabbed the flashlight to find out, once and for all, what would be making this noise on my property, right next to my bedroom window.

After turning on my extremely bright porch lights while Oliver barked loudly, I proceeded outside, turning left to walk in front of my studio window. In the total darkness of night I saw nothing, which made me hold the Mag Flashlight as a weapon. Whatever was there would receive a bit of a headache if an attack occurred.

It was then that not just one but two mustangs came around the corner of my house. But of course!!! The Mustangs!!! The corner of my fence and house make the perfect manger/windbreak. Relieved it wasn’t someone wanting to do me harm, I backed away, encouraging them to move on down the road. The quiet clippity-clop of their hooves on the asphalt roadway fit the night as they disappeared into the darkness. They’d need to find another place to shelter for the night. No room at Winterpast.

How lucky I am to enjoy Winter in a place so safe that I venture into the night to investigate a noise. What a blessing to live with majestic animals like the mustangs that choose us as their neighbors. Although I’m pretty sure I heard them grumbling as they left, I hope there were no hard feelings. They’ll be back soon.

As for the toppling trinkets, things have settled. Here in the desert, we’re built on sand. Sometimes things shift a little. Thank goodness not as much as they just shifted in Humboldt County, California. Those folks need our prayers as they clean up from the recent earthquake. It’s a place unlike the California you see on the nightly news. A conservative haven in a state riddled with confusion. May they get back to normal soon.

Whatever you do today, do it with some cheerful thoughts of the Christmas to come and holidays past. Unless it’s something 1,000 lbs. or more, or a 6.2 earthquake, try not to get rattled by things that go thump in the night. Investigate by the light of the day. It’s safer.

Only 2 more days until the real fun begins. Go ahead. Start celebrating early. That’s what I plan to do.

More tomorrow.

Astronomically speaking, the first day of winter is today. Meteorologically speaking, the first day of winter is December 1st. In the desert, it seems winter starts a little earlier than that. It seems much colder this year. Perhaps that’s because my old bones are a year older. It’s certainly not because I’m any less padded. Oh well, my Grandfather used to say a woman needs extra padding to make it through a hard winter. If that’s the case, I’ll surely survive a few more even if the power goes out.

Today we observe the Winter Solstice. It’s the day with the shortest number of daylight hours and the longest night. To my Alaskan readers I can only say that I don’t know how you do it. It’s hard enough to get everything done in 9 daylight hours. You folks get it done in a little over 5 hours. To my readers in the Southern Hemisphere, chuckle on. I know you’re basking in summers warm temps. You’ll get your turn at winter in a few months.

The winter and summer solstice refer to the shortest and longest days of the year while the spring and autumn equinoxes fall on days with the same amount of day and night hours. For me, the winter solstice is when I say Goodbye to my favorite time of year, while marching towards the longer days of spring. For me, it’s the long winter nights that are a bit trying. Until last night.

For years, I’ve been developing the ideal bed. One-third of our lives are spent sleeping. Add a few more for retirement napping. It should be peaceful and cocoon-y, not tossed and turned like a green salad. Slowly, I’ve amassed the right number of down pillows, a down comforter, and a mattress that can flip into zero gravity with the press of a button. I was still missing the main component. Sheets.

I remember the days of my mother hanging her sheets on the clothes line to dry. Farmers were the original “Green” inhabitants of this world. The sheets would smell sunshine fresh when we crawled into bed. Laundry was another big detail that Mother handled masterfully with the help of her five minions. Even our pillow cases were freshly ironed every week. A proper German household she ran.

Over the past year, I’ve attempted to find sheets of olden days. In the 1900’s, sheets were sheets. The best quality sheets were percale cotton. They didn’t cost enough to break the bank. A boring part of life, you bought white cotton sheets that lasted decades. Use. Weekly wash and dry on the line. Use again. With each use, the sheets got softer and softer, but remained serviceable forever.

There was no such thing as fitted sheets at our house. WE all knew how to dress our beds in military style, tight with boxed corners. It had to meet with her approval. That’s just how it was done. For years. How I wish I had those sheets today.

Over the last year, I’ve come to one conclusion. No matter the amazing thread counts or promise of the finest cotton and finish, good sheets cost some dough. Sticker shock will get you if you’re not prepared.

Christmas time is a time for gifts. This year, I tried to gift myself a robot to vacuum my floors. It ate my Christmas tree skirt. Alexa already has control of the house, she doesn’t need any more gadgets to commander. At a bit of a loss, I’d almost given up on the idea, when I realized something I really needed. Sheets fit for Presidents. Royalty. And one widowed woman living in the wide spot of a dusty little road off the interstate on the high desert plains of Nevada. Me.

On the internet, you can find such luxuries. I did. I shopped a 40% off sale, settled on flannel, and pushed “Complete Purchase”.

When the box came, I couldn’t wait. I know. I know. It’s not Christmas yet. But it IS Christmas week. Slowly, I opened the exquisite packing box. Inside, there they were. The most beautiful flannel sheets in “Coastal Grandma” Buffalo plaid. Tan, Light Grey, and Beige. The stitching is perfection. The fabric, a herringbone weave of flannel. The weight just right. It’s as if I went back in time to the days that everything high quality was made in America. Well, not quite. These were made in Portugal from Egyptian cotton, but you get the idea. These sheets are 1900’s yummy.

Last night was the test run. I am here to report that the quest for great sheets is over. I have a winter set that will last much longer than I will. Mission accomplished.

Through the next three months, the trees of Winterpast will continue their deep sleep. Although they shudder in the high desert winds, any other sign of life is gone. Outlined with frosty snowflakes at times, the back yard takes on a different beauty. On full moon nights, the outlines of the trees make their ghostly appearance through my bedroom blinds. Eerie shadows dancing outside the bedroom window cause me to turn away as I fall asleep.

Winter on the desert includes another magical event as random and illusive as the mustangs. Pogonip. One day last year, while out walking, I noticed the air was sparkling with floating glitter. The beauty of the moment caught me off guard and I had to stop. Truly, I thought I’d lost my ever-lovin’ mind. The faintest sparkles were hanging in the air like tiny diamonds, while swirling this way and that. I didn’t mention it to anyone for awhile for surely I’d imagined it. After asking a local, I found it was real. It’s called pogonip, or freezing fog. I normally hate fog, but the next time this occurs I plan to Pachanga through the pogonip. The desert is a magical place, perfect for a Pachanga Party.

Winter holds time to think and redirect. Time to envision new garden plans. Time for soup and yummy hot dishes. Time to sleep a little later in the morning and turn in a little earlier each evening. Time to cuddle with photo albums and smile at the happy memories made so long ago. Time for new memories with someone very special. Winter is the loveliest of seasons.

Whatever you do today, enjoy the Winter Solstice. Have some hot chocolate while wrapping presents and listening to Christmas music. There are only a few more days until candlelight and celebrations. Enjoy!

More tomorrow.

Dear Joy,

It’s me.

You.

Right here, alive and well, albeit 46 years in the future. There are a few things I wish you could know right now as you begin your 21st year of life. Listening I know you are, as you always loved a great story. If only I could, I’d be the voice in your head, helping you make better choices along the way. But if that were so, I couldn’t have come up with all this great advice. You’ll take life and devour it on your own terms, even if you break down a few times on the road to 67.

In 1976, few understand the spirit of an independent woman. Keep on rebelling and questioning every bit of dogma the establishment throws your way. With few worthy mentors in your life, blaze your own trail, leaving others to shake their heads. Forget about the judgmental nay-sayers. If they’re talking about you, you’re doing something worth talking about. Something to live by.

Outwardly, keep being the good girl and fly under the radar. For Now. Keep watching and thinking. When the time is right bolt right out the gate, running as fast, free, and far as you can. Wide open spaces are what you need. They’ll be plenty of messy mistakes in which you’ll need room to heal and grow. You’ve been given the best foundation and soon you’ll find the need to fly with your own two wings.

Through the years, some mistakes will haunt you for a lifetime. Just remember, life isn’t black and white. Those grey areas are riddled with trip wires. You’ll give in when you should have gotten out. You’ll escape when your physical life is threatened. Under your heart, you’ll raise two human beings into fine young men that you’ll love more than yourself, even gifting them the very color of your eyes. For far too long, the past will hold you back until life propels you into the most wonderful future you could imagine.

All the while, you’ll have the luxury of a family that adores their little one, until you no longer need adoring because you are no longer adorable or little. By then, life will be your own.

Remember the pictures you used to draw of that magical place you’d never seen? Way out in the land of the setting sun where the wind blows wild and free? Deep in the heart of the Golden west, where the desert meets the hills? Where the moonbeams play in the shadowed Glen? It’s surely the loveliest place I know but it will take you a few decades to get there.

Living the rest of your life there, you’ll curse the wild horses when they poop in your own front yard, and then worry about them when they don’t come around. In that beautiful desert, you’ll choose your new family of friends carefully. You’ll find the God you thought you’d lost had carried you from some pretty bad fires. Don’t worry. Even when you think you’ve lost it all in a sea of despair, love will find you. Your story is one of happiness, and that includes the ending.

Through the decades between us, a few lifelong cornerstone friends will know when you need them, and you’ll know the same of them. Through the years, final earthly Goodbye’s will break your heart, but only because you loved so deeply. Life’s worthy trade off.

At times, your head will steer you in directions that make sense, add up, and look right. Your heart will lead in other directions that feel cozy and right for a while. But your own true North can be found by listening to the voice that comes from a much deeper place, speaking in quiet knowing tones. Find comfort and your truth in that voice. Listen, even if it takes all your strength to follow.

That voice will lead you to a high school reunion far in the future, where you’ll reunite with a true and dear heart-friend. Together, your life will bloom into one few in this world get to experience. With true love comes heartbreaking grief for one. A widow’s burden will be yours to bear, but not before you are safely home in the desert you will love so deeply.

You’ve had many dreams before and many more will come in your lifetime. Some will be irreparably broken. That’s just the way of life. One thing is certain. You don’t envision hollow dreams.

Do, in your own original way and time, what is YOU. If people are shocked, maybe they need shocking. Your story will always be a unique one, with only you knowing the plot twists that’ll eventually see you through. Be the courageous and strong woman your mother and father raised you to be. Be your own best friend, because in life, you’ll never find one more true.

You are worthy of the stars and the moon. Believe it. Somewhere far in the future, you’ll find that cabin on the lake with the golden sun setting just so as you write your next blog while the soup simmers on the stove. Loneliness will come and go, but a settled heart will get you through. Don’t abandon your will to meet the expectations of others. Your decisions are worthy of self-respect. Second guessing is a waste of time when, in reality, you just need to choose your next best steps.

Joy of 1976, you are a beautiful, thoughtful, and resourceful young woman. Your future adventures will give me material for books full of amazing stories we’ll share with the world. Go live your best life, as you will. Trust me. It’ll be an amazing and adventurous one. From far in the future, I look back wishing you peace and love at this beautiful time of year.

Merry Christmas.

Happy Monday Morning! With Christmas only days away, fun and excitement are in full swing here at Winterpast. The frigid weather has made staying inside to craft, and snack an easy choice. Winter is the best time of year for inside activities when one is retired.

Friday morning, an unexpected knock at the door alerted me to the delivery of one dozen of the most beautiful long stemmed roses I’ve ever received in my life! Not only are they beautiful, they’ve filled Winterpast with their rich fragrance. My Mysterious Marine started off the celebration of my birth in grand fashion with the delivery of flowers from the new little shop on Main. Four red ones for the months we have known each other and 8 pink ones to celebrate the Joy of the season. Sentimental guy he surely is.

Not yet finished with his plans, he created a complete dinner from scratch just for me. Filet Mignon, lobster tails cooked to perfection, Potatoes Au Gratin, fresh asparagus and freshly baked rolls. The entire dinner was on point and served with an exquisite red wine carefully selected from the Valleys of Napa. His favorite wine, and now, mine too.

The day was finished off with a most special gift. A golden St. Christopher medal to wear near my heart. This was the nicest birthday celebration of my 67 years, all done at his insistence because Everyone should have a wonderful birthday Every year. I must say, after this weekend, I see the error of my ways in the past.

Now that the birthday is in the rearview mirror for another year, it’s on to the REAL reason for the season. This week, I plan to cook myself a wonderful German dinner in memory of my Grandmother who left us two days before Christmas in a year decades past.

Throughout my childhood, my Grammie started preparing for Christmas early on. With plenty of grandchildren, she began making signature slippers, one pair for each of us. She had our colors down and would insist Grandpa stop everything for a ride to get town when she needed more yarn. Of course, that would include lunch at The Harvest House Restaurant which was a part of Woolworth’s dime store. Funny how things have changed. Now, we have the $1.25 Dollar Tree Store without any restaurant.

By Christmas Day, each Grandchild had an envelope and a pair of slippers. How she ever got the sizes right for each child was a puzzlement to me. With sixteen years of girls in our family alone, she had to count her stitches properly. Those slippers were a precious part of our Christmas.

Before Thanksgiving, she’d start making egg noodles with my mother and Aunts. After the mixing and rolling out of the dough, there would be noodles drying on the arm and back of every chair in her house. All the noodles were draped lovingly on top of the whitest tea -towels in the county. She needed enough noodles to share with her four daughters, saving enough for her Christmas Eve Chicken Noodle Soup, which was a feast of the simplest kind.

As mentioned earlier, the German Sausage was purchased from the correct butcher. There were cookies, candies, and coffee cake to bake. The week before Christmas the house was cleaned to perfection, with Grandpa taking over the chore of vacuuming. By Christmas Eve, everything was ready and family would stop by for a visit, as people did when living miles apart in the country. This was after the Christmas Eve service at the local church.

Holidays were the time of year when farmers had darn-well better be scrubbed, shaved, and combed. Their suits would be dusted off for the once-a-year event. Tractors and discs sat idle. Other than the critical morning and evening feeding of the livestock, farmers rested in my little corner of the universe. Except, of course, for the poor dairy families. For them, Christmas fit between milking and mucking.

Grammie was the kind of grandmother you ready about in books. Chubby and sweet, she was always a smiling with a listening ear. How I wish I had spent more time listening to the stories of a young immigrant wife with four little girls to raise. Her husband wasn’t blessed with sons, either. It didn’t matter much. In those days, the girls would need to do the work just as sons would have. Yes. I wish I had sat with her to listen more than I did.

This week, I plan to try my hand a few dishes remembered. This is a recipe for Kuchen, (coffee cake) that you might like to try. I find it fascinating that on a random search this very day, this recipe came up. Schwabenland was my mother’s maiden name. This recipe came from Christina Schwabenland. I’ll need to think on that little coincidence as I’m cooking later today. Thanks, Grammie. I needed the right recipe. ( Remembered with love, Elizabeth Goeringer Schwabenland — 1901 – 1981)

This recipe came from the internet submitted by Christina Schwabenland — a distant unknown relative

KUCHEN

Ingredients

• 2 cakes yeast
• 1 T sugar
• 1 C milk
• 1 cube butter
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1 tsp salt
• 4 1/2 cups of flour

Preparation

1. Dissolve 2 cakes yeast and 1 Tbls sugar in 1 cup lukewarm water.
2. Scald 1 cup milk then add 1 cube butter, 1/2 cup sugar, 1 tsp salt
3. When milk has cooled to 90 degrees, add 2 cups flour to make a batter.
4. Add yeast mixture mixture and 3 beaten eggs.
5. Beat well.
6. Add remaining 4-1/2 cups flour or enough to make a soft dough and knead well.
7. Let rise to double in size (about 2 hours)
8. Knead down and let rise again
9. Divide into portions.
10. Put into greased pans.
11. Let rise 45 minutes.
12. Spread on topping made of ; 1 egg, beaten, 2 Tbls sugar, 1 Cup sour cream thickened with flour.
13. Place berries or any fruit on top of this spread.
14. Top with rivals (crumbs); 1 cube butter, melted, 3/4 to 1 cup sugar, 2 cups flour, mix well.
15. Bake at 375 F to 400 F for 30 minutes or until golden brown.
16. This recipe makes 3 – 9×12″ coffee cakes or 6 – 9″ round.
17. This dough can also be used for beirocks or kraut burgers

I’m off to the store to get the ingredients. Dieting will wait until next week. This week, I need to make and bake coffee cakes, cookies, and candies. This is the week to enjoy the memories of Christmas’s past.

Whatever you do today, reflect on some fond memories of your own sweet elders. If we could only go back and sit for a time with them, stories would live again. If you are lucky enough to have elders at your side, don’t waste a single minute. Take time to LISTEN. They have so much to share.

More tomorrow.

Yesterday was a day full of caring and laughter between friends. In the course of a day, I was honored by some, a helpmate to a flu survivor, a listening ear for the lovelorn, and Thelma to my Louise. What a super way to spend the last day of my 66th year! I made it count.

Waking up this morning, I am grateful for every single minute that’s brought me to this very day. 67 years ago, with an entire countryside awaiting the birth of a BOY my poor farmer-dad already saddled with three girls, I came into the world. Not the BOY hoped for, certainly not an OTHER, just another little GIRL. Female. Biological Pre-Woman. Pink, feisty, and ready to give any BOY a run for his money.

There would eventually be five of us, with a cousin thrown in for good measure. Country girls with a 16 year spread between the oldest and youngest. My mom raised three separate families in her lifetime. The two older’s, the singlet, and the two younger’s. That’s enough to send any mother running off to the corners of the world on adventure. I’m so glad that in her later years, my mom was able to do that. My dad fulfilled her every dream over their 68 year love affair.

This picture was taken on a summer day at Auntie TJ’s house. The baby on the far left is my cousin, who was my bestie as we grew. I’m in the checked, bibbed overalls. No doubt the older’s were babysitting the littles. Three against three. We had the better odds on that deal, giving them a run for their money.

Throughout the decades, I’ve been blessed with adventures, love, and treasures beyond anything I’ve deserved. I’ve traveled the world by land, sea, and air. I’ve seen enough to know I live in the most amazing country in the world. I’ve shook hands with true heroes and had to find grit and determination when I thought I had run out of both. I’ve loved deeply and lost tragically. The best part of the entire deal is that life is mine to create until my last breath. Just the thought is down-right exhilarating.

After a beautiful day enjoying a little of this and a little of that, I had dinner with my “Louise”. From August to October, Louise and I taught across the hall from each other at a dusty little school house in the center of my dusty little town. Louise spreads light and laughter wherever she goes. Last night was my turn to laugh with her. Over Denny’s burgers she shared the latest eye-popping details of her days at work. I made the correct decision to return to retirement.

After finishing the last bite of our burgers, we went to Dollar Tree to find some bargains. She needed things for her classroom. I needed stocking stuffers for a very special Christmas morning just a week away.

In the middle of a random evening, at a random store, in a random aisle, I ran into the very person that now teaches the students I met with hope and vigor in August. My old class.

A 2022 version of Miss Teacher, her can-do attitude was refreshing. She’ll be the 3rd teacher of the year for this bunch. As she talked about her group, I smiled. The rest of their year will be amazing under her care. While she discussed the names of those that kept me up at night, she has everything dialed in. Those little whipper-snappers don’t have a chance. Their teacher has arrived.

Now, what are the chances that on a random evening, at a random store, in a random aisle, I would run into this lovely and capable teacher with Louise at my side to introduce us? Just what are those odds? Just another miracle allowing me to close that chapter while knowing my little friends are doing well. I made the best personal choices in both August and in October. If you don’t take a chance, you’ll never truly live your life to the fullest. Those eight weeks were an important chapter that had a wonderful beginning, an interesting plot, and and ending that became a poignant reminder of the passing of time. How lucky was I to have enjoyed the experience.

My night ended by conversing with my bestie, CC. She’s my rock. My go-to about anything and everything. No matter the messiness of our lives, we manage to clean things up and tie a bow on any problem life throws our way. We’ve shared the happiest of times and the lowest of lows. No matter how many miles lay between us, we are eternally connected by the deepest of friendships. If you are lucky to have one friend of that quality, you are lucky enough. Here I sit blessed with an abundance of great relationships.

Mysterious Marine has been plotting and planning for this very weekend. December birthdays are a real bother, except for THE December birthday. There are so many better things to celebrate than one old woman living in a dusty little town on a wide spot of the road. He seems to think differently on that one. After suffering through a pretty nasty virus, MM is regaining his strength and plans to delight me with an amazing dinner tonight. I am so very blessed.

Whatever you do today, call your oldest friend to say, “I love you.” If you are close enough, give them a big hug. Friendship is one of the true blessings in life. Cherish an old one. Make a new one. Now get to it, time’s a-wasting.

I’ll be back Monday.

In a small town, goodness glows, grows and flows. Such was the case last week when our pastor had a little more on his plate than usual. A curious donation appeared out of thin air. With no preparation or crew, 420 chickens arrived at the church. Oven ready, these birds weighed on average of 5 lbs. each. With at least one gallon of fluid in each bag of ten, the donation weighed over a ton. These chickens were professionally processed, frozen, and awaiting distribution.

Without knowing the history of the deal, the theater of the mind can run wild. It would be safe to say that the chickens became “Priority #1” the day they were delivered.

Our church serves the community in so many ways. Without going into the details, we are an active bunch that will take on any need and try to make things better. That’s the true purpose for any church. There are those churches in my community that are not visibly active. Their building sits on Main, with no activity save a few Bible meetings. Local churches should be “Love In Action”. Definitely a place to learn, but also a place to HELP and DO. In this day and age, a lot of Doing needs to be Done.

I can only tell you that a nice peaceful morning of reflection turned into a scramble to beat the clock. While the chickens were delivered on ice, that would only last awhile. A major distribution needed to be planned and executed, while the chickens sat nicely in nature’s refrigerator. Thank goodness for the coldest days of the year.

42 heavy duty boxes held one industrial strength food grade bag of 10 chickens. One box equaled 60 – 70 lbs. Each bag needed opening. Each chicken needed to be transferred to a 1-gallon zip lock bag. Just where was Mike Rowe when we needed him? This would prove to be a dirty job.

With faith that everything would turn out okay, our phone tree sprang to life. The word of the give away went out on Facebook. Volunteers showed up in their oldest clothing with latex gloves and plenty of bags. People brought their dollies to move heavy boxes. With the temperature that day hovering around 40 degrees, the chicken brigade went to work. Our goal — to unbox, re-bag, and box 200 chickens in one hour for the big give away. Each person would receive two beautiful oven ready lemon-pepper chickens. Quite a lofty goal.

Children were involved in the procedure, transporting newly packed boxes from the packaging area to the distribution center by red wagon. In sixty short minutes, all chickens were handled. Mission accomplished.

One volunteer had worked in a deli and had handled industrially packaged meats. I’d been slave labor while helping my family dispatch 100 farm-raised chicken for our family’s yearly need. As the youngest of our team, the Vivacious Veteran did all the heavy lifting. That day, she moved 1,000 lbs. for those of us that were a little older.

The Day of the Chicken was a huge success. No one became sick. The mess was kept to a minimum. One hundred local families received meat for the table. Our church completed another important task to finish out 2022.

Whatever you do today, think of some way you might help to feed local people in need. Hunger is real. At this expensive and cold time of year, plenty of kids go to bed without proper nourishment right in our own towns. Every grocery store in our town is collecting for food drives. Help if you can. There’s nothing better than a warm meal on a cold night. Above all else….remember…Eat Chicken.

More tomorrow.

If you’re truly retired, you’ll understand me when I ask, “How did I get everything done when I was working?” The never-ending list of “Must” and “Should” Do’s never comes to an end. Each day, the list seems to get longer. With no excuse to ignore these chores, on most days I find them to be boring. There must be some fun in life.

Without the ring of the morning school bell, my familiar schedule is gone. Free wheeling a day can be full of fun, or end up being a disoriented mess in which little is accomplished. As irretrievable minutes tick away, just what do I have to show for 2022? Lately, my sadness over the irretrievable past is foolish and is being replaced by new friends, schedules, hobbies, and activities.

Since my final entry into the world of retirement, I’ve needed to redesign the blueprints for the next phase of life. Desiring to rediscover my favorite activities and hobbies, I’ve been volunteering, while keeping up with family and friends. Writing has been a constant, but life holds more. I’m sure of that.

When VST died, a dense widow’s blurred my world. 2.5 years later, I’ve settled into a good life here at Winterpast. With a blank slate on which to write, both figuratively and literally, I’m finding myself. As you read this blog, please look to the archives. Grievinggardener.com began on September 24, 2000. It was the first piece of a structured life that has been my reason to get up at dark:30 almost every morning since. Writing was my cornerstone as I built a new life as a single woman.

Writing helped me keep things in perspective while I set goals and priorities. It kept me on track to accomplish tangible success. Words have explained what my journey has been like as with as much or little detail as I’ve chosen to share. With organization, a little thought, and zero money down, I started out on a literary journey that cradled my heart on many lonely nights. Writing allows my mind frolic freely in the meadow of new happiness while reminding me that I’m not yet free from life’s wilderness.

Since then, I schedule my day’s around writing. Being the most creative at 4 AM, my day begins there. Warm coffee in my cup and Oliver at my feet, the words flow the best when I’m in uninterrupted bliss. Later in the day, the desire to write gives way to the need for the next scheduled blog, robbing all enjoyment from the activity. Morning is the best time, not rest time. I have learned something important over the years. Leisurely weekends are needed to recharge the soul, body, and mind.

The priorities of living keep me centered. Some tasks need daily attention. To stay on track, I keep a daily schedule to make sure I’m not forgetting something important. In the beginning of widowhood, I’d list three important tasks per day. When those were completed, I’d add three more. Written in graphite, it was gratifying to see things marked off at the end of the day, even if there were only three.

The best part of being a retired widow/widower is that we are the CEO of our very own empire. The schedules and lists can change or be eliminated all together. There are some things that are just fun to dream about doing. Eliminate those dreams and hobbies you outgrow or don’t find enjoyable anymore, while trying something new once a month.

Long ago, I started playing with doll houses. At the time, life was chaotic and I didn’t really have the time for such things, but found such peace as I created little wonders. Recently, I started again. I’d forgotten how much fun I have making tiny little worlds from scraps of paper and wood. With guilty pleasure, I’ve been looking at the clock as I play away the day. An old hobby has come back into my life.

Whatever you do today, try to play a little bit. Anything counts, from a video game to a brisk walk outside or a grand game of fetch with the dog. Do something that makes you smile.

Things are now different than they were in the past

Knowing you don’t have to do anything fast.

Retirement’s a new stage in life,

Doing what you want with little grief or strife,

Enjoy your reprieve from the daily grind,

And embrace all the moments you’re sure to find. _{(Inspired by Sally Painter)}

More tomorrow.

As the gardens of Winterpast have gone into a deep sleep, my focus has now turned to areas in my yard that need some help. In 2023, I intend to pamper and better care for my existing roses while adding a few new bushes to the family. My father loved his rose garden, bringing a freshly cut rose to my mother every day.

In shopping online, I was amazed at the colors that are available. As I was looking at a royal blue rose, I realized they weren’t selling the actual bushes, but seeds. What? This cannot be! Any self-respecting gardener knows roses come from cuttings. At least that is what I believed for 66 years.

Immediately researching the subject, I had to shut my mouth and open my brain to a new concept.

Roses DO, in fact, have seeds!

Not wanting to believe this for myself, I contacted the only other gardener I know. The Mysterious Marine. I asked him the question, “Do roses have seeds?” I got the same answer I’d come up with.

“No.”

“Roses do not have seeds.”

This was a puzzlement. Here are two very smart people with a combined age of 134 years. Both gardeners have nurtured roses throughout their entire adult lives. More investigation was needed.

MM has the most beautiful rose garden. There, vibrant colors spring forth in fragrant blooms. He and I may have the only two green yards in the entire desert, being luscious and green throughout the hot summer months.

When I arrived, we hurried to his unpruned plants to harvest rose hips. According to the internet, the flower produces a bulbous structure that is often referred to as the fruit of the rose, or a rose hip. The hip is useful as well as attractive. It’s nutritious and has a pleasant taste. Like the petals, it can be used to make an oil.

Rose hips can be eaten raw. They can also be cooked to make jams, jellies, syrups, soups, teas, and wines. Their SEEDS contain an oil that is popular in the cosmetics industry. This oil is known as rose hip oil, rose hip seed oil, or rosa mosqueta oil.

With hips in hand, we began the dissection. The first two had nothing. Just about to give up on our quest for evidence, there, in the third hip was a perfectly formed seed. It was true. Roses DO have seeds.

In further research, it was stated that growing the seeds is a tedious process that may or may not provide the desired results. If your roses are hybrids, the seeds won’t grow into the same kind of rose, or they may not be fertile at all. It will take a few years to get an actual bush, but it can be done.

Throughout the adventure, MM and I were looking up our favorite roses, which brought back memories of past homes and lives. Roses are just like that. MM’s mom even thought of a rose that the family transplanted upon moving from one house to another. The bush is now over 80 years old and still producing the most fragrant blooms.

In the gardens of Winterpast, I had one tea rose that hadn’t produced a bloom in 2020. That summer, I looked everywhere for a Peace Rose which was my Dad’s favorite of all. His was of the climbing variety, having blooms the size of salad plates. It was late in the year, and none were to be found.

Then, in the spring of 2021, the barren rose came to life. Indeed, the plant is a Peace Rose. Planted in the wrong spot, it struggles. Next year, I’ll fix that.

Today, spend some time looking at your own sleeping yard if it’s not covered in feet of snow. Look for bare spots and create your plans for next year. Bulbs and bare roots are wonderful Christmas gifts for the gardener in your life. Tools, pots, plants, and yard art are also welcomed gifts for those that love their time in the garden.

Above all, keep learning. This world has so many fascinating secrets. Rose seeds…..Well, shut my mouth……

More tomorrow.

The word, “ joy ” is used almost two hundred times in the Bible (KJV) and always in reference to an emotional state of delight, wonder, bliss, happiness, and gladness. We are told repeatedly to be joyful, to be filled with joy and to display our joy.

Joy is the natural reaction to the work of God, whether promised or fulfilled. Joy expresses God’s kingdom and HIS influence on earth . The Spirit’s production of joy can manifest through deliverance, salvation, spiritual maturity, and God’s presence.

Possessing joy is a choice. We choose whether to value God’s presence, promises, and work in our lives. When we yield to the Spirit, He opens our eyes to God’s grace around us and fills us with joy . Joy is not to be found in a fallen world; it is only fellowship with God that can make our joy complete. _{(Above information found online)}

Learning new things everyday keeps my mind occupied. Yesterday, our church observed the 3rd Sunday of Advent Season. This was a new experience for me in which the pink candle representing “JOY” was lit. The reason for my name now makes more sense to me, as my birthday is nestled somewhere in these seven days. I was always told my parents chose it because of the JOY found at Christmas time. Yesterday, the celebration of Advent became much more important as the meaning behind the candle was explained. New beauty in the simple flicker of a candle. I was born during the week of Joy!

Birthdays are a total bother to me, especially mine. If anyone else has similar feelings around a Christmas birthday, you’re not alone. Our presents are afterthoughts to the season. No swim party or outdoor picnic with balloons and clowns for us. Who wants a birthday cake when there are all sorts of wonderful Christmas goodies to select. As the years have gone by, I prefer to spend December celebrating the Reason for the Season rather than myself.

Today is my one year anniversary since my Holy baptism. I can’t explain the changes that have come over my heart, enriching my life. Subtle, slow, and steady changes. I look at things differently now. Things I used to ignore have new meaning. I am eternally grateful that God didn’t give up on me.

On a more earthly note, MM and I are traveling to the bigger city to the East to discover whether or not the Wookie is with puppies. In this day and age, there are even ultrasounds for canine mommies. Please, don’t breathe a word of this to Oliver. He’ll never understand that he is not the true father. We’ll just let him believe he’s Dad. He loves her so. Without thumbs and a credit card, he’ll never be able to send off a DNA test anyway.

Whatever you do today, take time to think about the real Reason for the Season. It isn’t about the boxes and bows. It’s about friendships, love, and peace. Hope and bright futures. Faith and love renewed. It’s about new life.

JOY.

Yes. Christmas is all about the real meaning behind the word “JOY”.

More tomorrow.