Grieving Gardener

The pieces are slowly coming together to create the mural of my new life. Like riding that old bike, there are some things that come naturally after many years in an occupation. Readying a classroom is one of those things. Twenty of this, 40 of that. Office supplies. A comfortable desk chair. Collecting the tangible items is quite easy and fun.

After a wonderful lunch yesterday with new friends, I remembered I hadn’t visited Dollar Tree for months. DT is a teacher’s best friend. For any holiday, they’re stocked with trinkets for prizes, as well as important Back to School Items. Painfully, it is no longer Dollar Tree. It’s $1.25 Tree. Going up and down the aisles, I remember how VST always found the coolest additions to my classroom. Even when he put his retirement dreams on hold for my work, he did his best to make my life easier. He sacrificed a lot during the school years between 2015-2017.

After buying 80 items, which would have cost $80 in the olden days, I returned home to Oliver. My next project will be to prepare a nice place for Oliver during the hot days when I’m at work.

Make no mistake on this. Oliver is not yet mature enough to wander the halls of Winterpast without restraint. In so many ways, he is now a real dog. August 6th we’ll celebrate his 4th birthday. Just now, he’s learning that life is not one big chew toy. He’s perfectly house-trained, as long as I remember for him. To stay home alone is just more than this dynamo could handle. There would be damage.

Oliver is a fair weather kind of dog. He doesn’t like weather that is under 65 degrees or wet. He also detests weather that is over 80 degrees with no shade. We have a 15 degree spread in which he will go outside for no more than 15 minutes and then, he’s jumping at the door to come back in. For goodness sakes, something earth shattering could happen and he wants to be involved in every little detail. I think he actually has a journal hidden somewhere to jot down the activities of the day. He is a writer’s dog, for sure.

Winterpast came with a doggie door. Oliver knows it. If treats are involved, he even goes in and out. Otherwise, he has no use for this invention. He wants to enter and exit the yard through the sliding glass door, like all the other humans around here. My plan is to put a large crate right by the doggie door to give him access to air conditioning and shade.

My yard is a great environment for a dog. Perfect fencing, all in great repair. Paths on which to run. Beautiful lawn on which to jump, play, and roll around. Trees under which to lay. Even patches of wet dirt in which to dig. He owns his very own swimming pool with clean fresh water. Lots of natural shade. Oliver could care less. 65 – 80 degrees without intense sunshine. Otherwise, he wants to be inside. Solutions will come, because after August 15th, I’ll be gone during the day.

Such silly problems, eh?

Considering the blessing in my life, I’m in awe of my God that made them all possible. He has commandeered this school bus of life and I’m along for the ride. When I think of everything that needed to happen, and how it all unfolded, I see a string of miracles.

Still being alive and well two years after Terry’s death and five years after my retirement date, I found the door to the rest of my life opened. My happiness is here and now.

The Nevada Teacher Credentialing website initially indicated that I needed three classes to renew my license. In reality, only one was required. There was one spot left at University of Phoenix in the right course allowing me to complete this requirement one day before the 2022-23 school year begins.

My computer led me to Lyon County School District and the little advertisement that stated so simply… “Teacher’s needed”.

The words flew onto the pages of the application as if I had written the questions myself. My references were still employed by Lyon County School District holding respected positions.

My interview was with new “old friends” that I’d met only minutes before who asked questions that were familiar and easily answered.

The expected offer came and was accepted after a night of prayer blessed by my new principal.

Projects around Winterpast are coming together with lightning speed, as I prepare for 185 school days of work.

Walking has become something I find I enjoy, as I set a goal for my own pilgrimage towards Camino de Santiago in the Autumn of my 69th year to honor my one great love, VST.

All these things wouldn’t have been possible without God’s blessing and guidance on this my new path. Knowing this makes the new scenery on this journey all the more beautiful.

Have a wonderful Monday. Do something you love. Love something you’re doing.

More tomorrow.

Well, it all started so innocently with my daily walk. I’m in training for 1st Grade. Those energetic littles are not going to get the best of me. Walking two miles a day is becoming routine. Jane and Tony sit out every morning on their porch waiting for me. Poor Jane is new to the neighborhood and waiting to wave to anyone that walks by. They are the adorable couple that VST were well on our way to becoming until I was one woman alone.

Now, I’m the zippy, leggin’ wearin’, pony tail swingin’, widow woman that is walking every day at dark:30. My goal is to assess my progress at 70 miles. Have a few miles left to go. In my area, cars are infrequent. I’m more likely to hear the wind or count birds flying through the big sky.

Last Sunday, tense racket alarmed me from inside the house. It was something high pitched. Not really talking. More bold than that. It was a hideous sound that continued with no real rhythm. It was so annoying, I had to go outside to better identify the sound.

It seems that SOMEONE had brought CITY KIDS to the quiet countryside to let off screams. And, that’s what they were doing. Screaming and yelling with no message other than sheer jubilance at being in the country. They were two blocks away, and it was still so loud I had to return inside. In this day and age, with everything children have endured, I guess they need to get out the primal screams as well as the rest of us.

It did give me pause to realize that my neighborhood is THAT quiet. That children playing in the countryside was unidentifiable as an unusual and disturbing sound. I guess I better get used to that right now, as I’m sure my world will hold plenty of those noises very soon. What will happen to the tranquil cloak of Winterpast remains to be seen. With almost every house within a one block radius owned by sedentary octogenarians, things are only going to be this quiet a little while longer.

Anyway, on my walk yesterday, I headed in a direction I’ll keep to myself. I have marked off how many miles I walk for each route, and today, I chose the easiest of them. Two miles round trip. With a hello to my new friends along the way, I had lots to think about. Even more so, I had lots to be grateful for. I name blessings on the walk out and then plans for the day on the way back. It sets the tone for a lovely day.

I’d walked by the corral-ed group of the four equines many times. Although I’m not sure WHO is which gender, I do know that a very mature colt was still suckling from the dominant female of the bunch. Now, if SHE could say a few things about this BIRTHING PARENT situation, she’d have plenty to say about that. Nope. She’s just a patient mom whose 1500 pound, 4 year old foal needs to get a grip, grow up, and move away from the tit.

The four of them don’t get up very early on most days. Somedays, they role around in the dust acting like children themselves. Otherwise, they stand like statues just watching the world go by. They are a mixed bunch of fat. Fat butts. Fat rib cages. Fat everywhere. Fattest group of horses I’ve seen anywhere.

They get visitors from a lot of people walking by, like me. I’ve so often wanted to stop and visit with them, but there was never the right moment. Yesterday was the day.

I was on my way back home, thinking about training for my walk in Spain when I retire. I was almost halfway home when I realized THEY were out. The lawn ornaments. Three horses and a MUSTANG. I’ve known for a long time that a wild mustang is not just a horse. They are incredibly strong, resilient, and afraid of nothing. They never stop eating and moving throughout their entire lives. They are incredibly beautiful. If you gaze into the eye of a mustang, you have been given a gift. Something you’ll never forget.

I happen to know that one of these was a wild mustang earlier in life. The owner was lamenting about the lazy bunch to me one day last year. It seems a man had owned them and couldn’t keep them anymore. He was at the point of turning all four into the desert when my neighbor said he would take them. There were three at that point. One was hidden in the mother’s belly. The female. The one that COULD produce offspring.

These four took notice that I was coming down the road. I know they were discussing whether or not I might have a snack for them. I could tell. Well, not the one that was trying to nurse, but certainly the others. When I approached, it was the youngest that had the nerve to come to the fence and say “Hello”.

I haven’t been next to a horse for years. Magnificent in every way, this huge animal came to the fence to check out my pony tail. I’m thrilled the fence was higher than him. We had a real moment, as he breathed in my scent the way horses do. When he decided I was okay, he lowered his head, as calm as a kitten. He was not the one I wanted to meet.

Slowly the others came along, one by one. Horses are like that. They look to the dominant horse for direction. It was such a complement that the others accepted me, too. All but the last one. The buckskin mustang. Finally, she came to the fence to take a sniff.

A mustang’s eyes are different. Wise. All knowing. It was a moment I’ll not forget. With all four new friends standing with heads down for a scratch, it was as if I had performed a circus act. All I had done was stand quietly at the fence and wait for them to investigate me.

Today, I’m off to complete two more miles. Much has been accomplished around here at Winterpast, but there is a good month of work to finish before my summer is over and school begins. Never could I have predicted this detour in the road two years ago when I was deep in widow’s fog. God has carried me through such a dark wilderness to the light. I’m a college coed and brand new teacher. I just gazed into the eyes of my first mustang and I’m in love. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

More tomorrow.

It’s official. I am the newest employee of our little elementary school! On 7/8/2022, at 10:23 AM, I officially accepted the task of taking 20 children through the first numbered year of their education. I will be pictured with the class. Me. Mrs. Hurt will live on in their memories long after I’ve joined VST.

Thursday night was not especially restless, but one filled with the happiest of memories from my very first classroom in the Fall of 1997. I remember how anxious I was to begin the year. A 1st-2nd Grade combination class including a student with special needs. Not having much in my own bag of tricks, I could at least look nice. What was a girl to do but utilize the skills of a professional shopper. That’s exactly what I did.

Macy’s used to be a different place than I find it today. It was neat and clean. Each department was brimming with knowledgeable associates to help you with your purchases. Employees were fresh and experienced. They put forth a group effort to present Macy’s as a store with a little more. In the 1900’s. Ahh, for the days gone by.

In late summer 1996, the Macy’s professional shopper lady put together a school teacher look for one very terrified Mrs. Hurt. Everything from the proper blazer to penny loafers, I had the look down. Tailored and tweedy. Blouses that went with pants or skirt. A couple wool jumpers. Dark tights to warm me on winter mornings out on the playground. Everything I needed to pull off the burgandy and navy look.

When I look at pictures from that first year, if nothing else, I was the best dressed teacher at the school. But, that first year I learned some valuable lessons.

Glue and cashmere don’t mix.

The classroom is a petri dish of bio hazards.

You can’t kneel down to a child’s level to comfort them in a pencil skirt.

Penny loafers provide no arch support.

The most important thing of all……

NOBODY CARES. Fashion is not why teachers are teaching.

I have a plan for my wardrobe this year. I hope there is a Casual Friday, because my Levi’s Signature jeans from Walmart and a school hoodie will do just fine.

I’m going to use what I already have in my closet and zing it up with some color in one way or another. First graders find black rather boring. If things don’t quite match, we’ll work on adjectives that day. Clothing is the least of my worries.

In my old classrooms, I had a refrigerator, microwave, and cabinet full of comforting supplies. I often missed going to lunch with the other teachers. That will change this year. 25 minutes of adult contact in the middle of the day is the best nourishment of all for a new teacher. The lunch room already has those appliances.

A friend mentioned that it must be incredibly stressful to get an entire room together after being retired for 5 years. Not especially.

I was the single classroom teacher for five years at a Children’s Hospital. I taught out of a rolling cart because the hospital didn’t have one extra inch of space for a teacher’s office. TRUE. My office was at the back table in the cafeteria for 5 years, as the staff at that hospital behaved badly. They had not even a cubicle where I could go to cry on days I needed to. I saved those tears for the 45 minute drive home, when I would talk to God about childhood cancer or cystic fibrous. I mourned the loss of 35 students in plain sight, without the benefit of an office door to close.

My rolling cart always provided the right lessons at the right time. It was just big enough to carry all the books and lessons I needed for the students I saw every day. From the heights of intensive care to the depths of the rehabilitation wing, I rolled through five years and over 200 students.

During that time, I learned something very valuable. A teacher needs just a few things. A baggie full of pencils. A packet of paper. A bright, beautiful smile and attitude to support that. And a brain. With that, a teacher can teach in any outfit, on any day, in any situation. Even while machinery beeps and IV’s drip.

Today, I’m working on my first college assignments. My instructor is from one of my favorite states in the mid-west. Her husband has written 13 novels, five of them being westerns. I admire her already. There are three of us over achievers sitting in class, waiting for Monday morning. I want the other two in my group.

As for clothing, my VC squad is going to outfit me this time. I’ll be looking at the discount section of Macy’s. This time, no personal shopper. Just too great girlfriends that will help me get a 1st grade look going. I can tell you, it will be the most memorable shopping experience I’ve had in some time.

Have a wonderful Saturday!

More tomorrow.

At 6:18 last night, the direction of my life changed with one little phone call from a pretty amazing principal. Principals work very long hours, spending their days analyzing all sorts of things. From soothing a scratched knee on the play ground to smoothing ruffled feathers of disgruntled staff and parents, it’s a thankless job. I have my administrative credential, but after all these years it remains virginal. Being a Principal is a thankless job. I’d take 20 kids and a chalk board over that job any day of the week.

Yesterday was filled with trouble. Finally turning over the reins to God, his strength carried me into the evening hours. Somedays are like that. Suffice it to say, I navigated through some very rough waters while remaining focused on my truths, values, and heart. Tough decisions are just that. Choices that must sit well in one’s heart and on one’s conscious. Life isn’t always easy.

Jagger and Richards nailed it when they sang….

You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes you might find
You get what you need

Everything became clear when I focused on who I am at the core. I am a serious, accomplished, beautiful, and unique teacher-woman. I will not waste my remaining earthly minutes on undeserving endeavors. The time has come for me to aim my arrow straight at the bull’s eye of life. Being a great shot, I had one arrow and it hit the mark.

To clear my mind, I’d resumed installing more door handles. I’m getting pretty experienced. It takes ten minutes to change a handle. I smiled to see that my screwdriver actually had a greasy handle. From me!!! Finally, something that brought me a smile.

At 6:18, my phone rang. In the most professional voice, Mrs. Principal made her move.

“I would like to offer you a First Grade Teaching Position at our school.”

I’ve been offered a teaching position here in my dusty little town on a wide spot of the road! The cornerstone of the community! Is it what I want or what I need? I woke up this morning knowing it is both things and a lot more. Life is complicated that way.

My first classroom, back in 1996, was a 1st-2nd Grade class of 20 bubbly little people including one with very special needs. On one of my finest days, I found myself on a bench in the Autumn sunshine with little Hazel nestled against me showing me she had finally learned how to read the night before. There is nothing as precious or important than teaching a child to read. Nothing better than listening to the sweetest of hesitations as they put together those images while forming their first little words.

I was a bit shocked. But then, I wasn’t. I had aimed in a new direction for very valid reasons. I had applied and then interviewed. I’d done this four times before and hit the bull’s eye each time. Never have I found myself being sorry. Teaching is my calling.

I asked for and evening’s worth of time to pray about my decision. Time to assess this old body that’s been through some stuff over the years. Hours to think about everything that goes into making a year the best for 20 very important little people. A few tears wishing VST were here because he remains my perfect sounding board and source of support. Time to fall into the deepest sleep to dream about schedules, routines, school bells, and students that need me in their lives.

I did have a brief discussion with someone about my pressing decision.

The exchange included words like “Nasty Teacher’s Union”. “NEA” this and “rotten school system” that. I needed to remind him that I am a teacher. Me. Christian Woman. Smart. Independent thinker. Child loving, book toting me. Not every teacher is one for the evening news. Not every school climate follows what you see in big city life. Please remember that. There are millions of teachers just like me. We want to do the right thing for the kids. We want to teach math and language arts. In the privacy of classrooms across the country, learning still goes on the way it has for hundreds of years. With love, patience, respect, and kindness between students and their teacher.

This morning, my decision is made. I need to tell Mrs. Principal first, so you’ll need to wait until tomorrow. This is the tallest cliff I’ve been on for quite some time. Starting college today, I have no more time for nonsense. With purpose and direction, my new path awaits.

More tomorrow.

Summer is a great time of year to work on the house. A little spackle here, a dash of paint there and focused attention to the details. It seems I’ve been walking around Winterpast ignoring the details and the more obvious. Just as I am an old wrinkly woman, Winterpast is almost 2 decades old. She needs a little freshening up.

While I wait to see if my career will be rebooted in August, I find that my energy level is through the roof. Just yesterday, I found the perfect way to channel it, (although not the cheapest).

In the 1900’s, brassy gold trim was all the rage. Golden faucets, hinges, door handles, and even ceiling fans. Sparkly gold that, over the years, began to tarnish just a little. I’m not a fan of golden things, being more earthy and practical. Most people probably wouldn’t even notice the hinges or towel racks. But, Winterpast and I have a special relationship.

Yesterday, while putting the finishing touches on the hallway painting, I decided to do take my renovation a step further. Opening a “Pandora’s Box” of new touches, I went to the hardware store on a mission.

Aisle 16. There they were. An entire row of door handles and hinges. Every kind and color possible. It was exhilarating to be back in my element doing what I love doing the most. Handyman-ing. Winterpast now has four new door handles of oil-rubbed bronze. Striker plates — Changed. Hinges???? Changed. Out with the old, in with the new. With patience and focus, the hallway is transformed.

A word of warning to those of you that are itching to get out the tool belt. It is very unusual that the hinges in the store actually fit perfectly. Doors and their adjustments are very touchy. That I was able to exchange the old for the new was a bit of divine intervention.

As I was changing out the hardware I chose to use VST’s drill instead of a screwdriver. His energy and love surrounded me, guiding me to work at lightning speed and finish four doors in under two hours. Memories of his love and protection cloaked me as I remembered the hours we spent renovating our little cabin in the woods or the DunMovin’ House. There isn’t an hour that goes by that his words of wisdom about life, love, and home repairs are not comforting me. I am so lucky to have loved and been loved by such a man.

Later today, I’m installing my very own “Ring” doorbell. With security concerns always in the back of my mind, I look forward to having eyes and ears on the front of my house, even when I’m away. A handy way to record all the comings and goings here at Winterpast. VST, I apologize for chastising you about your love of video surveillance. You win. I’m moving into 2022 enjoying the wonders of a computerized sentry at the front door.

With my very expensive shopping trip and project completed, I’m off to Bible Study today. My new group of girlfriends are fluffed up in excitement with talk of all the snacks they’ll be bringing to class. I’m so blessed to be surrounded in a sea of people that genuinely love and care for me.

Today is so beautiful. Enjoy every minute.

More tomorrow.

Driving in to the parking lot of my possible new place of employment, I felt a peace and belonging that’s been missing from my life for five years. Like an old cow going back to the barn after a long day at pasture, my car found a respectable parking spot in the middle of the lot in front of the low brick building. This could be my routine until June 2023. Or not.

Teaching interviews are always interesting. At least that’s been my experience. My first interview was in the summer of 1996. The farm was failing and VST and I were flailing. With the responsibilities of raising five children, farming 40 acres, and managing all aspects of a multi-million dollar John Deere dealership while earning his Master’s degree, VST hadn’t a minute left to spare. His bag of tricks was almost empty.

“Darlin’, we need to find some extra cash. Could you substitute for awhile?”

Substitute? I was pretty busy helping with the care of the five children and 16,000 ancient Thompson Seedless vines sitting on forty acres. Sure, I’ll just strap an eraser on one foot, a skateboard on the other, throw a whistle around my neck and do the hustle. After all, substituting would only take away six hours of my life five days a week. Sure. Why not?

My spring was spent falling in love with a class of children with severe challenges. Their teacher had no one she could count on because her students had “special needs”. They did have a “special need”. It turned out to be me. We fell in love and I was hooked. Their teacher was getting married to an English gent and was gone many weeks that spring. That April, I got the inspiration to got back to school and get my teaching credential. Whipped on by the shrinking checking account and growing debt, I went back to work at a real job. Ahh, to be a rich California farmer. If people only knew the truth.

I’d been enrolled for one month at National University. Already having a Bachelor’s degree in Science, the registrar had assured me that in a few short months, my credential would be finished. Night school. A couple of Saturdays. It would be simple to start a new career. She had bubbled over with enthusiasm and I signed on the dotted line while thinking of the amazing days I enjoyed with my special kids. That’s how it all started.

The most amazing thing happened shortly after I had enrolled in the program. For once, California did something great. “Class Size Reduction”. It would begin the fall semester of 1996. Every K-3 class in the state would be limited to no more than 20 students. There was an immediate teacher shortage of the worst kind, and I’d spend the next 20 years reaping the benefits of this wonderful program.

Once enrolled, driving 45 minutes one way to attend night school four times a week and Saturdays was intense, but it was a sacrifice that would open new doors. Dreams would come true in exchange for 18 months of hard work. It was the best $10,500 I’ve ever spent, hands down.

One the second night of the second month in the second class, my heart skipped a beat for more than a second. Two very tired gentlemen came to talk to our class. Would we? Could we? Maybe? Pretty Please? Consider teaching with their district. A list of promises were made. Enticements to earn a salary while going to school. We could start immediately with their district on provisionary credentials approved by the State. Eagerly, I took the bait and applied on the spot.

Three weeks later, I found myself interviewing in a mop closet at a tiny little schoolhouse in Sanger, California. Mop closets are not pleasant places. The air held the scent of pine sol and mold, with the slightest hint of vomit and urine. Damp mop heads stood at attention behind the exhausted principal as he asked me question after question while taking copious notes about this wanna-be whistle blower. It was a day that changed the course of my life forever bringing me face to face with my calling in life. Teaching Littles.

I don’t remember his name, and can’t say that I ever saw him again. Through the years, I would interview three more times, receiving all three offers for wonderful positions teaching the greatest people I’ve ever met in my life. The essence of a person is found in a 3rd grader. Challenges. Perfections. Personality. Pure thoughts. There is a window when a person is absolutely perfect. That happens about the same time as 3rd grade.

Yesterday’s interview was different. In an office with three highly skilled and very professional educators, I knew the answers to each question they asked. With 22 years of experience to draw from, great memories and examples flooded my thoughts. Once a teacher, a teacher forever. The essence doesn’t change.

At peace with whatever the decision of the interview panel may be, I await their answer. I’m a 1900’s version of a teacher. Not a shiny new model ready to try out the latest theories in teaching, I’m vintage “Good Teacher”. Their school will benefit from hiring me. I’ll groom 20 new writers, sharing a love for learning in a way that a newbie can’t. My students will behave and learn without knowing they are. I’d cherish the chance to be that tired again at the end of the day.

God may have other plans and reasoning behind presenting this opportunity. Perhaps it’s to show me that retirement is appropriate and wonderful at this golden stage of life. As my dad told me once when talking about getting a replacement for his farm dog, “I’m no puppy anymore, better look for an older one.”

Yup, Dad, I’m no puppy anymore, either. But, maybe just for one more year.

I’ll know by Friday. My principal said so.

More tomorrow.

With my interview days away and the 4th of July right around the corner, I’m taking this time to step away for reflection and celebration.

I’ll report back on July 6th to fill you in all all the latest news.

All prayers for the best outcome welcomed!

Now, go enjoy the celebrations!!!!

Here we are on the last day of June, excitedly anticipating the 4th of July festivities. Just this morning, I read a helpful collection of tips to make the festivities more enjoyable. I would imagine my little town and all the surrounding villages will be showing up in mass numbers to celebrate the day on Main Street and Out-of-Town Park.

While blogging, I try not to include the actual names of places around these parts. People that know the places about which I write, know. We desert folk need to keep some local treasures to our selves. But, the Out-of-Town Park is really named that. Not named after the founding fathers of the town or the current Major. It’s just Out-Of-Town Park. This shouldn’t be confused with In-Town-Park. Two separate places. Their names tell you all you need to know.

4th of July will begin with a pancake breakfast. At 10 AM, the parade down Main Street will begin. Long ago, I rode in this parade. It was the last time I ever offered to ride down Main Street while displaying the beauty queen wave. You see, in my town, the parade entries are the target of water balloons and water cannons. Very scary to have unwanted projectiles flying at you from the crowd. The parade route is long, perhaps more than a mile. It seemed an eternity until we finally turned off the route. Right then and there, I told VST I would never ride in another parade.

In this long stretch of road, there isn’t a bare spot to sit. I didn’t know there were that many people in our area. While children darted in and out of the road to get candy, their parents sat on lawn chairs visiting with neighbors. There was another problem with my parade experience. The service organization VST and I represented doesn’t allow the throwing of candy during a parade. Yes. They allow creepy clowns and midget cars, but NO CANDY. So, as we went by the littles, all anxiously awaiting a treat, all we got back were angry looks and more water balloons.

After the parade ends, the party will move to Out of Town park where there will be lots of food, games, and booths. In the evening, all eyes will turn to the night sky for the fireworks display. I haven’t decided from what vantage point I will watch. The park is awfully crowded and in the desert, there are hills that provide better vantage points. Even Virginia City is a possibility.

The highlight of the late afternoon the highly anticipated Greased Pig Contest will be held. Now, if you haven’t ever been to such an event, have no worries about the safety of the pigs. On a farm, an respectable animal can out run the farmer without even trying. A child and a pig are no match. The pig will win every time. Worry more about the children that will be chasing them for they are the true victims in this scenario. It’s similar to Mutton Busting, where littles try to hold onto a running sheep. How these things are not lumped into the Child Abuse category is beyond me. The kids are in far more danger than the animals.

The pigs are coated with something non-toxic and slippery. These are young pigs that like to run, jump, and play. They are released and the children must attempt to catch one. That’s where the close-toed shoes come in. A valuable tip from a parent whose child probably lost a toe last year. Around here, kids still go bare-footed. It’s just the way it is with us rural types.

The town is ready for visitors. All the murals are finished, looking crisp and festive. The streets are swept and waiting for Monday when we will celebrate our REAL independence day. Never forget how many men and women have given their lives for our country and way of life. Our traditions are precious. Starting as a dream of freedom, honor our great country on her birthday. There is absolutely no other place in the world as wonderful.

More tomorrow.

People have lost their minds. Plan and simple. Living in a small desert town on a dusty wide spot in the road, I have a hard time comprehending the actions of many these days. Case in point. The Love Boat that needed assistance from the Coast Guard because of an onboard fight in their nightclub.

In recent days, a cruise ship was bobbing along the seas in international waters headed towards the east coast of the good old USA. What lucky people to be able to enjoy the luxury of a cruise, right?

Once, in a lifetime long, long ago, I went on a cruise. Newly divorced with two very small children, I spent $440 on a one week singles cruise to Mexico. The catch was that I would bunk with three other singles that I didn’t know. At the time, being 20-something, that wasn’t as horrifying as it would be today. It was simply a way to take a much needed vacation. Single motherhood was taking it’s toll. At the time, I had two boys, age 4 and 2.

During that week, the world was at my fingertips. All meals were served at a set time. My roommates were celebrating their graduations from Cal Poly. Three adorable women that had spent the last four years of their lives studying engineering. We bonded immediately, they being quite sure I was the true Goddess of fertility for producing two children. I was equally as positive they were the Goddess Dream Catchers on the brink of having the corporate world at their manicured fingertips. The truth was somewhere in the middle on both accounts.

During that week, we sunned our bikini clad bodies by the pool. We drank and ate way too much. Sightseeing at exciting ports, we met new people. We snorkeled and saw all the sights. We danced at the nightclub while flipping our long and luxurious hair. In short, for $440, I felt human again during that one week of splendor.

I can assure you of this. In our wildest dreams, it never crossed our minds to get involved with an onboard fight at the ship’s nightclub. In fact, during the cruise, I never heard anyone raise their voice in anger. Everyone knew how to behave. But, that was the 1900’s. Things were different then, weren’t they?

Watching the children of today on news footage, I can only wonder if their parents are watching proudly from home. When our kids were 18, we were proud of them because each one struck out on their own to make good lives for themselves. Pretty sure they never incited a riot anywhere. They were too busy serving our country in the Air Force, working, and going to college. By the way, we raised five people to adulthood. We’ve remained proud of each one for their numerous accomplishments and contributions that have make our world a better place.

Looking at protesters ruining cities and causing fear, I can’t help wondering, “What’s the point?” The issues they’re fighting about are often nothing that even concerns them.

Right to choose? Hmmmm. I’ve had little right to choose when it came to some recent medical decisions. As far as I know, my body is still my body, but that surely didn’t matter when considering real medical reasons why the vaccination isn’t right for me. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t throw a punch in a cruise ship night club if I wanted to right now. Non-vax-ers are forbidden, and will remain that way for the foreseeable future.

Children are breaking things and revolting much like the two year old that throws messy tantrums. Except, these aren’t children. They’re young adults that are ruining a very nice, calm way of life for others. These actions are taking away our right to choose peaceful, clean, cities that were once beautiful places to visit, live, and work. Now ruining expensive vacations for others, crazy actions caused the need for the US Coast Guard to get involved. ON A CRUISE SHIP FOR GOODNESS SAKES.

I hope someday to take a cruise around the world. I have it picked out. Three months of bobbing, dining, and sight seeing. Wondering if the restrictions on people like me will ever be lifted, I now have another consideration. If they are, what do I pack for personal protection? Mace? Brass knuckles? Should I brush up on my karate moves? A cruise ship is the last place a person should worry about being part of a fight in a nightclub. Such is urban life and warfare. I’ll take my chances with the rattlesnakes here in the wild, wild, west.

For now, back to the reality of painting. Two more days to finish the job. Covid just broke out at the church. Staying in is a grand idea right now. At least, if Oliver decides to start a fight, I think I can still win. No US Coast Guard protection needed here at Winterpast.

More tomorrow.

Plus. Minus. Plus. Minus. Plus. Minus.

All day long, “What If’s?”, “Should I’s?”, “Why Not’s?” and “Am I OUt of My Mind?” cloud my thinking. Really? All I want to do is finish painting my hallway. Thoughts of moving into a new classroom after being retired for five years haunt me. Yesterday, everything became real.

My morning started like any other, although I’d overslept for a job I don’t yet have on quiet Monday morning. To stay on track, each evening, I write down my plan for the next day. Assigning times and activities, I have a written To-Do List all prepared in case it’s a day I need to be on auto-pilot. As a widow, those days pop up and I need a pre-designed plan to guide me through. These days, those kind of days don’t happen too often anymore.

6:30 AM. Water the plants outside.

Simple, until it became complicated.

Winterpast sits in the middle of lush gardens. In the desert, this is selfish and extravagant. I have my own personal oasis. Now, I didn’t plant it. I maintain it. In fact, under my watch, several trees have died or been removed. I’ve limited the water in some areas, shrinking my green footprint. My yard remains California green. This takes a lot of water in the summer.

I own two complicated sprinkler systems that I needed to learn. Nine stations feeding water to old tubing and even older emitters. The back station quit last year. Installing a new box, it still didn’t work. I believe I have failing solenoids. What a curse! Sounds like a dreaded disease.

Yesterday, when I turned on the back up system, (now leaking in all the wrong places), water didn’t magically spring to life where it should. Water in — No water out = Big leak underground.

There are many things I can do well. I’m finding I don’t mind a ladder as long as I’m not higher than the fourth rung. I don’t mind trouble shooting minor car problems. I can hang doors with the best of them.

But, I need to draw the line at digging. I can no longer be the human mole and dig. Oliver could help me with this one if only there were a stash of dog bones involved, but the heat gets to him, as well.

Calling Mr. B, Gardener Extraordinaire, I always feel I’ve failed. Really? Why can’t I fell the tree? Why can’t I dig holes in the cement we call desert dirt? Why can’t I fix the sprinkler system?

Why?

Because I am old, frail, and able to pay Mr. B to do it for me. End of story on that.

Mr. B will be arriving tonight and we’ll start the process of finding out what the heck is happening to the water. Whatever it takes, whatever the cost. When Mr. B is done, I’ll have an automated system in the back yard that waters daily, right on schedule like me. My solenoids will not longer be failing. If I need to be up and functioning, my watering system will be.

So, after an extremely frustrating morning in which the haunting of the future took a backseat to the rantings of the present, my phone rang. An unfamiliar number flashed on the screen begging me to pick up.

“Hi, this is Janice. I’m calling from the little elementary school one mile away from you. The cute one that you think of often. The one you applied for. The one in which we’ll give you the keys to Room 10. The one where you’ll lovingly teach your kiddos from August until May. That one. When can we meet?”

Well, the conversation wasn’t exactly like that (except in my mind).

Mrs. Principal would like to meet me next week on a special morning. Now things are very real. “Go Big or Go Home” VST used to say. We always went big and I have no intentions of stopping now. Being Intelligent, Resourceful, Intuitive, Seasoned, 1 part Mary Poppins, and 2 parts Amazing Teacher, the eyes in the back of my head will slay them. The job is mine to accept or refuse.

I suspect the hauntings of possibilities will be intense today. That’s okay, because the more I think, the faster I paint.

Stay tuned. The story is starting to getting interesting around here.

More tomorrow.