Grieving Gardener

I’d never lived alone until April 9, 2020. Considering my life began in the second week of December, 1955, there were decades of togetherness. Growing up in a farming family of five daughters, there was always someone to help figure things out when questions came up. We were never at a loss for suggestions on “How to……” With a dad that could fix absolutely everything with a weld, including an Aunt’s underwire bra, and a mom that could make a gourmet dinner out of sparrow breasts, we had it covered.

At college, I had a roommate for a year.

I married at 21.

Divorced, I lived with my two sons.

In 1987, I met VST and we fell in love. End of story. I always had someone that could help fix any problem that arose. Living alone, things aren’t so convenient. Oliver certainly knows how to fix everything, however his lack of thumbs gets in the way. He certainly knows where everything is. He alerts to me to so many problems, including but not limited to, smoke of any kind, the doorbell, 4:30 AM and 4 PM (his breakfast and dinner times) and now, text messages. If I’m distracted, or even asleep, he makes sure to alert me to important things around here.

There’s one thing he can’t help with. It’s a human dilemma.

Passwords.

#%$@! #%$@! #%$@ !

Of course, a password is a great idea. Do you remember when one was enough? Now, it’s a password for a password. Passwords are required to get private codes texted to your phone. But, you might be on your phone and the internet at the same time. By time you find the code, the time limit has expired. Passwords are necessary in this dangerous world.

I’ve gotten much better at creating them over the past two years. One tip that VST shared with me is that if you start or end a password with five zeros, it’s harder for the hackers to hack. I use that for sensitive log-ins. It used to really upset me when someone would demand the creation of a PIN or Password immediately, while tapping their little pencil and including an occasional eye roll. Well, bless their little heart.

One of the first times K and T, my CBC’s, (children by choice), came to visit me after VST’s passing, K brought me the best gift of the century. A small black book entitled “$%# I Can’t Remember”. Of course, the real word is on my book, but I don’t want to offend. This little book is one I use on a daily basis, with a place to organize all my passwords and @#$%. My version was Copywrite by Christelle Ball in 2017.

As seen without entries on the photo of the day, this little book is my life saver. As it was explained to me, anyone who meant me harm would fall in two categories. Computer literate — a person never thinking a book of passwords might be laying around. Or, Computer illiterate — a person who wouldn’t know what to do with the passwords once he found the book.

In this little gem, I have everything anyone would need when the unthinkable happens. It is hidden in plain site, which does present other problem. I do need to FIND the book on occasion. I added many other categories inside the front cover, including Attorney’s name, Financial Professionals, Doctors, my internet code, Passwords for the computers, etc. The list goes on. We have so much to remember on a daily basis, it’s nice to have a place to store the information.

Some of you might point out that the computer is a great place to store this stuff. So true. However, in case of emergency, this little book will help the helpful with everything they need. When living alone, you need to have a Key to the Kingdom for the day you might be on the way to another sort of Kingdom. Get my drift?

As a widow, I’ve written so many times about something called Widow’s Fog. Now, there’s also Covid fog. Senior Citizen Fog. Having a Rotten Day Fog. As we might all experience foggy days from time to time, the importance of this book cannot be overstated. You can find this and others like it on Amazon.com. A great little gift, priced $5.00 and up. Of course, you do need to remember to write every Website Name, Username, and Password down the minute you create it. That’s the FIRST thing not to forget.

Today, a dental appointment awaits. I can hardly wait to find out which teeth will rob me of a trip to the beach or some other great place. The dentist WILL find SOMETHING amiss. That’s why we go, right? Have a wonderful day, whatever you do. Don’t forget to remember those passwords.

More tomorrow.

Happy Monday! With spring just around the corner, life feels lighter. The Mourning Doves have been busy gossiping on the wind. Although I’m not sure where they’ve been, it’s nice they’ve returned to Winterpast, my Air B&B. (Air Bird and Bath). Of what they mourn, I’m not sure. The name “Morning Dove” would fit them just as well, as they hop about on my metal chimney in the early dawn hours causing a ruckus while cooing to their friends.

In Spring 2020, when I’d barely lived here a minute, a temporary boarder came to stay. Having just moved in, I’d leaned my metal ladder against the barn. With every new snow, the ladder should have been put inside. With more pressing issues at hand, it stayed where it was while becoming just another part of the landscape.

When taking some empty boxes into the barn one day, I looked up and came eyeball to eyeball with a Mourning Dove. With eyes as wide as mine, we both froze and studied each other for a moment. On the top step of the ladder, nestled in a freshly built nest, it was obvious she had a clutch of eggs. Although certainly of interest, this was a situation not to be disturbed, so I went on about my day.

For weeks, she and I tolerated each other, while both mourning our losses. Mine – a husband. Hers – a loss of flight. She didn’t often leave the nest and I didn’t often go out to the barn. Keeping an eye on her from the kitchen window, days went by until her eggs had hatched. A most attentive mom, she taught her little ones everything they needed to know until her four little dove-lets flew away. Mourning doves know things AND they can fly. Pretty awesome little creatures.

After days of being unplugged, it’s time to cultivate some new interests. Thinking back on all the ways the internet has enriched my life, one of the most enjoyable was helping me learn to crochet. Coming from a family of five girls, I’d learned the basics of crochet as a child. A simple, mind-numbing little skill, I hadn’t crocheted for years. Finding many instructional videos on simple stitches, I bought some yarn and started. Before long, I was creating all kinds of projects, from a baby’s sweater to a full-sized afghan. Instructions and patterns were all free, without the distressed looks from someone you love telling you you’ll never get it. Until you do, stitch ten, rip out eight, rest a bit, and try again. You Tube is a patient teacher.

Needing to feed my intellect, yesterday, I discovered something grand. Harvard University on the Cheap. The actual website is pll.Harvard.edu. There you can find free classes through Harvard University. Go a step further and Google “Free College Courses”. There are many universities that offer online classes you can enjoy for free.

Signing up for my Harvard class was simple and fast. They asked for completion of a simple survey to help them better serve their students. A real Harvard student may call if they need to know something else.

Then, the course began.

Choosing a course entitled “Christianity – An Initial Overview, one of the first requirements was to introduce myself to the “group” and say “Hello” to three participants. Reading through the short bios, I discovered others interested in the history of the Christian faith. One of the participants is a Catholic priest from Brazil. A young woman from Minnesota is questioning her faith and wants to know more about customs of biblical days. A gentleman from San Francisco has always been interested in ancient culture. The introductions went on and on. Students from around the world are enrolled in this free course.

With text and videos, the course should take a few weeks to complete. It isn’t taught from a spiritual point of view, but from a scholarly one. Pastor C is giving me plenty of spiritual guidance right now, but the scholarly point of view is a puzzle piece that will help me better understand The Holy Bible.

Each day, I’m reading from the Old and New Testaments. By December, I’ll have finished the entire book. This is the most interesting reading I’ve done in a long time. I wish I had a better mental picture of the terrain and customs of the time. I just finished a story in Numbers about a donkey that got sick and tired of his master beating her while she was only trying to avoid an angel in their path. I’d better be sure to take good care of Oliver or he just might decide to give me a piece of his mind.

Surrounding ourselves with Winterpast, sweet friends, a new church family, and the high desert of Northwestern Nevada, Oliver and I are truly blessed. Lonely and broken in Spring 2020, the last two years have been a time of spiritual, mental, and physical growth and healing. Living a purposeful life takes time and patience. Out of the darkness come more and more days of pure light, one after the other. Life is beautiful.

Time for me to dust off my book bag and get off to Harvard for my morning class. I want to get a seat in the front row. Check out the college you’ve always wanted to attend. There’s so much to learn in this crazy world.

More tomorrow.

Waking this morning, many things are lost. On Tuesday, my friend, Summer Breeze, lost her husband before the sun had even risen. Her life has just taken a harsh detour on the path of widowhood. On Sunday, I ran into her at the local coffee shop.

“Bob’s sick. He’s in the hospital. I just saw him. He’s doing so much better. My daughter’s here.”

Without makeup or her beautiful church clothing, she showed all the signs of being consumed by a growing fog of disbelief. No matter how long one knows the time is near, there’s no preparation for the day it really arrives.

New widowhood stirs my memories of almost two years old. Cancer. Nothing to be done. No cure. No more time. The shock and awe of fatal illnesses. How lucky it was that VST and I had nine weeks to prepare. Sometimes, there isn’t any time at all. Such was the case with my friend’s husband. Here, and then, gone.

As a friend, there are so many things we can do to make things better. Listen. Hug. Bring food. Don’t bring food. Help with the dog. Do the dishes. Fold the laundry. Be the driver. So many things one needs at the worst moments in life. Summer Breeze is so lucky to have a loving church family to surround her with the help she needs right now. We are all there for her.

Another church angel is fighting an unimaginable war while praying for a miracle. We are all praying for her while she fights to keep her balance. Fearful and stressed out, she keeps her sense of humor while watching her health slip further and further away. Imprisoned physically and mentally, her spiritual health soars. She is a true child of God. There are so many things we can all be thankful for, even something as simple as memory. Somehow, through her darkest times, she finds ways to make others smile. Her new doctor is waiting to see her next week. We pray his knowledge and expertise will help bring her the miracle she so desperately needs. We need her happy and well. She is so loved.

My bestie CC is battling for her mom. A warrior she is. While her mom is trapped in the darkness of dementia, I’m seeing CC at her most fierce and best. She worries not about hurricanes, because SHE is the storm. The medical advocate. The daughter. The only person who can watch over her mother and make the right decisions. She is one tough cookie, battling through her own exhaustion on every level. Just when she thinks she can’t, she continues. All in the name of love. For over 40 years, we have been best friends. I’ve gained a new appreciation of her strength and loyalty.

Truckers are headed to battle for us. Losing their freedoms, they’ve had enough. We may lose out for a while, too. Yesterday, the old me would have loved to pack up the Jeep and join them for their first night in Williams, Arizona. Sadly, my rebel days have passed. The best I can do is pray the message remains peaceful while inspiring positive solutions. Hmmmm. Truckers. Mad Truckers. Truckers intent on putting a stranglehold on our capital. Hmmm. Probably not a peace inspiring situation unfolding before our eyes.

Finally, an attack. In 1977, I lived not far from Kiev when the entire region was the USSR. All the names are different now. Moldavia isn’t anymore, it’s Moldova. Kiev isn’t anymore, it’s Kyiv. The Ukraine was a beautiful place with rich soil capable of feeding her people along with natural resources like precious minerals and oil. Their people have made Ukraine a unique place in this world. Now, it’s the center of war. Man builds things. Man destroys them. Such a cycle. Such loss.

Today, with loss everywhere, I plan to unplug. Sometimes the world just spins too fast. Loss takes. Love, prayers, and peace replace.

I’ll be back next Monday. Until then, stay safe. Please prayer for Summer Breeze and CC. Please prayer for our truckers and their families. Send prayers for our leaders and our country. Pray for our soldiers and the men that guide them. The Ukraine. Our crazy world needs all the prayers we can send right now.

More next week.

A few Sundays ago, something troublesome happened during our worship service. A church is a place one shouldn’t show disrespect. You’d think any church ELDER would know as much. But then, the ME generation is truly cut from a mold all their own. That statement pertains to three young men observed a few Sunday’s ago at my little church off Main Street.

It was time for the worship service to begin and there were only a few seats left. With self-propelled fanfare and swagger, three young men in suits and ties bulldozed their way in and sat down on the far side of the chapel. Everyone noticed them immediately, observing their actions while wondering about their intentions. These days, one needs to be observant in church. There are people wishing harm towards Christians. Sad but true.

I’m pretty sure that, in our church, there are door watchers that are quite prepared for anything. In the high desert, there’s no lack of fire power. These days, churches can be targets sitting under crosses, big signs, and the American flag. One can’t be to careful when observing surroundings and strangers.

Our church has no dress code. Most of the woman folk dress up nicely, while the men usually wear a clean shirt and pants. No ties. Pastor C is one of the few desert men that does wear a tie while always looking sharp with his big puffy beard and sparkling eyes. Everyone knows everyone, down to where we sit. Left front, right rear, or in the middle. Although none are assigned, Sunday after Sunday we sit in the same seats. This probably happens in most churches. In our sanctuary, the back seats fill up first being closer to the door. Spots are always available in the far front corner.

Anyway, these three young men came in and sat down together, making sure to draw plenty of attention to themselves. Fancy-schmancy, young, and a bit cocky, they talked amongst themselves. Three attractive, tall young men in suits and ties were hard to miss. It was obvious the oldest was in charge, being an immature 20-something. None of them shared an introduction with the ELDERLY members they walked right by, so no one in the church knew who the visitors were or what their true intentions were.

According to Webster’s, the definition of an “elder” is …… “A leader or senior figure in a tribe or group”. These ELDERs behaved as boys in suits. In age, they weren’t elders in the church they waltzed into. Why, they were not far from an appropriate age for the Children’s Sunday School in the back.

After much head turning and whispering, our main greeter went over to welcome them. Then it was Pastor C’s turn. The men wore badges. Two were ELDERs from their church. ELDER. What a word when you are only 20 something. The other young soul was a trainee of some sort. The older of the two ELDERs was in charge. That was obvious, as he instructed the trainee to sit between he and the other ELDER. Trapped.

If they’d come respectfully into a house of worship without trying to draw attention, it would’ve been so much more “ELDER-ish”. But, that wasn’t the plan as they sat, arrogantly bathing in the glances they were getting. No, attention they wanted to commandeer. Luckily, they were towards the back of the sanctuary. As soon as Pastor C began with his booming Southern Baptist voice, all focused on the message of the day. Because not many of the members knew who these boys were, there was a bit of uneasiness. You could feel it. A distraction was taking attention away from the reason we show up every Sunday. Worship.

Well, the service progressed. Singing praise. Scripture readings. Offerings. All the things you expect in a Sunday service. When it was time for Pastor C to give his sermon, he began to share the story about Aaron and the golden calf. He was right in the middle of his message when the most disrespectful thing happened.

The three childish ELDERs, who obviously had no training in respectful behavior, stood up in unison, pausing just enough to grab eyes away from Pastor C. They then turned, walked along the back of the church, and right out the door in lock step. An audible gasp from the members of the church could be heard.

Things like this are common these days. No respect for a restaurant, plane, gas station, or even a church service. No respect for those that ARE elders or elderly. No respect for customs. No respect for waiting your turn in line. No respect for anything. There’s a general lack of respect for one’s self these days. Respectable church ELDERs would’ve known if the message wasn’t for them, they should’ve never come. After all, the message in a Southern Baptist Church is a wee bit different from their religion. A real ELDER would know that, too. A real ELDER wanting to shine good feelings on his religion wouldn’t have disrespected another in such an outrageous way. I thought all religions teach respect.

The subject of the three visitors comes up often, even though this occurred months ago. If they were hoping to shine a good light on their own faith, they failed miserably due to their lack of respect for others. Disrespect in a church? There isn’t much lower our society can drop when ELDERs from one church purposely drive to another to disrespect something as sacred as a worship service. Dishonorable.

Today, be just a little more respectful in some way. Maybe, if we all band together, respectful attitudes will come back into style. Our troubled society needs respect and love at the moment.

More tomorrow.

Winterpast is one of the most quiet places on the planet. I don’t appreciate it until I venture out into city life. After so many months of ordering online or just making due with my little town’s restaurants, a trip to the state capital is exciting. Don’t get me wrong. The capital of Nevada is the most boring and unexciting place there is, but, it is a city compared to my little town. It’s the oddest mixture of strip malls, gas stations, old casinos, and box stores. End of subject on Nevada’s capital.

Talking to an old neighbor yesterday, she shared thoughts of moving out of Virginia City and next to me. After two years here, I would tell someone considering my town to think long and hard about their choice. For me, it was the best choice of all. FOR NOW. In my 7th decade, I’ll need to reevaluate circumstances and needs. My friend and her husband find themselves in the middle of their 7th decade.

In my town, there are six casinos. No hospital. Four Mexican restaurants. A Subway. Three casino coffee shops. Two real restaurants. Suishi. Two Chinese restaurants. A 76 Service station deli. 27 churches. A bowling alley. City Hall. A Senior Center. One Walmart. A terrible Lowe’s. Two walk in medical clinics. Two grocery stores. Three truck stops. A dried up golf course. An old folk’s home. And me.

Even though you wouldn’t think entertainment abounds here, there are so many things to keep me busy in my little town, somedays I forget to stop and just listen to the beautiful silence. I once told someone that snowfall sounds so beautiful. Confused, they didn’t believe snowfall has a sound. Indeed, it depends on the snowflakes and how intently you are listening. Here in the desert, the flakes hit surfaces with the tiniest of sounds. City sounds are muffled after a beautiful snowfall like we’ve had the last two mornings. Snow can be such a beautiful part of life but especially if it melts by evening.

Oliver must have partied hard at his Puppy Camp Extravaganza, as he really hasn’t woken up since coming home yesterday. He loved the surprise snow in the back yard and had fun making tracks while showing off his best zoomies. Then, it was off to puppy dream land. Such a funny little guy, I’m glad he’s home.

With a full fridge, I plan to enjoy the confines of Winterpast until the weekend. Plenty of snowy day tasks await. One of the more troublesome involves calculating my annual taxes. Not that it takes a rocket scientist to do it. It just takes patience and doing. We should all be grateful that something so unpleasant only comes once a year. Even more grateful am I that Nevada has no State Income Tax. FOR NOW.

On the more interesting side of life, I’m committed to reading the Bible this year. Right now, in the middle of Leviticus, I’m fascinated at the understanding people had about infectious diseases and other ailments. It’s as if I was reading about the Covid quarantine when reading about instructions for people with ailments in the Old Testament. Even though nothing was known about bacteria or viruses, it was still known that separation during illness was necessary. Reading a specified number of chapters each day will bring me to the end of the book by December 31st. Some of the best reading I’ve done in a very long time.

Quiet peace on the range. No deer, antelope, or mustang are playing around here these days. At 25 degrees, I won’t frolic outside, either. While practicing lazy with Oliver, ideas for tomorrows blog will come. Until then, have a wonderful Tuesday.

_{Inspired by Brian Bendall}

How high’s the snowfall, Mama?
“One foot high and rising!”

I ate my food and Daytona came.
The snow last year was just the same.
I gorged myself and loosened my belt.
Knowing that stuff would only melt.

How high’s the snowfall, Mama?
“Two feet high and rising!”

Don’t worry Mama, it’s okay.
An early thaw is on the way!
Relax, my dear, enjoy the fire.
This snow won’t make it any higher!

How high’s the snowfall, Mama?
“Four feet high and rising!!”

Okay! Okay! We’ll compromise!

I’ll get the shovels, you get the guys!
Let’s bring this white stuff down to size!
It won’t take long to make the run.
We’ll build a snowman when we’re done!

How high’s the snowfall, Mama?
“Six feet high and rising!!”

We cleared a path to the outhouse now,
Thanks to our trusty John Deere plow!
You gotta go? Then do it soon,
Or you might not make back ’til June!

How high’s the snowfall, Mama?
“Eight feet high and rising!!!”

The snow’s still comin’! It’s gotten colder!
Better get the front-end loader!
And Mama might need an army tank!
I just lost Fred in a huge snowbank!

How high’s the snowfall, Mama?
“Land sakes!! Ten feet high and rising!!!!”

The outhouse now is not in sight!
I gotta whiz, but that’s all right!
Make sure you got some pots to spare,
We’re gonna need to go…somewhere!

How high’s the snowfall, Mama?
“(Sigh)…. Take a look outside!!!”

We gotta get this window cleared!
Frank and Tom have disappeared!
It’s buried our new car and truck!
It looks like we’re plum outta luck!!

How high’s the snowfall, Mama?
“Zzzzz… Zzzzz… Zzzzz… Zzzzz….”

Well I’m tired, too, so I’m relaxing,
Even though the roof’s collapsing!
It’s nice and warm here by the fire.
I know this snow won’t get no higher!

Oh, no!!!

We’re outta firewood!!!!

Worry we should!!!!

MAMA!!!!!

*** Have a wonderful day, wherever you are. Buried under 4″ of fresh snow here. Going to enjoy the fire.

More tomorrow.

Meatloaf is an honest recipe. Ingredients can’t hide in meatloaf. Whatever you throw in there will remain identifiable. You can make your recipe as simple as meat, bread, eggs, and seasoning, or you can really dress it up with an assortment of vegetables. Whatever you choose tp throw in it, meatloaf is meatloaf, unless it’s eaten with friends. Then it can become something much more special.

After traveling about Nevada for the morning, Ace and I decided to try his recipe for The World’s Best Meatloaf.

For the Meatloaf:

• 1 pound ground beef
• 1/2 cup quick-cooking rolled oats
• 1/2 cup finely chopped onion
• 1/3 cup grated carrot
• 1/3 cup finely chopped celery
• 1/3 cup finely chopped mushroom
• 2 large egg whites, slightly beaten
• 2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
• 1/4 cup catsup
• 1 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
• 3 teaspoons canned diced garlic
• 1/4 package of McCormick’s Meat Loaf Seasoning.

Preheat the oven to 350. Mix all the ingredients by hand.

Evenly flatten the meatloaf mixture in the bottom of a small baking pan. During the cooking, the meat will shrink away from the sides of the pan, leaving a space for the grease to accumulate.

Cook for 30 minutes. Drain off most of the grease and cook for another 10 minutes.

Enjoying a home cooked meal with a friend is the best feeling in the world.

With projects spread all over Winterpast, this writer needs to create stories. Saturday and Sunday are the perfect days to do just that. Have a wonderful weekend.

More on Monday.

There are very few places in the world that offer desolation and quiet beauty within 20 minutes of a bustling town. Yesterday, Ace and I discovered such a place off the loneliest highway in America. Holding court above the sage brush and under the blue desert sky next to the road. Sand Mountain. Something out of a movie. A 600 foot high mountain of singing sand with only a handful of people enjoying the day at her base.

Only miles from Winterpast, the remnants of an ancient sea remain. The entire area was covered by an ocean at one point. The fossilized remains of an ichthyosaur await my visit still. Just a little further than I want to travel alone, these marine fossils are embedded in the mountains. When the Pacific is just too far away, the call of an ancient ocean can be just as strong.

While enjoying breakfast at Angela’s and considering options for a little adventure, Ace told me of an ancient mountain made of sand. Googling it, we found the following information on the BLM site. Remember, the real BLM, not the made up one. BUREAU OF LAND MANAGEMENT. The one our tax dollars support.

“The 4,795 acre Sand Mountain Recreation Area is a designated OHV fee site located in the high desert of west central Nevada. Created by the migration and deposition of windblown sand as it is stopped by the rising Stillwater Mountains bordering to the north, east and west, the most dominant feature of the dune system is Sand Mountain which is approximately 3.5 miles long, 1 mile wide and 600 feet in height, making it the largest single dune in the Great Basin. The recreation area also includes the Sand Springs Pony Express Station historical site (1860) and the Sand Springs Desert Study Area.

In addition to off road vehicle riding on the open dunes, there are 23 miles of riding available on the designated trail system that was established in 2008 to preserve the Kearny Buckwheat habitat and protect the Sand Mountain Blue Butterfly which is endemic only to the Sand Mountain area.

Visitation averages 50,000-70,000 visitors a year with the primary activity comprised of riding ATV’s, motorcycles, sand rails, dune buggies and side by sides. Sand sailing and sand boarding are also practiced by those adventurous enough to brave the OHVs and the climb to the top of the dune. Primitive camping is available at the base of the dunes and facilities are limited to six fault toilets. Water is not available on site.”

Being only a stone’s throw away, we decided to drive there to see this movable mountain for ourselves. Where else can you find salt flats, a pony express stop, nearly extinct butterflies, and a singing sand mountain???? Only in Nevada.

Spending time with Ace is always fun. Knowing each other a year now, the times we spend together still provide new and hilarious stories that keep us talking for hours. I can resort to being a simple wingman and enjoy the wide open spaces of a desolate landscape. It’s always better to hold hands with a friend while venturing into the unknown. You just never know what dangers await.

The further we traveled East, it seemed there was no mountain of sand to see. At first, there was an agricultural oasis dotted with country homes. The more we drove, the less homes were around. The stark outlines of the rock mountains against the blue desert sky were like a western painting. Zipping by Rattlesnake Raceway and Grime’s Point Petroglyphs, we were soon in the land of nothing. No other people or cars. No mustangs. No cattle. Nothing. Just miles and miles of sage brush and towering mountains on either side of the interstate.

Until we came to the salt flats.

Resembling fresh snow, salt grows out of the ground to be harvested. This calls to a certain type of person to find rocks in which to leave messages. This phenomenon can be seen in the salt flats outside of Wendover, as well. The strangest things are written in rock along side the road on the salt. Yesterday took the cake.

The Preamble of the United States Constitution. My goodness. Even typing that took a bit.

For as long as it took the words to stretch, someone or ones had taken rocks and spelled out every word in a straight line. At first, it just seemed like a line of rocks until I started looking at the words. Some people have way too much time on their hands. These words were big enough for easy highway reading in block letters.

Finally, 25 miles east from where we started, there it was. Sand Mountain. With a handful of hearty RVers, the 600 foot mountain of sand stands, singing on occasion. Ace and I were quick to think of camping possibilities on a moonless night. There are no lights for miles around, so the stars must be amazing on those nights. No light pollution there. Under a full moon, the landscape must almost glow with the reflection of the salt flats.

Avoiding disaster, Ace backed us out of the sand when it was obvious we started to sink. In situations like that, it’s a good thing to be with a car guy. They know things. A new desert lesson. Don’t try driving in sand, even with a 4-wheel-drive jeep. It just isn’t a smart thing to do.

After seeing enough of this natural beauty, it was time to retrace our steps, get an ice cream, and head home to Winterpast.

Adventures don’t need to be costly or time consuming. Exotic beaches are nice, but so are the simple and quiet places that you find everywhere in our beautiful country. Sand Mountain. She’s a beauty.

More tomorrow.

Thank goodness Oliver is so darn cute. In this world, cuteness excuses many defects. Oliver knows how to work this survival strategy with the best of dogs. It fills his dog bowl and keeps a bed next to my writing desk. He stands with the cutest of cute dogs.

Three years ago, no one found him cute at all. He was left behind as his brothers and sisters were whisked away in early Winter, 2019. His littermates all went at the height of their desirableness at appropriately 8 weeks of age. For some reason, Oliver was left behind. Too old to be one of the desirables, he spent his days playing in the farm, getting bigger and bigger. Not only was he aging out, he was sizing out. Mini- (under 12 lbs) and Tweenie (12-18 lbs.) dachshunds were the sizes most people want. Standard Dachshunds (18+ lbs.) are reserved for a different breed of folk. Oliver was twelve weeks and twelve pounds on the day we met.

Dachshunds come in many colors you may have never seen. Oliver is a Standard Cream Piebald Wire Haired Dachshund. If you Google that combination of descriptors, you will find pictures of those that look just like him. Standard is the problem. In the age of pocket puppies, a 25 pound, badger seeking tornado of a dog isn’t first on everyone’s list, and so, Oliver got left behind.

When we first met, he’d just experienced his first car trip at 4 months of age. Covered in bodily fluids of one kind or another, the breeder thrust him into my arms, where he settled right next to my heart. For the first three nights, we slept on the recliner, nestled in thick blankets. With no yard in VC, Oliver became a house dog. Later, he would become an even better RV dog, running the show at the various RV parks along the way.

VST found Oliver to be a worthy friend. Somehow, Oliver didn’t mind walks with VST, and VST was happy to control the little dare devil. Oliver loved VST’s big lap, and soon, they started communicating with winks. As I’ve said so many times before, Oliver was VST’s first and last dog. Their friendship was a huge success.

These days, Oliver would be the first to tell you he doesn’t like walks any more than I do. We’re matched in that way. His feet don’t like hot or cold concrete. He doesn’t like meeting up with strange dogs that whisper nasty little things to him long before we get close enough to say Hello. He’s just as happy to dig little holes in the back yard, or eat apricots, being very careful to spit out the pits in neat little piles. Questioning the box of water in which his Mom-Oh sits on occasion, he prefers to ignore it all together. He’d be the first to tell you that humans can be very odd and hard to understand.

At times, I’m quite sure that Oliver sees angels. In a knowing way, he communicates with them and then comes to nestle next to me. His translation is always, “Mom-oh, we have so many things for which to be grateful. We have our health, happiness, and home. We have each other.” So much wisdom in such a big-hearted little dog.

Tired of winter, Ollie is ready for the birds to come back. Being an only child, he loves having other animals to chase. He’s not so happy that the toads will surely return, but, he’ll keep their activity to a minimum. He is his own science project. No. It seems toads are not deadly if ingested by a badger hunting dachshund. The toads will just need to move on if they value their life.

This year, Oliver will be four years old on August 6th. Hard to believe this crazy puppy is a day over 6 months. As we work on manners, I see improvements in his ability to stop wiggling long enough to sit. The door bell can ring twice now without a total loss of control on his part. Some nights, he falls asleep at 5:30 and sleeps straight through eleven hours of puppy dreams. He’s learning patience and understanding more each day. Thank goodness he forgives me for mistakes I’ve made along our journey together. Dogs are far better at that than humans.

Two weeks ago, a new habit came to be. Not something that his Mom-oh is condoning. Oliver discovered a full box of Kleenex. Never had he felt something so tender between his tongue and teeth. So tasty and irresistible. Absolutely a new favorite of this little dog. I see him plotting from his bed on the floor as he looks atop my countertop to where the new box sits. I’m quite sure that if left alone to his own devices, that box would be his in a matter of minutes. Oliver is just that smart.

It’s a good thing that he has his cuteness to fall back on as his main survival strategy. Those sweet puppy eyes. That sweet puppy wiggle. Those little puppy kisses that tell me I’m his favorite Mom-Oh in the entire world. I guess I should stock up on the new Kleenex boxes now.

More tomorrow.

Twenty-four hours of winter has been a delightful thing to behold. Waking up to an inch of fresh snow was beautiful. Every little limb outlined in stark white, against a backdrop of angry black clouds. Winterpast was again dressed for the ball in a blanket of snow. Opening all the blinds, my town was a more appropriate host for the Winter Olympics than the landscape of Beijing as seen on TV. With a little more than a month of winter to go, there was no need for man-made snow here.

Throughout the day, the snow disappeared. By last night, there was no trace left. The perfect kind of snow storm for me. No shoveling. Snow in inches, not feet. No need for 4 wheel drive anything, really. Just postcard beautiful for the morning hours, and then business back to normal.

February patience is tough. The 2022 bathing suits are hitting the racks at Walmart. Walking down the aisle in the toy section, stacks of wading pools and water wings are on display. The pink and red of Valentine’s Day are gone, replaced by Easter baskets and bags of cellophane grass. Spring shorts and tees are on display, while I just wait for the iris’s to jump out of the ground.

The weather had been so nice for so many weeks, it was easy to forget that winter isn’t done with us yet. During the 24 hour storm, the local ski resort was covered with 9″ of fresh powder. The interstate slowed to a crawl with travelers sharing knowing looks with each other as they passed Donner Lake. THAT Donner Lake. If you’ve ever driven through a Sierra snow storm, the horror those folks endured takes on a new meaning. If you are unaware of the Donner Party and their gruesome tale, Google it. It’s a story you won’t soon forget.

Waiting for spring to arrive, it’s time to refocus on goals. Time to plan the garden, and then order the seeds and bulbs. Examine the shape of the trees and how a pruning might give them a chance to produce larger fruit. Here in the high desert, it’s a given that most years, the first bloom will be lost to frost, but we can hope for a second. Without pests, the apricot crop is the one I’m waiting for. I hope this year brings enough for Oliver and I to share.

Thinking about the garden furniture tucked safely in the barn, I wish it was time to bring my living space outside again. The chairs and tables could use a little paint. The bird houses are in need of some TLC, too. All too soon, the desert temps will be blazing, leaving everyone hoping for an early autumn. And so go the seasons.

All of these gardening ideas amuse me, while keeping irritations and upsets at bay. So many things can derail a person from the beauty of the day in the high desert. Things that really matter not one bit in the giant scheme of things. Keeping the television viewing at a minimum does help. The news is nothing but bad. Tedious. Minute by minute, the revisions of yesterday’s news only turn more rancid, souring the day. Politicians need to pick up a shovel and move a pile by hand. Refocus on goodness and light. Wouldn’t that be swell?

Whatever you have planned for today, focus on positivity and patience. Find a happy spot to enjoy something. Be grateful for what you have and try to forget about what you don’t. There is always something about which to smile. Spring 2022 is just around the bend.