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Yesterday was a day full of outdoor activities for me. From spraying the weeds to cleaning the spa, I enjoyed every minute of sunshine.
Oliver spent an hour protecting me from a leaf under the rose bush. It had caught his attention so he went to investigate. Every time he went to sniff it, his head was tapped by a rose thorn. Being a dog and all, he was sure that monstrous leaf was causing the problem. Try as he did, the thorns prevented him from getting closer. Who knows? Perhaps he saved me from a rattlesnake or something worse. I did check it out. Looked like a random leaf to me.
The birds have moved back in. Finches, black birds, crows, and doves. Everybody seems to be getting along on this Mother’s Day weekend. They’ve taken up residence in the little bird houses. With a bubbling drinking fountain and plenty of shade, they’ll stick around Winterpast for the season. I wish I knew what they were talking about as they seem to know all the neighborhood gossip.
The Peony’s and Iris’s will be opening soon. With the chance of snow on Sunday, I may pick some now and let them open in the kitchen. This year, I was really looking forward to plums, apricots, and blueberries. Late frosts and snows ruined the crop here at Winterpast. Well, there’s always next year. The best I can hope for is some pretty flowers, and that’s questionable.
Around noon, I went out for a cheeseburger after I’d received a coupon in the mail. My little town is suffering from a lack of workers. Restaurants are empty because people like me have given up the long waits and expensive prices in exchange for home cooking. Having the place to myself, I enjoyed the best hamburger and fries. My first Mother’s Day meal of the weekend!
Thinking back to my teenage years, I’d have loved nothing more than to get a job. Living in a sea of vineyards, the nearest town was 40 minutes away. To far to go when the average wage was $1.25 an hour. In the businesses around my little town today, the workers are mostly my age or older. Not many teens joining the workforce these days. A sad state of affairs.
Today, my weekend will continue with a binge on the Kentucky Derby. No favorite here. My favorite was always Bob Baffert, and that bad boy can’t attend for a few years. Now, we’ll never know if his horses were good enough to win all on their own. So many things in this world are not what they seem.
Just look at the Johnny Depp trial. Two people that had the world at their fingertips. Ego driven. Money wherever they turned. Private islands and entire villages. Private jets to movie premiers in which they were the stars. The world was theirs. How many millions have been put under the spell of Jack Sparrow? In the end, they were both pirates of the worst kind. Stealing admiration and accolades, when they weren’t acting but portraying their true selves. A pity.
Whatever you do this Mother’s Day Weekend, treat yourself kindly. Do something that makes you smile. Mom’s have the most wonderful superpower of all. We created other humans. Pretty incredible.
I got the cutest call from K yesterday. As one seasoned mom to another, I always love getting her calls informing me of the daily antics of my two grown grandsons. How did two little bundles lost in fleece turn into hairy men weighing 200 lbs. each. My goodness, Shorty is over 6’2 while my oldest grandson is 6’8. In my heart, they are still little guys that made VST and me proud every single day.
How well I remember the afternoon that K brought our grandsons to The Golden Chain Theater in Oakhurst, California to watch VST in his signature roll as Buck Badam. In melodramatic fashion, our two littles watched their Papa create a villain onstage while wielding his weapon in a choreographed sword fight. I guess it made quite an impression, as Shorty has become quite the actor. As he puts it, “the second actor in our family”.
Shorty is graduating from high school. Just like that, all grown up. He works 8 hour days at a local grocery store while acting and finishing high school. Of course, there’s always time for his girl, and their last prom is tomorrow night.
Remembering back to when I was K’s age, there were plenty of days when I wanted to scream in pride over the accomplishments of our five children. When VST and I married, we blended a family of 11-year-old twins, two 8-year-olds, and a six-year-old. We never looked back, doing our best to give the best examples of adulting to them, hoping that their lives could turn out as happy as ours. Now, almost 35 years later, it seems the kids have turned out alright.
Bubbling over on the phone, K was sharing her Mother’s Day delights, which for any mother is every single day. The highs and lows create a patchwork quilt of love and commitment that covers our children, even when they aren’t children anymore. In my own empty coop these days, thank goodness I have so many precious memories with which to snuggle on nights that are a little too quiet.
Still smiling this morning about K and her accompishments as a mom, I got my coffee and started with my morning ritual. Always checking the emails first, I had my own reason to scream with pride from the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada!
My beloved son, J, is on his way home from his deployment to another desert on the other side of the world. At 42, no one expected him to be chosen for deployment in his last year of service to our Nation. But, someone had to go and it was him. Leaving three children and a wife behind, along with his own business, he was plucked out of his life to serve our country for the last time. He’ll earn his retirement from the military later this year.
Yes, K, sometimes I’m so proud of my kids I just want to scream with delight. This is one of those moments for sure. Entrepreneurs and inventors, educators, healers, protectors, veterans, mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, brothers, and sisters, husbands, wives, friends and mentors. Although a group of five to VST and me, each person unique and individually successful.
When I was pregnant 42 years ago, my obstetrician required weekly classes covering all aspects of parenthood, as well as the physical aspects of pregnancy and delivery. There were 25 classes, in all. No epidurals were necessary. Sheer will power and focus were enough. Knowledge of how to handle the difficult situation of labor and delivery would be better for the baby. It turns out, in my situation, it was.
One of the classes I remember the most was one on teaching independence to our children. As I sat, round-bellied like the other Pre-Mom’s in our maternity class, Doctor Ellis himself came in to teach the ultimate importance of independence. For two hours, he discussed the most important job of a mom. Teaching her babies to ultimately leave the nest and live life to the fullest on their own. That process begins with the simplest snip of the cord. What a lucky group of women we were to hear such such wise advise.
This Mother’s Day, it’s with pride that I scream in pride just a little about my flock. Five wonderful people that are contributing to society in their own unique and beautiful ways. That’s better than 100 Hallmark cards. It’s worth my everything. VST, rest easy up there in heaven. We did alright.
The world today could use a few more prayers. As the days go by, more and more things don’t make sense. I suppose in the 1970’s my Grandparents thought the same thing. Incomprehensible insanity is everywhere, as I age into one of those that’s not longer relevant. Everyone has two hands. Here’s another way to use them.
Inspired by — God’s Little Devotional Journal — Page 132.
Many children learn to count on their fingers, but a nurse once taught a child to pray on his fingers.
This was her method:
The thumb is the digit nearest to your heart, so pray first for those who are closet to you. Your own needs, of course, should be included, as well as those of your beloved family and friends. As you prayer, be sure to praise God for all the blessings in your life. Even in the darkest of times, God’s blessings truly overflow.
The second finger is the one used for pointing. Pray for those who point you toward the truth, whether at church or school. Pray for your teachers, mentors, pastors, and those who inspire your faith. When pointing out the faults of another, three fingers pointing back at their owner. In prayer, ask for forgiveness of shortcomings.
The third finger is the tallest. Let is stand for the leaders in every sphere of life. Pray for those in authority– both within the body of Christ and those who hold office in various areas of government They need special prayers for wisdom. The world is a bit short on wisdom these days.
The fourth finger is the weakest, as every pianist knows. Let it stand for those who are in trouble and pain — the sick, injured, abused, wounded, or hurt. Ask God to help relieve the pain of loneliness and grief.
The little finger is the smallest. Let it stand for those who often go unnoticed, including those who suffer abuse or deprivation. Even the smallest troubles in the world need prayer at times.
What a great way to pray for ourselves and others. A simple and wonderful way to give the world a hand with prayer.
Let’s face it, the only kind of crown one needs in the desert is the kind that fit snuggly over aging teeth. There are no sparkling balls full of blushing debutantes. Nope. Best you have a pair of cowboy boots and a Stetson around here. Two-stepn’ and line dancen’ are about as fancy as we get. I might have gotten a better deal on one of the crowns shown above than the two custom made for my teeth.
Monday was a day for medical visits. Dentist and Optometrist.
My optometrist is a cool guy. He has a house in the biggest little city just to the west of me. During the week, he resides in a motorhome right off Main Street. Quiet and reserved, on Monday morning he was bemoaning the fact that he himself needs new glasses. He hasn’t had time. Reminds me of the mechanic with the broken cars. Fixing everything for everyone else, professionals leave themselves for last.
We had a good discussion about the horrific winds that have plagued us recently. His fence blew over and he can’t find a repair person to come fix it. That’s a huge problem in our area. No handyman available to fix things. Explaining that he might need to have his son-in-law come over to help fix the fence, I smiled. No matter your profession, problems are the same. Fences of the wealthy blow over just as quickly as fences of the poor. In the end, sometimes we all just need to call The Guy. In this case, there isn’t a GUY to call.
I’m so happy to report that at the age of 66, I have youthful eyeballs. Thank Goodness. No retinal tears or macular degeneration. Finally, something that isn’t sagging or out of whack. Just healthy eyeballs with the prettiest of arteries and veins running this way and that. As with a lot of older people, I just need a little vision correction with the help of contacts and glasses.
I bought my first pair of glasses from this office last year. Being the best frame and lenses of my life, I wear them all the time. Light, cute, and the perfect prescription, I was hoping I could just change out the old lenses with new. Someone near and dear assured me that would never be possible. Ever. Well, I had to prove that wrong. At least I had to give it a try.
After talking with Lady of the Frames, it turns out that they COULD and WOULD use my one year old frames and simply replace the lenses. Happy, Happy, Happy Day!!!! Qualifying for a 20% discount, I was just about dancing in my seat! But, I wasn’t done yet.
Could they put prescription lenses in my regular Costco Sunglass frames, I asked? My very cute “$34.00 for 2” Costco “Read at the Beach” Sunglasses? Those?
Well, yes they COULD and WOULD! Prescription Sunglasse hack!!! OOOHHHH LaLa!!! And, because they were a second pair, 30% off those lenses!!! I wanted to shout “Glory! Hallelujah!” right then and there. I’d hit the eyeglass lottery and it wasn’t even 10AM yet.
I knew that because 10AM would find me sitting in the dental chair being prepped for two new crowns. You know the kind I already mentioned. I’d gone back and forth about replacing both crowns or just one. I was there and the dentist was there. Might as well just go through one long visit rather than two shorter ones.
As it turns out, it was a good call on his part. After removing the old crowns, a digital photograph showed the obvious decay that had been growing under both old jackets. Root canal averted! With everything clean and tidy, temporary crowns were created and glued on. After only three hours in the chair and a 20% local discount, I was on my way back home.
Monday was a day for spending $$$ on self-care. Yes, a vacation to Tahiti would have been more enjoyable, but might have resulted in the root canal I averted by going to the dentist on Monday. Besides, I wouldn’t be set for beach reading with my amazing new prescription sun glasses. Things always work out the way they’re supposed to.
If you’ve been putting off appointments with the dentist or eye doctor, don’t delay. Be sure to ask for any and all discounts that might apply.
Hi there, faithful readers! It’s nice to be back with you. Last week, I spent a few lovely days in California. The weather there is so different, making me appreciate desert life all the more. Dry cold days don’t seem as severe on the desert. Yes, the wind howls, but it’s a dry wind. The chill is present but without humidity. A 60 degree day on the Northwestern desert plains of Nevada feel much warmer than a 60 degree day in Northern California. With the unsettled weather everything was damp making it still to cold for shorts and a t-shirt.
Everything reaches for the sky in California. Bright fields of green, sprinkled with fresh California Poppies. A glorious sight to behold. As a young girl growing up in the Central Valley of California, there were days when both the Coastal range and the Sierra Nevada were visible from our ranch. When the mountains called to us, we would take a drive just to look at all the wildflowers blooming in the high country. Such fragile beauty, all boasting sweet little names I have long since forgotten. Each week, spring blooms once again at a higher elevation, until the last of the wildflowers die and fall is near. So go the seasons of the Sierra’s.
Last week, Donner Pass was clear of snow. Just two weeks before, T and K were stuck in Truckee for three hours in an early spring blizzard. Interstate 80 isn’t forgiving. When you decide to cross the Sierra’s, it’s important to carry water, blankets, and snacks, because you just never know. The Sierra’s aren’t a place one should try out an unknown short-cut or new GPS route. Just ask the Donner Party. We should all show great respect for those that lost their lives in the winter of 1846-47.
The little town I visited is one of the oldest in California. Even though the population is much smaller than my little town, the amenities were dazzling. It’s been awhile since I’ve stayed in a town enjoying every kind of store one would like to visit. Here at home, I have the luxury of my hometown Walmart or the Walmart’s to the East or West.
Restaurants were found on every corner. Too bad the prices were so outrageous. Eating at home is something I’m really loving now. Cooking for one is becoming a new hobby. Last week, I made fresh French Onion Soup that cooked all day long. My town has six casinos, four Mexican restaurants, two diners, and several fast food establishments. It’s poor planning for a town that is now pushing 25,000. With the housing market booming, there will be many changes in the next five years. Hard to know whether they will fit one old lady and her little dog. Only time will tell.
Walking through the produce section of a California grocery store, I remember eating fruit off the trees at the ranch. What I would give for a REAL peach or nectarine (not the cardboard variety you find for sale today). Here in the desert I haven’t found many road side fruit stands. Produce for our Farmer’s Markets are trucked in from California often leaving it bruised and tired after the extra days on the road. Nothing compares to California fruits and vegetables when purchased next to the field in which they were grown. Absolutely nothing.
Why, some people actually go through quite a process to get their hands on freshly grown ear corn from California State University, Fresno. One such Goddess involved several service industries and even law enforcement to have a box of fresh corn delivered 150 miles to her door. You know, Goddesses have all the luck. Especially those that drive the Highway 1 topless with tresses flowing (of course, topless refers to the status of the convertible — I think).
Eating at home is something I’m really loving now. Cooking for one is becoming a new hobby. Last week, I made fresh French Onion Soup that cooked all day long. Out of “Mastering the Art of French Cooking”, it simmered all day long on very low heat. I didn’t know some yellow onions and broth could make something that tasted so heavenly. No need to waste money on restaurants when I can cook great things in the kitchen here at Winterpast.
Oliver had a wonderful time at Puppy Camp. His little friend, Clara, popped in for a few days of Doggie Day Care. Upon his return, I can finally recognize a well-trained, almost-5-year-old, gentleman dog. He has much more interest in sleeping at my feet, wherever that may be. Snoozing more, he chews on things less. Finally. It’s been harrowing raising such an intelligent little guy.
Once back home, it was time to get out the hoe, rake, hose, and weed spray. I need to get busy before the weeds win. A little of me misses the green hills of California. Just a wee bit. But, more of me loves the quiet desert rainfall that came last night after a day of high winds. It’s time to explore Nevada to discover all the secrets she holds. I can always pop back over the hill for a little visit the next time I need a city fix.
Get out there and enjoy the first week of May. It’s a glorious time to do something new!
Face it, carpet cleaning is never an adventure. Not fun or glamourous. The only great thing about it is finishing the job and enjoying the beauty of a clean rug.
Yesterday, while getting ready to attend another funeral, my neighbor asked to borrow my nifty and new carpet cleaner. My machine is bright and shiny, having been used less than ten times. It still has tags hanging on it. There IS a small problem with the design.
When I chose this model, it was love at first sight. The box displayed a woman and her lovey-dovey Golden Retriever sitting in a room with brand new carpeting. Now, if this machine could handle the hair of a golden retriever, it would surely take care of Oliver’s tiny little hairs. Coming equipped with a bag of attachments that I knew I’d never need, my choice was made. It would be the Bissell Super Deluxe Hair No More Model for the carpets of Winterpast.
After using the machine for the first time, I was in love. Through each canister of hot and soapy solution, the most awful looking stuff was sucked up and captured for proper disposal. It was easy to use, unlike those monsters I used to rent during college days. Remember?? The big red ones rented at the grocery store that you needed a hunky boyfriend to lift into the trunk of the car? I never understood what could make those so huge and heavy. My new model was sleek and efficient.
My dreams of looking just like the happy woman and her dog displayed on the box were quickly dashed. There was a major design flaw that quickly ruined the moment. There was no way to open the suction area to clean out the wet gunky hair and lint. This stuff was clogging the entire machine, even after vacuuming twice. Soggy, thick masses of hair, lint, and dirt. Like a small marine pet stuck in the uptake slot. 12″ of clog that, if allowed to dry, would render my new machine useless.
Assumed there would be a way to take the plastic pieces apart and rinse away the gunk, my quest began. Unfortunately, this part of the device was not to come apart. Any cracks or openings would have ruined the suction.
This is where the fun began.
It would have made for great TV Viewing. I squirted water down the top. When filled to the brim, it showered me in the face (remember, gunk water—Ewwww). Then, I tried rinsing from the bottom. I held the cleaner on it’s side, no movement. It seemed the gunk was growing. There was no movement and the clogs stayed in place, visible through the clear plastic.
As the cleaner and I danced in the kitchen, the carpet dried, while my kitchen was another story. Water and debris were everywhere, while the nasty clogs remained. Finally, I found a tool that did the job. A bamboo skewer. Just the right thickness, the first one went right in, making contact with the debris.
Until.
Snap.
Crackle.
Broken in two and becoming part of the stubborn clog. Determined to win, I persisted and finally, After an hour and several more skewers, the machine was finally cleaned and ready to be put away. Since then, carpet cleaning is a choice that comes requiring the extra hour needed to clean the machine. I was okay with that arrangement.
Yesterday, I got a call from the sweet neighbor with the mysterious adoptees. It seems THE AGENCY is coming to check on the welfare of the newest neighbors. Wanting the house to look just right, she asked if I had a machine and if she could borrow it.
Well, of course. This could be the chance I’d been waiting for to meet the non-English speaking strangers. All three which, (truth not gossip), are juveniles. A win/win. She came to get the carpet cleaner, as she explained the littles were napping and needed no disturbances.
Late in the day, I received the call.
“Joy. Thank you so much for the carpet cleaner. I want to return it in the condition it was when I borrowed it. Do you have the tool?”
Now, I was at a loss. A tool? For? What necessary tool had I missed? A bag of bright shiny tools hung in the hallway closet, awaiting the day I might use them. Not an attachment kind of gal, I’d never opened the bag.
“I just watched You Tube on how to remove the gross stuff stuck in the machine. You should have a tool. Do you?”
Visions of hours by the sink came to mind. Flying gunk. Shooting water. A tool could have prevented this? Racing to the little bag of extras, I started removing everything looking for something that resembled a “tool”. There were hoses, extensions, brushes, and more. When I was pretty sure nothing was left, out popped a very thin, flat, long piece of grey plastic with a hook on one end.
THE TOOL.
The carpet cleaner is shiny and clean now. Who knew????? A TOOL.
Oy Vey.
This week, I will be going on a short vacation. It’s obvious I need a change of scenery when the best I can write about is a “Gunk Tool”. Hopefully, sand and waves will be included in my little excursion. I’ll settle for some humidity and lush green surroundings.
Have a wonderful week. I’ll be back with more adventures next Monday.
Recovering from grief can leave one feeling somewhat like a deflated basketball, blown tire, or flat soda. This week, I’ve had trouble bouncing, rolling, or even being a little sparkly. Sometimes, a little fresh air or an injection of fizz are required to get moving again. Widowhood has been that way for me. Something about seeing a black slab of granite inscribed with VST’s Birth and Death dates was a slap in the face. Wonderful memories are all that are left behind after everything is said and done. Standing at his headstone on top of Cemetery Hill in Virginia City, life screamed that at me though the chill of the Zephyr Winds.
When frozen in grief, forward movement can seem downright impossible. Just when I started to believe the wilderness of widowhood was clearing, I found myself again in the thickness of the forest. One year? Two Years? It seems the paths are the very same month after month. Time has healed so much, while opening other, more subtle wounds. No one prepared me for that cruel fact of life.
Which way now?
Choose a path NOW.
Although the same choices have existed for the past 2 years, the fog kept the vast number of possibilities hidden. The horizon expands with each new day, leaving me “Decision Weary”.
Turn here.
Volunteer there.
Move this way.
Travel that way.
Help this new widow.
Lean into the oldest of friends.
All the while, choices and directions have painfully personal outcomes. Widows and widowers understand this. Life is now surrounded by a loneliness wished on no one. Surrounded by overwhelming and complete solitude in the darkness of night, faith comforts me.
During traumatic times, self care and self love are vital. Listen to your personal needs and take address them. Sometimes, it could include a swift kick into gear if you find yourself sitting in one spot too long. Get moving. It doesn’t need to be very fast or far but in a forward motion each day.
If you find life is different than you desire, it’s time to change things up. Choose a new hairstyle or trade in your favorite “mom jeans” for a pair of cute leggings. Do things in a different order and life will begin to brighten as it becomes your own.
The spring weather here has been like my moods. Hot one minute and freezing cold the next. I compare the change in the weather to the next chapter of life. Some days, you’re cruising through life at 70 degrees. Other days, you’re burned to a crisp in the desert sun. The long days of winter’s chill are conquered with cups of hot cocoa by a roaring fire, while the snow falls just outside your door. Yes. Life is continual string of seasons, one right after the other.
Spring 2022 has brought on a new crop of weeds to Winterpast. I’ll leave you to enjoy the best day you’ve had all year. Make it so by doing something Saturday-ish. But, first and foremost, take care of yourself.
