Grieving Gardener

What if January were a person? How disturbing for her to be stuck between Christmas and Valentine’s Day. Sure, she owns New Year’s Day, but, who remembers that? The real fun belongs to December 31st and her wild parties. By January 1st at 12:05 AM, all the kisses are delivered. People are ready to turn in, if they stayed up that long. Nope, January has a right to be a little bitter.

If all the months had a party January would surely pick August as a BFF. They could sit together in their extremes and complain about the world. Bitter cold and outrageous heat. Things covered in snow or burnt up by the blistering summer, January and August are no one’s favorite unless, of course, you have a birthday in those months. August has no major events either. In both months, teachers and students return to school and the serious business of learning. The fun and games are saved for the good months.

August and January would criticize February for hearts, April, May and June for Bunnies, blooms, and new life, June for brides, July for fireworks and September for the apple harvest. October would get their scorn for Halloween and November for turkey dinners. Of course, they would vent about December until they could say no more. Christmas is the holiday they would never get over. I’d guess all the months might throw a little shade at December’s good fortune.

Unforgiving, it seems January always has a chip on her shoulder. Her days are filled with blizzards and bitter cold, unless you live somewhere warm, like Florida or Arizona. Then, the high season of the snowbirds is in full swing. Oy Vey, the misery of it all. Through her 31 days, she’s a pessimistic month.

If you’re a history buff, perhaps she might be your favorite, with MLK’s holiday thrown in for good measure.

Really, she’s made of 31 days in which people pack up Christmas and find Valentine Cards for their loved ones. A middle month. A time when Americans begin to worry about new tax rules and old tax write offs. One in which Christmas bills come due.

Too early to start spring cleaning, even the house get’s kicked around a little. Yards are ignored. Nothing grows outside. Winds blow and snow falls, while no one ever talks about how romantic the snow is in January. They are counting down the days until the spring thaw. Everyone is tired of winter by the end of January.

If January were a person, I wouldn’t choose her for a friend. Stubborn and detached, she’s set in her ways. Not fun and free like December when any day is a great one to share a little brunch with neighbors. January brunches need to be planned around temperatures and icy roads.

Colds seem to linger longer in January than in other months. There’s no reason to get better quickly. It’s too nice to lounge under the covers and practice lazy.

For me, January holds sad memories of the worst kind. It was January that stole my first love away from me when we were only kids. Death on a Wednesday for a boy that just wanted to wrestle. RIP – Derrick Ray Wilson (7/30/1955 – 1/31/1973).

However, she does hold memories of the best kind, as well. On sunny, spring-like January afternoon in 1988, VST and I married in front of family and friends. No real reason January was chosen except that we didn’t want to wait until February. When you know, you know. When you want to start life with someone you love, you want it to start as soon as possible. January had an opening.

Throughout our years, three precious grandchildren were born to our family in January. Of course, every month gives the gift of new life as the seasons roll along while stealing others away. The rhythm of life isn’t always something that can be explained. It’s a wonderful fact that any month is a perfect time to become a new grandparent.

With her pessimistic and condescending days, January seems to have difficulty letting us go. These past few days have been like cold molasses, dragging on minute by minute. January, in her aloof way, hasn’t been a comfort as winter is brutal here in the high desert of Northwestern Nevada. Even the mildest winter day, as we experience now, begins with frigid mornings and a frost covered world.

I hope your experiences with our friend January have been a bit more positive than mine. Miss Firecracker will begin construction on her lovely home as she winters in California. January might just have a better attitude in California, with every season a little lovelier there. Miss Firecracker’s attitude has definitely improved as new life in a new home is exploding with possibilities!

Wherever you are, find something to do that brings you happiness. The world needs more happiness to grow inside each of us, one heart at a time. Even if it’s STILL January.

More tomorrow.

Life on the farm was never dull. March 1, 1990, VST and I became the proud owners of a 40 acre vineyard and the stewards of nearly 17,000 vines. They were geriatric vines of vintage varieties. Mostly Thompson Seedless, there were few antique vines thrown in the mix. Most of them were at least 60 years old and patiently waiting to teach us a thing or two about viticulture.

One such vine was the “Lady Fingers” in Row 101 just behind the house. My dad knew the exact row and vine, watching all year until the grapes were ripe enough to each. “Lady Fingers” weren’t my favorite. Extremely long, sugary sweet, and seeded, they’d been planted by Volga German immigrants long before I was born. These grapes were picked for special occasions and had a taste all their own.

Once we became farmers, time was no longer our own. Our days and nights were controlled by the God’s of What Will Break Next. Duct tape is an awesome tool when in the middle of a prescribed application of pesticides costing upwards of $3,000. A little duct tape placed over a split hose can save the day and the farm. VST and I purchased lots of duct tape throughout our farming years.

It was at the end of those years that we became very weary. Hopping from broken this to failing that, it was hard to keep all the balls in the air as we juggled farming life. The kids had run off in five different directions. Even VST’s parents had jumped ship, one to heaven and the other to a retirement apartment miles away. It was just us, the dogs, and 17,000 demanding vines.

Our farming endeavor didn’t involve wine making. Our grapes were of the Thompson Seedless variety which is juiced and blended with much of the wine produced in California. Our grapes were used for a different purpose. They became Sunmaid Raisins. You know, the dancing kind. Same versatile grape with many different uses. Thompson’s also become the very large green table grapes you buy in the store. The large size is achieved by spraying them with Gibberellic Acid, a growth hormone. Not much is ever printed about this practice, but, that’s one way the large size is achieved. Otherwise, the grapes stay small, sweet, and are used for wine or raisins. In the area I came from, the preferred grape variety was the Thompson Seedless.

On one particularly long Saturday, we’d been preparing for an irrigation. Due to a drought, we’d need to turn on our underground pump, circa 1936. This pump was an antique we used only when county irrigation water wasn’t available. It did work well, even though the large belt on the pump was hand crafted from a strip of leather. I know, because it broke one time, causing us to find an 80 year old pump repairman to create another.

On this particular day, we had a different problem. It seemed the equally old underground pipe had a break of approximately 8″ in diameter. Water gushing from an 8″ hole in a 12″ pipeline is quite a thing to behold. A crazy making event when two people are so worn out they can hardly think. The gusher was turned off as quickly as it had been turned on.

Quietly sitting on a pile of the best soil in the world, VST and I weren’t far from crying. This wasn’t a repair that we could afford in time or money. It wasn’t an easy fix, involving big equipment and worse than that, an extra bill from an outside company that we couldn’t afford. It was then that my little blonde brain kicked into high gear.

Quietly, I went to the orange tree and picked 10 oranges. It had been a bumper crop that year with the fruit being large and sweet. These were vintage oranges with a taste you could only imagine and better than anything you’ve ever eaten.

Returning to VST’s side, I put them on the ground and then went to the shop. The very shop in which vermin and wild creatures wintered, entering through the large cracks in the back wall. Wiping away spider webs and dust, I unwrapped a new roll of duct tape and hurried back to the pipeline. The water had already disappeared into the thirsty soil, leaving a huge hole and the exposed break in the concrete pipe. Perfectly round, there were no spider cracks that we could see.

Without stopping, I sat down and leaned over the edge to touch the pipe which was a good 15″ down. This was a muddy affair. I took the oranges and started plugging the hole with them. The first attempt resulted in the loss of couple oranges that dropped into the pipeline, but once I had three in place, the others fit nicely. The gushing water had washed away the soil around the pipe, giving access to all sides. Once the oranges were tightly packed, eliminating the hole, the duct tape was applied. Around and around we went, stretching the duct tape as tight as we could while using the entire roll.

The entire time, VST was grumbling but also amused at the odd and crafty repair. Six large oranges. One roll of duct tape. Snacking on the leftover oranges, we turned on the pump. Humming nicely, as only a 1936 irrigation pump could do, our patch held. The irrigation proceeded without a leak and luckily, that was the last time we ever needed the pump. Repaired in the spring of 2007, we sold the ranch later that year.

Sometimes, the best memories involve a bunch of oranges and a roll of duct tape. We laughed so many times about our amazing fix. Was it fixed for the ages? Of course not. Did it do the job so that we could continue to the next broken disaster? Yes, it did. Did we sell the ranch that way??? That will remain an eternal secret kept between VST and me. The ranch passed all inspections. Just sayin’.

Farmers have the toughest of jobs. Plants and animals can’t wait around for the perfect weather in which to be born or the sunniest of days to be harvested. Life happens 24/7. It isn’t convenient or planned. Things break when you use them. It matters not if you are in the middle of a roundup of new calves awaiting castration or while inspecting dusty little dancing raisins as they hop away from dirt and dust across a shaker into a waiting bin.

Nature breaks things, too. An ill timed rainstorm can wipe out an entire year’s worth of work in a single night. An illness can rip through a herd of cattle and kill the new crop of calves. A frost or hail can eliminate an entire crop, leaving vines that need care throughout the year, even though there’ll be no profit. Farming is the ultimate gamble. Farmers know this, but continue anyway.

Those days are long gone but the lessons learned helped me to deal with VST’s death. Untimely and the ultimate system failure, duct tape and some oranges wouldn’t fix the problem. Only patience, faith, and acceptance have helped me to get through some mighty tough days. How I wish I could sit with VST once more on that pile of dirt.

“Well, whatcha thinking, Darlin’? How can we fix this?”

“It’ll never be fixed, but time will patch things up until I see you again, VST.”

Have a super day.

More tomorrow.

_{Inspired by God’s Little Devotional Journal for Women}

Although all my homes have been very different, with effort, each one has been beautiful. It didn’t depend on the walls color or the furniture, but the feelings inside. Anyone can create an admirable home with thought and presence of mind to make it so. As a widow, I need to remember I deserve a pleasant home even though it’s just Oliver and me.

Harsh or unkind words have no place in a home worth inhabiting. I’ve needed to stop watching television when I find myself scolding an electrical impulse. I suspect many of you may yell at the TV from time to time just like I do. So much negativity and vulgarity is displayed at our own will. The “Off” button ends a source of information that doesn’t affect me in the least bit. Unless the weather report is warning of an imminent blizzard, no news affects me directly. However, it can certainly upset me directly. Lately, I’ve chosen the “Off” button more times than the “On”.

Each person in a great home should be made to feel special, important, and valued beyond measure. That includes ourselves. I forget to speak to myself with respect on many occasions or even cook myself a special meal once in awhile. Somedays, I speak more kindly to Oliver than to myself. Our inner voice can be cruel and judgmental. A little self love goes a long way to a happier outlook on life.

My soul needs cuddling after a trying day. Favorite artists always calm me down. Being the safest place in the world, it’s one in which I can dream up crazy schemes without someone shooting them out of my mind before they have a chance for consideration. My individual creativity takes hold and grow. Without security, that can’t happen. If it can’t happen for me, it certainly can’t happen for others entering my home.

A great home is a safe place to communicate about sensitive subjects. Many possible relationships ended because two people didn’t stop to hear one another. Sometimes hard truths not pleasant or endearing need to be said and understood. In a great home, secrets between two are treasured and protected.

Friendship blossoms in a solid home. Boundaries and privacy are respected. People living there put others before themselves. Giving more than taking, members put the important demands of a home first, being helpful while trying to keep a cheerful demeanor even if it’s dog poop day.

Sound heavenly? Impossible? No. It’s not. It takes focus and mindfulness while desiring to make it so. Really, it’s that easy.

Today, try to make your home the perfect one for you. If there is something physical that bothers you, fix it. If it’s messy, clean it up. If it’s dirty, wash it. If there a disagreement that is bothering you, talk about it. If there is a need for hugs and kisses, make them happen. If laughter has been missing, find some. Make it what you want, because, after all, there is nothing more important than home.

A wise person once wrote—

“A good thing to remember

A better thing to do,

Work with the construction gang,

Not with the wrecking crew.”

Have a wonderful day!

More tomorrow.

Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8 _{(King James Version)}

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.

A time to be born, and a time to die;

A time to plant, and a time to pluck that which is planted;

A time to kill, and a time to heal;

A time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh;

A time to mourn, and a time to dance;

A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;

A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

A time to get, and a time to lose;

A time to keep, and a time to cast away;

A time to rend, and a time to sew;

A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

A time to love, and a time to hate;

A time of war, and a time of peace.

Enough already. This isolation stuff is a nest for insanity. Two years ago, VST’s ankles became swollen for the first time in his 64 years. Really swollen. Giant in size, we first believed it was from a poor diet of fast food while looking for houses in Pahrump, Nevada. It was three days of Egg McMuffins and Bacon Western Cheeseburgers. Chips. Fries. Sodium overload. Such a weekend changed the course of our lives forever because the illness wasn’t caused by fast-food salt, but cancer. Little did we know. All was quickly revealed.

Just a year before that, we were enjoying one of the best hobbies in the world. RVing. If you know, you know. If you don’t, you might want to investigate. Having a completely stocked home on wheels, we rolled around the country to places we’d only read about in school. We went to the very meadows and hills where VST’s dad, Jack, ran as a boy. Missouri, with its down home ways, could have become our new home. I felt Jack’s spirit with us that entire trip.

Six weeks in an RV with a husband isn’t for the faint of heart, yet, VST and I found a rhythm that worked for us. Not all hearts and flowers, our daily goals were translated into unfamiliar names of towns hundreds of miles away. Meals were planned to the last sesame seed. Naps measured in 30 minute increments. Music set to Willie’s Roadhouse on Sirius XM while rolling at 55 to get to the Next Exit.

Two solitary years later, there’ve been no long road trips. Somewhere in Wyoming, at a lonely truck stop, I left a wisp of my soul. For a State Park outside Rapid City, South Dakota, my heart yearns. Mount Rushmore. Wall Drug. Ely, Minnesota. Lake Superior. All of them long for me to return as much as I dream of them. Once you drive through the peaks and valleys of our great country, you never look at her the same. I long for the mid-west.

Two years ago, VST was dying of cancer while the world was dying of Covid. The first I heard of this was a news story about a little place in Washington state where 90 people suddenly became ill and died. Such a mystery and horror, I paid little attention to the details. It would be the last news I watched for weeks.

April 9th, 2020, I again turned on the news, just one day a widow. The number of dead had grown to 20,000. Quarantining was in place. Go no where. Allow no one into the home. Close your doors and shutter your windows. Shelter in place. Be afraid. Very afraid. And so began my journey through widowhood.

Two years have passed. Because of my strange introduction to the world of Covid, I didn’t depend on the media to instruct me on my every move. Chilled to my bones by the horrors of VST’s cancer, there could be no worse illness. Viruses are a forever thing. There still is no cure for viruses. No eradication. The same is true for cancer. No cure. Certainly, there’s no cure for death. That’s a given.

For the last two years, I’ve done my best to keep living as normally as possible. I’ve eaten at restaurants as often as possible. Stayed in hotels on numerous occasions. Visited spas. Shopped. Carried on in a world that has gone mad. Thankfully, VST and I picked a new home in the perfect place. Spaced away from quiet neighbors, there’s room to breathe. Fresh air. Brilliant, disinfecting sunlight. No air pollution (unless California is on fire). Cleansing winds. A desert paradise.

Through all of this madness, I’ve had two colds in the last two years. Just plain colds. Sniffling. Sneezing. Running nose. Headache. Nothing more. Covid-Negative.

Now, it’s time for me to come out of isolation. Personally, I can’t cower another day. Two years of grief and loneliness is far too much time for navel inspection. 2022 is a time to return to normal, facing whatever that holds.

Healing. So much healing is needed in our world. Forgiveness. Tolerance. Love. Everyone just needs to take a deep breath and learn how to play together again. Drive a little slower. Wave a little more. Wear a smile instead of a mask, at least when you are driving, alone in your car. Plan a spring picnic. Get outside and resume one small part of a normal life. Living in fear is no life at all.

In all this craziness, something wonderful has happened here at Winterpast. A familiar name has returned to my life. Ace is back. Sometimes, isolation is necessary reflection on the course of life. With time and conversation, our friendship was stronger than our differences and we proceed with caution. Although one hundred miles still separate our lives, some friendships are just too precious to lose.

Now is the time for healing. Phone calls to old friends bring back forgotten memories. Walks together under the bright blue sky invigorate the spirit. Trips to the grocery store are more fun when the meals planned are for two. Flowers from a friend make me smile. Church is a room full of love. All those things help us heal together, because healing is always better with friends.

Have a wonderful day.

More tomorrow.

The weather has been super around these parts. Even though the nights are winter cold, the days have been bright, sunny, and warm. We’ve been experiencing the high 40’s, which for winter time, is just lovely. With the bluest skies shining overhead, I’m happy to report my cold is gone.

Almost two weeks have passed since I became sick. Normal viruses used to be predictable, taking ten days to run their course. How I long for the viruses of yesterday. Luckily, my regular old cold followed the proper course leaving me no worse off than before. It was just a runny nose, “I don’t feel well”, negative Covid-test, sneezy, cough-y, two Kleenex box cold.

A few lessons I learned through my little experience into illness isolation.

1. Stay prepared. A week before I got sick, I inventoried my medicine cupboard, taking note of what was missing. Dayquil/Nyquil comes in pill form in a 14 day package. It’s wonderful stuff. No drippy nose or stuffiness. Take the orange pills in the day and the green ones at night. This stuff kept me feeling better than I would have. It was great to have a package waiting at the ready, just incase. Be sure to check that all your medicines agree with each other. It can be complicated.
2. Keep orange juice on hand, even a small bottle. Vitamin C is great for fighting colds. It was also great to have a fresh bottle on hand.
3. Even if you aren’t feeling the best, don’t forget to take your prescribed meds on schedule. A friend was ill with a cold and forgot to take her insulin, resulting in worse problems. Remember to eat and medicate on a regular schedule.
4. Please don’t go anywhere if you are sick. Viruses are so contagious. Sadly, vaccinated or not, you can still get sick and spread viruses. If you have the slightest suspicion you are sick, PLEASE STAY HOME. Easy for me to say, I’m retired. But then, maybe it’s harder for us retirees that ARE alone. Main point, better be safe than sorry.
5. Stay in touch with others, just in case. I was so blessed to have family and friends reach out to be sure I was okay. What a blessing! It’s good to have friends that check in. Accidents or illnesses come without warning. You just never know.
6. Have an easy, nutritious go-to recipe that’s easy to prepare. For me, it was a pan of Mac and Cheese. When feeling the worst, it was nice to have a warm, gooey meal to keep me going. Chicken soup does warm the soul.

With shortages hitting us again, be sure to take inventory of your supplies. Stock as best you can. Don’t forget your furry friends. Oliver had plenty of food while I was out of commission. I keep a month’s supply of his food on hand, as the shortages have been hitting different items, dog food being one.

Today, I’m back on track. Even while riding out a silly cold, my days have been rich with happiness and fun. While resting, I’ve had time to reflect on the possibilities and goals that 2022 holds. Wondering if Walmart’s garden section is being stocked, Winterpast and I eagerly await bud break, still weeks away.

That’s it for today. Remember to start thinking about Valentine’s Day. Never forget to tell people in your life how much you love them. Spring is right around the corner!!!

More tomorrow.

Hi there, Folks.

It’s me. Oliver. I know. I know. I don’t have thumbs, but I figured a few things out while sitting in Mom-Oh’s chair. This computer screen and keyboard are pretty neat.

Mom-oh is still pretty sick. She would tell ya’ll the she feels as great as I do, but really, she doesn’t. This NyQuil stuff she takes isn’t so good for getting my breakfast on time. She says she “groggy” or some such thing. Anyway, she needs more sleep.

We’ll be back on Monday. She’ll be better by then. Please tell your friends to read Mom-Oh’s blog. She works really hard to write every day. I know. I’m her helper.

Thanks everyone. I just might blog more someday.

Oliver

PS….Don’t tell Mom-Oh. She’s not happy when I sit in her chair by accident.

With my cold on the run, I’m feeling better today. Steaming coffee, a blank computer screen, and Ollie at my feet I’ve not much to write about this morning. One could argue a story can be found in anything. Yes, I agree with that. Heck, I even named my tree Cheryl and gave her human attributes. However, after experiencing a head cold and days of isolation, a worthy topic isn’t obvious. Sitting here, the Snow Birds come to mind. They certainly know what to do when the temperatures drop.

Snow-Birding is on my bucket list. In case you’ve not heard the phrase, a Snow Bird is someone that leaves the ravages of winter snow to live somewhere warmer for three months. In Nevada, there are plenty of those “somewhere’s”. Pahrump, Laughlin, Las Vegas, Summerlin, Henderson. Those are just some of them. Each year, these desert towns swell with Mid-Americans and their RV’s.

The MIGRATION (believe me, it IS a migration) begins around November 1. On or around that date, the interstates swell with a mass of RV’s all traveling west or south. These people are determined to trade the bone chilling cold and winter of their homes for somewhere warmer. Towns like Yuma, Arizona explode. If you haven’t reservations, don’t go. RV spots and rentals are sold out months in advance.

While camping, VST and I would drive up and down the RV site in Pahrump looking at license plates. Minnesota. Missouri. New York. Wyoming. South Dakota. The list went on and on. In Pahrump, mind you. An isolated desert town, there’s not much there but beautiful scenery, a few casinos, and a Walmart. It does have something fabulous. Daytime temperatures of 65-70 with crystal clear skies of the deepest blue.

As the Snow Birds get settled, little communities form and the winter passes. RV’s are decorated for Christmas. Little yards are created with artificial turf and lawn chairs. Pets have outdoor areas in which to play. Shuffleboard comes alive and the pool and spa are hot spots to meet new friends. A mobile society of people that cannot take the winters anymore. In the desert communities, High Season is November to April. You can fry an egg on the sidewalk the other six months of the year.

As one might expect, many of these people are far past the normal driving age, and yet, navigate thousands of miles they do. They are hardy folks that are the fullest of lives. I respect them for that.

Towns prepare all year for the explosion of winter residents. Prices go up. Shelves are stocked with everything the travelers will need for their stay. A grand time is had by all until they pack it up and head back home April 1. Another day you might want to avoid if you are traveling on western interstates.

My bucket list includes wintering somewhere warm for an extended period of time. 70 degrees in the winter is heavenly. Cool enough for a sweater. No parka, gloves, wool cap, and socks necessary. No need for 4-wheel drive or chains. Just 70 degrees.

This morning, it’s 28 degrees with 95% cloud cover. No wind, but way too cold to venture into the hot tub just yet. I’ll wait until it warms up this afternoon. We’ll be having a heat wave at 48 degrees around 2 o’clock. Goodness. Short sleeve weather, eh?

Thinking about the Snow Birds, I remember our feral days when VST would get up and say, “Darlin’, you want to blow Dodge and head south?” In hours, we’d roll down the driveway towards another adventure. Someday soon, I’ll do that again.

To any Snow Bird reading this, please be grateful for your good fortune. You are truly lucky. To any past Snow Birds, please be grateful for all the wonderful memories you made. Without packing a bag, you can close your eyes and be there again.

Have a wonderful day. More tomorrow.

Wow. I sneezed and it’s January 11th. During retirement I thought time would slow but it seems to have done the opposite. Although up and writing today, I’m still not 100%. I’ve been enjoying movies, chicken soup, orange juice, and lots of naps. Today I need to move my brain and body towards normal.

A few bored days ago I wasn’t feeling well enough to write for an hour or two in my drafty studio. Not quite up to reading a novel, I wanted something to do. Daily journaling has become a part of my life. Like a best friend of the “No-Tell” kind, I vent about whatever has driven me mad, made me cry, or brought me to my knees. There are also boring little repetitions about feeding Oliver or the time I rise each morning. Just stuff that I find important at the time I wrote.

Journal One, August, 2020. Reading along, day by day, I revisited my early widowhood wondering where that version of me found the strength to pick up a pencil, let alone life. Grief soaked pages told of a long and arduous journey full of adventure and great memories. These journals speak of flags planted along the way. Milestones. Successes. Failures. My journals are a place feelings of one day are vented and forgotten the next. But when read one page after the other, a mural of this new woman appeared. As I’ve grown, the new me is a reflection of the decisions I’ve made along the way. Thank goodness I like who I’ve become today.

Want to journal for yourself? Here are some tips to help you get started.

1. Find a comfortable spot to journal in a quiet area. Hate quiet? Find a chaotic place. People are different. Find a place that works for you.
2. Choose a time that you are well-nourished and rested, preferably at the same time every day. Set your timer for 15 minutes.
3. Commit to writing for 14 days in a row.
4. To begin, date your page. On the first three lines write 1, 2, 3.
5. Think of three things you’re grateful for. They can be as simple as Air, Water, Light. After you list the item, write one sentence about each telling why you are grateful. This is just to get your mind rolling. As you’re writing these three sentences, spelling doesn’t matter. As long as you can read this, it doesn’t matter the penmanship. Punctuation??? FERGETABOUTIT. Just get your words down about these three things. You may write a page about each one. You may write four words and call it good. It’s up to you.
6. Next, write about one thing that happened over the last 24 hours. This can be as simple as walking to the mail box and seeing a cloud. Write one sentence about what you saw. Continue a little about what you smelled, touched, heard, and tasted. You’ll be surprised that if you start really thinking about your day, you have so much to write, it’ll be hard to choose.
7. It’s okay if you only write 1/2 page. More is not always better. When you feel like stopping, stop.
8. Make writing in your journal a priority for two weeks and then see if journaling is something you want to continue.

Reading back through the months at Winterpast, the abundant and beautiful life I’ve experienced came flooding back. I’m so glad I saved those memories like preserved rose blossoms. Full of all the hope and wonder that comes with enjoying a spring sunrise, the words of 2020 show a woman full of hope, adventure, and faith. No matter the dark clouds, it took strength and courage to march on, one foot in front of the other.

Choose a journal that is well made and pleasing to you. Walmart has a wonderful selection with a variety of sizes and layouts. I choose to write in mechanical pencil for quick corrections. Again, remember, this isn’t something others will read. It’s meant for your eyes only, unless you choose to share. Make sure those around you know and respect that, or keep it tucked away. Words written one day will represent different feelings that those written the next. They’re a reflection of you at a single moment in time.

If you come to writer’s block, Google — “Journal prompts”. You’ll find many websites that can help you. The main point is to begin and don’t stop. Writing is life. You will discover things about yourself that you never knew. It cleanses the mind while making the sads and scaries easier to deal with.

Not at 100%, I return to my nest for more sleep. Stay well. More tomorrow.

Good Morning, Dear Readers.

Thank you for returning to see what’s up. Unfortunately, I’m down. I’ve been fighting a winter cold for a few days now. Need to take some more Nyquil and return to bed. I’ll be back tomorrow morning to fill you in on the latest.

Please stay well. Enjoy your day! Joy