Grieving Gardener

A little country church along a wide space in the road has proven to be my peaceful spiritual retreat on Sunday mornings. Upon entering the church, one can feel the presence of the Holy Spirit. Comforting to a weary soul, this little building is much more than dry wall and windows.

“Pastor, there’s something I feel when walking through the door. It is REAL. RICH. It fills my heart,” I shared with him on Sunday.

“Joy, it’s the Holy Spirit,” he answered, as if he’d given that same answer one hundred times before. Goosebumps flashed across my arms. But of course! The Holy Spirit!

Since I started attending, the friends I’ve made have grown in depth. One of my favorite women reminds me of an older sister. Willow is tall and beautiful, looking much younger than her 70-Something years. She is the first to pass out hugs on Sunday morning. Sadly, her hip is worn out, and needs a replacement. On Wednesday, she’ll undergo surgery which will put her out of commission for a bit.

One of Willow’s extra duties at the church is changing the message on the church sign once every two weeks. She asked if I might be able to take over that job. I can easily do that when I go to clean for an hour on Thursday morning. Just like that, I’m closer to being a real church member than ever in my life. It feels great.

Sunday was wonderful day for three people to receive Holy Baptism. That morning, during Bible Study, running water could be heard filling up the baptismal font. The Baptistery, or designated space within a church for baptism by immersion, is located in an area beyond the stage. There, people are submerged underwater, symbolizing a life before accepting Jesus, a death, and rebirth after accepting Jesus as Lord and Savior.

Two steps up, the church has a stage on which the choir and band sit. At the back of the stage, here’s a wall with a space missing in the middle. Through this opening, a stunning mural of Pyramid Lake can be seen. From any angle inside the church, the mural takes on an entirely different look. Gazing at this mural so many times before, I never noticed the baptismal font below. The Pastor and those baptized are clearly seen entering the pool and then, under the water through a plexiglass window.

A young couple and their boy of 10 years had been visiting services for some time. It was father and son that were baptized on the same day, in the same baptismal font, one after the other. When both were done, they hugged while still in the water and there was more than one person crying at that precious moment. Nothing is more beautiful than a little man looking up to a bigger man in adoration. The timing only made it more breathtaking.

Sunday’s have come alive for me. It isn’t a building. It isn’t a certain religion, or a new dress and pair of shoes. It’s God and his only Son, Jesus, that make Baptist on Main sparkle. It’s parishioners with love turned on and their cell phones turned off. It’s singing slightly out of tune or rhythm. It’s generosity and prayers of healing. It’s all wonderfully uplifting.

This confirmed the spiritual nature of my little church wasn’t something I’d misread or wanted so much that I’d made it up. I smiled from my heart. There is a place in this crazy world that still makes sense after 2,000+ years. People gathering that KNOW the truth while being happy to share. People embracing others in need of a hug. Just a dusty little building on Main which comes alive with the Holy Spirit several times a week. Another magical place in this wide spot along a dusty little road in the town I call home.

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Please note, I shared incorrect information with you yesterday.

Correction.

“Come From Away” will be available for purchase on Apple TV starting September 10th. I’m not sure of the price, or other places it might become available. The soundtrack and many videos on the subject are available on YouTube for free with commercial interruptions.

Please forgive me. 20+ years as a teacher. Argghhhh. I should’ve double checked my info. My apologies. A special Thank You to the Coastal Goddess in the Classic Convertible with Tresses Flowing. I love you.

With the Twentieth Anniversary of September 11 just around the corner, I would kick myself if I lost the chance to tell a wonderful story. I’m shocked at how few know about acts of human kindness that shine brightly next to the stark horror of that day. The Story of Gander Newfoundland is a jewel among the heartbreak and rubble. Just a quiet little story that will make you smile.

For passengers on 38 wide-body aircraft flying West over the Atlantic, 9-11-2001 was an ordinary day to travel. Movies were watched and meals consumed. Flight attendants were carrying out mundane tasks, along with caring for the needs of the passengers on these 38 jets. Pilots were checking logs and readings, with everything in good order as they made their way West towards the US. Everything was smooth, quiet, and routine.

38 Jumbo jets. About 6,600 passengers and crew. All going or coming by airplane. Unaware.

On the ground, in Ganger, Newfoundland, the population hovered at less than 10,000 residents. All going about their daily business, they didn’t know what would be asked of their tiny little town.

In an instant, all the serenity vanished as the United States of America was attacked in New York City, Washington, DC, and Shanksville, Pennsylvania.

Radio alerts to all 38 jets, instructions for landing as soon as possible came through loud and clear. These jets were rerouted to Gander, Newfoundland. They would be grounded for an unknown period of time because something tragic happened. Not much information was shared. Just a urgent need to clear all airspace as soon as possible.

For six September days following the horrendous attacks, passengers, pilots, crew, and residents would become a family. Every one of those 38 Jumbo jets landed at Gander International Airport with all United States airspace closed. When the news came that visitors were “Come From Away”, home kitchens came to life. Closets opened and pillows were fluffed. The townspeople came to the rescue to make Gander a home away from home for weary travelers. 6600 of them. Across town, casseroles by the thousands were cooked. Bedding and sleeping bags were needed. Regular townspeople became chefs and waitresses. Everyone came to life to welcome the strangers who had “Come From Away”. The town made it work for those that had no choice but to disembark and wait while airspace remained closed.

Donations poured in. Breakfast would need to be prepared and ready. Everything travelers would need must to be provided, for suitcases would remain in the holds of the aircraft. Prescriptions, diapers, underwear, toiletries. All for 6,600. Traveling animals would need food also. Everything was carefully considered, while few slept in the tiny town.

When the jets landed, passengers needed to stay aboard over 24 hours. Then, one by one, the jets unloaded passengers into waiting school buses for transport. The terror that must have been felt by passengers and townsfolk alike. Passengers didn’t yet know what had happened as those onboard had been told nothing. Townspeople were still trying to absorb the shock of it all.

A prestigious pilot named Beverly Bass was one of those stranded. She happened to be the first woman pilot to become Captain in American Airlines. A love story bloomed between two lonely Senior Citizens. Heartbreak coated everything. Mother’s whose sons worked in the World Trade Center held hands and prayed. People of a different skin color or language were embraced as family. Drama of every type waited to unfold.

How did I find out about this?

Years later someone brilliant decided to write a musical about this amazing story. Called, “Come From Away”, it will be released for purchase on Apple TV on September 10th. Please look for it, you won’t be disappointed. I would expect that on Saturday, we’ll all be feeling the familiar heartbreak while watching coverage of the day. Watch something brilliant and wonderful the night before. The lyrics in this musical are beautiful and unforgettable. Turn up the volume, as every word is part of the story that transpired. If you want to listen to the soundtrack before, go to YouTube. There are uninterrupted versions of all the songs taking about one hour of time to listen.

My favorite story is about Beverly and her love of flying. Called “Me and the Sky”, the last words of her song make me cry every time. The one thing she loved the most caused horror and devastation and came between her and the sky. I loved being a passenger as much as Beverly loved flying. How our world has changed! What was lost, youngers can’t truly understand.

I do plan to visit the Dover Straight. Someday, I plan to go there with someone I love dearly. I want to eat a dinner in Gander and leave an hefty tip, leaving some smiles in the town. There is so much to be learned by this story. Please do some research. It will make your heart glad to be human. Remember, there is always something we can do to help, no matter how small. Have a wonderful day.

If you had fifteen minutes to pack your life into a car, what would you take? Thoughts about this are somewhat important in these crazy days. Hard to tell if the 1,000 year flood or the 100 year fire will come knocking. Maybe The Big One in the form of an earthquake. Here in America, we have an abundance of belongings leaving some to define themselves by the toys they keep. But, in an emergency, What Would You Take?

The answer to that has changed over the course of my life. I remember the Loma Prieta Earthquake of October 17, 1989. Ironing while watching the Oakland A’s play in the World Series, the broadcast was interrupted by a terrible earthquake in the San Francisco Bay area. On a crystal clear seas side day, the television transmission started shaking and went to snow. From that moment forward, the news held horrors as camera angles showed downed bridges and overpasses that had squashed cars and drivers into mangled pancakes. For days, first responders raced at full speed, saving those they could, and making note of those for which there was no hope at all.

My parents owned a vacation condominium in Santa Cruz, California, hard hit by the jolt. Family lived in the little town. Phone calls let us know our people were shaken but fine, but would the condo still be standing? It was too dangerous for anyone there to check.

The next morning, the three of us jumped in the car to cross over the coastal mountain range to assess what damage had occurred. What did I take? Batteries, flashlights, a change of clothes. Oreo Cookies. Two packages. Why? Because everything is a little better with chocolate. Oreo cookies are an extreme comfort food. Would I have done better taking something more sensible to help those in need? Probably. But, the cookies went instead.

As we drove the three hour trip, damage was obvious along the entire route. Huge hay stacks had toppled. Roads had cracked. Buildings were at precarious angles. The closer we got, the more damage we noticed along the highway. The little coastal town we all loved so much was in a state of shock.

At the condo, a second story plate glass window had popped out and fallen straight down in a single sheet to cut through a 2″ x 4″ redwood deck like butter. If someone had been sleeping in the lower bedroom and run out of the sliding door, they’d have been killed. The free standing fireplace had danced across the floor. No doubt, the condo had been jumping up and down during the earthquake, but amazingly, it remained standing and sound.

Houses had slid off foundations. Roofs collapsed. Windows shattered. Power lines were down. Roads buckled. The famous Santa Cruz Book Store was a disaster, with every title laying in heaps like rubble on the flour.

One young family was without a home, as theirs had fallen apart. My parents immediately made the condo available to their use for as long as they needed a place to stay. Without thinking of logistics or risks, they handed the keys to their ocean view hideaway to young parents of two adorable kids. With nothing but the clothes on their backs, they were in shock from the disaster, but also from the kindness of two senior citizens from the Central Valley of California, doing what they could to help.

What would you take? What would you give? How could you help? We all need to consider that questions, because disasters will come. It might be our turn to suffer or our turn to help. Only God knows.

Carefully construct your list. Don’t wait. Have a flexible plan. Stay prepared. If Covid taught me one thing, it’s that the smallest disaster can cause the most profound shortages. Don’t become complacent. We’re all only one sneeze away from more empty shelves.

With that said, enjoy the beginning of Autumn. Here in the desert, the skies are trying to return to the deepest blue. The days are noticeably shorter. The pre-sunrise temps are hovering in the 50’s, making morning yardwork crisp and delicious. If you are lucky enough to awake to an unevacuated day free from disaster and smoke, be grateful. Happy Sunday!

As the fires rage around Lake Tahoe, evacuations are in place. If you haven’t visited, you have missed one of the most beautiful mountain areas anywhere. World class skiing awaits. Mountain sports of every kind. Fresh air and pine trees. At least that’s the way it was before the fire.

I remember the times I’ve needed to evacuate due to fires. The worst year was 2013, while VST and I were enjoying our last years of employment in the Central Valley of California. While living on our mountain-top hideaway, above the fog and smog, fire preparedness is always a Top-5 task.

Folks move to the foothills to live in the wilderness. The reality is, without defensible space, your mountain hide-away can turn into a deathtrap. Defensible space is 100 feet of cleared space in all directions of your home. In a small foothill neighborhood, if everyone complies, you soon live in a small treeless city. This becomes exactly the type of environment people hoped to escape. Many people resist, loving the privacy provided by plants like mature manzanita. Fuel-filled and explosively flammable. Manzanita grows dense and is full of oil. In a fire, it burns hot and fast, often destroying homes to which it provided with privacy.

On our mountaintop, we had the view of all views. Our backyard lawn dropped off the cliff like an infinity pool, and there we were, suspended like two old crows. Space defended, we could see for miles.

In the spring of 2013, a different kind of evil was brewing. A neighbor couple was about to lose their home to foreclosure. Not being of sound mind, they concocted a wonderful idea. With enough fires set in our foothill community, it would be easy to start one by THEIR house and burn it to the ground. No one would suspect a thing. The insurance money would set them happily on their way to a better future. With that bit of evil brewing, the fires commenced.

For two months, at precisely 4 PM every day, a new fire would begin. These fires were set in very dry conditions with manzanita ready to explode. Each day, I’d notice a deadly plume of smoke as a new fire began. Calling to report the new fire, I felt something to which I was unaccustomed. Terror. Like being the ultimate Scarecrow. How fast could the fire travel? Would the afternoon winds carry an ember to our property? Was our defensible space defendable? How many firemen would be injured, or worse? Would anyone lose their life? Could I become trapped in an evacuation traffic jam? All questions asked each day as a new fire started. One a day for almost two months.

This evil duo lived down the hill from us. As their plan came closer to our doorstep, so did the evacuation order over our cell phones. We were to make sure all pets and livestock were moved to safe ground. Being prepared, we had a plan in place, already knowing what picture albums and personal belongings needed to come along. Clothing and shoes for the first week. Cash. Credit cards. Insurance papers of all kinds. Legal documents. Everything was neatly organized and waiting for our turn at disaster as the daily fires continued. When we finally needed to go, the vehicles were stuffed and down the hill we went.

It’s a tough thing to leave a home behind. Being prepared, there’d been extra time to include things we hadn’t considered important or may even, essential. Old paper medical records from the 1900’s, before every cough and sniffle was digitized. Dental records. Address books. Every spare place in the vehicles was stuffed. Still, there were things we just couldn’t grab, because the fire was coming.

Driving away, a fog of smoke and ash made it difficult to breathe or even see. Due to the number of homes in the mountain community, large bombers were deployed, as the skies rained with huge loads of orangish-pink fire retardant covering everything. Helicopters dropped thousands of gallons of water on each day’s fire. With hard work and determination, only one house was destroyed during those two months. No one died.

With great detective work and undercover agents literally hanging out in the trees, the culprits were finally caught. The nightmare was over, but not without emotional scars. It’s hard to sleep at night when you aren’t sure if a copycat fire will be set. The two received 30 and 40 years respectively due to the wonderful work of the agents. Unfortunately, due to the insane laws of California, the monsters have been released to live wherever they like. Evil walks among us, folks. It truly does. (More information — Google Yosemite Lakes Arson Fires, Madera County, 2013)

The fires of today are even worse than those VST and I experienced in 2013. Forest mismanagement and the ravages of bark beetle and drought have left mountain residents vulnerable. Escape routes are not usually large boulevards, but pitted, gravel roads, not designed for heavy evacuation traffic or emergency equipment. Evacuation centers fill up early. Large animal transportation and care is limited. Horses need to eat. A lot. Sometimes it’s necessary to simply turn them out, making sure contact numbers are written on hooves with black sharpies. In a fire, human family members come first. A missing cat or dog may need to fend for itself until the owners return, if they can.

Disasters come in all sizes and shapes. Evacuations can be necessary for any number of reasons. Are you ready? Do you have a go bag equipped with a week’s worth of medicine and copies of important phone numbers and policies? Have you planned with a family member in a different area in the event of a disaster? Do you have numbers written down in case your phone gets lost? All things easily done when things are normal and calm.

Please pray for those evacuated from their homes from flood, fire, or the other natural disasters happening today. These families are experiencing something unforeseen and horrific. Not knowing if there’s a home to return is a horrible feeling. Losing everything near and dear is devastating. Thank goodness for the kindness and generosity of Americans. Keep praying for rain where we need it and none where we don’t. These are trying times.

Moving to a new town in April 2020, there was only one couple I knew. Miss Firecracker and her amazing husband, Bailey’s and Cream. Their love of this wide place on a dusty little road was enough for me. Few other’s opinions would’ve convinced me their town was better. It was a huge leap of faith to move to Winterpast 17 days after VST’s untimely death. Alone, I came in faith.

Faith is defined as having a strong belief in God based on spiritual apprehension rather than proof. In this use of the word apprehension, I refer to “understanding or grasp”. It’s belief that everything will turn out as planned, even when you have no proof that it will. Sometimes, you need to Let Go and Let God. Although every bit of common sense said I shouldn’t move to this little town, faith guided me towards the support and love of Miss Firecracker and Bailey’s and Cream. When I first arrived, Covid had terrified the world, so there were no waiting hugs and welcome baskets. It was too dangerous to risk. And so, the best hug of all came from the four walls of Winterpast and, of course, my four-legged bestie, Oliver.

Oliver has seen a lot. He understands everything, accepting his place in life as a very lucky dog. His biggest wish in life is to be part of the pack. He understands his job as watchdog. He keeps me safe from marauding hawks, toads, and vermin. He warns me of dreaded walkers and falling fruit. Oliver works for food and hugs. A wonderful trade. Oliver’s my cherished family member.

I spent a good part of 2020 on a personal journey through widowhood. Never, did I ever…… So many ways I could end that thought. The most profound way is this. Never, did I ever experience such deep loneliness and need for other humans. Never, did I ever realize how important it is to have family to turn to. Never, did I ever so deeply appreciate the bonds of friendship.

In early August 2020, Miss Firecracker lost her Bailey’s and Cream to cancer. And then, there we were. Two instead of four. Half rather than whole. It was she, my first new confidante in a very long time, that would be waiting for me at the Tee Pee Bar and Grill with her million dollar smile. Those meals were priceless. Her opinions on life and love, even more so. How I wish we could’ve stopped time. Together, we cried, healed, laughed, schemed, ate and repeated. Family, she and I.

When she moved in the spring, I was finally all alone in my new town. It was time to strike out on my own to find new friends. “Give a call when you’re sick” kind of friends. The kind of friends that smile from the heart when they see you. Those that ask, “How are things going?” and have time to listen. Political comrades. Readers of the blog. A family kind of friends. It was up to me.

It was then I found my little church, different from the moment I first walked in. A small group of church members supporting each other through tough times. Covid isolation hadn’t been easy for any of us, and being able to meet again for fellowship held new meaning and importance. God fills this chapel. I’ve been there at different times of the week. It matters not. There is a calm and comforting feeling in the building before scripture is even added. As the weeks have gone on, I’ve realized how much I love these new friends. It was this week, I realized they are becoming family.

I’d been attending everything they had for over two months. Sunday morning Bible Study, Sunday service, Sunday evening Bible Study with Pastor C, Tuesday morning Bible Study with the ladies, and Wednesday evening Bible Study with the Pastor. The Bible has come alive while listening to normal folk talk about applications in normal life. Each time I attended another class, I went away knowing a little more about my heart in ways I hadn’t expected.

And then……. I caught the cold. Not the Mother-of-All-Colds, just a nasty, sneezy-sniffling kind of cold. Not wanting to this little bug to circulate through the pews, I sheltered in place like we’re supposed to do when ill.

The phone calls started. All my favorite people from church called me. Just quick little check-ins because they’d missed me. Little did they know, I’d missed them, too. Today, Pastor C called. Just the sweetest man, on a calling to spread The Word, was checking up on me, a friend, to make sure I was okay.

A friend came to my rescue with Meals on Wheels. Making sure I had everything needed to get well, she hovered at a respectable distance. Giving me space to rest and recuperate, I only needed to holler for anything needed. In the blink of an eye, I’m a visible and valued member of the community. My absence is noticed. I’m loved and it feels wonderful.

Friends are family we choose. In sixteen months, the number of people I’ve added to my high desert family has grown. No longer a new town, this is now my home. No longer alone and lonely, I’m lucky have so many great friends that notice an empty church seat. A sweet neighbor guy who keeps me in chicken fried steak and gravy. And Oliver, forever at my feet as I sign off. Stay well, cherish your friends, and have a great Friday!!!

I had it all planned out. A day in the bigger town just West of here. An outing of fun after suffering through my cold. A quick Doctor’s visit, shopping, lunch, and a bit of adventure. Exploration and discovery while having a fun day. Well, all of those plans were thrown out the window when my cold went even more south, ending any thoughts of fun. I’m house bound a little longer.

Just so you know, my cold is much worse. Much, much worse. Dreadful. Devastating. Debilitating. A sinus-choking event. I feel better sharing this with you. After I made light of many illnesses, mine blossomed. I shouldn’t have gloated.

All plans for a solo trip into the big city were scrapped. I’ll need to plan for another time. Summer’s nearly evaporated in a puff of thick “California-burnin'” smoke. People have been checking to see how the big fires in California are affecting me. Some days are not so bad while on others the smoke is thick.

My heart breaks for South Lake Tahoe. It is truly one of the most beautiful places in the entire world. We need to pray for our forests. Last year, my boat trip was one of my first adventures. A day I’ll remember forever. Glad I did it, because things there may never look the same again. I’m tired of hearing about climate change in regards to fires. It’s an easy way for those in charge to shirk their responsibility. Having lived in the area my entire life, it was something we all watched, waiting for disaster to happen. In the final analysis, it was years of extremely irresponsible forest management contributing to the fires. Dense and dry fuel. Forests were never managed properly. At the end of a summer of drought, this is the result. A loss that won’t be replaced in our lifetimes. God is surely weeping.

With Eastern forests still thriving, when we’re well again, we’ll find a way to escape smoke and explore. The Ruby Mountains. Elko. Ely. The Loneliest Road in America. The 55′ Ichthyosaur. Gem fields. Crystals for the finding. Antique bottles to found. So many adventures we’ll have trouble choosing. But for now, Kleenexes and orange juice for me.

There’s been thoughts of a day trip to Bodie, the town time forgot. Bodie is on the eastern side of the Sierra’s. A once bustling gold-mining town and California State Historic Park, it sits quietly near the Nevada border. Original buildings and a cemetery are in a state of arrested decay. After its glory days as a mining hub, the town was finally abandoned by the time of World War II. Many of the buildings were left furnished with couldn’t be carried out. In 1962, it became a National Historic site. Truly a fascinating place.

So many fun day trips for me to plan. I need to shake my cold and get moving. For now, Oliver understands. He’s been the best dog in the history of dogs. Yesterday, he slept hours, finishing off his day by turning in at 5 PM for the night. Not a peep from my little buddy until this morning at 4:30. As long as I respect his meal time, he rolls with the plan, whatever it is. I’m lucky to have such a great dog as my bestie.

Making it through this little bug, I’ve been enjoying a batch of Doris Day movies, including The Tunnel of Love and April in Paris. So fun to watch talented actors and actresses on real movie sets. No computer generation or animation, old movies are works of art, preserved for our enjoyment. Thank heavens for the days of political incorrectness and decorum. Some things were so simple back then. Two sexes with complimentary yet opposite attributes. Charming and normal.

So, with a box of Kleenex, I’m back to bed to rest. Please stay safe in this crazy world. The common cold can lead to bronchitis and pneumonia just as easily as Covid. It’s also just as contagious and dangerous for people with compromised health. Do us all a big favor and isolate for two weeks if you suffer from any kind of virus. We didn’t catch our colds gardening in the back yard or taking a walk. Someone was out running around while spreading viruses for us to catch. Not appreciated at all.

Remember, illness is bad whether you are a man or woman. When you experience it first hand, it’s never good. More tomorrow.

The mega yard sale of two weeks past was a wonderful success. Finding enjoyment while helping with preparations, many interesting developments transpired BECAUSE OF the event.

During prep week, I made many new friendships just waiting to grow. Several members of our group substitute for the local school district. I don’t know that I could ever return to the classroom, but, you never know. I certainly respect these ladies for doing just that. Many of my church friends came to enjoy the sale and find treasures of their own. A good time was enjoyed by all. By the end of the second day, the group earned almost $2,000.

One gentleman dropped off a fabulous camera that is now mine. $100 years old, I would love to see if I can get it to work. Just the intricacy of the little knobs and levers fascinates me. Opening and closing it, it reminds of of days gone by, when items of quality were a thing of beauty. This camera was a father’s loved possession. What moments of pride did it capture? Graduations? Weddings? First steps? I can feel the happiness vibrate from the case and am so glad it’s mine. It will remained loved.

There was something else wonderful that occurred. I didn’t know it until yesterday when a dear friend contacted me worried that I had moved the blog. Again, I apologize for any disruption in my posts. Last weekend, I had technical difficulties, as well as the onset of a cold, which is getting better each hour. Thank goodness August is over. Dreadful month, that one.

Before the yard sale even began, I discovered little treasures. I found a sweet little cross and two angels. There was the silver MAGA 1957 trinket box that went to the husband of our chapter President for his help. His birth year is 1957. He helped so much with the sale, it was the least I could do to share the little treasure I found. The 100 year old Kodak camera, beautiful and full of good energy.

And then, there was the bird house.

On the eve of the sale, I’d been at Nina Neighbor’s helping with last minute arrangements. I’d seen most of the items for sale, but, out of nowhere appeared an adorable little bird house. Small and quaint, it reminded me a little bit of my old farmhouse. But, it also screamed Winterpast. I was drawn to this little house and immediately put it with my other treasures. New and shiny, it was just too adorable to leave. Into my back yard it would go. A new bunch of nesters would find safety in the attic of this little yellow house with pale blue trim. I’d find a special location.

Fast forward to yesterday. When returning an email an sweet friend and fan who just happens to have intimate ties to Winterpast (her parents loved Winterpast before me), I discovered it was SHE who donated the house for the sale. The daughter of the previous owners of my home randomly gave her friend, Ninja Neighbor, this little house. Her intentions were that it would raise a little bit for the cause, nothing more. It was supposed to be in the back yard of Winterpast all along.

Tell me there isn’t a special message in all of this and I would tell you to think again. There are so many things in this world we don’t understand, this being one of them. Her happiness over the situation was delightful. Her mom delighted in caring for Winterpast, making it a home for everyone to enjoy. There was but one destination for her donation. With hundreds of buyers at the sale, there were a thousand different routes her little bird house could have flown. But it didn’t. It came to its rightful home.

Look for miracles all around you. Little affirmations surround us with love each day. Friendship is the most beautiful thing in the world. When all else fails, the love of a friend can get us through a tough day. Bored? Just put a birdhouse within sight of window. Entertainment on wings. Have a great Wednesday!!!!

PS–To my sweetest friend,

Thank you for the addition to Winterpast. It will forever be V and F’s little house in the Wilde’s! Your sweet mom is surely giggling. I hear her in the wind. J

There’s nothing better than an invigorating challenge of Tug of War. Teams form on either end of a large rope, pulling for their side. Sometimes this is done over a mud pit (if you happen to be a redneck like me). Other times its on grass, but always with a center line to cross. When one side pulls the other over said line, they win.

Many days, life is just like Tug of War. Two opposing sides intent on forcing their will onto the other, each insistent that the opposing side comes along. Teamwork is important, with combined strengths helping to secure a “win”. These days, it seems the world is one giant battle to death. Each side holds tightly to their opinionated end of the rope. Opposing sides play over a giant chasm of no return. And, pull they do with all their might.

In the game of Tug of War, A fun trick to play on the opposing team to to simply drop the rope as a team. Pulling with all their might, the other team falls in a heap, not expecting such a random move by the opposition. In life, we can drop the rope, too. Change the subject. Agree to disagree. Change the channel. Flip the script to something new and different. Truly, think about it before forcing opinions on a very serious medical decision with anyone. Unless you have their complete medical history, you don’t know the entire story. Just drop that rope and find something else to discuss. Dropping the rope can be a freeing experience.

The thing that comes to mind most right now is opinions on vaccinating against Covid. At times, I need to turn off the noise, having picked up my end of the rope for personal and valid health reasons. In a free America, one used to be able to do that. In this “New” America, choice is no longer worth fighting for. Everyone must step in line, no matter your own health complications. Just do it. Some of us can’t.

That being said, upon waking Saturday, my throat was sore. Even a sore throat no longer has the same meaning as it did two years ago. After much research and preparation, I flew into action, sheltering in place while taking a group of anti-viral vitamins and minerals. Minor sniffles and congestion followed. Mr. Widower of the Pines (WP) mysteriously came up with the same symptoms. Strange how viruses can travel 733 feet. Puzzling and mysterious.

Commiserating, whining, and sniffling, we weathered the storm, not sure if we’d be alive today to talk about our experience. Thoughts of any possibility other than death were wiped from our brains by the crazed media. Our symptoms were mirrored in each other as we waited, not knowing if this was The End.

Now, men always have the worst symptoms, as any woman over the age of infancy knows. True enough, these are scary times, and having a cold is no picnic for either sex. But, we all know, men have it worse. So, we waited and whined some more. With identical symptoms, we could at least enjoy meals together, while sniffling and sneezing.

The big difference between us was that HE went to get a Covid test. With results taking three days, (absolutely unacceptable, except that we live in the middle of nowhere), we had plenty of time to plan our last hours. Plenty of time to reassess and continue to embrace our medical decisions. Plenty of time to watch how the other responded to illness and physical discomfort. More time to talk about gardening plans and the differences between roses and pine trees. We bravely waited it out.

Owning a simple Oxygen meter (Amazon – 14.95), we made sure our Oxygen levels were above 90% at all times. Temperatures were routinely checked. Prepared with every cold remedy known to humankind, the medicine chest was stocked with a variety of medicines to fight different symptoms. We drank orange juice and enjoyed chicken soup. We kept warm and took lots of naps.

The results came in yesterday. Low and Behold!!!! Thank you, Jesus!!! A gift from the heavens. Not Covid. Not the plague. Not pneumonia or gout or shingles. The Common Cold shared between two old farts. I must say, we were both a bit disappointed, as we’d have loved to work on our natural immunity. But, Covid was not in our destiny. With a restocking of supplies for the next bug that comes along, we’ll be just fine.

So, with the Tug of War over vaccinations raging, WP and I dropped our side of the rope to dance in delight at our good fortune. No Covid. In doing so, the opposing team lost their footing and fell in a heap on this round. We probably won’t pick up the rope to play again, too busy preparing to take care of our own medical needs.

People need to turn off the news and take a breath. Medical decisions are private between a patient and doctor. There shouldn’t be a game of Tug of War about private medical decisions based on very real contraindications. Medical decisions are as individual and private as fingerprints. Life was so much more pleasant when that boundary was respected.

I’m thrilled to say I’m on the mend. With fall yard work just around the corner, I have gardening techniques to review. Winterizing procedures to follow. Soup to simmer and leaves to rake.

Be careful out there. Colds and the flu can be equally as miserable and dangerous as Covid. Stay safe. Once and awhile, just drop the rope to celebrate when it’s least expected. It’s fun to watch the outcome. It’s even more fun to dance with a new partner.

The Friday of long ago signaled the beginning of the work weekend for me. There was no long awaited visit to the local brewery, or dinner with friends. Friday was the beginning of our farming weekend; the ranch a demanding mistress. While others were planning to sleep in and enjoy a leisurely cup of coffee by the pool, we were up at our usual 4:30 AM to get started with a long list of chores.

4:30 AM, present day. As I sit here writing, I wonder who in their right mind would accept my crazy schedule? Even Oliver barely tolerates it, except that food is involved. He’s already back to sleep in his cozy little work bed. Some days, it seems it’d be a good idea to publish at a later hour. However, I’ve found that the complications of a normal day provide roadblocks for creative writing time. So, my schedule remains. For now.

Schedules and appointments have been giving me a little trouble. It seems a few distractions have gotten in the way of my normally boring life. Finding a new and active normal while adding interesting activities isn’t as easy as it seems at 65. Covid and widowhood be damned, I’m creating my real and authentic life. In the midst of that, I’ve finally met someone that has the time, means, and curiosity to join me once in awhile.

Friendship is the basis for everything good in this world. Friends support each other when they’re down. A blue moon is a terrible thing to waste, and once upon a blue moon, a neighbor stopped by my porch on a summer’s evening. A neighbor I would have never met, except for a common friend who decided an introduction just couldn’t wait a second longer. Exchanging cards at a political meeting where like minded people gather to share positive visions of our country, we first met. Just a “Hi”, “Nice to meet you”, “Bye” type of meeting.

Life can be unpredictably crazy sometimes. Just when you think things can’t be stranger, there’s a new twist. A widow lady gardening her roses in the back yard. A widower making sure his pines have enough water on hot summer days. Two very private neighbors tending to their respective gardens while healing from the ravages of cancer and loss with just 733 steps between their front doors. Parallel grief. A zig, a zag, and an unexpected intersection at “Hello”.

Membership in the “Loss of a Spouse Club” is horrific and unwanted. It brands your heart in a way that inexplainable to someone that doesn’t have similar scars. Married friends want to understand in the worst way, while we hope it never happens to them. Somethings are too impossible to fully explain. It helps when someone already knows. He knows.

So add a new friend into the mix of hair appointments, pedicures, and a mini-girl-get-a-way, and appointments have been vexing me. Yesterday I got my hair cut. Today, Oliver goes to the mop-shop for his. Then, we’ll settle into a weekend of rest and reflection, no longer racing to cram three days of work into two.

I hope your weekend is delightful. Do something a little different to spice things up. Until then, Happy Friday.

_{by Douglas Malloch (1877-1938)}

The tree that never had to fight

For sun and sky and air and light,

That stood out in the open plain

And always got its share of rain,

Never became a forest king,

But lived and died a common thing.

The man who never had to toil,

Who never had to win his share

Of sun and sky and light and air,

Never became a manly man,

But lived and died as he began.

Good Timber does not grow on ease

The stronger wind, the tougher trees,

The farther sky, the greater length,

By sun and cold, by rain and snows,

In tree or man good timber grows.

Where thickest stands the forest growth,

We find the patriarchs of both,

And they hold converse with the stars

Whose broken branches show the scars

Of many winds and much of strife,

This is the common law of life.

This morning, I happened upon this beautiful poem. The version I read was credited to an anonymous writer. Googling the title to be sure the writer of poem wasn’t known, Douglas Malloch was credited. I wonder what challenges Mr. Malloch faced causing him to create this beautiful piece? As a writer and poet, my best work comes from the darkest days.

Conversing with the stars, there are no better companions than those with battle wounds. For those in life that don’t stand for something fall for everything. Battle scars are always messy. Lethal adversaries steal away our most precious comrades. Cancer devastated my life in that way, as it has for so many. Covid now robs us of peace of mind, while politicians tear away our freedoms.

Remember today, anything worth having is worth protecting. Our way of life in America is the best in the world. If you don’t believe that, you’ve obviously not found it necessary to escape, penniless, into the dark of a Russian night in 1977, trying to escape back to the America you miss so much. You have not stood in hours waiting for two kilograms of horse sausage because you consumed any eaten protein in weeks. You haven’t seen two women bloodied and fighting over the two last rotten apples in a barrel. You haven’t seen the void eyes of uniformed children, brainwashed in the ways of their government. You haven’t lived communism, as I did.

Our oldest citizens know sacrifice, hunger, and love of country. They lived through the Great War. They were the original GREEN citizens, everything repurposing, reused, and recycled. They valued quality, because things needed to last for a very long time. They had mad survival skills, because, they needed to survive some terrible times.

We find ourselves in that situation now. There is one big difference. In order to be Good Timber, we need to find other like minded patriarchs with whom to converse with the stars. Our thick stand of family and friends help to protect from the winds and strife we face.

Just some thoughts as I go to clean a little country church this morning. Stay strong in whatever life is throwing your way. Keep moving forward. As a famous prince would advise us, you just need to Better Up. Have a great day.